by Ni-Ni Simone
Since you walked up in the club
I’ve been giving you the eye…
Must be a full moon…
—BRANDY, “FULL MOON”
It was official: I was fly. I had on my freakum dress and the fat version of Lil Wayne was stalking me. Everywhere I looked, there he was. Grinning. As if somebody here in Newark, New Jersey told him he was cute. He had drops of sweat running from his temples to his chin and was breathing like he was having an asthma attack. I was embarrassed. Out of all the tenders lined up outside the club, hugged up on their honeys, and kicking it with their boys, here I was being harassed by a baby gorilla in a short set.
My girls and I were in line, waiting to get in to Club Arena for teen night, and for the first time in my life, I was appreciating my size fourteen brick-house hips. My hair was done in a cute ponytail, swinging to the side with a swoop bang in the front, my MAC was poppin’, and my stilettos were workin’ it out.
I resembled a voluptuous New New from ATL: two deep dimples, honey-glazed skin, full lips, and dark brown eyes shaped like a lost reindeer’s. My sleeveless House of Dereon dress was the color of new money and the belt wrapped around my waist was metallic silver. My colorful bangles and big hoop earrings were courtesy of Claire’s and the rose tattoo on my left calf was by way of the 99 Cent Store and warm water. So, you get the picture? Fierce was written all over me. And just when I started feeling comfortable with being the biggest one in my all-girl clique, tragedy struck…
“Yo, Shawtie!” my stalker screamed as if he were working at the Waffle House, making a public service announcement. He was standing at the door talking to one of the bouncers, when my friend Deeyah walked up and stood beside me. “Yo, Shawtie,” he called again. “Deeyah”—he raised his arm in the air as if he were making a three-point play—“that’s me right there.”
My girls and I all looked around. We ain’t know who the heck he was talking about.
“Seven, there go your new boo.” Deeyah blew a pink bubble and popped it. “The one and only Melvin. Told you I was gon’ hook you up.”
Melvin? I tugged Deeyah on her arm. “Is this a joke?”
“What’s wrong with him?” she snapped, rolling her eyes. “You tryna talk about my taste?”
Oh…my…God…I’ma die. “He looks like my sixty-year-old Cousin Shake.”
“Everything is not about looks, Seven. When are you gon’ to grow up and learn that?”
“When I’m done with being sixteen, which is not today. I don’t believe this.”
“Well, who did you think you were gon’ get?” She popped her gum and smiled. “After all, Josiah is mine and the rest of his crew, well…I hooked them up,” she said as she pointed at each of our friends: Ki-Ki, Yaanah, and Shae.
Ki-Ki and Yaanah shot me a snide grin as if to say, That’s right! But Shae rolled her eyes and said, “Please, Deeyah. You lucky I ain’t punch you in the face for that. Gon’ hook me up with somebody named Shamu.”
“Shamu is a nice name.” Deeyah jerked her neck.
“But he followed me around in school.” Shae sighed. “From class to class, and then I come to find out he was the oldest kid in special ed.”
“Special ed?” Deeyah pointed to her chest. “He’s in my class. So what you tryna say, Shae? So what if he wears a helmet? He needs love, too.”
A helmet?
“Why”—Shae looked toward the sky—“do I even go through this?”
“Go through what?” Deeyah smirked. “Why don’t you think about the future, Shae? Don’t you know people in special ed get a check every month? Never mind, Shae. You just played yourself.” She turned her attention back to me. “Seven, I know you got more sense than this chick, so you know you need a man that you gon’ complement. Trust me. See Josiah, needs a chick like me. I’m a dime and you’re a quarter. Josiah is the captain of the basketball team and Melvin over there”—she pointed—“is the team. Make sense?”
We all looked at Deeyah like she was stupid. “Can you say dumb-dumb?” I shook my head. “You so busy tryna dis me that you actually just gave me and ole boy over there a compliment.”
“Girl, please. That flew over your head,” Deeyah snapped. “You just played yourself.”
“Deeyah, you just said you were a dime and she was a quarter.” Shae sighed. “Get a clue.”
“I could get a clue if I could stop passing it to you.” Deeyah rolled her eyes. “Y’all so stupid. I’m tired of being the mother of this played-out group. Anyway, Seven, I called myself doing you a favor.”
