Crazy Love

by Amir Abrams

“It’s not all the time. I’ve forgotten my phone twice since we’ve been together.”

  I huff. “Whatever, Sincere. It’s starting to look like a pattern.”

  He laughs. “A pattern? Girl, you buggin’, for real. The only thing that’s starting to look like a pattern is you nagging me, for real. Seems like every other day you coming at my neck with something. I really care about you, Miyah. But on some real, I’m not beat to keep going through this with you.”

  I feel a sharp pain shooting through my heart as he says this. Girlfriend, you better fall back with all the extras before he dismisses you. The thought of Sincere trying to break up with me over something this silly is . . . unthinkable!

  “So what are you saying, Sincere?” I ask, holding my breath for his response.

  He lets out another sigh. “You need to chill, for real.”

  “I know,” I say, relieved I don’t have to turn on the tears tonight.

  “Why you always bugging?”

  I’m staring at the picture that’s up on my dresser of the two of us. We took it over the summer at the Lincoln Park music festival in Newark. It was like the end of July. OMG, it was so hot out that day! And the park was packed with heads—young and old—from all over, jamming to all types of house and club music. I had on a cute denim mini, a white tank top with the words Divas Rule written on the front in silver, and a pair of white strappy heels. My hair was pulled up in ponytail. Sincere wore a wifebeater and a pair of jeans with some crispy white sneaks. And his white fitted was cocked to the side, making him look extra sexy. I reach for the frame and pick it up. We had only been talking for like a good week when we took it. I smile, setting it back up on the dresser.

  “Sometimes I get scared,” I say.

  His tone softens. “Scared? Of what?”

  “Of this . . .” I pause. “You . . . us. You’re my dream come true, Sincere. And sometimes I feel like it’s all gonna come crumbling down around me. That one day I’m going to wake up and it’s all going to be one big, nasty nightmare. There’ll be no you in my life. And that scares me. I’d kill myself if we ever broke up.”

  It gets silent on the other end of the phone. Trust me. I’ve never thought about killing myself, and I still don’t. But if Sincere and I ever break up, I know worrying about who he’s with and what he’s doing would definitely kill me. And it’d be a slow, torturous death, I’m sure.

  “Sincere?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Oh, okay. You got real quiet on me.”

  “You effed my head up with that ‘I’d kill myself’ comment. Don’t talk like that. It isn’t cool.”

  “I know. And I didn’t really mean it like that. I just don’t wanna lose you to anything or anyone, that’s all.”

  “I’m yours, baby. I’m not going anywhere. But you have to stop buggin’ over nothing. You hear?”

  I nod as if he can see me. “Yes.”

  “So wassup with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, a’ight. Then why you always acting like you don’t believe me when I tell you things?”

  ’Cause I don’t! “I didn’t hear from you all day,” I whine.

  “I’m sorry about that, baby. This morning I was with my mom, visiting my grandfather at the nursing home, then I got up with the boys and went to the gym, then ended up hanging out afterward. Like I said, I left my cell phone on the charger, so I didn’t have any way of calling you until now.”

  “I wanted to hear your voice. That’s all.”

  “I know. But it wasn’t that serious. Getting all nutty on me ain’t it, Miyah. You know I was gonna call you.”

  “I know,” I say, rolling my eyes up in my head. It shouldn’t take you all dang day to get back to me when I hit you up, either. “I didn’t hear from my man all day and got worried.”

  “C’mon, Miyah, damn. I went to the gym, came home, showered, then went out with my friends. You act like you don’t want me to have friends.”

  “That’s not true,” I say defensively. “You can have all the friends you want. I just don’t want you up in no chick’s face, that’s all.”

  “I’m not all up in no chicks’ faces. And they’re not all up in mine.”

  “Oh, okay. So answer me this. You have over three thousand Facebook friends, and most of ’em are chicks. Why?”

  “I don’t know. They request me, and I accept.”

  “Mmmph. Do you even know most of ’em?”

  “Nah, not really.”

  “Then why do you accept them then?”

  “C’mon, Miyah, they’re just girls who requested me as a friend. That ain’t about nothing.”

  “Then delete ’em.”

  “Why should I?”

  “The question is, why won’t you?”

