Beyond a greeting, MJ doesn’t speak until Lana goes inside.
“So you didn’t get killed today?”
“Apparently not.”
“I told you not to mess with him. People don’t ever want to listen to MJ.”
“I didn’t mess with him. He found me. I had no idea he was coming to that house. Which makes me wonder how you did.”
“This is what I wanted to tell you all along, but . . .”
“MJ ain’t no snitch—I know, I know.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not the case after last night.”
It’s true. MJ must have been really worried about me to come to Lana. This porch must have been like holy water to a vampire for MJ.
“It isn’t snitching when it means saving a friend’s life, you know.”
“Not when you’re a gangster.”
“But you aren’t in a gang anymore.”
MJ is silent, which makes my brain start clicking.
“Wait a minute. Did you start running with Donnell? Is he in some kind of gang?”
“Something like that. He was trying to start the Denver operation of the Down Homes. This whole thing was like his initiation. If he pulled it off, then he’d be the head of a new organization here in town.”
“How did he even know about the Down Homes? I thought you were leaving all that behind, starting fresh, getting your GED so you could go to college. Or were you just talking?”
“That was the plan until I thought you set my cousin up. You were my only friend out here, and then I wind up in jail. I figured it was true what my old boyfriend said when I was back home. Can’t trust nobody but your Homies. That’s what we call ourselves in the Down Homes, not just the generic homies.”
“Yeah, I get it,” I tell her before she gets sidetracked.
“So Donnell comes around and starts asking me to hook him up with some people back home. Everyone around here knows about me. Wasn’t like no big secret.”
“MJ, do you really think I set your cousin up?”
“I did then. But I got to thinking about it and realized if I didn’t know my cousin was dealing out of that motel room, how you gonna know? So I gave Donnell the hookup and told him I was out after that. But some of the Homies called and asked me to help him out, you know, like be a mentor.”
I have to work hard not to laugh at this scenario—a Big Brother program to help juvenile delinquents get into a life of crime.
“And you said yes? He was setting me up for a murder charge.”
“I didn’t know anything about a murder or making you take the fall. I thought he was just going to rob your boss.”
“Next time, you might want to get all the facts before you help known felons.”
“I didn’t have any friends out here. One thing I know is you always gotta have someone who has your back. So I told Donnell I’d help him out, and he told me his plan about taking down your boss. Then you come by here asking about him, and even after I told you to stay out of it, I knew you wouldn’t.”
“It must have been hard to come talk to my mother.”
“Yeah, ’cause I still hate the cops. Even now I’m taking a risk sitting here with you.”
“Why? No one knows she’s a cop.”
“You never know where the Down Homes are. They don’t know about her, but they know about you. They know you were the one Donnell was setting up. How does it look me being friends with you?”
“That means we’re friends again?”
“I don’t know about all that. But if you got my back, I got yours.”
“Best homies forever,” I say, thinking I’m pretty clever.
“That ain’t funny, Chanti. Later,” MJ says and like that, she’s gone, heading home. But it’s all good because I know it’s true. Later.
Chapter 37
The first day back at Langdon is not my idea of a good time. After all I’d been through, Lana said it was okay if I wanted to transfer to North. I told her I’d stay and give it until the end of fall semester. Yes, leaving Langdon is all I’ve wanted since the beginning. No, I have not completely lost it. But it’s only been three weeks, a crazy three weeks that could never possibly happen again. I have to believe Langdon is not such a bad place if I don’t have a stoner quarterback setting me up for a felony because he has issues with his father, or his evil twin helping him ruin my life, or a crazy bio teacher running a one-woman theft ring with my name all over it. Yeah, I still have the Headmistress from Hell to deal with, but as soon as I get the dirt on whatever she did to owe Lana a favor, I’m sure I’ll find a way to use that information to keep her off my back.
Mildred is my ally for life. When her lawyer got the surveillance tape from Smythe and had it enhanced, the school board easily recognized the boy on the tape—Justin Mitchell, who apparently was wreaking havoc long before I showed up at Langdon. Turns out he looks a lot like Mildred’s son Reginald, especially when it’s kind of dark out and you really want it to be Reginald like Smythe did. That’s why he looked familiar when Mildred showed me his photo. When he returns to Langdon next week, I’ll find out how much alike they really look.
Bethanie and I danced around each other all day, both of us trying to figure out what to say. It’s true she gave me information about the night of the party that helped me solve the crime. She didn’t have to do that. On the other hand, I don’t even know what her real name is, or the secret she’s hiding. There’s more to her story than lottery money. People tend to be way more loyal to their secrets than to their friends, and I don’t need any friends I can’t trust. With the queen of the clones now the one on suspension and awaiting her court date, and Annette lying low in embarrassment (it turns out she has a shoplifting habit, but was otherwise an innocent pawn in Lissa’s game), Bethanie is on her own at Langdon.
