The Girl of His Dreams

by Amir Abrams

  “I gotta get to homeroom,” LuAnna finally tells Cease, still eyein’ me on the low. “But I’ma see you around.”

  Cease scoops her up in his arms and gives her a hug. “That’s wassup, ma.” They go back and forth for a few minutes more while Chantel and I kick it.

  I step up on her, lean up into her ear, then say real low, “So what’s good? When you gonna let me get that goody?”

  She grins, twirlin’ a curl from her weave, then tuckin’ it behind her ear. “I don’t know. I thought you had a girl.”

  “Nah. I don’t. Not anymore.”

  “Well, what about that crazy chick I saw you with over the summer? I can’t think of her name, but she goes here too.”

  Of course she’s talkin’ ’bout Quanda since that’s who she saw me wit’ at the mall when she was coppin’ me them new Jordans and a fitted to match. “Ain’t nuthin’. I got rid of that problem. I’m single, baby.”

  She smirks. “Oh, for real?”

  I stroke her cheek. “Yeah. Now I’m tryna see what’s really good wit’ you. I’m tryna make you mine.”

  She laughs, playfully swattin’ my arm. “Whatever, Tone. Trust me. I’ve already heard all about them nasty things you do.”

  I rub my chin and grin. Chicks stay runnin’ their mouths so I already know she got the scoop on my sex game. And, I know she wanna find out if what she’s heard is all true. “Well, uh, don’t believe e’erything you hear,” I tease. “Some things you need to find out for ya’self, feel me?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I bet nasty stuff’s all you think about, too.”

  “Nah. That’s not all I think about. But, yeah, I ain’t gonna front. It ain’t no secret I likes to get it in. And right now, I’m tryna set things up so I can get it in wit’ you.”

  She waves me on, shakin’ her head, tellin’ me how crazy I am. Then hits me wit’ some BS ’bout not bein’ that kinda girl. That she doesn’t have sex just to be havin’ it; that she only gets it in wit’ her man, after they’ve been chillin’ for a minute.

  I laugh at how retarded she sounds, tryna play like she’s a Miss Goody Two-shoes. “Yo, sounds like you be watchin’ too much Oprah, boo.”

  She sucks her teeth, playfully rollin’ her eyes. I already know she’s only talkin’ that dumb ish ’cause LuAnna’s standin’ there, practically tryna ear hustle in on our convo.

  I lean into her ear and whisper, “You got me goin’ through it, ma.”

  She steps back from me, grinnin’. “You’re such a flirt. And a sex hound.”

  I slip my hand to her waist, then her hip, where it stays. “Nah, I’m keepin’ it a hunnid, ma. I’m tryna be your hound. I want you.”

  She smiles. “I bet you say—”

  LuAnna shoots a look over at us, squintin’ her eyes. “C’mon, girl,” she says, cuttin’ Chantel off while walkin’ over and pullin’ her by the arm. I smirk. I know what it is. She’s tryna block. She ain’t beat to let Chantel get what she wants, first. “We need to go. I’m not tryna hear Ms. Dayton’s mouth first thing this morning for being late to homeroom on the first day of school. You know how she is.”

  Chantel agrees, glancin’ at me. “Yeah, you’re right. We need to get going. I’ll see you later.”

  “Yo, hol’ up. Before you bounce, let me get ya digits.” I pull out my iPhone and hand it to her so she can put her number in. She doesn’t hesitate grabbin’ my phone, and hittin’ me wit’ them digits, like I knew she would. “A’ight, bet. I’ma holla.”

  They say their good-byes, then step. Cease and I crane our necks as they swish their hips off toward their lockers. “That Chantel chick’s feelin’ you hard, fam. I peeped the way she was checkin’ you, lettin’ you feel all up on her body. Yo, she’s real ripe ’n’ ready for a good pluckin’.”

  “I already know. And I’ma give it to her real good, too. But she mad flat in the back, though.” I shake my head.

  Cease laughs, then starts whinin’ as we climb up three flights of stairs toward our lockers. “Man, this don’t make no sense,” he complains as we climb the steps. “Who in the heck puts lockers up on the fourth floor when most of our classes are on the second and third floors?”

  “Uh, correction, yo. All your classes are down on the second and third floors. All my classes are up on the fourth.” The fourth floor is mostly honors and advanced placement classes.

  “Whatever, man. We all know you’re an undercover nerd.”

  I laugh. “Whatever, yo. Don’t hate, bruh.” He starts goin’ in ’bout havin’ to walk so far. I tell ’im to stop complainin’. “After all the bud you done smoked over the summer, you need the exercise. It’ll clear ya lungs. Besides, it’s a good warm-up to preseason conditionin’.”

