Love Me or Miss Me

by Dream Jordan

  We talked until the park got dark. I felt so much closer to Charles that night, like he was my little brother even though he’s two months older than me. When I got home, I was in trouble with my foster mother, but I didn’t care. I had helped Charles in his time of need, and I felt really good about that.

  Lucky for Charles, he had to stay in care for only six months. And check my baby out now. Back with his birth mother and looking mighty fine, rocking the hot new Jordans, the butter-fly haircut, the sparkling diamond stud in his left earlobe. Don’t ask me how Charles got this sudden upgrade; I just hoped he wasn’t selling drugs to get his. Charles didn’t need to be risking his neck for anybody. Who did he need to impress? Listen, he could rock a jacked-up Afro and holes in his sneakers, and I’d still be crazy about the boy.

  “How long you gonna be?” Big Nose asked Charles. He didn’t look my way not once, as if he resented my raggedy presence.

  “Eh, what’s the rush, man?” Charles spread his arms wide, like What?

  Big Nose reached into his saggy shorts and pulled out a fat cigar. “We about to spark this Dutch!”

  Charles suddenly changed his tune. “Oh, um, Kate, you want to get down?” He jerked his chin toward the future blunt. A part of me felt flattered that Charles was asking me to join him. The other part had to keep myself in check.

  “Nah, I’m straight.”

  “Why not?” Charles asked.

  “Maybe next time,” I said, hoping this would be enough.

  I wasn’t trying to preach about why I don’t smoke weed; I didn’t want to turn my baby off. Besides, who was I to preach? At one point, I even tried to sell the stuff.

  “So you coming to Saturday’s game?” asked Charles.

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “Oh … and let me get your phone number,” said Charles. “I keep forgetting to ask you. Last Saturday this chick came to the Stuy Court trying to show off. She was mad whack. Couldn’t even dribble the ball proper. I know you could’ve rocked her, but I had no way of contacting you.”

  “Yeah, I would’ve rocked her, for sure.” I pictured myself hooping it up, straight-up embarrassing that wannabe baller on the court. The Stuy Court is my court, okay?

  “Your number, please—hello?” Charles asked, snatching me from my ego trip.

  Then I remembered. Oh man. Can’t give Charles my number. One word: Lynn. Lynn said no boys calling the crib. Period.

  Reluctantly, I explained this to Charles.

  “No cell phone?”

  “Nope.” Then I added, “Not yet,” as if I expected to get a celly any minute.

  “Well, jot down my digits then,” he said. “You got a pen?”

  I feverishly searched my backpack. But all I had inside was an extra T-shirt and house keys.

  “That big old bag and no pen?” Charles chuckled.

  “True.” I giggled.

  I guess my backpack is like my security blanket … bounced from place to place. I like having something to carry around with me at all times. In fact, as soon as I turned ten, I started running away, and my trusty knapsack stayed with me on the run. At every foster home I lived in, I’d wait until nighttime to pack my knapsack with a T-shirt, a sweater, a pair of jeans, and an emergency ten-dollar bill. Always ready. Never scared. I felt the need to be prepared if some drama went down. I’d stash my knapsack under my bed, and in the middle of the night, I’d lean over my mattress just to make sure it was still there. Six months of living with the Johnsons, and I’m finally getting more comfortable. Now, the knapsack stays by my closet door—unpacked. I’m trying to be optimistic for a change.

  Charles turned to Big Nose. “You got a pen, my man?”

  “No, but I got this.” He waved the fat cigar in the air.

  “Yo, chillll. I’m coming,” said Charles. “Go buy yourself a Popsicle, or something.”

  As if on cue, an ice cream truck suddenly came rolling up the block, blaring ring-a-ding carnival music. I would’ve busted out laughing at the hilarious timing if I wasn’t so pissed at Big Nose. Why did he have to interrupt our flow? Why couldn’t he stick his big nose somewhere else?

  Charles got up and stretched. I got up too. I was about to give him a good-bye pound with my fist, but he reached out for a hug with his strong beautiful arms. Baffled, all I could do was walk straight into them. Charles held me close for a hot minute. And can I tell you? I almost OD’d from ecstasy; even his sweat smelled sweet.