  “I’m not deleting them because I don’t think it’s a big deal.”

  I huff. “Well, it’s a big deal to me.”

  “Because you’re making it out to be. I’m not interested in any of them girls. Most of ’em live outta state anyway.”

  “Oh, so if they were in Jersey, you’d be tryna get with ’em?”

  He sucks his teeth. “Kamiyah, you trippin’, for real. I’m with who I wanna be with. You need to relax, for real.”

  “I am relaxed.”

  “Then stop tryna make it more than what it is. You my girl—not anyone else.”

  “Then why don’t you have it up on your status that I’m your girl?”

  He sighs. “It says I’m in a relationship. Will it make you feel better if I put who I’m in a relationship with?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ma do it right now.”

  “Good.” I glance at the clock. It’s almost one o’clock in the morning. “Can you come see me?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now. I wanna see you, Sincere.”

  “I wanna see you, too, but my parents will flip a lid if they hear me leaving up outta here this time of night, especially my dad. I’m eighteen, but he ain’t playing that coming in and out whenever you want. Once I’m in, they expect me to be in.”

  I sigh. “Then I can come to you. Can you sneak me in?”

  He laughs. “Miyah, you’re crazy, girl.”

  “I’m crazy for you,” I say real low and sexy. “I just wanna taste your lips.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  21

  Monday morning, during fourth period, I’m sitting in the cafeteria with Ameerah and Brittani at our usual table—the one that’s on the far right by the windows so we can see the comings and goings, ’cause we nosy like that. We rotate who’s down here first, to make sure no one else tries to house our table. Today happens to be my turn.

  “Ohmygod,” Brittani says, dropping her book bag onto the floor, then pulling out a chair. She practically flops down in it. “I am soooo over this school year. I ain’t even gonna front. I swear I’m counting down till winter break.”

  She’s sitting across from me, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. I stare at her, wondering why she insists on wearing so much weave. I don’t know whose weaves are worse, hers or Zahara’s. Uh, on second thought, I do know. Zahara’s! I mean, weaves are cute, I guess—not that I have one, or ever needed one—but when it’s hanging down to your lower back and you don’t have an ounce of Indian in your blood, then you are being too extra with it.

  “I know, right,” Ameerah says, pulling out a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. She offers us some. We don’t want any. “Good, more for me. Anyway, I can’t believe how fast the weeks are flying by.”

  “Mmmph, not fast enough, if you ask me,” Brittani responds, letting her hair fall back down over her shoulders. “Between chemistry and Latin, these classes have been killing me.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Ameerah sighs. “I am so over all of this and it’s only October. Y’all wanna hang out at my house this weekend? My parents are going to be away.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t. I’m going into the city to chill wi
th Erika this weekend. Hopefully she’ll take me shopping and I’ll come back with some bangin’ stuff.”

  “I wish I had a sister like yours,” Ameerah says. “You’re so dang lucky. She spoils you. I’m lucky if I can get ten cents outta mine.”

  “I guess,” I say, all nonchalant like it’s really no biggie. “Y’all wanna go to the winter formal this year and turn it out?” The winter formal is a holiday party that South Orange Prep has every year before the Christmas break.

  “Girl, I can’t even think that far ahead,” Ameerah states, shaking her head. “I mean, I guess it could be a lot of fun.”

  “Shoot, I don’t even know if I wanna go,” Brittani says, twisting her lips up. “I can see my mom now, acting all stank, telling me what kinda dress she’s not gonna pay for.”

  Ameerah laughs, shaking her head. “So what you’re saying is, you’ll be wrapped from head to toe in a mummy suit if it’s up to her.”

  She rolls her eyes, sucking her teeth. “Basically. She gets on my nerves, always tryna clock ’n’ block my moves. I’m like, damn, can I breathe? Let me do me.”

  Brittani’s mom doesn’t allow her to rock cute, clingy outfits, or wear anything that is too short or too low. Mmmph . . . borrrring! Whew, I’m glad that’s not my headache. My mom may be a meddling witch when it comes to everything else, but she never, ever tries to dress me. I wear what I want. Well, okay, okay. . .within reason. Anywaaayz, Brittani’s mom be acting like making her wear them old lady wears is gonna keep her from getting a rep for being fast. She can’t even wear thongs. Thongs! Can you believe that?

