by Amir Abrams
“Yo, man,” Stix says, lightly tapping him on the arm with the back of his hand. “Let’s roll.”
“Hol’ up, yo,” Bones says, looking over at Zahara. “Yo, Zee, what does FFFF stand for?” She glares at him. He laughs. “Never mind, I got it. Fake, funky, fart faces.”
We all shoot him a look. “Womp, womp, womp,” I say. “You fail!”
“Ohmygod, what a loser,” Brittani adds, shaking her head.
“Girl, I know you ain’t talkin’ with ya peanut head,” he snaps.
She jumps up from her seat and starts rolling her neck and pointing her finger all up in his face. “Boy, we’re over here minding our business and you coming up over here disrupting our flow like you have nothing else better to do. How ’bout you go throw ya’self over a bridge.”
“How ’bout you suck my—”
Before he can get the rest of his words out, Brittani mushes him dead in his face.
“Don’t even try disrespecting me like that, little boy. How ’bout you go drink bleach,” she says, mushing him again. “Ya breath smells hot, with ya busted, ashy-lipped self.”
We all start laughing. Even Stix chuckles. And this only pisses Bones off more. But he started it. So it’s about to be on.
“Yo, man, let’s go,” Stix snaps, yanking him by the arm. “I don’t know why you can’t chill. You always gotta start with them.”
“Yo, man, eff them birds.”
“And eff you, too,” Zahara says, shutting her magazine.
“That’s why you got flies around your funky mouth, ’cause you smell like doo-doo.” Then, as if on cue, we jump up from our seats and start singing that ole-school joint, “Doo-Doo Brown.” We start dropping and popping it, which draws a crowd. We get it real crunked and everybody around us starts singing and chanting and dancing, too. I look around and see others are on the cafeteria floor cracking the hell up. Bones is too through! His face is cracked! And the only thing he can do is bounce his cornball butt on his merry way. Poof! Like I said: mess with one, mess with us all!
“Oh, shoot,” I snap, grabbing my things. “I gotta meet Sincere.” I tell ’em I’m out, popping my hips out the lunchroom.
22
I’m fifteen minutes late meeting Sincere. I have two missed calls and three texts from him wildin’ out. Well, okay, I’m exaggerating. He wasn’t wildin’. But it felt like it in my head. He only wanted to know what was taking me so long. And for some reason that got on my damn nerves—questioning me like he’s my father or something. I hear another nut alert in my head: If he starts questioning you like he owns you, check him real quick, then proceed with caution. If he tries to make you choose him over your friends, make it clear they were there before him and they’re gonna be there way after him, so he can either accept it, or step.
As soon as he sees me, he starts walking toward me all fast and whatnot, mean-mugging me. I can see his jaws tightening. In the three months we’ve been dating, I’ve never seen him like this. Girl, make sure you check him if he comes off crazy. I shoot him the evil eye, ready for him.
“Aye, yo . . . what took you so long?” He is so close up on me that if I were as tall as him, our noses would be touching. “I thought we agreed to meet at twelve thirty.”
“Umm, we did,” I say nonchalantly. “But something came up.”
He frowns. “Like?”
Like none of your damn business. “I got sidetracked in the cafeteria.”
He huffs. “Sidetracked? Doing what?”
I feel my top about to pop. “Look, first of all, don’t question me. But since you asked, I got caught up buggin’ out with Brittani ’n’ them.”
He blinks. “Wow. So you can question me anytime you want, but I can’t. Oh, a’ight. I see how you doin’ it.”
“You see how I’m doin’ what?”
“You got me out here looking like a fool, waiting on you while you all up in the cafeteria with ya girls, dancin’ and prancin’ like a buncha hoes all up in them dudes’ faces.” I give him a shocked look. “Yeah, my peoples hit me up and already let me know what it is. I don’t appreciate your silly-behind tryna play me like I’m some duck.”
Ohhhkay, now I’m extra pissed that he’s called me silly. Then he has the nerve to have his boys hawking my moves. Shoot, all this time I didn’t even know he knew anyone that went here.
“You knew you were running late. All you had to do was hit me up real quick and tell me so. Not have me standing out here looking all crazy, yo. You real stupid for that.”
