Home Girl

by Alex Wheatle

  “Nope.”

  She then stubbed her cancer stick out although it was only half-smoked. She looked at the cards in my hands. “What’s it gonna be, Naoms?”

  “Twist,” I replied.

  My next card was the four of spades. I counted my total. Fifteen.

  Kim leaned forward. Her eyes locked on mine. Today, she bragged silver eyeliner and mustard-colored lipstick. Our noses nearly touched. Her tobacco breath polluted my nostrils. “You sticking?” she asked.

  I thought about it.

  “Well? What’s the play?”

  “Twist,” I said.

  I picked up the eight of clubs and shook my head. Kim laid her two cards down faceup. She had the ten of diamonds and the queen of spades. I screwed up my face.

  “What you got?” she asked. Her mouth curled ready for victory.

  I closed my eyes and cussed bad words under my breath.

  “Come on!” said Kim. “Show your hand.”

  I dropped my cards on to the bed. “I’m bust.”

  “Five losses,” said Kim. “You’re at mega-dare o’clock or super-beats o’clock. Choose which way to die.”

  “You punch like a crusty man,” I said.

  “Then go for a dare.”

  “I’m not spitting at anything. And I’m not doing anything to jump on Samantha’s tits. Don’t want my TV on lockdown anymore. I won’t be able to watch my DVDs.”

  “Who says I’m gonna ask you to spit at anything?”

  “Then what?” I asked.

  Kim thought about it and smiled a devious smile.

  Monkey in the witches’ pot.

  “Don’t know why, Naoms, but you’re always saying that you wanna find a guy when you’re fifteen. That’s not too far off.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “that’s the program.”

  Kim side-eyed me. “So you wanna link up with him and later on be a mum to his screaming babies, right? And then live happily ever after. It’s all very Walt Disney but that’s what you’re always on about, right?”

  “Er, yeah,” I replied. “What’s that got to do with a dare?”

  Kim moved up close to me. “If you wanna get one of the good bruvs,” she said, “one of the decent ones who stays with ya and doesn’t hot-leg it to another bitch, you’re gonna have to learn to do certain things.”

  “Like what?”

  Kim side-eyed me again.

  Where’s this going?

  “First of all, you’re gonna have to learn how to kiss him right,” she said. “You have to get that down. Have you ever smacked tongues with a bruv before?”

  I haven’t kissed anyone before. I didn’t even peck my mum or dad on the cheek. My fam weren’t like that.

  I dunno why I took the longest time in answering. “Er . . . no. Haven’t met a bruv that could stir my love cells yet.”

  Kim grinned a dangerous grin. “Then your mega dare is to let me teach you how to kiss on point.”

  What did she say? I scoped her for a very long second, but she wasn’t playing.

  “It’s easy once you know how,” she said. “Trust me, by the time I finish with ya, you’ll be curling tongues like how they do at the end of lame rom-coms. Bruvs won’t be able to sample enough of ya.”

  “You’re gonna teach me? Nats won’t love that. She . . . she definitely won’t love that. And I don’t swing that—”

  Kim shook her head and busted a little chuckle. “I’m only teaching you,” she explained, “so don’t hype it up. There will be no tongues. Nats won’t mind. We’re sistrens, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah, yeah, we’re sistrens.”

  “So stop getting your G-strings in a tangle,” Kim said. “This older chick who was here taught me. Trust me, Naoms, there’s nothing more tragic than when you first kiss a bruv and you mess it up slobbering all over him like some retarded hound. And you don’t wanna fill his gob with your spit.”

  “Of course I don’t,” I said.

  “But nuff girls make that mistake. They open their gobs, all this spit gushes out, and they end up monsooning the bruv’s tonsils.”

  I couldn’t kill my giggles but I was still worried about Nats. “But . . . but . . .”

  “And you don’t want your tongue drilling into his throat,” Kim cut me off. “Some girls kiss like they’re digging for oil. That’ll choke him and you might have to do some lifesaving shit on his ass. You think he’s gonna want to know you after that? Fruck no! He’s gonna hotfoot it outta there and leave you standing like a statue with a mad pout. Trust me, Naoms, you don’t want that on your personal résumé.”

  “No,” I agreed.

  “Happened to me once, Naoms. It was mega embarrassing. I didn’t go out of my gates for ages. I wish I had known what to do. Trust me, luck blessed my skin when this older chick taught me. Nancy Skellington was her name—pretty chick. She had a top half to claw eyes out for but her legs were kinda broad. You could’ve put babies to sleep on her calf muscles.”

