Love Me or Miss Me

by Dream Jordan

  Well, promises are made to be broken, just like phones are made to be hung up. Me? Go down on Charles? Please. Not until he was officially my man. Maybe not even then. But I could see this conversation was going nowhere fast, so it was time for me to go.

  I wanted so badly to tell Naleejah that she didn’t have to let guys use her up like that, that she was worth more than that. I mean, I could understand where she was coming from. I’ve been wanting to be loved forever too, but I know I can’t get no love from a horny dude who just wants to get some. What’s love got to do with a quick hit? Nothing. I’d be his freak for the week and that’s it.

  I didn’t bother to share my thoughts. I knew my words would just go through one of Naleejah’s ears and come out her mouth as laughter—mocking me—and I would only get mad, so forget it.

  “All right,” I said, faking a yawn. “Let me go catch up on some sleep. Holler at you later.”

  Chapter 16

  I was in the kitchen making a tuna sandwich when Naleejah called. She wanted to know if I was ready to try my luck again with Charles.

  “You already know,” I said, smiling to myself. “What time you talking?”

  “Don’t know yet. I have to run some errands for my dad first. I’ll call you … probably no later than five o’clock.”

  “All right, then, cool.”

  “Wait! Hello?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” I said.

  “Make sure you’re looking fabulous, okay?”

  “For sure,” I said, feeling unsure. I hung up the phone with an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Wasn’t hunger pains. More like anxiety mixed with frustration. I had a huge selection of Tammy’s clothes to choose from, but no fly shoes to complete the fly look. I couldn’t dare wear Naleejah’s painful wedges another single day, so what could I do?

  I ate half of my sandwich at the kitchen table. The other half got thrown away. Feeling too queasy to eat, I fretted over my footwear dilemma for a whole hour before I finally made my decision: Operation Five-Finger Discount.

  Once an idea gets into my head, it’s hard to shake out. I knew what I was about to do was wrong, risky and stupid, but I found myself not caring. Bad thing about me, depending on where my head is at, I can do grimy things without blinking. There’s times when I feel like the world owes me something, and this was just one of those times.

  * * *

  I hopped on the A train, headed to downtown Brooklyn. Walked up and down Fulton Street, looking for the busiest shoe store. Bingo. Found one. The store was small, dark, and crowded. One harried clerk was scurrying from the cash register to the back of the store. She didn’t know which way was up. Perfect. This setting allowed me the opportunity to do my thing. Of course, I thought about juvie, and being locked up in a box over some bull—but the shoes in this store were banging, and I could already see myself singin’ to Naleejah: Yeah, girl, you can’t clown me now, ’cause I don’t need your hand-me-downs!

  “May I help you?” asked the store clerk in a sweet voice. Now why did her voice have to be sweet? It would’ve helped if she was nasty. Oh well.

  “Yes, thank you,” I replied in a soft tone. I pointed to three pairs of sandals I wanted to see. She took more than a minute to bring them out.

  I wore my innocent face as I tried on pair after pair. The ones I fell in love with were black and sexy high-heeled killers.

  With the three shoe boxes surrounding my feet, I waited for the clerk to disappear. As soon as she turned her back, I looked to my left and right. Nobody paying me any mind. I snatched the strappy sandals up, stuffed them under my arm, and dashed out the store.

  I knew I looked the fool carrying sandals out in the street, so I dipped into a corner grocery store, flashed a sweet smile, and asked for a free plastic bag. Bagged my new shoes up, and I was headed home with a smile on my face.

  But as I waited on the platform for the A train, the smile faded. I started feeling like a donkey, like I was stepping back into time—doing petty crime to get mine.

  * * *

  I got off at Utica Station, still feeling bad. As hard as I tried to convince myself that the sandals wouldn’t be missed, I couldn’t stop thinking about that store clerk. Poor lady. What if her paycheck got docked because of me?

  I walked down the block feeling worse than a jerk. My head was still under storm clouds when suddenly, I felt a tap from behind. I spun around to face Tyesha, joined by two other friends. The friend with the long hair and silver piercing under her bottom lip turned out to be my homegirl, Sheri. We were in the same fifth-grade class together, and she was my road dog until she got pregnant at age twelve.

