by Amir Abrams
“That’s wassup. I bet you’re mad sexy when you dance.”
“Well, uh,” I say, popping my imaginary collar, “what can I say. It’s hard being me.”
He laughs. “Ya man’s gonna have to come check you out one of these days.”
“Oh, you my man now?”
He wraps his arm around me, pulls me into him real tight. “Yo, stop. You already know what it is.”
“Yeah, I do,” I say, looking up at him. He smiles at me, then leans in and kisses me on the lips. His hand slowly moves up my thigh, over my stomach, inching its way up toward the front of my shirt to my . . . I grab it before it gets to its final destination. I’m crazy about this boy. But I’m not crazy enough to let him feel me up in my backyard. Not yet, that is. I glance over toward the house, then down at my watch. Ohmygod, I’ve been outside talking to Sincere for over an hour. I gotta get back in the house.
“Yo, I better get up outta here,” Sincere says, reading my thoughts. He stands up and stretches. “I have an eight o’clock class and the professor is real strict about not being late.”
“Yeah,” I say, standing up as well. “I better get inside before the warden puts out an APB on me.”
We kiss a few more times, then I walk him to his truck. I wait until he pulls off, then head back up the driveway toward the back of the house. I go to slide open the door, and . . . it’s locked! Great! Now I’m really gonna hear her mouth.
I start to panic ’cause the last thing I wanna do is have to ring the doorbell and deal with the Witch’s mouth. She’ll make a big production out of it, turning it into more than what it really is, then I’ll have to turn it up on her. I smile, remembering that I have one of my bedroom windows unlocked. I walk around to our glass-to-ceiling atrium, climb up the drain pipe onto the roof, then pull up my side window and slip back into my room. I take off my clothes, put on a nightshirt, then crawl into bed with sweet, sexy thoughts of Sincere.
7
When I come down into the kitchen, I am surprised to see Daddy sitting at the table eating breakfast. He musta come through in the middle of the night or early this morning to get his groove on, I think, wrapping my arms around the back of him, then kissing the side of his face. “Good morning, Daddy.”
“Hey, baby girl.”
“I’m surprised to see you,” I say, easing away from him.
“Your mother invited me over for breakfast,” he says, grinning.
“Oh, that’s special,” I say sarcastically.
The Wicked Witch eyes me with a raised brow. Grrrreat! She’s in another one of her stank moods; just what I need today. I force a smile, glancing over at her. “Good morning,” I mumble toward her, for Daddy’s sake, that is.
She purses her lips, burning a hole through me with her glare. Then cuts right to the chase. “Did you sneak out of this house last night?” she asks, sneering.
I’m shocked that she’s sitting here tryna play me in front of Daddy like this. I stand here, blinking at her.
“Well?”
“Did you see me sneak out?” I ask indignantly.
“Girl, don’t play with me. That’s not what I asked you.”
I suck my teeth. Look over at Daddy. He has his elbows perched up on the table with his hands clasped and his chin resting on his thumbs, waiting, watching to see how things unfold. “Answer your mother,” he calmly says.
I look from her to him. Then back at her.
I plant my hand on my hip. “No, I didn’t sneak out. I walked out the back door.”
“After I told you that you were grounded,” she snaps, clenching her teeth.
“Is that true?” Daddy asks, eyeing me.
“No, it’s not. She told me I couldn’t go anywhere. And I didn’t. I was outside, talking to Sincere.”
“Outside where?” Daddy asks.
“In the backyard.”
“And I told you no company,” Mom states.
“No, you didn’t. You said I was grounded from going out. That was it. So don’t sit there and try to change it up in front of Daddy. You always do that.”
She grits her teeth. “Kamiyah, I am getting really sick of you and that smart mouth of yours. I’m really trying to understand why you keep testing me.”
I grit my teeth back at her. “I’m not testing you. I’m checking you; big difference. You asked me if I snuck out of the house. And I told you NO!”
