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the last show!
How could I have forgotten?” She chewed her bottom lip briefly, then her face brightened. “Right, I’ll have to meet you after work. Have you got your travelcard or do you need a
new one? And do you have anything to wear or do you need to pick something up? I can’t believe I forgot...”
    I bit my lip. I had seen the great African American dance group perform before and had been blown away by the power and grace of their performance. Mum had sent me to ballet and African Dance
lessons until I was thirteen – so I could totally appreciate the Alvin Ailey dancers’ expertise. I would have loved to see them again, had it not been for Dwayne... I had to think
fast.
    “Er, Mum,” I said, trying to sound casual, “do you really think I should? I’ve still got loads of work to do on my course-work ... I might have to give it a miss this
time, what do you think?”
    Mum thought for a few moments, then sighed. “Well, I suppose you’re right. Your studies do come first.” She glanced at her watch again. “Now I
really
have to go
or I’ll be late for this meeting. Help yourself to fish from the freezer for your lunch and have the lasagne for dinner – and make sure you make yourself a salad!”
    “All right, Mum, enough! Off you go!” I laughed as she finally got out of the door. Then I leaned back against it and reread Dwayne’s text message.
    Hey sweetness. I wanna c u 2nite. I’ll cum 4 u @ 8. D.
    All of a sudden I felt light-headed, and a thousand butterflies fluttered in the pit of my stomach. I simply loved the way he did that, made it sound as if he needed me, as if seeing me was as
vital as air.
    Of course I’d had other boys tell me they fancied me, but I’d never listened to their ridiculous chat-up lines, never fallen for their charms. One of the unspoken lessons I had
learned from eavesdropping on Mum’s conversations with her friends was this: never trust a man.
    But although I still knew hardly anything about Dwayne, I knew there was something different about him. I felt it in my bones.

Cutting Up Mandem
    DWAYNE
    Marvin was known as ‘Jukkie’ because he had a way with knives. But because he knew how to put on the baby face, he was the only one of my friends Mum could stand.
Mum always smiled when she opened the door and found him standing on the mat outside the door, his hood off, cap in his hand.
    “Good morning, Mrs Kingston,” he would say in his most proper voice. “How are you today?”
    “Well, Marvin,” Mum would reply, smiling like crazy, “I’ve seen better days but I can’t complain. How’s your mum?”
    “She’s good, y’know, Mrs Kingston, really good. She asked me to remind you about that carrot juice you promised to make for her. ‘The best carrot juice she’s ever
tasted,’ she says!”
    Then Mum would laugh and open the door to let Marvin in. “You tell your mother I’ll bring it on Sunday – when she invites me round for her roast chicken and macaroni
pie!” She would laugh again and Marvin would laugh too, leaning towards her, touching her arm with his long fingers.
    Then I would see him turn to walk away and roll his eyes. Mum didn’t know about how Jukkie got mad when he drank whisky, how he loved to carve man up, just for the hell of it. She thought
he was still the polite boy she used to teach at Sunday School. Parents are such chiefs. They only see what they wanna see.
    Once he had sweet-talked Mum and was in my room, Marvin was Jukkie again, screw-face as always.
    That Saturday morning was no different. “Yo, Dwayne!” he barked as he pulled my covers off. “Get up! What’s wrong with you, man?”
    For the second time that day, I was getting a wack wake-up call. I rubbed my eyes, then looked over at my mobile. Three missed calls. One text message.
    Where the hell are you? T.
    It was Trigger. Then I knew what Jukkie was on about.
    “Dwayne, man, Trigger’s been waiting for you for twenty minutes and he is not happy!