We may work it out, but not today, and not until I discover why Bethanie and her family are on the run. I have plenty of theories—they stole that winning lottery ticket and now a really pissed-off someone wants their money. Or maybe they created a counterfeit lottery ticket and got away with it until now, and the feds are tracking them down. It could be the life that Bethanie said she was never going back to, no matter what, is trying to reclaim her. Whatever it is, I’m making it my mission to figure it out ASAP and I can’t do that if I leave Langdon.
There is one other reason I decided to give Langdon a try. The one who’s starting the home opener this weekend against North High and can fake the sexiest French accent outside of France. I get through the day knowing we’ll meet after school to rehearse our skit. Since we go onstage tomorrow, it’s the last chance we have to get it right. He has his lines down perfectly. It’s me who might cost us some points.
After the last bell, I try not to look too eager on my walk over to the library, but it’s all I can do not to run. I’m full-on crazy for him, and I promise myself this is the day I’ll let him know. You’d think sharing a near-death experience would have brought us close enough for one of us to make a real move, for me to make him the boyfriend the rest of the world thinks he is to me. So this is it. But as soon as I see him sitting on the library steps waiting for me, I turn to lava, hot for him but without form. I have no resolve; everything in me turns soft.
“What’s up?” Marco gives me a nod, the way guys greet each other, not the way a guy greets a girl he can turn to lava just by looking at her. What’s worse, I give the guy-nod back.
“Ready to rehearse?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
We go inside and find our usual table in the humanities section, which is thankfully quiet and empty.
“Look, I brought props,” Marco says holding up a slice of bread. “We’ll pretend it’s a baguette.”
“I think I’ll take over responsibility for the props. There’s a bakery near my house. I’ll pick up a real baguette before school tomorrow.”
“You have to use your imagination.”
“That’s what I’ll tell Madame Renault when I mess
up my lines. She can imagine I got them right.”
Our skit is supposed to be a couple enjoying lunch in a café on a Parisian boulevard. Since we get to make it all up, our story has us sipping Cristal champagne and driving a Bentley to the café. Marco and I figured if we’re going to do it, we ought to live large. It’s our homage to the Langdon lifestyle. But for some reason, I still can’t focus on my lines. All I can think about is how his leg keeps accidentally brushing against mine as we sit side by side. I wonder if he’s noticed that I’ve opened an extra button on my shirt, one more than the Langdon dress code allows. Can he smell the perfume I dabbed on my neck this morning while thinking of him?
“Marco, aimes tu mes jambes?” I say in what I hope is a very sexy accent.
So when he breaks out laughing, I’m a little disappointed.
“You’re supposed to ask me if I like the ham. Le jambon.” He can barely get it out between the laughing.
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you said ‘Do you like my legs?’” More laughing.
I meant to be bold today, but not that bold. A minute ago, everything seemed perfect, and now I want to slide under the table, run out of the library. I try to think of something to say, a witty comeback that won’t sound stupid, but Marco saves me from myself.
“Yeah, I do,” he says, no longer laughing.
And that’s when it happens. He leans toward me and I can feel warmth coming off him in waves and he smells so good and I feel like there is no one else in the world but us and oh, it’s finally happening! and his lips touch mine and so soft, but not too soft, and yes, it is perfect.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
MY OWN WORST FRENEMY
Kimberly Reid
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The following questions are intended to
enhance your group’s reading of
MY OWN WORST FRENEMY.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. Stereotyping got MJ ostracized on the Ave and Chanti suspended from Langdon by Headmistress Smythe. Have you ever had to deal with being stereotyped or profiled ? Have you caught yourself doing it to others?
2. Being a snitch is seen as the lowest of the low. It’s one thing to be in people’s business and spreading information maliciously; it’s another to share information about a person who hurts others or themselves with someone who can help. Have you ever been in a position to help or protect someone by divulging information, but feared being labeled a snitch?
3. Have you ever tried “trading up” friends the way Chanti did when she befriended MJ and neglected Tasha? How did it work out?
4. Even without being arrested like Chanti, being falsely accused is a frustrating experience. It can hurt to be accused of taking your sister’s favorite earrings or starting a rumor about someone when you know they’re innocent. Has this happened to you, and were you able to clear your name?
5. At first Chanti is worried Marco sees her only as a friend, which kills her because she’s so into him. Have you ever liked someone as more than just friends, or been surprised by sudden romantic feelings for a person you always considered just a friend? Were you ever able to tell the person how you really felt? How did it affect your friendship?
6. It’s tough being judged simply for being who you are, whether it’s for being a book-geek like Chanti, or for the way you dress as Chanti did to Tasha and Michelle, or being the outsider like all the scholarship kids at Langdon. How do you deal with the haters?
7. Do you have friends like Michelle who just can’t say no to the “bad boy” type? Or maybe you’re like Michelle. The “bad” boys or girls are often just so irresistible—why is that?
8. Childhood friends sometimes grow up to be bad news, like Donnell DTS. We hear about celebrities who make it big but “keep it real” by hanging out with old friends and end up getting into serious trouble. Have you ever remained friends with someone out of loyalty even though you know they’re bad for you?