  However, I was a bit confused. Charles was sending me mixed signals all of a sudden. Hugging me since when? But let me tell you, mixed signals never felt so good.

  “Don’t forget Saturday,” said Charles over his shoulder. “Game starts at two.”

  “No doubt.”

  Charles bebopped off the court. Slow and sexy, side to side. Mm, I loved the way he walked. Everything Charles did with his body was absolutely breathtaking.

  I collapsed back down on the bleacher. I needed a minute to pull myself together. Whoa, what a guy. I don’t know how long I sat there before I heard my name. “Yo, Kate! Yo, Kate!”

  Charles was outside of the gate, hanging on to the crisscross metal. He nodded toward the washed-out white truck parked ten feet away. “Want an ice cream cone?”

  “Nah, that’s okay,” I said, grinning and waving at him.

  “All right,” he called out.

  All I could do was smile. Mm, how sweet and thoughtful of Charles. I felt so good right now. The warm sunshine on my back made me feel even better. I dreamily looked up at the sky and stared at the clouds. If you stare at the clouds long enough, they become things. Oh look, there’s a puffy heart! Man, I was in such a happy daze.

  I got up and floated off the Stuy Court. Lost in a dream. My stomach was flipping and dipping at the thought of Charles.

  But soon the butterflies in my belly turned into hunger pangs. My stomach was on E. Time to fill up.

  First, I planned to get a bag of sunflower seeds—my snack for later. Then, I’d head to the pizza shop and grab a cheese slice for now.

  I drifted into my favorite corner store.

  “Eh, mamí,” the short guy behind the counter greeted me.

  “Hey,” I said, smiling.

  Without having to ask, Shorty slid a bag of seeds on the counter. I paid for them, waved good-bye, and was about to leave. Then suddenly, I felt a light grip on my right arm. Slowly, I turned to find Naleejah grinning at me. She had come out of nowhere.

  Of all the girls, in all the world, why did I have to bump into this silly broad?

  “Hey,” I said flatly.

  “Hey, girl!”

  I swear Naleejah seemed soooo happy to see me. And I was just toooo confused. How could she be cheesing at me so hard after dissing me so hard less than ten minutes ago?

  Man, this girl had me straight tripping; she was shadier than a tree. I couldn’t decide whether to return her cheesy smile, or karate-chop her grubby little hand off me. Torn and confused, I allowed Naleejah to lead me out the store.

  Chapter 3

  As soon as we rounded the corner, I struggled to free my arm.

  “Oh, my bad,” Naleejah exclaimed, finally letting go. “I’m just so happy to see you!”

  “Same here,” I said, lying through my teeth.

  “What are the chances,” Naleejah began, “bumping into you in this neck of the hood?”

  “Um, isn’t the basketball court just four blocks away?” Duh?

  “Oh, true!” Naleejah giggled. “Well, I’m just glad I bumped into you before I went berserk. Girl, I’ve been walking around in circles for the past few minutes.” She shook her head dramatically, obviously waiting for me to ask her why.

  When I didn’t bother to ask, she volunteered. “I swear Finesse is playing himself right now. He’s not answering his phone. Not returning my text messages. I had to buy me a pack of cigarettes just to calm my freaking nerves! Now I’d be wrong if I flatten his tires, right?”

  My tongue stayed stuck to th
e roof of my mouth.

  “Kate, is something wrong?” Naleejah asked, then stuck a cigarette in her mouth and lit up.

  “Nah, I’m okay,” I lied.

  Naleejah had fallen into step with me, and there was nothing I could do to shake her off. When I tried to quicken my pace, her long legs caught up with me. When I gave her the silent treatment, she just kept right on talking. Naleejah was two heads taller than me, but surely not smarter. Shucks, if I were her, and she were me, I would’ve been taken the hint and gotten ghost.

  “Man, I’m so glad I bumped into you,” Naleejah exclaimed. “It’s so hard meeting cool girls around here.”