“A favor?”
“Yeah, I’m tryna save you from being played.”
“Excuse you?” I could’ve smacked her.
“Think of it this way. If a guy is too fly, he might leave you for a skinny chick.” She ran her hands along the sides of her body. “And with Rick Ross over there”—she snickered—“you ain’t got to worry ’bout that.”
Before I could decide if I wanted to body her or simply cuss her out, I felt a tap on my shoulder and hot breath on my neck. “What’s good, Shawtie?” It was Melvin, looking me up and down as if he could take a biscuit and sop me up with his eyes. “I knew I’d seen you before—good look, Deeyah.”
“You’ve seen me?” I don’t think I’ve been to hell yet.
“Yeah, I pass you every day on my way to English class.”
“Really?” I was beyond disgusted.
“Come on, Shawtie, ain’t you in them honors classes? You real smart and er’thang.” He had the biggest grin I’d ever seen. “My pot’nahs call me Big Country. But my name is Melvin. I just moved here from Murfreesboro.”
“Murphy who?”
“Carolina, Shawtie.” His gold tooth was gleaming. “You know, I-95 in the house, the dirty-dirty baby.”
I was speechless. Not only was he fat, he was country.
“Speechless, huh? You ain’t never seen nobody reppin’ for the dirty-dirty like me befo’.” As if he had a bullhorn and was doing the lean-back, he cupped each hand on the sides of his mouth and shouted, “MUR…FREES…BORO!!!”
God must hate me.
“I know you feelin’ me, Shawtie.” He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me toward him. “Gurl, you so sharp, you hurtin’ me. Now, let’s get on in here. You ain’t got to wait in no line. We just gon’ walk on in this piece. Now ya gurls, I can’t do nothin’ for them. Big Country’s pull is limited.”
“Oh, it’s okay.” I shook my head. “Really, it is. I’ll just wait with them. You go on.”
“Sab, Shawtie.” He pinched my cheek. “I was just playin’. Psyched yo’ mind.” He ran his index finger across my forehead. “Y’all get on here and come on in this piece. Deeyah and Shawtie, y’all hold arms and y’all other two walk in front of me and let them know Big Country has arrived.”
“That’s all you, Melvin?” someone shouted as we walked in.
“All day playboy,” he shouted back. “All day.”
Jesus please…
As soon as we walked in, the bass in the music sent vibrations through the floor. The DJ was doing his thang—Baby Huey’s “Pop, Lock, and Drop It” was playing and instantly, everyone, including Melvin, started dancing. I stood leaning from one foot to the other, wondering what punishment I faced next.
And just when I decided I should find a rock to climb under, Melvin threw his hands in the air and screamed, “This my jam right here!!” “Walk It Out” started playing and Melvin took to the floor again.
After the song finished, Melvin bought me a drink and dragged me to take a few Polaroids with him. In the midst of him squattin’, leanin’, and showcasin’ a few jailhouse poses with me standing completely still, Josiah, Deeyah’s boyfriend and number twenty-three on the school’s basketball team, swaggered over with an entourage of his teammates. Two things about Josiah and his crew is that they were the finest in school and all the girls wanted them. But me, I only had eyes for Josiah and when I found out Deeyah was dating him, I think I passed out everyday for a week straight.
She must’ve stolen him out of my dreams because that’s the only way I could see me allowing her to walk away with him. Other than that, we woulda been throwin’. Please believe dat. But since I didn’t think I had a real chance of him liking me, I stepped to the side and have been diggin’ him from afar.
Josiah had a super-sized Uptown in his hand. He shook the ice, handed the cup to Deeyah, and she finished it off. Then he stood behind her with his fingers locked around her waist, his chin on top of her head, and he started staring at me.
Chris Brown’s “Shortie Like Mine” was playing and for a moment I could swear Josiah’s eyes were singing the lyrics to me. This made me want him even more. The crush I had on him was un-shakable. He was not only the most wanted man in school, he was the best looking. He was so beautiful I was tempted to call him pretty. He superseded fine and gorgeous couldn’t touch him. He was the type of dude that should’ve been a poster child for irresistible. Most people said he favored the rapper Nelly, but personally, I thought he put Nelly to sleep. He was so fine it didn’t make sense. He was at least six feet, with skin the color of caramel in its richest form, the sexiest almond-shaped eyes in the world, and a fresh Caesar with brushed-in waves. His gear was always dapper: baggy jeans, an oversize skull belt buckle, a fitted black tee that read “I am Hip-Hop,” and throwback Pumas.
