True Story

by Ni-Ni Simone

  I just made all the wrong moves.

  Zaire lay on his couch, with the television remote in his hands, channel surfing. He didn’t even look my way.

  “Hi,” I said.

  No response.

  After standing in the middle of the floor for a minute too long, I walked into his bedroom and gathered the clothing I’d left behind. My poetry notebook. A few magazines I’d planned to get published in. A textbook. My toothbrush.

  I looked around his room and noticed that all of the pictures he’d had of us were down. I thought about asking him where they were, but quickly changed my mind.

  I walked back into his living room and stood before Zaire. He looked at me and said, “Would you move? You’re blocking the TV.”

  I felt like he’d just slapped me. I scooted out of his way and walked toward the door. Then I hesitated. Turned around and said to him, “Zaire, I just wanted to say... I’m sorry.”

  Silence.

  “I never meant to hurt you. I know that I did. And I’m soooo sorry. But I want you know that I did love you. I still do. It’s just that the kind of love you wanted, I couldn’t give you. And I know I should’ve told you that before I let things get out of control.”

  Silence.

  I felt so stupid standing there talking to myself. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me, and maybe one day, we’ll be friends.”

  Zaire sat up, looked over at me and said, “Leave my keys over there.” He pointed to the key rack that hung on the wall. “And shut my door all the way when you leave.”

  Which is exactly what I did. Afterward, I put my box in Khya’s trunk, crawled back into the front seat, and I guess my silence and the tears that filled my eyes and slid down my cheeks spoke for me, because nobody asked me anything. Khya just started to drive and we were quiet for the entire ride back to campus.

  25

  Love after war

  The courtyard, 12 a.m.

  “Let me get that,” I said, waving my hands in the air as I walked up on Josiah shooting hoops. The basketball echoed throughout the courtyard as he dribbled.

  “I don’t play with girls,” he said.

  “You play with Bling.”

  He chuckled. “That’s cold and don’t be trying to make me laugh. I’m in the mood for that.”

  “You gon’ pass me the ball or what?”

  “I just said I didn’t play with girls.” He took a shot and missed.

  “Maybe you should.” I caught the ball, bounced it back to him, and said, “Check.”

  “You hardheaded. A’ight. First five out of ten. And then I’m going to bed.” He bounced the ball back to me. “Check.”

  I dribbled and attempted to go toward the basket. He blocked me. “So how long are you going to be mad at me?” I asked.

  “You gon’ play or what?” He stole the ball, took it to the hoop, and sank the ball through.

  He bounced the ball to me. I caught it and said, “I just asked you a question.”

  “Look, this is not an interview. You still playing, or what?”

  “No,” I said with an attitude.

  “Cool.” He tossed two fingers in the air. “Peace.”

  My heart started beating like crazy. “I don’t know what you want from me!” I screamed. “I’ve been calling you. You send me to voice mail. I leave a message and you don’t call me back. I’ve been to your apartment a thousand times and you’re never there. You ignored me in class today. And I get it you’re mad at me. But all of this ignoring me and trying to avoid me—I can’t deal with that! At least talk to me.”

  I could feel tears building in the back of my eyes.

  Don’t cry.

  “You are sooooo selfish!” he yelled. “You want what you want when you want it! And you don’t care about how that affects anyone else. You wanted ole boy, you got him. He wasn’t entertaining enough. You wanted me back. And I was there. No questions asked!”

  “It wasn’t exactly like that and you know it!”

  “What I know is that you wanted your cake and wanted to eat it too.”

  “I know that it might have looked that way, but that is not how I meant for things to be!”

  “ ’Cause all you thought about was yourself.”

  “How long are you going to hold that against me?”

  “Until you come clean and admit you don’t know what you want to do!”

  “You’re the one who said I was always clear.”

  “And you are clear. You’re clearly confused.”