  Now on this, I could agree. Naleejah was far from cool: Nice meeting you. Bye? Nah, I’d never forget that.

  We were about to cross Lewis Avenue when Naleejah had the nerve to ask, “So where are we headed?”

  We?

  I hesitated. Shifted from foot to foot, trying to stall for time. I was in the middle of deciding whether I was that desperate for company, or should I flat-out tell Naleejah she was too fake for my taste?

  Before I could make a firm decision, my mind played a trick on me, and I blurted out, “Pizza shop.”

  “Oh, good, I like pizza too,” cried out Naleejah. “Let’s go get our grub on!”

  “Okay,” I muttered.

  “How far is the shop?”

  “Not far,” I said. “About four more blocks.”

  As we walked, I listened without really listening to Naleejah’s long, drawn-out story about Finesse. He’s got mad money, a Mercedes-Benz, and a whole lot of balls. She ended her story with a claim that Finesse would never get another piece of her pie after the foul episode he pulled today. Then she heaved a noisy, long, drawn-out sigh.

  All I said was, “oh” and “yeah” after every one of her long, drawn-out sentences. My mind was focused on more important matters: pizza, Charles, and how to ditch this chick after gobbling down my slice.

  “You know, the boys be lookin’ good around here,” Naleejah began out of the blue.

  “True,” I said.

  “But Charles is a serious dime piece, okay?”

  This was getting ridiculous. True, Finesse had dissed Naleejah, but couldn’t she find somebody else to sweat?

  “So why’d you flat-out lie to Charles?” I suddenly thought to ask.

  “Lie about what?”

  “Oh, you forgot already?” I asked with raised eyebrows. “You acted like you never met Charles before, but you were in his class. I’m saying, why lie about it?”

  Naleejah shrugged. “Well, the old me was in his class. The new me doesn’t want to think about the old me, okay?”

  “Wow … can’t believe you lied to my boy with such a straight face.”

  Naleejah shrugged again. “Well, a girl’s got to have some mystery about her.”

  Hm, whatever.

  Naleejah must’ve seen the disgusted look on my face because she suddenly changed the subject. “Listen, I don’t know about you, but these silly chickenheads out here be getting on my nerves!” She threw up her hands in exasperation, almost dropping her Gucci bag. “Why they got to be so mad at me? I can’t help it that I’m fly.… Do jealous females around here try to test you too?”

  “Nah, not really,” I said.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed Naleejah looking me up and down. She probably figured my raggedy gear saved me from jealous drama. She threw down her half-smoked cigarette and stomped on it with her sparkling Air Jordan sole. “Did you hear those crazy bees at the court trying to start some sting with me?”

  “Yeah, I heard them.”

  “They don’t even know me,” Naleejah said, shaking her head. “I will go straight ballistic on those broads.”

  “Well, just try to keep a low profile,” I explained. “Ignore the haters. Take the high road.”

  “But they always be trying to mess—”

  I cut her off. “If a girl wants to fight you, why give her what she wants? Don’t fall into her trap. Fall back.”

  “Seems like these chicks are out to get me no matter what,” Naleejah whined. She paused for a minute: “See … when I was looking plain and corny, nobody wanted to be my friend. But now that I’m fly, I still can’t make friends—that’s why I only hang with dudes.”

  I knew exactly what Naleejah was talking about. Back in the day, I used to target prissy girls like her. Yeah, I can admit it. I especially liked to pop junk with the chicks who held their heads too high. See, when when you feel like every girl in the world thinks she’s better than you, you feel the need to take her down a notch, whether by staring her down or beating her down, anything to make yourself feel bigger and better.

  “Hey, Kate, you look like you’re in another world,” said Naleejah, chuckling lightly.

  “Nah, I’m here.” Next thing I knew, I was actually encouraging Naleejah to chitchat. I guess I was feeling guilty about the memory of my messy past. “So, was Finesse supposed to take you out somewhere after the game?” I asked. “Is that why you’re all dressed up?”

  This question caused Naleejah to stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk. “You call this dressed up?” she exclaimed. “Oh my gosh, this is just my hang-out gear! I can’t believe you call this dressed up.”

