by Amir Abrams
Boys sweat me.
“Oh, a’ight. That’s wassup.”
“Oooh, you have a sexy phone voice,” I say, sliding my tongue over my teeth.
I’m lying on my stomach with my feet in the air, flipping through a magazine while posted up on Facebook going through friend requests. So far I’ve accepted seventy-five outta ninety-three. I smirk when I see that Cease has sent me another request. This is like friend request number five or six. Why he’s so pressed to be up on my page is beyond me. But, like all the other times, I don’t accept him for any other reason than not wanting him up on my page.
Brent laughs. “Oh, for real? Thanks. You have a nice voice, too. I always wondered what you sounded like.”
“Well, now you do. So what I sound like?”
“Sexy.”
“Of course I do, boo. Sexy’s my middle name. I thought you knew.”
“I do, I do.”
“Uh-huh. Glad you do.”
“True, true. I’m sayin’ though . . . what’s up with you?”
I shut my magazine ’n’ toss it over onto the floor. “Nothin’. What’s good in your world, boo?”
“Chillin’. Hopin’ I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
Ooh, catch me, boo. Come save me from this boredom!
“No, not hardly.” I glance over at the clock. It’s a little after nine P.M. Leona dropped me off home around six thirty after an afternoon of pampering then an early dinner at a nearby restaurant. So here I am. Home alone ’n’ practically bored outta my skull, knowing dang well I should probably be doing homework instead of wondering what kinda underwear he wears. Boxers? Or boxer briefs? Omigod, if he wears those lil tighty-whitey punk panties, I’ma drop to the floor ’n’ die.
“So what you gonna be doing later on tonight, like in an hour?”
Hopefully ripping your clothes off, boo. I smack my lips together. “Nothing. Why, you wanna come over ’n’ keep me company?”
“You want me to?”
Ooh, do I?
“I want you to do whatever you want, Brrrent.” I lower my voice. “Tell Fiona want you want, lil daddy, ’n’ tonight just might become ya lucky night.”
“Oh, word? It’s like that?”
“I’m a grown woman, boo. Trust. It’s like however I want it to be.”
“Daaayum. You talkin’ that talk.”
“And I can walk that walk too, lil daddy. Trust. Fiona don’t play no games, boo. Come through ’n’ you gonna learn tonight.”
I can hear the excitement ringing in his voice; the sweet promise of a hot, sweaty night, as he tells me he’s been wanting to get with me for a minute. Ooh, this lil boo-daddy has no idea what kinda delicious, dirty trouble he’s about to get into messing with me.
I roll over on my back, crossing my right leg over my left knee. “So why you wanna chill with me, huh? You wanna know if the rumors are true? That Fiona’s a beast in the sheets?” I don’t give him a chance to answer before I say, “Trust. They ain’t no rumors, boo. So before you even try’n step up in the furnace, you better be ready to handle the heat.”
He starts breathing kinda heavy in my ear. I laugh to myself at the thought of him on the other end of the phone, drooling while tryna ease the excitement creeping up in his lap. I start talking all low ’n’ freaky in his ear, teasing him.
“Daaaaayum. You don’t even know what you done started. I need that like ASAP.”
I start grinning. “You know where I live?”
“Over on Wilkerson, right?”
“Yeah.” I give him the address. Tell him to come through in about thirty minutes.
“A’ight, bet. I’ma hit you when I’m on my way.”
“And you better not even come up over here with no musty balls or wearin’ no Spider-Man or SpongeBob drawz, either.”
He cracks up laughing. “Nah, nah. Wrong dude. I stay clean. And my boxers always on point.”
“Mmph. We’ll see.”
“You already know.”
We talk a few minutes more before disconnecting. I toss my phone over on the bed, then scramble around my room, pulling out a black lace cami set ’n’ my scented candles. Yes, hunni, trust. It’s gonna be a Durex night he’ll never forget.
Ooh, I’m so glad I had my feet done today. I’ma stuff these toes all in his mouth.