“Can’t speak, Seven?” he asked.
I know he had to hear my heart beating. “No,” I snapped, and as an extra twist, I rolled my eyes.
“Yo, Josiah,” Melvin interrupted. “Back up off me now. You know this is me right here.”
“Yo, my fault, son.” He smiled. “Do you.”
“Whew, Shawtie,” Melvin said, dapping sweat like a church lady in heat. “Give ya boo a sip of that soda.”
Oh, he had me messed up. There was no way we’d reached the level of drinking after one another. “You see the bar over there.” I pointed. “Go fetch yo’self one.”
“Fetch?” Josiah snapped. “He ain’t a dog.”
“Is that why you responded?” I asked.
“You tryna say I’ma dog?”
“I’m tryna say you all up in here wit’ it.” I waived my hand under my chin as if I were slicing it.
“Dang, Shawtie, you just angry, huh?” Melvin said. “What, you PMS ’n or somethin’? Somebody hook my girl up with some Midol.”
His girl?
“Now, Shawtie,” Melvin went on, “act right in front of company and gimme some of that soda.” He snatched the cup from my hand and I snatched it back, causing it to spill and splatter all over my dress.
“What, are you stupid?!” I couldn’t believe this. “Oh, my God, you ruined my dress! You just dumb! Who invented you? Dang, you…get…on…my…nerves! Why don’t you take I-95 and ride you and yo’ gold tooth back down south. Uggggg! What crime did I commit to get hooked up with you?!” I hated being so mean, but didn’t he ask for it? Looking at Melvin, I could tell I hurt his feelings because for the first time tonight he was silent.
“Yo,” Josiah snapped, releasing his hands from around Deeyah’s waist and standing up straight. “I think you owe my man an apology.”
“Apology? If anything, you need to apologize for being up in my business!” I shouted. “Ain’t nobody talkin’ to you!”
“You know what?” Josiah said with extreme bass in his voice. “You gotta nasty attitude. And I really don’t know what it’s for, ’cause you look ridiculous, rockin’ a buncha knockoff. If you so miserable, why don’t you take ya fat ass home!”
Every tear I had in my body filled my mouth, which is why I couldn’t speak. Yaanah and Ki-Ki were looking around the club as if they hadn’t heard anything. When I looked at Deeyah, she’d covered her lips with her right hand and a snide smile was sneaking out the side. Shae was standing there in disbelief, looking at Josiah as if at any moment she was about to give it to him. “You know I got yo’ back,” she said.
I wanted to cry so badly, but I’d been played out enough and if I let this slide, then all of them standing here would think they had the upper hand. So, this is what I did—I blacked on all of ’em. Straight up, I was ’bout to read ’em. “Deeyah, Yaanah, and Ki-Ki, I know y’all ain’t laughin’.” I looked at Shae for confirmation. “Should I get ’em, gurl?”
“Get ’em, gurl, ’cause I’ma get ole boy over here when you done.” She placed her hand on her right hip and looked toward Josiah.
I snapped my neck. “Let me set you on fire real quick. We ’spose to be homegirls and y’all standin’ here laughin’, when everybody here know you three are the queens of knock off. If it wasn’t for y’all, the Ten-Dollar Store woulda been closed down! You Payless-Target-Wal-Mart-havin’-Salvation Army freaks. Look like you get ya clothes out the Red Cross box. And word is, Josiah, you buy all of Deeyah’s gear, so what that make you?”
“A hot-ass mess.” Shae rolled her eyes in delight. “Looks like you been shut down, Superman.”
“Whew, look at you girl,” Melvin said, looking at Shae. “I likes me some aggressive women. Maybe I oughta hollah at you. What’s your name?”
“Boy, please,” Shae said.
Josiah shot me a snide smile. “Your mouth is ridiculous.” He eyed Deeyah and the expression on his face seemed to dance in laughter. “Y’all shot out.”
“I don’t believe you went there, Seven,” Deeyah said. “You know Ki-Ki ain’t boostin’ from the Red Cross box no more.”
