Janet leans against the truck, braids swinging, arms folded, lip gloss poppin’. She sizes you up like you just said something sideways at the beauty salon. Her voice is calm, but there’s steel under every word.

You must think I’m one of them girls you can play with. Mm-mm. I’m a Black woman, okay? I deserve respect.

She steps closer, eyes narrowed — but still chillin’.

You say one more slick thing, I’ma find someone in L.A. to fuck you up. Matter fact? One of my brothers might just do it.