Oh hell, naw! I put my hand on my hip, take a deep breath. See, in a split second, I’m about to—as my favorite cousin, Brandon, would say—read him for filth! “First of all, don’t get it twisted. You don’t own me.”
“I never said I—”
I put up my hand, cutting him off. “I’m still speaking. Second of all, don’t call me stupid. That’s one thing I’m not. Third of all, don’t ever disrespect me or my girls. They’re not hoes and neither am I!”
“Hol’ up. I never said y’all were. I said—”
“I know what you said, punk. I don’t need you to remind me.”
“Yo, hold up. You have a problem with me calling you names, so don’t do it to me.”
“I’ll call you whatever I want.”
He frowns at me.”Yo, how you figure? You sound real crazy right now.”
“Don’t be calling me crazy, boy. You know what? I’m soooo done with you and this conversation. I’m out! Now go back and tell that to your little watchdogs.” I hit him with the deuces, then bounce.
As soon as I get about ten steps away from him, he runs up on me and grabs me by the arm, swinging me around. Okay, I’m exaggerating. He didn’t really swing me around. But still I don’t like the fact that he’s grabbed me. “Aye, yo, don’t walk off on me when I’m still talking to you. What the hell is your problem?”
I snatch my arm away from him. Then, before I give it much thought, I spaz out and slap him. “Don’t you ever put your hands on me! Have you lost your mind, grabbing me like that? I don’t know what type of chick you think I am, but I ain’t that one. And if you put your hands on me like that again, I’ma show you.”
He catches himself real quick, holding the side of his face. “Yo, you’d really put ya hands on me?” he asks, lowering his voice, rubbing where I slapped him. I can tell he’s shocked, and hurt.
Oh well. He shouldn’t have come at me like that. The last boy who called himself tryna man-handle me got his face and neck clawed up and I flattened his tires. “Ohmygod, Sincere,” I say, reaching for him.
He steps back. “Yo, I can’t believe you just slapped me.”
And I’ll do it again if you press me. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
He stares at me for a minute, then spins away from me.
“Sincere, wait,” I call out to him. “Where are you going?”
“I’m out,” he snaps, walking back toward his truck.
Everything has backfired on me. I’m supposed to be spinning off on him, not the other way around. I follow behind him. “Sincere, wait. Please let me explain.”
He stops and turns to face me. I can tell he’s heated. Still, he had no business grabbing me.
Girl, you gotta let these boys know from the gate what it is, or they’ll be snatching you up every chance they get. “I didn’t mean to slap you like that. It’s just that when you told me someone told you what I was doing in the cafeteria, that pissed me off. Then you grabbed my arm like that. And I lost it.”
“Yo, I was wrong for grabbing you. But if you gotta problem with something I say or do, tell me. Don’t put your hands on me, ’cause I’m not gonna put my hands on you.”
“Well, don’t have anyone checking up on me like I’m some child.”
“That’s not what I was doing. I kept calling your cell and you weren’t picking up, then you didn’t answer my texts, so I called my boy’s brother, who goes to your school.”
I frown. �
��Who is he?”
He raises a brow. “You don’t need to know all that.”
“Motherf. . .” I catch myself before I flip into curse mode and blast his behind. OMG, he’s about to see the other side of me if I don’t roll out, now! “Whatever, Sincere,” I snap, flipping the script, playing it like he’s the cause of what just popped off. “I have to get to class. And I’m already late, thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me?”
“Yeah, you.”
“A’ight, whatever, yo.”
“Yeah, whatever. Talk to the hand ’cause I don’t give a damn.” I say over my shoulder, flicking my hand up in the air.
“Say what?”
I turn back around. “You heard me. Talk to the hand. Translation: Don’t call me. I’ll call you.” I walk off, leaving him standing in the middle of the school parking lot, looking like the damn fool he is for thinking he can try to keep tabs on me and put his hands on me, and it’s gonna be all good. Not!
Needless to say, the rest of the day drags ’cause all I can do is think about Sincere. I’m still pissed that he has someone at this school who can keep tabs on me. But I’m more pissed at myself for telling him I was done with him. But there’s no way I’m gonna call him and tell him otherwise. Nope, not gonna happen. Erika and her girls used to say, Once you say it’s over, then let it be over. And if you don’t mean it, then act like you do till he begs you back. So that’s exactly what he’s gonna have to do. So here I am, sitting in my calculus class, staring at equations that become one crazy blur. We have to solve each one, but I can’t. I’m sitting here too wrapped up in tryna figure out how to solve my man problems.