  “Hey, Sheri, what’s up?”

  “Oh snap, Kate!”

  We hugged.

  “You know her?” asked Tyesha in disbelief.

  “This is homegirl, right here,” said Sheri. “And you don’t want none of Kate. Trust me on that.”

  Tyesha trusted Sheri, because her face suddenly relaxed into a grin when she said, “Well, shorty, you got a lot of heart stepping to me in my territory.”

  “But I wasn’t stepping to you,” I explained. “I had no beef with you.”

  “Didn’t seem that way,” squeaked Tyesha. “Ready to fight for Charles, huh?”

  “No … well, my bad … I let my homegirl get into my head,” I said.

  Sheri playfully tapped me on the arm. “Kate, since when you let anybody get into your head?”

  Tyesha piped in, “It’s a good thing you know Sheri. Normally, I don’t let no females pop off in my face and get away with it.”

  Tyesha was smiling the whole time she said this, so I didn’t feel threatened … but I didn’t feel at ease either.

  Sheri wore a serious expression when she grabbed my arm and said, “Kate, don’t even tell me you’re slipping. You don’t need no thug friends in your life anymore.”

  “Oh … Naleejah’s not a thug,” I corrected. “She’s more like a diva.”

  “And that diva chick almost made you get your butt kicked,” said Sheri. “We were fitting to jump you and ask questions later.”

  I paused in thought, and then said, “Well … good looking out. I owe you one.”

  “You don’t owe me anything. You used to always have my back—you think I forgot? I’m just returning the favor.”

  “Well, good seeing you again,” I said.

  “All right girl, take care of yourself.”

  As the trio walked away from me, I exhaled a heavy sigh of relief. That was close.

  * * *

  Naleejah called me at five o’clock. She was ready to hang. Cool. I anxiously changed into my new shoes. Admired how the straps around my ankles brought the sexy to my sandals, loved how the height from my heels made me feel model-like. I stepped out the house feeling six feet tall.

  Naleejah and I met up on Malcom X Boulevard. First thing she said: “Oh my gosh, Kate, you look so pretty!”

  “Thanks,” I said, beaming.

  “And your hair is still banging.”

  “Yes sir, I wrapped it up just like you showed me.”

  Then she looked down at my feet. “Oh snap, you got some new kicks too! Those sandals are crazy blazing.”

  “Aren’t they, though?”

  When Naleejah calmed down, she said, “But I thought you didn’t have any cash flow?” She eyed my feet suspiciously.

  “My foster father gave me some money,” I explained with a straight face. Then I quickly took the attention off me by complimenting Naleejah. “So you’re always doing it real big, huh, girl? Look at you.”

  “Yeah, well … you know how I do,” said Naleejah with a smile.

  She had on a pair of tight white stretch pants, a sky-blue T-shirt tied up in a knot to show off her rhinestone belly-button piercing, and a pair of white high-heel sandals, showing off her toes, painted hot pink.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Always ready. Let’s go.”

  The minute we hit the next block, an old man riding a
creaky red stretch Cadillac stopped in the middle of the street and honked at Naleejah. “Eh, lady in the blue,” he called out.

  Naleejah spun around to see who was honking. When she saw it was a crusty old man in an ancient car, she swiveled back around, wearing a scowl. “What makes that old clown think he can get some of this? He done lost his mind!”

  “Can I smell you?” shouted the old man. “Just one sniff, baby?”

  “Ill, yuck, stop!” Naleejah cried out, flipping her middle finger at him. Shucks, if that old man jumped out the car and came after her, she’d be on her own. No more fighting Naleejah’s battles.

  When we made it to Fulton Street Park Building, no sign of Charles. Thank goodness no sign of Tyesha either. We waited in the park for a half hour. Still no sign of Charles. Naleejah wanted to wait around even longer, but I said no. There was no need to starve.

