“Why you shooting daggers, Mack? I’ll get you some more fries. Dayum!”
“For real, son. I saw two of them Bayside boys at the mall last night. They was muggin’ me hard. Watch out for them jokers, T.”
I ain’t scared of them fools. Believe that! I steal one more fry.
“That’s foul, man.”
“MakeWayForT-Diddy’sFans,” Fast Freddie hollers.
“For real though, them jokers in my class was quiet for like the first time since birth,” Willie Mack adds. “Yo, Fred, what is B doing?” We all look in the direction that Willie Mack is pointing and see Belafonte holding up a sign that says TELL THE MAN TO SAVE THE BAND!
“ThatWoadieGotAPetitionToKeepTheMarchingBand,” Fast Freddie answers.
“Is it that deep, really?” I ask, even though apparently it is. He’s wearing his band helmet and cape and whatnot.
“HeFinallyGotDrumMajorAndNowTheyShutHimDownBeforeTheBigBattleOfTheBands,” Fast Freddie says. “He’sSoSeriousHeMightBurnThis JointDownFor Real.”
“I guess I was wrong about you. Nice job! Are we doing it again?” Blu comes up to me and asks.
“Where’s your girl? I haven’t seen her since the rally,” I say.
“Probably off saving the whales or something. You know how she does,” Blu answers. “Here, she told me to give you this.” She passes me a folded note and walks away. What are we, in third grade? Still, the anticipation owns me.
Before I can open it, a pair of soft hands covers my eyes from behind, and I wonder, no I hope, they belong to homegirl.
“Guess who, baby?”
“Who?” I ask, but when I hear those forty-eight-dollar bangles clanging, I know exactly who it is.
“It’s me, baby,” Kym says, rubbing my dome.
“What’s crackin’, Kym King?” Willie Mack says.
“Willie, I saw your baby sister pictures on Facebook. She’s so precious,” Kym says.
“That’s my niece. She’s cute, right?” Willie Mack pulls out his phone to show me and Fast Freddie the pic, but we just look at him like, really?
“What up, Kym,” I say, partly disappointed and partly galvanized by her superminiskirt and the water balloons she rubs against me.
“You baby, that’s what’s up. The whole school is buzzin’. I didn’t even know you was into that kind of stuff.”
“Shoulda stuck around. A lot you didn’t know,” I say.
“I’m here now. How about you let me find out tonight?”
“BongBong!” Freddie mouths. Willie Mack is still trying to show us photos.
Why not? She’s only offering what she promised me. Thing is, it’s my night to cook dinner. Last time I skipped dinner, Uncle Al made me dust the whole house.
I guess the rally did work. I’m getting what I want, even if it’s not from who I want. Oh, well, different chick, same thing. T-Diddy ain’t choosy. Claudia Clarke playing way past hard to get anyway. Got to keep it moving.
“That’s cool. We’ll celebrate your birthday early,” I say, and take her fries. She blushes, kisses my forehead, then leaves to join the other cheerleaders outside. She used to be one, till she got kicked off for beating down a cheerleader from Independence.
“T-DiddyHereComesYourOtherGirl.” I turn around, and here comes Claudia Clarke in that pair of bangin’ jeans.
“Willie Mack, let me see those pictures,” I say. When Claudia Clarke gets to our table, I put on a show. “Awwww, she’s so beautiful. A precious little thang,” I add.
“Still trying, I see,” Claudia says.
“Check out the pictures and the video of my niece,” Willie Mack says, handing his phone to Claudia. “Ambrocious.”
“OnlyInTheCountry.”
“You mean Ambrosia,” I say, hoping, for the child’s sake, he mispronounced it.
“Nope, it’s Ambrocious.” Fast Freddie almost falls out of his chair laughing. I would join him if homegirl wasn’t standing over me. “My sister’s name is Amber, and her baby daddy’s nickname is Ferocious.”
SMH!
“Aww! She’s so cute, Willie Mack,” Claudia says, handing his phone back. “That’s just sad, Omar. Trying to use your boy’s niece to impress a girl.”