14
The next morning, I strut into the school building without a care in the world, humming Britney Spears’s “Work B**ch.” I just love that song. I swing my hips, working it in a pair of designer jeans that are practically poured on over my curves, with a cute lil black tee that has a big red cherry painted in the middle of my chest. The words POP MY are scrawled across the cherry in black cursive. Ooh, you can’t tell me I’m not servin’ it. You better work, bish! My heels click against the tile as I make my way down the hall.
“Yo, what’s goodie, Fee?” Kent calls out as I walk by.
“You, boo,” I say, winking at him.
“Yo, what’s good, Fee?” Luke wants to know. “You comin’ to my party next weekend? It’s gonna be live, yo. Got them drinks on deck.”
“Ooh no, thanks. I’m not even tryna see you pissy drunk in ya boxers again.”
He laughs. “Yo, chill, chill.”
“No. You need to chill on the drinkin’, boo. You’re one pint away from a rehab stay.”
He laughs. “Nah, nah. Never that. I’m on my grown-man ish. I holds mine, baby.”
I smirk. “Uh-huh. And that’s why there’s flicks of you on ya knees prayin’ to the porcelain gods all up on Instagram. Yeah, you holdin’ it all right, boo. Right around the toilet bowl.”
I keep stepping, hair bouncing every which way as I walk.
“Daaayum, baby, let me get some’a that thick shake . . .” I glance over my shoulder. It’s Marcellus with his nasty self, grabbing his crotch. “I gotta whole box of condoms just for you.”
“Hold ya breath, boo. This shake ain’t for you. The only thing you can get is a hall pass to the clinic.”
He laughs. “Damn, you cold.”
I wave him on. “Uh-huh. Cold as ice, baby.”
Up ahead, Keyshaun stops talking to two of his boys when he spots me ’n’ says, “Yo, what’s poppin’, Fiona, baby?”
“You ’n’ all’a dem baby muhvers, boo. I hear you got some other dumbo knocked up.”
He laughs. “Nah, nah. My mans ’n’ ’em ran up in that. I was strapped.”
He gives his boys pounds.
I roll my eyes. “Well, you need to be strapped to a gurney ’n’ castrated.”
“Ouch!”
His boys laugh.
“Oh, a’ight, a’ight . . . I see you, Fee,” Benji calls out as I continue down the hall. “Let me get up in them jeans with you.”
“Benji, boom! Not today, lovey.”
“Damn, Fee, baby,” Christian aka Crusty Drawz says, practically drooling as I walk by him posted up at his locker. “When you gonna let me hit that?”
“Middle finger up,” I snap, tossing my right arm ’n’ middle finger up in the air at him. “Never that.”
“I’m sayin’ . . . you can get it all night for free, word is bond, yo.”
“And you can get ya face slapped.”
He laughs. But he knows I’ll do his face real dirty if he presses me. So he kindly stays in his lane. “Fiona, you my peoples, yo. You know I’m only effen wit’ you.”
“Uh-huh.”
I peep Cease scoopin’ LuAnna up in his arms, giving her a hug. She’s all grins ’n’ giggles, like she’s all stuck on silly. He lets her go when he spots me, but I act like I don’t see him ’n’ turn the corner. Then of course I hear some hatin’ trick say something slick, tryna disguise her voice. “Tramp on deck.” I don’t peep who says it at first until I spot Quanda ’n’ Samantha eyeballin’ me.
“Ooh, don’t do it, booga-bears,” I say, wagging a finger over at them. “You bully-azz hoes don’t want it. Not today, hun. Sam, where’s ya drunk-azz mammy, boo? I he
ard she was down on the Ave. picking through the trash again for ya dinner.”
“Bish!” she snaps. “Where’s ya damn mammy? Least mine wants me.”
“Yeah, only when she’s drunk,” I snap back. I stop in my tracks when she says something slick about my father. He’s dead. And he’s off limits to talk about. Go in on Cruella all day, but keep my father out ya mouth. “Ooh, don’t do it, Miss Piggy-Wiggy. You know you don’t want it. You don’t even wanna play the daddy game, boo.”
“No, you don’t want it, ho.”
I laugh, sliding my hand down into my bag, feeling for my travel companion—Miss Swiss Army. Let this bitch say something else slick ’n’ crazy ’n’ I’ma take this blade straight to her face.
I toss my hair. “Leap, booga-bear.”