At the end of the school day, I’m at my locker waiting for Ameerah to meet me so we can dip. Zahara has some student council meeting and Brittani is riding home with her boo, Stevie. So it’s me and Ameerah rolling out. While I’m waiting for her slow behind, I pull out my iPhone, looking at the screen. There are no missed calls! There are a few new e-mails and texts. I scroll through them. But none of them are from Sincere’s biscuit head! Forget him! I feel sick!
What if he wants to break up with me?
Girl, stop trippin’. You won’t let him!
I roll my eyes when I finally spot Ameerah strolling down the hall toward me. She’s all grins and giggles as she’s walking and talking to Joe-Joe. He’s a’ight-looking. But he could be better-looking if he didn’t have all them nasty-azz pimples all up on his forehead and whatnot. They’re all red from him popping and picking at them. But he has thick, curly hair and a nice chiseled body that make up for it.
He smiles when he sees me. “Hey, Kamiyah, wassup?”
“Nothing much. What’s up with you?”
“Chillin’.”
“I hear you,” I say, looking over his shoulder at this dude who’s walking toward us. He peeps me staring at him, and nods. My gut tells me he’s one of Sincere’s little Seeing Eye dogs. I feel like walking up on him and punching him dead-up in his chest. I roll my eyes and give him the finger. He laughs. Punk!
“Look, ma,” Joe-Joe says, gazing at Ameerah, “I gotta get to detention. I’ma hit you up later, a’ight?”
She grins. “Cool.”
He leans in and kisses her on the cheek. “I’ma be thinkin’ ’bout you.”
She blushes. “Me too.”
I let out a disgusted sigh. “Okaaaay, let’s break up this love train. I got things to do.”
“Whatever,” she says, waving me on.
“A’ight, I’m out,” Joe-Joe says, squeezing her waist.
“Later, Kamiyah.”
I give him a nod and a fake smile.
“Ohmygod,” Ameerah says as he walks off. “I swear. If I didn’t love you, I’d hate you. You can be such a snotty brat sometimes.”
“Yup, that’s me,” I say, laughing. “So, get over it. And let’s go.”
She sucks her teeth, walking off. I pull my phone out of my bag and check it one more time for any messages, knowing darn well nothing’s come through since the last time I checked fifteen minutes ago. My heart sinks. I feel like crying. I am missing Sincere so much. I just wanna hear his voice. If he doesn’t call me by the time I get home from dance class, I’m going to die! I have to get my man back, and quick!
23
I’m at Daddy’s—why? Because my mother had to leave for Denver tonight for some kind of meeting she has in the morning. Whatever! Why I can’t stay at the house by myself is beyond crazy. She’s only going to be gone until tomorrow night, for Christ’s sake! They act like I’m still a little kid or something.
Anywaaayz . . . I’m sitting at my computer, browsing the Internet while listening to music. I am so pissed! It’s almost nine thirty and Sincere still hasn’t called me! And I’m starting to feel desperate. Erika’s voice plays in my head. If he really cares about you, he’ll keep calling you even when you tell him not to. The nerve of him! I told him not to call me, and the fool listens. How stupid is that? Obviously, he doesn’t care!
Jazmine Sullivan’s “Lions, Tigers & Bears” is playing. Even though I don’t want to, I start humming along. Bored, I change the track, logging onto Facebook. Nicki Minaj’s “Your Love” starts playing. As soon as my page comes up, who do I see, Facebooking it up like crazy? Sincere!
I twist my lips. “Mmmph, so this is how he’s doin’ it,” I say, clicking on his page. I see he has a buncha new posts on his wall from chicks and a few of his boys. And he’s added new friends—females. And a few of them birds have been poking and tagging him up and whatnot. Mmmph. This boy’s doing all this, instead of dialing my digits. “Oh, it’s on and popping,” I say as I type on my wall: IT’S OFFICIAL Y’ALL . . . DA FLY, FABULOUS DIVA IS BACK ON THE BLOCK CHECKIN’ FOR THEM REAL-TYPE CATS! NOT LITTLE BOYZ PUTTING THEIR HANDS ON GIRLZ. OR PLAYIN’ HEAD GAMES. SO IF YOU REAL WITH IT, THEN HOLLA AT YA GIRL!