“Naw, it wasn’t like that, I was—”
“Yadda yadda yadda. Look, save your energy. I’m not your type, homeboy. You’re looking for shallow water; I’m an ocean.”
“ShallowWaterWow!”
“You sure do smell good as the ocean. What’s that you’re wearing, DKNY?” I say, letting her know T-Diddy got a little class.
“Soap. You should try some,” she responds.
“You still got jokes.” As we talk, I slowly walk toward the hallway, as far away from Kym as possible. Last thing I need is for her to catch me all up in Claudia’s grill.
“Freddie, I’m collecting hair for children with cancer. Holler at me if you cut your locks,” she says, and I can’t tell whether she’s serious or not. She playfully cuts a strand of his hair with her fingers. Freddie nervously laughs. When we get into the hallway, she surprises me.
“You deserve a kiss, Omar.” Really? It was that easy. I guess it was worth listening to Uncle Al, doing my little research online, almost making myself look like a fool at the rally. It’s about to be on and popping.
“Once you feel these,” I say, licking my lips, “you’ll always be pleased.”
“Then have two.” Homegirl hands me two Hershey’s chocolate Kisses. She laughs.
“That’s cold.”
“Looks like your plan worked, Omar Smalls. Your silent treatment was a success, it appears.”
“That’s what they’re calling it: the silent treatment. That’s what’s up.”
“Any teachers say anything to you?”
“Assistant Principal Walker stopped me in the hall after second period. I just told him it was a one-time senior prank. He told me Cruella’s got her eye on me.”
“I heard a few kids in ISS were talking, though.” She stops at her locker.
“Some of the football players. I’ll handle them jokers. One monkey don’t stop the show.” I look at her to see if she picks up on the reference. When I was in Brooklyn, my mom took me to see that play. It was boring, but I thought the title was a’ight. “It’s a play, in case you was wondering.”
“Wow. Omar Smalls didn’t try to steal someone else’s words.”
“A lot you don’t know about Omar Smalls,” I say, moving her hair out of her face and behind her ear. Real playa move. I rest my hand on her shoulder. She shrugs it off. When she bends over to grab a book from the bottom of her locker, I can see her red panties. Dayum!
“So, what’s next, T-Diddy?” she asks, still down there. I know exactly what’s up.
“What’s up is I want to make you dinner. Tonight.”
“I’m talking about the protest, Omar. What’s our next step?” she asks, standing up and closing her locker. When she looks me in the eye, it’s the first time I notice her stunning blue eyes. Or are they green? It’s hard to tell in the barely lit hallway. The school board doesn’t believe in lightbulbs either. Stunning. And homegirl has the best-smelling breath ever. Like peppermint. No doubt, we are having a moment.
It’s time to pull out the big guns. None of T-Diddy’s playa rules have worked, but a good quarterback always has a fail-safe plan. Mine is food. It’s time to call an audible. Get homegirl to the crib and show her how T-Diddy gets down.
“I know what you meant, Claudia. It ain’t over, believe that. Today was just the beginning.”
“Your boy Belafonte has a plan. What’s yours?” Dayum, she’s serious about this arts funding ish. I love the band as much as everybody else, but why they sweating it so hard? It’s the school board and the governor. They’re not going to change ish because of our lame protest.
“It’s only the first move, homegirl. We got some buzz. T-Diddy is in it to win it. Trust me on this, we’re going to get all the arts funding back. Believe that.” The smil
e on her face is priceless. She stands up and her eyes sparkle like diamonds. Definitely green.
It is a gamble, but I see checkmate three moves ahead. This is my chance. I go after her queen. I may drown, but I’m diving anyway.
“A’ight, forget about dinner. Let’s come up with a plan tonight, my place, five thirty.” I kiss her on the forehead and walk away. Your move, homegirl. Before I walk back inside the lunchroom, I want to turn around, to see if she’s watching me. The playa’s handbook says don’t do it. But if I do and she is, then I know it’s on.
“Omar,” comes a yell from behind me. Victory!
Smiling, I happily turn around to see the principal standing not far from where Claudia was.
“We need to talk, Mr. Smalls.”
