The pair had been at it for hours.

Walking around the dining table, Huey's hands in his pockets, Chai's behind her head, they watched each other's every move. All communication is eighty percent body language. Both of the teens knew this and thus, were searching for any sign of weakness or surrender. Eyes locked, even when people came in to see if they were finished debating or were simply just passing through, the stare was uninterrupted.

"We're going home now, Chai, good night," her father had told her an hour ago.

"Buonanotte, papa," she waved him off, never once taking her eyes off Huey. "Buonanotte, saronella."

"Nighty night, sissy," her sister yawned.

The same went for Granddad and Huey, even Riley. It got so late, and the two got so tired of standing, they went and sat on the couch and continued there.

"Well it's not my fault white people see my people negatively. To be honest, I don't even understand why. We're just looking for better lives, and when we get here we work for less than minimum wage for greedy, white rich men who are too stingy to treat us fairly. We don't get benefits, or healthcare, or anything. At least you and your people don't get cheated out of minimum wage or insurance coverage by white men who don't car to check whether you're here illegally or not. They just automatically assume that since you're Hispanic, you need a green card and when you don't have one and try to explain you were born and raised in Los Angeles the white people don't believe you. They see skin color, not knowledge, or family history, or anything else, all because my stupid brethren won't change their ways. "

"So you're a hypocrite too, then," Huey pointed out.

"How am I a hypocrite? Why are you still on that, we've established your hypocrisy and we've talked about so many other things."

"Not just anybody calls me a hypocrite without expecting some type of attack back, be it verbal or physical."

"See, I've never understood that about men. Why do MEN always have to fight back over every little thing, even if it isn't serious? They already have the upper hand in the world. It's always been a man's world. And as for violence, it isn't really all that necessary in most cases. "

"You're starting to sound like Jazmine right now."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Well she is naïve."

"So are you calling me naïve? Freeman, no one calls me naïve and gets away with it. I am far from naïve. Boy, I've been jaded since the 5th grade."

"I been jaded my whole life, and I am not a hypocrite."

"But Huey, you contradicted yourself in your own lecture. In your everyday way of life you contradict yours-"

"And you do too, the exact same way."

"Fine, I'll admit I sometimes say that white people keep my people down for the sole fact that they're white. But I don't blame my place on them. I blame it on the ignorance of my people who never change even though they know they're giving us a bad name."

"And the same goes for me."

"Not entirely. Earlier you were talking about your class rank and how you blamed the principal for keeping you 3rd in class. Just because you're black."

"When did I say that?"

"About three and a half hours ago," she yawned. Her eyelids were heavy, and she sank into the couch. "This couch is comfortable…" Huey rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch. 4:45.

"Don't change the subject, Chai. Just because we've established your hypocrisy, too."

"So what, we're both hypocrites, then. Big deal. But I'm not naïve."

"No, Jolie. You are definitely an ingénue."

"Don't call me by that name," and with that slurred sentence, the argument was finally over, and Chai fell asleep.

Huey was exhausted too. It didn't help he had to be up and ready for school in three hours, either. Head in his hand, Huey nodded off, uncharacteristically too tired to care that they had only agreed to disagree. He felt Chai move, but didn't care to look. She was curled up on the couch next to him, already fast asleep.

Huey Freeman stood on the hilltop underneath his favorite tree, katana in hand. Clouds were rolling in, and it began to rain. His eyebrows rose slightly. Someone was behind him. Unsheathing his katana, he turned quickly to come face to face with- no one. He looked left, then right. Then turned again to check behind him, but he found no one.

"Look up," said a voice, and down dropped a figure in all black attire. Picking itself up slowly, it unsheathed its own katana and assumed a duel stance.

Huey took his own stance, and waited for the figure to strike. They stood there, watching each other's every move, when suddenly, Huey found cold steel against his throat. He couldn't understand it! He hadn't took his eyes off this mysterious person. What happened?

"DAMN NIGGA WAKE UP!" Riley Freeman shook his brother harder than he had before, pulling the afro-headed boy out of his dream.

"What?" He asked, drowsily.

"Come look at granddad!" He pulled his older brother up the stairs and to his grandfather's room, where his grandfather sat, mumbling. The muscles in his face were strangely relaxed, and he couldn't quite keep his eyelids open.

"WHITE BROAD! WHITE BROAD COME 'ERE!"

Chai stumbled up the stairs, groggily. "I know you ain't already disrespect-holy shit! Mr. Freeman! Huey, call 911!"

"See, Granddad! This is from all that junk food you eat. If you would've just listened to me…" Huey trailed off, dialing 911.

"911 dispatch, what is your emergency?"

"Mr. Freeman, I need you to turn your head left," Chai ordered rather loudly, taking charge.

"Why the h-hellllll am I doing thisss?" he managed, and obeyed.

"Good! Now turn your head right." Chai and the boys watched, worried. The boys didn't know what to look for, but Jolie Costa had watched her grandmother die showing similar symptoms to what her neighbor was going through. She watched Robert Freeman struggle, and after a few seconds of him not being able to turn his head right, she knew what was wrong.

"Tell them to hurry! He's having a stroke!" Once again, Huey obeyed.

Fifteen minutes later, the ambulance showed up. The paramedics got Mr. Freeman in the ambulance as quickly as possible, and sped off to the hospital, Huey on board.

"What am I gonna do?" Riley panicked. "I ain't trynna go to school now!" The younger brother looked slightly afraid. Any normal teenager would if they witnessed their guardian having a stroke, or any other type of health problem. It was on this day that Jolie "Chai" Costa became a big part of Woodcrest.

"I'll drive you to the hospital, come on." So the two pursued the ambulance, and Chai tried to calm Riley down.

"Is the nigga gonna die?!"

"How old is he?"

"Iono….a hundred?"

"You don't even know your own grandfather's age?!"

"NO! HOW'M I SUPPOSED TA KNOW? HE AN OLD NIGGA!"

"Calm down, damn it! I don't need you to be yellin at me in MY car while I'm driving YOU to see YOUR grandfather at the gat damn HOSPITAL. Put some music on," she told him. "My iPod's in the glove compartment." Riley obeyed, making faces at first.

"What is THIS shit? Why you got this nigga up here? He can't rap or sing or-. OHH! WEEZY!" The bass boomed.

"I'm a nigga with money, I'm a nigga wit money, I'm a nigga wit money, and Ion't love dat bitch. I tell 'er bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch make me rich. I'm a nigga wit money and Ion't love dat bitch." Riley rapped, out of time. (A/N: That was for you, Kels. :P)

"Shit, boy why you talkin? You can't even keep time," Chai laughed, pulling into the pack parking lot. Chai found a space and whipped around some other cars to get it. "Call your brother."

"I ain't takin no orders from no broad," he resisted. "Young Reezy ain't no one's bitch." He pulled out his phone anyway and made the call. Chai smirked, following Riley into the hospital.