Crazy Love

by Amir Abrams

  “Yeah, right,” he says, laughing. “Stop with the lies, girl. You know ain’t nothing little about my sausage.”

  I gasp, slapping a hand up over my mouth. Ohmygod. Let me find out Zahara’s nasty behind done tried to pop Jarrell’s top on the low. Mmmph, but after that comment she made at my house, I wouldn’t be one bit surprised, either.

  “That’s a lie!” she snaps. Then she starts cursing him out, calling him all kinds of low-down, dirty names. Zahara’s mouth is real filthy when she gets it crunked.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jarrell says, still laughing. “Don’t front now.”

  Zahara glances at me real quick to see what my reaction is. I have none.

  Now, let me tell you a little something-something. You can always tell when what someone says about someone else is a lie or not by how that person responds or reacts to it. If they start getting all loud and whatnot and acting a fool, then, umm . . . give ’em the side eye, ’cause it must be true.

  And that’s exactly why I’m cutting my eye over at my girl as she starts blacking on Jarrell. Girlfriend is really making a scene. But I’m not tryna get all caught up in what’s fact or fiction when I know walking up into Mr. Croix’s class late is a no-no. So I toss my hand up in the air. “I’m out,” I say over my shoulder as I head to class. “I’ll see you at lunch, Zee. Jarrell, you might wanna get to class,” I warn. But he doesn’t take heed. Instead, he’s still going back and forth with Zahara. And the louder she gets, the more convinced I am that Jarrell’s telling the truth.

  I walk into class just as the bell rings. “Ah, Miss Nichols,” Mr. Croix says before I can even get in my seat. “Without opening your book, why don’t you tell us why the narrator in Invisible Man called himself ‘Jack-the-Bear’ in the prologue?”

  “ ’Cause he was in a state of hibernation,” I answer, setting my bag down on the floor next to me.

  “Ah, yes . . .”

  Jarrell comes in late and wrong, tryna slip into his seat way in the back of the classroom. But even with his back to the classroom as he writes up on the chalkboard My hole is warm and full of light, Mr. Croix knows Jarrell’s late again. And today, he’s not having it.

  “You’re late, Mister Mills.”

  “Well, what happened was, I was kidnapped by this crazy girl who looks like an orangutan,” Jarrell says. “She had me pinned up against a locker. Man, I think she thought I was a banana, ’cause she was tryna eat me.”

  The whole class starts laughing. Well, everyone except for me. I roll my eyes, shaking my head. Mr. Croix turns to face the class.

  “Okay, class, settle down. Mister Mills, now that you’ve escaped your orangutan adventure unscathed, how about you make your way up to the front of the class and tell us why the narrator in Invisible Man says his hole is ‘warm and full of light.’”

  “Now, hold up, Mister Croix,” Jarrell says. “I’m not into none of that kinky stuff. I dig the ladies, feel me? I don’t know why dude’s hole is warm and tight. I don’t get down like that.”

  The whole class roars with laughter.

  And I’m getting pissed because I really want to discuss the book. I jump up from my seat and turn to face the class. “Will y’all shut up!” I snap. “And, Jarrell, stop being such a jerk and answer the damn question. Geesh! And then you wonder why your dumb behind can’t keep a girl.”

  Everyone shuts up, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. But no one says anything. Not even Jarrell. Mr. Croix clears his throat. “Um, Miss Nichols, please take your seat.” I sit back down. “As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, shouting in class is not acceptable. But thank you. And, Mister Mills, your inappropriate outburst has earned you two days’ detention.”

  Jarrell groans and tries to apologize.

  “The hole,” I blurt out, “was the narrator’s home.”

  “That is correct,” Mr. Croix says, sitting on the edge of his desk.

  Someone in the back says, “Teacher’s pet.” The class starts laughing again. But I let that dumbness go over my head.

  Mr. Croix folds his arms. “If I hear another outburst from anyone in that back row, you will all get detention. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” they say, grumbling.

  “Now, let’s try this again. Mister Mills, come up here”—he points to an empty chair next to me—“and take a seat.”

  I suck my teeth. Mr. Croix ignores me. He waits for Jarrell to shuffle himself up to the front of the class, then plop into the seat.

