The Girl of His Dreams

by Amir Abrams

  She shrugs. “Okay. But if you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me. Toodles.” And with that said, she spins off on her heels, shaking her hips down the hall. And I step through the door of my homeroom just as the bell rings.

  “Soooooo, a group of us are going out to the mall after school today. You wanna chill with us? I personally don’t really care for Newport Mall ’cause they don’t have any of the high-end stores I like. But whatever. I go to hang out.”

  I roll my eyes up in my head, shutting my locker door. Oh my god, not this messy broad, again! Of all the chicks this broad can cling to, why-oh-why is she tryna cling on to me? “No. I can’t,” I lie. Truth is, I don’t want to. But I don’t really have the heart to come outta my face and tell her this. “Maybe some other time. I have a lot of homework to do. And a test I have to study for.”

  She pops her eyes open. “Study? Aren’t you a senior? Girl, who does that? You study the first three years of high school, boo. I have two study halls and all easy classes. Senior year is supposed to be fun. Not full of stress.”

  I eye her. “Says who? I don’t know about you, but I’m tryna get into college. And failing classes or tests in my last year isn’t what I do.”

  “Well, come out to the mall with us for a few hours, bug out, then go home and study. All work and no play makes for a very boring life.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll pass.”

  “Oh, c’mon. It’ll be fun. I know you gotta be bored outta your mind just sitting up in your house all by yourself. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  I sigh. “Look, hun. Keep it real. Why are you so pressed to be friends with me, huh?”

  She shrugs. “Well, for starters, you seem like a cool girl. And since no one else seems to like you—from what the other girls say about you—”

  I blink. “Listen. These hookers here can think what they like about me. I’m not pressed. Trust.”

  “Girl, don’t worry about it. They’re just haters; that’s all. They used to hate on me, too, until I sliced this girl in her face with a razor in seventh grade. I mean, yeah. I got locked up and had to go to juvie behind it. And I was kicked outta school for the rest of the year, but so what? I did her face real dirty and she left me alone after that. And I won’t even tell you about the girl I stabbed in the forehead with a fork because she kept trying me. Anyway, the point is, these chicks think I’m a little crazy so they don’t screw with me, unless I screw one of their boyfriends.” She laughs.

  A little crazy? You think? I blink. She talks a mile a minute as we walk through the fourth floor halls down toward the stairwell.

  “Anyway, girl, I’m not one to gossip. And you didn’t hear this from me. But Samantha’s mother’s a drunk and her father is locked up for drugs and robbery or something like that. That’s why she’s so miserable. And, Quanda”—she shakes her head—“is just plain ol’ stuck on boy crazy. And I do mean craaaazeeeee. She stalks all her boyfriends. Her latest stalker-fixation is Antonio Lopez.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Girl, have you seen him? Of course you have. He puts the f-i-n-e in fine, girl. And since I don’t believe in spreadin’ gossip, I’m not even gonna tell you just how many girls’ beds he’s been in. Too many. But they all stay talking about it and him. My advice: Stay far away from him unless you’re ready to battle it out.”

  My gawd. . . this girl’s a motor mouth. Her jaws just keep going and going. I wish she’d just shut. Up!

  “Well, she can have him. I don’t know him and don’t wanna know him. So I’m not interested. And I’m definitely not about to fight some girl over a boy. That’s not what I do.”

  As we turn the corner, walking past the multi-purpose area, I see that boy Justin coming down the hall. He’s heading in our direction, wearing a pair of blue shorts and a white cut-off with the words MCPHERSON HIGH across his chest. He’s all sweaty, like he’s been working out or something. “Oooh, and this one here,” she says, lowering her voice. “He can get it, girl. He’s such a stud muffin. Gobble, gobble. Ooh, I just wanna eat him up.”

  “Yo, wassup, Fiona?” he says, stepping in front of us. “What’s good, Miesha?”

  “Nothing much,” I say, trying not to stare at the sweat rolling down his face. He takes his towel from around his neck and wipes it dry.

  The Fiona chick licks her lips. “Hey, boo. Where’s ya muscle-head friend at?”

  He laughs. “Who? Tone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He should be out here soon. We just finished lifting, why?”