  He groans. “I’m sure Coach is gonna kill us in practices. Oh, snap. I meant to ask you. What’s good wit’ that lil biscuit you snatched up last week at the mall, yo? She was lookin’ right. She let you beat that thing-thing up, yet?”

  “Nah, son. I told her I’m not tryna marry her, just test-drive that booty.”

  He keeps laughin’. “Yo, I heard that. So what she say after that?”

  “What who said after what?” I hear as I step up to my locker and start twirlin’ the combination to my lock. It’s Quanda, wearin’ this tight-fittin’, low-cut white shirt, a short plaid skirt, white knee-high stockin’s and black heels, lookin’ like a fake Catholic school girl. Her long weave, with short bangs, is hangin’ down her back, brushin’ the top of her butt cheeks. This broad stay frontin’ like she’s Indian.

  “Yo, what’s good, Quanda?” Cease says, pullin’ open his locker. “How was ya summer?”

  She rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t speak to me, boy.” She turns her back to him, placin’ a hand up on her hip as she leans her fine frame up against the bank of lockers.

  Cease laughs, shakin’ his head.

  She shoots him a look. “Annnnyway, beat it!” Oh, and did I mention this broad’s a loudmouth headache. And she loves drama—lots of it. But wit’ a name like Quandaleesha why would I, or anyone else, expect anything less?

  “A’ight, yo,” I say to Cease, stuffin’ my book bag in my locker, then shuttin’ the door. “I’ll get at you durin’ lunch period.”

  “A’ight, bet,” he says, walkin’ off.

  Quanda’s starin’ at me, lookin’ mad tight. “Why you unfriend and block me on Facebook?”

  I sigh. “ ’Cause you be buggin’, yo.”

  She puts a hand up on her hip. “Oh, puhleeze. How am I buggin’, boy? You the one buggin’ for breakin’ up with me.”

  I suck my teeth, walkin’ off toward my homeroom. “Yo, you can stand here and play stupid if you want, but I don’t have time for this.”

  “Well, you better make time, boo-boo,” she says, walkin’ up behind me wit’ a hand up on her hip, “ ’cause if you think you’re gonna dump me and move on to the next chick, you got another think comin’. I already beat up one of your lil hoes at the rink last weekend. And you already know I have no problem doin’ it again. Now that we back in school, you are not gonna be tryna play me with none of these hoes up in here. So go ’head and be up in some other chick’s face and see what happens. You’ve been warned.”

  “Yo, whatever,” I say, walkin’ into homeroom just as the bell rings.

  3

  Antonio

  By fourth-period lunch, mad heads are talkin’ ’bout this new biscuit, wit’ the stacked cakes and light brown eyes, floatin’ ’round the buildin’. They’re goin’ on and on ’bout her small waist and long, sexy legs, and monster booty, talkin’ ’bout she’s supermodel fine. I mean, these thirsty mofos are pumpin’ her up to be some real live dime-piece that I have yet to lay my eyes on. So until I see it for myself, I ain’t beat to believe the hype. I pull out my phone and hit Chantel real quick wit’ a text tellin’ her I wanna get at her after school. I slide my phone back down into my pocket.

  “Yo, fam, word is bond,” Cease says, tryna convince me h
ow bad she is as he’s chompin’ on sunflower seeds. “I’m tellin’ you, yo. I don’t know who she is, or where she came from, but I’m tryna find out, fast, ya heard?” He tells me she’s in his third-period biology class. “Man, listen. Nobody could stop eyein’ her. Even Mr. Greene wit’ his old azz kept starin’ at ’er.”

  I laugh. Mr. Greene is like a hunnid years old. Well, not really. But he looks it. And his wife is mad young, like in her thirties or somethin’. She’s like his fourth or fifth wife. And he already has three kids wit’ her. But like eight or nine other kids wit’ his other wives. Cease and I joke ’bout how he’s old as dirt, and how he’s old enough to be most of his kids’ grandfather.

  “That old dude stays snatchin’ up chicks.”

  “Yeah, man; even in them old-azzzz suits he stays rockin’. Mr. Greene’s one of them old-school players for real, yo.”

  It’s just me ’n’ Cease sittin’ at the table right in the middle of the cafeteria so we can see who’s comin’ ’n’ goin’ and what’s ’bout to pop off. By the end of the week, our table will be packed wit’ all the popular heads at the school. And e’eryone else who wants to be in our space will be at the tables closest to ours. That’s just how it is. The first two days of school peeps are just tryna get back into the groove, then it’s block-party central up in this piece.

