Also by Amir Abrams Hollywood High series (with Hollywood...
Transcript of Also by Amir Abrams Hollywood High series (with Hollywood...
AlsobyAmirAbrams
CrazyLoveTheGirlofHisDreams
HollywoodHighseries(with
Ni-NiSimone)
HollywoodHighGetReadyforWar
PutYourDiamondsUpFameofThrones
PublishedbyKensington
PublishingCorp.
CaughtUp
AMIRABRAMS
DafinaKTeenBooksKENSINGTON
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TableofContents
Alsoby
TitlePage
Dedication
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Epilogue
CAUGHTUP
HAVEN’T HAD
ENOUGH? CHECK OUT
THESE GREAT SERIES
FROMDAFINABOOKS!
CopyrightPage
Thisbookisdedicatedtoeveryyounggirlwhohas
everfoundherselfcaughtuplookingforloveand
excitementinallthewrongplacesandfaces.
1
Swaggerlicious. That’s theword that comes to mind todescribe this dark-skinnedcutie-pie standing in front ofmewiththegoldfrontsinhismouth, pierced ears, and anarm covered in intricately
designed tattoos trying togethis rap on. Swag plusdelicious equalsswaggerlicious. Not thatthat’s a real word found inWebster’s dictionary oranything. No. It’s found inthe hood. It oozes out of themusic. It jumpsoutatyou inthe videos. It’s splattered allover the pages of Vibe andXXL andeveryotherhiphopmagazine there is. It’sfloodedinthepagesofevery
urban fiction novel I’vecoveted over the last twoyears. It airs onLove & HipHop and BET. Okay, okay,maybe there’s moreratchetness thanswaggerlicousness on thoseTVshows.Still...it’sthere.Thathoodswag.Andit’smyguiltycraving.
It’smydirtysecret.Iwantit.Swag.I ache to know what it’s
like to be caught up in theexcitement of the fast-pacedstreet life found across theother side of town—rightsmack in the heart of thehood, where I am not everallowed to be. Where thestreets are hot and alive andfullofexcitement.God, my parents would
have a full-fledged heartattack if they knew I wassaying this, that I’mattractedto the hood life. Fascinated
andintriguedbyit.See. I’mfromthesuburbs.
Live in a gated community.And swagdoesn’t exist here.Not in my eyes. Not in myopinion.Anddefinitelynotintheway it lives and breathesinthehood.Orin theghetto,asmymomwouldcallit.But I personally don’t
think there’s anything ghettoaboutthehood.Ithinkghettoisastateofmindaswellasastate of being. And I
definitely don’t thinkeveryone who lives in thehoodisghetto.Butofcourse,my parents, particularly mymom, would beg to differ.Whatever.Anyway,back tomyquest
for swag. I attendanall-girlsprivate school.And trustme,swag definitely isn’t there,either.Nope. I’m surroundedby girls whose only focusesare cotillions, prom gowns,graduations, sleepovers,
shopping sprees, dating boyswithpromisingfutures,whilepreparingfortheSATs.Canyousayborrrrrriiiing.Mylifeisswagless!Don’t get me wrong. I
dress nice.Cute ismore likeit. Okay, maybe a littlepreppy. Still, I have nicethings. And I am alwaysnicely dressed nonetheless.However, sometimes I feellike a fashion loser—eventhough I know it’s all in my
head—whenIseeacliqueofgirls stylishly dressed in allthe hottest designer labels,strutting through the mall,yapping it up, catching theeyesofboyswithawholelotofhoodswag.That’sthegirlIwanttobe
—thegirlwith the sexy strutand a whole lot of sass. Notthat there’s anything wrongwithwho I amnow. It’s justthat...Imean.I’macutieandall. And I have a nice body,
fromwhat I’m told.And lotsofguystrytotalktome.Still. . . for themostpart, Iamareally basic girl. No lipstick.Noeyeliner.Notalotoffusswith my crinkly hair. Notmuch time spent in themirror. Basically, I’m whatmy mother calls “lowmaintenance.”Translation: Plain Jane.
Nothing special. Ordinarylooking.Yup, that’s me. Plain ole,
ordinary-looking Kennedy,withnothingspecialgoingoninherlife.Well,guesswhat?Schoolisout.It’sthestartofsummer. And if I have myway, a change is about tocome.Soon.“So, what’s good witchu,
ma?” Mr. Swag says,reachingoutandtouchingmyleft cheek. He’s about five-tenwith a slim butmuscularbuild.Hekindofremindsmeof a sprinter. Lean and trim.
“Yourealsexy,babe.”Ismile.“Thanks.”“You make me wanna do
somethangstoyou;realspit,ma.Whoyououtherewit’?Ibeen checkin’ for you for aminute.”I blush. Tell him I’m here
withmyfriendJordan.Thisislike the fourth time I’ve runintohimatthemall.Thefirsttime was a few weeks back.Hewaswith a crew of guysall dressed in different color
POLO sweat suits withmatching snapback hats andlimited-editi.on Nikes. Theywere all looking like theyshouldbeonthecoverofthelatest Hip Hop magazine.Andwhenhe calledmeovertohim,Ifeltmynervousnessgive way to excitement, likerightnow.“Ohword?That’swassup.
So how ’bout you ’n’me gogrababitetoeatrealquicksowe can get better acquainted
while ya peeps dowhat theydo?”I glance at my watch. “I
can’t.Ihavetofindmyfriendthen get ready to go.” It’s abold-faced lie. Truth is, Idon’tdatemuch.Imean,Ido.ButIonlydateguyswhoareparent-approved. And thisfine boy right here isdefinitely, unequivocally, notsomeone my parents wouldever allow me to go offanywherewith, letalonedate
—even if it is onlyup to thenext level of the mall to getsomethingtoeat.Notthatit’sa date. Not that he’s evenasking me out on one oranythinglikethat.AlthoughIwish like heck he would.Thenagain,maybeIdon’t.I eye the thick chain
hanging from his neck,wondering if it’s silver,stainless steel, or white goldand if the diamonds in thecross dangling from it are
real.My gaze shifts down tohis half-laced Timberlands,then back up. I swallow.Mymouth waters at the way hissagging jeans hang off hisnarrow hips, showing thewaistband of his POLOboxers. He has on a Guccibelt.Swaggerlicious. Hmmm.
Yes, that’s him. Theexpression used to describesomeone who has lots ofswagandloadsofconfidence.
It’s in the way someonewalks, and talks, and carrieshimself. And it’s a word Iwould never, ever, be caughtdead using in front of mybesties—or worse, myparents.They’ddie.Noscratchthat.They’dkill
mefirst.Thendie.How dare I want to use
suchstreetslang?HowdareIwant to toss away thousandsand thousands of dollars’
worth of my parents’ hard-earned money they’ve spenttosendmetothebestprivateschools inorder to shieldmefrom such atrocities. I’d bedamned to hell for eternity,roastingahundreddeaths,forshamingthem.Okay, okay. I’m being
facetious.I’m overexaggerating; just
alittle.Still . . . they’d probably
want to lock me away until
my twenty-first birthday ifthey even thought I wasstanding here contemplatingditching my bestie to go offwith this guy who I’ve onlybeen talking to for—I glanceat my watch—seventeenminutes and thirty-sixseconds. He could be astalker.Orworse.Ahoodlum.Athug.I want to laugh at the
absurdity.
Rule number one: Nohoodlums allowed. Rulenumber two: No profanity.Rulenumber three:Nostreetslang.And already I’m breaking
two of the three parent-enforced rules.Standingherecavorting with the likes of apotential hoodlum andallowing the wordswaggerlicious —gasp—toenter my mind. Oh, this isgroundsforalong,drawn-out
lecture on how irresponsibleit is to keep company withsomeonelikeMr.Swag.Andhow catastrophic using suchvernacularis.Howunfittingitis. How improper it is. Howunladylike it is. Blah, blah,blah.Well,guesswhat?Idon’tseeanythingwrong
with it. Swaggerlicious.Swaggerlicious. Swag. Ger.Licious.There.I’vesaidit.And this guy right here
reeks of it.Okay, alongwiththe marijuana I’m sure he’ssmoked right before cominginto the mall. I glance up athis ear and notice he has aBlack & Mild cigar tuckedbehind it. But that’s neitherherenorthere.Pointis,I’mtiredoffitting
into everyone else’s box ofexpectations. I’m tired ofbeing proper and polite—allthe time. Why must I useproper English all the time?
Why can’t I take a leave ofabsence from talking andsoundingwhite,justonce?I want a sabbatical from
my life, just for the summer.Is there anythingwrongwithwanting a change of pace?No.Idon’tthinkso.I’m sick of being
everything everyone elsewants,expects,metobe—allthe time. The sixteen-year-old, college-bound, soon-to-be junior who gets straight
A’sinschool;thehighschoolvarsity cheerleader whoexecutes every floor routinewith precision; the daughterwho always listens to herparentsandneverbreaksanyoftheirrules—nomatterhowridiculous I think most ofthemare; thelittlesisterwhohas had to constantly live inthe shadows of her threeoverprotective,overachieving, academicallyand athletically gifted
brothers.“Youhavesomesexy lips,
ma. I just wanna lean in ’n’kiss’em.”IblinkMr.Swagbackinto
view.Wait.DidhejustsaywhatIthink
hedid?Iaskhimtorepeathimself.
He does. “I wanna kiss you.Wordisbond.”“Youdon’t evenknowme
like that.” I try to stay cool
about it and act like havingsome random guy tellingmehe wants to kiss me is aneveryday occurrence whenit’s more like a once-in-a-lifetimeopportunitythatIamabouttoblow.“Yeah, but I can get to
knowyoulikethat.”Hestepsincloser.“Ifyouletme.”I am feeling light-headed.
And right now. Here’s mydilemma: I’ve never, evergoneagainstmyparents. I’m
the perfect daughter, theperfectfriend,andtheperfectlittleMissGoodyTwo-shoes.In a nutshell, my life is
predictable.Andboring.But,likeIsaidalready,the
schoolyear isofficiallyover.It’s the start of the summer.And I want to have fun. Iwant to do somethingexciting.Iwanttoliveontheedge a little. Be daring. Beadventurous.Instead of living
vicariously through thecharacters in some of thehood—oops,Imean,urban—booksIread,Iwanttobethegirl exploring the worldoutsideoftheonemyparentshavegivenme.Iwantalittletasteofthewildside.A little slice of the hood
pie.Justalittle.I glance overmy shoulder
quickly to see if anyone’slookingoveratus.Thenlook
upintohissmolderingbrowneyes, stepping closer intohim.One kiss won’t hurt. Will
it?
2
“Ohmygod!”Jordanshriekstheminutewestepoutofthemallandwalk into thebrightsun toward the parking lotwhere her parents’ silver2013Mercedesisparked.Sheslides her Ray-Bans on,
shaking her head. “I knowyou.Were.Not.Abouttokissthat boy, were you? Please,please tell me I wasimaginingthings.”Uh, noooo! You weren’t
imagining anything. I wasabout to lock lips with himuntil you came along andruinedmychanceathavingaprivatetongue-dancemomentwithhim.I eye my bestie. Take in
her smooth mocha-colored
complexion. Her bouncy,shoulder-length hair is doneto perfection. Everythingabout Jordan is always,alwaysperrrrrfect.Shehasonashortwhitedenimskirtwitha yellow camisole and a pairof yellow MinnetonkaAshleys. Her hips swing asshewalks. She doesn’twalk.Shesways.“Girl,relax,”Isay,running
my hand through my hair.“Wewereonlytalking.”
She stops in her tracks.Peers over the rim of hershadesandsays,“Talking?Isthatwhat they’re calling thatthesedays?”As we approach her car,
she aims the remote in thecar’sdirection,disarming thealarm and unlocking thedoors.“Is that what they’re
calling what?” I feignignorance as I open the rearpassenger-side door, tossing
mybagsontheseat.“Oh,don’teventrytoplay
me. You know exactly whatI’m talking about. All thatgoogly-eyeballing the two ofyou were doing. Looked tome like there wasn’t muchtalking going on.Oh,wait. Iget it. It’s called mentaltelepathy. Was hetelepathicallytellingyouhowmuchhewanted toshovehistongue down into yourthroat?”
I laugh as she opens thetrunk and tosses her bagsinside.“Whatever.”“Whatever nothing.” She
slams the trunk shut, pullingout her ringing cell. Sheglances at the screen, thenrolls her eyes. “Ohmygod!Why does this boy keepcalling me? He’s such africkin’loser.”She’s referring to her
boyfriend . . . um, ex-boyfriend—for today, that is.
Howard. The very corny,very nerdy, six foot three,Harvard University–bound,aspiring neurosurgeon she’sbeen dating since eighthgrade. But lately, they’vebeen breaking up like everyother week overridiculousness. Their mostrecent break-up was overonionrings.Onionrings!Canyoubelieve that?He reachedover and ate the last of heronion rings off her plate and
it became a majorcatastrophic event. “He’s soselfish and inconsiderate.And I’m sick of it,” she’dsaidassheprattledonandonabout how she could neverspend her life with someonelike that. “I’m done withhim.”I roll my eyes at her,
opening the passenger door.“Uh-huh. Girl, who are youfooling? We both know youarefarfromdonewithMister
Howard.Youlovethatboy.”“Well . . .” She pops her
lips. “That’s beside thepoint.” She opens thedriver’s-side door and slidesbehindthewheel,thenfastensherseatbelt.“He’sdoingtoomuch. I mean, really. Heneeds togivemeachance tomisshim.”Ishakemyhead.“Andthis
isalloverwhatagain?”Iask,pretendingtohaveforgotten.She sticks thekey into the
ignition, then starts theengine. “It’s over his lack ofconsiderationformyfeelings,Kennedy. Geesh. How manytimes do I have to tell youthis? I thought you of allpeoplewouldunderstandthat.Ican’tdateanyonewhocan’tbesensitivetomyneeds.”I blink. “Ohhhhkay. So
becauseheatethelastofyouronion rings that makes himinconsiderate andinsensitive?”
“Yes.”Shebacksoutoftheparking space and drivesaway. “And thoughtless.Wait. I thought you didn’tremember why we’d brokeup.”“Oh,howI’vetried,”Isay
sarcastically.“Whatever. I know you
think it’s silly. But it’s theprinciple. He had no righteating food off of my platewithoutaskingmefirst.Howdid he know I was finished?
Hedidn’task.”“Well,wereyoufinished?”She gives me an
incredulous look as if I’veaskedatrickquestion.“Yeah.Buthedidn’tknowthat.”Igiveherablankstare.“Oh,saveit.Don’tgiveme
that look. Today’s it’s onionrings. Tomorrow it’s himtelling me what I can andcannot wear, going throughmy cell phone, and deletingmy Twitter and Facebook
accounts. Iwill not havemyboundaries violated by anyboy.NotevenoneI’mmadlyinlovewith.”Iwaveheron,shakingmy
head. “Girl, please. Thatmakes that boy greedy. Notthoughtless or insensitive.Maybe you’re being just alittle toohardonhim. Ifyouask me, I think you’reblowing thiswhole thing outofproportion.”She shoots me an
incredulous look as weapproach a red light.“Ohmygod! Whose side areyouonhere?”“Yours, of course. When
you’re right, that is. Rightnow, however, I think youmight be overexaggeratingthings, just a tad. I know Itease you about him being acornball. But underneath allofhisdoofinessIkindoflikehim for you. He’s a reallyniceguy,Jordan.”
She smiles, driving off.“Andhe’sreallycute,too.”Yeah,Iguess.Ifyougofor
guys with the light skin andgreen eyes. Howard sort ofremindsmeofaCorbinBleulook-alikewithout the browneyes, just taller and moremuscled. Me, personally, Iprefer guys with some colorto them. Rich mahoganybrown. Dark chocolate.Mmmhmmm...delicious.“And he’s really nice,” I
repeat, ignoring her “he’sreallycute,too”comment.“Well, that’s true too. He
has his moments. But thisisn’t about Howard. Or me.Oranyofhisannoyingwaysthat get under my skin. Thisis about you, so don’t eventhink I’ve forgotten howyouwere practically ready to getlost in a lip lock with somerandomhoodlum.”Irollmyeyes.“He’snota
hoodlum.”
“Coulda fooled me. Thatboy reeked ofmarijuana androachspray.”I crack up laughing.
“Ohmygod.He did not. Thatis so not nice. Just becausehe’s from the hood, thatdoesn’t automatically makehimahoodlum.He’sactuallyaniceguy.”“Mmmph.Andhowdoyou
knowthat?”“Well,Idon’t.Notreally.I
mean. He seemed nice. And
he didn’t come off like ahoodlum,asyousay.”“Well, he looked like one
to me. And you know whatthey say, if he walks like athug and talks like a thug,then...”I shakemyhead.Anyboy
who wears Timberlands,hoodies, ado-rag,or saggingpants and isn’t in a pair ofkhakis and a polo shirt, ordoesn’t play lacrosse, is herdefinitionofahoodlum.
“I know you’re familiarwith the expression ‘youshouldn’t judgeabookbyitscover,’ right? Maybe youshouldfreeyourmindandtryit.”She takes her eyes off the
road, glancing over at me.“My mind is free. And I’mnot judging him. I’mmerelystatinganobservation.”“Yeah, an observation
basedonopinion.Notfact.”“Oh, whatever. He
probably sells drugs, too. Iwouldn’t put it past him.Nojudgment.”I shakemyhead. “Wow. I
can’ttell.”IloveJordanlikeasister.I
swear I do. But sometimesshe can be so judgmental.And . . . well, disturbinglynarrow-mindedattimes.Still,I wouldn’t trade her for theworld. She always has myback. And I’ll always havehers.
Even though I know whatherresponseisgoingtobe,Idecide to ask anyway. “Hey,you want to take a road tripover to Irvington tohangoutwithmycousins?”Icallitaroadtrip,because
although Irvington is onlylike twenty-five minutesawayfromwherewelive,it’slikeworldsapartfromthelifesheandIlive.Wherewehaveestatesandcirculardrivewaysand tree-lined streets, they
have dilapidated buildings,abandonedhouses,and trash-litteredstreets.Andtheyhavemore murders and robberiesthan any other town in thearea.Still,Ienjoygoingthereto visit my twin cousinsShaniqua and Kaniqua.They’re my uncle Kent’s—my father’s brother’s—daugh-ters, and they’rehilarious.Theylivewiththeirmother,Tiny.Well,Tinyisn’treally all that little. She’s
more like whopper size. Mybrothers used to call herAuntie BigWhopper. Not toherface,though.Jordan’s car almost
swerves over into the otherlaneasshesnapsherneck inmy direction. “Irvington?Thugville? In my parents’Benz? Oh, I don’t think so.SoIcanberobbed?Orworse. . . raped? Girl, you havereallylostyourmind.”I roll my eyes at her
theatrics. “Ohmygod, stop!Noone isgoing to rapeyou,girl. Besides, you know mycousinslookoutforus.”She sucks her teeth. “Girl,
please.Theylookoutforyou.You know your cousinsBoomquisha and Boomquitado not even likeme. They’dsave them roaches they keepforpetsfromgettingstompedout before they’d ever lookoutforme.”I laugh. “Oooh, you’re so
wrongforthat.AndI’mdeadwrongforlaughingatit.”Butshe’sright.Theydon’t
like her. They want to fighther. And she’s never doneanything to either of them.Well,maybetheymighthavecaughtherrollinghereyesupinherheadwhenshethoughtone of them wasn’t looking,or theycaughthergivingmeone of her looks when theysaid or did something thatwasmaybe a little bit on the
ridiculousside.Like the timethey both had on matchingpinkbodysuits,apairofthoseglass-looking stripper heels,and bright fuchsia china dollwigs. I didn’t want to admitit, but theydid look like twocircus acts. Most times theydo.Still . . . thosearemyfirst
cousinsandtheyliketopartyand have a good time. Andthey don’t care who doesn’tlike it, or them. They do
whatever they want.Whenevertheywant.“Don’tyou sometimes just
want to live on the edge alittle?” I ask, shifting in myseat. “Don’t you ever getbored following the rules, orcoloringwithinthelines?”Jordan gives me a blank
look.Thenbatsherlashes.“Ido live on the edge. I’m onthe edge of my seat everytime I’m out with you,wondering what craziness
you’regoingtogetintonext,likekissingriffraff.”“WhatifIdidwanttokiss
him? What’s so wrong withthat?Hehadnicelips.Andhewascute.”“Doyouevenknowhim?”
She letsoutadisgustedsigh.“Never mind. Nice lips ornot. That’s nasty. I mean.Aside fromprobably suckingdown pig’s guts and chickenclaws, do you even knowwhere that boy’s mouth’s
been?”Iswear.Jordancanbesuch
a joy-kill sometimes. Okay,most of the time. She’llyammeronandonabout thisfor most of the ride to herhouse if I don’t quicklyredirecttheconversation.“You’reright.Idon’tknow
whatIwasthinking.”“That’sjustit.Youweren’t
thinking.”“I’m sorry, mom,” I say
sarcastically. “I won’t let it
happenagain.”Shelaughs.“Yeah,right.”“Soooo, did you end up
buyingthatcuteskirtyousawinNordstrom?”She shakes her head. “Oh,
no.We’re not even about tochange subjects. Not thistime. I want to know whereyouknowthatboyfrom.”ItellherIdon’tknowhim.
ThatI’veonlyseenhimafewtimes in the mall. That he’stried to talk to me several
times, but he’s always withhisfriends.She shoots me a look,
rolling her eyes. “So what’shisname?”“B-U,”Itellher,shiftingin
myseat.Shebrakesatthestopsign.
“B-U? What kind of crazyname is that?” I tell her it’sshortforBorn-Universe.She frowns, pulling off.
“Born-Universe?See.WhatItell you? Strike one right
there. Who in the worldnamestheirchildthat?”I shrug. “I seriously doubt
that’shisrealname.AtleastIhopeitisn’t.”She grunts. “Does this
BornU. . .B-U,orwhoeverheis,evenhaveahighschooldiploma?”I shrug. “I didn’t ask. It’s
not like I was conducting aninterview.”“Well, you should have
been.”
“Jordan, ohmygod! Youreally need to learn how torelaxabit.Ithinkyouneedtolay off the CSI episodes.They’re causing you tooverreact.”She reaches over and
touches my forehead.“Kennedy, girl, either youmust be coming down withsomething or you’re animposter. Because theKennedyIknowwouldnever,ever,becaughtdeadtryingto
kiss some strange boy in themiddle of a half-packedmall.”Iswatherhandaway.“No,
I’m not coming down withanything.Andno,I’mnotanimposter. Tell the truth. Youdidn’tthinkhewascutewhenyousawhim?”“Ummm, nooo. I thought
hewasratchet.”I crack up laughing. She
soundedsofunnysayingthat.“Jordan,girl.Stop.Therewas
nothing ratchet about him.Do you even know whatratchetis?”“Yeah, I know what it is.
Him. Jeans sagging.Underwear showing. I betyouhedoesn’tevenknowtherealmeaning behindwearinghis pants sagging like that.Advertisinghisbutt like that.If he only knew all he wasdoing was giving bootybandits something to droolabout. I bet if he were in
prison walking around likethat he’d break his necktryingtofindabeltorropetokeep his pants up over hisbehind. Or he’d end upwearingKool-Aidpaintedonhis lips and being calledBubblicious, while BigBubba and his sweet toothcrewhumpeduponhim.”Iplayfullyswatatherarm.
“Ohmygod, that’s sodisgusting!”“Mmmph.He’sdisgusting.
His neck and arm inked up.And what were thoseteardrops on his face for.Ugh! Then top it off with amouthfullofgold.Andthereyouhaveit.Ratchet.Histeethare probably all rotted outbehindallthatmetal.”“Ohmygod, stop!” I bite
the inside of my lip to keepfromlaughing.“No. You need to stop
being so naïve. Kennedy,those kinds of boys will do
nothing but use you up, thenbreak your heart. Youremember Nyla’s cousinSheema,right?”Inod.“Well,she hooked up with somethug from Newark, and nowshe’s a druggie andpregnant.”“Adruggie?”“Yes. All she does is
smokemarijuanaallday.”“That doesn’t make her a
druggie.”“Well, itmakesherstupid;
that’s for sure. And threemonthspregnant.”“And you blame that on
herboyfriend?”“Correction. Her thug.
And,yes,Ido.Heisandwasherdemise.Nowbacktoyou.Since when you start vyingfortheattentionofthugs?”I don’t tell her that I’ve
secretly lusted for bad boyssince like forever. I’mnot inthe mood for a long, drawn-outlecturefromher.Orbeing
underherjudgmentalscrutinyforhavingadeepaffinity forthestreetlife.Ishrug.“I’mnotvyingfor
their attention. I’m simplytrying to have a little fun.You know. Do somethingdifferent.”She narrows her eyes. “So
whatisthis,somesortofteenlife crisis? You want to dosomething different, gosnowboarding. Goparagliding.Go shopping for
a pair of red hooker heels.But you don’t go riflingthrough the trash for aboyfriend.”I wave her on as she
navigates traffic, my handabsently tracing the thickleather piping of my purse.“You’resuchahater.”“I ammost certainly not,”
she says, feigning insult. “Isimplyhateseeingmydearestbestie inthemidstofmakingthemosttragicmistakeofher
life. I thought Iwasgoing tocollapse right there in themiddleofthefloorseeingthetwoofyouallcoziedup likethat.”I laugh. “Then I guess he
and those sexy lips of hiswould have been the ones toresuscitate you. It wouldserve you right for how rudeyouweretohim.”“Ewww. Not! Leave me
dead on the ground. Pleaseand thank you! I wouldn’t
want that boy’s hood cootiesanywhere near me, or mymouth.”I laugh and playfully suck
my teeth. I decide to notmention that he thought shewas stuck-up. It wouldn’tmatter to her, anyway, whathethoughtofher.Sheknowsshe’s a snob. Well, as shesays it, “I know I havesnobbishways.”Shesnorts.“Iwasnotrude.
I just wasn’t interested in
beingnice.”“Same difference, girly.
Samedifference.”
3
“I mean, like, seriously,Kennedy.What do you evensee in them hoodlums? Theyareso...”Fine.“They’reso . . .howcanI
delicately say this? They are
so...”Sexy.“Beneath you,” she says
pointedly, shooting a glanceover in my direction as shepulls around her circulardriveway.“Ohmygod, Jordan!” I
exclaim, shaking my head. Ican’t believe she thinks that.That because a guy doesn’tliveinagatedcommunity,orattend a private school, ordrive a luxury car gifted to
him by his parents (orgrandparents) that he isn’tworthyofdating,orfallinginlovewith.“Youaresooutofcontrol right now. What aclassistthingtosay.”She rollshereyes,parking
her car in front of thecobblestone walkway thatleads to her front door. “No.You’retheoneoutofcontrol,Kennedy.Practicallyreadytokiss some derelict, and inpublic no less.” She shakes
her head, turning off theengine. “Is this somekindofcrazy phase you’re goingthrough?Imean.We’vebeenbest friendsfor, like, forever,so you can tell me if it is.Because it seems to me likeyoumightbe strugglingwithsomesortofteenlifecrisisorsomething.”I sigh, opening the car
door. “Noooo, it’s not aphase.AndtheonlythingI’mstrugglingwithatthemoment
isyou.”She opens her door,
popping the trunk open.“Strugglingwithme?AllI’mdoingisstatingtheobvious.”I raise abrowather. “Oh,
really?Whatexactlyisthat?”She grabs her bags,
slamming the trunk shut.“That theonly thinganyboyfromtheghetto,hood,slums,orwhatever they’recalling itthesedayscaneverdo isuseand abuse you, Kennedy.
They’ll break your heart.Then toss you out like lastnight’strashwhiletheylieinwait for their nextunsuspecting suburbanvictim.”I frown. “Ohmygod! That
is so not true. Having myheart broken has nothing todo with someone’s socio-economic status, wherethey’re brought up, or whatrace they are. Heartbreakersand users come from all
walksoflife.”“Well, that might be true.
But they’rebeingbred in theghetto,” she saysdismissively. “Kennedy, Ican’tbelieveyou’rebeing sonaïverightnow.”“Well, that makes the two
of us,” I say defensively. “Ican’tbelieveyou’rebeing sodangbiased.”“I’m not biased. Face it,
Kennedy. Most of those so-called thug boys you’re so
fascinated with are high-school dropouts, use drugs,sell drugs, are in gangs, andinandoutofjuvy.”“That is sonot true.There
areplentywhograduatehighschool and even go off tocollege.”She laughs, shaking her
head while sliding her keyintoherdoor.“Plenty?Yeah,right. Wishful thinking. Tryplentyofprison-boundlosers.I don’t know what TBS
special you’ve beenwatching. But you need toeither change stations, orremove those rose-coloredlenses you’re lookingthrough. There are plenty ofdropouts. There are plentyhangingonstreetcorners.”I sigh. It’s time I face the
blaring truth, I think,following behind Jordan assheletsherselfintoherhousereplete with shopping bagsgalore.There’snothing I can
ever say that will make anounce of sense to her aboutmy affinity toward boys fromthehood.Sothere’snosenseinwastingmybreathtryingtoexplainit.Shedropsherbagsontothe
marble floor of her foyer. Iwalkbehindherassheheadstoward the kitchen. No oneelse’s here. Her parentsoftentimes work long hours.They are both corporateattorneys who work out of a
MadisonAvenue law firm inNew York City. Like me,Jordan is the youngest. Butinsteadofhaving threeolder,overprotective brothers, shehas three older sisters whospoilherrotten.Isoenvyherforthat.IwishIhadsisters.Imean. Having older brothersis kind of cool.But they canbe annoying. And bossy;especially when they’retryingtobemyfathers.Anyway, like my siblings
—who are all in the armedforces (my nineteen-year-oldbrother,Kent,isinhissecondyear as a cadet at the NavalAcademy; my twenty-one-year-old brother, Keith, justgraduated from West Point;andmytwenty-three-year-oldbrother, Kenneth, is acommissioned officer in theAir Force)—her sisters allliveoutontheirown.So,forthemostpart,shehasthisbiggigantic house all to herself,
to do whatever she wantslong before her parents’commute home comes to anendforthenight.“You want anything to
eat?” she asks as she’sgrabbing two bottles of Fijiwater and a large bowl ofstrawberries from the fridge.“I can heat up some chickenstripsifyouwant.”I shakemy head, reaching
for the latest issue ofSeventeenmagazine lying on
the aisle counter. “No. I’mfine.”Iflipthroughthepages.IrollmyeyeswhenIstumbleonan articleonMileyCyrusand her newest love interest.Jordan tellsme tograb somenapkins from the marbletable. I shut the magazine,grab a handful of napkins,thenfollowherupstairstoherroom.I love Jordan’s room. In
addition to having a hugeking-size bed and fifty-inch
flat-screen TV, she has amassive walk-in closet, ahugebathroomwithaJacuzzitubandseparateshowerstall,andabalcony.Mybedroomisn’tanything
tosneezeat,butit’sdefinitelynothing like hers. I’d kill tohave my own privatebathroominmyroom.I open my water, take a
few sips, then place the capback on, and set it down onthe floor beside her bed. I
kick off my shoes and flopback against the big, fluffypillows on her bed, flippingthrough the magazine I’vebeenholdinginmyhand.“So, what time is Hope
gettinghere?”She steps out of her
bathroom, completelychangedintoapairofredboyshortsandablacksportsbra.“She should have been hereby now. You know she’salmostalwaysneveron time.
Thatgirlwillprobablybelatetoherownembalming.”Ishakemyhead,laughing.
“You’restupid.”The doorbell chimes three
times as Jordan picks up herbuzzingiPhone.“Speaking of the Miss
Late,that’shernow.”She scurries out of the
room and rushes down thestairs to get the ringingdoorbell.Afewsecondslater,she returns with Hope
followingbehindher.“Ooh, you nasty heathen,”
she says pointedly as shedrops her Burberry tote onJordan’sdresser.“Iheardyouwere going to let some thugkissyourightoutintheopenatthemall.Pleasetellmeit’salllies.”She looks cute. She’s
wearing all white, a pair ofwhite capris with a whiteblousethatcrisscrossesinthefront. I glance down at her
white Marc Jacobs leatherwedgedsneakers.“Those are cute,” I say,
pointing at her feet. Myfeeble attempt to deflect thequestion. “Where’d you getthose?”“Nordstrom.”“Girl, later for them
shoes,”Jordansnorts,flickingher wrists. “They are cute,though. But that’s irrelevantatthismoment.”Hope’s eyes widen. “Says
who?”“Says me,” Jordan
counters.“Nowlet’sgetbacktoKennedyandSirKiss’EmontheLips.”I rollmyeyesather.“No.
Let’snot.”“TellHopewhat his name
is.B-U,right?”“B-U?What kind of name
isthat?”I groan. “It’s short for
Born-Universe.”Hope blinks. “Dear God.
Howexotic.”Jordan snickers. “And
original,right?”Hope rolls her eyes. “Oh,
definitely. Creativity anduniquenessatitsbest.”I suck my teeth. “Okay,
okay;enoughaboutmydayatthe mall.” I shoot my gazeover at Jordan. “How aboutwe talk about you and yourbreak-up with Howie for theumpteenthtimethismonth?”Hopegasps.“Again?What
theheckiswrongwithy’all?What, this is like break-upnumber six in the last fourweeks?”Sheshakesherhead.“Y’allneedtherapy.”Ilaugh.Jordan rolls her eyes. “We
don’t need therapy.Whatweneed is a permanent breakfromeachother.”I give her a “yeah right”
look.“No. I’m serious,” Jordan
insists.“I thinkwespendtoo
muchtimetogether.Andnowweactmore likebrother andsister than we do boyfriendandgirlfriend.”Hope shakes her head.
“Uh, no. Y’all needrelationship counseling, hun.Ihatetobethebearerofbadnews. But both of you seemto have problems withcommunicating. You doknow communication is keytoanysuccessfulrelationship,right?”
I chuckle. “Ohmygod, youarestartingtosoundlikeyourmom.”Shegiggles.“Iknow,right.
It’s getting scary. She keepssaying I’m going to end upbecomingatherapistlikeher.Butshe’swrong.I’mgoingtopracticelaw.”Jordan huffs. “I’m too
young for relationshipcounseling. That counselingstuff’s for old folks who areabouttogetdivorced.”
“Wrong,” Hope corrects.“Counseling is for anyonewith problems or issues theycan’tsolveontheirown.Andyou, girly, I don’t mean torain on your parade. Or pulltherugfromunderyourfeet.But you have some seriousrelationship issues.Mymomsays it’s not healthy forcouples to constantly keepbreaking up. She says it’s asign that there are biggerproblemsintherelationship.”
Oh, Lord! Here we go.Hope’s about to get on hersoapboxagain.Oh,goodie. Ifake a yawn. Sitting herelistening to this is enough toputmetosleep.Jordan plops down on her
bed. “Okay,LifeCoach, I’veheard enough. Next topic,please.”Hope shrugs. “Well, don’t
say I didn’t try towarn you,hun.” She pulls out heriPhoneandsnapsapictureof
the three of us, then posts itonherInstagrampage.“Hey,y’all want to go shopping inthecitytomorrow,thencatchamovie?”“Soundslikeaplantome,”
Jordan says enthusiastically.“Then we can go uptown tomy favorite bakery so I canbuy a dozen of my favoriteredvelvetcupcakes.”“Ohmygod!” Hope
exclaims. “You and thatbakery.”
“Sorry. I can’t go,” I say,bitingintoastrawberry.Juicesquirtsfrommymouth.Ilickmy lips. “I have to worktomorrow.”“Well, what time do you
get off?” I tell her seveno’clock.“Intheevening?”“Uh,yeah.Igoinatone.”Hope sighs. “Andwhy are
you working again? It’s notlike your parents have fallenonhardtimes.Soit’snotlikeyou need the money. Right?
Don’t they still give you anallowance?”“Yeah, I still get my
allowance.” I tell her I likeworking. That it makes mefeelresponsibleandthatIlikeearningmyownmoney.ButIleaveoutthatthebestpartofgoing towork is that Iget toseeallthecuteboysfromthehood that I wouldn’t be ableto see otherwise if I weren’tworkinginthemall.“Oh, okay. If you say so,”
shesays,halfinterestedinmyreasoning. Aside fromvolunteeringatthehospitalasCandy Stripers on theweekends during the schoolyear, JordanandHopepreferto live off of their parents’money. And as long as theymaintainstraightA’stheycandoexactlythat.Icanaswell.Butchoosenotto.“So what’s going on with
that trampy girl at the jobwhoisalwayseyeballingyou
and rolling her eyes at youeverytimeyouwalkby?Shesoundsscary.”I roll my eyes around in
myhead.“Oh,you’retalkingabout Sasha. Psst. I don’tknow what her problem is.I’vebeennothingbutnice toher.Allshedoes isstareandtalk about me behind myback, but she says it loudenough so I can hear hertalking about me. I’ve neverdoneanythingtoher.”Ishake
myhead.“It’s likeshewantstostartsomethingwithme.”Jordan and Hope give me
sympatheticlooks.“Poor thing,” Hope says,
shaking her head. “Shesounds like she has issues.Didn’t you say, like, she’srealghettoandtrashy.”“Yeah.Sheis.”“Ugh. And she talks that
stupid, annoying Ebonics,too,” Jordan chimes in.“Now, that’s who needs
counseling.”Hope shudders. “Ugh.
That’ssonotcute.”“Yeah.Tellmeaboutit,”I
say,glancingatmywatch.Jordan reaches over and
grabsmyhand.“Maybeshe’sjustjealousofyou.”I groan. “I don’t know
what that girl’s problem is.She has no reason to bejealous of me. She’s reallypretty. And has a really niceshape.And a lot of the guys
whocomeintoorderseemtoalways either know her orwanttogettoknowher.SoIdon’t think it’s that. All Iknow is, I try to be nice toher, most times. But, she’salwayssonasty.SonowItryto avoid having anyinteraction with her as muchasIcanhelpit.”Hope gives me a pitiful
look.“WellIdon’tknowwhyyou’reworkingthereanyway.Being around those bad
elements isn’t good for you.All those low-budget hoodroaches.” She shakes,feigningachill.“Whatifyoucatch something from one ofthem,thenwhat?You’llhaveto be quarantined for thewholesummer.”Irollmyeyes.“Ohmygod,
Hope!Stop!”She shrugs. “You never
know.”Jordansays,“Anyway,you
be careful. That ghetto girl
sounds like major trouble.”She reaches for her buzzingphone. She raises her browsand huffs when she seeswho’s calling her. “Shesounds like she’s cuckoo-crazy.”“O-M-G!” Hope exclaims,
looking from Jordan to me.“You think she might bedangerous? You know themghettogirlsarealwaysgettingarrested for fighting andstabbing each other.” Her
browneyeswidenwithalarm.I smirk. Hope can be so
over-the-top with hertheatrics. She’s moremelodramatic than Jordan. “Iseriously doubt she’sdangerous,” I protest. “Orthatkindofcrazy.Ijustthinkshe’sanangrygirl.”Hope purses her lips.
“Well, angry or not. I thinkyou should report her tomanagement the next timeshe says something to you.
And get yourself a securityteam and a can of Mace incase she calls for backupfromherghettofriends.”I shake my head. “Let’s
hope it never has to come tothat.”
4
“Sohowwasyourdaywiththegirls?”mymomwants toknow, leaning up against thedoorframe of my bedroom.Shewatchesme as I removemy purchases from Forever21 and Uniqlo from the
shoppingbagsandhangtheminmycloset.It’s a little after seven
o’clockintheevening.“Itwasokay.”“I see you bought some
really cute things,” she says,eying my purchases. “Howmuchdidyouspend?”Ishrug.Tellhernotmuch,
like three hundred dollars.She asks for her Amex cardback. Iwalk over tomy bagand pull it from my wallet,
handingittoher.“Nowthatsummerishere,
you should probably gothrough some of the clothesand shoes you haven’t wornin awhile and put them in apile so that I can take themdown to theSalvationArmy,along with some of all yourbrothers’things.”“I will. I need to make
room for all of thenew stuffI’ll be getting over the nextfew weeks anyway. Daddy
promised me a shoppingspree if I got all A’s on myfinals.”Shechuckles.“Yourfather
knew that wouldn’t be achallenge for you. He wasgoing to buy you whateveryouwanted,regardless.”I stick my head out from
myclosetandsmile.“Yeah,Iknow.You,too.”“Shameful, I’ll admit.
We’ve spoiled you rotten,”she says playfully. She steps
into my room. “You’re ouronly daughter. You’ve nevergivenus anyproblems, soofcourse we’ll give youwhatever you want.” I grin,stepping out of my closet.“Within reason,” she quicklyadds.“Well, just begrateful I’m
not like Jordan and Hope,who want S-series Benzesand expensive trinkets fromTiffanyandCompany.”She chuckles. “Yeah, I
guess you’ve got a point.Those two are going to runtheirparentscrazy.”Ilaugh.“Your father wants you
andmetoflyovertoDubaitospend the month of Augustwith him. Won’t that beexciting?”Daddy works in
intelligence as a NationalSecurityofficerandhasbeenworkingoverinDubaiforthelasteightmonths.Beforethat,
heworkedinAfghanistanforeighteen months. Althoughover the last two years he’sspentmoretimeintheMiddleEast than home, he usuallycomeshomefortheholidays,and typically stays fromanywhere from twoweeks toamonth,depending.Last summer—before I
wasinterestedinhavingalifeofmyown—Daddymetmomand me in Morocco, wherewe spent three weeks
vacationing in Casablanca.That was a lot of fun:learning about Moroccanculture, sailing theMediterranean Sea, evenhiking the Moroccanmountains was quiteinteresting. Still, during theday,itwasviciouslyhotandIthought I would die in thesizzlingheat.But this summer I have
plans that do not includetravel abroad or being
scorchedunderablazingsun.I love Daddy, but I’d ratherwait until he comes home tospend time with him thangive up practically a wholechunk of what couldpotentially be one of thegreatestsummersofmylife...ever!Istareather.Isshekidding
me? I can’t spend a wholemonth away. Stuck up underherandDaddy.Whatkindoffunisthat?
“Mom,” I whine. “I can’tgo to Dubai for a wholemonth. What about work? Ican’t leave them short-handed.”“I’msure they’llmanage,”
she says indifferently.“Besides,you’llbequittingaweekor sobefore the schoolyearstartsanyway,right?”I blink. Tell her that I
hadn’t planned on it. That Ihad hoped to stay on duringtheschoolyearandwork the
weekends. She smiles at me.“Sweetheart, I think that’sgreat you want to work andgainasenseofindependence,but we already agreed thatyou’d only work for thesummer.Theonly thingyourfather and I want you toconcentrate on is yourstudies;that’sit.”Ipokemylipout.“Iknow.
But I can do both. It’s notgoing to interfere with mygrades.Ipromise.Ireallylike
it there.” Umm, no, what Ireallywanttosayis,“Ireallylike seeing all the sexy boyswho come through the mallwiththeirpantssagging.”“We’ll see,” she says
brusquely. Code for end ofdiscussion. I take the hint,moving about my bedroom.“You know I ran into CraigandhismotheratShortHillsmall this afternoon.” Shegaugesmy reaction. There isnone. “He asked about you.
Andhismothertoldmetotellyouhello.”“Oh. That’s nice,” I say
nonchalantly.I’mstillkindofputoffthatsheexpectsmetostop working and wants towhiskme off to some desertcountry in the blazing heat.Anything to try and ruin mysummerplans.Sowhatifshedoesn’t know about them?That’s the whole point. Forhernottoknow.Iwalkbackintomycloset.
“Next time you see Mrs.Johnston,tellherIsaidhi.”“You should call her. I
knowshe’dlovetohearfromyou.”Craig Johnston is my
mother’s idea of the perfectguy forme.Andyes,hewasone of my parent-approvedboyfriendslastyear.Thingis,heisareally,reallyniceguy.And he’s cute, too. But Ididn’t like him like that. Imean.Itriedtolikehim.But,
after our first kiss and thereweren’t any fireworks goingoffinmyheadafterhepulledback, I knew he wasn’t theone for me. Still wetalked/dated for almost threemonths after that, mostlybecause he was fun to bearound and I really did likehiscompany.I just didn’t likehim for a
boyfriend.Stilldon’t.“He’s such a fine young
man,”mymomcontinues. “Ican’t get over how tall he’sgotten since the last time Isawhim.”“I bet.” I close my closet
door, then walk over to mybedandplopdownonit.“I always wondered
whateverhappenedtothetwoofyou.Icantellhestilllikesyou,Kennedy.”I roll my eyes up in my
head. “There’s not much totell.Itdidn’tworkout,Mom.
It’snottheendoftheworld.”Shesitsontheedgeofmy
bed.“Iknow,sweetheart.I’mnotsayingitis.It’sjustthat...Ican tellhe really likedyou.Hestilldoes.”“I liked him, too, Mom.
Justnotlikethat.”“Well, what was wrong
withhim?”Umm,let’ssee.Honorstudent,check.Starathlete,check.Respectful,check.
Boy Scout—no, EagleScout... excuse me, check.How could I have forgotten?It was one of the things heconstantly talked about inbetween his incessant chatteraboutthedebateteamandhisvolunteer work with theSPCA.Umm,whatelse?Tall,check.Goodlooking,check.Parents loved him, check-
check.
I shrug, sighing. “He justwasn’tforme.”“He comes from such a
nice family. And he seemslikeareallygoodkid.”I shrug dismissively,
gettingupfromthebed.“I’msurehe is.Good, that is.Buteven good kids haveproblems,Mom.”She gives me a quizzical
look. Ican tell shewantsmeto elaborate, to gossip. Truthis, there’s no chinwag to tell
whenitpertainstoCraig.Yawn.Booooooring!“I’m sure he’s given his
parentsaboutasmuchtroubleas you’ve given your fatherand me. All I’m saying is,maybeyoushouldgivehimacallandinvitehimover.”I stop flitting about my
room, turn to face her. “Callhim? And invite him over?Areyouserious?WhywouldIwanttodothat?”I plop back on my bed,
scooting back then sittingIndian-style. Aside from hisdad and my dad beingfraternity brothers and mymother and hismother beingsorority sisters, Craig and Ihavenothingincommon.Wedon’t even have the sametaste in music. He likesclassical,pop,jazz,androck.Whereas I love hip-hop and(believe it or not) somecountrymusic.I decide to tell her, “I just
wasn’tthatintohim.”Shepushes.“Why?”“Mom...”Isaywearily.“What? I’m simply asking
a question. I really want toknow why the two of youdidn’tworkout.”Well, for starters, because
youanddadlikedhim.I sigh. “Mom, I see what
you’re trying to do, but itisn’tgoingtowork.”“What am I trying to do?”
sheasks,feigningconfusion.
“All I’msuggesting is thatyou giveCraig a call. That’sall.”Iguffaw. “Uh-huh.You’re
trying to play matchmakeragain.”Shereachesoverandgrabs
one of my pillows andplayfullyhitsmewithit.“I’mtryingtodonosuchthing.”I give her a “yeah right”
look.She smiles. “Well,
sweetheart, you can’t knock
me for trying. You’ve doneeverything your father and Ihaveaskedofyouduring theschool year, so there’snothing wrong with mewantingtoseeyouhavesomefun over the summer withsomeone from a good familybackground.”Oh no! I don’t think so. I
am not about to spend mysummer looking into the sillyface of some boring boy. Idon’tcarehowcuteheis.
“I’m glad youwantme tohave fun,” I say excitedly.“That’s exactly what I want.Lots and lots of summerexcitement.”“Ooh, do tell,” she says,
smiling.“Whatkindofgirlishmischief are you girlsplanning to get into thistime?”We have nothing planned.
I, on the other hand, plan toexplore the world on theothersideoftown.
Buthow?HopeandJordanareout.“Well, um,” I say,
cautiously. “I was kind ofhoping I could stay a weekwiththetwins.”Mom blinks. “Your uncle
Kent’stwins?”“Yeah,Mom.Whoelse’s?”Shelookssurprised.“Now,
why in theworldwould youwanttostayoverthere?”Ishrug.“Idon’tknow.It’d
befun.Besides,Idon’tgetto
spend a lot of time with thetwins.”“Sweetheart, I know
Shaniqua and Kaniqua areyour favorite cousins—onlyGod knows why—but youknow how your father and Ifeel about you spending toomuchtimewiththem.”I sigh. “I know, I know.
YouandDaddythinkthey’rebad influences. But that’s soutterly ridiculous. I have amindofmyown.”
“I know you do,sweetheart.It’sjustthat—”“What, they live in the
hood?Isthatit?”She frowns. “I wasn’t
goingtosaythat.”Imakea face that says, “I
don’tbelieveyou.”“There’s no supervision.
Orverylittleofitoverthere.”“Iknowtheycanbealittle
wild...”Sheraisesanarchedbrow.
“Alittle?Youthink?”
“Okay, okay. They can’tinfluencemetodoanythingIdon’t want to do,” I add. “Iwish you and Daddy wouldtrustme,justonce.”“YourfatherandIdotrust
you. We just don’t trustthem.”“Same difference. You’re
still saying you don’t trustme. Don’t you think I knowrightfromwrong?”“Ofcoursewedo.“That’s so unfair. They’re
mycousins.”“Yes.Theyare.Butthey’re
also rude, disrespectful, andout of control, just like theirmother.You can go visit fortheday.ButIdon’twantyouover there unless there’ssupervision.ThatmeansyouruncleKentmustbeoverthereand your aunt Tiny must besober.”“Ohmygod! You know
UncleKentisnotgoingtogoover there just so that I can
visitwiththetwins.”UncleKentmovedouttwo
years ago, and divorced thetwins’momlikethreemonthsagobecauseallshewantedtodowas hang out in the bars.From what I’ve overheardfrom my parents talking,Uncle Kent had had enoughofAuntTiny’sroguishways.“Then I guess you can’t
go,”Momsays triumphantly.“Besides, I don’t like thecompany Tiny keeps. Ever
since your uncle moved outshe keeps a lot of riff-raffcominginandoutofthere.”“How do you know that?
Youdon’teventalktoher.”“You’reright,Idon’t.That
still doesn’t mean I don’tknow what’s going on overthere. Tiny wouldn’t be halfbad if she stayed out of thebars and stopped all thatdrinking.”“Dang,Mom.Youmakeit
sound like she’s a drunk or
something.”She shakes her head. “I’m
not saying that. All I’msaying is, your uncle’s ex-wife isabit too liberalwhenit comes to the twins. Andshe’s a bit too loose for myliking.”Translation: She lets them
dowhatevertheywant.Well,almostwhatever.They’renotallowed to smoke in thehouse. And boys aren’tallowedtostayoverpastone
A.M.“Itellyouwhat.Whydon’t
youcallthemandinvitethemhere for a weekend. Youcouldhaveaslumberparty...”With no boys allowed
unless he’s a nerd?With notbeing allowed to hang outanywhere,exceptatthemall?No,thankyou!“Why can’t I stay over
there?”Iwhine.She gets up from the bed,
her forehead creasing withfrustration. “Kennedy, you’renot staying a week inIrvington with your cousins.Soyoumightaswell let thatcrazy little dream go. If youreally want to spend timewith them, then you caninvitethemhereforaweek.”“Well, what about for a
weekend? You or DaddycoulddropmeoffonFriday,then pick me up Sundaymorning,ifyouwant.”
“Ihave abetter idea.Howabout theycomehere for theweekend?”Iblink.“Anddowhat?”“Oh I don’t know. What
did you plan on doing if Iagreedtoletyoustaythere?”“Hangoutandchill.”Isay
this as if it’s an obviousanswer.Shesmiles.“Thenyoucan
hangoutandchillhere.”“It’snotthesame,”Iargue.
“It’sboringhere.”
She tilts her head. “Andwhy is that? Because there’llbe supervision? Because youwon’t be able to crawlyourself up in here all hoursofthedayandnight,likeyourcousinsdo?”I huff. It’s obvious this
conversation is goingnowhere. She’s not going toever let me stay any morethananhourover there.So Imightaswellletitgo.Youcanalwayssneakover
therewhilethey’reatwork.Yeah, that’s true. They’d
neverknow.Yeah, right. Aunt Tiny
wouldlovenothingmorethantohavesomethingtosmearinMom’sface.I sigh, deflated and
defeated.UntilIcandeviseaplan to get out of this castleof boredom, I’ll simply haveto grin and bear it. For now,anyway.“Never mind,” I say,
folding my arms. “Forget Ievenasked.”
5
“Next customer, please,” Iquickly say, scanning thecrowdedareatheminuteIamlogged in tomy register. It’sFridaynight.And themall isalways packed on Fridaynights, especially since the
food court is where most ofthe kids from the area hangout, along with the fact thatit’s right across from theentrance to the AMC movietheater. So it’s extra busy upin here. And my feet arekillingme.I sigh, taking the next
customer’s order, then thenext.“Uh,SpecialK, youmight
wanna help get this linemovin’ a li’l faster,” thisgirl
Sasha Green says, poppingher chewing gum as shebreezes byme. She callsmeSpecial K because “you’rereal special,” she’d said tome, smirking as she lookedmeupanddownmyfirstdayhere, after I’d held out myhand and introduced myselftoher.“Hi,I’mKennedy.”She stared at my
outstretchedhand,turninghernoseupas if Ihaddogpoopcaked up beneath my
fingernails. “And I’m notinterested.” She turned herhead, shifting her body. Herrudeness was not expected,nor was it warranted. ButafteramonthofworkinghereI realize that’swhoandwhatsheis.Rude.She tosses her hips real
hard and nasty-like to makeher booty shake and bounceas she walks. Rumor aroundhere is, shedoesn’twearanyunderwear.Yuck.Hownasty
is that? Coming to workwithout underwear on. She’sthe shift tramp. The bossy,messy, always-trying-to-be-someone’s-supervisor, whoneverhasanythingnicetosayaboutanyoneexceptherself.Sasha’s a little older than
me, like eighteen. But sheacts like she’s a grownwoman in her twenties. Andshe always has somethingsnidetosaytome.Still...Idon’tletanythingshesaysor
doesbotherme.Notreally.“Next in line, please,” I
say,tryingnottorollmyeyesat her. I hold my breath,lookingoveratanobnoxiousgroup of guys standing oneline over, all wearing whitetees, True Religions, fittedhats,andthenewLebronsontheirfeet.They’reloud,rude,and... disgustingly vulgar.Well...notallofthem.“Yo, suck on dis sac,
mofo,” the dark skinned guy
witha thicknecksaystooneof the guys with him whilegrabbing the front of hisbaggyjeans.His boys laugh at him.