  “All right then,” I nodded. “What . . . what d’you want me to do?”

  “Wait a sec,” said Kim. “Let me clear the bed.”

  Picking up the ashtray, she emptied the butts out the window. She didn’t check if anyone stepped by on the sidewalk below.

  “Why didn’t you empty it into your bin?” I asked.

  “Cos Samantha would have the evidence that I’m smoking.”

  “But she knows you’re blazing fagarettes anyway.”

  Kim collected the cards and pushed them into their cardboard box before rejoining me on the bed. “Put your head at an angle,” she instructed.

  I did as I was told. It felt strange. Am I really gonna do this? Never thought I’d bump lips with a chick. But it’s best I know what to do. Don’t want decent bruvs hot-toeing it away from me. And she said Nats wouldn’t mind.

  “Not that much of an angle,” said Kim. “You’ll give yourself a crooked neck. Won’t look good when you slurp him and you end up in a neck brace. That’ll be well sad . . . A little straighter.”

  I readjusted. I looked at Kim hoping I had it right.

  “That’s perfecto,” she said. “Now, relax and close your eyes. When you feel my lips, don’t chew ’em off and don’t suck ’em like it’s a fat cough drop. Just go with whatever motion I do, okay? Take it slowly. Don’t rush it.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I shut my eyes. My heart woke up and left-hooked my ribs. It still feels weird. Doesn’t seem right. But it’s a dare. That’s all. Just a dare. It’s not a biggie. Don’t set fire to your stress cells, Naoms. It’s one of the things teenage chicks have to learn to get the ticks and ratings into womanhood.

  Kim placed her hand behind my head. “Your mouth follows mine, right. Go with the flow. Keep your eyes closed.”

  I nodded.

  Her lips brushed mine and then she pulled away. I stayed still and kept my eyes closed. “Just go with the flow,” she said. Her voice was softer. My lips felt dry. Is it too late to slap on some lip balm or something? Nah, go with the flow.

  She kissed me a dose harder, forcing my mouth open. Her lipstick tingled my senses. I sniffed perfume behind her ears. I half opened my eyes for a short second but didn’t move my lips. Kim pushed my head firmer into hers. She was sort of opening and half closing her mouth. Then I felt her tongue gate-crash into my mouth. It curled around my own tongue. We swapped saliva. I gulped and swallowed. It creeped the fillings outta me.

  My body stiffened. My heartbeat vibrated inside my throat. It felt off-key so I opened my eyes. Kim still held the back of my head, pushing her face into mine. Her eyes were still closed. I felt a hand on my breast and then a squeeze. For a long second I froze. Only my toes moved.

  Naoms, Colleen would shake a big no on this one. You gotta quit. She’s taking liberties. But she’s my sistren? No, she’s not! If she was my sistren she’d keep her paws to herself.

  I pulled away. “What the fruck you doing?”

  Leaping off the bed, I made for the door
. Kim chased me. She tried to pull me back. I snapped my arm away.

  “Naoms, don’t . . . don’t go,” she stuttered. “Please.”

  For the first time since I had known her, I sensed some kinda weakness in Kim’s eyes. Couldn’t explain it.

  “Please don’t go, Naoms,” she said. “I’ve . . . I’ve liked you forever. I . . . I thought you knew. I’ve been dropping nuff hints.”

  What’s she saying? What does she mean? She knows I like guys. She needs to drink some reality juice.

  I spun around, fiddled with the key, opened the door, and high-toed to my room on the next floor. I locked the door behind me and grabbed my meerkat from my pillow. I crashed on my bed and held the meerkat tight against my chest. I closed my eyes when I heard a mad banging on my door.

  “Naoms! Naoms! I’m sorry. I got carried away. It won’t happen again. Trust me.”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Let me in!” shouted Kim. “Let’s talk. I’m super sorry. I thought you were into me.”

  Why would she think that? It’s not like I’ve been scoping her butt for the longest time. She’s got Nats. Why she wanna slurp tongues with an extra? Nats loves her to the core . . . I pulled on my shoes.

  “Naoms! Come on! It’s me! Your best sistren. We’re soul bloods. You know that. Nats and me are on our end credits. I’m waiting for the right time to tell her. You know I’ll always have your spine. Open the freaking door.”

  “Leave me the fruck alone!”