  “Anyway, yo. Back to shorty. I’m tellin’ you, fam, she’s bad as hell.” He shakes his head, leanin’ up in his seat. “Wait ’til you see her, fam.”

  “She’s probably hidin’ what she really looks like under two coats of face paint. Chicks stay ODin’ on makeup. They be havin’ their faces three shades lighter than the rest of their bodies.”

  He laughs. “Yo, you stupid, fam. You right, yo ’bout chicks packin’ on all that face paste, but you dead wrong ’bout this one, son.”

  “Nah, real rap, bruh. She’s prolly some insecure, butt-ugly broad wit’ crooked teeth who gotta wear a buncha war paint to cover up her battle scars.”

  “Nah, fam. No makeup. No crooked teeth, from what I could tell. No nothin’, just straight-up all natural. Real talk, son. She’s hot like fire. I’m tellin’ you, yo. Wait ’til you see her. Twenty bucks says you’re gonna drool.”

  “Oh, word? Ya cheap azz bettin’, then I def gotta check for this broad ’cause we both know how tight you try holdin’ on to ya paper.”

  He starts laughin’. “Word up, fam. She’s hot like that. First chance I get to holla at her, I’m goin’ in for the kill. So, fall back, son. I got first dibs on that.”

  “Yo, whatever, man. You already know what it is. If she’s as fine as you say, it’s e’ery playboy for himself.”

  “Yo, that’s what it is, then.”

  “Well, she must be a freshman or sophomore,” I say, eyein’ Quanda as she heads toward our table, “’cause she’s not in this lunch period wit’ us.” I shake my head, sighin’. “This broad,” I mumble under my breath, but Cease catches it.

  “Who?” he asks, lookin’ over his shoulder in her direction. “Aah, say no more. All I can say is I’m glad she’s your headache and not mine. That girl’s nuts, man. My peeps told me how she stalked the last dude she was effen wit’.”

  I frown. “Mofo, fine time for you to tell me—after the fact.”

  He laughs. “Yo, I ain’t know, man. Word is bond. You said ya pops told you not to eff wit’ her from the rip. But you did anyway.” He shrugs. “So I guess that’s what you get for not listenin’.”

  I cringe as she stops at one of the tables where six girls are sittin’—three of ’em are seniors; the other three are juniors. Only two of ’em are worth givin’ second glances to. And of one ’em, I’ve already tapped up. So she’s a no-go. I don’t do repeats. Once I smash it, then dismiss it, there are no second chances. Goin’ back, tryin’ it again, ain’t what I do. Quanda leans in, says somethin’ to ’em, then points over in my direction. They all shift their gazes at me. I act like I don’t peep it, shiftin’ in my seat.

  “Don’t remind me, yo. Did you see that craziness she posted on my wall this mornin’?”

  “Nah, man. I missed it. You know I ain’t on the Book like that anymore. What she post this time?” I tell ’im, then tell ’im about this mornin’ in the hall. He shakes his head. “Damn, son, you got that girl hooked.”

  “Yeah, on stupid,” I say, feelin’ myself gettin’ heated. “She needs to get a life, quick. I hope she finds a hobby or somethin’ ’cause, man, I ain’t beat for her craziness all school year.”

  He laughs, twistin’ off the cap of his Sprite. “Yo, she already gotta hobby, son—you!” He places the bottle to his lips and gulps it down, then lets out a loud burp.

  I frown, reachin’ for his bag of sunflower seeds. “Whatever, yo. She needs to find another one, word is bond. I ain’t beat. It’s a wrap. First day of school and she’s already at it tryna get some mess started. I swear she’s a real bit . . .” My voice trails off as I spot this mad sexy shorty strut through the cafeteria doors, lookin’ like she stepped off a video or magazine shoot. “Daaaaayum, who is that right there?”

  Damn . . . she’s fiiiiyah!

  Cease cranes his neck, then hops up, gettin’ all amped. “Yo, son, that’s the shorty I was tellin’ you about. What I tell you, yo? She’s hot to death. Check out that body, yo.”

  I keep my eyes on her as she walks over toward the salad bar. She’s this caramel-skinned cutie, rockin’ some lil slinky black dress thingy that’s wrapped ’round her body. She’s definitely not from around here dressin’ like that. Real rap. She’s takin’ hood fly to another level. I lick my lips. Damn! From what I can see, she got killer curves. The kind of body I wanna get up on and run my hands all over. My eyes zoom in on her juicy-apple bottom, and, no lie, I feel myself gettin’ lightheaded. She’s the truth! But I peep I ain’t the only one checkin’ this fine honey out. They all see what I see. She’s that chick! Hands down, she got the whole cafeteria on pause. Kats are snappin’ their necks to get a second look at her. Chicks are eyein’ her, hard. Even Quanda does a double-take as she walks by, then gives her the evil eye. Oh yeah. Whoever she is, she’s gonna be a real problem, fo’ sho!