“Don’t be tryna call me out!” Ki-Ki shouted. “That was Yaanah’s idea anyway.”
“Oh, no, you didn’t…!”
And the next thing I knew, these three were in a brawl over whose idea it was to jack the donation-clothing bin. But hmph, I didn’t care. What difference did it make to me when I felt like the whole club was still trippin’ off how bad Josiah played me. I knew it was time for me to roll, I just didn’t want it to seem like I was running from something, or better yet, someone. “I’m not beat for this.” I managed to keep the tears that flooded my mouth at bay. I turned to Melvin. “My fault if I hurt your feelings.”
“Oh, you ain’t hurt my feelings, Shawtie. That just turned me on.”
If I didn’t feel like crying, I would’ve laughed. “I’m ’bout to bounce.”
“Hold up, Seven,” Shae called behind me. “’Cause I’m ’bout to bounce with you.”
And just like America’s Next Top Model, we threw our right shoulders forward, our bootylicious oceans in motion and proceeded out the door.
Stay tuned for
A GIRL LIKE ME.
Available in December 2008
wherever books are sold.
Until then,
enjoy the following excerpt.
SPIN
Track 1
Okay God, check it. I know that I prayed for my boyfriend, but it’s time to renegotiate. I wanna new boo. And not any ole kinda boo, but a Hot Boy. Pants saggin’ and timbs draggin’. A Young Buck or a Haneef type boo—one who—
“Elite,” my eight year old sister, Aniya, whispered to me as she lifted her head from under the covers. “Can you tell God I wanna boo, too. But I wanna Patrick from Sponge Bob-type boo.”
“Patrick?” Aniya’s fraternal twin, Sydney, peeked her head from under the covers and said, “He doesn’t even have on underwear.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be lookin’!” Aniya snapped, getting offended. “You too grown!”
Sydney held her hand up mid-way to her face. “You better talk to the hand ’cause the face don’t understand.”
“Oh, you got me twisted!”
“Alright!” I snapped, and they quickly retreated back under the covers.
In case you haven’t noticed, late at night when the sun sets and the moon is just right, I like to pretend the ghetto twins don’t exist. It’s a little difficult considering we not only share the same room, but they sleep at the foot of my bed.
Which is why I make them go to sleep at least an hour before me, so I can have time to think. Otherwise, wh
en would I find time to get my famous boo fantasy on? Sounds crazy, right? But not to me. That’s why I’ve been waiting for ten o’clock (I’ve got an hour to go) to enter the sing for front row seats and a chance to be on stage with the hottest-hip-hop-and-R&B-sensation-Haneef radio contest.
Understand this—real talk, Haneef is putting Usher, Chris Brown, Bow Wow, and Omarion to sleep. Well…maybe not Chris Brown…’cause he is kinda fly, but still—you get the point. Li’l daddy is doin’ it: six feet even, Hershey’s milk chocolate skin, beautiful, almond-shaped brown eyes, tight and tumbling muscles that go on into infinity, and a killah swagger like Jay-Z.
Haneef is that even-when-you-see-it, you still don’t believe it type fine…and I swear, every time he’s on the radio, he’s singing not only about me, but to me. So please…don’t hate.
My best friend Naja thinks I’m crazy. Whatever.
’Cause I never said a word when she was drooling over Flava Flav.
I look at the clock. Half hour to go. Let me call Naja so we can practice. As I reach for my Boost mobile, it dances in my hand.
It’s Naja. Did I mention she pops her gum before every sentence? “I’ve been staring at the clock,” she pops, “for five hours and it’s movin’ slow as hell.”
“Are the batteries dying?”
“I think so. The number on the left stays the same for like an hour. And I’m like ‘okay, you wanna move yo ass?’” She pops her gum again.
I never said she wasn’t an air-head, I just said she was my best friend. Naja and I have been down like four flat since kindergarten.
I don’t even comment on the clock thing. “First of all, you better fall back from my baby daddy, Haneef. You claimed Flava Flav.”
“Ill, I don’t want him anymore, but I do think Bobby Brown is kinda cute.”
I made hurling motions with throat and neck. “I’ma throw up.”
“You better take something, ’cause if you throw up on the phone and it flies over here…then we gon’ have a problem.”
“How would it fly over there? Know what—never mind.”