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can get this party poppin’ again.”
    I walked over to Shae like a stray puppy with her tail tucked between her legs. “Shae.” I chewed the corner of my lip and leaned from one foot to the next—something I used to do when I was five, after we had a fight on the playground. “I’m sorry.” I pinched her cheek. “You forgive me? I was trippin'. My fault. I love you, you know that.”
    “Umm hmm,” she said, still looking pissed. “And I guess I shoulda fell back when you asked me to.” She seemed to be giving in.
    “So you forgive me?” I whined.
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “I’ll let you go first the next time we jump rope,” I said jokingly.
    She looked at me seriously and said, “You my homegirl, like my sister, and you know that. And you also know we’re not in first grade and we’re not in high school screamin’ ‘ballin.’ We’re in college—it’s time to grow up and not let boyfriends, love, or anything else stop us from having a good time.”
    “True,” I said, “and I’m sorry for trippin'.” We started to hug.
    “Sniff, sniff,” Khya said as if she were crying. “Group hug.”
    “Awwl,” we said, opening our embrace and letting Khya in. “We love you too, Snuckums,” I said to Khya and we all fell out laughing.
    After a few moments of hugging, I convinced myself that I was straight buggin’ because there was no way I needed to let Josiah’s texts—or lack of—control my mood and stop my groove—so I started to get my party on.
    “Hold it,” Khya said in the middle of our dance, “is that—” She looked at Big Country. “Is that Baby Boy da Prince?” she said, excited. “Oh hell yeah!”
    A moment later the entire party, including me and my crew, were going crazy over this jam. The dudes were holding their iced chains by the humongous iced-out charms and waving ‘em in the air. All the girls were doing a soft bounce and everybody chanted, “I’m so fresh, I’m so clean … the bundle in my jeans and it’s real homie … Naw meen …”
    Finally, I was feeling this party. The music was hot and everybody in the place was straight. We continued our chant, “Naw meen … Naw meen …” until sweat formed streams of water over our faces and necks.
    “Awwl, suckie-suckie now,” Big Country shouted into the mic. “Y’all ready to get crunk?!”
    “Yeah!” everyone screamed in unison.
    “All right, let’s bring it on, ‘cause this is how we do it in the Boro!” Big Country cupped his hands around his mouth, leaned back, and shouted, “Mur … frees … boro, No’th Cacki-lackie, baby! The Dirty-Dirty. Here’s to sharing a lil bit of what we got with you, Stiles U!”
    The entire crowd was hyped as Big Country mixed one jam into another. We were all jamming and waving our arms in the air … and then it hit us all at the same time … this fool was straight-up playing country music. Not downsouth rap or DC Go-Go, I mean the real deal: Kenny Rogers and Willie Nelson. Those dudes.
    It was almost as if we were in a movie and someone putus on pause, ‘cause we were all standing still while Big Country was in his own zone singing, “Know when to hold ‘em/Know when to fold ‘em.” The only thing that snapped him out of his place in space was Shae slapping him on the back of his neck.
    “Have you lost yo mind!” she screamed as people filed toward the door, swearing that Big Country’s first party was retarded.
    “Oh my fault. My fault. Don’t go nowhere,” he said, slapping on Drake’s CD, just in time to stop the crowd from leaving and save the party’s rep. “Big Country ‘Da Stunna’ got this,” he said into the mic, “See y’all was ‘bout to leave and this pajama-jammy-jam is ‘bout to turn into a fish fry!” He popped open the extra large cooler that sat beside his DJing table and said, “I got some dressed po-boys and Doritos y’all!”
    The crowd went wild.
    He continued, “I got some crawfish. We ‘bout to break the heads