  Oh brother, I thought, just answer my freaking question already! Finally, she did. “No, we didn’t have anything special planned. Getting me a piece from Finesse, then you know, maybe a bite to eat—” Naleejah cut off her explanation and broke out into a fit of giggles.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I still can’t believe you call this dressed up,” Naleejah said, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, girl. Stick with me, and I’ll have a dude lacing you in no time.”

  “No thanks, I can lace myself.”

  “Um … not really,” said Naleejah, reaching down to lift the no-name tag of my white tee. Then she busted into another fit of hearty laughter—well, at least it was friendly laughter. Besides, letting things go was something I had to learn anyway.

  Choose your battles, Tisha always tells me. So lately, the shrug has been my new best friend. Somebody says something foul to me, and I just shrug. Lift my shoulders, let the chip fall off, no more weight on my mind, and I’m good. It doesn’t work for me all the time, but just enough to keep Naleejah’s teeth safe inside her mouth.

  Suddenly, my best friend’s face loomed large in front of me. Felicia never made fun of me. She only tried to encourage me—first girl to believe in my brains instead of my fists.

  * * *

  In junior high school, nobody liked Felicia, including me. She was too tall, too strange, too skinny and quiet, always walking alone in the hallways with her slumped shoulders, baggy jeans ripped at the knees, rocking neon bright yellow sneakers on her big old feet. She was forever being laughed at and hated on, and I can’t lie, I used to join in. But I secretly felt sorry for Felicia … though not enough to hang with her.

  When Felicia became my math tutor in the seventh grade, I was too embarrassed to be associated with her. I gave her a slight head nod in the hallways, and after school, I’d walk five paces behind her on our way to the Macon Library. But it was there inside that library that I got to know Felicia, and like it or not, I realized she was the kind of friend I’d been searching for all of my life.

  To begin with, I had it all twisted about Felicia; there was no need for me to be feeling sorry for her. Unlike me, she had her whole act together. She was just “doing her” and didn’t give a dang about what kids thought about her. As it turned out, this was exactly what I needed help with. Math was not my issue.

  The day Felicia called me out, we were two weeks into our tutoring sessions. She had given me a practice sheet filled with geometric problems, and I rocked every answer with no hesitation.

  Felicia handed back my sheet and said, “You obviously know this. Why did you let your teacher put you in this tutoring program?”

  “Because I failed math last year,”
I snapped. I didn’t appreciate the “teacher” tone Felicia was taking with me.

  “But you know this,” Felicia repeated. “Why act dumb?”

  Her question shocked the crap out of me. Felicia might’ve been taller, but I was way rougher, and she knew my bad-girl rep in school. I couldn’t believe she was brave enough to come at me like this. We were sitting in the library, so I couldn’t scream on her just yet. I quietly packed up my books and waited until we got outside.

  My first thought was to ask Felicia if she wanted her butt beat. But a month of anger-management class helped me tone down my question. Instead, I asked, “Why did you come out your face calling me dumb? Who do you think you talking to?”

  Felicia’s brown eyes widened, and she backed up against the bricks of the library. “Kate, I did not call you dumb,” she stuttered. “I was trying to say that you’re smart—I just don’t understand why you don’t want your teachers to know that.”

  Okay, she had a point.

  Around this time, I didn’t really care what my teachers thought about me. I didn’t care about much. I was living in a group home, unhappy, feeling like whatever. I was just trying to satisfy Tisha by not cutting class and doing my homework for a change.

  I didn’t know how to come back at Felicia, since she was basically trying to compliment me. So I just stood there looking stupid for a minute.

  Felicia spoke up first. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I just see a lot in you, that’s all.”

  Felicia’s words sounded like grown-up words, and I didn’t know how to take them from a chick my age. So I just stood there still looking dumb in the face. I couldn’t admit to Felicia that she was right, that I hid my brain from other kids, never raising my hand in class, that I loved to read and write stories, couldn’t get enough of science class. Basically, I was afraid of being teased for being smart. Having girls scared of me made me feel more powerful than having A’s lace up my report card.