“Yo, this cat right here,” thebrownskinnedguywithlong,shoulder-length dreadlockssays, shakinghis head. “Youstay tryna get someone tosuck up on sumthin’.Letmefindoutyouafreak.”“Yeah, I’m freakin’ ya
moms,son.”Hestartsrapidly
thrusting his pelvis. “Bam,bam, bam. I stays knockin’datdown.I’myanewdaddy,muhfuckka.”Helaughs.“Yeah, a’ight, yo,” Locks
says. “Don’t get ya chinchecked,fam.Idonetol’you’bout dat dumb ish, yo.” Hemushes Thick Neck on thesideofthehead,causinghimto go into a boxing stance,throwing playful jabs atLocks.Please don’t even bother
comingoverinmyline.“Next in line,” I repeat,
holdingmybreath.I’mnotinthe mood for any of thesestupidboysclowning.No,nottoday. All I want to do isfinish up the next twentyminutes of my shift stressfree. Change out of thisuniform, which smells likeFrench fries and grease, andtake a long, hot shower. Noluck, though. I take a deepbreath as the tallest of the
three steps over to myregister. He’s muscular withbronze-coloredskin. I trynottonoticehisfreshedgeup,orthe way his cornrows neatlyzigzag around his perfectlyround head, or the way histrimmedmustacheandgoateeframe his thick, full lips. Orhow perfectly straight andwhitehisteethare.I swallow. “Can I help
you?”He licks his lips, eyeing
me. His hazel gaze slowlydrops down to my name tagthen onto my breasts beforeflickering up to the menuoverhead, then back at me.The air around me heats up,causing me to feel flush.“Yeah,Kennedy,letmegetatripleWhopper,aSprite.Anda side order of you; you realsexy,Kennedy.”The way he’s said my
namealmostcausesmykneestobuckle.
Hesmirks.I quickly recover without
allowingmyselftogetcaughtup in his little flirt game.“Wouldyouliketotryoneofour mocha or caramelfrappés?”He licks his lips again.
“Nah. I’d like to try you,Kennedy...”I swallow. “Anything
else?”“Yeah, let me get ya
number.”
“I’mnotonthemenu.Andyou’reholdingupmyline.”“I’m sayin’,ma, I’d rather
be holdin’ you. But youfrontin’.”Sasha pops her hips back
over to me. All eyes are onher momentarily. And I’mglad. This guy standing infront of me is making medizzywithallofhisfineness.Sashaplantsahanduponherhip and wants to know whymy line isn’t moving. I give
her a blank stare, tell hermaybe she should help out,then go back to doing whatI’mdoing.“Willthatbeall?”Hazel Eyes glances at
Sasha, then back at me. Hegrins, sliding his hand downinto his pocket then pullingout a wad of money. “Yeah,I’mgood,fornow.ButI’dbeeven better if you’d let metake you out to dinner ’n’ amovie, then”—he licks hisbeautiful lips again—“if you
actright,wecancheckintoatelly ’n’ I can give you dabusiness.”Telly?It takes me a minute to
realizewhathe’sreferringto.Amotelroom.Ugh!I frown. “Thanks, but no
thanks,”Isay.Thick Neck laughs. “Yo,
you wildin’, fam. You gotthatli’lgirlscared.”I ring his order up. Tell
him his total. Then wait for
himtopay.Hehandsme a fifty.Then
tells me to keep the changewhen I try to hand it to himalongwith his receipt.Whenherefusesthemoney,Ilayitonthecounter.“Nextinline,please.”“She clownin’ you, yo,”
ThickNeckinstigates.“No lie, son,” Locks says,
cutting in front of ThickNeck,glancingoveratHazelEyes.“Shebad,yo.I’dliketo
beat that thing-thing up, too.But, eff her, my nig. Sheprollycan’thandlenone’adaD.Sheain’treadyforit,fam.You can look at ’er ’n’ tell.She a youngin’, yo. Youknow dem li’l girls ain’treadyfornorealwork,fam.”Iblink.Hazel eyes winks at me.
“Nah,sheagoodgirlIwannaturn bad. She ready. Ain’tyou, ma? I see it all in youreyes.”
Isuckmyteeth.“Yo,letmegettwoclassic
chicken sandwiches,” Lockscontinues nonchalantly.“Cheese and ketchup only.And a thing of onion rings.”He looksoveratThickNeckand asks himwhat hewants.“And let me get two doublestacker combos for mymanz.”“Anything else?” I ask,
irritationrisinginmytone.He eyes me. “Hold da
attitude,ma.Youtooprettytobe actin’ all stank; feel me?All I’m trynado is ordermymeal. And all my peeps wastryna do is holla at you, yo.But you wanna be all stuckup’n’shit.YouluckyIdon’tsmackyouinyafrontz.”Iblink.“Yo,dawg,chilldaeffout,
for real.”Hazel Eyes elbowshim in the side. “That ain’tcool,yo.”“Nah, eff dis stupid
beyaatch.”I frown. This is the first
timeaboyhasevercalledmetheBwordtomyface.AndIfeel like I’ve just beensucker-punchedinthegut.Before I can say anything,
HazelEyescheckshim.Tellshim he shouldn’t disrespectfemales like that. Thenpushes him out of the way.“Yo, my bad,” Hazel Eyessays apologetically. “Thatmofo ain’t always playin’
wit’afulldeckwhenheain’tonhismeds.”Iraiseabrow.He’sstaring
at me with puppy dog eyesholding his heart, feigninghurt. “But I’m sayin’, babe.You got me feelin’ somekinda way. Let me get demdigits so you canmake it uptome.”I roll my eyes. “Your
orders will be upmomentarily.” I shoo himover, making room for the
next customer. Hazel Eyeskeeps his stare onme, whileThick Neck walks off toharasstwofemalessittingatanearby table with hisflirty.ways.HazelEyeswinksat me, again, then glides thetipofhisreddishtongueoverhisbottomlip.Andforsomereason this whole encounterhas my insides shaking.“Nextinline,”Icallout.Andall I can keep thinking as Itake my next customer’s
order, trying to keep myattention on the task at handwhile slyly cutting my eyeoveratHazelEyesasheandhis two disrespectful friendsfinally walk out with theirfood is,Dang, I should havegivenhimmynumber.IfIseehimagain,Iwill.
6
SoIgotwhatIwanted.Ididsee him again. Hazel Eyes,that is. Twoweeks later, butit happened.And I gave himmyphonenumber.Rightaftermy shift, he caught mewalking through the food
court toward the escalatorsheading down to the secondlevel.“Yo, ma? Wait up,” he
called out, jogging overtoward me carrying threeMacy’s shopping bags. Helooked so good. I tried tokeep myself from smiling ashe approached me. “So,what’s good?Where you offto?”“Home,”Itoldhim.“Word? Home already?
Yo, it’s mad early, ma. Andyoutoofinetobegoin’homealone. You want somecompany?” He licked hissucculent lips. And Isuddenly felt my kneesgettingweak.My mother would have
fainted on the spot if I’dwalkedthroughthedoorwithhim in tow. “I can’t havecompanylikethat.”“Oh, a’ight. It’s all good.
Youfeellikechillin’,though?
Youcancomethrough’n’wecanchillatmyspot.”ItwasalmostnineP.M.And
as tempting as it sounded, Iwashotandtired.AndknewIwouldn’tbeable togooff tochill with him. Not unless Ilied to my parents aboutwhere Iwas going.And thatwasn’t something I’d everdone.Telling themone thingjust so I could go over tosome guy’s house,particularly one I’d onlymet
standing inmy line, orderinghisfood.Besides, I wasn’t allowed
over to any boy’s housewithout my parents havingalreadyspoken tohisparentsfirst.Anddefinitelywouldn’tbeatthistimeofnight.No.IfI were going to be allowedoverataboy’shouseithadtobe during the day, with aparent or another responsibleadult—one my parentsdeemed suitable—home to
supervise us.Andwe’d havetobesittinginanopenarea.“Ican’t.Ihavetogohome
andtakeashower.”He grinned. “Nah, you
good, babe. You can showerat my crib. I got my ownbathroominmyroom.”I blinked, shaking my
head.“Yo, come on, Blaze!”
Thick Neck yelled out,spreading his arms outholding up a bunch of
shoppingbags.“Leavedatli’lgirlalone.Wetrynarollout.”Hazel Eyes sucked his
teeth, waving him on. “Yo,relax, fam. I’ll be dere in aminute.”“Youbettergobeforethey
leaveyou,”Isaid,pullingoutmycellasitvibrated.Itwasatext from my mother tellingme she was outside waitingforme.“Nah, we good, yo. Them
ninjas ain’t goin’ nowhere.
I’mdaonewit’dakeys; feelme?Andit’smywhipsodeymove when I move. I’msayin’ though. I been sittin’out here waitin’ for you toclock out, ma. So what’sgood?You gonna letme getdemdigits?Orareyougonnakeep stylin’ like you don’twant me to have ’em whenwebothknowyoudo?”I felt myself heating from
theinsideoutjustlisteningtothe way he spoke while
watching him lick his lips inbetween each sentence. “Iwasn’t styling,” I saiddefensively. “I was at workandyouandyourgoonswerebeing loudandembarrassing.Besides,Iknowyouprobablyhave a bunch of girls’numbers in your phonealready so it’s not like nothaving mine is going to betheendoftheworldforyou.”“Nah, it’s sumthin’ light. I
ain’t even on it like dat, feel
me? I’m checkin’ for you;period,pointblank.Sowhat’sit gonna be?” He pulled outhis shinynew iPhone. “Blessa ninja wit’ dem numbers,yo.”My mother sent another
text.Withoutmuchthought,Isent her one back. Lied andtoldherIwasfinishingupmyshiftandwaspunchingoutinfivemoreminutes. I felt badforlying,butwhateverguiltyfeelings I might have had
were quickly dismissed as Iwatched Hazel Eyes type inmynumber,thencallme.“A’ght, bet. You can’t get
away now.Youmine now. Igot you on lock, Kennedy.”He smirked. “Yeah, youthought I forgot ya name,huh?AndIain’tevenhavetalookdownatyanametag.”Ilaughed.“Yeah,right.”“Yo, check it. Since you
ain’t trynachill tonight, I’maget ready to bounce. I’ll hit
youuplatertonight,a’ight?”I nodded. “Okay. If you
want.”“A’ight,bet.”Ieyedhimas
heturnedtowalkoff.“Wait. I don’t even know
yourname.”“It’sBlaze,babe.”I tilted my head. “Blaze?
Whytheycallyouthat?”He winked. “Why you
think? ’Cause I’m hot likefire’n’Igetsitinlikedat.”
“So you gonna let me getup in dat, right?” Blaze asksin between large bites of hisgrilled turkey sub fromCharley’s. We’re atBridgewaterCommonsuponthethirdlevelsittingatoneofthetableseating.We’vebeentalking on the phone for thelast three nights, and this islike...adate,Iguess.ButIhadtotellmymoma
small fib last night just so Icouldbewithhim.ItoldherI
was riding to Connecticutwith Jordanandher father topick up her sister, Amina,from Yale.Well, it wasn’t acomplete lie. Jordan and herfather are picking up hersisterfromcollegetoday.I’mjustnotridingwiththem.After three nights of
texting,Skype,andtalkingonthephone,Iwasreadytogetmysummer rolling.Sowhenhe texted me last night andsaidhewantedtospendsome
timewithme today, I had tosee him. The tricky partwastrying to figure out how Icouldgetoutofthehousefortheday.SoIlied.And now... here I sit on a
Saturday at two in theafternoon staring at this boywith greasy, oil-slicked lipsand a mouthful of food,chompingaway.I furrow my brows. Give
himaconfusedlook.“Huh?”He tilts his head. “Yo,
c’mon,ma.Don’t front.Youknow what it is, yo.” Hereaches for a napkin andwipeshismouth.“I’msayin’.We gonna hit up dis movierealquick,then.. .”Herubshis hands together. “Wegonnagobacktomyspot’n’makeitdowhatitdo.”Ittakesafewsecondsforit
to register. Get. Up. In that.Ohhhh. Get up in that. Hewants to crawl up on top ofmeandhavesex.
I roll my eyes. Disgusted.Now, wait. I’ll admit, I amboycrazy,likemostgirlsmyage. And, yes, you alreadyknow I am highly infatuatedwith guys from the hood.Okay, okay, thugs. But I’mnot fast like that. I’m still avirgin. The most I’ve everdone is kiss a boy. Okay,okay, and let him feel up onmy booty and play with myboobs a little. But that’s it.And that was with only one
guy. My ex-boyfriend JakeLester who cheated on me,like five months ago, withthis blonde-haired, blue-eyedBeckywhodidn’tmindgoingall the way with him.Anyway,who cares?Hewascornyanyway.Okay, wait. That’s not
completely true. Jake wasn’treally corny.Hewas really anice guy. And smart. Andathletic. And he was reallyhorny, like most boys. Still,
hewasn’tforme.Butwhathewas is corny for cheating onmeinsteadofjustbreakingupwithme first.Hedidn’thavetocheat.Ihatecheaters!But, whatever. He’s going
off to Morehouse in a fewweeks on a full academicscholarship to play tennis,major in journalism, andpledge Kappa like hisgrandfather, father, and histhreeolderbrothers.Goodfor
him.I’moverhim.But this boy right here.
Mmmph. I don’t know whatkind of girl he thinks I am.Buthehasmeconfused.Iamnoteasy.Therefore,Ihavenointerest in letting him oranyone else getting up inanythingoverhere.I knew this was a terrible
mistake! I should have nevercome out to meet this nastydog!
“Apologies. But I’m notthat kind of girl,” I tell him,shiftinginmyseat.“Ifsexiswhat you want, you’ve gotthewrongone.”He raises his brow. “Nah,
it’s not all about da sex.ButI’msayin’ . . .youlickin’dadome,though,right?’CauseIain’twit’wastin’mytimeonnobroadwhoain’ttrynatreata muhfuckka right. I gotneeds, yo. And I need dissnakedrained,nahmean?”
Iblink.Ihearthequestion,but I don’t answer.Not rightaway, anyway. I am toostunned, like he’d just slungsnot on me. I know lots ofgirls at my private schoolwho sleep around withdifferent boys, or who willsleep with a boy just so hecan spend time with her,thinking that’s going to gethim to like her more. That’snotme.I know I’m from the
suburbs and all, but thatdoesn’tmakemesomedizzy,dumb girl either.My parentsmay have some silly rulesthat half the timemake verylittlesensetome.ButtheonerulethatIwon’teverquestionis saving myself for thatspecial someone. Althoughthe waiting until I’m overtwenty-one and finishedwithcollegepart is debatable.Butthat’s neither here nor there,because this boy is real
specialifhethinksI’mgivingitup.“No, I don’t know what
you mean.” I set my forkdown on my tray. And waitfor his explanation. I glanceat the big-faced designerwatchonhiswrist,thenbackup at him as he chews hisfood,swallowing.“I’m sayin’ . . . I’m tryna
see what’s really good wit’you.”I’ve suddenly lost my
appetite.“Youalreadyknowwhatit
is, sodon’t front.Youstrokemine,I’mastrokeyours.”Ileanin,mindfulsothatno
one else around us can hearme. “So, let me understandthis. Are you saying that theonlyreasonwe’reouttodayisbecause you’re looking forsex?”“Nah, ma, dat’s not what
I’m sayin’.” I eye him as helifts his drink, places the
straw between his lips, thentakesthreelongsips.I tiltmy head, tuckingmy
hair behind my ears. “Thenwhatareyousaying?Becausethat’swhat it sounded like tome.”He belches. Doesn’t even
excusehimself.Ifrown.“Oh,my bad. But, I’m sayin’. Iain’t gonna front on dapanties,ma.Iwannagetupin’em’cause,yeah,youlookin’right.Soyeah,Iwannastroke
youup.But I ain’t on it likedat. Its whateva, whateva.But, I’m sayin’, youcan stillletme seewhat dem lips ’n’dat mouth is all about, nahmean.”NowI’mreadytogo.I push my chair back,
pulling out my phone. Butthen I remember I can’t callanyone. I’m supposed to bewith Jordan and her dad andquickly toss it back into mybag.Now,I’mstuckwiththis
boy. And I’m annoyed atmyselfforlyingtomymotherjust so I could spend timewithhim.Inarrowmyeyes.“Listen,
Blaze. I don’t know whatimpression I gave you, orwhat you think you knowabout me. And I definitelydon’t know how other girlsare when they’re with you.ButI’mnotawhore.AndI’mdefinitely not playing headnurse to you or anyone else.
So if that’s what you’rehoping for, thenyou’re sadlymistaken and you havedefinitely wasted your time,andyourmoney.”I dig down inmy bag and
pull out my wallet. I snatchout a twenty, tossing it athim,thenstandup.He starts grinning. “Yo,
whyyoutrippin’?What’sdisfor?”“I’m not tripping. It’s for
your timeand formyhalfof
lunch, plus the tip.” I slingmybagupovermy shoulderpreparedtowalkoff.“Yo, hol’ up. Where you
goin’?”“Tofindmeawayhome.”He quickly stands and
reaches for me. “Nah, nah.Chill,ma.Youain’tgottarollout likedat. Iwasonlyeffenwit’you.”Ifoldmyarms,givinghim
a“yeahright”look.He puts his hands up in
mock surrender. “You gon’break my heart, yo, if youbounce.” He picks up themoney, handing it to me.“Yo, take dis back. I don’tneedyapaper,yo.”Istareathishand.“C’mon, relax. Real spit,
I’m not on it like dat. I wasonlytestin’you.Here,takeyamoney, ma. I don’t need yapaper.Igotdis.”Iraisemybrow.“I’msayin’.Idigyou.”
I tsk him. “Boy, please. Itseems like you’re morefocused on trying to digsomething else instead. So ifyou are, then we need toleavenow.”“Nah, we good, babe. I
mean. Yeah, I wanna get upindat.Iain’tgonnafront.I’mtryna cuddle up ’n’ boo youup. But I’m not gonna pressyou for da panties. I respecthowyougetdown.”I know just seconds ago I
wasreadytoboltforthedoor,but now I suddenly have achange of heart. I keep fromsmiling at the thought ofcuddling up with him. Eventhough I know he’s ahorndog, there’s stillsomething about him I like.Still, I let him know, again,that I am not easy. And thatI’mnotgoingtoallowhimtotreatmelikeIam.Heapologizes.Givesmea
sad puppy-dog face. “I got
you.My bad, a’ight. Let memakeituptoyou.”“How?”He grins. “I’ll figure
sumthin’out,a’ight?”I shrug, reluctantly pulling
out my chair and taking aseat.“Well,let’sseeifwecangetthroughthemoviefirst.He grins. “Oh, we will.
Believe dat.” He lifts hisdrink, taking long deep pullsas he glances at his watch.“C’mon,let’sroll.”
7
Themoviewasgood.HazelEyes was a gentlemanthroughmost of themovie. Imean,yes.Hedidputhisarmaroundme.And a few timeshis hand did accidentallywanderalittletoohighupon
mythigh.Butotherthanthat,Ireallyenjoyedmyself.It’salittleaftersixo’clock
in the evening and now weareheadingbacktohisplace.I’m nervous. And, okay, Iknow I shouldn’t be goingover tohishouse.ButIwantto.Truth is, I’mnot ready togo home. Well, I can’t gohome...notyet.IsentJordanatexttoseeif
she and her dad were backfrom Connecticut. They’re
not.Sothat’sthat.During therideover tohis
place,AugustAlsina’sCD isplaying.August issosexy tome. And I love his voice. Iclose my eyes, bobbing myhead as “I Luv This Shit”starts playing. In my head,August is singing to me. Isnapmyfingerstothebeat.Blaze laughs. “Yo, what
youknowaboutdis?”I open my eyes and look
overathim.“What,youthink
I don’t listen to this kind ofmusic? I love August. Andhis music is dope. I’m notgonna lie. At first, when Ifirst heard this song on theradio,I thoughthewasChrisBrownsinging.”“Yeah, he do sound kinda
like Chris Breezy. Dude isdefdoin’histhing.ButIain’ttryna talk about him.” Heturns the volume down.“What’sgoodwit’you?Yousureyouwannachill?”
Inod.“Yeah.I’msure.”“Soyougonnaletmepush
dem panties to da side?” Hegrins, moving his eyebrowsup and down. I give him theevileyeandhelaughs.“Chill,chill. I’m only effen wit’you.”Irollmyeyes,suckingmy
teeth. “Yeah, right. Pleasedon’t have meMace you.” Ishift my body in my seat,folding my arms across mychest.
“Yo, real spit, ma. I gotyou. Trust. You in goodhands.”I give him a “yeah right”
look.“Wordisbond.Igotyou.”“Yeah, we’ll see,” I
mumble, reaching over andturning up the volume to theradio.Future’ssong“Honest”isplaying. I leanback inmyseat,bouncingmyheadtothebeat, pretending like I knowwhat the heck he’s sing-
rapping. Truth is, I don’tunderstand his countrygrammar, but I like the beat.I’mjustbeinghonest.Whenwefinallypullupin
front of a yellow house withgreen shutters and a big baywindow on a quiet street, Ilook over at Hazel Eyes,confused.“Ithoughtweweregoingtoyourplace.”He looks over at me,
shuttingoff theengine.“Thisis my spot.” He frowns.
“What, you think e’eryonewholivesindahoodislivin’indaprojectsorsumthin’?”Busted.Iwon’tlie.Ididkindof think,expect,
thatmaybehedid.SuddenlyIfeel guilty for thinking likethat.ButthenIknowit’spartoutof ignoranceandpartoutoffascinationthatIhopedhedidliveintheprojects.I look over at him
sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure;
that’sall.”“Yeah, a’ight. And just so
youknow.Mymomsisn’tondrugs. My crib isn’t dirty.And I don’t have roaches.And we ain’t on sectioneight.” He opens his door.“C’mon.Let’sgoin.”I immediately feel asinine
forthinking—okay,hoping—he did. I unfasten my seatbelt, then open the door andslowly ease myself out,shuttingitbehindme.
He walks over and takesmy hand. Surprisingly, Idon’tpullaway.Itfeelsgood,myhandinhis.“You smoke?” he asks,
grabbing a shoebox fromoutofhiscloset,thenpullingouta plastic baggie stuffed withwhat looks like oregano.ButIknowbetter. It’smarijuana.We’re up in his room. Hisroom is small but nice. Hehas a full-size bed that’s
actually made up. The wallsarepaintedlightblue.Andhehas large framed posters ofbasketballplayersonthem.Agigantic picture of a half-naked girl with an enormousbutt is hanging over his bed.She looksSpanish.There’s astereosystemuponadresserandahugeflat-screenTVupon his wall. His closet ispacked with clothes. Andalong the rightwall thereareboxes of sneakers neatly
stackedup.He shuts his closet door,
then comes and sits on theside of the bed, next to hisnightstand. I stare at hisprofile and it’s reallyhard tothink straight, let alone talk.His skin is smoothandclear,the kind of skin girls at myschool pay hundreds, maybeeven thousands, of dollars inskincare products and spasfor.I shake my head. I’ve
neversmokedanythinginmylife. And, although I’ve hadfleeting thoughts of curiosityas to what it’d be like, I’mnot sure if I’m ready to findout. I tell himno as he pullsout a cigar. He glances overat me, his lips curl into acrookedgrin.“Yeah,youoneofdemgoodgirls.Ilikedat.”Fascination dances in my
eyes as I watch him sliceopen a cigar, remove thetobacco, then pack it with
marijuana. I eye him withexcitement as he places itbetweenhislipsandslideshistongue over it, just so. Thenhe takes it between histhumbs, index fingers andmiddle fingers and slowlyrollsittoperfection.“So why do you like the
fact that I’m a good girl?” Ifinally ask, pulling my gazeaway from the thick bluntBlaze places on thenightstand before he starts
slicing open another cigar,then packing it withmarijuana.“Becauseyouain’tallhard
’n’ gutter like a lotta thesebirds cluckin’ ’round here.You got ya head on straight.Andyouain’tgotnorepindastreets. You def wifeymaterial.”“Iam?Whyyousaythat?”“WhyIsaywhat?”“That I’m wifey material.
Whatdoesthatmean?”
His lighter flicks, and theair around me immediatelyfills with the strong scent ofweed.Iblinkandswallowashe takes deep, long pulls.Aside from seeing it inmoviesandvideos,thisisthefirst time I’ve actually seenanyone actually roll a blunt,let alone smoke it, live anddirect. I can’t lie. I findmyself becoming enchantedwith how the thick smokerolls around his tongue then
floatsoutofhismouthandupthroughhisnose.The more he smokes, the
more odorous his roombecomes. Scary thing is, I’mnot even bothered by thepungentsmell.“It means what it means.”
He exhales a mouthful ofsmoke, getting up, holdinghissaggingpantsupwithonehand as hewalks over to thewindow and opens it. Hisblunt dangles from his lips.
“Youagoodgirl.”“But what if I don’t want
tobethat,agoodgirl?”He comes back over and
sits beside me, then leansbackonhisforearm.Hetakesanother pull from the blunt.“You ain’t ready for dat life,ma.”He blows smoke inmyface. I cougha little.Andhelaughs.“Youdrink?”Ishakemyhead.“You puttin’ in dat neck
work?” I blink. He looks
down at his lap. “Don’t actlikeyoudon’tknowwhatI’mtalkin’ ’bout. Givin’ up datdome.Head.”I frown. I thought we
already went through this.Thought I alreadyputhim inhis place. Boys. They onlyhearwhattheywanttohear.Ishakemyhead.“I know what you meant.
No,I’mnotdoingthat.”I refrain from telling him
howgrossI thinkoralsexis.
Still,Isometimesfindmyselfwondering why girls enjoydoingitandwhyeveryboyIknowgoescrazyoverit.ThefirsttimeIheardthetermoralsex used Iwas like eleven. Iwas on the school bus enroute home when this whitegirl in back of me, KatieLivingston, started talkingabout how she performed iton her brother’s friend intheir garage. Hewas in highschool.Ninthgrade.Wewere
in sixth grade. I rememberhow Katie described thewhite stuff that filled hermouth and how he hadwantedhertoswallowit.Icouldn’twaittogethome
to ask my mother all aboutwhatI’dheard.WhenIaskedher what oral sex was, sheexplained what it was, thenadded,“Itisn’tladylike.Fast,nasty girls are the only onesoutthereputtingtheirmouthsonaboy’spenis.”
WhenIaskedherwhatthewhite stuff was Katie wastalking about, she said,“Make sure you don’t everdrink or eat anything fromthat little nasty girl. It’ssemen. And swallowing itwill give you throat cancerand make your tonsils fallout.”Ibelievedher.The ideaof
getting cancer or having mytonsils fall out scared me todeath. And even though I
knowbetternow,Istill thinkputtingmymouthonaboy’sthing is gross. And it’sdefinitely something I’m notinterestedineverdoing.“And you ain’t lettin’
anyone smash so dat makesyounun-like.Youpure.”“Ohmygod! Is that your
nice way of calling mecorny?”He laughs again. “Nah,
nah. You a good girl, that’sall. Don’t let anyone change
dat. On some real ish, yainnocenceismadsexy,yo.”I smile. He reaches down
into his nightstand drawerand pulls out a bottle ofHennessey and two plasticcups.“Youwantsome?”Ishakemyhead.Helaughs
again, opening the bottle,thenfillinghiscuphalfway.“What’s so funny?” I ask,
feeling myself becomingslightlyannoyed.I’mnotsureifhe’slaughingatmeornot.
AllIknowisIdon’tlikeit.He smirks. “Like I said,
youagoodgirl.”Feeling curious about the
drink, almost dared if youwill—even if it’s only myimagination—I reach forBlaze’s cup and take onesmall sip. As soon as it hitsmy tongue, my face twistsinto a grimace and my eyeswater. Just the small drop ofbrown liquid sends a trail offiredownmy throat and into
my belly. For a moment, IthinkI’mgoingtodie.Blaze laughs. “See. You
ain’tready.”I roll my watering eyes,
determinednottobedeterredfrom taking another sip. Iplace the cup up to my lipsagain, and this time I take abiggersip.Iswallow.Andthewet heat instantly sweepsthroughmybody,causingmeto feel an unexpected tingleall over that rushes to my
head.IhandBlazebackhiscup.
He grins, then takes a largegulpofhisdrink.Hetakesthebottleandpourshimselfsomemore.“Are you sure you should
be drinking?” I ask him,trying to maintain mycomposure. Trying not to letthe simmering heat andpleasurecoursingthroughmyveinsovercomeme.“Imean,you still need to take me
home.”“Oh, I’m good. I got you.
I’m not tryna get twisted,babe. I drink and driveresponsibly.”He drinks and drives
responsibly?Ifrown.Howinthe heck is that beingresponsible?He isn’t twenty-one, so I guess he failed toget the memo on underagedrinking. I decide againstreminding him of thatimportantdetail.
“I’m sure you do. I justwould like you to be evenmore responsible before youget behind thewheel. Iwantto get home in one piece.” Iglance at my watch. It’sseven fifteen. I reach formybuzzing phone. It’s a textfrom my mother wanting toknow how things are goingandaroundwhat timeI thinkwe’llbehome.I text her back. Tell her
what Jordan told me. WE
SHLDBHOMEBY 10.WE’RESTOPPING TO GETSOMETHINGTOEATOk, sweetheart. See you
then.Besafe&enjoyI swallow, slipping my
phone down into my frontpocket.“Yo, you pretty,” Blaze
says, reaching over andstrokingmycheek.“Youmadsexy,youknowthat?”I blush, shrugging. “Not
really.Imean.IknowI’mnot
butt-ugly.”Hechuckles.“Nah,youdef
notdat.Youprettyindaface,smallindawaist’n’demhipsmad thick, yo. I’m feelin’you,realspit,ma.”My nerves start to get the
bestofme. I start to second-guessmyselfforcomingoverhere, thinking maybe I’vemade a mistake. But then alittle voice in my head tellsmetorelax.Remindsmethatit’s the summer. School is
out.Tohavealittlefun.Andthat’swhatIwanttodo.I take a deep breath.
“Umm, I like you, too.” Ithink.“That’swassup.”Hestands
up and removes his shirt.Then his wife-beater comesoff. I look away. “Yougood?” he wants to know,trying to hold his saggingpantsupwithonehandwhileholding his blunt up to hislipswiththeother.
Inodmyhead.“Yeah,I’mgood.” The words come outsoundingmeek.Unbelieving.But I am. Strangely, I amenjoying myself. There’ssomething about him l reallylike. And I want to knowmoreabouthim.ButIamscared.He pulls the blinds down,
dimming the light in theroom. Then turns on hisstereo. Trey Songz startspouring out of his speakers
reallowandsexy.NextthingIknowwearekissing.HazelEyeshasalongtongue.Icansmell and taste the mix ofalcohol and weed on hisbreath and tongue. My headstarts to spin. And I don’tknow if it’s fromhiskiss,orfrom the sip of his drink.Orif it’s from the faint scent ofhis cologne tickling mysenses,orfromhiswanderinghands that seem tobeslowlymelting everything inside of
me.He’sagood—no,great—kisser.His body is hot against
mine,causingadeepburningwave of heat to coursethroughme.AllIknowis,allof this deep kissing is goingto lead somewhere waybeyond our parted lips anddancingtonguesifIdon’tgetaholdofmysensesandmovehis hands from up under myshirt,fromoffmybreasts.Thisisn’tthefirsttimeI’m
kissingaguy.Anditisn’tthefirst time anyone’s touchedmy breasts, but it is the firsttime I feel like I’m riding awaterslide.I’mwet,likeawaterfall.
8
“Ohmygod, Kennedy!”Hope exclaims, covering hermouth in shock. Hereyebrows shoot up. “Youlittle tramp! I can’t believeyouliedtoyourmother,thenwent to thatboy’shouse and
madeoutwithhim.”“Iwenttothemoviesfirst,
beforemakingoutwithhim,”Isayjokingly.“Well,howwasit?”“What,themovie?”“No, silly.” She playfully
swatsahandatme.“Makingoutwithhim?”“See, if I tell you, Imight
have to kill you,” I say,laughing.She rolls her eyes. “Okay,
then.Belikethat.Selfish.”
Ilaugh.I close my eyes, reliving
the whole night. How hekissed me on my neck.Dipped his tongue into mymouth.AndhowIhad to tryto keep up with him, losingmybreathinhiswarmkisses.“Dag,itwaslikethat?”she
asks,laughing.Inod.“Itwasheaven.”She shakes her head. “I
can’tbelieveyou.”I feign ignorance. “What?
Whatcan’tyoubelieve?”“This new you; sneaking
overtosomeboy’shouseandlying toyourmother. Ineverknewyouhaditinyou.”“It’s not that serious. It’s
not like I went out andcommitted a crime orsomething.All I did ismakeoutwithaboy.”“Yeah. A boy who you
know your parents woulddisapprove of if they everfoundout.”
I grin. “And that’s whatmakes it so much moreexciting. Knowing myparentswouldhaveafit.”She shakes her head. “I
don’tknow,Kennedy.Seemsso not worth all the troubleyou could get in if you evergot caught. I mean, lying toyourmom.That’ssonotcool.What if she found out youwerelyingtoher?”I shrug. “She won’t.” She
wants to know if I’ve lied
beforetomymominordertosneakoffwithaboy.Itellherno. Tell her that I’ve neverhadanyreasontobecauseI’dalways done what is expetedofmebymyparents.“Sowhythechangenow?”“Idon’tknow.It’snotlike
Iintentionallysetouttolietoher. I was on the phonetalking to him and he wastalking all low and sexy,telling me how much hewantedtohangoutwithme.I
gotcaughtupinthemoment.Anyway,Iwantedtoseehim,too.”“You know, Kennedy.
Nothing good is going tocome out of you beingdeceitful. One day it’s allgoing to come out, thenwhat?”I look at her, confused.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Shegivesmeafunnylook.
“Why do you like boys likethat?”
“Likewhat?”She huffs. “You know,
ruffians.Thugs.”“I don’t know. They’re
interestingandexciting.”“They’re nothing but
trouble.”Ifurrowmybrows.“That’s
sonot true,Hope.All that isis a negative stereotype. Allguyswhowearsaggingpantsand from urban areas aren’tbad news. A lot of them aresimplymisunderstood.”
She rolls her eyes,wavingmeon.“Oh,please,Kennedy.All they do is run arounddrinking and smoking andhaving wild, nasty sex andgetting a bunch of girlspregnant and spreadingarounddiseases.”I blink. “Ohmygod, Hope!
You have got to be kiddingme.Ican’tbelievewhat’sjustcomeoutofyourmouth.Youcannotpossiblybelievewhatyou’vesaid.”
She makes a face. “Well,it’strue.Sobeforeyougetonyour soapbox, spare me thesong and dance about theplight andmisfortunes of theboys in the hood. Theirapathy and disregard for theworldaroundthemisnothingbut anexcuse for them togoout and sell drugs and teardown their communities,killing and robbing eachother, instead of staying inschool, getting an education,
anddoingsomethingpositiveand constructive with theirlives.”“It’s not always that cut
and dried,” I say, feeling aheadache pushing its way tothecenterofmyforehead.She snorts. “I don’t see
whyit’snot.Youeitherwantto do right, or youdon’t.Noone forces them to do whatthey do. It’s a choice. Sowhatever negative light isbeing shone on them is by
theirowndoing.”“That’s so not fair. How
can you say that? You don’tknowwhatit’sliketowalkintheirshoes.Manywholiveinthehoodwantout.Theywantto dowhat’s right, but whentheyaren’tgiven the toolsorallowed access to resourcesthatcanhelp them, then theystart to feel hopeless andhelpless.”She sucks her teeth. “So
thatmakesitright?”
Ishakemyhead.“No.Thatmakes it real.Youknow likeI do that the system isdesigned to see people fail,especially young black men.Soyoushouldn’tbesoquicktojudge.”“Okay, so maybe I
shouldn’t judge. And maybeyou’reright.ButI’llsaythis,then I’m going to let it go.They’re all damaged if youask me. And before long, ifyou choose to keep chasing
behind boys like that, you’llendupdamaged,too.”Iamstunned,speechless.
9
“So why do they call youBlaze?”IaskHazelEyestwodays later. We’ve been onSkype for the last twentyminutes. There’s somethingabout him I like. I know, Iknow. At first I thought it
wasn’tgoingtoworkout.Butafter our movie date andspendingtimewithhimaloneat his house, he’s really notall that bad. And, besides,he’sreally,reallynicetolookat.Eye candy. Yeah, that’s
whattheycallguyswholooklikehim.He lightshis secondblunt,
taking two deep pulls thenholdingitinhislungs.“Don’t you think that
maybe you smoke toomuch?”Hecoughs.“Nah,notlikeI
usedto.Icutback.”“You cut back?” I ask,
surprised.“Really?”“Yeah. I used to burn like
nine,tenbluntsaday.”I stare at him through the
screen incredulously. “Areyouforreal?Evenduringtheschoolyear?”“No doubt. Weed helped
me concentrate better. I got
most of my A’s when I washigh, yo. Word is bond. I’dsmoke a blunt before school,then another one for lunch.Then soon as two forty-fivehit and dat bell rang, I’d beout da door sparking upwit’my boyz until itwas time totakeitdown.”“So, is that why they call
youBlaze?Becauseofallthemarijuanayousmoke?”Heshiftshiseyesfrommy
inquiring gaze. “Yeah,
sumthin’ like dat. So youwanna catch another movietomorrownight?”Ichuckle.“Hey-hey,notso
fast.Don’teventrytochangethesubject.Notuntilyoutellmewhat‘somethinglikethat’means.”Hebringshis faceclose to
his computer screen, andblowssmokeatme.“See.IfItell you, I’mahave takidnapyou.” He laughs and coughsatthesametime.
I tsk him. “Just tell me,please.”He sighs. “Yo, you really
wannaknow?”I nod. “I wouldn’t have
askedifIdidn’t.”He sighs again. “When I
was like eight I found myolderbrother’sstash...”“Oh, you have an older
brother?Howoldishe?Whatkindofstash?”Heshakeshishead.“Chill,
chill.Youwantmetotellyou
dastoryornot?”Inod.“A’ight then. My brother,
Brent, is twenty-three.Anyway, I foundhisstashofweed in a Timberland boxunder his bed. I rememberwatching him roll up andseein’ him smoke and Ithought it was cool. So disone night when he was outdoin’ him, I snuck in hisroomwit’ twoofmy friendzat da time. He had like six
blunts already rolled ’n’ready to burn so I took one’n’ lit it. Me ’n’ my boyzstarted smokin’ it like weknewwhatwewasdoin’butweain’tknowjack;feelme?”I nod. “So what
happened?”Blaze looks off for a split
second, then lands his gazeback on me. “We heardsomeone comin’ ’n’ gotspooked.Itossedalldablunts’n’ da lighter back into the
box ’n’pushed it backunderhis bed, then me ’n’ myfriendzdippedouttahisroombefore we got caught. Mymomswouldabeatme if shecaught me smokin’.” Heshakes his head. “Later datnight, Iwent tobed, then thenext thing I knowmymomsisbargin’inmyroomshakin’me ’n’ screamin’ for me togetup’causethere’safire.”I gasp. “Ohmygod! Did
yourhouseburndown?”
He shakes his head. “Nah.It was just a lotta smoke. Imean,itdidburnthroughthebox’n’mybrother’smattressgot scorched, but we ain’tlose e’erything. My momswas just happy no one gothurt ’n’ dat our crib didn’tburndowntodaground.”“Y’all were real lucky,” I
saysincerely.“True.”“Sodidtheyknowhowhis
bedcaughtfire?”
“Notatfirst.Butthendemfire marshall cats came ’n’tol’mymomswhatcausedit.She blacked on my brotherfor havin’ dat stuff in herhouse.”“Didsheputhimout?”“Nah. She just made him
give her money for dadamages. And startedchargin’himrent to livewit’us. Soon as she spun off, hestarted spazzin’ on me ’n’yoked me up for goin’ into
hisish.Heknewdaonlywayda fire coulda popped off daway itdid is if someonewasin his roommessin’ wit’ hisstash.Man,dudetriedtobeatdacrapouttame.Afterdathegot a lock on his door, thenstartedcallin’meBlaze.”“Wow.”He licks his lips. “Now,
whataboutdatmovie?”I grin. “Tell me your real
name,andit’sayes.”He shakes his head. “See,
why you gotta know all dat?It’sBlaze.”“Yeah, okay. And my
name’sTinkerbellfromOnceUponaTime.”“Hahahaha. Well, once
upon a time, there was disdude named Blaze who hadanother name. Nice to meetyou, Tinker. Now come ringmybell.”I join in his laughter.
“You’resosilly.”Although he doesn’t tell
me his real name, he doesshare with me that hismother’s a singlemom.Thathisdadwaskilledincarcrashwhen he was six. And hisbrother’s in prison for threeyearsforsellingdrugs.Ialsolearnthathe’sgoing
intohissenioryear.Andthathe plays basketball for hishigh school. That he’s theirstarpointguard.Andheplanstogoawaytocollege.I’mimpressed.
“Where do plan onattending?” I ask, genuinelyinterested.“I don’t know. NYU,
Georgetown, and Dukeuniversities want me realbad.”Oh,wow,”Isay,excitedly.
“That’sgreat!Whichonewillyouchoose?”He shrugs. “I don’t know.
Mymomwantsme togogetout of Jersey. But I ain’treally tryna leave her, feel
me?”“Yeah. But where would
you like to go if you had achoice?”He thinks for a moment
thensays,“Onsomereal,I’dlike to go to either Howard,Hampton, Fisk, or NorthCarolinaA&TUniversity.”Igivehimaquizzicallook.
“Really? Wow. Why thoseschools? I mean, I knowthey’re historically blackuniversities and all, but why
them when Georgetown,NYU,andDukealreadyhavetheir eyes on you—whywouldn’t you go to one ofthem? They’re really goodschools.”Hegivesmea funny look.
“Why not those schools?They’re just as good asGeorgetown, Duke, NYU,Princeton, Harvard, Yale, orany other prestigious IvyLeague school, feel me?Besides,they’relistedamong
Forbes’s top colleges anduniversitiestoattend.”“Forbes?”Isay.“Whatyou
knowaboutForbes?”“See,”hesays,smirking.“I
know more than you think,yo. Don’t sleep on ya futureman,yo.”I laugh. “Oh, is that what
you’regoingtobe,myman?”“Yeah.Oneday.”I raise a brow. “Oh,
really?”“Yeah.Whenyoureadyfor
me.”“Ohmygod!Youaresofull
of yourself.WhatmakesyouthinkI’mnotreadyforyou?”“Don’tworryaboutalldat.
Icantell.”Itsk.“Annnnyway,moving
on. Sounds like you have apromising future ahead ofyou.”“True indeed. Every black
boy from da hood ain’t adropout,oroutslingin’packs,yo. Yeah, I dress hood ’n’ I
talk dat talk, but I ain’t aderelict or destined for aprisoncell.”Ismileathim.“Iknownot
tojudgeabookbyitscover.”“Exactly. Most of us got
dreams,feelme?”Inod.“I bet you thought I was
just some hood nucca wit’nothin’ goin’ for himself,didn’tyou?”“No.Ididn’tthinkthat.”He laughs. “C’mon. Don’t
front.Yes,youdid.”“Honestly.Ididn’t.”Hegivesmea“yeahright”
look.“Ohmygod! I’m serious. I
really didn’t know what tothinkwhenIfirstsawyou.”“Yeah, right. You know
you thought I looked good,yo. I saw you eyein’ myswag.”I feign insult. “O-M-G! I
wasnoteyeingyourswag.”Ibust out laughing. “Okay,
okay. Maybe I was; just alittle.”“Hahaha.Yeah,that’swhat
I thought.” He pauses,moving his face up into hiscomputerscreen.“I’msayin’,though.Iwannaseeyou,yo.”Ismile.“Iwanttoseeyou,
too.”Hepulls in his bottom lip.
“A’ight then. So what’sgood?”I glance at the time in the
upper right corner of my
MacBook. It’s almost one inthemorning.Alreadywaaaaypast my curfew. “I can’t,” Isay.“Mymomwillkillme.”“Oh, a’ight, it’s cool,” he
says without even trying toconvincemetocomeout.I won’t pretend that I’m
not a little taken aback forsome reason that he isn’tpressing me to sneak out tosee him. I guess I kind ofwanted him to. So, okay,okay,I’mdisappointed.
“Well,alrightthen.IguessI’llgotosleep.”He laughs. “What, you
wantme to tell you to sneakoutta ya crib to come chillwit’me?”“No,”Ilie.Hekeeps laughing. “Yeah,
a’ight.Whateveryousay,ma.Butdon’tget it twisted,yo.Iwanna def chill wit’ youagain. But I ain’t tryna haveyou do nothin’ you don’talready do. Good girls don’t
sneakouttadeyparents’crib.Badgirlsdo.”
10
“Hey, y’all want to gocheck out that new moviewith Jennifer Hudson?”Jordanasks, tossingherTeenPeoplemagazineoveronherbed.No, I’d rather go riding
around, I think. My minddrifts back to the other nightwithHazelEyes. I snuckoutofmyhousetohangoutwithhim.Andguesswhat?Idon’teven feel bad about doing it.Apartofmeknows I shouldfeelhorriblefordoingwhatIdid, climbing out of mybedroom window like that.But I don’t. In fact, it wasdaringandexciting.Yes, I was really nervous
about getting caught, but the
risk was worth it. Not thatBlaze asked me to do it. Orexpectedmeto.Buthisgoodgirl commentmademewanttonotonlyprovetohimthatIcouldbeabadgirl,too,buttoseewhatitwasliketobreakarule.Tosneakout.AndIgotcaughtup in the
thrillofitall.It was fun. It was out of
character.Itwasspontaneous.Itwassooonotme.Iclimbedout ofmy bedroomwindow,
grabbed onto the ledge, thenshimmied my way down.ThenIwalked-ranoutsidethegatesofmydevelopmentandmet Blaze at the WaWa’sthree blocks down from mystreet. We didn’t really domuch except ride around,then park in some secludedareaandkissandmakeout.Ialmost smoked somemarijuana with him, too.Well, I wanted to. But hewouldn’tletme.
Helaughedandcoughedashe smoked. “Yo, why youcallitmarijuana?Thatsoundsmadwhite,yo.”“Well, that’s what it is,” I
said, playfully swatting hisarm. “Well, actually it’scalled cannabis because itcomes from the cannabisplant.”He smirked, blowing
smoke out of the side of hismouth. “Yeah, a’ight. Call itwhat you want, good girl.
And I’ma call it what it is:Weed.Bud.Chronic.Loud. Idon’t know nuthin’ ’bout nocannabis. All I know is, dissomegoodish,yo.”“CanI trysome?”Iasked,
surprisingmyself.He looked atme, gaveme
afunnystare.“Nah.Youain’treadyfordis,yo.Iain’ttrynacorruptyou.”Ismirk.“Whatever.”He took a few more deep
pulls, then put it out. But he
didn’t dare indulge mycuriosity. And I’m kind ofglad he didn’t. Still, I don’tlikewhenhesaysI’magoodgirl. For some reason, itsounds like being good isreallyabadthing.Anyway, next thing I
knew,Blaze’shandswereallover me. And mine were alloverhim.AndbeforeIknewit,wewereinthebackseatofhis car getting all hot andbothered. But when he went
for my panties, surprisingly,hedidn’tmakeabigdealoutofitwhenIstoppedhimfrompulling them down, orstickinghishandinthem.Wejust grinded and kissed, thenhe finally said, “I better getyou home, good girl. Beforeya parents find out youmissing.”“I’m not missing. I’m out
withyou.”“Yeah, true-true. You
knowwhatImean.”Weboth
fixedourselves,thengotbackin the front seats. He startedhis engine then drove meright back where he droppedmeoffat.“You think I’m corny,
don’tyou?”He turned to look at me,
then knitted his browstogether.“Nah,notatall.”I shifted my body toward
him. “Yeah, right,” I saidsarcastically, sucking myteeth. “Then why you keep
callingmeagoodgirl?”“Because that’s what you
are. It’s acompliment.Don’teverchange.”I frowned. “Then why
doesn’t it feel like onewhenyousayit?”Heshrugged.“Youtellme,
ma. I mean it no other way;realspit.”I eyed him unconvinced.
“So you really don’t thinkI’macornball?”He grinned. “Nah.” He
leanedoverandkissedmeonthe lips then. “I think you’remadsexy.Realsweet.”I’m not going to lie. He
made me blush. And therewassomethingaboutthewayhe stared into my eyes thatmade me excited. I mean,really, really excited. Like Iwantedtomakeoutwithhimright there in the parking lotofWaWa’s.“I really like you, yo,” he
said,kissingmeonelasttime
before I climbed out of hiscar and made my way backhome—atalmosttwothirtyinthemorning.Even thoughhewanted to drive me all theway tomyhouse, Iwouldn’tlethim.Ididn’t—anddon’t—want him or anyone else toknowwhereIlive.Evenifhedoes know that the area isreally nice. He still doesn’tknow exactly how nice. It’snot something he needs toknow.
Iclimbedbackup the sideofthehouseandslippedbackintomybedroom,breaking anailintheprocess.Butitwaswellworthit.WillIdoitagain?Ummm.Maybe not.We’ll
see. Okay, okay... probably.Butonlyif there’ssomethinggoingonthatIreallywanttobeapartof.Then,yes.IthinkIwill.Okay,okay...IknowIwill.Fingers crossed, I don’t
evergetcaught.“Ummm,nothanks,”Hope
says, pulling me from mythoughts.Ilookoveratherasshe’s shaking her head. “Shewon’tbegettingmymoney.”“Who won’t be getting
yourmoney?”Iask.Hope sighs. “Jennifer
Hudson. Weren’t youlistening?IwastellingJordanthat I’ll sit this one out. I’mnotinterestedinseeingherC-listactinginanymovie.”
“Ohmygod,Hope,that’ssonotnice,”Isay,grabbingoneofthepillowsoffthebedandplayfullyhittingherwithit.She shrugs. “Don’t getme
wrong.IlikeJenniferandall,but she really needs to stickto singing. I’d ratherput thatthirteen dollars, plus anotherfifteendollars for snacksanddrinks, toward a cute pair ofsandals.”Jordan gives a dismissive
wave.
“Well, what about you,Kennedy?Youwanttogo?”“Huh?Whataboutme?”Jordan repeats the
question. I shake my head.“No.I’llpass.”She huffs. “Well, dang.
Both of you sure know howtobepartyduds. I thought itwouldbekindoffuntoseeamovie.”“Please. I’d rather watch
Netflix,” Hope saysdismissively,“beforegoingto
seeaJenniferHudsonmovie.ShehasanOscarforChrist’ssake.Andthis is thebestshecan do?” She shakes herhead. “Tragic. Just realtragic.” She scrolls throughher phone. “But what aboutseeing that movie with IdrisAlba?He’sso...mmph.”“Ewwww. Old,” Jordan
retorts, twisting her face up.“Andthat’ssonasty!”I laugh. “Well, he’s
distinguished.”
“Anddirtold,”Jordansaysagain.“But he’s still cute for an
old guy,” Hope saysdefensively.“Oldguyscanbecute,too.”Jordan rolls her eyes.
“Yuck.Notwhen they’reoldenoughtobeyourfather.”Hope waves Jordan on,
dismissinghercomment.“Sodoy’allwanttoseethemovieornot?”Ishrug.“Iguess.”
Jordan says, “Okay, Iguess.I’mgame.Letmetextmy mother to let her knowwe’regoingtothemovies.”Not that this is my ideal
way of spending a Fridaynight.Imean,really?It’srealniceout.Now that the sun isdown, it’s not as hot andhumidout like itwas earlier.It’s like eighty degrees outnow. And I know the streetsin thehoodare jumpingwithexcitement. Maybe I’ll be
able to convince Jordan to atleast roll up all the windowsreal tight, lock all the doors,andspeedthroughthehoodtosee who’s out. Yeah, right.Not!“Yo, what’s good wit’ ya
peeps?” this brown-skinnedguy with box-braids asks.He’dreachedoutandtouchedmy hand, stopping me whenHope and Jordan and Iwalked by him at the
concessionstand.HespoketoJordan and Hope, but theyboth looked him up anddown, like he was acommoner, then told methey’d wait for me by thetheaterdoors.He’swearingapair of baggy cargo shortsthat hang off his waist,showing thewaistbandofhisAmerican Eagle underwearwith a blackwife beater. Hehas a thick chain hangingfromhisneckwithabulldog
pendant dangling from it.He’snot as tall as I like, buthe’s still acutie-pie.Hekindof reminds me of a youngerand very much shorter,stockier version of thatbasketball player DwyaneWade.“Why they actin’ all
stank?” he wants to know,eyeing Hope and Jordan asthey walk off. Well,correction . . . practicallystompoff.
Because they’re snobs. Ishrug. “Don’t mind them.They’re in love with theirboyfriends and don’t believeinspeakingtootherguys.”Ofcourse, it’s a lie. But I can’tflat-outtellhimthattheyjustturned their noses up at himbecause of the way he’sdressed. That he looks like athug.“Oh,word?Well, Iwasn’t
checkin’ for either of ’em,anyway. But, I’m sayin’, yo.
What’s good wit’ you, ma?Yougottaman?”Ishakemyhead.“No.”“Whynot?”Ishrug.“Idon’tknow.”“Youwantone?”I smile. “I don’t know.
Depends.”He licks his lips. “Well,
how ’bout you let me knowya name, love? You gotFacebook?”“It’s—”“C’mon,Kennedy,”Jordan
calls out, stomping her foot.“Dang.Themovie’sabout tostart.”Hesmirks.“Kennedy,huh?
Ilikethat.”“What’syourname?”“Oh, my bad, love. It’s
Rocky.”“Whytheycallyouthat?”He grins. “ ’Cause I go
hard, like Sylvester Stallonein them old Rocky Balboaflicks.” He starts shadowboxing. “My knuckle game
realright.”Ilaugh.“Nah.I’mdeadserious.So
anybody eff wit’ you, youcomehollaatme,a’ight?”I nod, smiling. “Okay. If
yousayso.”We chat a few seconds
more before he wants me totext himmy number. I don’thavethehearttotellhimI’mnot that interested in him.Still... I take his phone andtypeinmynumber.