  “Ohhh, nothing,” she coos. “Just asking.” She turns to me, pulling out a Coach wallet. “Well, look. I gotta get going. But if you change your mind and wanna meet up”—she pulls out a card and hands it to me—“call me.”

  “Okay, cool.” She walks off down the hall, swinging her hips.

  Justin chuckles. “I see you’ve finally made a friend.”

  “I wouldn’t say all that.”

  He laughs. “Oh, right-right. I forgot. That’s not what you’re here for.”

  I grin. “Exactly.”

  “Yo, where you headed?” I tell him out to my car. “Cool, I’ll walk you.”

  “And I wonder what dumb mess somebody’s gonna make up this time,” I say, referring to the lie about him having sex with me out in the parking lot. When I confronted him about the gossip, he denied starting it. He might’ve just been a good liar, but his facial expression told me he didn’t do it. So I let it go.

  He shrugs. “So what. Let ’em say whatever they want. You know what’s really good; that’s all that matters. You know how haters are.”

  “Yeah, I do,” I say as we approach my car. I pull out my keys and disarm the alarm. He wants to know if I have any plans for tonight. I tell him no. He asks what time’s my curfew on school nights. “Eleven, why?”

  “I thought maybe you’d wanna go for a ride into the city or something.”

  New York! Oooh, this boy’s talking my talk. I grin. “Tonight?”

  “Yeah, like around”—he glances at his watch—“six-thirty, seven? I can scoop you up, and we can head over. It’s real nice outside, and it’s supposed to be nice out tonight, too. I just need to go home and take a shower and make sure my parents don’t need me to do anything.”

  I open the back door and toss my book bag onto the backseat, then open the driver’s side door. “Mmmm . . . and where you tryna take me?” He tells me he has a twenty-four-hour spot he wants to take me to over on Seventh Avenue, down in the Chelsea section of New York, called The Cafeteria. He says they have good food. And they might. But when I think of New York, the only thing I hear is Brooklyn, baby! And I do have a taste for a chicken patty and cocoa bread. “I have a better idea. Let’s go into Brooklyn instead. There’s a spot on Fulton Street that serves the best Jamaican food. You do like West Indian food, right?”

  “Yeah, no doubt. Let me get ya number.” He pulls out the new iPhone and hands it to me. I plug in my digits, then call it, handing his cell back to him. “Cool. Now you have my number as well.” As before, he holds open my door and waits for me to slide in behind the wheel, then shuts it as I let the window down. “A’ight, I’ma hit you up ’round six to get directions to ya crib. Get home safe.”

  “Thanks.” I slowly back outta my parking space. “And don’t even think you getting some, either.”

  He laughs. “Nah. I’m not even on it like that. I just wanna chill with you.”

  “Unh-huh. I bet you do.” I pull off just as Antonio is walking through the parking lot toward where Justin is standing, carrying a gym bag in one hand and his book bag in the other. He looks at me, but I act like I don’t see him, speeding right by.

  13

  Antonio

  It’s six o’clock in the evening and I’m up in my room, chillin’—kicked back in my boxers, blazin’ a blunt and listenin’ to that old school Jay-Z joint, “Can I Live” as it pumps outta my stereo while tryna finish up my Calculus homework
in between tryna read this James Baldwin book for AP English. Real rap. I can’t get into it. Can’t relate to it. It’s s’posed to be a story ’bout this fourteen-year-old dude, but there’s a buncha other stories told within his story from his moms, pops, and aunt through a buncha flashbacks and whatnot. At first, I was kinda lookin’ forward to readin’ this book ’cause I thought it was gonna be like that joint Manchild in the Promised Land, by Claude Brown. Now that was a deep book. But this right here . . . no bueno! Well, uh, maybe it is good. But right now, I ain’t feelin’ it. It’s whack! I take two pulls from my blunt, then shut the book, holdin’ smoke in my lungs. I slowly blow it out, then go back to studyin’ formulas.

  I know I shouldn’t even be blazin’ right now since we ’bout to start preconditionin’ in the next week or so and Coach is gonna slay us. Plus, I’ma hafta flush out my system ’cause they stay drug testin’ us. But it is what it is. I’ma finish up these two blunts I have stashed, then be done ’til next summer, for real for real. Pops’ll be real pissed if I get benched for some BS like burnin’ trees. Especially when he allows me to blaze all summer if I want wit’ out problems as long as I don’t screw up my basketball career. His thing is, I should know how’ta move at all times. And he’s right. But right now, I’m in the mood to smoke. So I am.