“No, you leap,” she shoots back.
I laugh, giving her the finger, then stepping off. “Talk to the phatty.”
I climb the stairs to the fourth floor, then make my way toward the bank of lockers. I blink, blink again, as I approach my locker. Brent is standing there, grinning at me as I approach.
Oh, he has got to be kiddin’ me . . .
“Hey,” he says. “I was hoping to see you before homeroom.”
I give him a confused look, then glance around to see who else is in earshot. “For what?”
“About last night. I—”
“Oh no, oh no,” I say, cutting him off. “We are not even about to do this here.”
He looks over my shoulder down the hall, then back at me. “Nah, it’s nothing serious.” He lowers his voice to almost a whisper. “It’s just that I kinda wanna keep what happened between us on the low. Feel me?”
I laugh, opening my locker. A note falls to the floor. “Listen, boo.” I reach down ’n’ pick up the note, stuffing it in my back pocket. I eye him. “I gave you a lil taste of heaven ’cause that’s what I wanted to do. But trust. I don’t kiss ’n’ tell.”
I go back to rummaging through my locker for my books for the first three periods.
“Yeah, I know you don’t. Me either.”
I peer around my locker door ’n’ look at him. “Well, I wouldn’t care if you did or didn’t. All I know is, I’m not saying anything. What we did is nothing newsworthy, so no worries, boo. Trust.” I slam my locker shut. “It’s like it never happened.”
Between me ’n’ you, the night ended in less than twenty minutes. I’m not messy so I’m not gonna put him all up on blast like that. But let’s just say, boo-boo couldn’t handle the heat.
He gives me a dumb look.
Bless his lil heart.
I reach up ’n’ kiss him on the cheek, then spin on my heel, heading down the hall toward homeroom. It’s not until I am sitting in my second period class that I remember the note I have tucked in my back pocket. I pull it out, then slowly open it. It’s another poem. I frown, flipping the paper over looking for any clue, any sign as to who coulda slid this into my locker. Just like with the other poem. There is none.
At first I think it might be from Brent since he was in fact standing at my locker when I walked up to it this morning. But then I quickly shake the craziness of that outta my head. I start reading:
I Got My Eye On You
I got my eye on you, pretty baby
I’m inspired by your smile
intrigued by your style
I wanna breathe u in
taste your skin
I wanna swim in your love
you are all I think about
all I desire
makin’ you mine is at the top of my list
I imagine the taste of your lips
I fantasize about our first kiss
I wanna love you down
but for now, baby
I’ma keep diggin’ you from afar
just know . . .
I got my eye on you
I blink. Omigod. I read it again, then silently pray that whoever is leaving me these poems isn’t some cuckoo stalker. The last thing Miss Fiona needs is a nutcase riding her heels. Oh no, boo. Chickie don’t play that. I quickly fold the note, then slide it down into my bag.
15
“Girrrrrrrl,” Miesha says, setting her tray down in front of me ’n’ pulling out a chair. She takes a seat. “Omigod, I got some juicy scoop for you. Wait. Why didn’t you text me back last night?”
I look up at her. “What text? I didn’t get any texts from you.”
She tilts her head. “Uh-huh. Wrong answer. Try again.”
“No, for real.” I pull out my phone ’n’ scroll through it. “Oops.” Sure enough, there’s a text from her: GIRL I GOT SUM SCOOP 4 U! CALL ME
“My bad,” I say apologetically. “I don’t know how I missed that.”
“Well, you did. But, whatever. Annnnywho . . . guess who’s checkin’ for you, hard, girl?”
I frown. “Oh boy. Should I even care?”
“Yesss, hun, you should.”
I groan. “Who is it now? And if you tell me it’s some boy in the Glee Club with a thong fetish, or that cute Middle Eastern boy, Ahmad, with the hairy back, I’ma scream.”
She cracks up laughing. “Eww. No, girl.” She waves me on. “I’m not even tryna see you with no boy wearing a rug on his back. I wouldn’t do you like that. Although it would be hilarious to see you combing his back.”