Hopefully,hewon’tcall.“A’ight,bet.”Hewrapshis
arm loosely around myshoulder andwhispers inmyear as he walks me overtoward Hope and Jordan.“You real pretty, love. Iwannachillwit’you.Imightevenwannawifeyouup.”Igiggle.“IfIletyou.”Hope and Jordan are both
gaping atmewith their jawsdropped open. Jordan looksmortified. Hope looks
confused.And Iwant to laughat the
twoofthem.“I’macallyou,a’ight?”“Okay,” I say softly,
eyeinghimashewalksoff.“Dear Jesus!” Jordanhuffs
the minute he’s out ofearshot. “You’re like amagnetfortheriffraff.”Irollmyeyes.“Oh,shush.
Let’sgoin.”She doesn’t let it go. Not
that I expected her to. “I
mean, like really, Kennedy.Can’t we take you anywherewithout you picking upstrays?”“Ohmygod!” I shriek,
playfully pushing her. “Thatissomessedup.You’resuchahater.”“Yeah, you’re right,” she
saysoverhershoulderasshewalks into the darkenedtheater, “I hate to see youmaking a fool out ofyourself.”
HopepushesJordanfartherintothetheater.“Jordan,chillout. Kennedy wasn’t makingafoolofherself.Shewasjustbeingnice.That’spartofhercommunity service. Beingnice.Youknowthatboyisn’tevenhertype.”I laugh, following behind
the two of them. “You gotthat right.” He’s too short.“Thanks, Hope. At leastsomebodyknowsme.”Jordan sucks her teeth.
“Whatever. I know you, too.And I know I missed all themovie previews because ofyou.YouknowIliketocatchall the upcoming movieattractions.”Ohjoy!
11
“HeySpecialK,”theSashagirl says in a tone friendlierthan usual, walking over tome as I’m closing out myregister. I silently roll myeyes up in my head,wondering what she could
possibly want now. All thisweek,she’sbeenworkingmynerves to the point that I amstarting tonot likecoming infor work if I know she’sworking. It’s as if she wantsme to quit. And, honestly, Idon’t know how much moreof her rudeness I can take.Yesterday, I heard hermumble, “This Oreo,” whenshe walked by and saw myline was backed up. Thentoday when I almost ran
smack into her as she wascoming out of the bathroomandIwasgoingin,sheactedlike she was ready to fightme.I apologized for almost
hittingherwiththedoor.Sherolled eyes. “Why don’t youwatch da fuqq where yougoin’!”shesnapped,brushingbyme.“Stupidbish!”And now here she is
standing beside me with thisphony-like grin plastered on
her face like she’s up tosomething.“Yeah?” I say cautiously,
refusing to give her eyecontact.“Crissy wants to know if
youwantOTtonight?”“Not interested,” I say
nastily.“Oh, okay.” She doesn’t
move. I feel her eyes onme.Canpracticallyfeelherbreathonmyneck.That’showcloseshe’suponme.
Ifrown.“Anythingelse?”“Meeeeeeeeeoooooow,”
shecaterwauls.“Putdaclawsin.Noneedtowannascratchmy eyes out. I come inpeace.”Ifinallylookather,giving
her a blank stare. “Oh,really?” I snap, finallydeciding it’s time to saywhat’s been on my mind.Inside, I’m a nervous wreck,hoping like heck that shedoesn’t try to slap me or
punchmeout.ButIdon’tletmy fear stopme fromsayingwhat Ihave tosay.“That’saswitch.Seemslikeallyou’vebeen tome since I’ve startedworking here is nasty anddisrespectful. And I’ve donenothing but try to be nice toyou.”“That’s because you came
up in here with dis uppityattitude ’n’ Iwasn’t checkin’fordat.”I give her an incredulous
look. “You know what youare?Abully.”“Pop, pop. Shots fired,”
she says, steppingback. “Putda gun down, boo. No needforallda’tude.”I slam my register shut.
“No. I have every right tohaveanattitude.There’sbeenno need for you being rudeand nasty to me, but youhave. If you don’t like me,fine. But that doesn’t meanyou have the right to say
nasty things to me or aboutme under your breath whenyou don’t even know me.And quite frankly, I’ve hadabout enough of yourinsolence.”Sheblinks.“Mywhat?”Ihuff.“Yourrudeness.”She rolls her eyes and
twistsupherlips.“Ooh,lookatSpecialKtryna—”“Andstopcallingme that;
mynameisKennedy.”She smirks. “Oh, okay,
Kennedy.Iguessyouuuutoldme,huh?Lookslikeli’lMissUppity got a li’l heart afterall.”Ifrown,stormingoff.Ican
hear her laughing in back ofme, but I don’t care. Screwthat girl, I think, headingtoward the time clock topunchout.I’vehadenoughofherforoneday.Myparentshaveraisedme
totreatpeoplethewayIwantto be treated. And if I don’t
have anything nice to sayabout someone, then to keepmy mouth shut. Obviously,she hasn’t been afforded thesamemindset.I don’t need this crap!
Jordan is right. It’snot like Ineed the money. So whyshould I put up with thatgirl’s stankness. Maybe Ishouldjustquit!“Next customer, please.”
My breath immediately
catches in the back of mythroat as I look up from myregister and this dream boysteps up to the counter toplacehisorder.He’slikesix-three, at least, with deliciousdark chocolate skin andmuscles bulging everywhere.Hehasonacrispwhitewife-beater tank top that fits himoh so perfect, showing theripples in his abs. An eight-pack,Imuse,tryinglikehecknot to stare. But I can’t help
it.Ijustwanttoreachoutandtouchhim.He looks to be like
eighteen, or nineteen. He’sdefinitelygrown.All I keep thinking is,
swaggerlicious.“Hi,would you like to try
oneofourmochaorcaramelfrappés?”“Nah, I’m good,” he says,
grinning. “Let me get anumber three. Hold thelettuceandpickle.”
“Okay.Anythingelse?”“Nah,” he says, looking
overmy shoulder.He does ahead nod to whoever is inbackofme.For some reason I am not
surprised when Sasha comesout from the back and startsprancing back and forth. Heogles her every move, hiseyeslockingonherbooty.I roll my eyes up in my
head.It’s been two days since
that incidentwith her and sofarshehasn’tbeenasbrusquetowardme. In fact she spoketo me today when I firststarted my shift and walkedby, averting my eyes fromhers.She smirked. “Well, hello
toyou,too.”“Oh,hi,”Isaid,surprised.“What time you get off?”
sheasked,slidingahandoverherbangs.“Six.”
“Oh, okay.Make sure yousee me before you leave.”She walked off, sayingnothingmore.And that’s thelastthingshe’ssaidtomeallday.Now she’s convenientlystanding here at my registerwhile I’m finishing up SexyChocolate’s order, instead ofworking her station in theback.“That’ll be eight-dollars
and thirty-seven cents,” I tellhim, eyeing him gawking at
Sasha. There’s noway I cancompete with a girl whoseboobsarepracticallyburstingoutofheruniformtop.He digs into his front
pocket, pulling out a wad ofmoney and handing me atwenty.“Ooh, you fine,” she says
tohim,fullyawarethatshe’scaughthisattention.“What’s gucci, yo?” he
saystoher,grinning.What’sgucci?
“Chillin’,boo.Trynamakethesecoins.What’sgoodwit’you?”Oh,that’swhatthatmeans.He licks his lips. “Right,
right.”Ihandhimhisreceipt.Tell
himhisorderwillbeupsoon,then call for the nextcustomer.Hestepstothesideandwaits.“Hey, girl,” Sasha says.
“Youwannarollwit’metoapartydisweekend?”
I can’t believe what I amhearing.Igiveheraconfusedlook, not sure if I’ve heardherright.“Huh?”Shesnapsherfingersinmy
face. “Umm, hello? Party.Finger pop. Fine boys. Wit’me.Youdoknowhowtopopdem hips ’n’ drop it like it’shot,don’tyou?”Heck no.Well, only in the
mirror,inprivate.Alone.I don’t feel comfortable
tellingherthat.
Ohmygod! I can’t believeshe’s standing here askingme if Iwant togo toapartywithher.Me!“Um, I don’t know.When
isit?”“ThisSaturday.”I eye her curiously,
wonderingwhyshe’sinvitingme to hang out with her,whenshehasn’thadonekindthing to say to me since Istarted here. Now all of asudden she wants to party
withme.IcanhearJordan’svoicein
my head saying, “Unh-uh.Don’tdoit.Thatgirl’sratchetand crazy! It’s probably asetup,girl.Don’t.Do.It.”Girl,getoverit.Thiscould
be the start of the excitingsummer you’ve been lookingfor.I decide it really doesn’t
matter why she’s asked me.Point is, I’m ready to havesome fun. And it’s not like
anyone else is bangingdownmy door to let me in on thehappenings.SoIneedtotakewhomeverIcanget.“Okay,sure.Iguess,”Isay
tentatively.“Good. I’ll give you my
address so you can comethroughearly.”Iraiseabrow.“Why?”“Girl, have you looked in
the mirror lately? For amakeover,boo.”I swallow. “A makeover?
There’s nothing wrong withthe way I dress,” I say,offended.“Yeah, okay. That preppy
look might work where youfrom. But you can’t even betrynarolloutwit’melookin’allchurch-girl.No,wegonnahave ta put a li’l beat on yaface’n’stepyafashiongameup.”Putali’lbeatonmyface?“Youmeanmakeup?”“Yeah. Just a li’l to make
yaeyespop’n’yamouthrealjuicy.”“Oh.”“Soyoudown?”“Iguess.”“Good.”She smirks. “And
you better not flake out onme, either. Or I’ma come toworkonMonday’n’bustyouinyahead.”Ifrown.She laughs. “Girl, relax.
I’m only playing wit’ you.I’mnotworkin’tomorrowso
make sure you come see mebeforeyougetoff sowecanexchange info. I’ma ’bout tobreak you in real right,MissGoodie-Goodie. So beready.”I nod, bringing my
attentiontothenextcustomeras shewalks off. “Hi,wouldyou like to try one of ourmochaorcaramelfrappés?”
12
Saturdayafternoon,atalittleafter two P.M., I arrive atSasha’s apartment buildingafter having my mom dropmeoffat themallas if Ihadto go towork, then calling acabtobringmeoverhere.
“So, you ready for yourmakeover?” Sasha saysexcitedly. “Out with that olepreppywhite girl look ’n’ inwit’thebossladyswag.”Ishrug.“Iguess.”Sheplantsahanduponher
hip. “You guess? Girl, bye!Miss me wit’ that. Alreadytol’ you, if you gonna rollwit’me,thenyougonnaneedtostepyadressgameup,boo.’Causewhatyoustayrockin’ain’tit.”
I frown, glancing down atmy Century 21 pink cami,Adiktd Mystery jeans, andexpensive sandals. “What’swrongwithwhatIhaveon?”Sasha gives me a blank
look. Then rapidly bats herlashes. “Well, nothing, Isuppose. If you tryna go forsuburban white girl, thenyou’reasmashhit.Butifyouwannarisetothetop’n’beafly girl then I’ma need foryou to sit back ’n’ let me
workmymagic. I can’t haveyou rollin’ in the hood wit’me lookin’ all wack ’n’whatnot. Not gonna happen,honey boo-boo. If we gonnaroll then you gonna have torepresent for thebosschicks.I promise you. When I’mfinished you’ll have all thecutie-boos checkin’ for you.I’ma’bouttoturnyoufromaplain chick into bein’ a realproblem.Watch’n’see.”“Andwhat’saproblem?”I
askwithraisedeyebrows.She runsherhandsupand
down her body. “All’a this,boo. I’m problem numberone. And now I’ma ’bout tomake you problem numbertwo.Thoughtyouknew.”I blink. No offense, but
Sashadresseskindof...um,well, let’s see. What’s theright word I’m looking for?Skanky. Yeah, that’s it.Everything she wears isalways so tight. Even her
uniforms fit snugly, causingthe seams to stretch over hercurvybody.It’slikeshefeelsthe need to put on displayeverythingshe’sblessedwith.It’s like she thinks less is
sexiness.“Well, okay. I guess I can
go alongwith themakeover.But I don’t want to wearanything that screams boy-hungryhooker.”She waves me on. “Ain’t
nothing wrong wit’ showin’
off a whole lotta thigh. Justbeclassywit’it.”I take in her teensy-weeny
black boy shorts and skimpywhite off-the-shoulder see-through blouse. She’s sittingup on her dresser with herlegs gaping wide open,showing all of her goodies.I’m almost certain shedoesn’t have on any panties.Thethoughtmakesmegag.“Iguess,”Isay,shiftingon
her bed. “It all depends on
howyoudefineclassy.”“Okay,MissLady.Howdo
youdefineit?”Ishrug.“Idon’tknow.For
me, it’s about the way youcarry yourself. Being a lady.Polite. Knowing how to sitandwalkand talk.Notbeingall loud and crude. Knowinghow to act in public.Someone with impressivecharacter. Elegantly stylish.Highquality.”“Wow.”
“Wow, what?” I askinnocently. She’s looking atme as if I’ve said somethingcrazy. “Whyare you lookingatmelikethat?”“Like what?” She tilts her
head.“Likeyou’recrazy?”“Yeah.”“Because you are,” she
snaps, jumping off herdresser.Iblink,takenabackathow
quicklyshe’sflippedonme.“Howtheeffyougonnasit
up here in my face ’n’ try’ncall me ghetto, huh? Wherethey teaching that at? The’burbs? Because, honey, yougottherightone.”She starts removing her
earrings.I blink again. Shift in my
seat. “That’s not what Imeant,” I quickly say, tryingto defuse the situation. Thelast thing I want is a fightwithher.“IapologizeifIsaidsomething thatoffendedyou.
That wasn’t my intention. Ithought we were speakingfreely. You asked me todefine a word. And I gaveyoumybestdefinition.”“Tsk. Definition my ass.
Sounded like youwere trynathrowshadetome.”Shetsksme again. “You uppity hoeskillme,turnin’yanosesupatus hood chicks. Bish, beclear. Ain’t nothin’ ghetto’bout me. I’ma hood classychick.Believethat.”
Hood classy? Wow, okay.That’sanewone.“Sasha, I really apologize
ifIgaveyoutheimpressionIwas implying that youweren’t classy. I definitelywasn’t trying to disrespectyou.”“Oh, I’ma let it slide this
time, boo-boo. But the nexttime I’ma take it straight toyaface.”Iblink.She stares me down, then
cracks up laughing. “Psych!Gotcha!”Idon’tseeanythingfunny.“Girl, you shoulda seen
your face. It was priceless! Ihadyougoing.Hahahaha.”I let out a slight sigh of
relief.AlthoughIfinallyrelaxa little, in the back of mymind, I’m thinking,This girlisaloosecannon.“Yeah, you definitely got
me.” I let out a nervouschuckle. “I thoughtyouwere
gettingreadytoattackme.”She waves me on
dismissively. “Girl, please.Unless you cross me, you’llneverhavetoworryaboutmedoin’youdirty.”“Oh, you won’t have to
worry about that,” I saytruthfully. “I’d never doanythingtocrossyou.”“Then I’ll always have
yourback.”She walks over to her
closet and flings open the
mirrored door. My mouthdrops open. Her closet ispacked tight to the seamswith designer clothes, shoes,and handbags,many of themstillwithtagsonthem.Ihavea lotofclothes,but
nothing compared to this.Then again, I have awalk-incloset and all of my thingsaren’tallcrampedupintoonespace. “Wow. Your mommust really work around theclock tomake sure you have
allthisnicestuff.”“Pfft. My moms? Girl,
stop. Iwish.Thatstingybishain’t hardly comin’ up off’ano paper for me. If I wannakeepniceclothesonmyback,then I gotta get out there ’n’get it the best way I knowhow. I been doin’ me eversince.”I cringe at her calling her
own mother the B-word. Iwouldnever.Mymomwouldhave my head if I even
thought it. “Oh, wow.” Idon’t knowwhat else to say.MyparentsbuymeanythingIwantwithinreason.NotthatIeveraskformuch.Now, I’m looking at her
and kind of feeling sorry forher, understanding a little bitbetterwhyshe’s thewaysheis.Mean-spirited.Sasha keeps talking as she
pulls clothes from off therack. “Soon as I turnedsixteen that trick told me I
was grown ’n’ needed tofinance my own needs. If Iwanna eat, I gotta buy myowngroceries.”Iblink.“Andthatolegreedyheifer
wasstillgettin’EBTbenefitsformeupuntillastyear.”She sees the confusion on
myface.She lets out an annoyed
sigh. “Food stamps. Girl,keepup.”“Oh. Okay. What about
yourdad?”She screws her face up at
me. “My dad? Why youaskin’ ’bout him?What, youasocialworkernow?”Iapologizeforasking.But
then I turn around and I askherhowsheaffordsallofthisstuff on her paycheck if herparents don’t buy them forher.She bucks her eyes, then
scrunches up her face. “See.Nowyoustilldoin’toomuch.
But since you asked, I’m onthe ballers ’n’ boostersprogram.”Igiveheraconfusedlook.She sucks her teeth. “You
don’t know much ofanything, do you?” Sheshakes her head. “Yousuburban hoes got a lot tolearn. I forget y’all kindaslow.”“Not knowing what
something is doesn’t makeme slow,” I say, feeling
insultedbyher.“Yeah, okay. Whatever. I
only rock wit’ ballers whocanfinancemywears.Andifthey not tryna come up offthemdollars,thenIrollupontheboosters’n’putmyorderin. They can get whateveryou want. From the knock-offs to the official ish.” Shepulls what I’m sure shebelieves is an official LouisVuittonbag fromoffahook,holding it up. “I’m serious
’bout mine. This bag costsalmost fifteen hunnid in thestore, but, thanks to myconnect over in theBricks, Igotitforonlythreehunnid.”Although I don’t
personally carry the covetedluxury bags, my mom does.And I’ve been inside enoughLouis Vuitton stores in mylifetime to know what’s realandwhat’snot.Thispoorbagshe’s holding up, braggingabout,isn’tlegit.
“That’snice,”I lie.Idon’thave theheart to tellher thatshe’s been scammed.Bamboozled.Thenagain, it’snot my business and I don’twanttobe“doin’toomuch,”asshesaid.She tries to give it to me.
“Here,youcanrock it today,if you want. I’m goin’ toserve’emmyGuccisatchel.”I shake my head. Decline
the offer. Although it’s areallygoodreplicaofthereal
thing, I wouldn’t be caughtdead carrying it. “Oh, nothanks.Iappreciatetheoffer,though.” I point over to mylipstick (that’s the name ofcolor) Tumi crossbody bag.“Butmylittleolebagwilldojustfine.”She makes a face, tossing
the bag back into hercrammed closet. “Suityaself.” She shuts the door,then walks over to her bedand tosses an armful of
clothes onto the center of it.“Pick through these outfits’n’seewhichoneyouwannarock.I’llberightback.”She heads for the door,
leaving me wondering whatI’m getting myself into bybefriendingher.Reluctantly,Isift through the pile ofdesigner clothes on her bed.Everythingshe’spulledoutisskimpy.ButIwon’tlie.Alotof it is very nice. Still. Theidea of having all of my
business out doesn’t sit rightwithme.ButIdidsayIwantedtobe
adventurous this summer,didn’tI?Five minutes later, Sasha
comes back into the roomcarrying a bottle ofHennessey and two shotglasses. “I brought us someHen dog to get the partyjuices flowin’.” I eye her asshe pours herself the firstshot. I quickly say no thanks
whenshe’sabout topourmeaglass.She looks at me and
shrugs. “Whatever. More forme.”Shesnapsherheadbackand swallows the dark elixirin one gulp. She refills hershot glass and tosses it back.“Aaah.” She shakes hershoulders and shakes out herhands as if she’s having aseizure.“Whew!Thedevil isa lie. Henny does the bodyright. We need some music
upinhere.”Iwatch her as she scuttles
over toward her SonyBluetoothspeaker,holdingupher phone. A few secondslater, Trinidad James’s “AllGold Everything” startsplaying.“Woo-oooh!” She snaps
her fingers. “This ish rightheregoeshard.”Ishrug.She dances over to where
she’sleftthedrinksandpours
another shot, then tosses itback. “And please don’t tellmeyouwearin’somebigolenasty granny pantiesunderneath them jeans.Please, don’t. I’m goin’ tohop in the shower. Don’t begoin’ thru my ish, either,bish.” She laughs. “Let mestop effen wit’ you. I’ll bebackinasec.”She shakes her butt out of
theroom.Severalminutesgobyand
her Samsung rings over onthedresser.Shequicklystalksback into the bedroom withonly her purple thong on.“Ooh, I thought I heard myphone. It’s about time thisninjahitmeback.”Her naked breasts sway. I
quickly avert my eyes,reachingoverandpickingupthe latest issue of Ebony. Iflip through the pages,pretending to be interested.But, honestly, my mind is
starting to race about thisparty we’re going to. Likewho’s going to be there?Whattypesofguysaregoingtobethere?Stufflikethat.“Hello?Yeah...uh-uh...
whereyou...?Oh,okay...We gettin’ dressed now . . .Yeah,yeah,blah,blah,blah...Iknow...”I feign interest in some
article about the woes of themusicindustryuntilIstumbleonanarticleabouthowmost
New Yorkers don’t usecondomsduringsex.Icringe.“Ohmygod,that’ssonasty,”Imumble, readingon. It statesthat only one out of threeadults in New York used acondomthelasttimetheyhadsex. I read on, wonderingwhyanyonewouldjeopardizetheirhealthlikethat,knowingtherisksinvolved.IshakemyheadasIfinishreading.“Yeah, she’s here . . .” I
look up from the magazine,
glancingoveratSashaassheprancesaroundtheroomhalf-naked.“Yeah . . . thechickIwastellin’you’bout...hol’on...”“Here,” she says, shoving
her cell into my face. “Myboywantstohollaatyou.”I frown, staring at her
hand.“Whoishe?”“Someone who’s gonna
changeyourlife;that’swho.”I shake my head, pushing
herhandawayfromme.
“Girl, don’t play. I beentalkin’youuptohim’n’he’strynagetatyou.Soyoubetteractlikeyouknow’n’getwit’the program. I’m trynaupgradeyou,boo.”Upgrademe?“You can thank me later.
Now here.” She shoves thephone back in my face.“Hello,” I say in a lowwhisper.“Yo, wat’s good, ma?” I
hear the smoothvoiceon the
otherendofthelinesay.I’mnot going to lie. He has areallynicevoice. “I’vehearda lot ’bout you from mypeoples.”IshootalookoveratSasha
as sheheadsoutof thedoor,telling me over her shoulderthat she’s going to take hershower.“Oh,” Isay, fidgetingwith
the diamond Tiffany crossaroundmyneck.Agift frommygrandparentsgiven tome
on my thirteenth birthday.“Whoisthis?”“Malik. But cats in the
streetscallmeMoney.”“Oh,”Isayagain.Notsure
what I’m supposed to sayafterthat.“Sowhat’sgood?Yougot
aman?”Ishakemyhead.No,butI
want one. Hazel Eyes comesto mind. But I immediatelyshake any thoughts of himbeingmyboofrommyhead.
“No.”“That’s what it is. You
gonna be at my people’sparty,right?”“Yeah.”“True. I’ma holla at you
then,a’ight?”“Okay.”“True. Tell Sash I’ma get
upwit’herali’llater.”Wedisconnect.Iwalkover
and set Sasha’s phone downon her dresser, then go backthroughthepileofclothesshe
hasonherbed.ThistimeIgothrough each outfit with arenewed purpose—to lookfly.
13
“Maybe I shouldn’t haveworn this,” I say, feelinguncomfortableasIstepoutofher car and my heeled foothitsthecurb.“Ifeelnaked.”“Girl, stop. You got that
fire, boo. And you thick ’n’
curvy in all the right places.You better stop playin’ ’n’work what ya momma gaveyou.” She slaps my butt. Ijump. “Ooh,youhave anicebouncy booty, too. I don’tevenknowwhyyoubehidin’it in all them corny clothes.Show some boob crack!Show some booty crack!Ninjas are visual. They needto see what they think theymight be gettin’ even if youain’t really tryna give ’em
nothin’. They’re like dogs.You gotta know how todangleaboneinfrontof’emlong enough to get whateveritisyouwantouta’em.Thenallyougottadoisgivehimali’ltreatforhisgenerosity.”I shake my head. “Oh, I
don’t need a guy to buy methings.AllIhavetodoisaskmy parents or one of mybrothersandthey’lljustgetitforme.”She rolls her eyes. “Well,
excuuuuse me, Miss Uppity.We all don’t have Mommyand Daddy’s wit’ endlessbank.”“I’m not uppity,” I say
defensively, shutting her cardoor. “Andmy parentsworkhard.We’renotrich.”“Mmph. Whatever.
Everyonedoesn’thaveit likeyou, Miss I Get Whatever IWant. Some of us startedfrom the bottom ’n’ had toschemeourwayupontop.”
Shestops,digsinherpurseand pulls out a compactmirror. She checks herself init. Glides a coat of lipglossover her lips then blowsherself a kiss before finallysnapping her compact shutandtossingitbackdownintoherbag.“C’mon,let’sgo.”We walk up to the house.
There’s like six guys on theside of the two-story housethatlookslikeit’sseenbetter
days, shooting dice andsmoking.AndIwantnothingmore than to go over andwatch and listen and learn.ButSashaisn’ttryingtohearit.“Girl, please. Leave them
dustbustersalone.Theyain’tpushing no real paper. Youneed a baller in ya life. Notsomelightweight.”Begrudgingly, I follow
behindhertryingtomaskmydisappointment. There’s a
group of ten guys eitherstanding or sitting on theporch in wife-beaters andsagging jeans with sparklingchains dangling from theirnecks, blinged-out watcheson their wrists—a few havehuge diamonds in theirearlobes—drinking andsmoking weed. One by one,Sasha introducesme toallofthethugged-outguys.I smile, feeling like I’ve
just died and gone to thug
heaven.Theyallsay,“What’sgood
...”I eye them, taking in their
bulging muscles. Most ofthemlookas if they’vespentmostoftheirtimeinthegymliftingweights,sculptingtheirbodies.A few look like theywill shoot first and askquestionslater.Ifeelatinglysensation creep down myspine at their hoodness astheyalldrinkmeinwiththeir
wanderingeyes.“Ma, you fine,” a tall,
dark-skinned guy with half-sleeve tattoos on both of hisarms says, licking his lips.“Where you been hidin’ allmylife?”“Away from you,” Sasha
jumps in, playfully pushinghim out of the way. “Nowbackupoffmygirl.”I glance at her; surprised
she’s called me her girl. Imean,justafewweeksagoI
wascornyandIthoughtIwascute.Today, I’mupgraded togirl status. I’m notcomplaining, though. Still, Iwonderforabriefmoment ifshemeansitorifit’ssimplyafigureofspeech.Tall, Dark, and Tatted
mushes her in the head.“Sash, go ’head wit’ thatslickness, yo. ’Fore I take itto ya skull. Ain’t nobodytalkin’toyou.”Hebringshisattentiontome.“What’sgood
wit’you,ma?Whoyaman?”Iopenmymouthtospeak,
butSashacutsinbeforeIcangetawordout.“Don’t worry about all
dat,”Sashasnaps.“She gotta phatty,” I hear
someonesayinbackofme.Iglance over my shoulderstraight into the face of areddish-brown skinned guywith cornrows and juicy redlips that he licks as he gazesatmybutt.“Yo,Ineeddatin
my life; word to mother. Ineeddat.”“Slick, fall back, boo.
Malik’s already got dibs ondat.”Malik?Gotdibsonthat? I
haven’t even met him yet.What if I don’t like him? Imean,yeah.Wespokeonthephone.Andhesoundedokay.Butthatdidn’tmeanI’dwanthim to have dibs on me. Ikeepfromfrowning.Thewayshe said on that makes me
feel like I’m a piece offurnitureorsomething.Truthis,IkindalikeHazel
Eyes. And I know he likesme. I’ve only gone out withhimonce.AndIhaven’tbeenback over to his house sincethat one time. Butwe Skypealmost every night and wetext each other every day.And, okay... I snuck out toseehimonce.“Oh a’ight, a’ight. That’s
what it is.” Hewinks atme.
“Yo, you mad sexy, though.That ninja don’t treat youright,comehollaatyaboy.Igot a pet snake that wouldlove to crawlup inda sheetswit’you;yaheard?”Everyone in earshot
laughs.“Someone else says,
“Word is bond. I’d tap thatup.She’sfreshmeat,son;realfresh,justlikehowIlikeit.”I blink, hoping like heck
my nervousness and shyness
isn’ttooobvious.“Girl,c’moninthehouse,”
Sashasays,pullingmebythearm and guiding me throughthe cloud of smoke. “Don’tpaythemfoolsnomind.Theyallabunchofhornyhounds.”“Sowhere’sthisMalikguy
you’vebeenbraggingabout?”Iaskoncewe’vemadeitintothe house and through thethrongofbodiesandthickfogof weed smoke. A few girlseither shoot me the evil eye
or kind of roll their eyes atme as I pass by, but I don’treally mind. I know I’mlooking cute in my shortwhite tennis skirt and haltertop.Andmyred-painted toeslook real cute in the strappysandalsSashaletmeborrow.“Braggin’about?”shesays
with attitude. “Oh, no, boo.Never that. I don’t need tobrag,hun.Itiswhatitis.Thatmofo’sfine.Butdon’tworry,girl. He’ll be here. Trust.
Then you can see for yaself.Inthemeantime,let’sgetyouloose. You’re a li’l too tightforme.”“Iamnot.I’mloose.”She laughs. “Yeah, okay.
Not.You’re’boutaslooseasavirgininachastitybelt,butI’mabreakyouinrealright.”I shrug, not really sure
exactlywhatitisshemeans.Ilet it go over my head,followingbehindher into thekitchen. As I walk past a
group of girls, I hear somegirl say as Sasha walks by,“Yeah, there goes that grimybish. She gave my brotherchlamydia.”“Well,Loquita,that’swhat
he gets for goin’ in raw. Heshoulda strapped itupbeforehetappeditup.”“Biatch, please. What you
tryna say? That it’s his faultthat that bish is nasty? Girl,bye!Sheshouldn’tbeservin’upeffencooties.Ishouldrun
uponher’n’punchherindabackofthehead.”I blink, quickly glancing
over at them. They are bothcute girls. One is brown-skinned. She has shoulder-length hair dyed pink andgreen-colored eyes.Contacts,Imuse.Her lip ispierced,asis her nose and eyebrow. Idon’t get a real good look atthedark-skinnedgirlwiththebright red hair standing nextto her because Pink Hair
blastsme.“Trick, why you all over
here? Snap ya neck backaround ’n’ keep it movin’beforeyoufindyafaceonthefloor.”Her friend laughs, shaking
her head. “Nosy hoes, I tellyou.”I look away real quick.
Don’t say aword. Justwalk.Fast.When I walk up to where
Sashais,sheintroducesmeto
this string-bean-thingirlwithhumongousboobs.She’skindofokaylooking,Iguess.Shehas a little too much purpleeye shadow going on, butthen again . . . what do Iknow?I’mnotamakeupkindofgirl.“Kennedy, this is my girl
Shayneetha. Shay, this isKennedy.”“Hi,” I say, extending my
handouttoher.She dismisses my
outstretched hand. “That’snice.”Taken aback by her
rudeness, I quickly drop myhanddowntomyside.“Ooh, Shay-Shay, play
nice.”Sashalooksoveratme.“Girl,don’tpayhernomind.She’s shady like that wit’everyone. I’ma go grab us acoupleofdrinks.”Inodmyhead.“Okay.”Now I’m standing here
next to this girl, feeling
insecure.IcanfeelhersizingmeupandIdon’tevenknowwhy.It’snotlikeI’vedoneorsaidanythingtooffendher.Ithink Imight have heard hermumble This corny bish,under her breath, but thensome brown-skinned guywith dreads walks over andwhispers something in herear, but he’s looking over atme.She shrugs. Says
somethingback tohiminhis
ear. He grins. Then licks hislips and winks at me beforewalking off. I cringe inside,thinking thatmaybe thiswasa bad idea for me to comehere. I feel so out of place.Like I’m theweakest link orsomething. I know it’s all inmy head, but I feel likeeveryone in the room ispointing fingers over at me,laughing.I’mfeelingaloneinaroom
fullofstrangers.
Iamtemptedtorunoutthedoor.But then Sasha is backfrom wherever shedisappeared to, carrying twoplasticcupsinherhands;oneredandoneblue.Jay-Z’s“HolyGrail”starts
playing.“Girl,” thegirlShayneetha
says, cutting her eyes at me,“I’ma go find that fineSnoopy ’n’ getmypopon. Isawhimearlierpinneduponsomebubblehead.”
“Doyou,boo,”Sashasays,handingmetheredcupinherhand.“What’sthis?”She smirks. “Something to
help get your mind right.ThugPassion,boo.”“Oh, okay. Thanks.” I
reluctantly take it, lookinginside the cup. I smell it. I’dnever had it before, but Iknewwhat itwas:Amixtureof Alizé and champagne. Ialso knew it was the title of
one Tupac’s songs wherehe’d referenced the drink inhis song. I only knew thisbecause I’d read it in aVibemagazine article they’dwritten about the late, greatrapper. “Isn’t this drink kindof old school? I mean. Ididn’t think kids my agedrankthis.”“Oh, it’s all ’bout the
Ciroc,boo.ButIfiguredyouneeded you some ThugPassion in ya life since you
tryna be down. But this onehasawholelotofthugandalittlelesspassioninit.”Igiveheraconfusedlook,
not knowingwhat shemeantby that. She notices the lookonmy face. “Girl, stop trynaanalyzeeverythingIsay.Stayinthemomentanddrinkup.”She taps her cup to mine.“Here’stothatthuglife.”“Mmmm. I like the sound
of that.” I take a slow sip ofmy drink. Make a face as it
slides down the back of mythroat. I feel a slow heatcoursethroughmychest.Andby the time I’monmy third,or maybe it’s my fifth sip,I’m melting all over myselffrom the flames.By the timethe cup is empty, I ampracticallyfloating.By my second cup, I’m
soaring. And everythingaroundme is moving in slo-mo.My skin is tingling.Mysense of smell and sound
seemsmagnified.NextthingIknow,anAugustAlsinasongisplaying,“NobodyKnows,”and I’m in themiddle of thefloor dancing. Alone.Swirlingandtwirling.One arm is up over my
head. I rock my hips in bigcircles.Ihikeupmytinyskirtand start doing nasty thingsI’d never done before. It’slike I’ve become possessed.The beat hypnotizes me. Islowlytwirlaround.Myeyes
close. I sway left to right.Then throw my head back.Run my hands through myhair. I lose myself to themusic. Become everythingI’veeverwatchedinBeyoncéandCiaravideos.ItfeelslikeI’mslippingin
andoutofconsciousness.Dang,thatdrinkreallyhas
myheadspinning.Ifeelmybodyoverheating.Oooh,it’ssohotinhere.I try to stop myself from
untying my halter, but it’slike my hands, my fingers,myarms,haveamindoftheirown.What’shappeningtome?I’m in the spotlight. And
somehow I am feeling likeI’ve just become the life oftheparty.And everyone’s
entertainment...
14
I will a bleary eye open.Then wince. My head isspinning. “Oooh, you kept itreal classy, li’l Miss PartyGirl,” Sasha says, smirking.“Mmph.Youturnedthepartyout. I didn’t thinkyouhad it
in you, Miss Suburbs. Butyou turnt it up—all the wayup—lastnight.”I groan, trying to lift my
headup from thepillow.Myhead is pounding. Regrettingever trying to move, I plopmy head back onto thepillow, pulling the coversover my head then lowerthemenoughtopeerovertheedge. My stomach sloshes.And I feel like I’m ready tovomitatanymoment.
Please God. Let me getthroughthisandIpromisetonever, ever drink anotherThug Passion drink oranything with the word thugattachedtoit,foraslongasIlive.Pleaseandthankyou...I don’t remembermuch of
anything after Sasha handedme my second drink. Iremember taking slow sips.Then I started swaying.Everything else is one bigblur. And I’m afraid to even
ask what happened. I’m notsureifIwanthertofillintheblanks,either.“Girl, I couldn’t get you
offthedancefloor.YougaveBeyoncéarunforhermoneylast night, boo.” She laughs,falling back on her bed.“Ohmygod!Youshouldhaveseenyou.Ahotsluttymess!”She tells me how I was
booty popping and hipthrusting it, dropping downonmykneesandcrawlingon
the floor, swinging my hairaround. “Yasss, MissPeaches!Youshowedout.”“MissPeaches?”Shecracksuplaughing.“Yesss! That’s what you
had dem ninjas callin’ youlast night after you took offya top ’n’ started flashin’e’eryone. You shoulda seendey faces, starin’ at dem bigjuicyboobsofyours.”I am mortified. All I can
see in my mind’s eye is my
slumped, drunk body beingtossedaroundlikeadirtyragdoll. “Oh, God!” I grumble.“Please don’t tell me.” Myface heats withembarrassment.Thisistragic!HowcouldI
besostupid?!I try to replay the events
that took place before thebooze and my lapse injudgmentkickedin.Butkeepcomingupblank.Ohmgod!Whatwasinthat
drink?I’m never drinking that
messagain!Ever!“Girl, relax.Youwere just
doin’ you. Lettin’ ya hairdown’n’havin’agoodtime.Shiiiiit,Iwastwisted.Butnotlike you.” She laughs,reaching for a can of RedBull on her nightstand. “Ithought I was gonna have tabeat the brakes off some’athem ninjas. They kept trynatake you upstairs to get that
trainride.”Myeyespopopen.She senses my fear.
Assures me that nothinghappened. This time. “But,girl, you owe me. I couldamade a killin’ off you lastnight. Had I let them hornyninjasgetatyouIwouldahadme enough for a downpaymentonacuteli’lBMW,or somethin’. And you freshmeat,too.Mmph.”I blink. I can’t believe
she’s talking as if she wasconsidering pimping me outfor the night.Although she’slaughing,thelookinhereyestells me if there were a wayshe could have gotten awaywith it, that’s exactly whatshewouldhavedone.Rentedmeouttothewholeparty.“YouluckyMalikgotthere
whenhedid andwas able tokeep them fools in check’causedeywasn’t even trynahear me after a while. You
had them horny ninjas goin’throughit.”I swallow, wincing. My
throat is dry. Sore.“Ohmygod! He was there,too?” My voice is hoarse,feels raw. Like I’d beenscreaming at the top of mylungs all night. Or as ifsomeone scrubbed the backof my throat with sandpaperthenrubbedsaltoverit.“Girrrl,washe!Lookingso
fine.Andtrust.Drunkornot,
I could tell he likede’verything about you.” Shemade a popping sound withhermouth.My eyes become
unnaturally wide as sherecounts the events from thenight before. Tells me Idanced eight songs straight.ThatIhikedmyskirtupovermy hips and showed thewhole party my bareessentials.DearGod!
She chuckles. “Next time,though, I’ma need you tohandleyaliquorali’lbetter.”I cover my face. Shame
coursesthrougheveryinchofmybody.Panicrisesinsideofme, making me feel sweatyandcoldallatthesametime.This can’t be happening! Ithastobeaterriblemistake!“Whattimeisit?”Ifinally
croak out, feeling sick tomystomach.“It’salmostteno’clock.”
Ijoltupinthebed,causingmy mushy brain to swisharound in my head. “Teno’clock? In the morning?Ohgodohgod! I am sooodead!” My feet hit the dirtybeige carpet and scatter overto my bag, franticallysearching from my phone.“Ohgod! My parents aregoingtokillme.”“Girl, relax. It’s not like
they’re gonna kill you overbeing late once in your li’l
perfect life. It’s not like youbreakyourcurfewallthetimeandstayoutallnight.”“No, I don’t. But still...
ohgod! I’m so done. I’llprobablygetgroundedforthenexttwoweeks.”I close my eyes. My
eyeballsthrobbehindmylids.Iletoutaloudgroan.“You’reoverreactin’ifyou
askme.Ibetallyourparentsare gonna do is put you intimeout, then takeawayyour
allowance for the next weekorso.”I keep my eyes shut,
slowly shaking my head.“No. They are going to belivid.Trustme;especiallymymother.”“Notifyoucomeupwitha
good lie,” she offers matter-of-factly.I frown. “Are you kidding
me? I’ve been out all night.And I didn’t even call hometo let anyone know I was
okay.WhatkindofliecouldIpossibly say thatwouldkeepmymotherfromwringingmyneck? She’s going to killme.”“Poor thing,” she says
nonchalantly,takingaswigofher Red Bull. She offers mesome. “Here. This’ll helpgiveyouaboostofenergy.”I shake my head. Tell her
thanks, but no thanks. I’vehad enough of her handingme drinks for one lifetime.
She shrugs. “More for me.”She pulls out a little baggiefromoutofhernightstandtopdrawer. It’s packed withmarijuana.Iwatchwithwide-eyed amazement as sheemptiesthetobaccoofabluntoutonhernightstandandfillsitwiththeweed,sealingitbylickingandpushingtheseamstogether. Next she lights itandtakesa longpullfromit.She starts coughing instantlyas if shewerecoughingupa
lung.She clutches her chest.
“Ooh, yesss! This that goodishrighthere.”Shelaughsinbetween coughs, a puff ofthicksmokecurlingoutofhermouth.Ifrown.She holds her blunt out to
me. “You sure you don’twantsomeofthis?I’mtellin’you, it’ll help you wit’ thathangover.“I shake my head. “No. I
don’tdodrugs.”Shebuckshereyes. “Bish,
what you tryna say? I knowyou not even tryna call meout.Idon’tdodrugseither.Imean, yeah. E’ery now andthen I might do a li’l mollywit’ my girl Shay-Shay. Butthat’s it. I don’t eff wit’none’athathardish.Sodon’teven get it twisted. I’m nodruggie,trick.”Icringe.“I’mnotatrick,”I
say evenly. “So please don’t
callmeone.”She grunts. “Mmmph. I
can’t tell. From what I sawlast night looked to me likeyou was trickin’ forsomethin’ ’n’ it sure wasn’tfordollars,boo.”“I got drunk,” I retort
defensively.Shetakesanotherpullfrom
her blunt, then blows smokein my direction. “Yeah,whatever.Blameitondaa-a-a-alcohol. Chile, please. I
maynotbeda sharpest knifein the drawer, but I’m noidiot, boo. You a real livefreak and a half. I bet if Ihadn’tbeentheretosaveyou,youwoulda let ’em all get ataste of ya goodies. So youcan front if you want. But Iknowyakind.”I blink. “My kind? What
kindisthat?”Shetakesanotherlongpull
from her blunt, eyeing me.“Pssst.Likeyoudon’tknow.
An undercover freak; dat’swhatkind.”Seeing the smug look on
her face makes me angry. Isquirm. Not wanting aconfrontation,Idecidetotakethe high road and treadlightly. “Well, I’m not afreak.And Iwasn’t trying tocall you a druggie oranything. I was just saying Idon’t do any drugs; that’sall.”She frowns. “Girl, you
silly.Weedain’tnodrug.It’sfrom da earth. There’snothing wrong wit’ smokin’weed. It does da body good.Trust.” She takes two pulls,holds the smoke inher lungsandcoughs.“Well, it’s against the
law,” I counter. “And I’drathernotindulgeinanythingillegal.”Sherollshereyes,blowing
circlesupatthewater-stainedceiling. “Girl, miss me wit’
dat moral code ish. So isunderage drinkin’, but youdidn’t have a problem doin’dat,didyou?”Shegivesmeahardstare,thenrollshereyes.“Like I said, weed comesfrom the Mother Earth. It’sone of God’s greatestwonders.Soifhedidn’twantus to smoke it, he wouldn’thave created it. Now wouldhe?”I have no comeback for
her. It’s clear she has all the
answers.I give her a blank stare,
decidingit’stimetoslipbackintotheclothesI’dcomeherewearingbeforemyworldgotturnedupsidedown,andheadhometofacemyfate.
15
“Kennedy,wherehaveyoubeen?!”mymothersnaps theminute I step through thedouble doors. Hand on hip,nose flaring, eyes drawn tonarrowslits.She’sfuming.“I-I-I,” I stammer
nervously.I’veneverseenhersomad.“Iwas...”“Before you open your
mouthwitha lie, thinkaboutwhat you are going to say tome.BecauseIknow,andyouknow, that you weren’t withHope or Jordan because I’vespokentobothofthem.Nowwherewereyou?”“Ohmygod. I can’t believe
you’d call me a liar. Have Ieverliedtoyou?”“I’mnotcallingyoua liar.
I’m warning you to not letanyliesfallfromyourlipsincaseyouwantedto.”I stand here silently,
racking my brain as to whatI’ll tell her. She has mecornered. I’ve never been inthissituationsoIdon’tknowwhat to do to get out of it.Finally, I hangmyhead.Mylasheswetwithtears.“I-I-I’m sorry. It won’t
happenagain.”“Oh, no, young lady.
You’re not getting off thehook that easy. I want toknow where you were andwhy your phone is off? I’vebeen calling it all night.Andallmorning.”That’s strange. I don’t
remember turning my phoneoff.I reach inmy bag, pulling
it out.Yup . . . it’s off. “Mybattery died,” I lie. “And Ididn’thaveawayofchargingit.”
“And no one else had aphoneyoucoulduse.”“No. There wasn’t any
service.”“Excuseyou?Whatdoyou
mean, there wasn’t anyservice? Well, where wereyou that you couldn’t makecalls or get your butt homebeforeyourcurfew?”“Atafriend’shouse.”She tilts her head. “Don’t
try my patience, Kennedy.What friend’s house? And
who are this friend’sparents?”“It’sjustherandhermom.
Her dad died.” That’s a lie.But I don’t think she’d likehearing that Sasha’s father isin prison for armed robbery.AndIthinkshetoldmedrugcharges,too.Ormaybeitwasa gun charge. I can’tremember.AllIknowis,thisinformation is on a need-to-knowbasis.She eyes me. “That’s not
telling me what I want toknow,Kennedy.”I’m starting to feel light-
headed.“Mom, please. Not right
now.Idon’tfeelwell.”She huffs. “Who do you
think you’re telling not rightnow,huh?LikeI’mbotheringyou.Youdon’tgettostrutupin here twelve hours afteryour curfew without onephone call and tell me notright now. I will smack the
piss, thesnot,andeverythingelse out of you. Do youunderstandme?”I clutch my churning
stomach. Ohgodohgod! I’mgoingtothrowup!I don’t answer. I take off
running toward the powderroomacross from the sunkengreat room. She’s hot onmyheels.“Don’t you dare run off
frommewhileI’mtalkingtoyou. Kennedy! I want to
know where you’ve been!I’ve been up all night,worried sick about you! I’vecalled all over town lookingfor you! And you have thegall to stroll up in here likeeverythingisfine!Thisisnotacceptable,Kennedy!”“Notnow,mom,please!”I
slamthebathroomdoorinherface. Flip up the toilet seatand grip the cool porcelain,throwingmy guts up. I clingto the coolness with all my
might. Tears spurting frommy eyes as I empty theremaining contents of mycrampedstomachout.Istayinthisposition—face
inside the bowl, handssqueezing the sides, until Iam coughing and dryheaving. And then I do theunthinkable.Ipooponmyself.
Four P.M., my mom is at
the foot of my bed, shaking
me. “Wake up! Rise andshine!”I groan as she walks over
and flips on my nightstandlamp.Idon’trememberhowIgot intobed.Orwhen I tookoff my clothes and slippedinto my pajamas. ButsomehowIdid.Mymindisblank.Completelygone.Mom starts shaking my
bed again. “Let’s go,Kennedy! It’s time togetup.
Youshouldhavegottenyoursleepwhereveryouwere lastnight.Sleeptimeisover.”Ohmygod, nooo! I can’t
believethis!I groan again. Everything
around me is still spinningfrom the night before. I’vespent most of the morningthrowing up. I’m exhausted.And now all I want to do issleep.Sleep.Sleep!But it doesn’t look like
that’s going to happen with
mymombreathingdownmyneck doing everything shecantokillmysleepmode.I close my eyes. Snatches
of last night flitter throughmyhead.I’minthemiddleofthe floor dancing. Alone.Swirling and twirling. Guysare pressed up against me,grindingandgropingme.Myboobs are exposed. Theteenie-tiny skirt I waswearing is hiked up overmyhips. Someone tries to slide
his hands in my panties. Iremember, now, telling himno.Ipushedhishandaway.Ohgod!I think I seeSashaover in
the corner with her friends,laughing at me. But whywould she do that when shecursed those boys out fortrying to humpme all up onthedancefloor?“Mom,please. I don’t feel
well,” I grumble, pulling thecoversupovermyhead.
“That’s not my problem.That’s yours.” She snatchesthe covers offme. “Now getupoutofthisbed.”“Why can’t I sleep?” I
whine. “We can talk latertonight,ortomorrow.”“Oh, no, little Miss Party
Girl.Youdon’tgettochoosewhenwetalk.WetalkwhenIsay we talk. So get up. Youare sadly mistaken if youthink you’re going to lie inthisbedand sleep the restof
the day away. I was niceenough to let you sleep offwhatever it is you drank orsmoked last night. Now it’stimeforyouandmetohavealittlechat.”She shakes the bed again.
MystomachchurnsandIfeellike screaming at the top ofmy lungs. I take two deepbreaths, then roll and stretch.I rubmy burning eyes. Theycanbarelyopen.It takes a few minutes for
my eyes to finally adjust tothe brightness in the room.There she is. My mom.Standing at the foot of mybed with her arms folded,scowling. She’s pissed. Verypissed.AndIknowI’minbigtrouble.And IknowIhavenoone
to blame except myself. Ishould have never had allthose drinks. But I only hadthree,Ithink.Orwasitfour?I remember the first drink.
Andthesecondoneafterthat.Ohgod!All I know is,my
head feels like someone isstompingaroundonmybrainwith cement boots. It evenhurtsbehindmyeyeballs.If this is what drinking
does to you, then I want nofurther part of it. None.Never.Ever.“I’m waiting, Kennedy,”
Mom says through clenchedteeth.“YouandIaregoingtohave a serious conversation,
startingwithwhereyouwereall night. And who droppedyouoff thismorningwithallthat loudmusic playing, likethisissomeghettoyarddrop-stop.”I cringe as my ears pop.
Although she isn’t reallyyelling,itfeelsasifshehasabullhorn up to her lips andshe’sscreamingintomyear.“Okay,okay.I’mup.CanI
atleasttakeashowerandputsomeclothesonbeforeIhave
to face my inquisition,please?”She narrows her eyes at
me. I can tell she’s ready togo off. She takes a deepbreath. Then finally says,“You have tenminutes. Andnot a second over.” Sheglances at her watch.“Startingnow.”
16
“I’m very disappointed inyou, Kennedy,” Mom says,eyeing me. We are siting atthe kitchen table. A cup ofgreen tea with honey is infrontofme.Momshakesherhead.“Iraisedyoubetterthan
this. No young respectablegirl comes dragging herselfinto the house way past thecrack of dawn, reeking ofalcohol and marijuanasmoke.”“I wasn’t smoking
marijuana, Mom.” I say thisas if it’s going to make thatbig of a difference. As if itwilllessentheconsequences.Sheeyesmeincredulously.
“So you think underagedrinking makes it better?”
She tilts her head. “Is thatsupposed to make me feelbetter knowing that mysixteen-year-olddaughterwasonly out God knows wheredrinking instead of usingillicit drugs? Is that whatyou’retellingme,Kennedy?”“Noma’am.”“Sohowwasit?”I blink. Give her a
confused look. “How waswhat?”“The party you were at?
You know, the one youthought it was okay not tocomehomefrom.”I lower my eyes from her
burning stare. I fidget withthe spoon in my hand, thendip it back intomy steamingmug,stirringthoughtlessly.Mom’s fingers tap against
thetabletopimpatiently.“I’mwaiting for an answer,Kennedy.”“I’msorry,”Isaysoftly.“No. Don’t be sorry. I
didn’t ask for an apology. Iwantanswers.”I think to tell her some
elaborate tale, but I can’trememberexactlywhatItoldher when I walked throughthedoorthismorning.Idon’twant to tell a lie thatdoesn’tmatch whatever I’ve alreadytold her. I am relievedwhenmy mom unknowingly letsmeoff thehook fromhavingto remember exactly what Itold her when she asks me
who this friend is I was outwithlastnight.“HernameisSasha.”She tilts her head. “And
how doyouknow thisSashagirl?”“From work.” I blow into
mycup, then takea slowsipofmytea.She purses her lips.
“Mmm. Where does shelive?”“Across town,” I offer,
hoping that’ll be enough to
satisfy her inquiry. It isn’t.She wants to know exactlywhereacross town she lives.ItellhernottoofarfromtheFlatlands, a subsidizedhousingdevelopment.She purses her lips and
keeps silent. I can tell she’sthinking. “I see,” she finallysayscalmly. Ican tellby thelook inhereyesshe isn’t toohappy aboutme being in thehood,but shedoesn’t sayso.“And how old is she?” I tell
her eighteen. “And youthought it was okay to stayout over this Sasha’s housewithoutmeknowinganythingabout her or her family, isthatright?”I shake my head. “No. I
know it wasn’t okay. I waswrong for not coming home,orcallingyoutoletyouknowwhere I was or that I wasokay.IknowIknowbetter.Ithought I’d be home beforecurfew,Ireallydid.”
“So, let me get thisstraight. My sixteen-year-olddaughter stayed the nightover at some eighteen-year-old girl’s house where herparent allowed underagedrinking?”“Hermomdidn’tknowwe
weredrinking.”“So the two of you snuck
alcohol into her parents’house, is that what you’retellingme?”“No. She kind of already
hadthealcoholinthehouse.”Okay,Iknowit’salie.“I see. And were there
boysatthislittleparty?”“It wasn’t a party.” Okay,
it’s another lie. And I feelhorribleforlookingmymomin the eye telling her this. Ishift in my seat. “Thereweren’t any boys there, justSasha and a few of hergirlfriends.”“Kennedy, you know the
rules. No sleepovers over
anyone’s house unlesswe’vemettheparents.Nodrinking.No smoking. No drugs. Anddefinitelynosex.”“Ionlydrank.”“But there was marijuana
there...atthisparty,right?”“It wasn’t a party. And
there wasn’t any marijuanathere.”Shegivesmeablankstare.
“Look, Kennedy. Do I looklike I need to be in a clownsuitorsomethingtoyou?”