I bet this’ll get his attention, I think, smirking. Let’s see if he calls now. I stare at the screen for a few minutes, then reply to a few messages, click on a few profiles, add four new friends, then click back on Sincere’s page. I click on his photos. He has about ten flicks of me and him together, twenty of himself—some with his boys, others with his family—and another fifteen of me by myself. I talk myself outta posting on his wall. Instead I remove him from my friends list, then log off.
Five minutes later, my cell rings. I know by the ring tone that it’s Brittani. And yes I’m disappointed that it’s her instead of Sincere.
I answer on the third ring, flopping down on my bed. “Wassup, girl?”
“Chillin’. I saw you come through Facebook. What’s up with that post on ya wall?”
I sigh. “Just what it is.”
“Mmmhmm. So what happened between you and Sincere?”
I hear Erika’s voice in my head again. Never tell your girls what’s really going on with you and your man unless you are absolutely, one hundred percent sure you want it to be over. Otherwise they’re gonna be looking at you real crazy if and when you take him back.
“Nothing, really,” I reply, glancing down at my feet. OMG, I need a pedicure, fast!
“Did that mofo put his hands on you? ’Cause you know we don’t play that.”
“Hell, no. You already know what it is. He’d catch it upside his head real quick if he did some mess like that.”
“I know that’s right. So then why you post that craziness ’bout not checking for boys who put their hands on girls?”
I let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, that. Girl, I was tripping offa something I read online about a girl getting boxed up by her boyfriend; that’s all.” Of course it’s a small lie. Well, a big lie ’cause I didn’t read anything. I only posted that up on my wall to see if Sincere is gonna call me. But I can’t tell her that I only wrote that on my wall to get Sincere’s attention. She’d think I was nuts.
“Mmmm,” she says, pausing. I’m sure trying to decide if she’s gonna believe me or not. “Okaaay, if you say so. Earlier today you was a
ll boo’d up. Now all of a sudden you on Facebook, posting you back on the block. Y’all must be beefing or something.”
“Not really. I’m just not feeling him like that anymore, so it is what it is.”
“I feel you, girrrl. On to the next!”
“Yup.”
“Well, I gotta do this whack homework before it gets too late. Mister Rios be wildin’ with all these assignments.”
“Pobrecita,” I say in Spanish. “Nadie dijo que tome es-pañol con él.”
“Poor baby, nothing,” she repeats back in English, laughing. “I took Spanish with him ’cause he’s cute. But had I known he works his class to death, I would have passed. I didn’t sign up for all of this dang homework, not in my last year. Senior year is supposed to be a breeze, boo. So, bese mi culo, show off!”
I laugh with her. “Right back at ya, trick!” We talk a few minutes more before hanging up. I get up and walk over to my computer, deciding to log off and read a book. I grab Shortie Like Mine by Ni-Ni Simone from off my bookshelf, then lie across the bed on my stomach.
When Rihanna’s “Hate That I Love You” starts playing, I grab the remote to my stereo and change the disc. When Styles P’s “Harsh” comes on, I suck my teeth, changing it. Tyga’s “Coconut Juice” comes on and I turn up the volume, bopping to the music while reading the first chapter of my book.
Ten minutes and two songs later, I am still on the first page of this book. I can’t effen think straight. I don’t want it to be over between Sincere and me. Shoot, he’s everything to me.
My cell rings again. Still, no Sincere. Its ring tone alerts me that this time it’s Ameerah. As soon as I answer, she starts speed yapping. “Brittani told me you and Sincere are over. Girl, tell me he didn’t put his hands on you. You know we will set it off on his monkey-behind if he even thinks it. And why you post that on your wall, anyway? What’s good with that?”
“Ohmygod, if you’d slow down and come up for air maybe I can get a word in edgewise. No, Sincere did not hit me.” Well, that’s not a lie. But she doesn’t need to know I slapped him up. “And I never said he did. That post on my wall had nothing to do with him.”