  I tied my laces.

  “I was just doing what a bruv would do,” said Kim. “Didn’t mean to upset ya. Sorry it went a bit extreme but I just wanted you to know what it’s like and what a hungry bruv might try. They’re all like that.”

  “D’you expect me to believe that fruckery? What dragon pills d’you think I’m taking?”

  “Let me explain, Naoms. Please.”

  I pulled open a drawer in my bedside cabinet. I grabbed some cash and pushed it into my jeans pocket. I took out my phone from another pocket and scrolled down to Emily. My hands shook and I couldn’t punch the right buttons on my first attempt. I tried again. “Pick it up! Pick it up!” I whispered.

  “Naoms!” Kim cried out.

  My call went into Emily’s voice mail. No branches for monkey to swing on. “For fruck’s sake!” I waited for the bleep so I could begin my message. It seemed to take forever.

  “Naoms!” Kim shouted again.

  I pressed End Call. I took a mega breath and closed my eyes. When I opened them I went to the door. My heartbeat vibrated inside my toes. I swear it echoed along the floor. She’s been a good sistren but I have to drop it to her. Don’t mouse out, Naoms. Tell her straight.

  I opened the door. Kim’s eyes spilled with tears. Her cheeks had collapsed and her lips were doing this shakey-shake thing. I’d never seen her cry before. “Just frucking leave me alone!” I yelled.

  I bumped Kim aside and flash-heeled down the stairs. I reached the ground-floor hallway. Some Spanish-looking woman stood there adjusting the strap on her handbag. I paid her no mind and brushed by her.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “What’s the matter?” I repeated. “She stuck her tongue down my throat and touched me up! That’s what’s the frucking matter!”

  “What’s going on outside there?” Samantha called from her office. “What’s with all the shouting?”

  Someone came out of the kitchen. Nats. Oh God. Oh no! She gave me a long hard-curb, drain-corner glare. She’s gonna murk me. I couldn’t move. I closed my eyes but she slowly walked past me. Then she flew up the stairs. What have I done? I have to hot-step it outta here.

  I opened the front door and slammed it as hard as I could behind me. Samantha came out and was just about to launch a cuss attack on me but a mad shriek cut the air from above. I thought it was Kim. It was a horrible sound. I looked up to her bedroom window. The light shade swung. Shadows clashed. Something banged. Samantha quick-stepped back inside.

  I can’t stop for this drama. Gotta fly. Nats might wanna do me something grievous next.

  I hurried down the street till my lungs quit. It was a long road. I should’ve stopped smoking a long time ago. I covered two hundred meters or so till I pulled up and puffed hard. When my breathing got back on the level, I counted the funds I had. Twelve pounds sixty. Where am I gonna rest my bones? I can’t roll to Nan’s. That’ll be the first place where they’ll hunt for me. Let me try Emily again. Maybe she can come and get me and take me away with her. She might even let me go to Australia with her. It’ll all be nice sinking Coke, kicking back, and watching crocs chase kangaroos in Woola-Boola-Bong or somewhere. Her mum doesn’t have to know.

  I dinged Emily once more but her phone was still on answer mode. Damn. You haven’t got any friends, Naoms. No real sistrens. You’re all alone in this frucking cruel world. That’s how it is. That’s how it’ll always be.

  I speed-walked to the end of the road. When I got there this ambulance whooshed by me. It almost launched into orbit over the road ramp. Its sirens screamed. Oh God! I hope it’s not for Kim or Nats. I thought about going back but I couldn’t. Truth be told, my want-to-live cells didn’t want me to. I turned left and then took a right that led to Ashburton High Street. I stepped into an off-license and bought a liter bottle of Coke. The miserable man behind the counter took my funds. I parked on a red bench at a bus stop and thought about high-footing it back to the Goldings’.

  Nah, Louise and Samantha would sniff me out there and I don’t want them on my radar for now. They’ll probably slap a Parcelforce label on my butt and fax me back to the unit. What if Kim denies she tried to kiss me and feel me up? Can’t deal with that. Have to think. I’m not going back tonight. Not going back anywhere. I’m gonna go ghost on ’em. Fruck ’em all.

  A 133 bus pulled up. Its final destination was North Crongton. My brain quick-flicked through my options. Before the doors closed, I jumped on. The female Asian driver smiled at me. I didn’t return it. I paid my fare, bounced up to the top deck, and parked on the backseat. There were only seven other passengers around me. One was a mixed-race guy with a super-duper Afro who sat two seats ahead of me. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at me. I ignored him and stared out the window. I opened my bottle of Coke and let it fizz before sinking a quarter of it.