  So we got up and let our feet take us wherever. We got wolf whistles from every other corner, and catty chicks sucking their teeth as we walked by. Clearly, looking good in the hood brings you nothing but hate and hollering. And this was getting old fast. I guess Naleejah was getting tired too, because she started complaining. “Psst, psst, that’s all they do. I don’t answer to that. Do I look like a cat?”

  Well, actually, you do … your eyes.

  “… And all these broke dudes can say to me is baby this and baby that. Shoot, my name ain’t Baby. If you ain’t a baller getting money, you have no right to be calling me out my name. Feel me?”

  “Yeah, I feel you,” I said. “Oh, hey … the other day … why’d your father call you Bertha? Is that your middle name or something?”

  Naleejah took a long time to answer me. Finally, she did. “Well … since you’re my best friend … I guess I can tell you.… Bertha is my real name. I was named after my grandmother.” Naleejah raised her pointer finger and aimed it at me. “But only family is allowed to call me Bertha. So don’t be putting my name on blast, okay?”

  “Oh, trust me, I won’t,” I said, and quickly turned my head away, pretending to stare at a random tree. Bertha? It took all my might not to bust out laughing. As we walked on in silence, my stomach was bursting at the seams.

  Finally, on Patchen Avenue, Naleejah came to a halt in front of a squat building with a red-and-white awning. “Let me stop at this store,” she said.

  Hmm, didn’t look like a store to me. The minute I stepped inside, the smell of stankin’ kitty litter hit me—bam—in the nose. There was bulletproof glass everywhere and barely anything on the shelves. Never been to this store before, I thought warily. And that’s when it suddenly hit me.

  No she didn’t.

  I decided to wait outside.

  When Naleejah emerged from the spot, no paper bag in hand, that’s when I knew: Oh yes, she did.

  “Don’t tell me you had me up in a weed spot,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Okay, so I won’t tell you,” Naleejah replied with a shrug.

  “Don’t get smart,” I snapped. “Why would you do that to me?”

  “Do what to you?” Naleejah asked. “I thought you knew what time it was. You don’t look soft.”

  “Seriously, it’s taking all of my strength not to snuff you,” I said. “How you gonna have me in a funky weed spot without telling me?”

  Naleejah raised one eyebrow and chuckled. “Um, Kate? I think you might be watching too many cop shows. Bodegas don’t get raided, boo. The feds ain’t coming for you.” She laughed, trying to make merry about the situation, but ha ha ha, whatever. I was mad tight.

  “You always got jokes,” I said. “But you ain’t even funny.”

  Weed is no laughing matter to me. Three years ago, I got locked up in juvie for possession of four bags. All because I was hanging with a tricky chick named Latoya. I had just met her. She was new to my group home, and just as sneaky as Naleejah. She didn’t dress fly, though, never flashed her money, so it came as a surprise when I found out about her side hustle. One night, we were chilling in the park, when Craig, a thuggish dude from around our way, rolled up on Latoya. “You ready to count?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said coolly.

  “Wait right here,” Latoya told me. Then she followed Craig into a crumbling brownstone across the street. She left me waiting for more than a minute, and I was heated when she got back. I didn’t want her to know I was mad, though, since I was grateful for her company. She was four years older than me, and I felt really flattered that she was trying to hang with me.

  Next thing I knew, two weeks later, on a Friday night, we were in the same park, and out of nowhere, Latoya convinced me to “hold” the bags for her. Said she had to go find Craig real quick. “If people come up, don’t give them any problems,” she explained. “Soon as you see their money, give them what they need. Ten bills each.”

  She handed me four bags. Without hesitation, I stuffed them in the pocket of my baggy red sweatpants. Latoya bounced. Five minutes later, two customers rolled up. “What you want?” I asked. The tallest of the two asked “What you got?” Me not knowing what to do, I just pulled out a bag and said, “Ten dollars.” The tall guy pulled out a shield and says, “You’re under arrest.” Bagged up on the spot. Latoya long gone. I was taken to the local precinct. Then off I went to Family Court, where I already had a file on me just for being a foster child. My case was pending because of the Memorial Day holiday. So I had to stay locked up in a cell on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, being told when to eat, sleep, shower, talk—it was one of the worst experiences of my life, locked up with eighty other girls on some stupid random decision I made. Lucky for me, I wasn’t carrying too much weight. So I got off on probation. But a weekend and a day in jail was more than enough for me to stay far away from weed—for good.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe you tripping so hard,” exclaimed Naleejah, as we stood on the corner of Malcom X. “You act like I just copped a kilo of cocaine!”