“Miyah,” Daddy warns, pointing at me. “What did I tell you about talking to your mother like that?”
“Erik, don’t tell her nothing. Now she’s grounded for another week.”
“For what now?!” I scream at her.
She bangs her hand down on the table. “For being a damn brat!” she yells back, jumping up from her seat. She plants both hands on her hips. “And for being too grown. Now keep it up, and you’ll be grounded for the rest of the month.”
I roll my eyes, sucking my teeth. “Whatever,” I snap, turning to walk out of the kitchen.
“Don’t you whatever me, young lady!” she yells.
“Kamiyah, get back in here,” Daddy says, raising his voice. Something he hardly ever does, especially at me! “Don’t walk out on your mother when she’s talking to you.” I keep walking. “Kamiyah, do you hear me talking to you?” I stand by the bottom of the stairs, pretending like I’m already upstairs.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” I hear Daddy saying. “Kamiyah,” he calls out again. I ignore him. “Let me go up and have a talk with her.”
“Erik, forget it. Leave her be. But I tell you what. She can go ahead and get her license, but she’s not driving that car anywhere. I don’t care if I have to block it in with mine. She can catch the bus or walk to school for the rest of the month. I’m done with her nasty attitude. And she’s not going to be on that computer, either. And I’m suspending her phone service.”
Say what? No car, no phone and no computer! For a whole month? She can’t be serious. I am going to die! I storm back into the kitchen. “You’re taking my phone and my car? Why?”
“I’ve had enough of your piss-poor attitude,” the Witch states, gloating. She’s clearly happy that she’s finally getting what she wants. To keep me miserable like her!
“Daaaaaddy,” I whine. “Will you please talk to her? She’s being ridiculous.”
He shakes his head. It’s clear to me he will not go against her. He shifts his eyes from me. “You heard what your mother said. No car and no Internet. But you can keep your computer and your phone.”
What the hell good is my computer without the Internet! I scream in my head.
“Erik. . .”
“You can’t take everything away from her all at once, Kayla. She keeps the phone.”
The Witch’s jaw gets real tight. “Fine,” she says, glaring at him. She’s really pissed now. “I won’t shut it off, this time. But the next time she sneaks up out of this house, it will be. And I don’t care what you say.”
“There won’t be a next time,” Daddy says, shooting a look at me. “Will there?”
“But I didn’t sneak out of the house,” I whine. “She”—I point at her—“never said I couldn’t go outside.”
“Oh, Kamiyah, please,” she grunts. “But since I didn’t make myself clear the first time, let me do so now. You are to be in this house. You are not allowed any company. And you are to come straight home from school.” She’s smirking. “No exceptions.”
“What about dance?”
“You can still go to practice. Either your mother or I will take you and pick you up,” Daddy tells me. He gets up from his seat, clearing his dishes from the table and setting them in the sink. “Now I’m going to leave the two of you to finish fighting this out. I’ve got to get to work. Hopefully, the two of you won’t kill each other in the process.” He walks over and kisses her on the lips, then walks over to me. I feel like I’m gonna vomit! He gives me a hug, whispering in my ear, “Please, stop giving your mother such a hard time. Do what she says
and I’ll buy you something nice.” He kisses me on the forehead.
As soon as the door closes behind him, I go back up to my bedroom and grab my phone off of my dresser to call Sincere to wish him good luck on his test this morning. He doesn’t answer, so I leave a message.
“Oh, Kamiyah,” Ms. White says, stopping me before I can walk out of her class. Ms. White teaches French and has been my teacher for the last three years. I turn to face her. “I don’t want to keep you from your next class, but . . .”
“It’s okay,” I say, swinging my bag up over my shoulder. “It’s only gym. And you know how much I looove gym.” I roll my eyes up in my head, all dramatic and whatnot.