  “Josiah, I am not confused about loving you. I am very clear on that. But I also loved Zaire. I just wasn’t in love with him the way I was with you. And, okay, maybe trying to be with the two of you at the same time was selfish. But, while a part of me wanted to break up with him, the other part of me was scared. And confused. And I didn’t exactly know if I could trust you with all of me.”

  He smirked. “You didn’t know if you could trust me. Yeah, okay.”

  “All I know is that I’m here, and I know I can’t do another relationship right now. But I don’t want to lose you either.”

  “How you gon’ lose me? Do you know how much I love you? And, yeah, I messed up before. I did. But I would never do that to you again. So I make one mistake, now I have to pay for the rest of my life! When are you going to move on from that?”

  “I have! I’ve forgiven you for that!”

  “Then what are you talking about? I love you so much that the words I love you are not enough to express how I feel. You know how many people think they know me. But they don’t know me. You. You know me. You’re my everything. My best friend. My worst critic. My homie. We chill together. I can tell you anything. And until now, you always kept it real with me. Lose me? You could never lose me. But I want all of you. Everything. But you can’t give that to me. ’Cause you need to work on you!”

  Silence.

  I didn’t know what else to say and it didn’t help any that these stupid tears, which I wanted to disappear, were sliding down my cheeks. But one thing I knew for sure was that there was no way I was going to stand there and keep crying, so I shrugged and said, “You’re right. I agree with you.” I turned to walk away.

  And just as I thought that maybe I should take off running and never look back, he said, “But I wanna help you with that.”

  I stopped in my tracks and these freakin’ tears continued to race down my cheeks and into the corners of my lips.

  “Besides,” he continued, “Nobody said this was a perfect love story.”

  “True story,” I said as I turned back to him and we kissed. “True story.”

  A READING GROUP GUIDE

  TRUE STORY

  Ni-Ni Simone

  ABOUT THIS GUIDE

  The following questions are intended to

  enhance your group’s reading of

  TRUE STORY.

  Discussion Questions

  1. What did you think of Zaire and Seven’s relationship? Do you think he allowed her to be herself? Why or why not? Do you know someone in a relationship where they feel closed in?

  2. Do you think that Seven tried to be honest with Zaire and he wasn’t listening? Why or why not? Can you ever really make someone listen to you?

  3. Do you think that Josiah should have admitted to Seven how he felt about her, knowing that she had a boyfriend? Why or why not? Is it ever right to confess your feelings to someone if they are in a relationship?

  4. What did you think of Seven’s mother not liking Zaire? Did she have a right to not like him?

  5. What did you think of the things Zaire used to say about Seven’s friends? Should he have said those things? Do you know someone who does that?

  6. Do you think that Shae was too bossy? Why or why not? Do you have a friend like that?

  7. What did you think of Seven cheating on Zaire? Do you think it made a difference that she cheated on him with Josiah versus someone else?

  8. Are you tea
m Josiah or team Zaire? Why?

  9. What did you think of Seven’s relationship with her mother? Is your mother similar to Seven’s? If not, do you know someone like that?

  10. If you could write your own ending, what would it be? And why?

  Complete Your Ni-Ni Girl Chronicles Collection!

  Shortie Like Mine

  Seven McKnight is fierce, fly . . . and secretly longing for the school’s hottest baller, Josiah, who just happens to be dating her girlfriend, Deeyah. But when Deeyah decides to play Josiah and his worst enemy against each other, can Seven set things right without setting herself up for major heartbreak?

  If I Was Your Girl

  Between school and adult responsibilities, Toi McKnight’s got zero time for sizzling gossip or chilling with her friends. So when sparks fly between her and deliciously fine Harlem, Toi knows she’s got to dead any chance of a relationship fast. But every time Toi tries to cut Harlem loose, she falls harder for him . . .

  A Girl Like Me

  She’s the girl everyone in her high school wants to be . . . or be with. But in real life, Elite has a crack-addicted mother, no father in sight, and is secretly raising her sister and two brothers. But she gets a shot to save her family and make all her dreams come true when a radio contest puts her up-close-and-personal with mega-hot singer Haneef . . .

