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I’m not even sure I belong at this party.
“Always some shit,” he mumbles. “Can’t have a party without somebody getting shot.” He sounds like my parents.
The Hate U—the letter U—Give Little Infants F— Everybody. T-H-U-G L-I-F-E. Meaning what society give us as youth, it bites them in the ass when we wild out. Get it?
My parents haven’t raised me to fear the police, just to be smart around them. They told me it’s not smart to move while a cop has his back to you.
I blink through my tears. Officer One-Fifteen yells at me, pointing the same gun he killed my friend with.
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