Lovers & Haters by Calvin Slater

what you drinking on?”
    â€œI’m good.”
    Go Go and Arson took the drink orders from the rest of the guys and bounced.
    Nobody said anything for the first few minutes. The boys were scoping around, checking for the ladies with the big ol’ booties. And clocking the wannabe pimps, thugs, and bubble gum bad boys who were tripping all over themselves trying to get the ladies’ attention.
    â€œLook at these clowns,” Romello said, as he watched guys make fools of themselves by trying to get girls to dance.
    â€œA true hustler gets chosen by the women,” Alex chimed in. At sixteen, he was the pretty boy of the group—biracial kid, curly hair—the Robin Thicke type.
    â€œListen to this guy,” said Tyson. He was a sixteen-year-old junior and he looked every spit of the former champion too—always looking mean, neck as thick as they come, and a muscular body that, no doubt, saw many hours in the gym. “Romello, you better go over to Alex’s crib and confiscate those old pimp movies he be watching.”
    â€œOh, you’re trying to style on me, huh, Tyson?” Alex said, smiling.
    Romello saw a chance to get in a cheap shot. “Tyson, you know what they say about this fool, don’t you?”
    â€œAww, here . . . you . . . go,” Alex said to Romello. “Y’all about to gang up on brother now.”
    â€œWhat they say, ’Mello?” Tyson asked, grinning, knowing damn well where the joke was headed.
    Romello laughed before saying, “This guy running that ‘true hustler’ line—can’t be a true hustler if the ladies are coming back and telling me that you robbed them of satisfaction, because you are a true two-minute brother hanging shorter than a French fry.”
    Xavier cracked a smile. Tyson bit his lip, he was laughing so hard. And even though the joke was on Alex, he almost fell out of the chair, chuckling.
    Romello noticed that Xavier wasn’t really with it. So he asked, “What’s the problem, X?”
    Xavier took his time answering. The DJ must’ve gotten the message that the crowd wasn’t feeling the third slow tune and dropped a joint by hometown native Big Sean. The dance floor was then bum-rushed by huge numbers of rhythmic swinging arms and feet, kicking fly dance steps.
    â€œSaw one of my homeys popped out, with a straight twist earlier,” Xavier explained in a grim tone.
    â€œHe gone?” Romello wanted to know.
    â€œDamn near. Haven’t heard the news, but it sure looked like it—all the blood he dropped on me.”
    â€œDude, you were that close?”
    â€œYep—was holding pressure onto the wound.”
    â€œWhat the hell happened?”
    â€œDon’t know. All I saw was dude cutting around the corner, with fools wearing ski masks bussing at ’im. Don’t know more than that.”
    â€œThese fools have lost their minds in the D ,” Alex added.
    â€œIt’s like Iraq up in this piece, cuz,” Tyson said.
    â€œHere we go, fellas,” Go Go announced, as he and Arson carefully carried two trays of beverages to their table.
    â€œIt’s time to get this party started right,” Romello chirped, and then went inside his North Face jacket to remove a pint of 1800 Tequila. “X, I got what you need, baby. This is going to take the chill out of the air.”
    â€œThat’s what your mama say whenever I walk into her bedroom just wearing my drawers,” Arson said to Romello.
    Everybody at the table erupted into laughter.
    â€œBoy, you’ll get your head kicked in talking like that,” Romello shot back, smiling.
    â€œHow did you bring that up in here—thought they patted you down at the front door?” Xavier asked.
    Go Go and Arson set the drinks on the table and everybody went for theirs.
    Alex laughed and followed Romello by removing another pint of 1800 Tequila from the inside jacket pocket of his