  There weren’t any friendly peeps out there. There wasn’t anyone who I could trust. When the fat lady has had her cocoa and is ready to crash, I haven’t got anybody who I can depend on in this frucked-up world. I might as well find some grimy spot, curl up, and let the earwigs have their way. What have I got to live for?

  The bus slow-wheeled through the traffic. It picked up a bit of speed as we left South Ashburton and joined North Crongton Road. There were fields, bushes, and trees on either side. Maybe I should get off here and find a tree to crash under. Nah, I don’t want worms crawling all over my business in the morning. I hate freaking worms and I don’t wanna be an ugly corpse. I’m sure I can find an empty slab in North Crongton to crash for the night. They won’t find me there.

  It had just gone past eight thirty p.m.

  For some reason, Mum gate-crashed into my head. I tried to boot her out and delete her from my memory cells but it was no use. The front doorbell kept ringing on that one.

  I was back inside our flat. Back to that dreadful day.

  Dad tried to keep me out of the bathroom but I saw medical peeps in day-glo uniforms lift Mum out of the bath. Their surgical gloves were stained with her blood. Their eyes were empty. They might as well have been carrying out a mannequin. My screams bruised my tonsils. Dad couldn’t hold onto me. I scrambled up to her and told her to wake up. No response. I tried again, this time splitting my vocal chords. She looked very peaceful—the most calm I had ever seen her. Even when she slept she had stress lines crisscrossing her face. Wake up! Nothing.

  Apart from me, everyone else was composed. There was no rush. It all happened in slow motion. They put he
r in a black body bag.

  Maybe she couldn’t take any more. Maybe that’s the way I’ll go. The girls in my fam don’t last too long—except Nan. I’ll find a beer bottle or something, smash it, and then red-sketch my wrists with it. I hope it’s not too painful. When Mum did it, I didn’t hear her squeal.

  * * *

  I looked out of the bus window as we neared North Crongton. I imagined that the Man Upstairs created these ends on a wet Sunday. I got off the bus at the final stop. Some bruv with a scraggly beard was giving out newspapers. There was a row of shops beside the bus terminal. I stepped into a food mart and bought a bottle of beer and a packet of bourbons. The man behind the counter didn’t even look at me, let alone ask me my age. The liquor was the brand my dad used to buy.

  I wonder where that waster is tonight? He might sober up when he hears the get-down about me. Mind you, he might use it as a reason to sink even more liquor. I remembered his lame excuse: It helps me get through the day.

  Walking along North Crongton High Street, I swigged my beer on the way. Rough sleepers had already taken up their bookings in shop doorways. Graffiti squiggled up every bus stop and wall that I passed. A small n within a bigger C. I wondered what that meant.

  I spotted tall buildings in the distance so I headed toward them. There was a spit of rain in the air. I should’ve brought my hoodie.

  Kim told me once that in Crongton, dangerous peeps swaggered with swords and machine guns. The murk rate was one young bruv every two weeks. Every six months or so, some gangster chick would get deleted too. They’d usually get murked or raped for snitching or blasted in a gone-wrong drive-by. That didn’t scare me anymore. I nibbled my bourbons, slurped my beer, and stepped on.

  I came to a stop at a row of black-painted garages behind a couple of long tower slabs. One of ’em was open so I made for it. The pull-down door was dented and the handle was broken. Paint tins were piled in a corner. There were bits of wood, broken chairs, and ripped cushions on the floor. Flies buzzed around a grimy stain near the back. The place stank of piss and mold but I didn’t care. I sat down against a wall, put my bottle of beer in front of me, and stared at it.

  Two minutes later, I smashed the bottle, drained away the beer, and held the glass in my hand. I stared at my reflection. I’m fourteen years old. My future was frucked up before I was even born. What a frigged-up, sad grime of a life I’ve had. If there is a man or a woman upstairs, they need to come down to earth quick-time and start listening to prayers from young peeps like me on the streets—not those who roll to church, synagogues, and mosques in their best clothes, name-brand handbags, and their nice clippety-clop shoes. They don’t need any friggin’ help. And most young peeps only care about the ratings they get on their social media selfies and what brand of shoes Kim Kardashian’s smoking on her red carpets. This world and its mum can go and fruck themselves.