  I laugh. “Why you care? It’s not like you listen to her anyway. If she knew you had a stash of hootch wear in your locker, she’d lose her mind.”

  She laughs. “And you know it.”

  “Where’s Zahara?” I ask, glancing at my watch. She’s not pissed at me anymore, so we’ve picked up right where we left off as girls. Of course, I had to apologize like fifty more times this morning before she finally let it go.

  Brittani sweeps her bangs across her forehead. “You already know,” she says, taking a seat across from me. “She got issues today.”

  “Issues” is how we refer to our periods; or when one of us is PMSing real bad. I twist my lips. “Mmmph. Well, she needs to hurry up and get down here,” I say, texting her. “I have to meet Sincere at twelve thirty.”

  As soon as I press SEND, I see her coming through the doors rocking one of our FFFF T-shirts (FFFF stands for Fly Fine Friends Forever), the black one with the gold lettering. She has on a pair of black stretch jeans and a sexy gold-coin belt around her waist. And her hair is pulled back into a spiked ponytail; her bangs are swept to the side. “Never mind, I see her now,” I say, setting my phone down on the table. Brittani cranes her neck to look over her shoulder.

  My cell dings. It’s a text from Sincere. HEY BABY, JUST THINKN ABT U. C U AT 12:30. I smile, texting him back. C U THEN.

  When I look up, Ameerah and Brittani are all up in my grill. “What?” I ask, trying to play it off.

  “You real strung out on him, aren’t you?” Ameerah asks.

  I suck my teeth, smirking. “Whatever. No, I’m not strung out on him.”

  Ameerah and Brittani look at each other, then over at me, twisting their lips up. “Mmmhmm,” they both say. “If you say so.” They laugh.

  I roll my eyes, flicking my hand at ’em. “Y’all think what you want.”

  “What y’all over here laughin’ at?” Zahara asks as she comes around the table, droppin’ her black D & G book bag into an empty seat. She pulls out the chair next to me and sits down.

  “Kamiyah all up on her cell with you-know-who, who she claims she’s not strung out on.”

  Zahara twists her lips up. “No comment. We just started back talking and soooo, moving on . . . nice weather today, isn’t it?”

  I laugh. “Whatever. All y’all heifers can kiss the back of my Juicys.”

  “So, let’s cut out all the okey-doke. You finally let him hit it yet?” Zahara asks, leaning in toward me like she’s waiting for me to give her some juicy, top secret information. “’Cause you really starting to act like he’s giving it to you real good.”

  I frown. “Hell no, I haven’t started letting him hit anything. I ain’t no ho, boo.” Like you!

  “I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying, though. The way you be acting . . . never mind, forget I asked.”

  What Sincere and I are already doing is about as far as I’m ready or willing to take it. I just turned seventeen. The last thing I’m beat for is to be stressing about sex—well, going all the way, that is. I can look around this lunchroom and point out every single girl who’s having sex, or had it, and they’ve either been pregnant, caught an STD, or they’re running around acting like real fiends ’cause they can’t get enough of it. No, thank you. I’ll take staying a virgin for two hundred, please!

  “Girl, I hear you,” Brittani says. “Ain’t no need to rush it. Like some people we know.” She cuts her eyes over at Zahara.

  Zahara rolls her eyes. “Whatever, trick!” she spits, looking over at me. She puckers her lips up. “Shuga, if you know like I know you’ll pull back them sheets and let ’im climb up on top of you,” she says, grinding and winding in her seat while doing a Monique impersonation.

  I laugh ’cause she’s silly as heck.

  “Whatever, Miss Panty Droppa,” Brittani says, smacking her lips. “Anywayz, when Stevie was tryna push up on me, I did a Beyoncé on his butt. I looked ’im in his face and told ’im if he wanted to see me naked, he better put a ring on it. Then I dropped down low and coochie popped it out the door.”

  We start laughing, imagining her no-rhythm-having-self dropping down and sweeping the floor with it, trying to be like our girl Beyoncé, dancing her way out the door. That mess is hilarious ’cause we all know she’s as stiff as steel wool.