I shake my head. “No,ma’am.”“Thenwhy are you sitting
here trying to insult myintelligence? I was your ageonce. You stumbled up inhere reeking of alcohol,whichyouadmit todrinking,and smelling like you wererolling around in a cloud ofmarijuanasmoke.”“But I didn’t smokeany. I
swear.”She lets out a frustrated
sigh.“Butyouwerearoundit.Kennedy, I raised you betterthanthat.Whywouldyoubearound someone smokingmarijuana,huh?”I shrug. “I didn’t know
there was going to bemarijuanathere.”“Andwhatifsomeonehad
called thecopsandendedupraiding the place, thenwhat?You would have beenarrested,too.”Ilowermyhead.“Iwasn’t
thinking.AllIwantedwastohave some fun, that’s all. Ididn’t plan on getting drunkorstayingoutpastcurfew,orcoming home hung over. IfeelhorribleforwhatIdid.”“And so you should.” She
eyes me, then reaches overand places her hand overmine. “I’m angry andextremelyupsetwithyou.ButI’mrelievedthatyou’reokay.That still doesn’t mean youaren’tpunished.”
“I know I am. It won’thappenagain.Ipromise.”“Let’shope,foryoursake,
itdoesn’t.”Momslidesherchairback
from the table, then stands.“Look, sweetheart. I knowwhat it’s like to be sixteenand wanting to beadventurous. You’ve alwaysbeen inquisitive.And a goodkid. And I don’t wantanything to change that.There can be a lot of peer
pressure to sometimes dowhat’s not right. I just don’twant to see you gettingcaught up in peer pressure.YourfatherandIhavetaughtyou to make your owndecisions,haven’twe?”I nod. “Yes. But I wasn’t
being pressured to doanything.”She eyesme. “You should
not be drinking. First of all,you’re not old enough todrink. And secondly,
anything could havehappened to you out therebeing intoxicated. Youngwomen get taken advantageofallthetime.”“I know, Mom,” I say
sheepishly.“AndI’msorry.Itwon’t happen again.” Notgettingdrunk,thatis.She stares at me, then
squeezes my hand. “Listen,sweetheart. I know my littlebabygirl isgrowingup.AndIknowyourfatherandIhave
to trust you to do the rightthings. But all I’m asking isthatyounotgrowuptoofast.You have a bright futureaheadofyou.”“Iknow,Mom,”Isay.She stares at me. Then
narrows her eyes. “Are yousureyou’renotusingdrugs?”ItellherI’msure.Shewantsto know if I’ve ever triedthem. Again, I answer no.Sheeyesmeasifshe’stryingto decide whether or not she
should believe me.Technically, she shouldn’t. Iknow it. Thankfully, shedoesn’t.I runmy hands acrossmy
eyes and over the crown ofmyhead.I’mfeelingqueasy.“I’mnotnaïve,Kennedy.I
know what goes on at teenparties.The last thing Iwantis for you to get yourselfcaught up in something youcan’tgetoutof.”“Mom,Iwon’t.”
“You have one more yearleft, sweetheart, then you areofftoHarvardorYale.”I swallow.“Canweplease
not talk about that rightnow?”She sighs. “How long has
thisdrinkingbeengoingon?”“Lastnightwas the first—
andmy last—time.” I groan.“Ifeelawful.Idon’tlikeit.”She smiles. “Then I guess
what you’re going throughshould be punishment
enough.”“Are you going to tell
Daddy?”“No.You’regoingtogeta
pass,thistime.Butdon’tletithappenagain.”“Ipromise.Iwon’t.”
The next day I’m on my
thirty-minute lunch breaksitting at a table in the foodcourt filling Sasha in on allthedramawithmymom.“That lady better get her
life,” she says, tilting herhead, causing her brightfuchsia bangs to swing overher left eye. I’ve finishedtelling her that my momwantstomeether.Andshe’snottheleastbitpleasedaboutit. “I know dat’s yourmomz’n’ all, butwhere dey do datat?Iain’teven’bouttocometo ya house ’n’ let yamomzscrutinize me like I’m somebackyard trash. I be donecussed her out, okay? She
bet’ not even try it. I’m toogrown for da mom games,boo.”Iblink.“She’snottryingit.
Orplayinggames.She’sonlyinterested in seeing who I’mhangingoutwith.”She snorts. “She better go
have several seats at daGarden.”Igiveherablankstare.“I know how dem uppity
broadzlikeyourmomzmove.They think their precious
daughters are too good forchickslikeme.”“That’s so not true,” I say
defensively.“Yeah, right. Lies. Rich
broadz like your momz staylookin’downatgirlsfromdahoodlikewelepersorlikewehaveabadcaseofherpes.Noma’am. Dat ain’t gonnahappen. Not today. Not anyotherday.”“That’snotherintention—
to scrutinize you,” I say
softly. “She just wants seewho I’m hanging out with;that’sall.”She huffs. “Yeah, right.
More liesyou tell.What,shewanna make sure I’m goodenough forherprecious littleprincess to hang out wit’?”Sherollshereyes.“Girl,bye.Miss me wit’ dat. Ain’t nomomz I know checkin’ fordey kidz’ friends. Ya momzis buggin’ for real, girl. Shedoin’waytoomuch.”
Ishrug.“Yeah,Iguess.”“Mmmph.Well, guess dat
ish somewhere else ’causeain’t nobody got time to bemeetin’ her.” She waves meon dismissively. “Movin’ on.Soyou trynahitdispartyupwit’ me dis weekend orwhat?”“I don’t know,” I say. “I
kind of promisedmymom Iwouldn’t get into anymoretrouble.”She frowns. “Girl, bye!
Youbettagetya life!Alldatgoodgirlishgonnagetyouisa buncha borin’ nights athome. I knowyouain’t even’bout to let her ruin yasummerfun,boo.”She’sright!IsaidIwanted
topartyandhavefun.Sowhyshould I stop now when thefunisjustgettingstarted?“Whattimearewegoing?”She grins. “Bish, dat’s
what I’m talkin’ ’bout. It’sgonnabelive.Trust.”
17
“Sowhat’s good, yo?”ThevoiceblaresintomyearoverBusta’s“ThankYou”playingloudly out of the three largespeakers situated around thebasement. I’m at a houseparty in East Orange with
Sasha. Somewhere Ishouldn’t be, of course. Buttheenergy is live.Themusicisallthat.Andthere’sapackof thug cuties here. Onceagain, I lied. Told my momthatIwasstayingthenightatHope’s. That I’d be hometomorrowaroundoneortwo.Luckily forme, she believedme.I keep my gaze low and
avoid making eye contactwith most of the kids here,
mostlybecausetheboyswhoareoglingmearemakingmeuncomfortable. And the firsttimeIdolookupandscantheroom,I’mbeinggreetedwithgirlseyeballingmenastily.“Iseeyoualloverhereby
yaself,” he says, looking meup and down, slowlydragging the pink-colored tipof his tongue over his darkbrown lips. I remember himfrom the last party Sashabroughtmeto.Hewasoneof
the guys standing out on theporchsmokingablunt.He’sabrown-skinned guy withslanted, bloodshot eyes.Probably from drinking andsmoking.He’s about six feetwith a muscular build. He’swearingawhiteT-shirtandapair of baggy jeans. TrueReligions,Ithink.I sweep my eyes around
the party and notice guysgrinding up on girls. Andgirls doing strip club moves
onthedancefloor.Afewarepressedupincornersmakingout.Orsmokingweed.Without thought, Ibobmy
headfromsidetoside.“You wanna dance?” he
asks, taking me in with hisgaze. I look up at him, thenglancearound the space.Thefloorispackedwithhoochie-type girls grinding theirbooties up on crotches,twerking and bouncing realhard to a Jay-Z song now
playing.I shake my head. “No,
thanks.”It’s so packed that bodies
are practically pressing intoeach other just to walk by.And there’s a thick fog ofsmoke hovering in the air. Ifeel myself getting light-headed from all of themarijuanasmoke.Heleansintomyear.“Oh,
a’ight.” He grins, then lickshislips.
“Why are you looking atmelikethat?”“Likewhat?”I shrug. “I don’t know.
Like you’re trying to figuremeoutorsomething.”He laughs. “Oh, nah-nah.
You lookin’ mad sexy,though.”“Thank you,” I say over
themusic,tryingtoavoidthenarrowed eyes glaring at mefrom across the room. Thereare like four girls standing
over on the other side of thedance floor giving me nastylooks.Idon’tevenknowanyof them. But because theydon’t like Sasha—forwhateverreasons—theydon’tlike me. So whateverproblems she has with girlsI’ve inherited. Guilty byassociation.Speaking of Sasha, she
disappearedupthestairswithsome boy with dreads,leaving me holding up the
wall, likethelonewallflowerthatIam.Iglanceatmywatch.Ohmygod, I can’t believe
she’s been missing in actionforalmosthalfanhour.“Yo, you too pretty to be
standing here looking like abored statue,” he says,reaching for my hand. “Letmehollaatyouforaminute.”Ipullmyhandback.Helaughs.“Oh,word?It’s
like dat? I ain’t gonna bite,
ma; not unless you want meto. I just wanna get awayfromall’adisloudmusic;feelme?”I nod. “Yeah, it is kind of
loud.”He gestures his head
toward the stairs. “Let’s goupstairsforasec.”I glance over at the group
ofgirlsacrosstheroom.Oneofthemgrabshercrotch,thenflips me off with her middlefinger. I cringe. Another girl
takes her finger and slides itacross her throat. The threatclear:“I’mgoingtosliceyourthroat.”Iswallow.Helooksoverat thegroup
ofgirls.“Yo,don’tpay thembirds no mind. They hatin’,that’sall.”“But why?” I ask
innocently.He scrunches his face.
“Why?Youfreshmeat,babe.E’erydudeinherewannaget
atyou.Andthemhatersknowit.”I blink. Then glance over
toward the staircase when Isee a guy and a girl comingdownthestairs.IhopetoseeSasha. But I’m disappointedwhenit’snother.“Yo,youcan standhere if
you want, but Sasha’supstairs doin’ her, so youmightaswelldoyou.”Iguesshe’sright.Anything
is better than standing here
feelingstupid.MaybeI’llfindSasha upstairs, and she’ll bereadytogo.“I was told to never walk
offwithstrangers,”Ijoke.“I’mnotastranger,baby.”“Uh, um, if I don’t know
yournameyouare.”Hesmirks.“Yo,Idigyou.
It’sShaheed.ButmypeoplescallmeSha.”“Nice to meet you,
Shaheed,”Isay,tryingtoflirtwithout seeming flirty. I
mean,Idon’twanttogiveoffany mixed messages. I onlywanttohavesomefun.It’s a party for Christ’s
sake.And Sasha is nowhere to
beseen.WhatelseamIsupposedto
do? Stand here and look lostandsilly?Idon’tthinkso.Shaheed lightly grabs me
by the elbow and leads theway.Ifollowhimthroughthe
throngofpartygoers, thenupthe dark stairs. There’s a slitof lightcomingfromunderadoor.Thebathroom,Ithink.Wewalkpastanotherdoor
whichisslightlyopen,asliceof light creeping out frombeneath it. Save from theslivers of light and the glowofanightlightstuckinawalloutlet, the whole upstairs isdimlylit.We walk a short ways
down the hall. I count six
doors, including the two Iassumeare thebathroomanda bedroom, in my head.Music is playing up here aswell, so it’s hard to hearanything being said behindanyofthedoors.Shaheed turns the knob to
the third door on the left,pushing it open. It’s abedroom.There’satwinbed,adresser, anightstand,andabig flat-screen televisionmounted up on the wall
across from the bed. Anightlight is plugged into anoutletnearthedoor.I step inside and Shaheed
shuts thedoorbehindus.Myeyes have to adjust to thedarkness. I blink severaltimes.“So,I’msayin’ . . .what’s
good? When you gonna letme show you my longstroke?”I raise abrow. “Your long
stroke? What, you swim? I
used to belong to the swimteamatmyschool.”He laughs. “Yeah. I swim
a’ight.Upindemguts.”I blink, caught off guard.
“Whatdidyousay?”“Nah, I’m sayin’. I gotta
longstroke,butitain’tfordapool,feelme.”“Wait. You want to have
sexwithme?”He grins. “You already
know what it is, ma. Yeah Iwanna hit dat.” He steps in,
pullingmeintohim.Hereeksofweedandalcohol.Helickshis lips. “I ain’t even gonnafront, yo. I’ve been eyein’you all night, ma. From damoment you stepped throughdadoorIstartedschemin’ondat phatty, yo. I’m tryna seewhat’s really good wit’ all’adat.”Hegrabsatthefrontofhis
jeans. “You got my ish onrock,yo.”He is groping me in the
dark, pressing himself intome.Iwrestlemywayoutofhis
grasp.Tellhimtopleasekeephishandstohimself.ThatI’mnoteasylikethat.He laughs. “C’mon, yo.
Don’t front. You ripe ’n’ready for da D, yo. I cansmell it. You stay comin’around lookin’ all good, likeyou want mofos tryna get atyou. Don’t think I haven’tpeepedyoueyein’me.”
I shake my head. “That’snot true. I mean. Yeah, I’veglancedat you the few timesI’ve seen you. But thatdoesn’tmeanIlikeyou.”He frowns. “Oh, so you
sayin’youain’tfeelin’me?Isthatit?”“Yes.Imean.No.”“Which is it? You feelin’
meoryounot?”“I-I-I don’t even know
you,”Isaywearily.“Soyouateasethen,huh?
You one’a dem hoes wholikes to go ’round teasin’mofos, huh? Get all up in amofo’s head ’n’ play mindgames.Isthatit?”“N-n-no,” I stammer,
trying to back away fromhim.“That’s not what I was
doing. I swear to you. Ithought you were just beingnice when you asked me tocomeuphere.Ireallythoughtyouwantedtotalk.”
“Yeah,Iwantedtotalkyououttadempanties.That’sit.”“But I don’t like you like
that.”“Yeah, but I’m tryna
change all’a dat. But youwannafront.”Heleansinandtriestokiss
meonthelips.Ijerkmyheadback just as his lips hit thesideofmyneck.Icanseethedrool sliding out of thecorners of his mouth as hislustygazedrinksmybodyin.
“Ma, you mad sexy. Yougotmyheadgoin’ ’n’ I ain’teven hit dat yet. I bet youmadjuicy,too.”Ishakemyhead.“No.I’m
not juicy. I mean, I’m nottrying to let you hit that, Imean,this.”“Yo,letmebedajudgeof
dat.Letmefeelit.”Iblinkashegrabsmeandpullsmeintohim,slidinghisbighandoverthecurveofmyhip,thenontomybutt.
I pushhis handoff ofme.Tell him no thanks.But he’snottryingtohearit.“Nah, baby. You in my
space. I’m trynaget it in.Sodon’t front. You know whattimeitis.”“This is all wrong,” I say,
steppingback.“Nah, shorty, this is all
right.” He licks his alreadywet lips with the tip of histongue. “And I’ma ’bout tomake you feel right in a
minuteifyoustopfrontin’’n’getwit’daprogram.”“I don’t want to have sex
with you,” I stutter, hopinghe’ll see the pleading in myeyes.Ohmygod! What have I
gotten myself into? Pleasedon’tletthisboyrapeme.Sasha, where the heck are
you?!“Please,”Istammer.“Ijust
want to go find my friend,thenleave.”
He grunts. “Who, Sasha?Yo, dat broad’s somewheregettin’ twisted ’n’ her backblownout.”Idon’treallyknowwhathe
means by ‘she’s gettingtwisted.’But Iknewwhathemeantaboutherback.“Yo, ya girl ain’t ’bout to
bounce no time soon, realspit. She’s ’bout to take datride on da express train. Soyoumightaswellrelax,ma.Iain’tgonnahurtyou.”
Expresstrain?What in the heck is he
talkingabout?“Yo, don’t act like you
don’t knowwhat time it is.”He starts making trainsounds. “Choo-choo. Allaboard,” he says, deepeninghis voice. “Come get up ondishardstick.”Igasp.Ohmygod!Sasha is
somewherelettingabunchofguys take turnsonher. I feelqueasynow.ItellhimIcan’t
do this. That I didn’t knowthisiswhathewanted.“Then what you come up
here for if you ain’t knowwhattimeitwas,huh,trick?”“I-I-I thought you wanted
to talk,” I say, fighting backanavalancheoftears.He snorts. “Talk? Is you
effen retarded, yo. I broughtyou up here to beat that boxup. I ain’t tryna talk. I’mtrynastroke.”Hegrabsmeagain.
“Please, stop!” I plead,trying to break free from hisgrip. However, to no avail.He’smuch stronger thanme.Hekeepspawingatme.“Getoffme! I don’twant to havesexwithyou.”My pleas fall on deaf ears
ashetriestoforcehimselfonme. I start screaming at thetop of my lungs, hopingsomewherewillhearmeovertheloudmusic.Theydon’t.
Shaheed’s hand is up myskirt now and he’s trying topullatmyunderwear.Ipressmy thighs together.Myheartisjumpinginmychestamileaminute. I’mkickingmyselfforwearingthisshortskirt.IknewIshouldhaveworn
jeans like I wanted to in thefirstplace.Ohmygod!Thisisn’thowI
want to losemyvirginity!Bysome drunk boy I don’t evenknoworlike!
Shaheed’salloverme.AndI can’t take it anymore. IscreamasloudasIcan.“Yo, shut da eff up, you
effentrick-tease!”He slamsme down on the
bed. I am screaming andkicking. Scared to death. Ashetriestoclimbontopofme,Ikneehiminthegroin,hard,then hit him in his face,causinghimtodoubleoverinpain.Irunforthedoor,swinging
it open, banging on all thedoors, screaming out forSashauntilonefinallyopens.It’sthesecondonetotheleft.A tall, thin guy with long
box braids and a bunch oftattooscoveringhischestandarms opens the door—butt-naked.He doesn’t even havethedecencytocoverhimself.OhmyGod...“IsSashainhere?Sasha?!”I glance around the large
bedroomandnotice thereare
four other guys in the room.Naked.“Yo, Slim,” a voice calls
out,“youtrynagetnext?”“Yeah, man, hol’up. We
gotcompany.”I croak out a scream as I
look over and see Sasha onherkneesinthemiddleofthebed with some guy humpingher like a mad man. I backout of the room and fleetowardthestairslikethere’safire.Ihavetogetoutofhere,
now.IrunsmackintoSasha’sfriend,Malik,ashe’scomingupthestairs.“Yo,wat’sgud,ma?”Mylipsquiver.He frowns. “Yo, ma, you
a’ight?”I collapse in his arms and
burstintotears.
18
“Yo, run dat ish by meagain,” Malik says, staringdeep into my eyes. Hisintense gaze makes meuncomfortable. But not in afrightening, creepy kind ofway. When I fell into his
armsashewascomingupthestairs, he sawhowdistraughtI was and wrapped an armaround me, and walked meoutside for some air. We’restanding next to his parkedtruck and he’s intentlylistening as I repeat whatalmost happened to meupstairs.Henarrowshiseyes.“Datmuhfuggahdidwhat?”The edge in his tone is so
sharp it slices into the airaroundme.Hisvoiceisdeep
and hypnotizing. I fight tokeep from closing my eyesand falling under his spell.Slowly, I am melting underhis heated gaze. I am sonervous. But, for somestrange reason, I feel safewithhim.Crazy,right?“H-h-he tried to rapeme,”
Irepeat,wipingmytearswiththe handful of napkins he’dgrabbedfrominsidethepartybeforewalkingmeout tohis
RangeRover.“What dis niqqa look like,
yo?”I tell him. He frowns.
“Hol’up. What you say hisnamewas?”“S-s-shaheed.”Hescowlsasherepeatshis
name. “Shaheed? Oh word?Dat’showhedoin’it.A’ight.He must really wanna starthis summer off wit’ a blackeye’n’brokennose.”Iwatchhim slide his hand into his
front pocket and pull out hiscell.“Yo,whereyouat,son?You here? Oh, a’ight. Cool-cool. Word. Yeah, I’m outfronthollerin’atmypeoples...”His peoples? He’s talking
likehe’sknownmeforalongtime.Istareathimthroughtear-
filled eyes, swiping tears astheyfall.Ifeelsohumiliated.Maybe if I had had a fewdrinks, like before, and was
too inebriated to know whatwas going on around me, itwouldn’tfeelsobad.Malik opens the driver’s
sidedoor,thenreachesinsideand pulls out some morenapkins,handingthemtome.He takes the balled up onesI’ve used to blow my noseandwipemyeyesfromme.Ithankhimwithafaintsmile.“...Nah,nah...Ijustgot
here. Man, eff dem dumbhoes, yo. I ain’t checkin’ for
none’a dat right now. I needyou togetatdatcatShaheedforme.He somewhere up inthere. He tried to do somefoul ish to my peoples ’n’ Iain’t feelin’ dat, feel me?Yeah, yeah. Get at him. Saywat? Break his shit, yo.That’swat.”Iblink.Ohmygod! He’s going to
havehisboysdosomethingtohim.Maybe I shouldn’t have
toldhim.Nooo, maybe he shouldn’t
havetriedtoforcehimselfonme.Hegetswhathegets.Iswallow,glanceoverata
black Acura that is parallelparkingacrossthestreet.Thegirl behind the wheel isstruggling to get the car intothe tight space. Someonehops out of the frontpassenger side and startstryingtodirecther.
“Ohmygod, Meeka,whoever gave you ya licenseneedstobedrop-kickedinthethroat.”“Eatme,” the driver snaps
back. “All I asked is for youtomake sure I don’t hit thatstupid car in back of me.Ain’t nobody ask you for noextras.”“Well,ifyouknewhowto
parkIwouldn’thavetabeoutheretrynaplaytrafficcop.I’dalready be inside the party
gettin’mydrop’n’popon.”I eye her as she does a
booty shake right in themiddleofthestreet.Herhipsshake wildly as the rearpassengerwindowrollsdownand another girl sticks herheadoutthewindowcheeringher on. “Don’t stop! Get it!Get it! Do dat ole nasty ish,Kee-Kee. Air dat ole stankcoochieout.”The girl and the driver
burst into laughter, causing
her to back into the parkedcar behind her. The futurestripper gives her friends thefinger.Tells them tokissherbutt.Well,hera-double-s.I blow my nose, feeling
lessshaken.Ipulloutmycelland check my messages. Ihave two missed calls fromHope. And a text messagefrom Blaze saying: WATZGUD? HAD U ON DA BRAINJUS WANTED TO C HOW UDOIN.HITMEBACK
“Party or no party,” I hearMalik say into his phone,bringingmyattentionbacktohim. “He tried to violatemypeoples,yo.Handlehim.Andifdamofoleaps,youalreadyknowwatitis.”Thecallendsandhe slides his phone backdownintohispocket.“It’shandled,yo.”I blink, once, twice. “It’s
handled...how?”He furrows his brow.
“Don’t worry ’bout dat. All
you need’a know is, datclown ain’t gonna ever stepouta pocket wit’ you again.Wordisbond,yo.”“Whatareyougoingtodo
tohim?”His jaw clenches. “I
already tol’ you don’t worry’boutdat,yo.Youletmedealwit’ dat, a’ight?” I nod.“Cool.Nowwhoyououtherewit’, anyway? I know youain’toutheresolo.”Ishakemyhead.TellhimI
came with Sasha. “Butsomehow she went missingwith some guy,” I add,purposefully leaving out thefact that I’dseenherupstairshavinganorgy.“Sasha?” He frowns,
shakinghishead.“See.Dat’sdat bullshit, for real for real.Howy’allgethere?”“She drove,” I say,
glancing over at the girlsgetting out of the Acura.They’re all wearing short
hairdos and extra-short skirtswith extra-high heels thattheycanbarelywalkin.All that just togetnoticed.
Mmmph. I shake my head,glancing down at my ownattire. Like I have room totalk.“She ain’t even hit me up
to let me know you wasgonna be here.” I knit mybrows together. “Oh, youain’tknowIwascheckin’foryou?Sashaain’ttellyou?”
I shake my head. “No.Why would she need to dothat?Idon’tevenknowyou.”“Not yet you don’t. But
you’bouttorealsoon.”Igivehim a confused look. “Yo,c’mon,ma.Don’t front.Youreallyain’tknow?”I shakemyhead. “No,not
really.”“Well,Iam.”Hetellsme how he’s had his eye onme since he first spotted meatwork.ThatheaskedSashawhoIwas,butsheactedlike
shedidn’twanthim toknowat first. But he kept pressingher.“Oh,”Isay.“Yeah.But it’s all good. I
got at you now. So relax,baby.Inaminute,I’ma’bouttobedabestthingthat’severhappenedtoyou.”Ifrown.Hestarts laughing.“Relax,
yo. I’m only effen wit’ you.But I’m ’bout you gettin’ toknowme.Howyoufeel’bout
dat?”I shrug. Honestly, I don’t
knowwhat to feel.My brainis still fogged from whatalmost happened earlier, andfrom what I witnessedupstairs. But I’ll admit I’mrelieved that I ran into himwhen I did. I don’t knowwhat I would have done,beingwayouthere.“Well, check it. We ain’t
gonna talk ’bout none’a datright now. I gottamake sure
yougethomebe—”“Yo, wat’s poppin’,
Money?” a light-skinned guywith slanted eyes andcornrows says, walking overandgivingMalikapound.Heglancesoveratmeandnods.“What’sgood,ma?”“Nothing,”Isay,tryingnot
to stare at him. He’s really,really tall. Like at least sixfour,sixfive.Andhe’sreally,reallycute.“Ain’t nuthin’, yo,” Malik
says to him. “Just out herekickin’itwit’mypeoples.”“Oh, a’ight, a’ight.” He
glances back over at me. “Isee you, son. She mad sexy,fam.”I catch Malik, grinning.
“True indeed, yo. But, dig.I’ma holla at you in a bit,a’ight?”“Yo, true, true. Fo’ sho’.
I’ma ’bout to go inside ’n’seewatitlookin’like.”Theygive each other one of those
brotherly hugs with thehandshakethingytheyalldo.I think they call it dap, orsomethinglikethat.Malik stands in front of
me, leaning up against thedoor of his truck. He keepsstaring at me; his eyesroaming all over me. And Iamfeelinghotunderhisgaze.I shift my weight from oneheeledfoottotheother.Nervously, I tuck a strand
of hair behind my ear. Then
fidget with the hem of myskirt.All Ican thinkabout isgettinghomeandtakingahotshower to scrub Shaheed’sgrimyhandsoffofme.“Yo, you got some pretty
legs,” Malik says, finallyslicing through the awkwardsilence between us. “I seewhy you got these fools outherebuggin’.”“It’snot intentional,” Isay
defensively.ThewayhesaysthatmakesmefeellikeIneed
to defend the way I’mdressed.AndIshouldn’thaveto.“Nah, I ain’t sayin’ it is.
You old enough to dresshowever youwanna.All I’msayin’ is, li’l boys can’talwayshandleasexywomanshowin’ ‘em a lotta skin;especially some dumb mofowit’afewdrinksordatotherishinhissystem.”Wow,hethinksI’msexy!“I’m not grown,” I say.
“I’monlysixteen.”“Is dat right?” he smirks,
amusement dancing in hiseyes. “Sixteen, huh? Well,check it. You might be onlysixteen. But you got a bodylike a grownwoman. See. Ifyouhadamaninya lifeyouwouldn’thavetoworryaboutno punk busta tryna violateyou.”I tilt my head. “And who
says I don’t have aboyfriend?”
“See. Who said anything’bout a boyfriend. I said aman.Bigdifference.Li’lgirlshave boyfriends. Baby, youneed a realman to keep yousafe, ya heard? Like I said,theseli’lboyzain’treadyforyou,ma.”“Heyyy, Maaaaalik,” a
voice coos in back of me. Iglance overmy shoulder andsee a mocha-brown girlwearing a platinum blondeweave—ormaybe it’s awig,
I don’t know—and a whitefishnetbodysuitwithawhitethong.Ohmygod! She has on
pastiesoverhernipples.Howgross!“Yo, what’s good,
Melody?” Malik says,looking over my head tospeaktoher.“Nothin’much,boo.Please
tell me it’s not busted up inthere.” Fishnet is nowstanding a few inches away
fromus.Iquicklytakeinheroutfit, glancing down at herfeet. She has on a pair ofseven-inch platform heels. Isay hello and she doesn’tbother to speakbackor evenlookmyway.Howrude?“I don’t know. I’ve been
outherechillin’.”“Oh,allright.Well,letme
getupinheretoseewhat—orwho—Icanturnouttonight.”Malik laughs.“Godoyou,
baby. I already know howyoudoit.”As soon as Fishnet walks
off, here come two moregirls, walking over toMalik.Theyarebothdarkchocolatewith extremely long, glitterylash extensions. One iswearing a short white dresswith a scoop neck and cut-out-back with black heels.Theotheriswearingthesameexact outfit; except her dressis black and she’s wearing
white heels. Both of theirdresses barely cover theirbutts.“Heyyy,Malik,” they both
sayinunison.Hegrins.“Yo,watitdo?”“You wat it do, boo,”
White Dress says, flashingherbrightwhitesmile.“Oh, word? Dat’s
wasssup.”“Boy,whenyougonnacall
me?” Black Dress asks,battinghereyesathim.
They both glance over atme,lookingmeupanddown.Then bring their attentionback to Malik like I’minvisible.“Oh,mybad.Kia’n’Mia,
dis my peoples, Kennedy.KennedydisKia’n’Mia.”I open my mouth to ask
them if they are twins, eventhough theydon’t look alike,butIamimmediatelystunnedinto silence when peoplefrom the party come running
outofthefrontdoor.Girlsarescreaming and scatteringaroundfranticallyassomeonegets thrownout thedoor andonto the sidewalk. Thenpounced on by five guys,punchingandstompinghim.Iblink.Ittakesafewsecondsforit
toregisterinmybrain,formeto realize who it is beingbeatenalmosttodeath.My eyes pop open in
horror.
It’sthatboyShaheed.
19
A few days later, I’m atSasha’s house.We’re lockedup in her bedroom with thewindow wide open. It’sswelteringinherroom,likeasauna. It’s bad enough thatit’s humid outside. But it’s
torturous to be insidesweating. I try not to thinkabout it. But I can’t helpwondering how anyone canlive like this,without centralair. But Sasha doesn’t seemfazedbytheheatsteamingupher room. There are twooscillatingfansover ineithercorneroftheroom.“Ooh,I’msomadImissed
dat party last weekend,”Sasha’s friend Shay-Shaysaysasshesplitsopenacigar
with her long fingernails. Ieyeherassheletsthetobaccofall out into the trash can.“Dat ish wit’ Sha wouldn’tevenhadgonedownlikedat,either.”Sheshootsmeadirtylook. I look away from her.“Mmph. Silly tricks stayfrontin’ondaD.Thenwannacryrape.”Iblink.“Girl, stop,” Sasha says,
shaking her head. “Youwasn’teventheresodon’tgo
poppin’ off ’cause you don’tknow what happened up indat room. Ain’t dat right,girl?” She looks over at me.“Tell her to eat da inside ofyacrack.”“I’d really rather not talk
aboutit,”Isay,shiftinginmyseat. “I mean. I have noreasontolieonanyone.”Shay-Shay grunts, pulling
outaplasticbagstuffedwithdarkgreen leavesandevenlysprinkling some out onto the
guttedcigarskin.“Girl, no judgment over
here,” Sasha says. “I knowhownuccasdowhentheygetallliquoredup.Trust.Nuccasdon’tknowhowtatakenoforananswer.”“Whatever, Sasha. You
know Sha ain’t hardly try’nrapeher.Sheprollywantedit,thengotmadwhenheturnedherdown.”Ifrown.“I’mnotatease.”She glares at me. “Oh,
don’t get it effed up. Youbetterhaveaseat’foreItakeit to ya face.” She licks androlls the cigar, then pulls outa lighter and runs the flamealong the sides of the cigar.“Youhadnobidnessgoin’upto dat room if you ain’twanna get that thangstretchedout.”“Bish,” Sasha snaps. “She
shouldbeabletogowherevershe wants. He ain’t have nobusinesstrynaforceher.You
know dat nucca is a panty-hound so stop.You justmad’cause da mofo ain’t trynabreak you off none’a datlollipop.” She cracks uplaughing. “Oh, Miss GoodyTwo-shoeshadalldemninjastryna get up in dem drawz.Seems like I can’t takePeachesnowhere.”Shecracksuplaughing.“That’ssonottrue,”Isay.Shay-Shay frowns as she
lights her blunt, then inhales
deeply. “Peaches?” Sheblows a big curl of whitesmoke from her lips. Shetakes three more pulls thenpassesittoSasha.“Inside joke, girl,” Sasha
says, taking the blunt fromher. She takes a pull thenstartstellingherhowIcarriedon the first timeshe tookmetoaparty.“Girl,youshouldaseen Miss Strip Tease,flashin’ her boobs ’n’ gettin’allfreakywit’it.”
I cringe at the memory ofbeing intoxicated and notremembering half of what Isupposedly did. The Shay-Shay girl glares at me asSasha reaches over and triestopassmetheblunt.I shake my head. “No.
That’sokay.I’mgood.”Shay-Shay rolls her eyes.
“Mmph. And da bish thinksshe’s toogood tosmokewit’us.Whysheevenhere?”“ ’Cause I invited her,”
Sasha snaps. “So you need’achilldafuqqout.”Shaywavesheroff.“Trick,
pass me da blunt ’n’ stophoggin’ it like you tryna eatit.”“Whatever.” She takes
another pull, then hands itback over to Shay-Shay. Sheblows smoke up at theceiling. “But she right,though, girly. You need’acome up off’a all dat goodytwo-shoes ish ’n’ kick back
wit’us.Itain’tlikeweaskin’you to do coke or pop anE-pill. All it is is weed. Datain’tgonnakillyou.”“Yeah,Iknow.Ineversaid
itwould.”“Then,girl,watyouscared
of?”I start coughing from the
thick cloud of smoke that’sblowingmyway.Theroomisgetting thick with it, makingitfeel tentimeshotter thanitalreadyisinhere.
Shay-Shaysucksher teeth.“Girl, bye. Don’t beg her tosmoke wit’ us. I ain’t reallycheckin’ for her liked datanyway.”Sasharollshereyes.“Here,
girl.” She takes two longpulls from the blunt, thenhandsittome.“Iknowyouanewbie so I’mabreak you inrealeasybreezy.Here.”Reluctantly, I take the
blunt from her, looking at itwith both excitement and
nervousness. I’d wanted tosmoke with Hazel Eyes buthewouldn’t.Andnowhereismy opportunity to see whatit’slike.Iputittomylips.“Allyougottadoispullon
it until you feel a light burn,then hold da smoke in yachest for like a few seconds,thenblowitout.”I do as she instructs and
immediately my throattightens and I start coughing
andchokingasifI’mabouttohave an asthma attack. Myeyes start watering and mychest feels like it’s on fire.Shay-ShayandSasha lookateach other and burst outlaughing. And now I amlaughingwiththem,coughingand wiping tears from myeyes.I’mfloating.I roll my head back and
look up at the ceiling as wepassthebluntbackandforth.
Iseeabunchofcracksinthepaint and start to wonder ifthose cracks have alwaysbeen there or if I was justseeing things from smokingtheblunt.We smoke the blunt down
until Icanbarelygrip itwithmyfingers.Shay-Shaycallsita roach, then pulls out somekind of clipper thing andkeepsonsmoking itdown toalmostnothing.Wow,she’srealgreedy.
I peel my eyes from thecracks in the ceiling andglance over at Shay-Shay,who’srollinganotherblunt.She puts it up to her lips
andlightsitup.Dang, she has some big,
fluffylips.Istartgiggling.By the time we finish the
second blunt. I can’t stoplooking at Shay-Shay’s lips.Theylooklikethey’vegottenbigger than they already
were.Shesucksherteeth.“What
you doin’ all dat stupidlaughin’for?What’ssoeffenfunny?”“Bwaaahahahaaahaha. I
can’t stop laughing at yourlips,” I say without anythought.Sasha starts laughing.
“Ooh, she callin’ youHorselips,boo.Girl,youdeadwrongfordat.”“Hahahaha. I know, right.
Herlipssobigtheylooklikethey’ll suck a boy’s wholeface off if he tries to kissher.”I’mlaughingsohardthatI
don’t notice that Shay-Shayisn’t laughing. I don’t noticethe evil look she gives me,either. In fact, I don’t evenrealizethatSashaisnolongerlaughing with me because Iamsocaughtupinlaughter.Out of nowhere, Shay-
Shay lunges at me, pulling
out a knife and flipping itopen. She grabs me by myshirt collar, slamming meback onto the bed andcatching me completely offguard. “Bish, I will slice yaeffen throat!No.Thenagain,I’ll slash up ya face ’n’ cutoff ya gawtdamn lips, don’tcome for me unless I callyou!”Myheartdrops.“I-I-Iwasonlyplaying.”“We ain’t cool like dat! I
will bust you in yo’ face!”She starts digging her nailsintomyneck,tryingtochokeme with one hand. “Laughnow!”I start scratching and
clawingatherhand trying togetheroffofme.Sasha hops up from the
floor. “Sheeeit! See youheifers effen wit’ my high.C’mon Shay, you know disgirlcan’tevenhandleyou.Solethergo.”
“No!Shewannalaugh.ButIdon’t seeher laughin’now.Is you? Huh, bish!” Sheswingsafistupsidemyhead.And I hearmyself scream inmyhead. “I should stab ya!”Shemushesme, then lets goand starts pacing the floorlikeawildwoman.I gasp and gulp in air,
tryingtocatchmybreath.“Ohmygod!”Irubmyneck
and shake my head. “I can’tbelieveyoutriedtokillme!”
“Believe it! You don’tknow me! I will bring it yahead!You lucky Idon’tbustya mouff open right now. Iknow I got big lips, I don’tneed you tryna make fun of’em.”I try to apologize but she
isn’tinterested.She clenches her teeth,
pounding her fist into thepalmofherhand.“Youain’t’boutdis life, soyouneed tostop tryna be ’n’ get back to
da’burbswhereyoubelong.”The wild look in her eyes
tellsmeshe’s twostepsfromcrazy.Shechargesatmeandpunches me in my jaw,causing my head to snapback.Blood gushes frommymouth.I scream, glancing over at
Sasha.She shrugs. “Next time
watchwhatyousay.”
20
Three days later, I am outspending thedaywithMalik.I was surprised when hecalled and said he wanted totake me shopping. No guyhas ever offered to take meout to buy me whatever I
want. But Malik did. Now,after four hours of mall andoutlet hopping, Maliksuggests we go grab a quickbite to eat. He asks what Ihave a taste for. I tell himwhatever he wants is finewith me. Truth is, I don’treally have much of anappetite. For some reason,I’m starting to feel... I don’tknow. Like, um, maybe Ireally shouldn’t have let himspendsomuchmoneyonme.
Apartofmeisalsofeelingbad about lying to my momagain. Butwhat other choicedid I have? I wanted to seehim. And I know if I’d toldher the truth shewould haveforbiddenit.I shrugoff theguilt that is
slowly stirring in the pit ofmy stomach as I settle intothe plush leather seat. I leanmyheadbackontheheadrestand stare out the window,wonderinghow in theheck I
amgoingtosneakalloftheseshoppingbags intomyhousewithoutmymotheraskingmeamillionquestions.“Yo, you a’ight over
there?” Malik asks, lookingoveratme.Inod,soaking inallofhis
fineness. My milk-chocolatedreamboat. Malik. Six feettall, rippled abs, chiseledbiceps, and sweet, juicy lips.He is so fine. He melts meinto a puddle of sweet
nothings every time he looksinto my soul with hisbeautiful,deep,piercing,darkbrown eyes with the thicklashes.He’sperfect.The wayMalik gazes into
my eyes is intoxicating.Intense. It’sas ifhewants toseeeverything there is to seein me. It makes me feelspecial. I’ve never had anyboy look at me the way hedoes. And I think that’s one
of the reasons why I wantedto seehim today.Had to seehim.I can almost see myself
becoming addicted to Malikin the way that I am toReese’sPeanutButterCups.Iknow that I’m allergic tochocolate, yet still indulgemyself.It’sstartingtofeelthesamewaywithMalik.Iknowtoomuchofhimmightnotbegood for me, but for somereason I can’t seem to get
enough of him. And thatkinda frightens and excitesmeatthesametime.“Yo, real spit, babe. You
’bout to have me catch acharge;forrealforreal.I’makidnap ya for the weekend,then have my way wit’ you;youknowthatright?”Aslowgrincreepsoverhislips.I shift in my seat, feeling
heatspreadthroughmybody.I don’t know what to say tothat. I pushout a chuckle. “I
wish. My parents wouldgroundmeindefinitelyiftheyever found out I was offsomewhere spending theweekend with some guy, iftheydidn’tkillmefirst.”“Nah, you sixteen. You
grown, baby.” He reachesoverand lightlysqueezesmyknee, thenglideshishandupmy leg. “You can dowhatever you want, babe.And, legally, there’s nothingthey can do to stop you.
Besides, who said they’dhavetoknow;nah’mean?”Ismileathim,notknowing
what else to say. I mean, Iknowwhattheageofconsentis: sixteen. But does thatmean that legally there isn’tanythingmyparentscoulddoif I went and spent theweekendwithhim?Ohmygod, why am I even
thinkingaboutanyofthis?He’sonlykidding.Relax.Fifteen minutes later,
Malik parks his SUV, thengetsout andwalks around tomy side and opens the door,helping me out. “You sexy,babe.”I smile, feeling like the
luckiest girl alive. Malik iseverythingIhaveeverwishedfor in a guy. He’s so sweet.No, he’s a whole lot morethan just sweet. He’s . . .perfect!I’vehadtopinchmyselfat
least four times tomakesure
it’s real. Because to behonest,itallfeelstoogoodtobetrue.Iknownineteenisn’treally
thatold.Butformeitis.He’stheoldestguyI’veeverspentany time with. Compared tothe other guys I’ve dated orliked,Malikisn’taboy.He’sagrownman.And he seemswaaaay too
oldforme.ButIknowageisnothing but a number. It’show someone treats you and
makes you feel that reallymatters,right?Ibreathe inhis cologne as
he takesmeby thehand andleadsme toward theentranceofApplebee’s,wherewe areseated within minutes. I’mgladtherewasn’talongwait,like usual on a Saturdaynight.We sit at a table near the
bar. “You know what youwannaget?”heasks,pickingup his menu and flipping
throughit.Iwant to tellhimthat I’ve
never eaten here before. Butdecide it isn’t important.Beingwithhimis.I flip throughmymenu as
well, trying to decide. “No,notyet,”Isay,glancingupathim as he pulls out hisSamsungandstartstexting.A few minutes later our
waiter comes to the table totake our orders. I order thethree-cheese chicken penne.
Hegetsanappetizersampler,andthehoneypepperchickenand shrimp. We both orderpomegranatelemonades.Malik waits for the waiter
to walk off, then rests hisarmson the table, leaning in.Justasheopenshismouthtospeak,he’sinterruptedbythisbrown-skinnedgirlwearingashort blonde pixie hairstylewith streaks of orange in herbangs and bright yellow,purple,andgoldhighlightsin
eachspikeofherhair.She looks like she stuck
her head into a bowl ofmeltedSkittles.“Oh, no, this mofo ain’t
sittin’ up here with someotherchick.Malik?!”Helooksupandoverinthe
direction of the ruckus.Skittles stomps over towardour table with three othergirls in tow, all looking likethey’d slice, shoot, andstomp, then ask questions
later. Her multicoloredfingernails are at least fourinches long. Both of herwrists are wrapped in goldbangles.Andshehasabunchof rings on almost everyfinger.“Sodiswhyyouain’tbeen
pickin’ up ya phone all day.You was s’posed to comethrough dis mornin’ ’n’insteadyououttrickin’upmybaby’s milk ’n’ Pampers ondisli’luppity,yellowthot.”
Iblink.I don’t know why, but
suddenly this trashy girlmakesme think of old rerunshows of Martin. Now Iknowwhosheremindsmeof.ThecharacterSheneneh.Andthe three girls with her alllookjustascolorfulandcrazyas she does. If I wasn’t soscared of what’s about tounfoldinhere,I’dlaugh.She snarls at me. “Trick,
what you doin’ out wit’ my
man, coo-cooin’ all up inhisfacelikeyouinlove,huh?”Iblink.Skittles looks mean and
gooddangcrazy.“Yo, go ’head with that
dumbshit,Henney.”Henney? Ohmygod, what
kindofnameisthat?She slams a hand on her
narrow hip. She has a realsmall waist, itty-bitty breaststhat look like they couldeasilybemistakenforplums,
and a gigantic booty thatlooks like it’s been attachedtothewrongbody.Itrynottogawkather.“Don’t ‘Henney’ me, you
sneaky black sonofabitch! Ibeencallin’yaallday,nucca.Why ain’t you been throughtoseeaboutyason,huh?”“Yogo’headwit’dat.You
alreadyknowwhatitis.Howmany times we gonna keepgoin’throughdis?”I swallow. Ohmygod! I
can’t believe Malik has ababywiththiscrazygirl.“What you lookin’ at,
trick?”“N-n-othing,” I stutter,
shifting my eyes around therestaurant. Several tablesaround us have alreadystartedtakinginthespectacleunfolding. And all I keepthinking is, please don’t lettheseghettogirls jumpme inhere.Truth is, aside from the
fightsI’vehadwithmythreeolder brothers, I’d never hada real fight inmy entire lifewith a girl, or with anyone,for that matter until that girlShay-Shay attacked me. Noteven an argument. Well, notone where there are cursewords and yelling andthreatening going back andforth.I know I said that I’m
fascinatedwiththefast,grittystreets of the hood. But that
doesn’t mean I want toexperience a firsthand fightwithanyof thesegirls,eyingme real nasty-like. They alllook like they know how tospitrazorsoutandsliceafacewithoutblinkinganeye.Ishiftinmyseat.“Yo, what you want,
Hennessey? Don’t you seeI’mtrynaeat?Whyyougottabe on effen ten all da effentime,huh?”“I ain’t on ten, yet, ninja.
But I’ma ’bout to be realquick if you don’t tell mewhat you doin’ out herewit’her.”My eyes pop open. I
swallow. “My name’sKennedy,”Isaymeekly.She glances over at her
three friends, who are allsmirking.“Oh,y’allheardat.Her name’sKennnnedy,” shesays, mockingly. Her friendslaugh. “Soundin’ all tighty-whitey. Trick, please. Take
dat Cracker Jack ish back toda ’burbs where you belong.I’llcallyouwhatIwannacallyou.Andwhat?”I shift back in my seat,
cuttingmyeyeoveratMalik.“I don’t know what you
lookin’ over dere at him for,like he gonna save you orsumthin’. What, you needdaddy to save you? I ain’toverhereforyouanyway,li’lgirl. So don’t go pissin’ yapanties up. But trust. If I
wanted tobring it toyaface,there wouldn’t be all distalkin’goin’on.”Herfriendslaugh.Malik’s jaw tightens. “Yo,
Hennessey, for real. You’bouttohavemetakeitthere.Wordisbond,yo.Youbetterstep,a’ight?”“Nucca, I ain’t better do
ish. I know you don’t evenwanna see me turn up up inhere sodon’teven try’nplayme.”
Malik grits his teeth.“BeforeIsplityashit,yo,I’mwarnin’you.”She ignores him, shooting
a dirty look over at me. Herglare is hot enough to meltsteel. “How long you beenneck-bobbin’ him, huh, li’lgirl? What, you deaf? Youhearmetalkin’toyou.”“Yo, what da—” Malik
hops up from the table andsnaps on her, goes fromniceto nasty in a flash. And it
startlesme for a second. I’mnotaccustomedtothiskindofstuff; especially not out inpublic. I see a thick veinpump in his forehead assnatches her by the arm andstarts roughing her up.“Didn’tItellyoutotakeyatostop, huh? But you wannakeeppoppin’yajaws,right?”Shepusheshimoffofher.
“I’mnottrynahearyou.Youthink you can come through’n’ hit dis good stuff
whenever you effen want,thenturnaround’n’playme.I don’t think so. I’m not daone.” She lunges toward thetable, causing me to jump.“Beeyotch,heain’tevagonnabeyourssoyoumightaswellcashoutnowbeforeyoufindyaself stomped out. Thatninjaain’evalettin’goofdiswet-wetovahere,boo.Trust.Youjustasidepiece.”Malikyanksherbythearm
again. Tells her to shut her
mouth. The whole scenestarts to turn ugly as shefights him off of her, callinghim all types of dirty, cruelnames. She’s a real guttermouth.Next thing I know, her
three friends all jump onMalik, snatching plates offnearby tables and smashingthemupsidehishead.HeletsSkittles go and tries tomanhandle her friends. Iwatch in horror as Malik
tosses them around therestaurant and they jump onhis back until they’ve finallygottenhimdownonthefloor,stomping and kicking andpunchinghim.IamsoscaredI’vepeedon
myself.“And since you wanna
choosedatstuck-upslutoverall’adishoodgoodness,Igotsumthin’ for you if I evercatch her alone! You watch,punk!”
21
“Where have you been,younglady?”mymomwantsto know, swinging open mybedroom door and steppingintomyroom.Icantellshe’spissedbythesternnessinhervoice.
“Iwas outwith... outwithSasha,”Iblurtout.“Sasha?” She raises her
brow.“Ohreally?AndwherewereyouwiththisSasha?”“Hanging out at her
house.”She blinks. “And where
doesthisSashalive,again?”I never told you! Besides,
it’snoneofyourbusiness!“Across town,” I offer,
moving around my room,trying to avoid her roving
eyes. She’s studying myeverymove.And it’smakingme uncomfortable. Lyingisn’t my greatest asset. Butit’s something I’m slowlybecoming better at.Concealingthetruthfromheris a whole lot easier thantelling her that I was withMalik; that he had tomanhandle an ex-girlfriendand I witnessed him gettingjumpedinarestaurantbyherandherghettosquad.Telling
her this will only send herthrough the roof.Mom leansup against my dresser, herarmsfoldedandheadtilted.“Across townwhere? And
wereherparentshome?”I suck my teeth. “Mom,
she’s eighteen. She doesn’tneed supervision. And, yes,her mother was there.” Ipurposefully don’t mentionwhere she lives, or that hermom was passed out on thesofa drunkwith a half bottle
of Jack Daniels between herlegs.She grunts. “Don’t you
suck your teeth at me. It’spast your curfew. You doknowthat,right?”“I’m only a few minutes
late. What’s the big deal?You’ve never had anyproblembefore.”“Well, before you would
call to let me know whereyou were and what time toexpect you. Anything can
happenoutthere.”I huff. “Dang, mom. I’m
notalittlegirl.Fallback.I’monly thirty minutes late.Okay,Igetit.Ididn’tcall.Itwon’t happen again, okay?Geesh.Relax.It’snot...”“Relax? Fall back?” she
shrieks, glaring at me as ifI’ve gone completely insane.Maybe I have. I have neverspoken to her in thismannerbefore.Never.“Haveyou lostyourmind,
Kennedy, huh? Have you?You don’t tell me to relax.Sincewhendoyou think it’sokaytospeaktomelikethat,huh?Sincewhendidyoustarttalking like that? I tell youwhen. When you startedassociating with that Sashagirl. I don’t like her. She’s alittle too fast to my liking.And she’s obviouslybecoming a bad influence onyou if you think you candisrespect me in my own
homeandtellmetofallbackandrelax.”“I wasn’t saying it to be
disrespectful. It’s a figure ofspeech.”Sheplantsahanduponher
hip.“Figureofspeechornot,it’s disrespectful. I am yourmother, not one of your newlittle homegirls you’ve takenup with. I don’t want youhanging with that Sasha girlanymore. You understandme?”
“Ohmygod! That’s sounfair! Why? What has shedonetoyou?”“She’sabadinfluence.”“Youdon’tevenknowher.
She’snot a bad influence onme,”Iprotest,soundinglikeawhinybrat.“I don’t need to know her
toknowthatshe’strouble.”“It’s allmy fault. I should
have called you, but I gotcaught up and lost track oftime. I apologize. You don’t
havetoactlikeit’stheendoftheworld.”“It’s not the end of the
world, Kennedy. But it willbe the endof your outings ifyoucan’tgetinthishouseontime. Do I make myselfclear?”Isilentlyrollmyeyesupin
myhead.“Yeah.”“Yeah?Girl,youhadbetter
regroupandrememberwhomyou are speaking to. Am Iclear?”
“Yes.”“Yes? Girl, I’m warning
you. You had better put ahandle on it before you findyourself grounded for thenexttwoweeks.”I bite into my lip to keep
fromscreaming.I pull in a deep breath.
Blow it out slowly. “Yes,Mom.”“Good. You’re grounded
fortherestoftheweekend.”“But—”
“ ‘But’ nothing. I don’twant to hear another wordaboutit.Grounded.”Iopenmymouthtospeak,
but she puts a hand up andshuts me down. “I said, notanotherword.”Iquicklyshutmymouth.“Now go shower and get
yourself ready for bed. Yousmell like marijuana smoke.Andyoubetternoteventhinkaboutsmokingthatmess.”“I’mnot.”
Sheeyesmerealhard,thenspins on her heel and walksout,leavingmestandingherein the middle of my room,feeling like my whole worldis about to end being onpunishment for the next twodays.“She spazzed out on you
likedat?”Sashasays,shakingherhead.We’resittinginthefood court on our thirty-minute break and I just
finished filling her in on thedrama that happened lastnight.“Yeah, she was pretty
pissed.”“Girl, couldn’t beme.My
momz tried dat punishmentishonme’n’Itol’hertokissmyjuicy.. .”Sheleansoveron one butt cheek thenreaches in back of her andsmacks it. “And I tol’ her tokiss it real good. Ain’tnobodygottimefordat.”
“Ohmygod!What’dshedoafterthat?”“Girl, please. What you
think she did? Not a thang.The only thing she could dowassitthere’n’dealwit’it.Iwas sixteen ’n’ grown. Shecouldn’t do a thang but getwit’daprogram’n’letmedome.”“Well, my parents,
especially my mom, wouldneverjustletmedome.”She grunts. “Mmmph. I
don’t know why not. Aren’tyoualmostseventeen?”“Yeah.”“Well, then you grown,
girl. You better get ya life,boo.Itssummertime’n’ain’tnobodytrynabecoopedupinsomeboxallweekend.”I nod, taking in what she
says.“True.But—”“ ’But’ nothin’, girl. You
need to be ready to hit dispartywit’metomorrownight’n’ stop frontin’. It’s gonna
befire.Trust.”My heart skips at the
thought of going out, beingsweptupinthemusicandallthe cuties that I know aregoing to be there. Thenreality sets in. And myexcitement deflates. “Ooh, Iwish I could go. There’s noway I’ll be able to get outwithout my mom catchingme, then grounding me fortherestofthesummer.”“Umm, helllloooo.” She
snapsher fingers inmy face.“EarthtoKennedy.Whosaysshehastoknow?Sneakout.”Sneakout?Ohmygod!She
can’t be serious. My momwould kill me. Then again,it’snot like Ihaven’tdone itbefore.Ishakemyhead.“Well...
maybe. I just don’t want togetcaught.”Shegivesmeapitifullook.
