Writer's block is one hell of a frustration. So much has happened in the last few weeks that I find it compellingly impossible to be blank. I've tried countless times to write something worth reading or performing and absolutely nothing has come out right. I haven't eaten much in the past week or so, haven't been to Flex because Trevon being locked up has taken all motivation away from my music. He has a trial next week. That should let us know whether he gets to come home or not. Mom said it's looking good because no connections have been found to the gang that wanted to kill Francis, but they're keeping him for almost beating the guy to death. Francis has been moved out the hood. We don't know where his mother sent him but I doubt we will be seeing him any time soon. He's probably somewhere down south with his Grandma. Graduation came and left, I never planned to go to prom even though Trevon wanted to take me. I am not my mother, I kept telling myself that night. Trisha and Pookie went. They said it was nothing without me.

I haven't seen Trevon since the incident happened. I couldn't find it in myself to visit him. It was entirely my fault. I should have called him like he told me to. He would have gotten there faster.

From what Pookie told us, Trevon was on his way to pick up Trish and I from the library. He probably knew I would forget to call him. Pookie says that when Trevon got to the library, he didn't see us, he just saw the janitor cleaning up and closing the school. He texted Pookie a little after to be on the look out for us, and that's when everything went south.

Pookie found Trev after the two gun shots went off, but no one was shot. He says that Trev probably just let out a shot to scare the gun man, not to hurt anyone. Flex got Trev a lawyer and he's paying any expenses, including possible bail. We owed Flex so much more than he knows.

Anyway, Flex says that Trev has a good case. It helps that he didn't shoot the man, even though he had a gun. It was also good that he was more focused on his music than anything else these days. Many could testify to that.

That night was one of the scariest nights of my life.

Either way i'm glad it happened the way it did. I'm glad nobody ended up dead. The guy who held the gun to me turned out to be one of the boys from the basketball court. Every time I think about all the mix up I curse Francis under my breath for even going off in public. It's like he wanted to get his ass handed to him.

Though I've been trying to write, I shy away from poetry because it makes me think too deep. It wakes me up and questions my fears.

I know Trevon hates me, I miss him so much sometimes I get pains in my stomach thinking about it. But I don't want to see him in jail. I get up from my desk and sit on my bed. My phone somehow finds its way into my hands and begins to hover around Flex name. Maybe I can make it to the studio and write something today, maybe I can be productive.

Before I even touch the call button by Flexs' name, my phone begins to ring.

I answer the unknown number.

"Hello, you are receiving a call from an inmate at-"

I hang up the phone, just as Ma taught me.