  I open my notebook and start scribblin’ out formulas. Then I solve the word problems. I’m finishin’ up the third problem when there’s a knock on my bedroom door. Thinkin’ it’s Pops, I put out the blunt and get up to open the door. Although Pops is cool ’bout me sparkin’ up in the crib, outta respect I don’t do it ’round ’im. I swing open the door, and almost pass the eff out.

  I don’t effen believe this ish! It’s this broad Tiffany, a brown-skinned chick wit’ big, round brown eyes and thin lips who I used to rock the springs wit’ before I got wit’ Quanda. I met ’er, like a few months after basketball season, while I was up at the food court in the mall tryna get my grub on. She was workin’ at Burger King, and was lookin’ kinda sexy scoopin’ up them fries, so I slid her my digits. And that same night she hit me up and we started kickin’ it. She’s one a them easy, breezy chicks, so it ain’t take long for things between us to get hot ’n’ heavy ’cause she was diggin’ the swag and I was whisperin’ all that good stuff up in her ear. Real rap. It only took me three days to get her to drop them Vickies and let me hit it. After that, it was a wrap. E’ery chance she got, she was sneakin’ up over here—’cause her parents were mad strict and all wrapped up in church—to get her eagle on. And it was all gravy ’til she started trippin’, wantin’ to be up in my face all the time, and textin’ me mad crazy. Yo, real ish. She started becomin’ a real fruit loop so I had to chop... give her the ax!

  And now here she is. Still lookin’ sexy. And still actin’ crazy. I haven’t seen her in a minute, though. Not since the night I deaded our lil fling. And, yeah, it was right after I let her top me off that I told her that it was a wrap. Like for real. All she wanted to do was lay up ’n’ kiss and ask me a buncha dizzy-azz questions. First off, I don’t do a buncha kissin’, especially when I know a broad’s a guzzler. And I ain’t beat for havin’ to always stroke some chick’s fragile ego. And I ain’t into handin’ out bottles of self-esteem. That’s what they have counselors for. Yo, real rap, this chick had to go.

  I blink, hopin’ that the bud I just smoked got me seein’ things. But when I blink again, I realize she’s really standin’ on the other side of my door wit’ her grill all twisted up. How the hell did she get in here? I’m the only one up in this piece, so I know Pops ain’t let her in. Or did he?

  Nah, dude wouldna let her come upstairs like that. Besides, he’s out on the road ’til tomorrow night. I start buggin’ and thinkin’ this crazy broad done broke in or somethin’. That’s the last thing I need. Word is bond. “What the fu—”

  “Oh, what, you thought it was one of ya other hoes? Well, surprise, surprise, mofo. It ain’t.”

  “Yo, how’d you get up in here?”

  “Don’t worry about all that,” she snaps, foldin’ her arms ’cross her juicy double-D’s. Images of my face all pressed up in between them ta-tas pop in my head, and I feel myself startin’ to get excited. I quickly shake the thoughts outta my head before I forget the reason I stopped bangin’ her out in the first place. “Instead, how about you tell me why you blocked me off ya Facebook page and stopped taking my calls. How about you do that, Tone. Now are you gonna let me in, or what?”

  I clench my jaw, keepin’ my body between her and the door. “I wanna know how you got in here, first.”

  She rolls her eyes, suckin’ her teeth. “No, stupid. I didn’t break in if that’s what you’re thinkin’. I’m not that crazy, boy.” I give her an “oh, really?” look. “Boy, get over ya’self. I rang your doorbell, and knocked on the door. And when you didn’t answer, I walked in.”

  I frown. “What? How you just gonna walk up in somebody’s crib, yo?”

  “Easy. The door wasn’t locked. And we need to talk. Next time make sure the door’s locked if you don’t want anyone walking up in your house.”

  “Yo, you buggin’ for real. You need to bounce.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I told you. We need to talk.”

  “About what, yo?”

  “About us.”

  I look at her like she’s crazy. And she is. A real live nutcase. “Yo, Tiffany, for real. What we gotta talk about?” She stares at my bare chest, then glances down at my boxers. I frown. “Yo, what you want?”

  “Are you gonna let me in?”