9. We’ve all had a frenemy at some point—a girl who sabotages your plans to eat healthily by offering you your favorite junk food, or a boy who creeps on the girl he knows is your crush. Why do you think so-called friends do things like that? Have you found a good way to deal with frenemies?
10. Sometimes we can be our own worst frenemy. We love ourselves but still do all kinds of self-destructive things. Chanti always seems to land in the middle of trouble. Maybe you want to get into a good college, but do more partying than studying. How can we stop sabotaging ourselves and become our own best friends?
Coming up next . . .
CREEPING WITH THE ENEMY
A Langdon Prep Novel
Turn the page for a preview of Chanti’s next adventure . . .
The line in the bodega is five deep because it’s Freebie Friday and the tamales are buy one get one. I don’t mind the wait—the scent of green chili reminds me how lucky I am to live on Aurora Avenue, just two blocks from the best tamales on the planet, or at least in a thirty-mile radius. Seeing how it’s smack in the middle of Metro’s second worst police zone, there isn’t a lot to appreciate about The Ave, so that’s saying something about these tamales. Since they only let you get one order, I always find someone to go along who doesn’t love them like I do so I can get one extra. Today my tamale pimp is Bethanie—we’re numbers six and seven in line—and she’s calling me some choice words for making her wait for a free tamale when she can afford to buy the whole bodega. I’m trying to explain to her that there’s no sport in being rich (not that I would know) when a guy walks in from a Ralph Lauren ad and becomes number eight in line.
I don’t know how a person could look so out of place and seem completely at ease at the same time, but this guy is pulling it off. He’s also checking out Bethanie so hard that even though he’s a complete stranger, he makes me feel like I’m the one who crashed the party.
“What’s so good in here that people are willing to wait for it?” he asks Bethanie. He pretty much ignores me, so I almost laugh when his line goes right over her head.
“Supposedly the tamales are,” she says, “but I wouldn’t know.”
I’m no pro at the flirty thing, but I’m sure he wasn’t expecting her answer to be tamales. I move forward in the line, ignore their small talk and study the five-item menu as though I don’t know what to order. Now there are only two people in front of me. Some Tejano music and the smell of cooking food drifts into the store from somewhere behind the clerk. I imagine somebody’s grandmother back there wrapping corn husks around masa harina and pork. Yum.
I check out Preppie Dude like I’m not really looking at him but concentrating on the canned peaches on the shelf behind him. Cute. Not so cute he couldn’t at least say hello to me before he starts fawning for my friend. He’s still the last person in line even though tamale happy-hour runs from 4 to 5 and the line is usually out the door until 5. Weird, because it’s only 4:30. I’m about to mention how weird that is to Bethanie, but she’s finally figured out Preppie is flirting with her and has apparently forgotten me, too.
Now there’s just one person ahead, Ada Crawford, who lives across the street from me and who I’m pretty sure is a hooker even though I don’t have any proof. If we lived in a different neighborhood, I might say she was a call girl since her clients come to her. But we live in Denver Heights, so she doesn’t get a fancy title. Luckily she hasn’t noticed me behind her because I’m not supposed to be here and I wouldn’t want her to tell my mother she saw me. Not that Ada ever has much to say to my mom.
Still no one else has come in. Along with the clerk I don’t recognize, maybe they’ve also changed the cut-off time to 4:30. I suppose the owners would go broke if all people did was come in for the Freebie and not buy anything else. Or worse, get a friend to pimp an extra Freebie. I place my order—feeling slightly guilty—when I hear the bells over the door jangling a new arrival just as Ada walks away with her order. I look back to see a man holding the door open for Ada. He stays by the door o
nce she’s gone, and just stands there looking at the three of us still in line. He’s jumpy. Nervous. He looks around the bodega but doesn’t join the line and doesn’t walk down the aisles of overpriced food. His left hand is in the pocket of his jacket, and my gut tells me to get out of the store. Just as I grab Bethanie’s arm, the man brings his hand out of his jacket. It’s too late.
“Alright, everybody stay cool. Don’t start none, won’t be none. Just give me what’s in the drawer,” he says to the clerk, pointing the gun at him.
I’m hoping the clerk won’t try to jump back and pull out whatever he has under the counter. Every owner of a little mom-and-pop in my neighborhood has something under the counter. Or maybe it’s in the back with the tamale-making grandmother. But no one comes from the back and the clerk isn’t the owner. From what I can tell, it’s his first day and he doesn’t care about the money or the shop, and opens the cash drawer immediately. Bethanie pretends she’s from money, but I know she’s a lot more like me than she lets on. She knows what to do in a situation like this. Stay quiet and let it play out. We steal a quick glance at one another and I know I’m right. Either she’s been through it before, or always expected it to happen one day.
I’m trying to stay calm by thinking ahead to when it will be over. Ninety seconds from now, this will just be a story for us to tell. The perp will be in his car taking the exit onto I-70. Hopefully I will not have puked all over myself by then. Or worse.
But then the cute guy speaks.
“Look man, just calm down.”
My Own Worst Frenemy Page 22