  “Great,” Mr. Croix continues. “Now I want you to tell us why the narrator says his hole is warm and . . . not tight. But full of light. And let me warn you, young man”—he narrows his eyes at Jarrell—“if you dare say anything other than what pertains to this book, I will fail you for the marking period. Do you understand?”

  Jarrell nods, sitting back in his seat with his arms folded tight across his chest. “Yeah, I got you.” Mr. Croix gives him another stern look. “I mean, yes.”

  “Good,” Mr. Croix says. “Now tell me, Mister Mills. Why does the narrator introduce himself as an ‘invisible man’?”

  Jarrell sucks his teeth. “I thought you wanted me to tell you why his hole was warm.” The class laughs again. Mr. Croix eyes him. “Okay, okay . . . my bad. He considers himself invisible because of the unwillingness of others to notice him as a black man.”

  Mr. Croix nods. “Now, Mister Mills, you can tell us all about the narrator’s hole.”

  Everyone laughs, including me.

  6

  I wake up real early Monday, feeling refreshed and all excited to get to school because that means that I only have two more days until I go down to Motor Vehicles to get my license. But no sooner do I step into the kitchen, humming a happy tune, than the Wicked Witch comes swooping down on her broomstick.

  “Okay, young lady. The party dust has settled and now it’s time for us to discuss your behavior. I hope you didn’t think I was just talking when I said you were going to be grounded for how you spoke to me Saturday night.”

  One minute I’m in the refrigerator—minding my business, trying to decide what I want to eat, and the next minute I hear her annoying voice. I don’t even acknowledge her. I keep fishing around in the refrigerator, ignoring her until I find something to eat. I grab a bottled water, an apple, and a peach yogurt, then shut the fridge door.

  I walk past her as if she’s invisible. Wash my apple, grab a spoon from out of the drawer, then pull out a stool and sit at the counter.

  “Do you hear me talking to you?”

  I glance at my watch and sigh. I have another fifteen minutes before Sincere picks me up to drop me off at school. And I gotta sit here and deal with this crap. She’s standing in front of me with both hands up on her hips, shooting me daggers.

  “You don’t want to talk, fine. I’ll do the talking. Your father might have bought you that car, but during the school week you will not be allowed to drive it.”

  OMG, I could effen die—right here, right now! This witch is playing real dirty. And in a few minutes it’s about to go down. She knows driving my car to school is the one thing I’ve been looking forward to. And now she’s found a way to snatch that from me. She’s straight up evil!

  I inhale.

  Exhale.

  Keep my mouth shut.

  She continues, “I’ve had it with your mouth and blatant disrespect. And for the next week you’re grounded. I really should make it two weeks. But I know you’ll open your mouth to say something to give me reason to add another week. In the meantime, there’ll be no hanging out after dance practices. And the days you don’t have dance, you are to come straight home. Do you understand?”

  I finish my yogurt, then bite down into my apple. I narrow my eyes to thin slits. Inside I am on fire!

  When Erika was living at home, she and the Witch used to get into fights all the time. Difference is, Erika would actually hit her. At least I make her invisible and ignore her stank butt.

  I f
inish up my apple, deciding I’ve heard enough of her monologue. I walk out of the kitchen.

  “Girl, don’t you walk out on me when I’m still talking to you. Get back here.”

  Well, too bad! I’m done listening. I keep walking. Like I said, I want my license. And I know if I don’t keep walking, I’ma make it snap, crackle, and pop up in here today, so it’s best that I keep on stepping.

  “Now you just earned yourself another week onto that punishment.”

  Whatever! I grab my things and walk out the door toward Sincere’s truck. I open the door and get in. He kisses me, then drives off. And I smile. I’m happy to see my boo. And I’m happier to be getting out of that house and away from her.

  Later that night, I’m lying across my bed, skimming through an article on 50 Cent in Vibe. I’m not really checking for him like that so I don’t give his interview much attention, and all of the words start running together. Borrring! I toss the magazine over onto the floor, reaching for my cell over on the other side of my bed. I scroll through my history until I find the number I’m looking for, then call.