  “Hell, no. You need to bounce, yo.”

  “I’m not leaving, Tone. You avoided my calls all through the summer, and I wanna know why. I opened myself up to you, Antonio. You knew you was the only boy I wanted to be with. I let you into my heart, then you just effen dogged me. And the least you can do is tell me why.”

  I sigh, starin’ at her. I already know there’s no effen way I’ma let her up in my room. I’ll never get her outta here unless I knock her back out, and that ain’t ’bout to happen since I ain’t beat for her. Still, I gotta figure out a way to get this chick up outta here wit’ out her bustin’ up shit or tryna claw me up. Some chicks can’t handle rejection, and she’s definitely one of ’em.

  “Hol’ up, let me put some clothes on,” I tell her, shuttin’ the door in her face, then lockin’ it. She bangs on it.

  “I’m not going anywhere until we talk, so you might as well open up this door, Antonio Lopez. Otherwise, I’ma keep banging until you do. We need to talk, boy.”

  “A’ight, damn!” I snap, slippin’ on a pair of Rutgers basketball shorts, then a white T-shirt. “Ease up off the damn door, yo. I said I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Well, hurry up.”

  Damn, this broad done jacked up my whole groove. I snatch up the half-smoked blunt in the ashtray, and spark up. I finish gettin’ my smoke on. Then when I’m done, I grab my house keys and cell, and open the door. This bird’s still standin’ in the same spot wit’ her arms folded.

  “It’s about time,” she huffs.

  I lock the door, then shut it behind me. “A’ight, let’s talk, yo,” I say to her, brushin’ past her goin’ toward the stairs. She follows behind me. Now, had I been thinkin’ I woulda had her go down the stairs first, just in case she had a blade and tried to stab or slice me, feel me? But I’m so pressed to get this broad up outta my crib in case she goes off and starts tryna set it off up in here that I jump dead in front of her and race down the stairs.

  I open the front door. “Yo, let’s sit outside and talk.”

  She got the nerve to wanna know why we can’t chill inside and talk. She has her hand up on her hip, standin’ in the middle of the livin’ room.

  ’Cause you effen crazy, yo. And I don’t want you effen up my crib, I think. Instead, I tell her, “ ’Cause I need some fresh air.” I stand wit’ the door open, waitin’ for her to walk out. I’m mad relieved when she does.

  I
step down from off the porch, then take a seat. She decides to stand in front of me wit’ her arms folded tight ’round her chest. “Okay, so talk,” I say, ice-grillin’ her.

  “I wanna know why you stopped callin’ and returnin’ my calls.”

  Umm, let’s see. You mad dizzy. And ya sex game is mad whack. I sigh. “It wasn’t workin’ out, yo.”

  “So you just stop talkin’ to me instead of tryna work it out?”

  I tilt my head. Stare at this dumb broad long ’n’ hard. “Are you serious, yo? Talk what out? You already knew what it was, Tiff, so why you wanna stand here ’n’ front? I told you all I wanted was sex, didn’t I?”

  “Well, yeah. But. . .”

  “ ‘But’ nothin’, yo. We sexed and that’s that. There’s nothin’ else to talk about. It’s over, yo.” I feel my phone vi-bratin’ in my pocket and pull it out. Shania texts me: come thru and hit this.

  “Yeah, but you didn’t have to block me from your Facebook and Twitter.”

  I shrug. “And you didn’t have to keep blowin’ up my inbox wit’ craziness.” I text Shania back: yo, u don’t really want it.

  “I can’t believe you’d pull out your phone and start texting while I’m standing here trying to talk to you. How jacked up is that?”

  Shania texts: Whatever punk. U comin’ 2 beat this up or wat?

  “Yo, you standin’ here, but you ain’t talkin’. All you doin’ is actin’ like a desperate housewife, huntin’ a mofo down ’n’ whatnot. So whaddya want, yo? Say what you gotta say and dip, how ’bout that?”

  I text Shania back: yeah, I got ya punk. I’ma hit u in a minute.

  “You know what?” she snaps. “Screw you, boy! I don’t need you, and I definitely don’t need your no-good, lying azz to take care of my baby. Me and my parents will. And my baby will be just fine without you!”

  I almost drop my phone. What did this broad just say? “Yo, run that by me again.”