“Poor thing.” She plucks aFrench fry from her plate,
dips it into her little cup ofketchup then takes a bite.“Well, good luck with that.Annnyway, movin’ on.What’s up wit’ you ’n’ myboy Malik? You feelin’ himorwhat?”I shrug. “He’s nice. I
guess.”She gives me an
incredulouslook.“He’snice?You guess? Girl, bye. Missme wit’ dat. Didn’t y’all goout?”
Inod.“Yeah.Wedid.Andthenhisbabymothershowedup and started making ascene?”Shemakes a face. “Which
babymuhver?”Itellher.Sherolls her eyes. “Henney ain’tnothin’ but a buncha mouth.It prolly ain’t his babyanyway.”“Really?”“Girl, please. She gave it
up to da whole block onetime.Shenastylikedat.”
Iblink.Shehasawholelotof nerve calling someonenasty when I caught hernaked with a room full ofhalf-naked guys, letting themhavetheirwaywithher.I keep my thought to
myself.“But back to Malik,” she
says, plucking another fryfromherplate,thenstuffingitinto her mouth. “What youmeanyouguess?”Shechews,then swallows. “Girl, bye.
There’snothin’ toguess.Datnucca’s mad fly. His swag’ssick’n’hestaysonone.Girl,please.He’se’erything.”I’ve heard the phrase “on
one”usedbeforemany timesin rap lyrics and fromSasha,but I still don’t quiteunderstand what it means.Embarrassed, I ask Sasha toexplainittome.She gives me a strange
look,shakingherhead.“Girl,you really don’t know much
of nothin’, do you?” shelaughs. “See. Dat’s wathappenswhenyouain’tfromda hood. You stay lost.Anyway, let me bring youintodalight.Itmeansdatyoueither high or drunk. But inMalik’scaseitmeanshedoeshim ’n’ he don’t give a effwhat mofos out in da streetsgottasayorthinkaboutit.”“Oh,”Isay,nodding.She takes a sip of her
MountainDew. “Now out in
Cali if you hear ’em say datdenitmeanstheyhighoffdatcrystalmeth.Well, dat’swatmy girl Lisa says since all’aher fam from out dat way.Methheadjunkies.”Sheshakesherhead.“Isn’t that what you use
sometimes?” I ask,immediatelyregrettingiteverfallingfrommylips.She shoots me a nasty
look. Oh God! “What,meth?” Islowlynod,bracing
myself for what’s to come.“Bish,don’tyoueverdisme.I ain’t never used no effenmeth.Maybeali’lmollyhere’n’ dere, but dat’s it. And Ionly use dat when I reallywanna let my hair down ’n’justdome.”“Oh,”Isay,apologetically.
“Ididn’tknow.Ithoughttheywerethesamething.”“Trick,doyourhomework,
first, before you go trynalabel someone.No, dey ain’t
da same thang. You uppityhoes stay tryna lookdownatchicks from the hood whenyou bishes do more whorin’’n’druggin’thananyofus.”“Sasha,” I say calmly.
“Pleasedon’t callmenames.It’sdisrespectful.”Sheslamsahanduponher
hip,zigzaggingherneckfromonesidetotheother.“Tramp,bye. Miss me wit’ dat. I’llcall you what I want,especially when you come
outyafacetrynadisme.Youtry’n call me out, then I’macall you out, too. Trust. Idon’tknowwhatkindagamesyoutrynaplay.ButIain’tdaone, boo-boo. So don’t dome.”Iblink.“Look, Sasha. I’m not
exactlysurewhatIsaidtosetyouoff.ButIwasn’ttryingtodo you. Or label you. I onlyaskedasimplequestion.”“Girl, bye. It was
disrespectful.”Honestly, I am not seeing
what was so disrespectfulabout what I asked her. Butforsomereason, thefact thatI’ve asked seems to be aproblem for her. So in hopestorestorepeacebetweenus Isay, “I apologize. Really. Ididn’tthinkaskingaquestionwouldupsetyou.”“Well, it sounded like
judgmenttome.”“Ohmygod! Judgment?
Sasha, that’s the last thing Ido to anyone. I swear. Iaccept people for who theyare and for what they do,evenifit’snotwhatI’minto.Ireallydidn’tknowitwasn’tthesamething.”“Wellnowyoudo.”“Iapologize.Ididn’tmean
tooffendyou.”She clucks her tongue.
“Well, it sounded datway tome, like you better than me.Dat’s da problem wit’ you
uppity suburban bishes, youall think you better than ushood bishes, but you staytryna come todahood to effourmen.”I give her an incredulous
look.“That’ssonottrue.”“Girl, bye. Miss me wit’
dat.”She gets up and snatches
her tray from off the table,stormingoff.Iamleftsittingatthetable,
looking around like, “What
just happened here?” whilefeeling completelyflabbergasted.
22
Three days later, I’m atJordan’s house with Hope.We’ve just gotten back fromthe salon getting manicuresand pedicures, along withcucumber and mint facials.And now we’re up in her
bedroom listening to SevynStreeter’s album Call MeCrazy,But...YoIwannacuIt’s a text from Malik.
We’ve spoken a few timessince that incident at therestaurant. And althoughseeing thosecrazygirls jumphimmademe real nervous, Istill like him. Maybe I’mcrazy. I don’t know. All Iknow is, there’s somethingabout Malik I really, really
like.I smile. It’s been a few
dayssinceI’veseenhim.Butnow that I am offpunishment, I am so lookingforward to spending timewithhim.Iwannacu2“Hey,youwanttogotothe
malltoday?”Jordanasked.“Which one?”Hopewants
toknow,lookingupfromheriPhoneoveratJordan.“GardenState.”
Hope shakes her head.“Oh, no thank you. I’m notup for that drive to Paramustoday.”“What? Are you serious?
It’s less than thirty minutes.Sowhatdoyoumeanyou’renot up for driving toParamus? You’re acting likeit’s an hour drive orsomething.”Hope sighs. “I have to go
to some Jack and Jill thingwith my mother at three.
Then I have ballet at five.Raincheck?”“Oh,” Jordan says,
sounding disappointed.“What about you, Kennedy?Yougame?”“Ican’t,”Isay,lookingup
from my phone. “I have towork.”Jordan huffs. “Ohmygod!
Thisisridiculous.Allyoudoiswork.”Ugottawork?NO,Itextback.
“Huh?”I lookupfrommyphone. “Are you talking tome?”She sucks her teeth.
“Yessss. I’m talking to you.Who are you texting andgrinningover,anyway?”“Afriend,”Isaycasually.“Uh-huh. And does this
friend have a name?” Hopeinquires.I’mnotreadytosharewith
themhisnamejustyet.“Yup.None-ya.”
“Let me guess,” Jordanretorts, twisting her lips up.“He’soneof them thugboysyou’resofascinatedwith.”Irollmyeyes.“Whatever.”Imakidnapu,yo.Igrin.Jordan sighs. “That’s so
rude.”I roll my eyes. “Girl, bye.
Don’thate.Likeyoudon’tdoit too. Let it be Howard.Mmph. You stay with yourface stuck to your screen.”
Malik sends another text,saying he’ll be free aroundeight.“I saaaaid, all you do is
work. It’s like you’d ratherspend timeat that ratchet jobthan spend time with yourbestfriends.”Itexthimback,OKI set my phone beside me
on the bed. “That is so nottrue, Jordan.” I look over atHope.“Hope,doyoufeelthatway,too?”
She puts her hands up.“Don’t put me in this. MynameisSwitzerland.AndI’mstayingneutral.”My cell chimes, alerting
me I have a new textmessage. I reach for it,glancing at the screen. It’sanothertextfromMalik. [email protected]?Yes.“Really,Kennedy?”Jordan
says, frowning. “You’re
goingtokeeptextinglikethatand not tell us who you’retexting?Sincewhenyoustartkeepingsecrets?”“I’m not keeping any
secrets,” I lie. “Iwas textingmymanagertoletherknowIwassick.Sowecanhangoutatthemall.”“Goody,” she says,
clapping. Hope gets up fromthe bed, shouldering heroversized D&G bag. “Well,kiddies. I gotta go. My
mom’soutsidealready.”She air-kisses me, then
Jordan,thenisoutthedoor.“Well,” Jordan says,
lookingover atme. “It’s justyou andme.” She glances atmy phone in my hand. “Oh,andyourcell.”“Girl, stop. Let’s go to
NewportMall.”Her eyes pop out of her
head.“Whaaat?Whyareyoutryingtodragmetothathoodmall?YouknowI’mallergic
to those type of malls.There’snoGucci!NoPrada!No Bloomingdale’s! NoNeimanMarcus!”“Okay, okay... I get it.
You’realabeljunkie.”She sucks her teeth. “And
you’reahoodjunkie.”“C’mon.It’llbefun.”“Yeah, okay,” she says
relunctantly, getting up fromherchaise.“We’llsee.LetmegoputonmyKevlar.”Icrackuplaughing.
23
“A www, shiiiiiiiiit. Lookahere, looka here. Dere goesdat dirty trick right dere,” Ihear someone say, pointingoverinmydirection.Oh,godnoo!I stop dead in my tracks.
My knees buckle. It’s thatHennessey girl wobbling inour direction with two othergirlsoneithersideofher.Jordanwhispers out of the
sideofhermouth,“Ooh,lookat them ugly girls walkingtoward us.And the onewiththat orange yarn goingthrough her hair looks likeshe’s the queen of theghetto.”“Jordan,notnow,”Isayin
ahushedtone.“She’scrazy.”
Hennessey says, “Trick,it’s on now. I knew I wasgonna run into you again,soonerorlater.”I grab Jordan’s hand and
takeoffrunningwiththetwogirlswithherchasingbehindus. Jordan and I run throughthe food court zigzaggingthrough the crowd, trying togettosafetybeforetheycatchus.“Get her, Quanda!” I hear
someone scream. I think it’s
that Hennessey girl. But Ican’t be for certain. “Yeah,youbettarun,youeffenthot!StayawayfromMalik!”“Wait! Wait! Ohmygod,
Kennedy! What ishappening? Why are webeing chased by these wildgirls?”I can hear the two girls
chasing behind us, calling usnames and laughing at thesametime.“You betta hope I don’t
ever catch upwit’ you,bish!You can run but you can’thide!” I hear oneof thegirlsyelling in back of us as wezigzag through the mall,toward the escalators. “Iknowwhatyoulooklike!”My heart is pounding in
mychestsohardthatIthinkIam on the verge of having aheartattack. Jordanand Iarebothoutofbreathasweduckinto Carol’s Daughter, askincare store, on the second
level.I have never been more
frightenedinmylife.ThelastthingIwant is tobeattackedby that Hennessey girl andher friends; especially notafter seeing how they alljumpedonMalikthatnightattherestaurant.“Ohmygod! Who were
those girls?” Jordanwants toknow, breathing heavily. Shebendsover,placingherhandson her knees, trying to catch
herbreath.“Idon’tknowthem,”Isay,
clutching my chest. I takeslow, steady breaths to calmmynervessome.Hereyespopopen.“What?
You don’t know them?Thenwhy in the heck are theychasingus?”“Thegirlwhohadtheyarn
in her head is this girlHennessey...”Jordan’s eyes buck.
“Ghettotrash.Goon.”
I sigh. “She kind of gotmadwhensheranintoMalikat Applebee’s and saw mesittingtherewithhim.”“Wait.”Sheputsahandup
tostopme.“Waitoneminute.WhotheheckisMalik?”“Oh, he’s this guy I met
through Sashawho I kind oflike.”She frowns. “Wait a
second. The girl you workwith who hates you? ThatSasha?”
“She doesn’t hate me,really.Butyeah.Her.”“Thatgirlistrouble.”“Howcanyousay that?”I
ask, walking over to theentrance leading out into themallandpeekingouttoseeifthose girls are anywhere insight. “Youdon’t evenknowher.”She snorts, placing a hand
uponherhip.“Oh.Andnowyoudo?”Iturntofaceher.“Ididn’t
say that. But that doesn’tmean it’sokay to sayunkindthingsabouther.”“Hello,” a saleswoman
says, walking over to us.“CanIhelpyouyoungladiesfindanythinginparticular?”Jordan looks over at her.
“Yes, please. The nearestpolicestation.”ThesalesladygivesJordan
a confused look, glancingfrom her, then over to me.“Excuseme?Iseverythingall
right?”“Oh,don’tmindher,”Icut
in. “She’s a littlemelodramatic. We’rebrowsing,thanks.”“More like hiding out,”
Jordansays,irritated.“We’vejust been chased through themall by a pack of hoodhyenas.” She looks down ather four-inchwedgeheels.“Ican’tbelieve Ihad to run formylifeintheseshoes.Icouldhavebrokenmyanklesbeing
draggedlikearagdoll.”I apologize. Tell her I’ll
treathertoapedicure.She rolls her eyes. “That’s
the least you can do afterdragging me out to thistrifling mall. And cohortingwiththatSashatrash.”“That’s not nice, Jordan.
She really isn’t bad. She’sactuallyalotoffun.”Jordan blinks. “Mmph.
Isn’t that something. Nowyou’re taking up for the girl.
Howclassic.”Iraisemybrow.“Whatdo
youmeanbythat?”She rolls her eyes, picking
upabodylotionsamplerandsniffingit.“It’ssoundingrealStockholmishtome.”I suck my teeth.
“Ohmygod,Jordan.Youcan’tcomparemy getting to knowSasha to Stockholmsyndrome. One, because shehasn’t kidnapped me, and,two,Iwasn’therhostage.”
She waves me ondismissively, then sets thelotion back on the table.“Yeah, you were only thevictim of her abuse at thatlittle job of yours. Butwhatever. Glad you couldfind it in your heart to be soforgiving,sosoon.”Ishakemyhead,thenwalk
over towhereshe’sstanding.“Therewasn’treallyanythingtoforgive.”“Mmph. I guess not. So
when did you and the crazygirlbecomenewbestfriends?And why am I just nowhearingaboutit?”“Jordan,relax.It’snotthat
serious.”Shegrunts. “Oh, okay. I’ll
be sure to remember that thenext time I’m being chasedthroughamallbyabunchofknife-wieldingthuggettes.”I shake my head, walking
toward the mall entrance.“Come on. Let’s get out of
here.”“With pleasure,” she says,
stompingoffaheadofme.“Ican’t wait to call Hope andtellherallaboutthisdrama.”“Can you please not?” I
quicklysay.She shoots me a look.
“Andwhynot?”“Iwanttobetheonetotell
her.”She rolls her eyes.
“Alright. If that’s how youwanttoplayit,I’llkeepyour
little secret. For now.” Herlast words to me beforespeedwalking toward theparking garage and leavingmebehindare, “Somuch forfun.”
24
The voice inside my headtellsmenottodoit,but...Ican’thelpmyself.Maybe
I can. Okay, okay... I don’twant to.Can youblameme?There’s somethingabouthimthat I can’t shake.Evenafter
thatwholemall incidentoveraweekago,it’slikeI’mmoredrawn to him than everbefore. I don’t knowwhat itis that has me wanting toknowmore about him. But Ido.Badly.MaybebecauseIknowI’ll
belivingontheedge.Maybe because I know he
comeswithalotofdrama.Andexcitement.Andmysteriousness.I closemyeyes, asAriana
Grande’s “Tattooed Heart”plays low in thebackground.Without thought, I starthummingsoftly.“Yo, wat’s dat you
hummin’?” Malik wants toknow. We’d been textingpractically all day duringmywork shift and now—although I’m on punishmentand can’t leave the house—we’vegonefromtextingbackand forth to talking on thephone. I tell him who the
artistis.“Oh,word?Iain’tuponher.Singmesomethin’.”Ilaugh.“Nah, real ish, baby. Let
mehearyouspitsomethin’.”“Ican’tsing.”Helaughs.“So.It’llbeour
secret,a’ight?”I giggle. “Ooh, I like that.
Ourlittlesecret.”“You already know. So
wat’s good? You gonna letmehearitorwat?”“Ohgod.Areyouserious?I
soundhorrible.”“C’mon. What, you want
me to beg? I knowyou ain’ttrynamakemebegforit,areyou? But I will if dats watyouwant.”Thewayhesaysit...that
he’ll beg for it . . . if Iwanthim to,makesme feelwarmallover.Mmmm.Do I want him to
begforit?“Soyouwantme tobeg?”
hesaysinalow,huskyvoice.
Itsoundsasifhe’ssmoking.“No. You don’t have to
beg,” I say in almost awhisper.He blows out a breath.
“Oh, word? A’ight then. Letmegetdat then.Letmeheardat sexy voice sing in myear.”I blush. Then take a deep
breath,andsingaverse.Thenend itwith,“All Ineed isallyourloving...”“Oh, word? Dat’s all you
need?”I swallow. “It’s from the
song. I wasn’t speaking ofme,perse.”“Yeah, I know. But I’m
sayin’...whoyougivin’allyalovin’to?”“Noone.”“Oh, word? So when’s da
last timeyou let someonehitdat?”I blink. “Ohmygod!
Never!”“What,youstillavirgin?”
Myeyespopopen.Andforsome reason I amembarrassedtotellhimthatIam. Silence. I am relievedwhenhedoesn’tpressmefortheanswer.“I bet you mad tight ’n’
realjuicy,likefreshfruit.”The way he says that
makesmefloodwithheatandexcitement. And I know Ishould probably not let thisgoanyfurther thanitalreadyhas. That I should probably
change the subject nowbefore things get way out ofcontrol and I end up gettingintosomethingI’mnot readyfor.ButIdon’t.“Youthinkyoureadytolet
amanmakeyouawoman?”“WhosaysI’mnotalready
a woman?” I say coyly. Iknow I’m flirting withdanger,still...“Nah, you still a woman-
in-trainin’, yo.But hangwit’me’n’I’mamakeyouafull-
fledge,card-carryin’one.”Hepauses. “Dat’s if you thinkyouready.”“Boy,Iwasbornready.”He cracks up laughing.
“Oh, I see you like to talk agood one, huh? But I’maman,baby. I ain’tone’ademli’l boyz you ’n’ ya li’lfriendz chase ’round daplayground.Yousteppin’intomanterritorynow,babe.Igotsomethin’foryoutoplayon,butitain’tnoswing.”
“Mmmhmm,” I purrwithout thinking. I’msurprised at how flirtatious Iam being. I feel sexy. “Iknowthat.”“Word? So wat’s good?
You thinkyoucanhandlealldisgoodlovin’?”I blink. Press my thighs
together.“Idon’tknow.”“I’msayin’...thenthere’s
onlyonewaytofindout.”My heart skips two extra
beats.
“Yo,Iwannaseeyou,ma,”Maliksaysreallowandsexy-like into the phone, causingevery bit of my sensibilitiestogooutthewindow.“Iwant to seeyou, too.” I
glanceoverattheclock.It’salittle after eleven o’clock atnight. We’ve been on thephone for almost twentyminutes. Malik isn’t really aphone type of guy. He’drather text. But the fact thathecalledmeandisn’trushing
off the phone tells me hemust really be interested inme. The thought makes mesmile.“Iknowhowyoudon’tliketalkingonthephone,butI’mgladyoucalledme.”“True, true. But you an
exception, babe. I’m feelin’you,yo.”My smile widens. “I’m
feelingyou,too,Malik.”Heblowsabreath into the
phone, causing me to closemy eyes. I imagine his lips
movingashespeaks.Hetellsme hewants to takeme intothe city to go shopping thenout to dinner this comingSaturday.Thathe thenwantsme to spend the night withhim.My heart flutters. And
everythinginsideofmestartstovibrate.“Dis ish is killin’me,ma.
You got me goin’ thru it.Hearin’ ya sweet, sexy voicegot my man all excited. I
wanna tastedempretty lips.”He lets out another breath.“Yo, you sure there ain’t nowayyoucangetout?Justforanhourorso.”I glance over at the clock
again.I pull in a deep breath.
“Come get me. I’ll bestanding at the cornerwaiting.”“Aah, dat’s what I’m
talkin’ ’bout, baby.” I canhear the smile in his voice.
“You know I’ma ’bout tomakeyoumine,right?”Iwonder if he can seeme
smiling from ear to ear rightnow. Or if he can hear howfast my heart is beating thisverymoment. I feel like I’mfloating.I give him the address to
where theWaWa is.He tellsme he’ll meet me there intwenty minutes before wedisconnect.Hurriedly, I swing the
sheetoffofmeandhopoutofbed, excited. I race aroundmy bedroom trying to findsomething cute to wear,mindful not to make toomuch noise. I go into thebathroom,washmyface,andpull my hair back into aponytail.Tenminutes later, Iamglidingonacoatofcherrylipgloss then climbing out ofmywindowinapairoffittedjeansandablackT-shirtwiththe words LOVE ME printed
acrossmychest.I shimmy my way down
the side of the house, thenmake my way in the still ofthe night down the winding,lamplit streets, through thegates,thendownthestreettomeetMalik.Malik’s struck a match.
And now I’m playing withfire. The only question is,how far am I willing to go?And just how badly am Iwillingtogetburnt?
25
“Kennedy! What are youdoing sneaking into thishouse,huh?Doyouseewhattimeitis?”Ohnooo,busted.Unfortunately, I was left
with no other choice but to
usethesparekeyhiddeninasmall black key box tuckeddown in one of theflowerbeds. When I crawledbackuptomywindowtogetinto my room, the windowwasshutandlocked.Locked!I couldn’t believe it. I waslocked out of the house. I’dbeencaught.“Have you lost your
mind?”mymotherquestions,flippingonthefoyerlightasIslip into the house and
attempt to tiptoe my way uptomybedroomataquartertothree in the morning.“Sneakingbackinhereatthistimeofthenight.Wherehaveyoubeen?”“I w-w-was only gone for
anhourorso.”She tilts her head. “Don’t
youdarestandthereandlietome,Kennedy.Iwenttocheckonyouover three hours ago.And you were not in yourroom. So where were you?
Andwhowereyouwith?”“I-I was with Jordan,” I
say. The lie rolls out of mymouthwithoutmuchthought.“She was really upset. Andshe needed someone to talkto.”Sheglaresatme.“Andthe
twoofyoucouldn’ttalkoverthephone?”“No. I mean, yes. But I
neededtobetherewithher.”She eyes me suspiciously.
“Well,whydidn’tJordanjust
comeoverhere,huh?”“I thought you said I
couldn’thavecompany.”“No. I told you that you
werenotallowedtoleavethishouse. And you did anyway.You defied me. Somethingyou’veneverdonebefore.Soit must have been reallyimportant for you to sneakout of this house. So wherewere you? And don’t youdarelietome,Kennedy!”“I’mnotlying,”Iwhine.“I
was with Jordan. Hope gotinto a big fight with herparents. Then she ran awayand said she was going tohurtherself.”Mom raises her brow,
looksatmeas ifshe’s tryingtodecidewhether she shouldbelieve me or not. Shenarrows her eyes. “You justsaid you were with Jordan.That she was upset. Nowyou’re saying youwere withHope.” She taps her slipper-
clad foot, crossing her arms.“Whichisit,Kennedy?Wereyou with Hope or was itJordan?”I swallow. “Both. They
werebothupset. First Jordancalled me. Then she did athree-way call to Hope. Shewas crying hysterical.Talking real crazy, like shedidn’twanttoliveanymore.Igotscared.AndaskedJordanifshecouldpickmeupsowecould be with Hope. I had
Jordanmeetmedownby thegates, thenwe drove over towhereHopewas.”Mom eyes me. “If Hope
was in such a state of crisiswhydidn’tyou letmeknow,huh?Whydidn’tyouaskmeifitwasokayforyoutoleaveout of this house to go seeabouther,huh?”I lower my eyes. Glance
around thefoyer.FidgetwiththehemofmyT-shirt. Iwillmy knees from shaking. “I
thought you would tell me Icouldn’t go. And I reallywanted to be there for her,Mom.IknowIwaswrongforsneaking out, but this wasimportant.”She stares at me, studying
me.Icantellshe’sstilltryingtodecide ifshebuys thebullcrap I’ve just offered her asmy reason for defying her.“Yeah,itmust’vebeenreallyurgentforyoutoclimboutofyourwindowlikethat.”
“I’m sorry,Mom. Itwon’thappenagain.”“That’s the second time
you’ve had to say that,” shesays, looking me up anddown.“First,youstayoutallnight and come homeintoxicated. And now this.These behaviors are startingto look like a pattern. And Ido not like it one bit. Do Ineedtocallyourfather?”I shake my head. “No,
please. Don’t call Daddy.
There’snoneedtoworryhimaboutnothing.Ipromiseyou,itwon’thappenagain.”“I hope not. And you’re
certainyouaretellingmetheabsolute truth? You werewith Hope and Jordan? AndnotthatSashagirl?”Inod.“Yes.I’mtellingthe
truth.Ipromiseyou,Iwasn’twith Sasha.” Sadly, this factistheonlytruthtomynight.Mom’s stare drops to my
shirt. She frowns. “Why is
yourshirtonbackwards?”Iblink.Pullattheneckand
see that the tag is in front.“Iwas in such a rush to get toJordan, Imusthaveput itonwithoutlooking.”Sheopenshermouthtosay
something,thenstopsherself.I take that as my cue to saymore, to fuel the lie evenmore. “I’d never heardHopetalklikethatbefore,Mom.”Ishake my head for effect.“Shesoundedsobroken.And
it scaredme. I’d never thinkshe’drunawayfromhomeinamillionyears.Butshedid.”My mom’s face softens.
The ice in her eyes slowlystartstomelt.“ThatseemssounlikeHope.”“Iknow.That’swhy Ihad
to sneak out,Mom.And I’msorry. But I couldn’t chancenot being there for her andsomething bad happened toher.” I lookaway.“I’dneverbeabletoforgivemyself.”
“Well,whereisshe?Issheokaynow?”“Yes. She’s okay.At least
she seemed to be. She’sstaying at her grandparents’housefornow.Shepromisedus she wouldn’t do anythingtohurtherself.”“Go up to your room. It’s
late. And I have to be up inless than two hours forwork.”“Good night,” I say,
quickly turning for the
staircase.“Kennedy?”I stop in my tracks. Keep
mybacktoher.“Yes?”“I’veneverhadanyreason
to doubt you. Please don’tgivemeareasontonow.”I’m not,” I offer, silently
relievedthatI’mgoingtogetaway with sneaking back in.For the second time. I say alittle prayer, holding back aslygrin.“For your sake,” Mom
says,“Ihopenot.”
26
“Hope, I need a big favorfromyou.”“Okay.Whatisit?”“Ifmymomsaysanything
to you about being glad thatyou’re back home with yourparents,Ineedyoutojustgo
alongwithit,okay?”Hope raises a brow. “Why
wouldshesaysomethinglikethat?”“Well...Ikindoftoldher
that youhad a big fightwithyourparentsandranaway.”She shoots me an
incredulous look. “You didwhaat?”“Sssh. Keep your voice
down. If I wanted a livebroadcast I would have justshouteditout.”
“Areyoukiddingme rightnow?YoutoldyourmomthatI ranaway fromhome?Whyon earth would you tell hersomethinglikethat?”“I’m sorry,” I say
apologetically. “I know Ishouldn’thaveputyouinthemiddle of it. But it was thefirst thing that came out ofmymouth.”“Well, why would you
needtogotothatextreme?”“Well, uh, I kind of, sort
of,snuckoutofthehouseandgotcaught.”Her eyes pop open. “You
didwhaat?”“Willyoukeepyourvoice
down,”Isay,puttingafingeruptomylips.“AllIneedforyoutodoisgoalongwiththewholefightwithyourparentsand running away thing. Shemight not say anything, butjustincaseshedoes.Canyoudothatforme?Please.”She narrows her eyes.
“And what exactly am Isupposed to say to her?Youknow I’m not good withfabricatingstories.”I suck my teeth. “I’m not
asking you to invent a full-fledged news report. All youhavetodo,ifsheasks,issayyou feel horrible about whathappened and that you’reglad you’re home to workthings out. That’s it. End ofstory.”She shakes her head in
disbelief. “I don’t believethis.”“Will you do this for me,
please?”“Yeah, I guess. But don’t
thinkIlikeitonebiteither.”Ireachoverandgivehera
bighug.“You’realifesaver.Ioweyouone.”She narrows her eyes at
me. “Oh, believe me. Yes,youdo.Bigtime.”“Oh, and one more thing.
Can you please not say
anythingtoJordanaboutthis?I’d rather you keep thisbetweenus.”She blinks. “Why? I
thought we didn’t keepsecretsfromeachother.”I shrug. “Well, we don’t.
Notalways.”She tilts her head. “No.
You mean, you don’t, notalways. I share everythingwithyouandJordan.”“Iknowyoudo.AndIdo,
too.Butjustnotthis;notright
now.”She givesme a long stare.
“Oh, like how you didn’twant Jordan to tellme aboutthose wild banshee girlschasingy’allthroughthemallwithbutcherknives theotherday?”“Ohmygod!Ipromiseyou.
That is sooo not whathappened.”She shrugs. “Doesn’t
matter. Jordan told me youdidn’t want her to say
anything to me about it sowhat do I care what reallyhappened?”Icantellherfeelingswere
hurt by it. And now I feelbad. “It’s not that I didn’twant you to know. I justdidn’t want Jordan to be theonetotellyousinceithadtodo with me. I wanted to bethe one to tell you when allthreeofusweretogether.”Sherollshereyesupinher
head. “Uh-huh. If you say
so.”“I’msorry,Hope.”“No, no. Don’t apologize.
It’s fine. So, who were yououtwith?”“Malik,” I say casually as
if he’s someone I’ve knownforever, and she’s just asfamiliarwithhim.Shefrowns.“Malik?Malik
who?Waitaminute!Ishethesame guy those girls weretrying to kill you and Jordanover?ThatMalik?”
I frown. “They weren’ttrying to kill us. Besides, itwasn’tJordantheywereafter.Theywantedme.”Sheblinks.“Why?”“Because this girl
Hennessey, who supposedlyhasababywithhim...”“Hennessey?What kind of
hot trash name is that? AndJordan did say she waslookingrealhottrash,too.Allofthem.”“Yeah. And she has a
really nasty attitude. Maliksays she’s real jealous andcrazy.”“Ohmygod,Kennedy!Why
would you want to bebothered with a boy whowentoutwithsomething likethat? What is wrong withyou?”I tell her nothing’s wrong
withme.Thatheneverreallydated her. They just fooledaround—as in had sexmultiple times, that is. She
wantstoknowwhereMalik’sfrom and how I met him. Igive her a recap of how wemet, leaving out certaindetails like the night he hadthat guy who tried to forcehimselfonmebeatup.“I guess you must really
like this boy if he has yousneakingoutofthehouselikethat.”Ihuff.“Hedidn’thaveme
sneakout.Isnuckoutonmyown.”
Shegivesmeablanklook.“Okay,ifyousayso.Sowhaty’alldo?”I shrug. “Nothing really;
we just drove around in histruck.”Well, of course that’s not
so.ButIcan’ttellherthatweended up parked on a one-way street in front of anabandoned house. She’d loseit.AndIknowforsureshe’dcollapse if she knew I’vesmokedweed,too.
I was surprised when heofferedmesomeassoonasIgot in the smoke-filled carandstrappedmyseatbelton.He handed it to me. “Here,”he said, eyeing me. “I’mahelp you get yamind right.”Hestartedlaughing.“Nah,letmestopeffenwit’you.”I took the blunt from him,
remembering how I’dwatchedBlazeandSashaandher friend smoke it. I took apull. I’m not going to lie. I
was real nervous being withMalik,buthappyandexcitedat thesametime.Afteraboutthe fourth pull, I felt realrelaxed.Like I could takeontheworld.“Mygod, Kennedy, what
has gotten into you?” Jordansays,shakingherhead.“AndIstillcan’tbelievehowcouldyou lie to your mother likethat.Andsneakingoutof thehouse like that to be withsome boy you barely even
know. Have you no shame?Anything could havehappenedtoyou.Whatifthatboy would have kidnappedyouandheldyouforransom?Or worse, raped and killedyou?”“Ohmygod, Hope! You’re
starting to sound like Jordan.Both of you need to stopwatching all those NCISepisodes.”“Well, it’s true.” She
shakesherhead. “Butwhat I
want to know is, how longhave you been sneaking outofyourhouse?”I shrug. “I’ve only done it
twicebefore.”“What?Really?Tobewith
thatMalikboy?”Itellherno.Not the first time. Tell herabout Hazel Eyes. She givesme a blank stare. “HazelEyes?What kind of name isthat?”I shakemy head. “It’s not
hisrealname.It’swhatIcall
him.”“What’shisnamethen?”“Blaze.”She raises her eyebrows.
“Like that’s any better.” Sheshakes her head. “All theseboys with them ridiculousnames. Geesh. You sureknowhowtopick’em,don’tyou?”Shedoesn’t givemeachancetorespond.“AndhowdidyoumeetthisHazelBlazeboy,anyway?”“It’s Hazel Eyes. And I
methimonedayat themall.Hecame tomy jobwith twoofhisfriends.”“Let me guess. And he’s
oneofthosethugboys,too?”She quickly puts a hand up.“On second thought. Youdon’t even have to say it. Ialreadyknow.”Ifrown.Her phone buzzes and she
pulls it out of her bag,glancing at the screen. “Oh,my mom just text saying
she’s outside,” she says,textingback.“Oh, okay. Remember
what I said,keepwhat I toldyoubetweenus.”She sighs. “Okay, I will.
Thistime.”“Thanks.”“Just do me a favor,” she
says, getting up and slippingherfeetintohersandals.Itakeadeepbreathglance
at theclock, thenstandupaswell.“Yeah,what’sthat?”
She walks over and givesmeabighug.“Becareful.”I bite my bottom lip. The
way she says it sends a chilldownmyspine.I shudder, laughing
nervously. “Girl, you saidthat likeDracula’s out to getme,orsomething.”Sheshrugs.“Hemightbe.”Iwaveheron,walkingher
out of my room. “You’reoverreacting.” She followsmedownthestairs.
She turns her lips up andshakesherhead.“Maybe.”I open the front door,
waving out at Mrs. Taylor.Sheseesme,andwavesback.“For real,Kennedy,”Hope
says,placingherhandonthedoorknob. “Be careful. Iknowyou thinkyou like thatMalikboy.Buthesoundslikehe has a lot of drama goingon around him. Watchyourself.Okay?”Iopenmymouthtotellher
okay, but I end up noddinginstead.“I’m serious, Kennedy. I
don’t think you know whatyou’regettingyourselfinto.”I give her a half smile.
“Don’t worry. I’m not goingtogetmyselfintoanytrouble.I’monlyhavingalittlefun.”“I sure hope you know
whatyou’redoing,”shesays,shakingherheadasshewalksout thedoor. I shut it behindher, more excited than ever
before to know everythingthere is to know about thesexy, dark chocolate boonamedMalik.
27
Givingmyselftohimislikemagic...“You mine, Kennedy,”
Malik says in between thesoft kisses he is plantingalong my neck, then on mycollarbone. I feel myself
heating up in ways I neverthoughtpossible.Myheart isbeating so fast I think I’mgoing to faint. I feel myselfgetting caught up in thewayhis lips glide alongmy skin;every so often he flicks histongue againstmy flesh.Thewarm wetness causes tinglysensations to shoot throughmybody.I have never wanted to be
with anyone . . . like this. InMalik’s arms, his body
grindingagainstmineasTreySongz’s sexy voice floatsaround the room from theiPoddockingstation.Heslipshisarmsaroundmywaist.“Youmine,yaheard?”Iswallow.Lookupintohis
face. I want to be his. Onlyhis.Iamhis.AndnowIwanthimtohavetheonethingI’veproudly held on to. The onething I’ve waited to sharewithsomeonelikehim.ButIhave to be sure first. I know
what’sinmyheart.Love.Butanaggingvoice in the
backofmyheadkeepstellingme that I should wait. ThatMalik isn’t the one. That allthe drama from the last fewdays is only going to getworse.Buthishands,hislips,the way his eyes roam allover me mixed with what Ialready feel in my heart forhimisallthereasonIneedtodismiss the nagging voice in
myhead.I look up and gaze deep
intoMalik’s beautiful browneyes.“AmIreallyallyours?”He presses his lips against
mine, then lightly nips mybottom lip. “You mine,baby.”“But are you mine,
Malik?”He leans his head in and
kisses me again. “No doubt.I’mallyours,babe.”The way he says “I’m all
yours, babe” causes me tomeltinside.Iwanthim.AndIwant him to want me, too.Only me. I don’t want toshare him, or have his crazyexes and psycho babymommas trying to fight meevery time they see me;especially that Hennesseychick. She seems like she’sthecraziestofthemall.“What about your baby
mother,Hennessey?”He eyes me, raising a
brow. “What about ’er?Thatbird was a bad mistake. Aone-night stand I can’t erase.Allsheisisthemotherofmyseed. That’s it. I’m not beatforher.Wordisbond.”Iwanttobelievehim.“But . . .” Are you still
sleepingwithher?“She doesn’t matter,
a’ight?” His mouth coversmine, not allowing me tofinish.WekissuntilIlosemytrain of thought, then he
slowlypullsback.“Nobuts... this is me ’n’ you, babe.This is our night. So don’tmakeit’boutthatnuttybroador nobody else. It’s me ’n’you,a’ight?”Inod.His lips curl into a sexy
grin.“AmIyaman?”“Li’ltrick,puhleeze.You’ll
never be enuff for Malik.He’ll always keep creepin’overforall’adisthickness...”
Iswallow.“Tell her how you came
overlastnight,Malik.Letdisli’l uppity heifer know howyou hit it raw... let her knowhow ya head stay south fordissweettreat...”I feel the tears coming. I
trytoblinkbacktheburning.I try to shake the tauntingvoice.“He ain’t ever gonna be
yours,boo-boo,soyoumightas well take ya li’l siddity,
high-yella self back up to da’burbswhereyoubelong...”“I want you to be,” I say
breathlessly as his handsglide effortlessly over mycurves.“Thenletme,ma.”Hekissesmeagain.I pull back. “But what
aboutallthosegirlswhokeepthreateningme?”Malik speaks against my
lips. “I tol’ you, babe. Thembirds ain’t ’bout nuthin’. I
ain’tcheckin’fornone’ademlikedat,wordisbond,yo.Sostop sweatin’ dat dumbness,a’ight?”I blink back the faces of
the girls chasing me throughthe mall. I swallow backeverybitofmysensesfeelingMalik’s excitement pressingup against me. He wasn’t aboy.Hewasagrownman.Withhisowncar.Hisownmoney.Andakid.
Andbabymother.And a bunch of ex-
girlfriends.And lots and lots of
experience being with girlssexually.And probablymore drama
than what I’ve alreadyexperienced.Still...Ilikehim.Iwanthim.“He’snothingbuttrouble.
..”
“Ugh, you need to leavethatboyalone,Kennedy...”“He’spoison,Kennedy.”Malik is kissing all over
myneck again.Cloudingmyheadwith heat and need andwant.Myheartispoundingamileaminutewitheachkiss.Then his lips are on mineagain.Our tongues are doinga romantic dance to thesmooth soundofTreySongzbelting out his latest lovesong, crooning the words to
what I am feeling right nowas Malik lifts my shirt upover my head, then unsnapsmy bra, releasingmy desiresandinhibitions.I take a deep breath.
“Malik, don’t hurt me.” Mylipsquiver.“Ifyouaregoingtobewithothergirls, tellmenow.”I feel myself on the brink
oftears.“Nah, I tol’ you. You da
only one I’m checkin’ for,
babe.It’sallyou.”Alonetearslidesdownmy
face.“I got you,ma.”He stares
intomy eyes. “C’mon, babe.Don’t cry. It’s me ’n’ you.Wordtomother.”Nootherwordsarespoken
as he lays me on his bed,removes the rest of myclothes,andthentakesoffhisown. I drink his body in.Swallow,hard.Heclimbsintohisbedwith
me.“Yousure’boutdis?”Inod.He smiles, pullingme into
hisarms.“AmIyaman?”Ilookupintohiseyes.See
the only guy who has evermade me feel like this. Andfor me, nothing else evenmatters.NottheroachesIseecrawling along the wall andknow are probablyscramblingaroundmyclothestryingtofindawayinsideofmy pockets for a trip home
with me, or the pile of dirtyclothes he has piled high inthe right corner of hisbedroom.Notthefactthathehas a kid with some crazygirl. Not the fact that he hasex-girlfriends who still callhim and stalk him andthreaten me and want himback. No. None of thosethings matter. Nothing elsemeansmoretomethanbeinghere,inMalik’sarms,whereIwanttobe.
“Yes,” I finally whisperagainst his lips. “You’re myman.”
28
“Wherehaveyoubeen forthelast threedays,Kennedy?Do you have any idea howworried I’ve been? I’ve beencalling all around town foryou.Andwhyhasyourphonebeen turned off, huh?” My
mom looks frazzled. And Ifeelbadforhavingherworryabout me. But it couldn’t behelped.Well,that’snottrue.Icouldhavecomehome.ButIdidn’t want to. Malik didn’twantme to, either.Wewerehavingtoomuchfuntogether.“So you couldn’t locate
me,”Isaysnidely.Itwasonlysupposedtobe
for a few hours. Our drivedown toAtlanticCity.Malikwanted to walk the
boardwalk,dosomeshoppingat the outlets and The PierShops at Caesar’s, then grabsomethingtoeatatoneoftherestaurants on the strip. Iwanted to go to Buddakan,one of my favorite Asianrestaurants. I’d only been totheoneinthecity,butwantedtotrytheoneinACalso.Malik protested at first,
saying itwasn’t realChinesefood unless it was at a localChinese spot or an all-you-
can-eatbuffet.Ilaughedatthatbecausehe
was so serious when he saidit. But after several minutesof prodding, he acquiesced.Andsowewent.For appetizers, I ordered
the chicken and gingerdumplings with sesamedipping sauce. And Maliktried the king crab tempurawith sweet and sour ponzusauce. Then for the maincourse, I had the Alaskan
king salmon with misomustardandasesamespinachsalad. Malik said he didn’twant anything. He was justgoingtositandwatchmeeat.Helaughed.“Mybabymad
greedy. You tryna run mywallet real hard tonight,huh?”I smiled. “Is that a
problem?”“Nah, baby. It’s all good.”
He slowly licked his lips.“It’s gonna cost you later,
though.”Iwiggledmyeyebrowsup
anddown.“Ooh,forreal?”He looked around the
dimly lit restaurant, thenleaned forward in his seat,restinghisforearmsuponthetable.“Nodoubt.”BythetimedessertcameI
couldbarelygetaspoonfulofmy almond bread puddinginto my mouth. I was sostuffed.AndsowasMalik.“Yo, let’s get a room ’n’
chill abit beforewe takedatlong ride back up daparkway.”“Okay,” I said, excited by
the thought of lying inMalik’s arms, cuddling.Catching a quick nap. Thendrivingbackhome.The plan was that simple.
AndIwouldhavebeenhomerightbeforemycurfew.Withmy mom being none thewiser had things not goneawry.
MalikhadgottenusaroomattheDaysInn.Anditwasn’tlong before we were bothbutt-naked and hewas doingthings to my body I neverimagined humanly possible.Weendedupdozingoff.Buta few hours turned into thenext morning. Then one dayturnedintotwo,thenthree.Surprisingly, not once did
Malik suggest I call home.Not that it was his place to.But out of courtesy, I called
heranyway.Thesecondday.ItoldherthatIwasokayandthatIwasoutoftown.“Out of town where,
Kennedy?Withwho?”I hung up on her and shut
offmyphonebefore shehadachance to callbackand trytospoilmyfun.Thenrealitysetin.IknewI
had to come back homeeventually.ThatIwouldhaveto answer to her. And, morethan likely be grounded until
mytwenty-firstbirthday.ButatleastIcalledher.She blinks.Her eyes roam
over me from head to toe,taking in the True Religionteardrop-print skinny jeansand the beaded tank. Sheblinksagain.Glancesdownatthe six-hundred-and-fifty-dollar dollar six-inch Guccisandalsonmy feet.Thenhereyes land on the LouisVuitton bag dangling fromthecrookofmyarm.
“Where did you get thoseclothes and that expensivepocketbookfrom?”I toss my hair. “Relax,
Mom. I didn’t steal them, ifthat’swhatyou’regettingat.”Her nose flares. A hand
goes up on her hip. “Relax?You must want me to slapyouintonextweek,talkingtomelikethat.“And don’t you dare tell
me another one of your liesthat youwere outwithHope
and Jordan because I’vespoken to both of theirparents. Now you had bettertell me what’s really goingon.Now!”“I was with Sasha,” I say
nonchalantly.“WithSasha,where?”Ihuff.“Out.”“Outwhere,Kennedy?”“It’s no big deal,” I say,
rollingmyeyes.“What do you mean ‘it’s
no big deal’? It’s a big deal
when you’ve been gone forthree days! And it’s totallyunacceptable!”I suck my teeth.
“Nowhere.”“You must think you’re
realgrown,don’tyou?”“I’malmostgrown,”Isay,
realsassy.Mom gives me an
incredulous look. “Oh, noyou’re not! And almostdoesn’t count. Not in thishouse!”
“Fine!” I yell back at her.“I’llgostaysomewhereelse!Idon’thavetolivehere!”TherestoftheweekIstay
lockedinmyroom,outofmymother’s sight. She’s notsayingmuch tome.And I’mnot sayingmuch of anythingto her, either. For what? I’mgrounded. Well, so shethinks. I’m still sneaking outofthehouse.Noteverynight,though.Still...everychanceI
getI’mwithMalik.This time, instead of
climbing out ofmy bedroomwindow, I’m sneaking outthrough the wine cellar doordown in our basement. AndI’m back in the house waybeforethreeA.M.She really thinks she can
keep me chained in thishouse. Stuck and bored. Idon’tthinkso.
29
I moan as Malik’s tongueslowly slips into my mouth.His hand glides down thesmall of my back, then restson my butt. He squeezes it,and I feel myself melting athousand times over.No boy
has ever made me feel thewayMalikhas.Hemakesmefeel...alive.Wanted.Special.Loved.Sexy.He presses his body into
mineandwemeldintoone.Ican feel his excitement. Andhe can feel mine. I am sohungry for him.He’s hungryfor me. I don’t know howmuch more of this tongue-
dance I can takebefore I amgoingoutofmymind.His kiss becomes more
intense. His tongue swirlsagainst mine. Once, twice,againandagain,hekissesmeuntil I am feeling light-headedanddizzy.Whoever thought a person
couldfeel tell somuchaboutanother person from just akiss. But this isn’t just anykiss.No. I’m being kissed by a
boy...Imean,aman.I love his expressive face
whenhe’sindeepinthought,or when he’s laughing orangryor,likenow,lookingatme like I’m the mostimportantpersoninhisworld.Ilovehisbadboypersona.
Lovehisstreetgrit.Histake-chargecommandoways.Malikmakesmefeellikea
woman. I feel grown. Andlike I’m ready to takeon theworld.
Ilovethewayhewrapshisarmsaroundmeandholdsmetight. I feel so, so safewhenhe holds me. I love how heputs his almond-shaped eyeson mine, and smiles at me.Love thewayhis heart beatsagainst mine. And how hetellsmeeachbeat ishis loveforme.Ilovethatabouthim.Ilove...Him.All of him; every drop of
bad boy blood that runs
throughhisveins.Malikismydrug.I’mhookedonhim.Heknowsit.Iknowit.Ilovehim.Ilovehim.Ilovehim.Threeweeks!AndIaminlove!Howdidithappensofast?I keep asking myself that
question over and over. Yet,no matter howmany times I
mull it around inmy head, Ican’t seem to come up withanexactmomentthatit(love)happened. It just did.Unexpectedly.And boy, oh boy, I’m
happythatitdid.MalikistheonlyguyIcan
everseemyselfbeingwith.Hehasagoodheart.He’s thoughtful.Generous.
Caring.He’smyeverything.“I want you so bad,” he
murmursagainstmylipsasifhe’sreadingmymind.“I want you, too,” I say
back.Hekissesmeagain.Butjust as things start to gethotter and steamier than theyalready are, one of his threecellphonesstartringing.He groans, pulling away.
He tries to fix himself in hissweats. “See what you did?”Heshakeshisheadandgrinsasheretrieveshisringingcellfromoffthedresser.
I swallow, touching thebare space his lips have nowleftonmyown.“Yo,” he says into the
phone.I walk over to his bed,
stepping over an ashtrayoverflowing with half-smoked blunts. I reach forlast month’s edition of XXLmagazine lying on the floorbesidethebedandsit.“Nah,Chillin’wit’mygirl,
son. Yeah, yeah. You know
how I do it, fam. Say what?Word?Yo, get the fu—”Hecutshimselfoff.“Yo,babe...”I look up from the
magazine.“I’ma’bouttostepoutand
finishupdiscall,a’ight?”“Okay.”He walks over to the bed,
leansinandseizesmymouthwith another kiss. A quickpeck, but it is one that holdspromise of what’s to come
when he returns from hisphone call. One I can’t waittocollecton.I idly flip through the
pagesofthemagazinebeforedeciding I’m really notinterestedinreadinganythingaboutKanye’sparanoidrants.I like his music. But I thinkhe’sreallycrazy.Likemaybehehearsvoicesor somethingkind of crazy. I toss themagazine over onto the bed,get up and pull my iPhone
from out of my messengerbagtocheckmymessages.Ihavefourtextmessages.ThefirsttextisfromHope:
UM,HELLO?CALLME.The second message is
fromSasha:THERE’SAPOOLPARTY2MORROWIN UNION.UDOWN?The third text is from
Mom: I’M TAKING YOURAUNT LISA OUT FOR HERBIRTHDAY.TRYTOBEHOMEBYSIX.TTYL.
ThelasttextisfromBlaze:YOOOOO WATZ GUD? WENWELINKINUP?This is like his third or
fourth text over the last fewdayswantingtolinkup,ashecalls it. But I’ve beenavoiding him. Now withMalikinmylife,Idon’thaveany room for any other guysinmy life, especially since IpromisedMaliklastnightthatIwouldcutoffanyboyswhoI knew likedme, that I used
to date, or have gone outwith. He said it wasdisrespectful. And all they’dbe is a distraction fromwhatwehave.AndIbelievedhim.Not that I have a lot of guysI’vedated.Still, Idon’twantanydistractions.And I don’t want to ever
disrespectMalik.I quickly text Blaze back.
HI.WE CAN’T. I HAVE A BFNOW.Lessthanaminutelater,he
sendsatextback.OHWORD?AIGHTDEN.GOODLUCKWITDAT.I delete his text messages,
thenstartcleaningupMalik’smessy room. I start with thefiftypairsofsneakersthatarescattered all over the floor,putting them back into theirdesignatedboxes.Iemptyouthisashtray,thengatheralltheemptyHeinekenbeerbottles.Sixteen.Ohmygod! How can
anyonesleepinthisslop?“Girl, you real stoopid,”
someone says inbackofme,startling me. I jump, turningin the direction of the voice.“You prolly da dumbest hohe’sbeenwit’sofar.”I blink. It’s his sister,
Mercedes, sneering at me.I’mnotsurewhytheycallherMercedes since nothingseems exclusive about hercurrentsituation.“Pleasedon’tcallmethat,”
Isaycalmly.“Don’t call you what?
Dumb?Orho?”“Both.”She tsks. “Well, you are
dumb.Andbyda timeMalikfinishes runnin’allup inyoulikehedoesdarestof’em,adumbho is exactlywhat yougonnabe.”“Well, I can’t speak for
anyone else, but I know I’mnotgoingtobeanyone’sho.”She chortles. “Yeah, that’s
what dey all say ’til he gets’emstrungoutondaD.”Igiveheraconfusedlook.She huffs. “Da dingdong.
Da wood. Oh, excuse me. Imean.Dapenis.”Iblink.She’ssocrude.She snorts. “Li’l girl, you
don’t know nuthin’ ’boutnuthin’. All you are is someyoung, fresh piece of tail formybrother.”I take a deep breath,
willing my heart to slow itsrapidpace.Idon’tknowwhy,but Malik’s sister unnervedme. From the first day Imether I’ve tried to be nothingbut nice to her, but myattempts are only met withglares and snide, nastycomments.“Malik isn’t going to do
me like he’s done any ofthose other girls. Yourbrotherlovesme.”She cracks up laughing.
“Yourbrother lovesme,” shemocks. “He ain’t ever gonnado me like he’s done demother hoes. Hahahaha.” Sheshakes her head. “Just like Isaid,dumb.”I blink. And now I
immediately feel stupid forlettingthat lastpartslipfrommy lips. “Love? My brotherloves you?You think?Girly,bye. My brother lovesanythingwit’abigbooty ’n’a smile. Why you think he
hasfourbabymuhvers?”Iblink.Four baby mothers?! I
thoughtheonlyhadonebabymother. Four? No, she’slying.Shehastobe.She must see the stunned
lookonmyface.“What, you ain’t know?
Oops.”Shecovershermouth.“Looks like the cat’s out thebag.”“I already knew about his
babymothers,”Ilie.
Sheshiftsherweight fromoneswollenfoottotheother,staringatmeasifshedoesn’tbelieveawordI’vesaid.“Oh,really? Well, isn’t thatspecial. Then I guess youknowrawpunnanyisdaonlything my brother is gonnaever love. He doesn’t knowhowta love anything otherthanwhat’sbetweenyo’legs,li’l girl. But you keepbelievin’ whatever lies hetells you. You’ll learn soon
enough.That’smybrotha’n’Ilovehim.Andtrust.I’llbeatabish down if she ever triestoplayhim.ButIcantellyounotreally’boutdislifesoyouneed to stop pretendin’ ’n’head on back ’cross townwhere you belong. But Iknow you ain’t. So I’ma tellyou dis to save you someheartache.Getoutnowbeforeit’s too late.Allmy brotha’sgonnado isdogyouout,sexyouout,thentossyououtlike
ausedtampon.Justwatch.”Iswallow.“Yo, Mercedes,” Malik
says, brushing by her as hefinally walks back into theroom,“whatyapickleheadinheretalkin’tomygirl’bout?”I breathe a sigh of relief
that he’s comeback inwhenhe has. I don’t know howmuch more of his sister’ssneeringIcouldhavetaken.Thankstoher,mymoodis
ruined.