“Well, good,” she says with a chuckle. “I’m wondering why I haven’t gotten your application and permission slip back yet for the trip to France this spring. I think it’ll be a wonderful experience for you; especially since we both know how badly you want to tour one day with a European dance troupe. And being that you’re a senior, it’ll look great on your application to Juilliard.”
I smile knowingly. Every year the French club sponsors an all-expense-paid trip to France for ten days in April. Although it’s mostly for members of the French club, they also have slots for seniors with the highest GPAs. She’d given me the application the first week of school, but the truth is, I misplaced it and honestly forgot about the trip. Another truth is that I haven’t even started the essay part of my application to Juilliard for next fall. And I really, really, really wanna get in. But it’s so dang competitive. Juilliard only accepts twenty-four applicants a year: twelve males and twelve females. And the competition is fierce. The possibility of not getting in is too much to think about. I blink the thought from my head.
“When’s the deadline?” I ask.
“In three weeks,” she says as she writes me a pass. “We really need to have all the applications in before we go on Thanksgiving recess.”
“Okay. I’ll discuss it with my . . . dad and get him to sign the papers.” She smiles, handing me my pass. I turn to leave, but quickly turn back.
“Missus White, I’ve been meaning to ask you. About Juilliard . . .”
She looks at me, wide-eyed. “Yes, what about Juilliard?”
“Would you be willing to write a letter of recommendation?”
She smiles. “I’d be honored. And I would have been very disappointed if you hadn’t asked me. When’s it needed by?”
“I have to have everything submitted by December first.”
“Consider it done.” I smile back, thanking her. Whew . . . one down, one more to go, I think, walking out of the classroom.
“Heeeeey, boo-thang,” I hear in back of me as I make my way down the hall. It’s Zahara. I stop and wait for her to catch up with me.
“Hey, Miss Thang-a-lang.”
“Girl, where you been? We waited for you this morning.”
“I was with Sincere,” I tell her as we walk down to the first floor.
“Mmmhmm . . . so how is Mister Sexy Chocolate?”
I smile. “Good. No, actually . . . great. Girl, I can’t get enough of him.”
She throws her hand up over her mouth as if she’s shocked. “Nooooo, not you. Since when?”
I suck my teeth. “Whatever, heifer.”
“Listen, Miyah . . . about the other night at your house. I hope you know I was only playing when I said that stuff about Sincere. I would never disrespect you or our friendship like that.”
“What stuff?” I ask, playing dumb. But, trust. I know exactly what Miss Messy is talking about. But I wanna hear her say it.
“You know that stuff I said about you passing Sincere over to me if you didn’t want him.”
“Oh, that? Boo, please. I forgot all about that.” Lies!
Erika and her girls used to always say, If one of your girls says or does something suspect, keep your eyes on her. But never, ever let her know you’re watching her. You want her to think all is forgotten, so when she slips. . . you’re right there to stomp her lights out. Well, umm, they didn’t say that last part. That’s my stuff.
She loops her arm through mine. “Good. Do you have dance practice today?”
“No.”
“You wanna go to the mall after school?”
I sigh. “I can’t. I’m on lockdown.”
She shakes her head. “Oh, gaaawd. Drama with ya mama, again? The school year just started and you already in trouble. A mess.”
“Yeah, a real hot one at that,” I state, rolling my eyes.
“You two stay beefing.”
“What else is new? It’s her. She’s a nut.”
She laughs. “Uh-huh. So what’d you do or say this time?”
I stop in my tracks, putting my hand up on my hip. “Excuse you. I didn’t do or say anything. I just checked her real quick and she caught feelings.”
“Oh, okay. So basically you were being too grown.”
I huff. “Whatever. I don’t even wanna talk about it. That Witch is ridiculous.”
She laughs. “You crack me up calling her that.”
I shrug. “Well, that’s what she is. Besides, it beats calling her a bit—”
“Don’t you young ladies have someplace you’re supposed to be?” Mr. Donaldson, one of the creative writing teachers, asks.