  “Hey, baby,” Sincere says the minute he answers. I smile, touching the chain he bought me. Hearing his voice makes me all tingly inside.

  “How you?” he asks.

  “I’m good. What you up to?”

  “Chillin-chillin’. Thinking about you.”

  Mmmhmm, you better be! “Awww, that’s so sweet.” I reach over and click off my lamp, propping two pillows up against my headboard, then lean back.

  “You’re sweet,” he says in almost a whisper. “You wanna go to a movie tomorrow night?”

  I sigh. “I can’t. I’m back on punishment.”

  “What?” he asks in disbelief. “You just got off. What happened now?”

  “She’s pissed that my dad bought me a BMW instead of some used Nissan. She stays pissed about something.”

  “Damn. I was hoping to take you to the movies tomorrow night, then get something to eat.”

  “Well, maybe this weekend we can do something.” Usually if I’m on punishment and the Witch isn’t around, Daddy will let me go out for a few hours on the weekends that I am staying at his house, so hopefully this weekend she’ll be too busy flying around on her broomstick to bother coming over.

  “Yeah, true. I wanna see you.”

  I smile, glancing over at the digital clock on my nightstand. It’s almost ten o’clock. “I wanna see you, too,” I say, sighing. “Maybe tomorrow we can meet after school for a bit before I have to go to dance.”

  “Yeah, that’s cool, too. But I really wanted to see you tonight, too.”

  “Tonight?” I ask, jumping out of my bed, racing into my bathroom. I flick on the light switch and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is all over my head. I have on a pair of raggedy Hampton University sweats and a ripped, bleach-spotted T-shirt with DIVAS RULE written on the front that should probably be dumped in the trash. OMG, I look a hot mess!

  “Yeah, tonight. I’ve been thinking about you all day, baby.”

  I grin. Erika’s voice pops in my head. Mmmph. The key to getting a guy to fall for you is to get all up in his head. Once you have him constantly thinking about you, you’ll have him sweating you twenty-four-seven, wanting to be with you and only you.

  “Oh yeah? And whatchu been thinking about?”

  “Tasting them pretty lips.”

  Whew, and I wanna taste yours, too.

  “But I don’t want you to get in any more trouble, so I’ll wait until—”

  “Not,” I say, cutting him off. “Wrong answer. I’m grown.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, okay. And your grown butt’s back on lockdown.”

  “Whatever. What time you tryna come through?”

  “You sure? I don’t want your mom to flip.”

  “Oh, puhleeeze. Let me worry about that. Now answer the question.”

  “What question?”

  I sigh. “Don’t play stupid, boy. What time you coming?”

  “Like right now.”

  “Okay,” I say, racing around my room tryna find something cute to wear. “But I can’t be out too long.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, I know. ’Cause you on punishment, but you grown.” He keeps laughing.

  I suck my teeth. “Whatever. Laugh all you want.”

  “Nah, my bad, baby. You make me laugh, that’s all. I’ma see you in like twenty minutes, a’ight?”

  “Okay. But don’t park in the driveway. Park up in front of the bushes so the Wicked Witch can’t see your truck.”

  He starts laughing again. “A’ight, I got you, baby.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I am in a sexy pair of low-rider jeans and a cute, long-sleeve black Gucci tee my sister, Erika, bought me a few months ago, getting ready to sneak outside. I grab my jean jacket and walk out of my bedroom, making sure to leave my stereo playing on low, shutting the door. I walk down the long hall to my parents’—uh, my mother’s—master suite. Her bedroom door is open, but she’s locked in her private sanctuary, luxuriating in her personal spa. I can hear Sade playing. I glance down at my watch. She should probably be in there for at least forty minutes. Enough time for me to chill with my man. I go downstairs, then slip out the sliding glass door.

  So here I am. Standing out in my backyard with Sincere, kissing. He has his hands on my waist, kinda grinding into me. And I like how it has me feeling.

  “Damn, girl, you feel good. You have a nice, tight body.”

  I look up at him, smiling. “It’s from years of dancing,” I tell him, stepping out of his grasp. I’ve been dancing ballet since I was two. I live and breathe it.