Claudia
“Move your Jenny Craig rump, you’re not the only one trying to look cute,” Blu says, bumping me with her caboose so she can see herself in the mirror.
“My closet is bigger than your bathroom. Why we didn’t use your mother’s, I have no idea.”
“I don’t want her seeing these, that’s why.” Blu holds up her mother’s MAC lipstick, paint stick, eye shadow, and Lustre Drops. I don’t even know what Lustre Drops are, but it’s MAC, so it is what it is.
“Oooh, I’m going to tell.”
“And I’m going to tell Kym King you’re going over to her dude’s house.”
“I changed my mind. I’m not going.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“I know what he’s trying to do, so I’d be stupid to go over there. Unless you come with me.”
“Girl, stop tripping. You saw all them kids he had at the rally. How many you think you woulda had? I’m just saying.”
“I don’t know.”
“Uh, you’re the one always talking about saving the world. Take one for the team. It’s just a frickin’ meeting, Claudia. Stop being a chump.”
“Don’t call me a chump.”
“Then stop trippin’ ’cause you find him attractive.”
“What?”
“You know he looks good, girl.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I’m not staying for more than thirty minutes.”
“Girl, that’s enough time for the candlelight dinner?”
“See, you got jokes.”
“Well, all I have to say is, if I was into his fine football ass, which I’m obviously not, and he invited me over for dinner, the only plans being laid out would be me. I know that’s right!” she says, cracking herself completely up.
“It’s not dinner. He’s a little cute, but too immature for me. Plus his reputation is horrible,” I say.
“And? So is yours!” She laughs. She’s right, but it’s not the same. I get eyes rolled at me because I’m smart. And maybe a little snobbish. He’s a ho and a cheater. That’s a big difference. “Girl, he’s slept with most of the cheerleaders and half the dance team, and they all talk about him like he’s Tyrese or something. You better enjoy that meal tonight.”
“Not going to happen, Blu. That’s the problem with this school—everybody treats sex like it’s not something big. Like you’re not giving a piece of your soul to somebody.”
“Is it that deep, Claudia? Really?”
“It is to me.”
“Girl, why are you frontin’ like you’re a virgin? I know you let Leo hit, remember. Save that BS for school. Blu ain’t no fool.”
“Ugggh! Please don’t say his name in here.” Or I might puke. The drama that fool put me through is not what I want to be thinking about right now.
“Then don’t try and play all bougie with me.”
“I’m just saying. The guy has to mean something to me, to mean something to himself. He’s got to take me there, ya know, before I let him take. Me. There.” We high-five and laugh. Then I bump her so I can try some of those Lustre Drops before I head over to my “meeting.”
“What’s that smell?” I ask Omar, frowning.
“Oh, I just cooked up a little something.”
“Omar, I told you I’d meet about the protest and that’s it.”
“Slow down, homegirl, why you always so tense? Chill for a minute.”
“I’m outta here.”
“Don’t even act like it doesn’t smell good. That’s fresh food. Homemade. You should try it sometime.”
No way. Mr. Football jerk has got this house smelling like tomato, basil, and garlic.
“Claudia, don’t go. It was my night to make dinner. That’s all. I’m almost done—then we can meet.”
“Why does it say Library of Progress on the front door?” I ask him.
“During the day, my uncle runs a community service center here. Helping folks who need, uh, help.” He takes my bag and motions for me to sit down on his couch. I choose a chair. “You look real good, Claudia.”
“Whatever.” He’s wearing a muscle shirt, jeans, and apron with Miami’s logo on the front. “Look, Omar, I hope you didn’t really cook, because I can’t stay for long. I’ve got an article to write for the paper tonight, and then Blu and I are rehearsing some routines for the dance team.”
“Now who’s playing who? It ain’t no more dance team, homegirl. That’s why we’re meeting tonight. Chill—I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later, he walks in with a plate that looks incredible, like it could be served in a restaurant.
“Don’t worry, T-Diddy’s not gonna keep you long. I got to get ready for my big press conference next week.” He sets the tray down on the green-and-red table in front of me and leaves again. “Everybody wants to know which college T-Diddy chose.”