I can’t help but laugh myself. “Ugh. Girl, the only thing I’d do with that boy’s back is run a lawn mower over it. I can’t do nothin’ else with that. He needs a good wax ’n’ a new back.” She keeps laughing. “No. I’m dead serious, Miesha. I don’t need any more news about some freak of nature wantin’ a slice of my cherry pie. The bakery shop is closed. I’m not doin’ any more American horror stories.”
“Girl, I can’t.” She laughs. “Trust me. I wouldn’t do you like that. This is major.”
I tilt my head. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who? Brent?”
“Brent? Girl, no. Why’d you think it was him?”
I shrug. “He came up to me yesterday ’n’ asked me if I wanted to chill ’n’ grab a bite to eat.” I decide not to tell her that the only thing that got eaten last night was, well, um . . . me, of course. Or that he can’t hold his excitement in for long before he starts howling out like some wolf. Oh no, hun. Fiona isn’t even about to do him like that. So since I ain’t one to gossip or kiss ’n’ tell, we gonna keep movin’ on.
“Ooh, interesting. Well, he is real cute. But Brent’s too nice for you, Fiona. You’re like a man-eater. You’d eat that boy up alive. I don’t think he’s ready for that kinda heartbreak, girl.”
Girl, if you only knew. That boy ain’t ready for much of anything.
I feign insult. “Omigod, I wouldn’t do him like that. He’s too fine.” And has a tongue like an erupting volcano.
She laughs. “Lies! Oh yes, you would.”
I suck my teeth. “Whatever. Well, if it’s not Brent, who is it then?”
She takes a sip of her drink, raspberry iced tea in a glass bottle. She pulls a napkin from off her tray ’n’ dabs her mouth with it. “Cease, girl.”
I blink, blink again. “Cease? Girl, bye!”
“No. I’m serious. That boy’s big on you, boo.”
I raise a brow. “And where’d you hear this craziness from?”
“It’s not craziness. Trust.” She leans in, lowers her voice. I have to strain to hear her over the lunchroom chatter. “You can’t say anything. But Tone told me last night that he keeps beatin’ him in the head about you. Girl, that boy’s sweatin’ you on the low. Why you think he stays grinning in your face?” She toots her lips. “Mmph. I think he wants to ask you out.”
I roll my eyes. Please, all Ceasar wants is to finally get him a lil taste of heaven before we graduate in a few months. Not gonna happen. Mmph. Fine or not, I’m soo not interested.
“No, thanks. I’m not thinking about that boy like that.”
“Girl, why not? Tell me you don’t think he’s fine.”
“Yeah, he’
s fine all right, ’n’ real nasty.”
She laughs. “Girl, don’t front. Nasty’s right up your alley.”
I smirk. “Ooh, you know me so well, boo. But Cease can’t do nothing for me that I can’t get from some other lil boo-daddy. Trust.”
“Girl, stop. So you’re sayin’ if he stepped to you on some let’s chill type ish, you wouldn’t? Or what if he asked you to prom? You’d turn him down?”
I gaze across the lunch tables, just in time to spot him laughing it up with Antonio ’n’ Luke—another one of his boys on the basketball team—as they walk into the cafeteria. He looks over in our direction. He’s wearing a pair of shades, but I know his eyes are on me. I can feel ’em.
I look away. Bring my attention back to Miesha. “Yup. I sure would.”
She chuckles, plucking a grape from her fruit salad. “Yeah, right. Lies you tell. You know you’d jump all over that.”
“No, I wouldn’t. Cease tried to hook up with me freshman year ’n’ it didn’t work out then, so I know it’s not gonna happen now.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . .”
“Because what?”
“Uhh, because I caught him kissing this ugly, pie-faced girl with big horse teeth.”
“Girl, bye. That was three years ago. People change.”
“Uh-huh. Not dogs like him. I was humiliated, to say the least, that he’d choose that horse head over”—I run my hands over my body—“this.”
“And I’m sure he’s been kicking himself ever since.”
“Well, he should be. Still, I don’t believe in second chances, boo.”
She shakes her head. “You act like you scared he might turn you out or something.”
I suck my teeth, flicking a dismissive wave at her. “Turn me out? Ha! Never that, boo. Nasty or not, I’m not looking to get down ’n’ dirty with Cease; that’s all. Besides, isn’t he supposedly messing with flat-back?”