  “Is that what you wanna be, a dancer?” he asks, reaching for my hand as we walk along the stone walkway toward the gazebo that’s situated way in the back of our huge yard—out of the Wicked Witch’s view.

  I nod, sitting on the swing. Sincere sits beside me, draping his arm around the back of the swing. “That’s all I dream about,” I tell him, looking at him. And you! His eyes take me in. I know without a doubt that he is feeling me. OMG, I am so dang crazy about this boy. He strokes the side of my face, causing a wave of heat to rush through me. I take a deep breath and slowly blow it out, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. Keep it fly, girl. Don’t go gassin’ his head up. Not until you have him wrapped around your finger. I tell him of my plans to apply to The Juilliard School and the combined Bachelor of Fine Arts program between The Ailey School and Fordham University, where students can train professionally in dance while earning a degree in liberal arts. Although I have so much love for The Ailey School and have attended their summer intensive program three years in a row, I am really hoping to get into Juilliard. That’s where my heart is set on going. I have everything completed except my essay and recommendation letters.

  Sincere smiles at me. “Wow, that’s big. Your parents must be really proud of you.”

  I shrug. “I guess. I mean, I know my dad is.”

  “What about your moms?”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. She thinks ballet should be a hobby. Not something I major in, or wanna pursue as a career. She’d rather see me going to med or law school, like my sister, rather than pursuing my dream.” I feel myself getting pissed. She’s such a damn hater!

  “I feel you.”

  “Do you really?”

  He nods. “Yeah, I do.. . .” He pauses. I reach over and take his hand, waiting for him to finish. “Sometimes I feel like I’m living my parents’ lives instead of my own. So I definitely feel you.”

  “Wow. I feel like that with my mother. She’s always tryna shape me into a mini-her.”

  “Yeah, but at least you have your pops, who supports your dream to be a dancer.”

  I smile, knowing Daddy always has my back. “True. What about you. Do you dream about playing in the NBA?”

  “Yeah, all the time, but. . .” His voice trails off as if he’s in deep thought.

  “But what?” I ask, gazing at him.

&n
bsp; “Growing up, all I’ve ever heard is ‘you’re going to be a basketball star.’”

  “And you are,” I say. “You’re mad talented, Sincere. I can definitely see you playing in the NBA, making lots and lots of money.”

  “Thanks.” Although he’s smiling at me, he doesn’t sound happy. He squeezes my hand.

  “But it’s not what you want. Is it?”

  He slowly shakes his head. “Nah. Not really. I mean, I dig playin’ ball. It’s just that I wasn’t ever given a chance to do anything else. My dad put a ball in my hand when I was like three or four, and I’ve been on the court ever since. Don’t get me wrong. If I’m able to play in the NBA, I will. I ain’t no fool, feel me?”

  I laugh. “You better not be. Shoot, I want me some front row seats.”

  He laughs. “Is that all you want?”

  I only smile. He doesn’t need to know the answer. Not now, anyway. I can’t front. I feel sooo connected to this boy. It’s like my heartbeat leaps up in my chest and gets stuck in my throat when I am with him. He’s the first guy who I feel like I can actually be myself around.

  “Do you love it?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Love what?”

  “Basketball.”

  “Nah; not really. But don’t tell my father that. He’ll snap for real.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “It better be,” he says, laughing.

  “Whatever. If you could do something other than play ball, what would it be?”

  “Damn, no one’s ever asked me that. Truthfully, if it were up to me, I’d run track.”

  I give him a surprised look. “Oh, for real?”

  “Yeah. I’m big on track and field.”

  “Well, it’s never too late. You can still do it.”

  “Yo, my dad ain’t havin’ that. He’d snap my neck for real. Besides, I have too much time invested in basketball to give up on it now.”

  “Then do both.”

  “Nah, I’m good. What about you? Do you ever think about what you’d do if you couldn’t dance?”

  I look at him like he’s crazy. I am a gifted dancer. Doing anything other than dance is not an option for me. Oh nooo. If I have my way, Kamiyah Nichols will be touring the world, making a name for herself in the dance world. “Ballet runs deep in my veins. It’s a part of me. I can’t imagine my life without it.” Or you!