Iamsooo ready togetoutofhere.She narrows her eyes at
me,thenlooksoveratMalik.“Oh,wewas justhavin’usali’l girl talk.” She startslaughing, shaking her head.Sheturnstoleave, thenturnsback. “Oh, you got yaselfarealwinnerrightthere.Ican’twaitforBigSexytomeetdisone.”“Yo, go ’head wit’ dat,
Mercedes,” Malik says,
grabbing her by the arm andpushingherbackfromoutofhis door so he can shut it.“Getdaeffupouttaherewit’da dumb ish.” He slams thedoor.I can hear her laughing as
shewalksoff.I glance over to my right
and notice three roachesscurryingalongthewall.Malik kicks off his
sneakers,removeshisT-shirt,thenstepsoutofhisjeans.He
stretches out in the center ofhisbedinonlyhisboxersandsweat socks. He grabs andpulls at his privates until hegetshimselfexcited.“Yo, take dem clothes off
’n’ c’mon over here ’n’ giveyamansomelovin’.”Hepatsthe space on the bed besidehim. “Ya man needs somespecialattention.”I swallow. “Who’s Big
Sexy?”Malik frowned. “Yo,don’t
startaskin’meabunchasillyquestions, yo. She ain’tnobody, a’ight.” He keepsgrabbing himself. “So chill,a’ight?”Inod.“Okay.”Hegrins.“Me’n’bigman
need you to come handle us,now.”Reluctantly, I remove my
clothes, leaving on my braand panties. Then slowly Imake my way over to him.Eachstepcausesthevoicein
myheadtogetlouder.“...Allmybrotha’sgonna
do is dog you out, sex youout,thentossyouout...Justwatch.”“. . . Get out now before
it’stoolate...”I climb into bed beside
Malik.It’salreadytoolate,Ithink
as I close my eyes, lettingMalik’s lips and handswanderalloverme.I losemyself in his touch,
hisscent,hissweetkisses.Hehasbecomeeverythingtome.It doesn’t matter whatMercedesoranyoneelsesaysaboutMalik.Ilovehim.
30
“Keepitahunnidwit’me.Why you wit’ him?” HazelEyeswants to know, lookingup from his tray. I agreed tomeet him at the mall . . . totalk. And now he’s sittinghere across from me at the
food court, questioning,drilling me about myrelationshipwithMalik.EventhoughIhadalreadytoldhimthat I didn’t thinkwe shouldhangoutanymore,heinsistedon knowing why. So I toldhim about Malik and me.And,honestly, it feltgood tobe able to talk openly aboutMalik,foronce,tosomeone.Hazel Eyes unwraps his
grilled chicken cheese steak,then chomps into his
sandwich, the smell of greenpeppers and onionsminglingwithmeat andmelted cheeseswirlingaroundmynostrils.ItakeaslowsipofmyDr.
Pepper, eyeing him as heslaughtershissubinbigbites,causinggreaseandketchuptocoathislips.“Why am I with who?” I
finally ask, feigningignorance.He looksup fromhis food
andwithamouthfullofsub.
His brows crease. “C’mon,Kennedy.Don’tplayme,yo.You know who I’m talkin’’bout.Why youwit’ dude? Imean, what’s he got dat Idon’t,huh?”“He’sdifferent.”“Differenthow?”“Ohmygod! What is this,
aninquisition?”“Nah. I thought you was
feelin’ me; dat’s all. I kindathought we was buildin’ onsomethin’.Butit’sallgood.”
“I am . . . I mean, Iwas,feeling you. But then I metMalik. And I don’t know.Thingsjustclickedwithus.”“Oh,word?Likehow?”he
says, stuffing fries into hismouth.I shrug. “I just like him
more,that’sall.”Hetakesanotherbigbiteof
his sandwich. Talking, thenchewing, then swallowing,before rinsing it all downwithtwolongswigsofSprite.
Finally he says, “What youlike’bouthim,huh?”Ishiftinmyseat.Shiftmy
eyes fromhisgaze, taking inwhat’s going on aroundus. Ikeep an eye out for JordansinceI’moutherewithher.Imeethisgazeagain.“Idon’tknow.Imean.It’s
hardtoexplain.”Hetwistshislipsandnods,
glancingathisInvictawatch.“Iain’tgotnowheretobe,sotry.” He takes a sip of his
drink. Then belches. “Mybad.”Ishakemyhead.“Soyougonna give up all
dis”—hesitsbackinhisseat,spreading open his armswhilemaking themuscles inhis chest bounce—“for datdude?”I nod. And although I am
certainofmydecision, I feelhorrible. But I’m not surewhy.Yes,Ido.It’sbecauseIwas really starting to like
him, too.ButMalikwonmeovermore.Andnowmyheartisallwrappedupinhim.“IthinkIlovehim,Blaze,”
Iadmitsoftly.“Didn’t you just up and
meetdude?”“So,” I say defensively.
“Time is all relative. I knowhim enough to know how Ifeelabouthim.”Hefrowns.“Butyoudon’t
even know dude. Riddle medis, then I’ma leave it alone:
Yousmokin’wit’him?”“Yeah,afewtimes.Why?”He nods his head. “How
many times he got yousneakin’outtadahouse?”“I beg your pardon.”
Indignationrisesinmyvoice.“Malik doesn’t have medoing anything I don’t wanttodo.”“Yeah,butIbethedoesn’t
tellyounotto,either.”“No.Hedoesn’t.Still, that
doesn’t make him a bad
influenceeither.”“DidIsaythat?”I roll my eyes at him.
“Well, no. But you impliedit.”“Nah, I simply asked a
question.”“Boy, bye! Fall back with
thatdumbish,”Isaywithoutthinking.Ishockmyself.Hegrins and then runshis
tongueacrosshislips.“What? Why are you
lookingatmelikethat?”
He folds his arms acrosshis chest and cocks his headsideways, taking me all in.“Youchangin’,yo.”Igivehimashockedlook.
“No I’m not. I’m still thesamegirl.”He shakes his head. “Nah,
you different, ma.” Henarrowshiseyes.“What,youlethimhitdat?”Iswallow.Shiftinmyseat.
“Why would you ask mesomethinglikethat?”
“You just have dat look,yo.Datsall.”“What look?” I ask
curiously.“Ifyouain’tlettin’himhit
it, then it don’t matter, doesit?”“No, but I still want to
know what you mean bythat.”“Hehitdatyet?”I frown, feeling
uncomfortable. “That’s noneofyourbusiness.”
He stares at me, grinning.“Yeah,youright.”I watch him finish up the
rest of his fries, trying likeheck tokeepmygazeoffhislips.Isuddenlyfeelas ifI’mcheating onMalik by havingthoughts of how good HazelEyes’ lips felt on me. ThosearenotthoughtsIshouldstillbe having, right? Imean,weonlyfooledaroundtwice.HislipsarethelastthingIshouldbedaydreamingabout,right?
Ohmygod! What in theheck am I doing here withthisboy?WhatwasIthinkingagreeing to meet him herebehindMalik’sback?Iglanceatmywatch.It’sa
quarter to four. I push backmy chair and stand. “Hey, Igottagetgoing.I’msupposedto meet my friend Jordan atfouro’clockdowninfrontofSephora.”“Oh, a’ight,” he says,
scratching his chin and
lookingupatme.“Okay, then. I’ll see you
around,Iguess.”“Nodoubt.Beeasy.”Iturn
to leave, but he sayssomething that stops me inmy tracks. “That dude ain’trightforyou,Kennedy.Iain’t’bout kickin’ no one’s backin, feel me? But dude ain’tgonna do nothin’ but bringyoudown,yo.”I blink. “Why would you
saythat?”
“I’m just sayin’ . . . becareful, babe.” He tears hisgaze away from mine andchompsheartilyonthelastbitofhissandwich.Iwalkawaywithoutsaying
aword.
For the next three weeks,Malik and I becomeinseparable. I spend everydaywithhim,sneakingoffto
bewithhim,some—no,most—nights not even botheringtogohome.I’veevenquitmyjob just so I can have moretimewithhim.Well,actually,to be perfectly honest,MaliksuggestedIquit.SoIdid.Hesaidhedidn’twanttohavetoshare me with a job. Thathe’d give me whatever Imade every two weeks, plusanextrafewhundreddollars.My boo wants me all to
himself.
Still... so much hashappened in such a shortperiodoftime.MymomandI,allwedois
fight now, almost every day.Blaze no longer calls me.And it’s really for the best,anyway. Then there’s mystrained relationship withHopeandJordan.EverysinceI told them in confidenceabout Malik they’ve beenagainst us being together.Well, moreso Jordan than
Hope.Still,theybothseemtohave something snide to sayabout it. So I don’t spend asmuch time with themanymore. Mostly because Iget tired of them bashingMalik, who they don’t evenknow. And bad-mouthingSasha—who they’ve nevermet—likethey’resoperfect.Ifeel like I shouldn’t have toconstantly defend myboyfriend,orwhomIwanttohangoutwith,tothem.Orto
anyone,forthatmatter.With Hope and Jordan, I
feel like I am constantlyunder a microscope withthem dissecting every littlething I say. It’s become tooexhaustingtryingtoget themtorespectmychoices.SoI’veslowlydistancedmyselffromthem.Besides,Malikfeelsit’sfor
thebest.AndIagreewithhim.“Yo, I know they ya girlz
’n’all,but if theyain’t trynahave anything good to say,then you need’a cut ’em off.Deyneedtostophatin’onyaman,yo.Alldatnegativityisforthebirds,yo.”“You’re right,” I said,
deciding right then and thereto deal with them on a verylimited basis. And I havebeen.Malik stands behind me,
hugging me. I can’t lie. Iwon’t lie. Malik’s arms feel
sogoodwrapped aroundme.I feelsowanted,soneeded...sospecial.“Icanholdyouinmyarms
forever, baby,” he says,kissing the back ofmyneck.Then pauses. “Yo what youthinkin’’bout,huh?”Ismile,glancingupathim
overmyshoulder.“You.”He grins. “Dats watz up,
baby.”Hiscellstartsringing.Hepluckshisphonefromoffhis hip, glancing at the
screen. “Yo waddup? Oh,word?When?Oh,a’ight,bet.No doubt, no doubt... I gotyou.A’ight,bet.”Heendsthecall, thenbringshis attentionbacktome.“Checkit,baby.Igotta make a quick runtonight.”My mood immediately
turns sour. He promised totakemeouttodinnertonight.I look at him. My bodystiffens.“Arunwhere?”He frowns. “Yo,wat I tell
you ’bout questionin’ me,huh?”“I’monlyasking.Ithought
weweregoing togo into thecity tonight; that’s all. I wasreallylookingforwardtoit.”“We was, but somethin’
cameupIgottahandle.”“Oh,” I say, disappointed.
“Well,whatamIsupposedtodowhileyou’regone?”He looks at me as if I’ve
askedthedumbestquestioninthe world. “Wait for me.
Whatelse?”Ifrown.Trytobreakoutof
hisembrace,butheisholdingon tight.He turnsmearoundtofacehim.“What,youmadnow?”“Nope.” I turn away from
him, walking toward thedoor.He grabsme. “Where you
goin’?”“Home,”Isay,pouting.He smirks. “Oh, word?
Andhowyougettin’there?”
Oops. I hadn’t thoughtaboutthat.I shrug. “I don’t know.
Walk.”He chuckles. But I don’t
see anything amusing. “Yo,stop. You ain’t walkin’nowhere. And you ain’tleavin’.”I suck my teeth and cross
myarms.“Iwannagohome.”He smiles, looking me up
anddown.“Nah, not tonight. You
lookin’ ’n’ smellin’ toogoodtogohome.”Hepullsmeintohis arms, then kisses me onmy forehead, then the tip ofmy nose, then lightly on mylips. He presses himself intome.Then starts grinding realslowandnasty-likeintome.Ican feel his excitementgrowing. “I need you.” Heglancesathiswatch.“C’mon.Let’slaydownrealquick.”“Are you going to see
some other girl?” I ask,
feeling insecurity creep intomy heart. I can’t help butrememberwhathis sisterhassaidabouthim.EventhoughIknow she was only sayingthose things tobemessyandI’ve never told Malikeverything she’s said abouthim, her words linger in thebackofmymind.“Ain’tnoothergirl,yo.It’s
me’n’you,yaheard?”Inod.“Itbetterbe.”Malikgentlygrabsmychin
and turns my face towardhim. “Da only girl I’mcheckin’ for, Kennedy, isyou, baby. You know dat,right?”Ilookintohiseyesforany
signs of deceit. There arenone.Mydispositionsoftens.Inod.“Yes.”Hegrins.And then there’s
the sound of his pants beingunzipped. “You myeverything,baby;yaheard?”Iswallowandnod.“Yes.”
The last thing I rememberbefore removing all of myclothes and getting swept upin the heat of his hands andkisses is him saying, “Let’smakeababy...”
31
“Girl, my period late,” Ihear Mercedes tellingsomeoneonhercellasIwalkinto the kitchen to getsomething to drink. She’sleaningover the sink, staringout of the window into the
backyard.She looks over her
shoulderatmewhensheseesme going to the refrigerator.She sucks her teeth,straightening her body. “Idon’t need to take no test. Ialready know I am. Myperiodisneverlateunless...uh-huh. Girl, who knows.”She laughs. “I tol’ dat nuccato pull out... girl, please. Iwaslitdatnight’n’besidesitwasfeelin’toogood.”
Shelaughsagain.I pour myself some apple
juice in a glass, trying to actlike I’m not listening in onherconversation.Itakeafewslowsips.Mercedes glances over at
me, rolling her eyes. “Can Igetsomeprivacy?Unh-uh...Malik’s li’l girlfriend hekeeps leavin’ over here.Mmph...don’tevengetmestarted.” She shoots anotherlookatme,thenrollshereyes
upinherhead.I press my lips tight,
blinking my eyes real hard.Whyisshesodanghateful?I quickly drink the rest of
my juice, thenwash and drythecupout, put it back, thengo back into Malik’sbedroom. As soon as I getready to turn on the TV andlieacrossthebed,Maliktextsmeand sayshe’sonhiswayhome. He wants me to heatuphisfoodintherefrigerator.
Now I have to go back intothe kitchen. I suckmy teeth,going to the bathroom, first,towashmyhands, thenbackout into the kitchen, hopingMercedesisnowhereinsight.Sheis.Itakeadeepbreath.Brace
myself.Icanfeelhereyesonmeas
I flit around the kitchen,pullingdownaplatefromoutof the cabinet, then rinsing itoffbeforeplacinghistakeout
from Munchies—a Jamaicanrestaurant inSouthOrange—ontohisplateandputtingitinthetoasteroven.I turn to walk out, catch
Mercedesstaringatme.“You really think you got
damagictouch,don’tyou?”“Huh?” I ask, confused.
“Whatdoyoumeanbythat?”She twists her lips up. “It
means, you really thinkMalik’s all into you, don’tyou?”
Ishrug.“Hesaysheis.”She laughs. “Nuccas say
anything to anyone stupidenoughtobelieve’em.”I blink. “I don’t think I’m
stupid.”She laughs again. “You’se
a lie. But dat’s a matter ofopinion.”“How many months are
you?” Iask, trying tochangethe subject. And Iimmediately regret havingeversaidawordtoher.
“Why?”shesaysnastily.I shrug. “I was only
asking.”“No, you were just bein’
nosy. Tryna be all up in mybusiness. You really thinkyou betta than me don’tyou?”“No.Of coursenot,” I say
incredulously. “I don’t thinkthataboutanyone.”“Yes you do!” she snaps.
“But you ain’t. Just becauseyoucomefromalittlechange
dat don’t make you betterthanme.”“Iknowitdoesn’t.”Sherollshereyes.“Mmph,
it sure doesn’t. But keepactin’likeitdoes’n’seewhathappens.”Iblink.Then, without thinking
aboutwhetherornotIshouldsayit,withouteditingitinmymind first, I ask, “Do youknow who the baby’s fatheris?”
Her eyes darken. Her facehardens into an ugly stare.“Bish, yeah, I knowwhomybaby fahver is. See.Diswhydon’tnobody’roundherelikeyou. You too nosy ’n’ staytrynatalkslick.”I think to tell her I didn’t
meanitlikethat.ButbeforeIcan openmymouth to pleadmy case, her mother walksinto the kitchen and says,“Mercedes, I know you ain’teven pregnant, again? Is
you?”Mercedes shoots a dirty
look over at me, then sucksherteeth.“Yousee,thot.You’n’yabigmouth.”“I asked you a question,”
her mother says, glaring ather. “Is you knocked upagain?”Mercedes looks at her
motherandnods.Hermother rolls her eyes,
shaking her head. “See, dishere don’t make no sense.
You just had a baby threemonths ago ’n’ ya knockedup, again. Mmph. What yougonna dowit’ four babies? Iknow you ain’t even trynahaveit,isyou?”Mercedes shrugs. “I don’t
knowyet.”“Wat you mean you don’t
know yet, huh? You bettahope DYFS takes dis one,too,’causeIain’twatchin’nokids.”I blink. Three babies?
She’s only twenty-one!Ohmygod!Ithoughtsheonlyhadthelittlegirl.“I said I don’t know,” she
snaps back at her mother.“Now get off my case aboutit.I’ll letyouknowwatI’mado when I know wat I’mado.”I quietly ease out of the
kitchen, leaving the two ofthemtheretoargue.Iwantnopart of any of their familysquabble.
Ten minutes later, I goback out to the kitchen tocheck on Malik’s plate.Mercedes comes back intothe kitchen wearing a smirkon her smug face.“Someone’sheretoseeyou.”Igiveheraconfusedlook.
“Someone’shere to seewho,me?”She twists her lips up.
“Umm, did I stutter? Whoelse do you see in da room?Yeah,you.”
“Whoisit?”Sheshootsmeadirtylook.
“Do I look like ya butler?You’llseewhenyougettodadoor.”I turn the oven off, then
removethefood.“Okay,wellletmewrapupMalik’splate,first.”Ipulloutthealuminumfoilfromunderneaththesink,wrap his plate up, place itbackintotheoven,thenwalkoutintothelivingroom.I think I see her lips curl
intoaslysmirk.
32
“Hi. Are you looking forme?” I say guardedly,walking to the door. Thebrown-skinned girl at thedoor,with the clenched jawsand menacing scowl on herface,isunfamiliartome.Her
hairispulledbackintohalfateeny ponytail. There isn’tmuch hair gathered up intoher red scrunchie sitting upon top of her head. Still, shewears it proudly with bangsslicked down over herforehead. A weave-piece, Ithink.Shehasonehanduponher hip. The other hangs toherside,balledupintoatightfist.“YouKennedy,right?”Inod.“Yes.That’sme.”
She narrows her eyes.“Thenyeah,bish,I’mlookin’foryou!”Forasplitsecond,IthinkI
hear someone in back of megiggle. But I can’t be forcertain.Yet I am notwillingtotakemyeyesoffthegirlinfront of me to see who’sbehindme.“W-why?” I stammer,
holding on tightly to thescreendoorhandle.“YouknowSha?”
“Who?”“Don’t even front. You
know who Sha is. Shaheed.Theboyyouwereupstairsatdat party trickin’ wit’, thenlied ’n’ said he tried to rapeyou.”Iblink.“I-I...”My mind quickly
scrambles back to that night.The only two people who ItoldwereMalik andSasha. Itry to remember if I’d everused the word rape. I don’t
remember.Myheartstartspounding.“I never said he tried to
rapeme.”“Bish, yes you did! Don’t
lie;youdirtycockteaser!”I blink.And then it comes
back tome.What I’d said toMalikthatnight.“H-h-hetriedtorapeme..
.”Ohgod!“I-I didn’t mean that,” I
say quickly. I can’t believe
how much my voice cracks.“It’s just that he wouldn’tstop grabbing on me when Itoldhimtostop.”“Yeahright,trick.Andyou
wantedit.”I shake my head. “No, I
didn’t. I didn’t even knowhim.”She scoffs. “You dumb
bish!Thenwhyyou even goupstairswit’himifyoudidn’tknow him, huh? Don’t eventry to act like you didn’t
knowwhattimeitwas.”“I swear. I didn’t know. I
thought he only wanted totalk.”“Well, he didn’t. And you
know it. Then you gonna lie’n’gethimjumped.”“Ididn’tdothat.Iswear.”“Yes you did. And now
you’bouttoseehowitfeels.Soyouneed’astepoutsidesowecanhandlediswoman-to-woman.”Iswallow.
Ican’tlie.Iamdesperatelyafraid. And I don’t knowwhy.Imean,Idoknowwhy.There’s a tall, thick girlwithbig hands standing on theother side of the doorsneeringatme.I haven’t done anything to
anyone, andespeciallynot toher or the four other girlsstanding in back of her. Butclearly, judging by herhostility toward me, sheseems hell-bent on thinking
that I have wronged her insomeway.And I can tell just by the
way she’s glaring at me thatsheisn’tinterestedinhearinganything I have to say. Andneitherdoanyofherfriends.They’re not here to talk.She’sheretokickmybutt.All of a sudden my eyes
getwatery.And the only thing that
stands betweenme andwhatI’m beginning to think, feel,
isgoing tobecomemyworstnightmareisflimsymeshinametal frame. I hold the doorhandleeventighter.“Trick, I said come
outside!”Iswallow.She’s now up on the tiny
porch, one hand up on herhip; the other pointing atmethrough the screen like it’s agun. Her face is so close tothe screen, I can feel her hotbreaththroughthetornmesh.
I try not to look at her.Instead I focus on the scaryblack snake she has tattooedonthesideofherneck.AndIfeellikecrying.“Goddammit,Mercedes!”I
hear Malik’s mom yell inback of me. “Who is at myfront doorwit’ all dat noise?You know I ain’t for noratchetnessearlyindaday!”“Dats some chicks from
arounddawayforMalik’sli’lgirlfriend,” she says. She
sounds amused. “Looks likeshe done got caught up insomedrama.”“Say what? I know one
thang, li’l Miss Uppity bettagoon’n’takedatmessawayfrommygoddamndoor.Tellher I said to go outside wit’dat mess! I don’t know whyMalik left her here anyway,like we some babysittin’service.”Icringe.Andthenextthing
I know, I am stumbling out
the door as it swings openand hits Snake Neck. I’vebeen pushed from behind. Iam caught totally off guard.So is Snake Neck. Before Ican break away, or evenscreamforhelp,shelungesatme.“Bish!I’makillyou!”She grabs me by the shirt
andpunchesme in the jaw. Iam no street fighter. Heck,I’m not any kind of fighter.Butthisgirlis.Andsheisout
forblood.Iscream.Her friends circle us,
cheeringheron.“Beat her face in!”
someoneyellsout.Next thing I know I feel
Snake Neck’s razor-sharpfingernails clawing into myface, like she’s trying topeelmyskinoff.Instinctanddesperationset
in and my arms and handstake on a life of their own. I
start swinging wildly. Iwindmill her up. My fingersclawing at her hair,my nailsdiggingintoherskin:thereisnoonehere tohelpmeandIamfightingformylife.I hear people yelling,
“Fight!Fight!”But I am not sure who or
whereit’scomingfrom.I can’t believe this is
happeningtome.Allbecauseof some boy who tried tohave sex with me. All
because Malik had him beatup.All becauseSashahad togooff and leaveme alone atsomeparty Ihadnobusinessbeingat.Someonekneesme.Someone else punches me
inthebackofthehead.Ohmygod!Iambeingjumped.Someoneelse’shandwraps
aroundmyhair.I am being yanked and
punchedandkicked.
I feel the tearsburningmyeyes and rolling down myface as I try to fight thesegirls off me. I struggle tohangontoSnakeNeck’shair,struggletonothittheground,knowing that it will be overformeifIdo.I bite Snake Neck’s arm.
Sheyelps.Hitsmeupsidethehead. But I don’t let go. Itightenmygripandtrytoripachunkofherarmout.Nowshe is screaming. And her
friends are punching andkicking,harderandfaster.SnakeNeck and I both hit
the ground. I am on top ofher. Her crew is nowstompingandkickingme.Mystomach and side and chesthurt.“Yo,whatda fuqq!”Ihear
someone yelling. “Get dafuqqupoffaher!”ThenIfeelsomeone yanking bodies offofme.It’sMalik.
33
Speak now or forever holdyoupeace...“I’ve been holding back
from saying this,” Jordansays, slipping out of herleather open-toed Giuseppesandals, the ones her mom
boughtheratthebeginningofsummer from Barney’s NewYork. “Because I don’twantthis to turn into an uglyargument.”I reach for the new Ni-Ni
Simone book my momboughtmeandleftuponmydresserforme.Iguessit’sherway of trying to make upwith me. For the last weekwe’ve been fightingconstantly, especially after Icame home over aweek ago
beat up and bruised up fromwhenthosegirlsjumpedme.Shewaspissed.“Iwantyoutotellmewho
those girls were. Thenwe’regoing down to file assaultchargesonthem.”I wouldn’t cooperate. I
refused to tell her anything.AndIdidn’twanthertopresscharges. Truth is, therewasn’t anything to tell. Ididn’t know much ofanything where any of those
girls were concerned. Nonames. No addresses.Nothing.Anyway,backtothisbook.
MymomknowshowmuchIlove all of Ni-Ni Simone’sbooks. I have her wholecollection. But, as I sit hereflipping through thepages, itfeels like forever since I’vepicked up a book—anybook—andreadit.Factis,thelastbookIread
was two weeks before the
schoolsemesterended,overamonthandahalfago.Seemslike so much has changedsincethen.I look over at Jordan,
closing thebook.“Youdon’twant what to turn into anargument?”She lifts her feet up onto
my bed. “How I feel aboutwhatyou’vebeendoingoverthesummersofar.”I frown. “What do you
mean,what I’ve been doing
sofar?”“You know, hanging out
all the time, smoking,drinking...”“Ohmygod! I only drank
once.”“Yeah, and you got really
drunk. I’m still reallybothered by that. You couldhave died from alcoholpoisoningorsomething.”Irollmyeyes,suckingmy
teeth.“But Ididn’t. Itwasn’tthatserious.Sonext.”
“Well,itcouldhavebeen,”she says back. “How do youeven know someone didn’tputsomethinginyourcup?”“Jordan, stop! You really
need to lay off the CSIepisodes. No one putanything inmy drink . . .” Ihope no one did. No, ofcourse not! Sasha wouldn’thavedoneanything like that.She’snotlikethat.“How do you know that?
Did you see themmake it in
frontofyou?”Iraisemybrow.“Well,no.
ButSashagotitforme.”Shegivesmeablankstare.“Look. Forget it. I don’t
want to rehash that. Yeah, Idrank, got drunk, and threwup everywhere . . .” Andpractically took all yourclothes off. “It happenedonce. And I haven’t touchedalcohol since. I’m neverdrinking again. I learned mylesson.”
“I’m glad you did. Butwhat if someonewould havetaken advantage of you?Anything could havehappenedtoyou.”That boy Shaheed’s face
popsintomyhead,hishandsgroping all over me. I shakethe thought. “But no one’staken advantage of me. Sostop saying that.And I don’tappreciate you bringing allthisupwayafter thefact.Somovingon.Whatelse?”
“Well, you don’t have toget all snippy. I’m onlysharinghowIfeel.”“I’m not getting snippy. I
just don’t feel like hearingshoulda, coulda, wouldastoday. But whatever. Whatelse you wanna get off yourmind?”“Honestly, Kennedy, I
think you’re getting in waytoodeepwiththisnewcrowdyou’re hanging with. I don’tlike that you sneak out and
you’re having sex with thatboy.Ifeellikeyou’removingtoo quick. You don’t evenreallyknowhim.”“Ohmygod, Jordan! You
say that like he’s somerandom guy. He’s myboyfriend.”“Yeah, one you have to
keepsecretfromyouparents.What kind of boyfriend isthat?”“See,IknewIshouldhave
never told you about any of
that.”“That’s what friends do.
Confideineachother.”“Yeah.But theydon’t turn
around and throw it back inyourface,either.”“I’m not throwing it in
your face. I’m simply statinghow I feel. That’s also whatfriends do when they careabout each other. They sharehow they feel. I mean, I amallowed to feel how I feel,aren’tI?”
I shrug. “You can feelhoweveryouwant.Ican’ttellyouhowyoushouldfeel.”“Exactly.And,rightnow,I
feellikeyourloyaltytoHopeandmehaschanged.”“How do you mean, my
loyalty’s changed? I’malwaysloyaltobothofyou.”She gives me a look of
disbelief.“Oh,really?”“Wait. Is this about me
ditching going to themall tohangoutwithSasha?”
“Well, yes. No. I mean,every since you startedhanging out with that trashySasha girl and sneakingaroundwith thatdrug slingeryou’ve been acting realdifferent,”Jordansayssoftly.“Ohmygod, I can’t believe
you’dsaythat.”“Well,it’showIfeel.”“Well,firstoff,hisnameis
Malik,” I correct withattitude.“Secondly,he’snotadrugslinger.Andthirdofall,
Sasha isn’t trashy. So don’tsay anything negative abouther ’cause you don’t knowher. All you ever do isjudge.”“Ohmygod, Kennedy! I’m
not judging anyone.Are youthat dumb and blind? Thatboy is a drugdealer andyouknowit.Sostoppinglyingtoyourself.”“I’mnotlyingtomyself.”“And that’s a lie right
there. That’s all you’ve been
doing is lying.Lying toyourparents. Lying to Hope andme. Lying, lying, lying. Butyou go ahead and believe it.Maybe one day it might allbecome true. But for now, Idon’tcarewhatliescomeoutof your mouth. Your littlethugboyisadrugdealerand—”“He isnot!So stop saying
thatabouthim.”“Oh really? Then what is
he then, huh, Kennedy?
Because I know and youknow he isn’t a trust fundbaby.Andhe isn’t theownerof some Fortune FiveHundred company and heisn’tworkingonWallStreet.Andwebothknowhe isn’tadoctororalawyer.Soifyourhigh school dropoutboyfriend isn’t adrugdealer,thenwhatishe?Howdoesheafford that Range Rover andall that jewelry and all thosefancy clothes he’s been
buyingyou,huh?”“Fromhis lawsuit,” I blurt
out.Jordan gives a fake,
restrained laugh. “And youbelieved that? Hahahaha!How special. What lawsuit,Kennedy?”“That’s none of your
business!” I snap. “And Idon’tappreciateyoutryingtobe all up in my man’sbusiness.Ormine!”“Wellllll, excuuuuuse the
heck out of me,” she saysdefensively. “You want meout of your business. Fine.I’m out of it. But don’t youdare pick up the phone andcomecryingtomewhenyourmanandyournewbestiebothdrag you down into thegutterswiththem.”She’s gone too far. I can
tellI’vehurtherfeelings.Butoh well. She’s hurt mine aswell.I take a deep breath.
Collect my thoughts. Checkmy emotions. Then say,“Listen, Jordan. I don’t needthis crap from you. I don’twant to fight with you,okay?”“Well,Idon’twanttofight
with you either. But I don’tlikewhatthatboyisdoingtoyou.He’schangingyou.He’sno good for you. And theonlythinghe’sgoingtodoisbring you down, Kennedy.Youareworthsomuchmore
thanwhatyou’rebecoming.”Ihuff.“Andwhat isityou
actually think I’m becoming,Jordan?”“I’ve already said it.
Ghetto.”I blink. “Why? Because I
don’t wanna always talkproper. Because every nowand then I wanna use slangwords? That’s not me tryingtobeanything.”“Yes, it is,” she counters,
giving me an incredulous
look.“That’syoutryingtobe”—
she makes quotation markswithherfingers—“down.Thewayyou’renowdressing,thewayyou’re talking, andeventhe way you’re sitting herenowwithyourlipsalltwistedup. You’re trying to besomethingyou’renot.”“That is so not true,” I
retort indignantly. “Whydon’tyou just stophatingonme?”
She grunts. “Hating onyou? Is thatwhat you call it,mebeingconcernedaboutmyfriend hanging with thewrongcrowdandgoingdownthewrongpath?That’shatingto you? Really, Kennedy?Howpriceless.You’re takingupfor thesamegirlwho justafewweeksbackbulliedyouand treated you like crap.Now all of a sudden she’syour hero.” She rolls hereyes.“Mmmph.Howepic.”
Jordan sounds jealous tome. Maybe she is. Or am Ibeingparanoid?“I mean, I’ve been trying
to be sympathetic to yourobsessive need to frolic withthat kind of element.” Sheshakes her head. “But, it’sgetting increasingly moredisturbing. Hope and I weretalkingaboutitlastnightandsheagrees.”I blink. Somehow I feel
betrayed. Hurt. That the two
of them have been talkingaboutmebehindmybacklikethis. I thought theyweremyfriends.“Ohmygod!” I shriek.
“Bish, bye! Are you effenserious? I can’t believe youandHopehavebeendoggingmeoutbehindmyback.”“Wehaven’tbeendogging
you. We’ve been discussingour concerns; that’s all. It’slikeyou’rechanging.”Jordanpauses for a second, then
adds, “And you’re evenactingrealghettonow.”Iamtakenaback.Literally
floored that she would saysomething like this to me.That I’mactingghetto.Whattheheckisactingghetto?“I’mactingghetto,how?”“Listen to yourself. You
sound just like one of thosesection-eight girls.Acting allghetto-fabulous.”“Are you effen kidding
me?Ohmygod,Jordan!Have
several seats! And go findyour life! I can’t believeyoujust said that. How am Iacting ghetto-fabulous?Pleaseexplain.”She plants a hand on her
hip, jerking her neck fromside to side. “You’re actingghet-to . . . right now.Cursing and telling me tohaveseveralseats.That’sthatgutter-trashtalk.”There’s no need for her to
be getting all snip-snappy
withme.Shoot,she’sluckyIstillwanttohangoutwithherlame butt. But if she can’trespect my boo and myfriendship with Sasha, thenI’m going to have to cut heroff.I eye Jordan as she eases
up from off my bed, thenhooks the straps of herhandbagintothecrookofherarm.“I miss my best friend,”
shesays.“Ican’tdothiswith
you,Kennedy.”I tilt my head. Give her a
quizzicallook.“Youcan’tdowhatwithme,Jordan?”“This. Watching you
become this stranger. I can’tsit back and silently watchyouruinyourlife.”I frown. “I’m not ruining
my life. I’m having fun.Something you should tryhaving instead of alwaysbeing so uptight and stuck-up.”
She blinks. “Is that howyou see me? Uptight andstuck-up?”“It’s the truth, Jordan.
That’s what you are. A joy-killer.Mygod,nowondernoonelikesyou.”Hereyesfillwithhurt.Her
bottomlipquivers.Iquicklyregreteversaying
thosewords.Butit’stoolate.It’soutnow.AndIcan’ttakethem back. “I-I’m sorry. Ididn’tmeanitlikethat.”
“Wow.Don’tapologizeforhow you feel. You meantexactlywhatyousaid.That’sprobably the only honestthing you’ve said allsummer.”“Jordan,I—”She puts a hand up. Stops
me from finishing mysentence. “The truth hurts.But I’ll get over it. Just likeI’ll get over you and ourfriendship.” I eye her as sheremoves her friendship
bracelet. “This girl you’vebecomeisn’tthegirlIwanttoassociate with any longer.Call me stuck-up. Call meuptight. Call me a joy-killer.Callmewhateveryouwant.”She pauses. I can tell she’sholdingbacktears.“Theonlyperson I’ve ever cared aboutlikingmeisyou.”IfeellikeI’mgoingtocry
myself. I knowwhere this isgoing. I can feel it in mybones. An aching. My chest
tightens.We’vehadplentyoffights. But none that haveever felt like this one.Absolute.Final.Like there isnocomingbackfromit.I stand up, reach over and
gently placemy hand on hershoulder.We’d been friends,besties, sisters, for likeforever.But,inasnap,wordshavesuddenlychangedthat.Ifeel likeIamabout to loseapieceofmyself.“I’msosorry.”
A tear slides out fromJordan’s eye as she stares atmy hand. Neither of us saysanything for a long, painedmoment. She removes myhandfromhershoulder.Laysher bracelet down acrossmynightstand before finallybreaking the heavy silencebetweenus.Herlipquivers.“SoamI,”
shesayssomberly,andwalksoutthedoor.
34
“Kennedy,wherehaveyoubeen?” My mom wants toknow the second I stepthroughthedoubledoors.Shegreetsme at the door with adagger-like glare. Her facepaintedintoatightscowl.
“Out,” I tell her, brisklywalking through the foyer,tossingmyhousekeysupontheroundfoyertablecenteredinthemiddleoftheentryway.“Iknowyouwereout!Out
where?!” she snaps, hot onmyheels.“You’vebeengoneforalmost twenty-fourhours.Howmanytimesdowehaveto keep going through this,you leaving up out of thishouse and going missing fortwoandthreedays?Andwho
was thatyouwere sittingoutin our driveway with in thatRangeRover?”It was Malik. But that’s
none of her business. He’ddropped me off beforeheading into the city to takecare of something. Lately, itseems like that’s all he doesis take care of something inthe city. But I try not toquestion him because hedoesn’t like it.He thinks it’sdisrespectful for a girl to
question her man. I wouldnever do that. And I don’tever want him to think I’mbeingdisrespectfultohim.“You’re to lookprettyand
be seen, yo. Not heard,” hetoldmewhenIaskedhimtheother day why he had to gointoNewYorkallthetime.“Iain’t effen wit’ no broadwho’s gonna give me griefe’erytime I gotta make amove, ya heard? I dig you,realspit,baby.Butyougotta
stay in ya lane. Word to damother.Youneed’afallbackor I’ma have to replace you,feelme?”Iblinked,caughttotallyoff
guard. My heart dropped. Icouldn’t believe he’d breakup with me for asking himonesimplequestion.Iwasn’ttryingtobenosy,orgetallupin his business. I truly justwantedtoknow.ButtoMalikmy askingwas “out of line,”ashecalled it.So this time I
keptmymouthshutwhenhementioned where he wasgoing. I didn’twant to upsethim. And I didn’t want toeverbereplaced.Anyway,before lettingme
go inside, he’d reached overand given me a longpassionate kiss, then toldmehowmuchhealreadymissedme.Icouldn’thelpbutblush.Ifeltspecial.He always makes me feel
special. Like I’m hiseverything.Iknowhe’smine.Still... I wish he didn’t
insist on me coming backhere.Tothishouse.Withher.But ever since those girlscame over to his house tofight me he says he doesn’twantmelefttherealone.Andhe doesn’t want me hangingwithSasha,either.So I’m stuck here. And
nowIhavetohearhermouth.
I don’t know why he justcouldn’t take me with him!“Kennedy, do you hear metalkingtoyou?”I ignore her, walking into
thekitchen tograbaglassofcranberry-pomegranate juice.I fill my glass, then drink itdowninfourbiggulps.Ipouranotherglass.Sowhat if I’ve been gone
since yesterday. I was outwith Malik. We spent thewholedaydownatSixFlags,
then went to grab somethingto eat at the CheesecakeFactory. Afterward, Malikbroughtmeback tohisplace—well, hismom’s apartment—and we smoked andcuddled. And kissed. Andwell, you probably alreadyknowwhathappenednext.“Doyouhearmetalkingto
you,younglady?Iaskedyoua question. I’m getting tiredof you thinking you can dowhatever you like around
here!”I take a deep breath. “I
heard you the first time.Dang.Getoffmyback.”“Thenanswerme,dammit.
And don’t you dare use thatlanguage or that tone in thishouseatme.”I shoot her a nasty look.
“Oh,but it’sokay foryou touseitatme.Idon’tthinkso.”I gulp down the last of mydrink, then set my emptyglassintothesink.
Mom slams a hand up onher hip. Her nose flares.“Don’t you question me,young lady! I’m the parent!I’mtheadult!Notyou!”I let out a disgusted grunt.
“You’resuchahypocrite.”“Whaaat?! Oh you have
reallylostyourmind!”“Ihaven’t lostanything,”I
snap.“I’mfinallystandingupfor myself. I’m living myownlife.”“Kennedy,whathasgotten
intoyou,huh?!You’veneverspoken to me like this. Youleaveupoutofhereandhalfthe time don’t let me knowwhere you’re going. Or youtellmeyou’regoingtobeoneplaceand thenI findoutyouweren’t even there. Yourbrothersneverpulledhalfthestuntsyou’repulling.”“Well,getover it,” I snap.
“I’m not the perfect littlegoody two-shoes that mybrothers were. It’s not my
fault they were a bunch ofnerdypricks!Howaboutthis:I don’t wanna be the perfectdaughter. I don’t wannafollow your stupid houserules. Idon’twannabe stuckin this prison camp. Iwannago out and have fun. I’msixteenyears old. I shouldn’thave to have some dumbcurfew or have you trynacontrol my every move. I’msickofyou!”My mom’s jaw drops.
Theninoneswiftmotionsheisinmyface,thepalmofherhandslicingintomycheek.Slap!“Don’tyouever—andIdo
mean ever—talk to me likethat as long as you live. Ibrought you into this world,little girl. And I will snatchyououtof it! Ikeepwarningyou! Iwillnot have that talkinmyhouse!”Sheyanksmeby the arm. “Do youunderstandme?!Youwillnot
disrespect me! I am yourmother. Not one of thoseskanky little girls you’retrying so hard to be like! Iwillnottolerateit!Thisisnotyou,Kennedy!”“You don’t know who or
what I am,” I shoot back,yankingmyarmfromher.Inallofmysixteenyearsoflife,she’sneverhitme.I’venevereven experienced a spankingasachild.Time-outsandlossof privileges are the only
forms of punishment everdishedoutinourhouse.Untilthisverysecond.She gives me a pained
look.Thenshakesherheadinfrustration. “You’re right. Idon’t know you. Notanymore. All I know is, thegirlthat’sstandinginfrontofme wearing that godawfulhoochie-momma outfit andhooker heels is not thedaughter I’ve raised. And Iwill not allow this kind of
dress in this house. Yourbreasts are practicallypopping out of that blouseand that little skirt you haveon is barely covering yourbehind.It’snotacceptable.”IknowIshouldapologize,
orevenrunoutofthekitchenandsimplyslammybedroomdoor,butIdon’t.Thestingingin my cheek won’t let me.The voice inside my headwon’t let me. They both tellme otherwise. Tell me to
rebel.AndIdo.“You know what?” I say,
puttingmyhandsonmyhips.“Screwyou! I’m sick of youtrying to ruin my life! Youdon’townme!Idon’thavetolistentoyou!IcanwearwhatI want. I’m sixteen! Andgrown! I can do what theheckIwant,whenI—”Slap!“Ohnoyoucan’t!Andyou
won’t!”Slap!Herpalmslams
into the side of my facecausingmyears to ring.Andthistimetearsspringfrommyeyes as I grab hold of myface, stunned that I’ve beenhit again. She glares at me.“Youarenotgrown!Nothereinmy house!Not at sixteen!NotaslongasyourfatherandItakecareofyou,you’renot!Now I don’t know whereyou’re getting yourinformation from,butyou’vebeen sadly misinformed. At
sixteen, young lady, you arenowhere near grown. Youmay think you are. But I amstill responsible foryou.Youwilldoasyouare told!Nowget your smart-mouth behindupstairs, take off those streetclothes and go wash yourface!You’regrounded!”“I hate you!” I scream,
stompingupthestairs.
35
“Screw her!” I mutter tomyself, snatching open mydresser drawers and tossingeverything into my designerduffle bag. “I don’t have totake this crap from her. I’moutta here!” I rush into my
walk-in closet and startyanking clothes off hangersand stuffing them into mybag. “Putting her hands onmelikethat!Ihateher!”I grab my phone and text
Sasha, giving her the 4-1-1and asking her to come getme.FiveminutesafterIsendthe text, my cell rings. It’sher.“Shedidwhat?”“Sheslappedme,”Irepeat,
walking over to my wall
mirror and looking at thebruiseshe’sleftonthesideofmyface.“Forwhat?”“Because she’s such an
evilwitch,” I say,pacingmyfloor. “All because I didn’tcomehome.”“Youain’tcomehomeone
night ’n’ she’s spazzin’ onyou like dat? Girl, you needto handle her. You prollyshouldcallthepoliceonher.”“No. I can’t do that.She’s
stillmymom.”She grunts. “Mmph.
Whatever.Doyou,boo.AllIknow is, your momz bebuggin’.”“I know. All she wants to
do is try to ruinmy life.SheactslikeI’moutinthestreetscommitting crimes orsomething. All I’m tryna dois have some fun before it’stimetogobacktoschool.”“Girl, you betta get yo’
life! Ain’t nobody got time
for dat! You need to packyourish‘n’getupouttadere!Mmph. I wish my momzwould. I know you effed heruprealgoodfordat,right?”Iblink.Isthisgirlserious?
First she says I should callthe police on her.Now she’saskingmeifIhither.Fighting my mom isn’t
something I’ve everconsidered. I mean, talkingbackisonething,buttofighther.No.That’sgoingwaytoo
far.Idon’tcarehowpissedIgetather, Idon’t thinkIcaneverhither.Shestartslaughing.“Oops.
IforgotwhoIwastalkin’ to.Li’l Miss Scaredy-Cat. Youknow you an undercoverOreo. So you betta do whatdemwhitegirlsdo’n’stompherlightsout.”Iblink.She keeps laughing. But I
don’t see anything funny.“You know dem rich white
girlzyourollwit’downatdatfancy school you go to bewhippin’ da hot dog pissoutta dey mommas. Thenagain, you prollywouldn’t. Iknow you ain’t got it in youtogowit’dahands.”“She’s my mom,” I say
defensively.“Ican’thither.”“Oh, but it’s okay for her
to put her hands on you,right?Girl,bye.Missmewit’dat.”“I disrespected her,” I
counter. “I shouldn’t havespokentoherlikethat.”She sucks her teeth. “And
she disrespected you.Smacking you up. Sheshoulda kept her hands toherself. Girl, bye. Miss mewit’ dat dumbness.Momz ornot, she crossed da lineputtin’herhandsonyou,boo.But whatever. She’s yourheadache.Notmine.Sowhatyougonnadonow?”“I don’t know. I was
hopin’ you could come getme.”“When?Now?”“Yeah.Ifyoudon’tmind.”“Girl, I do mind. I’m
gettin’ ready to get my boxbeatup.”“Oh.”“Where’sMalik?”“Hewentintothecity.And
probablywon’tgetbackuntillate.Igottagetoutofhere.”“Well,didyoucallhim?”I
tell her no. Tell her she was
the first person I called.“Well, I think you shouldholla at yaman ’n’ seewhathesays.”I swallow. “Yeah. I guess
you’reright.”“Hit me later,” she says
justbeforethelinegoesdead.Ipullmycellfrommyear
and stare at it.How rude! Itrings again, startlingme.MystomachlurchesasIglanceatthescreen.OhGod!
I answer the call on thefourthring.“Hello.”“Kennedy?”“Yes,Daddy.It’sme.”“I just got off the phone
with your mother,” he sayscalmly. “She’s extremelyupset. She says you’ve beensneaking out and becomingextremely disrespectful. Isthistrue?”“D-daddy,I-I...”“Answer the question,
Kennedy.It’sayesorno.”
I fall silent as tears rolldown my face. Daddy hasnever raised his voice tome,andwhenever I’ve had to bedisciplinedhe’salwaysleft ittomymom.“Kennedy?”“Yes.I’mhere.”“Then say something. I
need for you to tellmewhatintheheckisgoingonthere.Because what I’ve heard sofar,Iamnotliking.”“Idon’tcare,”Iblurtout.
“Excuse me? Young lady,whatdidyousaytome?”“I said I don’t care. I’m
sickofbeingtoldwhattodo.I want to live my own life.I’m old enough to make myowndecisions.”“Kennedy, sweetheart,”
Daddy says calmly. “Whathas gotten into you? This isnot you. Your mother saysyou’ve been drinking andhanging out with a wrongcrowd.”
“Ohmygod! She’s such atraitor. She promisedme shewouldn’t tell you about thedrinking. It was only onetime. I got drunk. And Ididn’t like it. It was no bigdeal.”“It is a big dealwhen you
don’t come home,” he says,raising his voice. “Yourmother is worried sick aboutyou.”“Well,shecanstop.Idon’t
need herworrying aboutme.
Icantakecareofmyself.”“Wait a minute. Where is
all this hostility anddisrespectcomingfrom?”“I’mnotbeinghostile.I’m
justsickofMomnot trustingme. I’m old enough tomakemyowndecisions.”“Listen, sweetheart, you’re
right. You can make somedecisions for yourself. AndyourmomandIbothneedtobe able to trust you to dowhat’sright.Iknowthatyou
may thinkyou’reoldenoughto knowwhat’s best for you,Kennedy.Butrightnow,yourdrastic change in behaviorsays otherwise. I’m flyinghome Friday evening. I’ll behome early Saturdaymorning.We’lltalkaboutthisthen.Understand?”Isigh.“Yes.”“Good.Nowdomeafavor
and go apologize to yourmother, thenpromisemeyouwon’tdo...”
The line goes dead. Idisconnect the call. I didn’twanttohearanythingelsehehad to say. I’m notapologizingtomymom.AndIwasn’tgoingtopromisehimanything. Malik promised totakeme to thisbigparty thisweekend.Andnothing,ornoone,isgoingtostopmefromgoing.My cell rings back. It’s
Daddycallingagain.I let thecall roll into voice mail.
When he calls back a thirdtime, I hit IGNORE. There’snothing else to talk about.I’vemade upmymind.Andhe’smadeuphis.I call Malik. “Yo,
whaddup?”“Igot intoabigfightwith
my mom,” I tell him. “Sheslappedme.Andnow I havetogetoutofhere.What timeare you coming back toJersey?”“Whoa, whoa . . . slow
down.Rundatbymeagain.”Irepeatmyself.“Whyshegoofflikedat?”I shake my head as if he
can see me through thephone. “She’s crazy. All Iknow is I have to get awayfromher.”“A’ight. Did you call
Sasha?”“Yeah,Idid.Butshedidn’t
sound likeshewas interestedincomingtogetme.Shetoldmetocallyou.”
“Oh, a’ight. I gotta gouptown real quick, thenshould be headin’ back datway ina few.You thinkyoucan stay put until I can getthere?”I nod. “Yeah. I’ll just stay
inmyroom.”“A’ight,bet. I’ma textyou
when I’m on my way,a’ight?”“Yes.”“You ain’t gotta put up
wit’ dat ish, ya heard? I’ma
getusaspotnextweek.Indameantimeyoucanstayatmymomz’scrib.”Iswallow.“Areyousure?I
don’tthinkshelikesme.”“Yo, she ain’t gotta like
you.Butsheknowsshebettarespectyou.Ipaydabillsupindere,soshe’sgonnadowatIsay.”“Whataboutyoursister?”“Idonealreadyputmyfoot
down for what went on wit’dem broadz comin’ through
to get at you. So she ain’tgonnagiveyounogrief.Sheain’t trynahaveme take it toher neck again. Don’t worry’bout packin’ nothin’. I’matakeyoushoppin’tomorrow.”“Okay.”Three hours later, Malik
finally texts back to say he’stwentyminutesaway.Iknowif he comes to the housethere’s a chance—no, it’s adefinite—that my mom willcallthepoliceonhim.Idon’t
want that. I tell him tomeetme at the WaWa down thestreet.I won’t be needing this, I
think, tossingmypackedbaginto my closet. As I preparetocreepdownthestairs,Iamgreeted by mom with,“Kennedy,whatisthis?”I blink. My mom is
standing in front of meholdingupthetwobluntsI’dhidden in the inside panel ofmypocketbook.“Iknowyou
didnotbringdrugsupinthishouse! Have you lost yourmind,huh,Kennedy?Answerme!”I blink again. I can’t
believe shewent throughmystuff!“Don’t stand there looking
atmecrazy!Youbetteropenyour mouth and tell mesomething,girl!Now!”I can’t help but roll my
eyes.She scowls. “Is there
something wrong with youreyes? Because I know youdidn’t just roll them at me.NowIaskedyouaquestion?What.Is.This?”“I don’t believe you!” I
yell.“Idon’thavetotellyounothing! You have no rightgoing through my personalthings!Do Igo throughyourstuff?No!”“Excuuuse you?! I have
every right”—she stomps afoot—“to go through your
things when your behaviorwarrants it. And, lately, I donot like what I am seeing.And now I see why. Howlong have you been smokingthismess,huh?”“That’s none of your
business,”Isnap.“Whycan’tyou stop being a joy-killerand just stay the heck out ofmylife?”“Everything you do is my
business, littlegirl!Youhaveno life unless I say you do!
And for the rest of thesummer the only joy you’llseewillbepunishment!”“Youcan’tdothis tome!”
Iscreamather.“Oh, I most certainly can.
Now get your ass backupstairs! I don’t know whothis new crowd is you’rehanging with, but it stopstoday. Do you understandme?”“Youcan’t tellmewhat to
do!” I try tobrushbyher. “I
don’thavetolistentoyou!”She snatches my arm.
“Girl, you had better watchyourtonewithme!Youhaveno business bringing drugsintothishouse!AndIwillnotstandforit!”“Ohmygod!” I shriek,
snatchingmyarmback.“Geta grip! It’s only marijuana!You’re acting like it’s somehard-coredrugor something!It was hidden inside of mypocketbook. Not out in the
open. So what’s the bigdeal?!”“The big deal is, it’s
illegal! And you brought itinto this house! I don’t carewhere you had it hidden. Ifthe police found this”—sheshakes the plastic baggie inmy face—“on you you’d bearrested! Is that what youwant? To be carted off tojail?”Tearsspewfrommyeyes.“No, I want you to stay
outta my life! You’re gonnahave to let go and stop trynaruinmylife!”She raises her hand to
strike me, but quickly stopsherself. “I’m warning you,Kennedy!SohelpmeGod!Iwill smack the piss out ofyou!Youwillnotspeaktomethatway!Iamyourmother!Iwill never let go of trying toguide you in the rightdirection.Andrightnow,I’mtrying to stop you from
making some horriblemistakes. The last thing Iwantisseeingyouhookedupwith thewrong crowd.All ittakesisonetimebeingatthewrong place at the wrongtime with the wrong crowdand you could end up a jailcell,orworse.”“I’m already in jail!” I
screamather.“Soitcan’tgetany worse than it already is.Anyplace would be betterthanbeingherewithyou!”
I brush by her, practicallyknocking her over. I rundown the stairs and out thefront door, cursing andhollering at the top of mylungs,withoutlookingback.I hear my mom running
behindme,callingoutforme.“Kennedy! Kennedy! Getbackhere!Doyouhearme?!You get back in this house,right now, or I’m calling thepolice!”Ikeeprunningandrunning
untilmy chest aches andmylungsburn.Mymindismadeup.I’mnevergoingbackthere
again!