  I keep my eyes on her as she struts her sexiness over to the cashier, her hair bouncin’ ’n’ swingin’ past her shoulder blades. She tucks her hair behind her ears, then reaches into her bag and pays for her salad. As quickly as she appeared, she disappears out the cafeteria doors.

  I almost wanna get up and run after her, but I’m not about to play myself like some thirsty mofo, especially when I can have any girl I want. Besides, I can already tell she’s used to kats gettin’ all up in her ear. I’ma just chill, and when the time is right, she’ll be tryna holla at me. Just like the rest of ’em.

  And if she is a freshman, as fine as she is, I just might have to break my no-freshman rule and make her an exception.

  Cease has a big smirk on his face.

  “What?” I say, frownin’ at him.

  He laughs, tossin’ me two napkins. “I’m waitin’ for you to wipe up the drool from ya lip ’n’ chin, fam.”

  I wave him on, shiftin’ in my seat. “Man, go ’head wit’ that dumbness. Ain’t nobody droolin’ over that broad. I mean. She’s a’ight-lookin’. But she ain’t nothin’ to be gettin’ all nutty over. You fiends were goin’ in like she was a ten or somethin’.”

  “Tone, man, cut it out, yo. You stylin’ for real, son. That biscuit is fine so stop frontin’. She is a ten. Wait ’til you see her up close ’n’ personal.”

  I shrug. “From here, that body’s right. But I couldn’t really see her face.”

  He keeps laughin’. “Yo, whatever. Save that bull. I peeped how your eyes almost popped outta ya skull the minute you spotted her. So you can front if you want. But I already know what it is.”

  My boy was right. I was frontin’, like crazy. He knows I can spot a beauty a mile away. And that lil sexy mama is the truth. I open the cap of my Vitaminwater, then take a swig. “Man, what
ever,” I say, wipin’ my mouth wit’ the back of my hand. “Ain’t nobody even thinkin’ ’bout that broad like that.”

  “Good,” he says, bitin’ into his cheeseburger. He looks up at me and shakes his head as I guzzle down my drink. He talks ’n’ chews. “Yo, you stay drinkin’ that sugar water. You do know there’s nuthin’ healthy ’bout that drink, right? You keep drinkin’ that mess and I’ma start callin’ you Sweet T.”

  “Yeah, a’ight, Meathead. And get ya chin checked. Ain’t nuthin’ sweet ’bout me, yo.”

  He starts laughin’. “Ninja, you soft as cotton.” He lifts his right arm up and flexes his bicep. “You see this, son? Rock solid, bruh. And I hit hard.”

  “Hahahaha. You mad funny, yo. But you already know what it is.” I pull out my phone as it vibrates. I glance at the screen. I have a new text. “Yo, Chantel just hit me up,” I say as I open her text message.

  “Oh, word? What she talkin’ ’bout?”

  I laugh. “What you think, fool? She comin’ through later.”

  “Yo, what I tell you, son?” he says, givin’ me dap. “I told you she was checkin’ for you.”

  “Man, she ain’t really my flavor, but I’ma give her a mouthful of this log.”

  He cracks up laughin’. “Yo, fam, you wild. That broad’s mad freaky, bruh.”

  “Man, listen. I’m only givin’ her what she wants. And I always aim to please.”

  I text back: come 2 my crib after skool

  Five minutes later, she texts back: wat x?

  I shake my head. That dumb broad. I text: wtf, yo?! Don’t play. Wat time u think? RIGHT after skool, yo!!!

  I slip my phone back into my pocket. These broads stay playin’ stupid.

  4

  Miesha

  Ooh , the haterade is on full-blast! All around me, hoes whisper as I strut by in my wears—a black knit jersey dress and black, six-inch strappy heels. And so what if my booty is bouncing real lovely as I click my way through the halls, causing all the boys to snap their necks. Point is, I’m not here for any of these tricks. And I’m definitely not thinking about any of these little boys. Chicks are phony. And, most boys are straight-up dogs. I’m not beat for either. Matter of fact, I don’t even wanna be at this dumb, ghetto school. But I am. Already I can tell I’ma have problems. And ninety-nine reasons to go upside a ho’s head.