It’s obvious which college he’s chosen. The banners on the wall, the ashtrays, his apron, the rug; they all make it pretty clear. I’m surprised he doesn’t have a gold tooth with a big M on it.
“So you must be homegirl?” a bald-headed man with a long white beard says to me. I immediately stand up.
“Forgive my seat,” he says to me with a slightly evil smile that reminds me of Omar’s. Then he giggles and rolls his wheelchair over to the mozzarella and tomato Omar just brought in. “Sit down, little lady, get some of this antipasto. That mozzarella is fresh. The cow’s name was Frankie.” We both laugh.
He hands me a plate, and I sit back down on the couch. All of a sudden I feel a little stupid and unprepared. Why am I here? You loathe this guy, Claudia. And who is this old man in the wheelchair stuffing his face with cheese from a cow named Frankie?
“I see you’ve met Uncle Al,” Omar says, placing another tray of food down on the table and removing what’s left of the first. I can’t even respond because of the piece of smoked mozzarella that’s dancing inside my mouth. “I hope you enjoy the first course as much as you’re enjoying that, Claudia.” He smiles, sets a bowl of pasta with mushrooms and asparagus right in front of me, and walks back out. Am I being punked?
“Two things that boy knows how to do: throw a ball and make a meal. He’s a genius,” Uncle Al says. I finally finish chewing.
“I’ve never had cheese this good” is the only thing I can think to say.
“In the two years Smalls’s been here, he’s never cooked for a girl before. You must be something special,” he says, scooping some pasta onto my plate.
“We’re just working on some small stuff for school.”
“A man makes a five-course meal for a woman, that’s not some small stuff.”
“A five-course meal,” I say, almost choking on a mushroom.
“You okay, Claudia? Smalls, bring the lady something to drink,” Uncle Al yells into the kitchen. Omar comes out, in the middle of my very unattractive coughing. He hands me a wineglass with something red in it.
I’ve had wine twice in my life, not including communion on first Sundays at church. Once at Blu’s bat mitzvah—her mother’s Jewish—and once when I went to a college party with my ex. I hated it both times. But I was choking, I needed something.
“Don’t worry, it’s sparkling, nonalcoholic,” Omar says. Who
knew the jerk had another, more decent side? I drink the whole glass.
“Slow down, homegirl. We got like three more courses to go,” Omar says, and then leaves for the third time. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to what he came with next.
“So what’s this thing y’all working on together?”
“Have you heard about the state arts funding cuts?”
“That’s not the only thing your governor cut. Our funding got sliced, too. I might have to rob me a bank like them rappers to keep these doors open. I swear fo’ Jesus, them politicians don’t know nothing about nothing. Somebody needs to stand up to that madness.”
“That’s what we’re working on, a protest. It started today.”
“And Omar is helping you with that,” he says, laughing.
“Yes, sir, it was actually his idea.”
“That’s interesting. I tried to get him to take a little petition next door and he tripped. Yeah, he likes you.” I stuff a little more of the pasta in my mouth, hoping he gets the message that I really have nothing to say to that. “What are these, fritters?” I ask when Omar serves us the main course.
“This isn’t store-bought shad, little lady. I caught this fish with my bare hands.”
“Your bare hands, Uncle Al. Really,” Omar says. “Claudia, we went fishing out at Folly. For the record, I cleaned it. With my bare hands.”
Mr. Smalls says the grace, and I taste the first bite of fish. And the second. And twenty minutes later, after I’ve eaten three pieces of fish and I have to force myself not to ask for a fourth, all I can think is, WOW, this boy can cook!
Right before dessert, Uncle Al gets a phone call and excuses himself, leaving us alone. A little too convenient to be a coincidence.
OMG! Mocha chocolate cheesecake. It’s better than good. He puts on the radio and it’s the Slow Jamz hour. I just roll my eyes.
“What, I didn’t know they were going to play that,” he says. I kick off my shoes and almost put my feet on the couch . . . when he starts licking his lips, rocketing me back to reality.
“I didn’t come here to have dinner with you, Omar. But yeah, thanks.”
“I’m just glad you showed. Would have been wack if T-Diddy had cooked all them good eats and got stood up.”
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