36
Malik makes me feel safe.Simpleas that.Hemakesmefeel special. And wanted.And,witheverythingthathashappenedover the lastweek,Malik is all Ineed togetby,to survive. I haven’t spoken
to(orheardfrom)mymothersince our fight. And I don’twantto.I don’t evenknow if she’s
tried reachingmeonmycellbecause I threw it in a fit ofangerandbrokeit.Malikhadtopurchasemeanewphone.Now I don’t have anyofmycontacts.And I haven’t beenon Facebook to see if she’slookingforme.Knowingher,sheis.A part ofme feels so bad.
And knows that I amprobablyindeeptrouble.Then there’s theotherpart
of me that just doesn’t care.Notrightnow,anyway.Sasha was right when she
said I needed to getmy life.Well, guess what? That’sexactlywhatI’vebeendoing.Getting. My. Life. I havebeen having nothing but fun.Going to parties. Going toclubs. Shopping. Andspending every waking
momentwithMalik.He’s been so supportive.
He even got us an efficiencyroomtwotownsoverbecausehe said we needed our ownspace. Truth is, I overheardhis mother telling him whenhe cameback at twoo’clockinthemorningtopickmeupthat she didn’t want mestaying in her apartment.“Shetooyoung’n’toohotinthe tail. And she ain’t gonnabe nothin’ but trouble. You
need’agityousomebodyyo’own age. And leave dat li’lgirlalone.”“Ma,youneedtogo’head
wit’ dat dumb ish,” I heardMaliktellher.“Kennedyain’tgonna bringmeno heat.Hermomz threw her out ’n’ Iain’ttrynaseemygirloutondastreets.”His mother grunted.
“Mmph. You need to callDYFS ’n’ let dem deal wit’’er.”
“Chill, ma. Ain’t nobodycallin’DYFSonnobody. It’sall good. We outta here,a’ight? I already got us aspot.”“What? What you mean,
yougoty’allaspot?Youstillgonnapay this rent ’n’makesure me ’n’ Mercedes gotmoneytoliveoffof?”Iheardhim tell her that he hadeverything covered, then thelastthingIheardhersayis,“Ican’t believe you gonna turn
yabackonyaownfamilyforthatli’luppitygirl.”“Yo, sexy, what you over
there thinkin’ ’bout?” Maliknudges me, taking his eyesoff the road ahead of him.“Youa’ight?”Inod,lookingoverathim.
“Yeah.I’mokay.”“Oh, a’ight. Just checkin’
on my baby. You seem likeyoukindalostinthought.”I shakemyhead. “No,not
really.”
Truthis,mymindhasbeenreeling back and forthbetweenmyfightwithJordanand the haunting words ofMercedes. Last night, asusual, I was left alone atMalik’s mother’s while hewentouttomake“arun”intothe city with two of hisfriends.And, once again, hissister with her ole messy,mean self felt the need tocorner me in the kitchenwhen I’d come out to grab
somethingtodrinkoutof thefridge.“I keep telling you, silly
girl,allmybrotha’sgonnadoisuseyouup.Screwyouup.And have you somewhererockin’inacornertrynasliceyawrists.”I blinked, then scrunched
my face up at her. “Why areyou telling me this? Malik’syourbrother.”Shesnapped,“Iknowwho
da fuqq he is. Do I look
stupidtoyou?”“No, not at all.” But you
sound crazy, I thought as Istood there staring at her.“I’mjustwonderingwhyyouwouldsaymean thingsabouthim;that’sall.”She scowled. “Say mean
things’bouthim?Girl,bye.Iain’t saidnothin’mean ’boutmybrotha.ButyoutoostuckondumbtoseedatI’mtrynaschoolya.”She rubbed her swollen
belly, then pulled a chair outfrom the table and sat.“Sweetie, all you ever gonnabe toMalik is a youngpieceuntilhefinishesrunnin’allupinyou’n’guttin’youout.”Icringed.“Mercedes!” her mother
yelled from the living room.“Leavedatgirlalone!”She snorted. “I ain’t
botherin’ her. I’m trynaschoolher.”“Well, don’t school her!
Leaveherbe!Idon’tfeellikehearin’Malik’smouff ’causeyoueffenwit’datgirlofhis.Ifshewannabedrunkinloveover him, let her. She gonnahavetafindoutdahardway,like the rest of ’em; that’sall.”Like the rest of them, I
thought,wonderingwhat shemeant by that.When I askedMercedes what her motherhad meant, she simplysmirked and said, “You’ll
findoutsoonenough.”I’m not sure what I’m
supposed to find out, butwhat I do know is, I need toknowthis:“Umm,howmanykids do you have?” I finallyask Malik, shifting my bodytofacehim.He takes his eyes off the
roadforasplitsecondtolookoveratme.“Imean,Iknowyouhavea
baby with that girlHennessey.”
“Datain’tmybaby,yo.”I raiseabrow.“Saywhat?
I thought you said she wasyourbabymother.”“Nah, I never tol’ you no
ishlikedat.”Iblink.Iamcertainthathe
told me that that night sheshowedupattherestaurant.Icould have sworn he did.Okay,maybehedidn’t.“But I keep hearing you
have other kids with othergirls,too.”
Malik’sfaceturnsupintoascowl.“Whotol’youdis?”“Yoursister.”“Dis thot,” he mutters,
shakin’ his head. “Listen. Igot two kids, a’ight. A four-year-old and three-year-old.They both down south wit’deymomz.”Igivehimaconfusedlook.
“So Hennessy’s baby isn’tyours,butyouhave twokidswithsomeoneelse?”“Yeah.BothmyBM’slive
inAtlanta.”BothmyBM’s?“But what about
Hennessey’sbaby?”Hereachesintotheashtray
and retrieves a half-smokedblunt, slipping it betweenhislips. He presses the lighter,thenafewsecondslaterlightsthe weed-stuffed cigar.Smoke quickly fills theinteriorofhistruck.“Ialready tol’you. It ain’t
mine.Shekeeptrynaputiton
me, but I ain’t beat. I knowwattimeitis.Shetrynagetacomeup,butitain’tgonnabeonmy dime. Imean, yeah, Ismashed, but it wasn’t ’boutnothin’. Dat broad’s a freak.She let all my manz ’n’ deyboyzrunallupinher.”Hesaysthisasifwhathe’s
tellingmeisnotthatserious.HissisterMercedes’svoice
hauntsme.“...Youprollydadumbesthohe’sbeenwit’sofar . . . raw punnany is da
only thing my brother isgonna ever love. He doesn’tknow howta love anythingother than what’s betweenyo’legs,li’lgirl...”I cringe at the idea of
knowing that he’s hadunprotected sex with her,knowing she was sleepingaroundwithotherguys.“Andyou’resureherbaby
isn’tyours?”He shoots me a look.
“What I just say. Let it go.
We got it in, a’ight. I ain’tstrapup.Itiswhatitis.”Iraisemyeyebrow.“Look.
Just forget I even asked,” Isay,foldingmyarms.“A’ightthen.Stopstressin’
over dumb ish, yo.” Heshakeshishead. “Youyoungbroadz real wet behind daears,yo.”I shift uncomfortably,
blinking. “Well, maybe youshould get with someonewhoseearsaren’tsowetthen
since you feel like that. Iwon’taskyouanythingelse.”I turnmybody and stare outthewindow.I hear Malik sigh. He
reachesoverandlightlygrabsmyknee.“Yo,c’mon,baby.Ididn’t mean it like dat.” Hisvoicesoftens.“It’sjustdatdapast is in da past ’n’ I don’twant us to have to live in it,a’ight. Henney’s baby ain’tmine. But I give her a fewdollarshere’n’there‘causeI
feelkindabadforher.Butdatdon’t mean I’m tryna claimherbabyasmyseed,yo.”Idon’tsayanything.Ikeep
my gaze locked out into thedarkness watching thebuildingsastheypassby.He gently squeezes my
knee.“I’mwhereIwannabewit’whoIwannabewit’.”I turn my head to look at
him, thengoback to lookingout the window. Thinking.Wondering. Hoping.
Desperately wanting tobelieve that Iam—that Iwillalwaysbe—enoughforhim.Silence fills the space
betweenus.What if Blaze was right?
What if Malik really isn’tright for me? Then what? Ifeel like I have given up somuch of myself to be withhimthatIcan’timaginebeingwithout him. And I can’timagineitnotbeingright.The truck stops at a
stoplight.Malik lights another blunt,
takes a pull from it, thenhandsittome.“Here.”Hepullsoffwhenthelight
turnsgreen.Itakeadeeppullfromthebluntandreleasethesmokethroughmynose,thenhanditbacktohim.Itdoesn’ttake longbefore Iamfeelingtheeffectsofthemarijuana.Iam feeling much morerelaxed.Isettlebackintomyseat, laying my head back
againsttheheadrest.Malik reaches over and
grabs my hand. “Yo, wegood,baby?”I glance over at him
through half-slits and nod.Then lean over and kiss himwhenwestopatanotherlight.He laughs. “Yo, my baby
lit,huh?”Inod,grinning.Acarinbackofhimhonks
its horn. Malik speeds off.Then reaches over and takes
my hand again. He brings itup to his lips and kisses it. Iclosemy eyes, leanmyheadback against the headrestagain and smile once I feelwarmth and wetness ofMalik’s mouth as he suckseachofmyfingers.“Mmm...youtasteso...
sweet.”Ismile.And for the next three
weeks, Malik and I becomeinseparable.
37
Saturdaynight.Theplaceispacked.Themusicisloud.Marijuana smoke fills the
air as guys walk aroundholding bottles of Ciroc andHennesseyinonehandwhile
holdingbluntsuptotheirlipswiththeirotherhand.There’sagroupofgirlspassingbluntsbetween them, while othersare grinding up on guys onthedancefloor.The inside of my stomach
trembles. And I don’t knowwhy. Something doesn’t feelright. But I can’t put myfingeronit.“Yo, Malik, my nucca,
wutz good, yo?” someoneyellsoverthemusic.Ilookto
therightofmeandspotatall,brown-skinned guy sittingbetween two cute girls withreally big boobs wearingskimpyoutfits.Hestandsup,spreadinghisarmsopen.He’swearing a neck full ofjewelry.He’s real tall. TallerthanMalik.Andreally,reallycute. He kind of puts me inthemind of Kendrick Lamaralittle,butacuterversionofhim.“Yo, whaddup, Que.” He
rushes over and the twoembrace in a brotherly hug,givingeachotherthatpound-handshake-thingytheyalldo.“Long time no see. Whereyoubeen,yo?”“Layin’ low, my nucca.
Watz good wit’ you.” Heglances sideways at me, andgrins. “I see you still pullin’dahoneys,yo.Yousharin’?”Malik laughs. “Nah. Not
thisone,mydude.Itain’tdattype’aparty.”
Ishiftmyweightfromonefoot to the other, feelingslightly uncomfortable withthe way Malik’s friend islookingatme.Malik turns to me.
“Kennedy, this my manz,Que. Que, this my girlKennedy.”“Yo, word?” He smiles.
“Watz good, ma? You got atwin?”I give him a half smile,
shaking my head. “Sorry. I
don’t.”Malik wraps his arm
aroundme,kissingmeontheside of my head. “Nah, mybaby’soneofakind,yo.”“I can dig it.” He glances
overhisshoulder.“Yo,letmeget back to these twobroadzbefore they start gettin’restless.”“No doubt, playa,” Malik
says, giving him another oneof those fist and shoulderbumps.
“Yo, you need’a comehollaatmeali’llater,a’ight?I got some bidnesss Iwannahollaatyou’bout.”“A’ight, No doubt. I got
you.”Ieyehis friendon thesly,
thenaskhimwhohe is.Andhow he knows him. Malikshoots me a look. Thencatches himself from sayingsomething when a dark-skinned girlwearing her hairpulled back into a tight
ponytailthathangsdownpastherbuttswishesherhipsovertoward us. She’s wearing apairofwhitebootyshortsandasilverglittery,low-cutbra.Iglance down at her feet andwonderhowintheheckshe’sable to walk in those super-highplatformheels.“Heeeeey, Malik,” she
coosoverthemusic,ignoringthe fact that Malik has hisarmdrapedaroundme.“Yo, watz good, Tasha.
Howyou?”She bats her fake lashes.
“I’m good. Real good.” Shelicks her lips, then smirks.“Butyoualreadyknowdat.”Mybodystiffens.“Yo,dismygirl,Kennedy.
Kennedy,disTasha.”Shecutshereyeatmeand
gives me the once-over. Iopenmymouth to speakandshe rudely twists her lips upand turnshergazebackovertoMalik.“Iain’tseenyouin
aminute,boo.Whatyoubeenupto?HowmygirlMercedesdoin’?”“Crazy,” Malik says,
laughingasheglancesaroundtheparty.“But,yo,letmegetmovin’.I’llholla.”“Yeah, you do dat.” She
shoots me a dirty look, thensays,“Iknowyoustillgotmynumber. Use it.” She walksoff.Herhips sway full speedas she moves through thecrowd.
Jay-Z’s “Open Letter”startsplayingandMalikbobshis head from side to side.“Yo, let’s dance.” Before Ican object, he’s pulling meonto the dance floor withhim. Several songs later weare passing a fat blunt backand forth. And whatevernervous energy I had earlieris now gone. I’m feelinggood.Beyoncé’s “Drunk In
Love” starts playing and I
pull Malik onto the dancefloor.WhateverhehadinthatmarijuanahasmefeelinglikeI can fly. I turn my back toMalikandhewrapshisarmsaroundme.Iliftmyhandsupovermyhead,closemyeyes,andgetlostinthemusicashegrindsonme.Out of the corner of my
eye, I see a tall, stocky guywith shoulder-length dreadsand half-sleeve tattoosstalkingoverinourdirection,
but I don’t give it anythought. I keep dancing,blocking everything out untilthe guy jumps up inMalik’sface.Wordsareexchanged.Malikpushesmeoutofthe
way.Then all I see are punches
beingthrown.I look on at the scene in
fear, confused, as other guysstart rushing to the dancefloorfighting.
I get knocked to the floor,andscream.
38
Pandemonium.That’s the only way to
explain what is unfoldingrightbeforemyveryeyes.Gunshots!Loud.Peoplearescreamingatthe
topoftheirlungs,scramblingfor safety. Ducking bullets.Dropping to the floor androllingforcover.Weareallterrified.“Ohmygod, Malik!” I
shriek. “What’s happening?”He snatches me by the handand is practically draggingme.IknowIsaidIwantedtohave a thrilling summer. Butthis goes way beyond mydefinition of excitement.Thecrowdstampedesouttheback
andsideemergencyexits.Weall pour out of the building,scattering.Malik and I run up two
blocks, then finally slowdown. I try catching mybreath.“W-w-what is going on?
Whath-happenedinthere?”“Listen, babe. Not now,
a’ight.Ineedyoutofocus.”“Focus?!” I scream
hysterically,yankingmyarmfrom him. “Are you kidding
me?Abunchofgunfirebrokeout in the middle of a club.And I barely made it outalive! We could have beenkilled.How—”“Yo!”hesnaps,pullingout
his keys and disarming hisalarm. “Chill wit’ daquestions, a’ight? I need’athink!”Iswallow.He opens the driver’s side
door, tellsme to get in, thenhandsmethekeytohistruck.
“Stay here. You hear me?Andifanythingstartslookingcrazy be ready to peel off.Youhearme?”“Y-y-yes.Butw-whereare
yougoing?”“Backtohandle...”Malik
stops in midsentence andglancesoverhisshoulderjustas a black Suburban withtinted windows rolledhalfway down with itsheadlightsoutapproachesus.The first things I seeare two
blackgunsbeingheldoutthefront and rear windows,aimeddirectlyatus.“Yo,getdown!”But it’s too late. I duck
down and scream as thegunmen open fire, shootingupthesideofthetruck.Ohmygod! Ohmygod!
Ohhhhmyyygod! I’mgoing togetkilled!Iheartiresscreeching,then
more gunshots being fired.Fearfully, I peek to see
what’s happening. I am ashakenmess.Through tears, I witness
Malikpullingagun fromhiswaistband, aiming at thespeeding SUV and firingshots. He takes off runningbehind the truck. I’ve neverseen him, or anyone—exceptRaynardPrice,aguywhorantrackandwenttoschoolwithmybrotherKent—runsofast.Hehitsthebackofthetruck,causingittoswervethenslam
intoaparkedcar.Myheartisbeatingrapidly.
This is all a terriblenightmare.Just when I think it can’t,
won’t, get any worse, thereare more gunshots beingfired.AtMalik!Andthen...Hehitstheground.“Nooooo!” I scream,
swinging open the door andhopping out of the truck,leavingthedoorwideopen.I
runtowhereheis.Irundownthestreet.“Malik!Malik!”Thereisbloodeverywhere.He’sbeenshot.Ohmygodohymygodohmygod!“Ohmygod! Malik! Are
youokay?”Sirensblareinthedistance.“I’m fine. Aaah, shiiiiit!
Punks clipped me in the leg’n’shoulder,dat’sall.”“Ohmygod! I have to get
youtoahospital.”“Kennedy! I need you to
focus!Uhhh!There’snotimefor that!”He starts breathingheavy. “I need you to takethis gun, and go back to thetruck and get a black bookbag from outta the backseat.It’sonthefloor.”“Okay.” I am crying
uncontrollably.Sirens squeal louder as
theygetclosertothescene.“Uhhh . . . I need you to
getdatbag’n’getouttahere.Don’t look inside. You hear
me? Call Sasha ’n’ give herdabag.“Butwhataboutyou?”“I’mcool.Justgo.”“I can’t leave you like
this!”“Look,baby,Igotdis.Get
outtahere,a’ight?Now!”He hands me the gun.
Without a thought, I take itand run back toward thetruck.Iamshakingviolently.I can see the flashing red
and blue lights. I open the
backseat door, find the bookbag and open it, stuffing thegun inside, thenstart runningin the opposite direction.Seconds after this, police areeverywhere. I don’t knowhowmany show up after thefirsteightsquadcarsIcount.A sea of blue uniforms hopsout of cruisers.Weapons aredrawn. Everything ishappeningsofast.“Police! Stop where you
are!”
Ohmygod!Aretheytalkingto me? I haven’t doneanythingwrong.“Police!”My knees shake. “What’s
goingon?”“Dropthebag!”Ohmygod, they are talking
tome!“Please. Don’t shoot. It’s
all a big misunderstanding.Someone started shooting atmyboyfriend.Thenhestartedchasing them. And then he
gotshot.Please.Youhavetocall an ambulance. Myboyfriend’s isbleedingprettybad.”“Ma’am. This is your last
warning! Put you handswhere we can see them.Now!”Idoastheysay.Nextthing
I know I am being swarmedbypolice.Thentackledtotheground.There’sakneeinmyback. Iambeinghandcuffed,thenviolentlyyankedup.
Ohmygod!Where’sMalik?I glance over to where I
lefthimlying.Heisn’tthere.“Youareunderarrest...”Oh,nooo!He’sgone!“You have the right to
remainsilent...”Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!
What have I gotten myselfinto?
39
IfIeverthoughttherewasn’tsuch a thing as a hell onearth, I was sadly mistaken.There isahellonearth!Andit’s this place! The Lorna P.Johnson Youth DetentionCenter.Metal doors clanking
open and closed. Nasty steelseatless toilets. Metal bedframes bolted to concretewalls.Thinmattresses.Cheapbedsheets that cut likesandpaper.Pigslopservedonthick,clunkyplastictrays.I have been fingerprinted.
Havehadmymugshottaken.And have basically beentreatedlikeacriminal.LikeIamguilty.I’mnotguilty!Ihaven’tdoneanything!
This isn’t whatmy life is.Or was supposed to be like.Fingerprints and face mugs.And charges of crimes Ididn’t commit.But somehowit’s what it’s become. Thisisn’t how I planned mysummer to turn out. Butsomehow, in the blink of aneye, this iswhat it has cometo.Andnowwhat’sleftofmysummerisruined!I’m locked up! I’m sitting
here in a drab navy blue
uniform with the wordsLORNA P. JOHNSON YDCstampedacrosstheleftsideofmy chest in small blockletters and a pair of slip-oncanvastypesneakersthathurtthebottomofmyfeet.I am surrounded by other
teens that hadapenchant formakingbadchoices.Someofthem were repeat offenders.Some of them were here onviolentcharges.Andsomeofthe girls here are scary.
Rough-looking.Disrespectful.Nasty.Trifling.Vicious. And crazy. And alltheywanttodoispickfightswith each other, includingwithme.It’scrazyhere!Being called filthy names.
Being threatened. Having toconstantly watch my back.It’salltoomuchtobear.I’mstartingtofeel likethe
wallsareclosing inonme. Ihavetogetoutofherebefore
Ilosemymind.I thought being arrested,
handcuffed, then shoved intothe backseat of a police carwas humiliating.But nothingpreparedmefor(orcomparedto) being in this hellhole.From getting processed atintake to getting strip-searched. I’d never felt soviolated in my whole entirelife, standing butt-naked andbeing told to bend over andpull open my butt cheeks
while some strange womanlookedon.I take a deep breath,
willingmyemotionsincheckwhile removing the receiverfrom the base of the phoneanddialing.Pleasepickup!Please!“Yo?”“Hey,” I say softly,
relieved and happy to finallyhear Malik’s voice. I hadbeen trying to reach him forthelastfourdaystonoavail.
I’devenleftseveralmessagesforhimwithSasha.Butevenshe’sactingfunnynow.“Look,Kennedy,”shesaid
nastilywhen I calledher lastnight. “You’re going to haveto chillwith all these calls. Igavehimyourmessages.”“And what’d he say?” I
askedanxiously.She sighed. “He said
a’ight.”“That’sit?”“Yeah,basically.”
“Isheinthehospital?”“No. Somebody he knows
is a nurse. She handledthings.”“Oh.” I was relieved to
hear he was okay. Butsaddened that she hadn’texpressed thathewasdeeplyhurtbymyarrest.“Didheatleast ask you how I wasdoing?”She huffed. “Look. Not
really.”Hurt washed over me. He
hadn’t even thought enoughaboutme to ask her if Iwasokay. I couldn’t believe it.And I couldn’t believe shewas acting like I wasinconveniencingher.“Well, look, girl. You can
write me if you want, but Idon’ttakecallsfromjailbirds,unless you my man. Noshade.”“Oh, okay. I understand.”
My feelingswere hurt.But Ikept it tomyself. I felt like I
had no one. “I’ll let you gothen.”“Cool. Keep ya head up,
girl.” And with that said, Iheardthedialtone.“Who dis?” Malik roars
into the phone, bringing meoutofmymindlessfog.Iblink.“It’sme.Kennedy.
Oh, wow. You’ve forgottenwho I am that fast?” I say,half joking. “Have I beenreplacedalready?”Iclutchthephonetightly.
Heletsoutachuckle.“Oh,nah-nah. Just didn’t thinkyou’d be callin’ me straightthrough; that’s all. I thoughtyourcallswerecollect.”“They are. But the social
workerletmecallyousinceIcan’t make collect calls tocell phones and I haven’tbeen able to reach you anyother way. Did you get myletter?”“Oh,a’ight.Yeah. Igot it.
Good lookin’ out, babe. I
beenmeanin’tohityouback.Butyouknowhowitis.”“No. I don’t know how it
is, out there anyway. I’m inherestressing,Malik.”“I feel you, babe. I’m
stressin’, too, yo.Shit’s beenmadhectic.Ijustgotouttadahospital.”Iblink.“When?”“Yesterday.”I frown. “Sasha told me
youdidn’tgo to thehospital.I thought some nurse you
know took care ofeverything.”“Oh, yeah. She did. But I
stillhadtogotothehospital.”I swallow. I can’t believe
I’m hearing all of this. Thathe was in the hospital, eventhoughSasha saidhewasn’t.That he’s too busy to take afewminutesoutofhistimetowrite me back. I’m the onelocked up for something thathe should be locked up for.AndthisisthethanksIget.I
thoughtIwassoimportanttohim.Somethingdoesn’taddup.Hisstory.I don’t know what to
believe.“You could at least write
me back, Malik.” I feelmyself getting teary-eyed. “Ifeel like I’m in this alone.” Istart crying. “I don’t evenhaveawayoftalkingtoyou.Didn’t Sasha give you mymessages?”
“Nah,” he says. “I ain’tseenherinaminute.”I frown. “She toldme she
gaveyoumymessages.”“Yo,effdatbroad,yo.She
staylyin’.”“Well, I don’t know if
she’slyingornot.Shehadnoreason to lie tome. She saidshe toldyou that Iwanted totalk to you.Now you sayingshe didn’t. Obviouslysomebody’slying.”“Oh,word? So you callin’
yamanaliar?Isdathowyoudoin’it,huh?”“I don’t know what I’m
calling you. All I know is,I’m not feeling like you’rehereforme.AndIdon’tfeellike you’re my man. I feelabandonedinhere.”“Yo, c’mon, Kennedy.
Chill. I got you, babe.Wordis bond. I’ma handle thatletter later tonight for you,a’ight? I’ma hit you wit’ afew dollas, too, a’ight? You
know you my heart, boo. Iain’t gonna leave youstranded,ma.Ever.”Isigh,reachingforatissue
on the social worker’s desk,then blowing my nose.“Moneyisn’tallowedinhere,Malik. I’m in a youthdetentioncenter,remember?”“Oh, right, right. My bad.
Soyougood?Youneedsomebooksorsumthin’?”My nose flares. “No, I’m
not good, Malik. I’m locked
up. I want to come home. Ihateithere.”Moretearsswellin my eyes, then rapidly fallunchecked. “I can’t do this,Malik. I think I’m goingcrazy. This place is horrible.The food is disgusting.” Iglance over at the socialworker.She’splayingagameof solitaire on her computer,pretendingtonotbelisteninginonmyconversation.“Ifeellike I’m going crazy,” Iwhisper into the phone.
“These girls in here aretrifling.Alwayslookingforafight.”“I feel you, babe. You
gotta keep ya head up,though. Stay focused, youfeelme?”I sniffle. Wipe my tears
with the arm of my sleeve.“I’m trying. But it’s hard. Ijustwanttogetoutofhere.”“When’syacourtdate?”I tell him it’s in two days.
Ask him if he can come to
court. My heart drops whenhe tellsme no. “Iwould if Icould, babe. You know that,right?”“Then why can’t you
come?”“Ihavewarrants,yo.Iain’t
’bout to chance havin’ demmofos run down on me if Icomethrough.”“I’mscared.” I feelmyself
starting to hyperventilate. “Ican’tdothis,Malik.”“Allyougottado,babe, is
play ya position, ya heard?Just sit tight and ride it out.This is your first time. Youdon’t have any priors. Andyou’re a minor. They’ll goeasyonyou.”“Are you frickin’ kidding
me! I shriek. “I don’t wantthemtogoeasyonme.Iwantthemtoreleaseme.Iwantoutofhere!Ididn’tdoanything!That gun wasn’t mine andneitherwerethosedrugs.Andyouknowit!”
“Whoa,whoa.Slowdown.Yousayin’toomuch.”“No I’m not. Obviously
I’m not saying enoughbecause I’m in here. Andyou’re out there. Living lavida loca.Youhave to cometo court and tell them whatreally happened. Please,Malik, you have to comegetme out of this place. Youcan’t let me sit in here androt.”“Oh, word? So now you
trynadry-snitchonyaman,isthat it? You tryna talk allreckless in front of themsocial workers, is dat howyou doin’ it, yo? You trynahemmeup,isdatit?”I frown. “I’m not dry-
snitching. Or trying to getyou hemmed up or whateverthat means. All I’m askingyou to do is tell the truth.That’sall.Ishouldn’thavetobe locked up for helpingyou.”
My plea is met with adeafeningsilence.“Hello? Malik? You still
there?”“Yeah,uh,I’mhere.Look,
I gotta go handle somethin’real quick. Let me hit youbackali’llater,a’ight?”Isheserious?Istareatthe
phone in disbelief. I blink.“You can’t hit me back,Malik.Idon’thavetheluxuryof making calls whenever Iwant. I’m locked up!
Remember?”“Oh,true.A’ight,well,see
if you can hit me up later. Igottagomakethisrun.Iloveyou,a’ight?”“Bye,Malik.”I hang up, glancing at the
timer. I’ve wasted eightminutes of my ten-minutephone call on nothing. I dialhome. The phone rings forwhat seems like foreverbefore someone finallyanswers. My heart skips a
beat.“Hello?”“Hello?Mom?”Iburstinto
tears. “I’m so sorry foreverything. You have to getmeoutofhere,please.”“Whoisthis?”I blink. What the heck is
wrong with everyone actinglike they don’t know myvoice?“It’sme.Kennedy,Mom.”“Andwhereareyoucalling
mefrom?”
Ichokebackascream.“In. . . in the d-d-detentioncenter.”“That’swhatIthought.No,
sweetie. This isn’t theKennedy I know. This issome imposter calling here.Because the Kennedy I gavebirth to wouldn’t be callingme from some detentioncenter. No. She’d be homewithherfamily.TheKennedyIknowwouldn’thavecursedmeout,orbeensneakingout
ofthehouse,or tellingmetostay out of her life. TheKennedy I gave birth towould have never run away,or brought drugs into thishouse.No,notmychild.”Tearssproutfrommyeyes.
“Mom, please. I know Iscrewedup.Canyouplease ...”“Oh, no. Don’t ‘mom,
please’me,MissI’mGrown.Remember, you chose thestreetsoveryourfamily.You
told me to stay out of yourlife, remember? Now youwant to call here, crying.Nowyouneedme,huh.Well,guesswhat,MissI’mGrown?You don’t get to pick andchoose when you want yourfamily in your life, orme asyourmother.”I scream and cry and can
barely breathe. I am cryinghysterically.Hearing thehurtand disappointment in hervoice is killing me. I wish I
could take everything I saidback.WishIcouldundowhatI’dalreadydone.But Ican’t.And I don’t know how tomakeitbetter.“I know, Mom. Pllllease.
Don’tsaythat.Iwaswrong.”“That’s too bad,” she says
evenly. Distant. “Now whatdoyouwant,Kennedy?”“Areyougoingtocometo
courtforme?”“No. Let the streets be
thereforyou.Youmadeyour
bed,nowlieinit.”Thelinegoesdead.AndI’mleftbeingliftedup
from the floor likea ragdollby two COs then draggedback to my cell. All Irememberhearingisthedoorclankingshut.AndIamalone.
40
My hands and feet inshackles, two guards—onemale, the other female—escortmeintotheelevatorupto the second floor wherejuvenilecourtproceedingsarehandled. It is my retention
hearing. Whatever thatmeans. My attorneyexplained it to me when hecamedowntotheholdingcellto speak with me. Buteverything he was sayingwentovermyhead.Thisisallconfusing tome.Aside fromwatching Court TV, I knownothing about a retentionhearing. Or being in a realcourtroom. And what’s mostfrightening is knowing thatrightat thisverymomentmy
entire fate is in the hands ofsomeone else. I feel sohelpless not knowing what’sgoingtohappentome.My stomach quakes with
anxiety as we enter thecourtroomandIamseatedata wooden table. My handsremain cuffed. Every fewseconds, I glance over myshouldertoseewhocomestocourtforme.AfewshortminuteslaterI
hear large wooden doors
behind me open. I glanceovermyshoulder.It’sDaddydressed in a navy blue suit.He looks so worn out. He’sflowninfromDubai,hashadto take a leave of absencefromwork,justtobehereformycourtdate.Ifeelsohorrible.Mymomisignoringme.My brothers are all pissed
atme.Jordan and Hope aren’t
speakingtome.
Sasha is all of suddenacting as if she can’t be sobotheredwithme.And the only thing Malik
seems to care about is mekeepingmymouthshut.Ihavenoone.Ihalfhoped,halfexpected,
to see my mom walking inbehind Daddy. I amdisappointed when shedoesn’t. I mean. I am happytoseeDaddy. Iam.Really. IamaDaddy’sgirl.Still...
“All rise!”Thebailiffsaysin a singsong voice, openingthe back courtroom door. Inwalksashort,brown-skinhedlady. She looks nothing likewhat everyone said. She’spretty. And seems niceenough. I try to gauge hermood. But I can’t. She’swearingnoexpressiononherface.The courtroom falls silent
asshebrisklymakesherwaytoward the bench, her black
judge’s robe swooshingbehind her as she climbs upthe stairs to the bench andsits.“Court is now in session!”
The bailiff barks. “TheHonorable Julia LeeAnderson presiding. Allelectronic devices are to beturned off now. Please beseated.”Judge Anderson glances
aroundthecourtroom.“Goodmorning.” She clears her
throat, placing her readingglasses on. “We are here onthe matter of the juvenileKennedy Simms. Docketnumber JV-dash-one-three-three-four-seven-two-thousand-and-thirteen.Thisisa retention hearing.” Shelooks up from her papers. “Isee we have representationfrom the state. And counselhere for the defendant.Counselors, please identifyyourselvesfortherecord.”
The prosecutor stands up.Awhitewoman.Blondehair,pulled back into a sleekponytail.Sparklingblueeyes.Milky white skin. Thin. Shelookslikesheshouldbeonarunway instead standing infront of a judge in acourtroom.She’sallbusinessas she says, “EmilySwansonforthestate,YourHonor.”Myattorneystands.“James
Fordforthedefendant.”The judge nods her head,
then scans my file, glancingupandpeeringatmeovertherim of her glasses. She isgivingmedirtylooks.Maybeit’s my imagination. Maybenot.She gets right down to
business.“You’vebeenchargedwith
the following: two countspossession of a weapon,specifically a .38-caliber teargaspenguncontainingariflebullet and a semi-automatic
pistol...”Ichokebackascream.Thoseweren’tmyguns!“. . . possession of the
narcotic painkilleroxycodone,possessionof theprescriptionanti-anxietydrugXanax, and possession ofcocaine.”Thoseweren’tmydrugs!The judge looks up atme.
“Do you understand thecrimesyouarebeingchargedwith,younglady?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I saymeekly. “But I didn’t doanything. They weren’tmine.”She tilts her head. Gives
meablankstare.“Weretheynot in your possession whenthepolicearrestedyou?”Iswallow.“Yes.But...”Shecutsmeoff.“Thenyou
did do something. And nowyou’vegottenyourselfcaughtup in the middle of a bigmess.”
I lowermyhead. I alreadyknow what she’s thinking.It’swhatmyattorneyalreadytold me down in the cage. Imean, holding cell. Like myattorneybasicallysaid:Itwasonmy person. Iwas the oneholding the backpack. I wasthe one with the guns anddrugsthatwereinside.Iamguiltyascharged.She lets out a grunt,
shaking her head. “I don’tknow what in the world is
wrong with you young girlstoday, wanting to be all fastand grown. Disrespectingyour parents. Choosing thestreetsoveryourfamily.”Thejudgeflipsthroughmyfolder,then looks up over her wire-rimmedglassesandslamsthefolder shut. She points awagging finger at me. “You,young lady, obviously comefroma goodhome;with twoparents who apparently loveyouandwantnothingbutthe
best for you. And they’veprobably spoiled you rotten,I’msure.“Butobviouslyyouwantto
squander everything they’vedoneforyou.Youwanttobein the streets. You want toplay hood wife to somehoodlum. Well, guess what,young lady? You can playBonnie if you want. Thestreets don’t give two centsand a wooden nickel aboutyou.AndneitherdoesClyde,
or Bobby, or Raheem, orMustafa. But since youwantto ride dirty for his cause,thenyou’llhave tosuffer theconsequences...”Please, God! Where are
youwhenIneedyou?“I’m going to order a
urinalysis and substanceabuse evaluation. I suspecther urine may come backpositive and I’d like to havethatinwritingifthatisinfactthecase.”
My heart stops. Oh, myGod. She’s going to crucifyme.Herglare is burning intomy flesh. All of a sudden, Ibreak out into a sweat. Andfeel myself start to shakefromtheinsideout.Sheeyesme.“Youwantto
be some gun-slinging thug-mami,don’tyou?”I shake my head. “No,
ma’am.”“Oh, yes you do.” She
glancesoveratthebailiff.He
shakes his head. “You’re abeautiful young lady. Butthose looks aren’t going toget you anywhere in lifeunless you learn to use yourbrain. Sadly, intelligencedoesn’t guarantee commonsense.Soifyouthinkforoneminute those looks are goingto get you out of this messyou’re currently in, you aresadlymistaken.“Judgingbythecrimesyou
are being accused of
committing, it’s apparent tothis court that you wouldrather be out in the streetswiththethugs,livingalifeofcrime, hanging with a bunchof fast hoochie-mommasinstead of being therespectable young lady yourparentshaveraisedyoutobe.Therearerulesputinplaceathome and in life for aparticular reason. Do youknow why there are rules,younglady?”
Inod.“You are to open your
mouth and speak when Ispeak to you. A head noddoes not suffice, do I makemyselfclear?”I swallow, hard. “Yes,
YourHonor.”“Good. Now answer the
question. Do you know whytherearerulesinplace?”“Yes.”“Why?”“So that there is order and
structure. And to help guideustodotherightthing.”The judge peers over her
wire-rimmed frames; shestudies me for what seemslikeforever,thennarrowshereyesatme.Herburningglarecauses me to squirm in myseat.“Do you know the
differencebetween ignoranceandstupidity,young lady?” Inod my head, and amimmediately scolded again.
“I’ve warned you once. Youopenyourmouthandspeak.Iwon’t tell you again. Do Imakemyselfclear?”“Yes, ma’am.” I speak.
Tellhermyunderstandingofthe difference betweenignoranceand stupidity.Thatignorance is not havinginformation, of not knowing.That stupidity is having theinformation, having anawareness of what’s neededto get something done, but
choosing to do nothing withit.“And did you not know
whatwasexpectedofyoubyyourparents?”“Yes,YourHonor.”“And do you not know
whatthelawexpectsofyou?”Inodmyhead.“Yes,Your
Honor,Ido.”She scowls at me. “Yet,
you chose to disobey bothyour parents and the law. Isthatcorrect?”
I swallow. “Yes, I mean,no,ma’am,”Isayalmostinawhisper.“What is it? Yes or no?
Did you or did you notdisobeyyourparents’rules?”“Yes.”“Anddidyounotdisregard
thelaw?”Iswallow.“Yes.”“And that makes you
what?”I swallow back the thick
lump in the back of my
throat.Stupid, stupid, stupid!I can’tbear to say it aloud. Iamsoscrewed.Thetruth,therealization, is too painful formetodealwithrightnow.My attorney stands to
address the court. “YourHonor.IfIcaninterjectforabriefminute...”Shelooksupfrommyfile.
“Makeitquick,counselor.”“My client is a straight-A
student with no priors. And,though she’s made some
foolishmistakes,she’sagoodkid. We ask that she beallowedhomeonhousearrestuntil her next court hearing.Mr. Simms, the juvenile’sfather, is here also on behalfof my client. And he’sprepared to take her hometoday.”The judge peers over the
rim of her glasses, again.“Mr.Simms,isthistrue?”Daddystands.Please,God!Ibegyou...
“That is correct, YourHonor. If the court isprepared to release mydaughter then we are morethan willing to have herhome, with conditions ofcourse. Perhaps under somesortofhousearrest...”Yes, please. House arrest.
You can keep me under lockand key until my eighteenthbirthday.Justletmegohome.I look over at Daddywith
pleadingeyes.Hegivesmea
pained look. Then asks thejudge if he can address thecourt again. I do not evenrealize that I’ve stoppedbreathinguntilIhearhimsay,“My wife and I are veryconcerned with ourdaughter’s recent behaviors.I’mnot surewhat has gottenintoher.Inamatterofweeks,between the drinking andlying and doing God knowswhat else, she’s turned intosomeone my wife and I
barelyrecognize.”Istartsobbing.“Save the tears,” the judge
snaps unsympathetically.“You’ll have plenty of timefor crying back at thedetention center, where youwill sit until your next courthearing.”“Ohgodnoooo!Whycan’tI
go home? I didn’t doanything.Iwanttogohome.”The judge scoffs. “Well,
guess what, young lady? It
doesn’t matter what youwant. And you’ve alreadyproven that it doesn’t matterwhat your parents want,because if it did, youwouldn’tbesittinghereinmycourtroom, taking up mytime.”Oh no, oh no . . . please
don’t...Thejudgelooksatmelong
andhard,causingmetobreakoutinasweat.Doomsday.
Thebeginningofmyend.“Disappointing.” She
shakes her head. “Just sad.It’sobviousyoucomefromagood home, young lady, butthat isn’t good enough foryou. It isn’t hoodenough foryou. And the fact that youhaveaclearunderstandingofright from wrong speaksvolumes, young lady.” Thejudgenarrowshereyesatme.“It says that you think youcan do whatever you want,
whenever you want with noregard to how your choiceswill affect other peoplearoundyou,particularlyyourparents...”No,no,no,no,nooooooo!Daddy, pleeeeeease say
something.“No I don’t,” I cry out. “I
wantmy life back! Iwant tobehomewithmyfamily!I’mgoing to go crazy in thathellhole! Daddy, pllllllease!Youcan’t let themdo this to
me!Don’tletthemkeepme!”JudgeAndersonbringsher
gavel down on the bench.“Order in the court! Younglady, your outburst will notbetoleratedinmycourtroom.AnotheroutburstlikethatandIwillhaveyouthrownoutofmy courtroom. Do I makemyselfclear?”Iglareatthejudgethrough
tear-filled eyes. My jaw istwitching. I feel like Iamonthevergeofhavinganervous
breakdown.After a few tense seconds,
the judge breaks our staredown, looking over at myattorney. “Counselor, I’dadviseyouto—”“Idon’tneedhimtoadvise
me! I want to go home!Pllleeeease! You can’t keepme locked up like this.” Iraise my shackled hands.“Likesomeanimal.”The judge slams her gavel
down, again. “Order in the
court!Sheriffs,getheroutofmy courtroom before I holdinherincontempt!Youhadahome, young lady. But youchose the streets over yourhome.Youwouldratherbeinthestreetswiththethugsandhoochie-mommas. Now yourhomefor thenext twoweekswill be in my house. TheLorna P. Johnson YouthDetention Center. I havefound sufficient evidence forprobablecauseinwhichcase,
juvenile to be remanded.Gether out of here,NOW! Nextcase...”I let out a blood-curdling
scream.Justlikethat.Itisoverforme.I am being dragged out of
the courtroom, yelling andcryingouthysterically.
41
“Stuckup,trick!”“Yo, word is bond,
Kreesha, you should take itstraighttoherface.”“Yeah,youright, Ishould.
Butshedon’twantnone’adisknuckleworkrighthere.”She
holds her fists up and startspunching and swinging upintotheair.I shift my weight on the
steel bench in the dayroom.Please,God . . . youhave toget me out of here. Thesegirls in here are crazy! Idon’t know how much moreofthisplaceIcantake.I keep my eyes locked on
the televisionmounteduponthewallasIsaymyprayerinmy head. Every so often I
glance over at the stainlesssteel table this Kreesha girland her groupies are sittingat.“That stank bish thinks
she’s better than us. Overthere sittin’ all up under daCOs like that’s gonna stopsumthin’.Pfft.Please.”“A’ight, Wilkens,” the
femaleCOsittingatthetablewithmesayssternly, lookingup from her crosswordpuzzle.“That’senoughoutof
you.”Kreesha sucks her teeth.
“Yeah, whatever. You can’tbabysitthatthotforever.”I press my lips tightly
together and tap my footdetermined to not let her gettome.Ikeepmyeyesonherin case she decides to sneakme. I’m learning fast here.Neversleep.Neverkeepyourbackfacingthedoor.Alwaysface forward so you can seeeverythingcomingandgoing
around you. I don’t want tofighther.Truthis,Ithinkherfriends will jump in if I do.Still, she keeps taunting me.And I’m getting tired of herandhercroniesbullyingme.“Mmph.Isn’tthatthesame
stink bish who was effen yacousin Hennessey’s babydaddy?”Hennessey.I cringe when I hear that
name. Now I knew why shelookedsofamiliartome.She
wasoneofthegirlswhowerewith that Hennessey girl atthe restaurant that day whenshe came in causing a bunchofcommotion.Ohmygod!Thisiscrazy!“Yeah,that’sher.Nowshe
in here ’n’ I bet you her so-called man is back atHenney’s house right nowknockin’itdown.”Her friends all high-five
eachother,laughing.The Kreesha girl asks one
of theCOs if she can get upto get a drink of water fromthe fountain. She gets upfromher seat, then heads forthe water fountain. On herway back to her seat shemakes a fast beeline over towhere I am, jumping in myface. “Bish, facts,” she saysthrough clenched teeth. “Ifyoueventhink’boutsnitchin’on my cousin’s man, I’mabashyaeyesocketsin...”Myheartdrops.Ilookover
inthedirectionoftheguards.They all seem preoccupiedplaying games on theirphones or texting or doingwhatever it is they aren’tsupposed to be doing whileontheclock.Ithinktowriteagrievance, but quicklydismiss the idea. The lastthingIneedisproblemswiththem,too.Noonelikesasnitch.Malik’s voice plays inmy
head.“Ineedyou to ridedis
one out for me, baby, yaheard?” That’s what he toldme last night when I calledhim from the socialworker’soffice.“Malik,Ican’t.I-I...”“Youloveme,right?”“Y-yes.But...”“AmIyaman?”Tears started falling from
my eyes. “I don’t know. Ihopeso.”“Yo, c’mon, don’t do that,
Kennedy. You know I’m ya
man, yo. It’s me ’n’ you.Don’t I always have yaback?”“Yes.”“Then a’ight. You already
knowwhat it is. I’ddo it foryou.”“Then getme out of here,
Malik! This place is drivingme crazy! This food! Thesenasty girls! I can’t standbeing caged in like someanimal.”“Babe, listen. Ihearyou. I
knowwhatit’slike,feelme?”“No, I’m not feeling you.
I’m not feeling anythingyou’resaying.TheonlythingI’m feeling, Malik, is alone.I’m feeling like you don’tcare what happens to me aslongasitisn’tyou.”“Hereyougoagainwit’dis
ish. You know I care ’boutwhathappenstoyou.Don’tIpickupe’erytimeyoucall?”“It’snotenough,Malik.”“Yo,checkit.Allyougotta
do iskeep tellin’ ’em it ain’tyours. They have no proof,yo.”“Yes, they do. I was the
one holding the bag. Yourbag.”“Yo, chill-chill. You doin’
toomuch.Youknowdatbagwasn’t mine. You was madtwisted dat night, babe.Remember how ish poppedoff? Dude threw his bagdown on da groundwhen heheard Five-oh comin’.
Remember? I tol’ you not totouchit,butyoudidanyway.You was on one dat night,babe.”I blinked. I couldn’t
believehewasreallytryingtomake me second-guess whatreally happened that night.Yeah, I had a few drinks.And, yeah, I smoked thatbluntwithhim,butIwasstillvery cognizant of what wasgoingonaroundme.Wasn’tI?
Yeah.Iwas.That was/is Malik’s bag.
And thosewerehis guns andhisdrugs.Notmine.Andnotanyoneelse’s.His.“I know what happened
that night, Malik,” Iwhispered into the phone.“And I know exactly whatyoutoldme.”“Oh, so now you wanna
snitchonyaman,isdatit?”“No,Malik. Iwant you to
telldatruth.”
“Yo, real spit, baby. Yougonna have ta chalk it up toda game. Da truth is, youwere da one holdin’ dat bag.Youwannarockwit’aballer,thenyouneed’aknowhowtobounce wit’ da ball. It’s onyou, baby. Now what yougonna do? ’Cause if youreally love me like you sayyoudo,thenain’tnowayyoutrynaseeyamangetbagged.”“Malik, please,” I begged.
“Don’tdothistome.Don’tI
meananythingtoyou?”“Yo, youmyworld, baby.
Butyougotmyheadalleffedup. I can’t believe you trynasnitch, yo. You my heart,Kennedy;dat’sone’erything.ButIain’trockin’wit’norat,yo.Youwannamove cheesethen do you. But you doknow what dey do tosnitches,right?”I swallowed, hard. My
heartpoundedinmychest.“They wake up wit’
stitches...”I scream when Kreesha’s
fistcrashesintomyface.
42
“CO?” I call out, raisingmy hand. It’s Wednesdaynight. And all of the SouthWing residents are in thedayroom,eitherwatchingTV,playingcardsorsomesortofboard game, reading a book,
or huddled at a table talkingaboutwhatever it is they talkabout.Things I amnot privyto. As usual, I am sittingawayfromtherestofthegirlsinhere.Alone.Evenafterthatgirljumped
me,theyallstillblamemeforhergettingputinlock-up.AdSeg. Or whatever it’s called.Thepointis,sheattackedme.Not the other way around.And, yet, I’m being treated
likethevillain.Whatever!“What is it, Simms?”
Officer Linden says. She’s abrown-skinned lady with bigbrowneyesandbigthicklipswith bad acne and a nastyattitude. She hates her job. Ionly know this because Ioverheardheroncetalkingtoanother CO saying how allthis was is a high-payingbabysitting job. How shehated coming to work and
having to deal with “thesedisrespectfulkids.”Ifeelsorryforher.Ifeelsorryforme.“Can I have a pencil and
four sheets of paper, please?Andthreeenvelopes?”She lets out a disgusted
sigh,gettingupfromthesteeltable she’s sitting at, the oneclosesttothedoor.Shewalksout into the hallway, then afew seconds later she returnswithanewnotepad.
Shegivesmepermissiontowalk over to her table. Shewrites my name down on asheetofpaper,thenhandsmea numbered pencil, severalsheets of paper, andenvelopes.Ithankher.Allshedoesisgrunt.Then
adds, “Don’t bother me fortherestofmyshift.”Iremindmyselftoprayfor
her tonight when I amprayingformyself.I turn to walk back to the
table I was sitting at andthere’s a boy sitting there. Iblink. It’s the same boywhoisalwayswinkingandlickinghislipsatme.Hasaan,Ithink.Boys and girls aren’t
allowed tosit togetherunlessthere’saCOsittingtherewiththem.Heknowsthis.Iglancearound the dayroom foranother vacant table. Therearenone.Hegrinsknowingly.
Lucky for me one of theCOs notices that he’smovedfrom his table to minewithout permission and yellsathim.“Banks,whotoldyouto move?! Get back overwhereyouweresitting!”HecursestheCOout,tells
him to suckhisprivates.Thenext thing I know, there areCOs hopping up from theirseats, tackling him down tothe floor, then dragging himoutofthedayroom.
And this becomes theexcitementforthenight.“Yo, dat’s effed up,”
someone says wheneverything finally settles. It’saguy’svoice. Idon’t turn tosee who it is. I don’t care.“Franklin ’n’ da rest of daCOs in here beon someBS,yo. They ain’t even have tadomyboydirtylikedat.”CO Linden barks, “Lewis,
shut your trap. Or you’ll benext.”
He sucks his teeth loudly.Then mutters somethingunderhisbreathbeforegoingbacktohiscardgame.“Ican’tstandthatstuck-up
bish,” I hear one of thefemaleresidentssay.Shesaysitloudenoughformetohearit. And I know she’s talkingabout me. They’re alwaystalking aboutme. “She staystrynagetsomeone in trouble.Dat’s why nobody likes hernow. Kreesha shoulda
knockedbothhereyesocketsout.”Herfriendslaugh.I take a seat at the table,
ignoringhercomments.Ihavetogetoutofhere.God, please get me out of
here.Ibegofyou!Istareattheblanksheetof
paper, take a deep breath,then pick up the pencil andstartwriting.
DearMom,How are
you? I hopeyou are doingOK. I knowyou are stillvery angrywith me. Iknow howupset anddisappointedyouare inme.I’m
disappointedinme. I knowI’ve hurt you.And I am sovery sorry forthat. I hopethat one dayyou canforgive me.You haven’tstopped lovingme, haveyou?I know I’vesaid and done
some badthings,disrespectfulthings. Butyou wouldn’treally disownme, wouldyou? Icouldn’thandle that ifyou did. IthinkI’ddie.I’m OK, I
guess. I mean,
Iguessitcouldbe worse. No.Itcan’tgetanyworse thanthis. This ishell for me,Mom. But Iam trying myhardest tomake the bestout of it byfollowing therules here.Something I
know I shouldhave beendoing while Iwas home. Ithought yourrules werestupid rules.But theyweren’t. Theserules here arecrazy. I takebackeverythingI’ve ever said
about yourrules beingstupid. Theonly thingstupid was menotlisteningtoyou. I’d giveanything tohave to followyou andDaddy’shouserulesagain.Mom, I
don’t know
what I wasthinking. Ionlywantedtohavesomefun.I wanted mysummer to bedifferent fromall the others.All I wantedwas someexcitement. Ididn’t thinkI’d get caughtup in a bunch
of drama.Youwere right,though. Andnow I wish Iwould havelistened toyou. But it’stoo late now.Thedamage isalreadydone.Iam here. Atthemercyof ajudge.Stuck.
Andscared.The girls
here arevicious. Theyall want tofight me.They’vethreatened toslice my faceopen.Andstabme in myneck. I amafraid to go tosleep at night,
even thoughthe COs haveput me in aroom bymyself. Atnight, it is thescariest here. Idon’t sleep. Ican’t sleep. Iam too afraidto. I don’tknow howmuch more ofthisIcantake.
Sometimes Ithink aboutdying.NotthatI want to hurtmyselfbecause Idon’t. It’s justthat I’malready dyinginside. ThelongerIstayinhere, the moreof me withersaway.I’velost
everything.ButIknowI
havenoonetoblame butmyself. I amthe one whoput myselfhere. It’s myfault. Andwhateverhappens tomein court or inhere I know Ibrought on
myself.I just
wanted towrite you andlet you knowhow much Imiss you.Andloveyou. Iamso sorry forbeingdisrespectfulto you and forbreakingcurfew and
sneaking outof the houseand bringingdrugs into ourhouse.Ishouldhave neverdone thosethings. Pleasegive meanotherchanceto make itright. I’d doanything to behome, in my
own bed.Beingherehasshownmehowmuch I’vetaken my life,my freedom,andmy familyfor granted.You neverreally knowjust how goodyou have ituntil it’s takenaway from
you. You andDaddy havealwayswantedwhat’sbestforme. I knowthat now. Iwas too stupidto see itbefore.I love you
so much,Mom. Please,please, pleasecome see ME.
Or write meback.Please!!!!
Love,Kennedy
When I am done, I rereadthe letter to my mom, thenfold it and seal it inside anenvelope.MynextletteristoJordan.