  I didn’t bother to snap back. At the moment, I was too busy thinking about this new friendship … or was this friendship? I’m saying, would Naleejah have something new and dirty up her sleeve every time we hung out? I actually believed her when she said store. The silly broad shouldn’t say store when she really meant spot—why not give me the chance to decide whether I want to be down or not? It’s called common courtesy. I was so tired of her surprises, and of her treating me like I’m some soft chick with no clue.

  I stared hard at Naleejah and said, “I thought I was your homegirl. Why couldn’t you just tell me you were going to cop weed?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Naleejah uncaringly. She didn’t even look at me when she said it.

  I was pissed. Tempted to go home, but too bored to go home. So I mentally shrugged and carried on with Ms. Liar.

  “Oooh, I got the munchies,” Naleejah suddenly exclaimed.

  “The munchies already?” I said sarcastically. “But you didn’t even puff yet.”

  “Shut up!” Naleejah laughed. “Anyway, what do you want from the store?”

  “Sunflower seeds,” I said, quickly whipping out my own dollar bill. I didn’t want to hear those three awful words—I got you—ever again.

  “Okay, I’m getting me some peanut chews and a cherry Blow Pop.”

  We entered a bona fide store and copped our candy. And when we came back outside, I suddenly decided to call it a night, even though the sun was still shining high in the sky.

  Naleejah hiked up her eyebrows. “But we were just getting started!”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Are you mad at me or something?”

  “No,” I said. I didn’t have the heart to tell Naleejah that yeah, I was mad, that she had gotten on my last nerve, that her walks-to-nowhere honestly sucked, and that her weed-spot scam was really foul—not to mention, less than a few hours ago, I almost got my butt beat down by Tyesha partly because of her, and I had on shoes that were stolen partly because of her. Listen, I was ready to part ways with t
his girl. Quick!

  “Are we still friends?” Naleejah asked, suddenly looking pitiful.

  “Girl, stop tripping,” I said. “It’s not that serious.”

  “You don’t even want to go back and see about Charles?”

  “Some other time,” I said. “My head hurts.” And this wasn’t a complete lie. Naleejah had given me a headache.

  Besides, as much as I wanted to see Charles, there’s a difference between desire and desperation. You should never want a guy more than he wants you. Now, that’s the law.

  “Okay, Kate … hope you feel better.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call you tomorrow.” But no. I wasn’t planning to call Naleejah tomorrow. Yeah, I got tricks up my sleeves too. I can lie through my teeth too. Besides, she was the main one talking about, “We don’t have to speak every day.” Well, guess what, I couldn’t agree more. I’d call her when I felt like it, and not a minute before.

  Chapter 17

  When I came home, I found the surprise of my life lying on my bed: a brand-new life book … from Lynn? She had left a Post-it note that read: “Ted told me you needed a new book. Make sure you fill it up.” She even drew a smiley face.

  I frowned. This wasn’t the best time to be receiving a peace offering. How could I feel good about myself, when I was feeling so shady and foul? I had just stolen a pair of shoes, and Lynn was finally deciding to be nice to me? Terrible timing, right?

  Hard as it was, I pushed the shoe incident to the back of my mind. Brushed my shoulders off and concentrated on the book in front of me. It was beautiful with its pink cover and white satin ribbons decorating the spine. Inside, there were stickers, stamps, and black felt letters of the alphabet for putting captions underneath pictures. I went into my closet to grab my dusty old life book. I removed my honor roll certificate and carefully placed it in the plastic sleeve of my spanking new book. STAR STUDENT. Now it was official. I wondered if I should keep my old crappy book for old times’ sake. After a quick debate, I said nah, no use hanging on to a book that stayed empty. I dumped it in the trash. A new beginning.