“Yeah,” we both say. Zahara rolls her eyes up in her head, then mumbles under her breath. “He makes me sick with his ole crooked-tooth self.”
I snicker.
“I heard that, young lady,” he says, following behind us.
Zahara glances over her shoulder. “Well, at least I was nice enough to not say it to your face.”
“Well, guess what? I’m nice enough to tell you to yours that you now have two days’ detention.”
Zahara stops in her tracks. “For what?”
“For being disrespectful,” he says, looking at her like she shoulda already known the reason why. “You’re a senior now, and we expect much more from our upperclassmen.”
“Awww, c’mon, Mister D. You know I was only playing. Besides, I didn’t even say it to you, so how can that be disrespectful?”
“Well, you said it about me and I heard it.”
Zahara flips her hand up at him. “Mister D . . . boom! I’m not serving no detention for that mess. What I said is true. You do have an ole raggedy mouth. But I didn’t say it to your face.”
“Well, young lady. Now you just did—two days’ detention.”
“I’m entitled to my opinion. And I have freedom of speech.”
“And now you have detention along with that opinion and your freedom of speech. Would you like to make it three?”
“Whatever.”
He tells her to go to the principal’s office, and she really goes off. I stay out of it, though. Shoot. I have my own problems to deal with. I keep walking. “Zee, I’ll see you later, girl.”
When I finally get to gym—which, by the way, should be banned or optional, if you ask me. I mean, really? Anywaaayz. . . everyone is already changed into their gym gear, on mats, stretching. I walk over and hand Mr. Bailey my hall pass. He glances at the time on the pass, then looks up at the clock. “Must have been a lot of traffic in the halls,” he says, all smart-alecky and whatnot. “Hurry up and get dressed.”
I walk off, rolling my eyes. He’s all mad ’n’ miserable ’cause his wife left him last week—well, that’s what the gossip is around here. None of the students are supposed to know this. But nosy-behind Zahara overheard the secretary whispering it into the phone to someone while she was up in the principal’s office last week. And now his lonely butt wants to take it out on me. Loser!
At the start of seventh period I find myself walking into the guidance counselors’ office to see my counselor, Mrs. Saunders. She’s one of the coolest counselors in the whole department. And she can dress her butt off, which is probably one of the reasons why I like her. I walk down the hallway past the bulletin board covered with information on colleges, scholarships, and
work opportunities. I never stop to read what’s up there because I already know where I wanna be—at Juilliard. But what is your backup plan? Mrs. Saunders always asks me each time she sees me. What if by some chance you don’t get into Juilliard? Then what?
I always give her a crazy look, because for me, not getting in isn’t an option. At least I hope it doesn’t become one. You need to have a backup plan, Kamiyah, I hear her saying.
Uh, no. I need to get into Juilliard!
I lightly tap on her door. “Hi, Missus Saunders.”
She looks up from her computer screen. “Oh, hello, Kamiyah,” she says, smiling as she waves me in. “I was wondering when I was going to see you. C’mon in and have a seat. So how are your classes going so far?”
She clicks a few keys on the computer.
“They’re going good,” I say, taking a seat in front of her. “Calc might be a challenge, but other than that, everything else is a breeze.”
She smiles. “Well, I’m sure you’re up for the challenge, Kamiyah. You’re one of our brightest and most talented students. I am confident you’ll master your calculus class with no problems, as you’ve done with everything else you set your mind to. So, how’s dance?”
“It’s going great. I was working at a dance studio over the summer, teaching a beginner’s ballet class. And they’ve asked me to continue on, so I’ll be teaching a class twice a week.”
She nods approvingly. “Sounds very exciting.”
“It really is. I really enjoy working with the little kids. They are so adorable. And it reminds me of when I was their age.” Mrs. Saunders rests her elbows up on her desk, clasping her hands, taking in everything I say. No matter what it is, she always shows an interest in everything her students have to share.
“What age will you be teaching?”
“They’re between the ages of three and five,” I say, smiling.