  Brittani rolls her eyes.

  “Any of you hookers have an extra tampon in your locker?” Zahara asks, fishing through her book bag. She pulls out a bag of sunflower seeds. “I used my last one a few minutes ago, and I’m going to need another one for later.”

  “Ugh, TMI,” Ameerah says, twisting her lips up. “I don’t know why you use them things anyway.”

  Brittani laughs. “Girl, you know why. She likes things being stuck up in her.”

  Ameerah chokes on her drink, laughing. “Oooh, you so wrong for that.”

  Zahara gives them the finger. “Lick me!”

  “Ewww,” Ameerah says, slapping her hand up over her mouth. “You almost made me throw up in the back of my mouth. Yuck.”

  “Ugh, thanks for ruining my lunch,” Brittani says, tossing her bag of Doritos on the table.

  “Oh, before I forget,” I say, changing the subject. “Y’all know we have to go check out that new movie with Antonio Banderas in it when it hits the screen next Friday, so don’t ya’ll make any plans.”

  Zahara sighs. “Ugh, is this another Shrek movie?”

  I laugh, knowing how she hated being dragged to the movies to see all four Shrek movies with me when they first came out. “Noooo, it’s not. Thank you very much. And it’s gonna be good.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “You know I’m in,” Ameerah says.

  Zahara grunts. “Well, be clear. We’ll see your little movie thingy, but y’all will go see whatever I wanna see the next time we go to the movies.”

  Brittani and I groan.

  She laughs. “Oh well. If I gotta suffer through a movie of a talking cat in high-heel boots, then y’all can handle a vampire love story.”

  Out of nowhere, Ameerah breaks out and starts singing the lyrics to Beyoncé’s “Irreplaceable,” which happens to be one of her favorite songs.

  “Girl, I am so over that song,” Zahara states, rolling her eyes. “You need to let it go, boo.”

  Ameerah gives her the hand, getting all amped. “Not. You know I love me some Beyoncé, okay. And ‘Irreplaceable’
is my song right there.” She goes back into song, then Brittani and I go into the chorus, throwing our right hands up in the air, gesturing to the left.

  “Oh God, speaking of to the left, to the left,” Zahara says, cutting us off, “here comes Stix and his sidekick, Bones. And I am not in the mood for Bones’s retarded butt. Not today. I’m cramping too bad.”

  I look over in their direction. They both got their nicknames ’cause they’re tall and thin. Stix is like six-three, and Bones is six-four. And, yeah . . . they both play varsity ball. And, umm, I’m not gonna front. They’re both cute, too. Not as fine as Sincere, though. Anyways, they stay rocking the fly gear. And both of ’em have these spinnin’ waves that can make a blind chick dizzy. I swear, you’d think they were brothers if you didn’t know they were cousins. The only problem with Bones is, he’s effen annoying. And none of us can stand him ’cause he’s always saying something slick out of his mouth—well, not ever to me, but to my girls he does. Then we all gotta jump on him ’cause if you disrespect one of us, you disrespect all of us. That’s how we roll. Oh . . . and he has big lips that are always chapped and sometimes cracked ’cause he’s always licking them, which doesn’t do any good. It’s like if he kissed you, he’d cut up your face and lips. Mmmph. Nasty!

  As soon as they get to our table, Zahara pulls out her Teen Voices magazine and tries to act like she’s reading it. I laugh ’cause we all know she’s big on Stix. And he digs her, too, so I don’t know why they don’t quit with the BS and make it happen. Geesh!

  “Yo, what’s good, y’all?” Stix asks us, looking over at Zahara. We all speak to him, but the minute Bones opens his mouth, we ig him. Zahara keeps flipping through the pages of her magazine. And I do what I do best, tossing my hair to the side and turning my head in the other direction.

  Bones smirks. “Oh, y’all birds can’t speak?” He knows calling us out of our names is usually gonna get one of us started. And that’s all he wants. I swear. He’s so desperate and pathetic for attention from us, even if it’s negative.

  Brittani looks at me, shaking her head.

  “Oh, word? It’s like that? Y’all gonna sit here and act like you don’t hear me speak? I saaaaid, wassup?”