DearJordan,I know you
aremadatme.And there’s achance thatyou might noteven open thisletter or readit.ButIhadtowrite you
anyway. I hadtosayIamso,so, so sorry.You wereright! There’sso much Iwant to say toyou. All didwas use me.And now hewants me torot in jail andtake theblamefor something
that I hadnothing to dowith.Theonlytwo thingsI’mguilty of are:falling for aguy who wasnever anygood for me,anddissingmytwo bestfriends. Maliknever reallycared anything
about me. Iknow thatnow. AndSasha wasnever a realfriend. Shewas just a girlI hung outwith and wenttopartieswith.Shedidn’tcareabout me. Shewas jealous ofme. I feel so
stupid. Canyou pleasefind it in yourheart toforgive me? Iwas such afool! I’m sosorry forhurting you. Iwaswrong forputting Sashaand MalikbeforeyouandHope. I see
that now. Youwere so rightabouteverything. Ireally hope itisn’ttoolatetomake it rightbetween us. Imiss my bestfriend!!! Iamsoaloneinhere. And I’mscared,Jordan.Please write
me back. Ifyouchoosenotto, Iunderstand.
Friends
forever (Ihope),xoxoKennedyP.S. Next
week Iwill beon honorslevelandIwill
beabletohavevisits fromfriends. Twofriends canvisit. Thevisitingtimeison Saturdaysat10:30 in themorning.Please, please,please, pleasecomeseeme.
Ineatlyfoldherletter,thenslipit insideanenvelopeandseal it. I do not know whatwill become of either letteronce they are mailed. Theonly thing I can do now iswait.Andhope.Andpray.I feel all of my emotions
rushingoverme.Andthenthere’sanaching
inmyheart.Malik.Tears spring up from my
eyes, but I fight them back,unwilling to break down infront of everyone in thedayroom.I’dgivenhimeverypart of me. Did things withhim that I never thought I’deverdowithanyone.I gave up my virginity to
him.Because that’s what he
wanted.Because that’s what I
thoughtIwanted.BecauseIlovedhim.
Iputmyselfoutthere.Mademyselfvulnerable.BecauseIthoughtheloved
me.But it’s all a lie.
Everything. I was so stupid.His sister, Mercedes, wasright. His baby mother wasright. Hope and Jordan wereright. My mom was right.Everyone else knew, saw it,exceptforme.But I got caught up.
Caughtupinhis lies.Caught
up inhis touch, inhiskisses,in his promises. I got caughtupinwantingtobelievethatIwasthegirlofhisdreams.AndnowIamhere.Andheisoutthere.Free.DoingGodknowswhat.Perhaps ruining the next
girl’slife.Ilaymyheaddownonmy
folded arms resting on thetable. I am so helpless. Thefeeling that I am alone starts
tooverwhelmme.“Snitchesgetstitches...”“Don’tyouloveme...?”“I’maneedyou to ridedis
outforme...”“You gonna have ta chalk
ituptodagame,baby...”“You my heart, Kennedy;
dat’s on e’erything. But Iain’trockin’wit’norat,yo.”Therealization,thegravity
ofmysituation,weighsheavyonme. I can’t breathe. I feelmyself starting to
hyperventilate.“. . . He doesn’t know
howta love anything otherthanwhat’sbetweenyo’legs,li’lgirl...”Istartheaving.I think I am having an
anxietyattack.I clutch my chest. Then
withoutwarning,unmovedbythe stares on me, I cry myeyesout.
43
Anotherweekfliesby,andIam still here, rotting away.Confused. Torn. Hurt. Sad.Dejected. You name it, I’mfeelingit.I still haven’t heard back
fromJordan.Andmymomis
still refusing to talk to me.Mywholelifeisamess!Andtotopitalloff, Idon’tknowwhat is going on with mycase.Orwhenmynext courtdate is. I haven’t spoken tomy attorney since my lastcourt hearing. And I’ve lefthim several messages,begging him to please comeseeme.Mydadistheonlywhohas
come to see me since I’vebeenhere.AndashappyasI
am to see him, our visits arealways strained. He sitsacrossfrommelookingso,sohelpless. So conflicted. Thenwhen it’s time for visiting toend, he stands up and wrapshis arms around me tellingme how much he loves me.ThenIhavetositbackdownin a hard plastic chair andwatchhimwalkoutthedoor.Sometimes I’d rather he noteven bother coming here.Seeinghimleave—knowingI
can’t leave with him is sopainful.Iknowithurtshimaswell.And I have no one to
blamebutmyself.Forbeingsostupid!“Kennedy,youhavetotell
them whose guns and drugsthey were in that bookbag,”Daddy insisted last nightwhenhe’dcometoseeme.I turnedmygazefromhis,
castingmy eyes down tomyfeet.“Ican’t,”Iwhispered.
“What do you mean, youcan’t?Whynot?”“Daddy,Ican’tbeasnitch.
I justcan’t.Nobodywants tobeknownasarat.”Yeah, snitches get
stitches...He raised his brows. “So
you’remoreconcernedaboutwhat the streets are going tothink of you for doing whatyou need to in order to saveyourownbutt?”“Daddy, I have to be
loyal.”He gives me an
incredulouslook.“Towhom?The streets? A bunch ofreckless street thugs? Whatabout the loyalty to yourfamily?Totheoneswhohavealways been there for you,huh? You mean to tell meyou’re willing to throw yourwhole life away protectingsomethug?”“Daddy, he’s not a bad
person.”
“Thenwho is he?He sureisn’tallthatgood,either.Anyboy encouraging you todisrespectyourmother,breakcurfew, and run away isnothing but bad news in mybook.Iwanttoknowwhoheis so I canhavea fewwordswithhim.”I blinked back tears.
“Daddy, please. I can’t tellyouwhoheis.”“He’sacoward,that’swho
he is,” Daddy snarled,
narrowinghiseyes.“Apunk.A worthless piece of—” Hecatches himself, shaking hishead.“Yourbrothersallwanttocomehomeandhandlehimout in the woods like realmendo.Buttheyallhavetoomuchtolose.Wealldo.Andso do you. What has gottenintoyou,Kennedy,huh?Thisgirl you’ve become isn’t thedaughter your mother and Iraisedyoutobe.”I shifted in my seat,
lowering my head. He wasright.Thisisn’twhoIam.Orwho they raised me to be. Iwasn’t surprised at hisirritation, though. But seeingthehurtinhiseyeskilledme.Iknowthatit’sbeenbuildingup inside of him, this anger.And I’m sure he wanted toyell,scream,andthreatenmeas well. And under differentcircumstances, he probablywould, even though he’snever raised his voice at me
before.Daddy shook his head,
confused. “What has gottenintoyou,Kennedy?”“Ilovehim,Daddy.”He frowned. “Sweetheart,
what you think you feel forthat scum of the earth mayfeellikelovetoyou.Buttrustme.Anyonewhoiswillingtolet you take the fall for himisn’tworthloving.”Daddy’s words stung. He
wasright.AndeventhoughI
knoweverythinghe saidwastrue,there’sstillapartofmethat doesn’t want to believeit.IswipetearsawayasIdial
Malik’s number. One of theafternoon social workers isnice enough to allow me touse the office phone. And Iamthankful.Malik answers on the
fourth ring. “Yo.” His voicebooms through the phone.“Watzgucci,yo?”
“Malik.It’sme.Kennedy.”“Oh, a’ight,” he says
nonchalantly. “Watz good?Youa’ight?”I glance over at the social
worker sitting at her desk,writing in charts. I lowermyvoice. “No, I’mnot all right.I’mscared,Malik.”“Oh,word?Don’tbe.”“How can you say that?
That’s easier said than done.You’re not the one sittingherebeingchargedwithstuff
that isn’t yours. Why can’tyou write the judge a letterandtellthemthatit’syours?”“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!
Hol’ up . . . you talkin’madreckless right now. I don’tknow what you’re talkin’’bout,yo.”“Whaaat?!” I snap. “Are
youfreakin’kiddingme?”He sighs heavily. “Nah. I
ain’t ’bout to go down forsomeishdatain’tmine.Dat’sallyou,yo.”
“Whatdoyoumeanitisn’tyours? It was in your truckwhere you toldme to go getit!”“Nah, you buggin’. You
wanna be ’bout dat life, thenyouneed’awoman-up’n’eatdat,yo.”“Malik, I’ve given up
everythingforyou.”He lets out a sarcastic
laugh. “Ha! Yeah, right.Don’thitmewit’datish,yo.Youwanted tobeall fast ’n’
grownforyaself.Iain’thavejacktodowit’dat.Yougaveup ya life ’cause dat’s whatyouwanted to do. Now dealwit’it.”Myheartsinks.No,there’snowayIheard
him right. There has to be abad connection. Or I amhearingthings.“W-what did you just
say?” I ask, trying to makesure I heard him correctly. Iholdmybreath.Wait.
He repeatshimself. “I saidyougottaweardat,babe.”I can’t lie. My heart
literally drops tomy lap andexplodes into a thousandpieces.ThistimeIknowI’veheardhimcorrectly,butIstillwant to believe, hold on tothe possibility that somehowthere’samistake.Thereisnone.AndIamfloored!“How can you do this to
me?!” I scream. The social
worker taps her desk, givingmealooktolowermyvoice.“I’m sorry,” I say, coveringthe receiver, then loweringmyvoice.“Malik,I’minherebecauseofyou.”“What? Hol’ up, yo. You
inthatjoint’causeofyaself.”“No! I’m in here because
you gave me your gun andtold me to go back to yourtruck, get the bookbag in thebackseat, then put the guninside.Youtoldmeto—”
“Getdafuqqouttahere,yo.Youbuggin’,forrealforreal.Ain’tnobodyputaguntoyaheadtotellyatodowhatyoudid.”Tears flood my eyes.
“Ohmygod!Howcanyoudothistome?!”“Nah, love. Like I said,
youdidittoyaself.Nexttimeknowhowtamove.”I stare at the phone,
flabbergasted.“Malik,please...don’tdo
thistome,please... I thoughtyoulovedme!”“Look. I’ma holla atchu
later.You on some ole otherishrightnow.”Andbefore I canopenmy
mouth to get a word in,Daddy’swordscomeback tohauntmejustasthelinegoesdead.“Anyonewho iswilling to
let you take the fall for himisn’tworthloving...”A few seconds later, I am
being dragged out of thesocialworker’sofficebacktomy cell, kicking andscreaming hysterically. Ittakes three COs to get mebackintomycell.Theyplaceme on the bed, facedown.Tellmetostaystill,butIamtoo busy crying to listen toanythingtheyhavetosay.Iamdistraught.TheCOsarefinallyableto
retreat from my room,slammingthesteeldoorshut.
Ihopupfrommybed,pacingthe small space like awounded animal. I squeal.Yelp.Howl.“Ican’tbelieve thatmofo!
That . . . that . . . lowlife! Ishould have never letmyselfget involved with him!Aaaaaaah! Let me out ofhere!” I scream, banging onthedoor. Iamcaged in, like,like some savage. I startpounding and kicking thedoor. But it is no use. No
matter how hard I kick andbang on the door, the doorisn’tbudging.Itisn’tgoingtoopen.Allit’sdoingishurtingmyhand.“Simms, knock it off!” a
COshouts.I keep banging and
screaming.“Isaidstopmakingallthat
noise or I’m going to dropyour levels andplaceyouonIP.”“I don’t care about room
restriction,”Icryout.“Leaveme alone! I don’t have anyreason to stay on honorslevel! I want to gohoooooooome!Pleeeeeaaaase, let me out ofh-h-heeeeere...”I know I said I wanted a
little taste of thewild side, alittle slice of the hood pie.But Iwassowrong. I take itall back. I don’twant any ofit.Iwantmylifeback.I fall out onmy little thin
bed on its metal frame andcry and scream into mypillow until my throat burnsandmyeyesswellshut.
44
Three days after my phoneconversationwithMalik, andthenmyemotionalmeltdown,I am finally out ofmy room—I mean, cell. It doesn’tmean much, however. Beingout. I’m still here. I still feel
caged in. Still feel trapped.Still feel stuck. Still feel likeeverything around me ismoving in slow motion. Butit’snot.Everythingismovingfast. Except for this case.Except forme getting out ofthis hell that I’ve somehowgottenmyselfinto.One of the social workers
had the audacity to tell methat I needed to try to adapt.To stop fightingwhat I can’tchange. To accept that this,
being here—locked up—ismyreality...fortoday.Andyesterday.Andtomorrow.Andthedayafterthat.Well, guess what? I will
never adapt to this way ofbeing. I can’t, won’t, acceptbeing in this place. Ever. Idon’t belong here. I belonghome.I shouldhavenevergotten
involved with Malik! Iwouldn’t be in thismess if it
weren’tforhim.No, I wouldn’t be in this
messifitweren’tforme!I’msuchafool!“The prosecutor wants to
offer you a plea agreement,”myattorneysays,interruptingmy thoughts as he looks upfrom his legal-size notepad.He’s finally decided to cometo the detention center andshow his face. “To discussmy case,” he said when Iwalked into one of the spare
offices used as a conferenceroom. Whatever! Threewhole days before my courtdate!Really?It’sFriday.Ihavecourton
Monday.My life dependsonhim getting me out of here.And this is the best he cando? I give him a confusedlook. “A plea agreement forwhat? I haven’t doneanything. Why can’t theygive me bail so I can gohome?”
“Kennedy,” he says,calmly, “there’s no bail forjuveniles in the state ofNewJersey.”I huff, folding my arms
across my chest. “Figures.Thenwhywon’t they releasemeonmyownrecognizance?Can’ttheydothat?”He gives me a sad look.
“Kennedy, there’s no easywaytosaythis.Theballisticsreport came back. There’s abodyononeoftheguns...”
Myeyespopopen.Icovermy mouth.Ohgodohgodohgod...IthinkI’m going to be sick! I blinkseveral times. Try to steadymy rapidly beating heart. Ican’tbelievewhatI’veheard.Abody?“W-what do you mean,
there’s a body?”He tellsmethatoneofthegunswasusedtocommitamurder.Thattheprosecutor now wants toproceed with a hearing to
waive me up as an adult,which means I could befacing trial as an adult andsentenced to at least fifteenyears if I’m foundguiltyandconvicted.I can’t believe what I am
hearing.Thishas tobeabaddreamI’mhaving.IknowifIcan just open my eyeseverything will be back tonormal. I blink back tears,then blink again. The tearsstart falling and I wipe them
away with my hand asquicklyastheyfall.“Cantheyreallydothat?”Henods.I don’t know anything
about a body, or amurder. Isob,beggingandpleadingforhimtohelpmegetoutofthismess. “I didn’t shoot or killanyone.IswearIdidn’t.Youhave to believe me. I can’tspend my life in prison! Idon’t want be waived up!Please!Youhave tohelpme
getoutofthis!”“Kennedy, theonlyperson
who can help you get out ofthis now is you. Theprosecutorwantsaname,andyou can more than likelywalk out of here with twoyearsprobation;ifthat.”Snitchesgetstiches...“If you even think about
snitchin’onmycousin’sman,I’mabustyaeyesocketsout...”Ishudderinmyseat.
“I-I-Ican’t.”Istartwailingall over again. “I didn’t doanything!” He reaches intohis briefcase and hands mesome tissue, then givesme afew moments to pull myselftogether. Without looking athim, I ask, “Can’twe take itto trial? I know the jurywillbelieveme.”“Kennedy. I need you to
look at me.” I look up. Heshakes his head. “There’s nojury in juvenile court. If we
takethistotrial,alltestimonyis brought before the judgewho will then decide yourfate. And believe me. Ifyou’re found guilty, JudgeAndersonisgoingtomakeanexample out of you. She’llsentence you to themaximum.”Iswallow.“ButIdidn’tdoanything,”
Iplead.“In the court’s eyes, you
did.”
“This is BS! I thought Iwas innocent until provenguilty?”He sighs. “That is true.
However, you were inpossession of the backpackcontaining two guns anddrugs, that’s already beenestablished.”“But theyweren’tmine,” I
cry out. “Why won’t youbelieveme?”“It’s not a matter of
whetherornot Ibelieveyou.
Atthispoint,it’llbealluptothejudge.”Thatladyhatesme!Iknew
she was out to get me theminuteshelaideyesonme!I can’t think straight. I am
toonumbtothink.I need to talk to Malik
again.“You gonna have’ta chalk
ituptodagame,baby...”“Kennedy, I can’t tell you
what todo.Icanonlyadviseyou.Andasyourlawyer,I’m
tellingyou it’s timeyoustarttrying to save yourself. Sounless you want to beconsidered a suspect in amurder investigation, Isuggest you think long andhardonwhatyournextmoveisgoingtobe.”“Yougaveupyalife’cause
dat’swhatyouwanted todo.Nowdealwit’it.”“My advice, Kennedy.
Give ’em a name. And takethedeal.”
Iswallow.“Ic-can’t.”He stares at me, then
slowly shakes his head.“Whoeveritisyouaretryingto protect, I hope they’reworthyourfreedom.”Right at that moment, the
CO sticks his head into thetiny conference room andtellsusourtime’sup.Ididn’twant it tobeover. I stillhadmorequestions,likewhatwillhappen to Malik if I tell onhim?Whatwillhappentome
if theycan’tchargehimwithanything? If I give theprosecutor his name, will Ihave to do any jail time orwill I really just getprobation?Allofthesequestionsfloat
around in my head as myattorney gathers his thingsand heads out the door. TheCO walks me out of theroom.AsIambeingescortedback to the dayroom, all Ikeep hearing in my head is,
“Anyonewhoiswillingtoletyoutakethefallforhimisn’tworthloving.”
45
“The subscriber you aretrying to reach has a phonenumber that is no longer inservice...”Iblink.“Oh, no. This can’t be
right,” I mutter to myself,
hanging up and dialing thenumber again, this timepressingeachnumberslowly.Again, I get the samerecordedmessage.Ifeelmyheartsinkingfast.
Idialthenumberagain.Samething.“The subscriber you are
trying to reach has a phonenumber that is no longer inservice...”I choke back a scream,
clutching my chest. I try
Sasha’snumber.Sheanswersthe phone on the third ring.“Hello?”“Sasha.It’sme.Kennedy.”“Oh, hey,” she says, not
sounding too happy to hearfromme.“Whatcan Ido foryou?”I am taken aback by her
tone.I swallow. “I’m trying to
get in touchwithMalik. Butthere’ssomethingwrongwithhis number. I have court
Monday and it’s reallyimportantIspeakwithhim.”She grunts. “Good luck
wit’dat.”I steady my breathing.
“Huh?Whatdoyoumean?”She pops gum in my ear.
“Girl, look. I hate to be daone to serve you ya papers,but it’s like dis: Malik ain’tcheckin’ for you, boo. AndneitheramI.Hesaidyoutoosoft. I tol’ him from da ripyouwasbabysoftlikecotton,
butheain’twannalisten.Butnowheseeitforhimself.”Tearsrimmyeyes.“Isthat
whathetoldyou?”“Uh,duh...whoelseyou
think said it? All he reallywanted to do is hit dat,anyway.AndyouwassohardupforsomeofdathoodDdatyoulethim,too,didn’tyou?”She starts laughing. “You asucka, Special K. So yougonna need to make dis yalastcalltome.Gotit?”
“Ohmygod!Idon’tbelieveyou’resayingallthistome!Ithoughtwewerefriends.”Shelaughs.“Girl,missme
wit’dat.You thoughtwrong.We ain’t never been friends.You were just somethin’ todo, boo. You just some li’lspoiled rich girl whowantedsodesperatelytobedownfordahoodsoIwas trynabreakyou in;dat’s all. I tol’Malikwhenhe askedme ’boutyoudat you were a wanna-be
down chick. You was a bet,boo.”“A bet?” I say more to
myself in disbelief than toher. I swallow to keep myvoicefromsoundingshaky.Ittakes me a moment to openmy mouth and get thequestion out. But as painfulasitmightbe,Ihavetoknowwhatshe’stalkingabout.“W-whatkindofbet?”Shehesitatesforamoment,
thensays,“Dathecouldturn
youout.”My stomach tightens
involuntarily. I feel myselfgettingsick.“. . . Get out now before
it’s too late. All my brotha’sgonnado isdogyouout, sexyouout,thentossyououtlikeausedtampon.Justwatch.”Hot tears splashoutofmy
eyes.My stomach twists and
churns.Andthen...Ivomit.
All over the socialworker’s desk. All over thefloor. Thick puke shoots outofmymouthlikeaneruptingvolcano,angryandviolent.My only thought is, how
couldIhavebeensostupid?It’sMondaymorning. I’ve
waited three whole torturousdays; two hundred and fifty-nine thousand and twohundred seconds, fourthousand and three hundred
and twenty minutes, for thisdaytofinallycome.I would be lying if I said
I’mnotanervousmesstoseeJudgeAndersonagain.After my phone call to
Sasha last Friday, I felt likeI’d been stabbed a thousandtimes over. I spentmy entireweekendinmycell,balledupin a corner, rocking andstaringoff into space. I thinkIamlosingmymind.Really.
Ifeelsoempty.Drained.All I have been doing is
crying. And praying. That’sall I can do. And, honestly,the only thing that savedmefrom trying to hurtmyself isthatIfinallygottotalktomymomwhenIcalledthehouselastnight.She picked up. And as
soon as I heard her voice, Ibrokedown in tears,beggingfor her forgiveness.
“Mommy, I’m so s-s-s-sorryf-f-f-f-for e-e-veryt-t-thing Isaidtoyou.Is-s-shouldhaveneverdisrespectedyou.I’ms-s-s-sooosorry.Iwannacomehome.Inevermeanttosayallthose mean, nasty things toyou. I-I was wrong f-f-f-forlyingtoyouandsneakingoutof thehouse.Iknowy-y-youhate me, Mom! I hate me!I’ve been such a fool! D-didy-y-yougetmyletter?”I sobbed and cried and
carriedonsobadthattheCOthreatened to terminate mycall if I didn’t calm down.Theyaresofrickin’heartless!“Kennedy,” my mom said
calmly. “Yes. I got it. And Ichose not to write you back.Why? Because I will notbecome pen pals with mynowdelinquentdaughterwhochose to be disrespectful andto run the streets doing Godknowswhat.”Isniffle.
“Youaremychild.Icouldnever hate you. I love you.ButIamdeeplyhurtbyyourchoices. And I’m saddenedbytheoutcome.Butyouwillhave to stand by yourchoices. It’s your life. Notmine. It hurts me knowingthat my only daughter islockeduplikesomecriminal.But I have to remember thatyou are the one who putyourself there. Not me. Notyourfather.You.Iamalways
going to love you because Icarriedyou inmywombandbrought you into this world.But I will never, ever,entertain this mess you’vegotten yourself into. Yourfather will be there for you.But Iwill not. All I’ve doneis prayed on it. And I standbymywords.”Her words cut me deep.
Butshewasright.Ididthistomyself. I allowed myself toget caught up in something I
wasn’t ready for.And now Ihave to suffer theconsequences.“I-I-I-I have court
tomorrow.Willyoube there,please?”Sheblowsabreathintothe
phone.“Idon’tknow.”Two COs escort me in
through the side door of thecourtroom. I spot my dad.And mom. My heart leaps.She actually came. But herbody languagemakes it very
clear: “I don’t want to behere.”Iquicklycastmyeyesdownwardtoavoidherangry,hurtglare.Still... I am happy she’s
here.Iamonpinsandneedlesas
Itakemyseat.EverysooftenI glance overmy shoulder atmyparents.Dadlooksweary.Likehehasn’tsleptinweeks.Mom sits stone-still. Herexpression is cold and hard.Buthereyesare swollenand
red.She’sbeencrying.Ididthistothem.“All rise!” theofficercalls
out.As soon as the judge
sweeps in, her robe swishingin back of her, she takes thebench. Glances around thecourtroom then says, “I havea full calendar so let’s getright down to business, shallwe?” She looks over at myattorney. “Counselor for thedefendant, are you ready to
proceed?”Headjustshisnavybluetie
and stands. “Yes, YourHonor.”The judge shoots a
scathing look over at me.“Miss Simms, do youunderstand the severity ofyourcharges?”Inod.“Yes,YourHonor.”“And you understand the
purpose of today’s courtproceedings?”“Yes.”
“Then why has theprosecutor informed me thatyou are not willing tocooperate with a pleaagreement?” She peers overthe rim of her glasses.“Counselor, have you notadvised your client of thestate’s desire for a waiverhearingtoadultcourt?”“Yes, Your Honor. My
client’sbeenadvised.”Ihearmymom inbackof
me,sobbing.Iturntolookat
her.“Young lady, turn back
around. Face forward. Don’tworry aboutwhat’s goingonin back of you. What youneed to be focused on iswhat’s happening right infrontofyou.”The voices of Malik and
MercedesandJordanandmydad and my attorney startplaying over and over inmyhead.“...unlessyouwanttobe
considered a suspect in amurder investigation, Isuggest you think long andhardonwhatyournextmoveisgoingtobe.”“. . .Ihatetobedaoneto
serve you ya papers, but it’slikedis:Malikain’t checkin’foryou,boo.”“Understand this, young
lady,your stupidity iswhat’sgoing to get you a prisonsentence with double digitsbehind it, do you understand
what I am saying to you?Your atrocious disregard forthe law.And your ridiculousloyalty tosome low-life is . ..”“Whoever it is you are
trying to protect, I hopethey’reworthyourfreedom.”“Im’aneedyou toridedis
outforme...”“Anyone who is willing to
let you take the fall for himisn’tworthloving.”“You young girls are so
desperate and starved for thewrongkindofattention.Hereyou have two parents wholove you and provide youwith the best of everythingand that isn’t good enough.Yousillygirlswillsoonlearnthe hard way that the streetsdon’t give a hoot about you.And those boys hanging onthe block instead of in theclassroom with their pantshanging down off their buttsare nothing but trouble.
Whoever you are protectinghasdonenothingbutuseyou...”“Itwasabet...”“Andyou’resoblindedby
what you think is love thatyou’re willing to throw yourwhole life away for nothing.Girls likeyoucomeadimeadozen. And just like he’smanipulated you, he’llmanipulate thenext girl.Theonly difference is, he’s outthere. And you’re the one
willing to do prison time forhim...”Iswallow.Ican’tgetwaivedupasan
adult! I can’t do some longprison term. I’mnotbuilt forthat. Mercedes and Sashawereright.I’mnotaboutthatlife.Ineverwas.Ijustwanttogohome.Snitchesgetstiches...Idon’tcare!I lean over andwhisper in
mylawyer’sear.“I’lltakethe
plea. His name is Malik.MalikEvans.”
Epilogue
Amonthlater...
“Simms,” theCOcallsout,walkingintothedayroom.“Let’s go. You have a
visitor.”Ohmygod! They came!
JordanandHopereallycametoseeme!My heart skips with the
excitement of being able tofinally see my two bestiesaftersomanyweeks.I finally received two
letters from Jordan. Andwe’ve spoken on the phonetwice. I’ve apologizedprofusely.Andshesaysshe’sforgiven me for the error ofmy ways. I know she wasserious, but I couldn’t help
but laughat thewayshesaidit, all business-like. “I justhope you’ve learned yourlesson.Andknownottoeverput some boy or somehoochie before your realfriends.”“Yes, yes!” I said with
tears filling my eyes. “Ipromise you. I have. I’vebeensuchafool.”“Uh, yes, you have. But
who’skeepingtrack?”Ilaughed.“I’vemissedour
friendship so much. I’vemissedyou!”“Ditto,” she said, then
started askingme a thousandquestionsaboutwhatit’s likebeing here. I told her I’d tellherallaboutitinmylettertoher. Before we hung up, shepromised to come see meduring visits either today ortomorrow. She also told mehow badly I hurt herwhen Ichose Sasha, andMalik, andthe streets, over her and
Hope.“Butallisforgiven.”Ihopeso.Imissmyfriends.Imissmyfamily.Imissmylife.Imissmyfreedom.I’ve accepted a plea
agreement.Andpledguiltytolesser charges of possession.Under the terms of myagreement, my attorney ishoping the judge grants metwo years’ probation since
this is my first offense. Oh,and substance abusetreatment since my urinecame back positive formarijuana. I don’t need tosmoke that stuff anyway, soit’s fine. I told my attorneyandtheprosecutoreverythingabout that night of theshooting. Told them thenames of everyone I everremembered Malikassociating with. Even toldthemaboutwhathe’ddoneto
that boy Shaheed after hetriedtoforcehimselfonme.And, truthfully, I felt
relievednothavingtoholdallthat in any longer. Sadly, Iwould have taken theweightfor Malik. And what’s evenmore frightening is knowingthat had he not turned hisback on me, I would havekept protecting him. And hereallywouldhaveletme.Daddy was right. He’s a
coward.
Anyway, I heard theyraidedhismother’sapartmentand she and Mercedes wereboth arrested. And nowMalik’s on the run. But nowhe’stheprimesuspectforthatmurder. And when they findhim, he’ll get what he hascomingtohim.Hopefully.Igetupfromthesteelstool
I’ve been sitting on for thelast three hours, anxious toget inside the visiting area.
TheCOwaits for the officerbehind the thick Plexiglas inthecontrolcenter topushthebuttonforthedoor.There’saloudbuzzandthedoorfinallyclicksopen.Istepthroughthedoor, glancing around theroomforJordanandHope.Theyaren’there.Iamspeechless.It’sHazelEyes.He stands up, grinning. I
walkovertohim,shockedtoseehim.Alleyesareonhim.
He’s wearing a white GucciT-shirt with a pair of loose-fitting designer jeans thathang slightly off his narrowhips,butnotenough toshowhis underwear. A Gucci beltkeeps them from fallingdown.Helooksso...fine!He opens up his arms and
givesmeahug.Ifallintohisembrace, breathing him in.And I can’t deny it. It feelsgood having his armswrapped round me. A sense
ofcalmrushesoverme.Iamhappy to see him. And I tellhim so. He hugs me tighter.And we stand like this forlonger than we shouldbecausetheCOhasto tellustotakeourseats.I roll my eyes up in my
head, annoyed that ourmoment has been snatchedaway.“Sowhat’sgoodwit’chu?”
hewants to know, taking hisseat directly across fromme.
“Howyouholdin’up?”Iglancearoundthevisiting
area.I do not belong here. I
shouldnotbehere.Iwant to tell him that I’m
barelyholdingon.That thereare dayswhen I am ready tolet go of the proverbial rope.That there are times when Ireallyfeellikegivingup.I pull in a breath, then
slowlyexhale.“I’m holding on as best I
can.”He takes me in with his
sparklinghazeleyes.“Thisiscrazy, ma.” He shakes hishead.“Seein’youinherelikedis.”“So much for that whole
good girl theory,” I saylightly.Ihalfchuckle.“Nah,youstillagoodgirl.
Youjustdidsomebadthings.But dat ain’t you, Kennedy.You better than dis life.Alwayshavebeen.”
Ismile.“I’m sayin’, though, you
toofinetobeupinhere.Thisain’tagoodlookforyou.”“Iknow.”Ishrug.“There’s
nothing I can do about itnow.” Subconsciously, Ifidget with the hem of myshirt. The way he is sittinghere looking atme as if he’strying to see through memakes me I am suddenlyfeelingexposed.Naked.Hazel Eyes seems
different. In a way I wonderwhyIhadn’tnoticeditbeforenow.“Yo,Iknowyougonnado
watyoufeelyougottado,butyou can’t go out like dis. Iknowwhatever they say youdid,youdidn’tdoit.”I give him a strange look.
“And how do you knowthat?”He slowly shakeshis head
at me. “I already told you.’Cause you’re one’a da good
girls.”I huff. “Yeah, right. Look
atme.YoudoseewhereI’mat,right?”“Doesn’t matter. You still
gotta chance tomake it right’n’getbackontrack.”“Canwepleasechangethe
subject?Ireallydon’twanttotalkaboutthis.”“Oh,a’ight.Cool.”Hesits
back in his seat, folding hisarms across his chest andopening his legs. He shuts
them.Thenopensthemagain.We sit silently for a
moment.“What’syafavoritecolor?”“Huh?”Isay,givinghima
confusedlook.He smiles. “I’m changin’
dasubject,remember?”Inod.“So what’s ya favorite
color?”“Areyouserious?”“Yeah.”I shake my head at him.
Tellhimit’spink.He smiles. “Pink, huh?
Thatfigures.”“Why?”“Becauseit’sallgirly.”I pretend to be offended.
“Whatever,” I say, laughing.Something I haven’t done inlike . . . forever.And it feelsgood, really good. “I am agirl,silly.”“True, true. A real pretty
oneatthat.”Ishiftinmyseat.Swallow.
Butterflies start to flutter inmystomachandIdon’tknowwhy.“A’ight. So what’s ya
sign?”“Virgo.”“Oh, a’ight. You got any
pets?”I laugh. “Ohmygod. How
amIgoingtohavepetswhenI’mlockedup?”He shakes his head. “I
meant at home.Doyouhaveanypetsathome?”
“Areyoureallygoingtodothis,here?”He smirks. “Dowhat?Try
togettoknowyou?”“Oh. Is that what you’re
doing?Ithoughtyouwasjustchangingthesubject.”“Yeah, dat too. But, I’m
sayin’...wereallydidn’tgetdachance to reallybuild likeIwanted.”Ilookawayfromhim.“Yo, just because you
dumped me for ole boy, dat
doesn’t mean I still wasn’tfeelin’you.”“Ididn’tdumpyou,” Isay
softly. “We were never acouple.”“Yeah, but we coulda
been.”Maybe we should have
been and I wouldn’t becaughtupinallthismess.I see sadness in his eyes.
Oratleastthat’swhatIthinkIsee.Maybeit’swhatIwantto see. Who knows? All I
knowis,Iamsoaloneinthisplace.Andsad.Iwant to tellhimthis.But
Idon’t.He reaches over and grabs
my hand. Then squeezes itbefore theCO tellshim,“Notouching.”He quickly pulls his hand
back,andIfeelrobbedofhistouch.I swallow. Lean in, then
whisper,“I’mscared.”
He nods knowingly. “Iknow you are, ma. But youain’t gotta do dis alone,a’ight?”Iblinkbacktears,nodding.“Thanks, Blaze,” I finally
say,fightingbacktheurgetocry. He grins. “Nah, it’sKeyShaun. I’m no longerblazin’.”Igivehimasurprisedlook.
“Oh.Forreal?Why?”HazelEyes,ImeanBlaze.
..no,KeyShaun...givesme
an intense look. He gazes atmewitheyesfullofsincerityandsays,“Igotmyeyeondisli’l hottie from da ’burbs soI’m tryna change my ways.YouknowI’mgivin’updembadwaysfordagoodgirl.”Hewinksatme.I shift inmy seat. Sadness
washes over me. “I’m goingto be sentenced next week.There’sachanceImaynotbecominghome.”“Yo, it’sallgood. I’mabe
here for you. I’mawrite youe’ery week. And I’ma be uphere to see you e’eryweekend until you get out,a’ight?”Istarttofeeloverwhelmed
with emotions. I don’t knowifIcantrusthim.ButIdon’thaveanyreasonnot to.I justdon’twanttogetusedtohimbeing here for me, thenabandoning me, like Malikdid.He must sense my
skepticism. “Listen. I ain’tdude, a’ight? I’m not gonnahurt you. Or try’n play you.I’m gonna be here wit’ you.Wordtomother.Igotyou.”All I can do is smile, and
think, no matter whathappens,I’llbeokay.And for the first time in a
verylongtime,Ifeelhopeful.Finally,underdarkswollen
clouds, I am being led fromtheholdingcelluptoJuvenile
Court.Today is theday.Theday of reckoning. Judgmentday. It’s been two monthssince my last courtappearance.And today ismysentencing.I takeadeepbreathas the
correction officers lead meintothecourtroomforwhatIhope tobe the last time. I’vebeen praying like crazy,hoping for the best, butexpectingtheworse.Still...Iamscaredtodeath.
I seemyparents.Theyareboth sitting in the first rowdirectlyinbackofme.Daddyhashisarmdrapedaroundmymom.Shepullsinherbottomlip, blinking back tears.Daddy gives me a painedsmile.I smile back as I take my
seat at the wooden tablebeside my lawyer. I lookacross the room at theprosecutor, Ms. Swanson.Shehasherhairpartedonthe
side, and pulled back into achignonupdo.Sheisflippingthrough her notepad,scribblingnotes.Allaboutme,I’msure.I lowermyheadandsaya
prayer. My heart startspounding as soon as we’reinstructed to stand and thejudge whisks into thecourtroom and takes her seaton the bench. Shewastes notime.Sheglancesdownatherfolder, then looks up and
scowlsatme.The prosecutor and my
attorney go back and forthtalking language that onlylawyers and judgesunderstand.Istartzoningout.Nothing they are sayingmakes sense to me. At theendofeverything,allIhearismyname,“KennedySimms...”Please,God...I close my eyes and cross
my fingers as the judge
rambles on about how Iallowed my choices todestroy my life. And how Iallowedmyself to get caughtup with the wrong crowd.And caught up with a boywhomeantmenogood.Andthat she is going tomake anexampleoutofme.Iswallow.“Therefore, I hereby
sentenceyou...”My heart crashes against
mychest.
“To three years in ajuvenilecorrectionalfacility...”Mykneesbuckle.I scream.
“Noooooooooooooo!Pleeeeeeeeeease!!Nooooooo!”ThelastthingIhearbefore
everything fades to black ismy mother cry out as thejudgebangshergavel.AndIfaint.
AREADINGGROUPGUIDE
CAUGHTUP
AmirAbrams
ABOUTTHISGUIDE
Thefollowingquestionsare
intendedtoenhanceyourgroup’sreading
ofCAUGHTUP.
DiscussionQuestions1.)Kennedy is a “good girl”whoappearstohaveitall,but
sheseemswillingtoriskitallfor a good time in the hood.Like Kennedy, there are lotsof “good girls” fromsuburban areas who seem tohave a fascination with the“hood” life and with dating“bad boys.” Why do youthink this is so? Are youfascinated with “bad boys”?Ifso,why?2.) What do you think ofKennedy’s friends,HopeandJordan?Theybothhavevery
strong negative beliefs aboutboys from the hood. Do youfeel/think any of what theybelieveisvalid?3.) Why are so many youngdudes from the hood viewedas high school dropouts,disrespectful, weed-smoking,pants-sagging “thugs” whoeither end up in jail, strungout on drugs, or dead? Doyou believe/feel there is anytruth to these stereotypes?Whyorwhynot?
4.) Kennedy seems to haveproblems with her parents’rules. Do you think parentshavetherighttomonitorwhotheir children interactwith/date,orwheretheyhangout?Whyorwhynot?5.)Haveyoueverliedtoyourparentsaboutwhomyouwerewith, where you were, andwhat you were doing? If so,why? Have you ever snuckoutof thehouse? If so,wereyou ever caught?What were
the consequences for defyingyourparents’rules?6.) What are your thoughtsaboutMalikandBlaze?Theyare both from the hood andhave urban swagKennedy isattracted to, but they haveseemingly differentpersonalities. Why do youthink Kennedy chose MalikoverBlaze?7.)Kennedy seems to dislikebeing referred to as a “goodgirl” by Blaze and feels as
thoughit’sabadthing.Whatare your thoughts on thewhole good-girl /guy versusbad-girl/guy mentality? Areyou a good girl/boy who’sattracted to bad boys/girls orviceversa?8.)WhatareyourthoughtsonSasha? Do you think she setKennedyup?Couldshehavepossibly put something inKennedy’sdrinkthefirsttimethey partied together? Whydo you think Sasha
befriended Kennedy in thefirstplace?9.) They say love is blind,and it seems that Kennedywas extremely naïve and tootrusting. Do you know girlslike her?Howmanygirls doyou know who cut off theirfriends and disobey theirparents in order to bewith aboy and/or a new set offriends? Has this everhappened to you? What didyoudo?
10.) It’s obvious Malik’ssister,Mercedes, doesn’t likeKennedy, yet she felt it herplace to “school” her abouther brother. Why do youthink she does this? Do youthink she’s wrong for tellingKennedy those things abouthim? If so, why? Do youthinkMercedesisbehindthatgirl coming to the house andfightingKennedy?11.) After everything thathappens, Blaze still wants to
be with Kennedy and stillseesherasagoodgirl.Whatareyourthoughtsonthat?DoyouthinkKennedywill learnher lesson from everythingshe’s gone through?Why orwhynot?PrettylittleliesgoneviralhaveleftHollywoodHigh’selitePamperedPrincesses
reeling.Nowtheirsecretsarein24/7overdrive—andonlyonedivacanbevictoriousin.
..
HollywoodHighLights,Love&LipGloss
1
Rich
2a.m.
Iwillnotbeplayed.
Orignored.And especially by some
brokesidejawn.Never!I don’t care if he is six-
feet-and hey-hey-hollah-back-li’l-daddyfine.Or how much I scribble,
doodle, and marry my firstnametohislastname.Hewillneverbeallowedto
comeatmecrazy.Not Rich Gabrielle
Montgomery.
Not this blue-blooded,caramel—thick in the hips,small in thewaist, and fly inthe face—bust-’em-downprincess.Psst.Puhlease.Swerve!And yeah, once upon a
time everything was CareBear sweet: rainbows,unicorns, and fairy tales. Hewas feeling me and I waskind enough to let him to
think we’d be happily everafter.But.Suddenly.Heturnedonme.Realsuckermove.And sowhat if Ikeyedup
hiscar.Tossedabrick throughhis
windshield.Kicked a dent in his
driver’s-sidedoor.Made a scene at his
apartment building and hisnosy neighbor called the
policeonme.Still...Whodid he think hewas?
Did he forget he was somegutter-rat east coasttransplant?He better stay in his
freakin’lane.I’vebeengoodtohim!I replaced the windshield
andhadallthebrickparticlessweptfromtheparkinglot.The next day, I topped
myselfandreplacedtheentire
car with a brand new blackMaserati with a red bow ontop.Theungratefulthotsentthe
carback.Bowstillintact.I’vedoneitall.And how does he repay
me?Withdeadsilence.Idon’tthinkso.Idon’thavetotakethat!AndifIhavetositherein
mygleamingsilverSpider,inthis dusty Manhattan Beach
apartment complex, andwaitanother three hours forJusticetogethome,Iwill.4a.m.Ishouldleave.Gohome.Callmyboyfriend,Knox.AndforgetJustice.If he can’t appreciate a
mature, sixteen-year-oldwoman like me, then screwhim.
No.Ican’tleave.Ihavetomakethisright.NoIdon’t.Yes.Ido.
5a.m.Whereishe?
6a.m.Thereheis.But where is he coming
from?
Washewithsomechick?My eyes followed a black
Honda Accord with adimpled driver’s door as itpulled into the half-emptyparking lotandparked in thespotmarked203.The red sun eased its way
intotheskyasIpulledinandpushed out three deepbreaths, doing all I could tostop the butterflies fromracingthroughmystomach.I should go home. Right
now.Afterall,heisnotmyman.My man is at his college
dorm,thinkingaboutme.I chewed on the corner of
my bottom lip. Swallowed.Andeyedfromthebricktwo-story and U-shaped garden-stylecomplexJusticelivedinto the small beachacross thestreet where an overdressedhomelesswoman leanedoverthewoodenbarrierandstaredatthesurfersridingtherough
waves.“Areyoustalkingme?”I sucked in a breath and
heldit.Justice.I oozed air out the side of
mymouthandturnedtolookout my window. There hewas: ice grillingme. Top lipcurled up, brown gazenarrowed and burningthroughme.Say something! Do
something!
“Can I umm . . . talk toyou?” I openedmydoor andstepped out. “For a minute?Please.” I pulled in the leftcorner of my bottom lip andbitintoit.“Nah.Youcan’tsayishto
me, son. What you can,though,isstopstalkin’me’n’go get you some help.Thirsty. Loony bird. If Ididn’t call you, it was for areason.Dealwit’ it.Nowgetbackinyawhip’n’peeloff.”
Oh. No. He. Didn’t! Thisscrubisouttacontrol!“For real? Slow down,
Low Down. When did youbecome the president? Youdon’t dismiss me. This is apubliclot.Iain’tleavin’.Andyouwill listen tome.Now,Ihave not been waiting herefor seven hours for you tocome out the side of yourneck and call me a freakin’stalker. You don’t get todisrespect me. And loony
bird? Really? Seems you’vetakenyourvocabularytonewheights; now maybe we canwork on your losin’ career.And yeah, maybe I’ve beenwaitinghereallnight.Butthelast thingIamissomeloonybird.”Justicearchedabrow.“Orthirsty.”“Whatever.”Hetossedtwo
fingers in the air, turned hisbacktome,andwalkedaway.Unwanted tears beat
againstthebacksofmyeyes.But I refused to cry. “Knowwhat, I’mnot about to sweatyou,”Ishouted,mytremblingvoice echoed through theearly morning breeze. “I’moutheretryingtotalktoyou.Trying to apologize to you.Trying to tellyou that Imissyou! That all I do is thinkaboutyou!Butinsteadofyoubeing understanding, you’rebeingajerk!”Justice continued walking.
Justashereachedthestairs,Iran behind him. Grabbed hishand. “Why are you doingthis?”He snatched his hand
away, spun around, andmushed me in the center ofmy forehead. “I’m sick ofyour ish, ma.Word is bond.You don’t come runnin’ upon me.” He took three stepscloser to me. And we stoodbreaststochest,mylipstothebaseofhisneck.
“Justice—!”“Shut up!” His eyes
droppedeightinches.I need to go. I took a step
back and turned to walkaway. He reached for myhand and quickly turned meback toward him. Pulled meintohischest.ThescentofhisObsession
cologne made love to mynose and I wanted to meltbeneath his large hands thatherestedonmyhips.
Hetsked.“Yo,youselfish,you know that, right?” Helifted my chin, taking a softbiteoutof it.“Wordisbond.What’s really good witchu?”He tilted his head and gazedat me. “Just when I start totreat you like no one elsematters, you turn around ’n’play me. Leavin’ me YeahBoo letters ’n’moneyon thenightstand, like I’m someclown mofo. I don’t havetime for that. And then you
get mad ’n’ eff up my ride,like that ish is cute. YouluckyIain’tknockin’yououtfor that, for real for real.Yo,youarealsavageforthat.”I sucked my teeth, feeling
thelightoceanbreezekissmyface.“Iwaspissedoff!”Hereleasedhisholdonmy
hips. “Oh word? So everytimeyougetpissedyougon’jumpoff the cliff? Is that it?Yo’, you crazy if you thinkI’ma put up wit’ that.” He
pausedandshookhisheadindisbelief.“Yo,Igottago.I’mouttahere.”Hetookasteptothesideofme.“Wait,don’tgo!”Istepped
into his path. “Justice,please!”He flicked his right hand,
as if he were flinging waterfromhisfingertips.“Leave.”I ran back into his path,
practically tripping over myfeet. “Would you listen tome?!”Tearspoureddownmy
cheeks. “Dang, I’m sorry!Whatelsedoyouwantmetodo?!”“Nothing.”I threw my hands up in
defeat. “I keep calling youand calling you! And callingyou!”“And stalkin’ me. Playin’
yaself. Comin’ over herebangin’ onmydoor like youcrazy, then keyin’ up mywhip.Whatkindaishyouon,yo?”
I felt like somebody hadtakenabladetomythroat.Playmyself?Never.He had me confused. “I
don’tdeserve—”“Youdeserveexactlywhat
ya greasy hand called for.You really tried to play me,yo.Yougotthegamejacked,yo. I ain’t no soft dude, realtalk.Iwilltakeittoyaface.”He paused and looked meover.“Thenyouhadyadude
rolluponmeandsneakme?Word?Areyouserious?Thatishgotme realhot,yo. ”Hepaused again. “I shouldaburned a bullet in his chestforthatpunkmove.”Hisdarkeyes narrowed. “You lucky Iain’tknockyateethout.”Was I having an out-of-
bodyexperience?Noboyhadever spoken to me like this.Ever.Iwasstunned.Shocked.Confused. Desperate.Scared...
Ididn’tknowifIwasquietbecause I couldn’t think ofanything to say or because Ifelt a tinge of fear that toldme I needed to shut up. Thebottom of my stomach feltlikeithadfallentomyfeet.Iwatched him take three stepstoward me and I wonderedwasthistheend.Heyankedmebymyright
arm. “Let me tell yousomethin’.Idon’tknowwhatyou standin’ there thinkin’
’boutorwhat’s’bouttocomeoutta ya mouth, but it betternot be nothin’ slick.” Hepaused and I swallowed.“Otherwise, you gon’ bepickin’ yaself up from thisconcrete. Or better yet, theevenin’ news will be ’boutyoufloatin’ facedownin theocean.”“I-I-I-I,” I stuttered, doing
all I could to collect mythoughts. “If you would justlisten to me! I didn’t have
anybody sneak you. I didn’tdothat!”Hiseyespeered intomine.
“Wellsomebodyhitmefrombehind! Now who was it?!Who?!”Without a second thought.
Without concern. Withoutregard or a moment ofhesitation I pushed out,“London!”That’sright.London.Thatcrazythot.Myex-bestie.
Anotheronewhoturnedonme.Triedtotakehatetonewheightsby invitingmeout toClub Tantrum and attackingme.Fornorhymeorreason.“London?”Justicerepeated
indisbelief.IcouldtellbythelookhegavemethatwhatI’dsaid took him aback. Hefrowned. “Are you serious?London?”“Yes, London! She’s the
real thirsty loony bird. Realcrazy!Sheevenjumpedmeat
the other night! I know youhadtoseetheblogs.”“Whatthe...”Hequickly
caught himself. “Do I looklikethetypeofdudecheckin’blogs?” He pushed his indexfinger into my right temple,forcing my neck to slant tothe left. “Now say somethin’else,stupid.”Mykneecapsknocked,my
heartpounded,andmythroattightened.I should leave. Thiswas a
badidea.Apparently,hecan’tappreciate me standing here,trying to woman up andhandleoursituation.“Doyouhearmetalkin’to
you,yo?!”hescreamedinmyface. “I said,what youmeanitwasLondon?”Ihesitated. “She just came
from nowhere. You and Iwere standing there talkingandthenextthingIknewyouhit the ground and therewasLondon hovered over you
withnunchuksinherhand!”Isearchedhiseyestoseeif
hebelievedme.Thetruthwasit wasn’t London. It wasSpencer,my real, loyal, ride-or-die bestie. She’d snuckhim. Hit him in the back ofhishead.Andwhenhedidn’tmove, Spencer and I gotscared, tookoff,and lefthimfordead.But none of that was the
point. London deserved towear this one. Especially
since I was done with her.“I’m telling you it wasLondon! She came fromnowhere.You hit the groundand shewas therewith a batinherhand!”“London?” he repeated,
shaking his head. “I thoughtshe was over in Italysomewhere.”“Lies! She was never in
Milan.Thatlunaticwashomeall along, curled up in thebed! And I just knew she
killed you! I just knew it!”Timelytearspoureddownmycheeks. “I’m sorry that I leftyou. I am. I was soooooscared.Ididn’tknowwhattodo. I called the hospitals! Icalled the morgues. I waseven willing to pay for yourfuneral. I’m just so sorry.And when you were on thatground,motionless, I tried toshake you and you wouldn’tmove. London took off! Iheardsirens.Igotscaredand
Ijustran!”Iboldlytookasteptoward
him and pressed my wetcheeks into his chest. “Yougotta believe me, Justice. Ijust knew you were dead. Ireally did and I didn’t knowwhat to do. I thought thepolice were coming. And Ididn’t want them to think itwas me who killed you so Iran too! It was stupid.” Istammered.“I-I-Ileftmycar.Everything! It was crazy! I
just got caught up in themoment! I thought youwerehurt. I thought you weredead! You weren’t moving!You should’ve seen the lookin her eyes! That girl’scrazy!”Iweptintohischestandhe
wrapped his arms aroundmeandsqueezed.I batted my wet lashes.
“Baby,didyoudosomethingtothatgirl?”Iasked.“Oh,sonowI’myababy?”
heaskedindisbelief.“Yes, Justice. Yes. Of
courseyou’remybaby.”“Really?”“Yes. But why does
London hate you so much?Didthetwoofyouusedtobea couple or something? Ithought you were onlyfriends.”“Yeah, we used to be
friends.Allthat’sdeadnow.”Hewipedmywetcheekswiththe backs of his thumbs.
“Now,backtoyou.”Heliftedmy chin and placed a fingeragainst my lips. “The nexttime you come outta pocket,trynaslick-talkme,I’maslapyamouthup.”He tappedmylips lightly and I kissed thebacks of his fingers. Hesnatched his finger away.“Nah, I don’t think so. Youstillinthedoghousewit’me.Now what you gonna do togetouttait?”“What do youwantme to
do?” I whined. “I’ll dowhatever.”“What you think I want
youtodo?”I slid my arms around his
thick neck and whisperedagainsthis chin. “I can showyoubetterthanIcantellyou.CanIcomeinside?”“Yeah.” He ran his hands
over the outline of body.“Rightafteryoucallyaman.”He pulled his cell phone outof his back pocket. “And
deadit.”My heart dropped.
“Whaaaaaat? Clutchingpearls!” My eyes poppedopen and I felt my breathbeingsnatched.“Ya, you heard me. Call
that punk now.” He pushedthephonetowardme.I took a step back and he
tookastepforward.“You said you’ll do
anything,right?Sodoit.YousaidI’myababy.Thenprove
it.’Cause,realish,yo...I’msecondtonone.”“Youbeingsecondtonone
and me breaking up withKnox, my soul mate, myfuture husband and futurebabydaddy,aretwodifferentthings. He has nothing to dowiththis.”“Ohword?”“Word. No. He. Does.
Not.” I shook my head andplaced a handuponmyhip.“You need to learn to play
your roll as a side piece’cause you are all out ofcontrol. Appreciate the timeI’m spending with youinstead of standing here andthinkingaboutmyman.Likereally?Whodoesthat?”Justice popped me on the
mouth, just enough for it tostingbutnotenough for it tohurt. “Let me be real clearwit’ you: You ain’t gettin’upstairs.Weain’tkickin’it.Iain’t effen witchu ’til you
dead it wit’ dude. Got it?Now poof. Outta here.” Heforcefully turned me around,practicallyyankedmebacktomy car, snatched open thedoor,andpushedmeinside.
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DAFINAKTEENBOOKSarepublishedbyKensingtonPublishingCorp.119West40thStreetNewYork,NY10018Copyright©2014byAmirAbramsAllrightsreserved.NopartofthisbookmaybereproducedinanyformorbyanymeanswithoutthepriorwrittenconsentofthePublisher,exceptingbriefquotesusedin
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