  Teenage Love Affair

  Zsa-Zsa knows her boyfriend Ameen couldn’t imagine being without her. But when her first love, Malachi, walks back into her life, she has to figure out what love is all about and if her first teenage love affair will forever rule or ruin her life.

  Upgrade U

  Seven McKnight is rockin’ Stiles University’s hottest baller, Josiah Whitaker, on her arm when groupies and Josiah’s ego make it all fall apart. Then in steps heartthrob Zaire St. James, who’s been watching Seven and waiting for his chance. But just when Seven decides to give Zaire her everything, she learns that nothing is as it seems . . .

  No Boyz Allowed

  Gem has been on her own since she was nine, fighting the foster care system and holding on to her younger brother. Forced to live with a new family, she finally clicks with a crew at school and is checking for this guy, Ny’eem. But her new friends have an unbreakable rule, and their friendship is not what it seems . . .

  Turn the page for an excerpt from

  Hollywood High: Get Ready for War

  by Ni-Ni Simone and Amir Abrams.

  Available wherever books and eBooks are sold!

  Who needed enemies when you had hatin’ media bloggers maliciously tearing you up every chance they got and a bunch of selfish backstabbers as friends.

  Oh no. My enemies weren’t the ones I needed to keep my mink-lashed eyes on. It was the Pampered Princesses of Hollywood High Academy who kept me dragged into their shenanigans, along with the paparazzi that lived and breathed to destroy me. Hence why I was wearing a floppy hat and hiding behind a pair of ostrich-leather Moss Lipow sunglasses.

  I was a trendsetter.

  A shaker ’n’ mover.

  A fashionista extraordinaire.

  I was London Phillips.

  Not a joke!

  And my name had no business being caught up in any of the most recent scandals with Heather’s (aka Wu-Wu) Skittles fest. If she wanted to overdose on her granny’s heart medicine, then she needed to leave me out of it.

  My reputation of being fine, fly, and eternally fabulous was etched on the pages of magazines and carved in the minds of many. And I was one of the most adored, envied, and hated for all of my divaliciousness.

  But being on top didn’t mean a thing if you didn’t know how to stay there. Reputation was everything at Hollywood High. And up until three days ago, I was perched up on Mt. Everest in all of my fabulousness, looking down at any- and everyone who followed me or aspired to be me, but could (or would) never be me. Yeah, it had been a cold-blooded climb to the top. But so what? A diva did what she had to do to get what she wanted and needed. And I had made it.

  As I walked through the school’s café doors, pulling out my cell, it was eerily quiet. Normally it was full of chatter and laughter and all types of music.

  Not today.

  Dead silence.

  All I heard was a bunch of clicking from cameras. And a few comments like “Uh-oh, it’s about to go down now” as I made my way farther into the center of the café. Suddenly I knew what all of the silence was about. There was a group of girls sitting at our table. You know. The one that has, or had, the pink tablecloth and a humungous RESERVED FOR THE PAMPERED PRINCESSES sign up on it. Yeah, that table.

  Screech!

  Everyone knew on this side of campus that the Pampered Princesses were the ruling clique. And no one sat at our table. No one!

  I pulled up the rim of my hat, inched my shades down to the tip of my nose, and peered at them.

  I blinked.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The group of girls had on uniforms. And judging by the colors, I knew they absolutely did not belong on this side of the campus.

  This has to be a mistake.

  I marched over toward them, then stood and stared at the group of chicks who had foolishly parked their behinds and taken up space at our table. These preemies had our table covered with a fuchsia tablecloth. And they had the nerve to have the table set with fine china and a candelabra in the center of the table, as if they were preparing for some kind of holiday feast. And they sat pretty as they pleased, as if they owned the room.

  They all wore their hair pulled back into sleek, shiny ponytails with colorful jeweled clips. I ice-grilled them, expecting them to scatter like frightened roaches. Not! They didn’t budge. Didn’t even blink an eyelash. Nope, those munchkin critters defiantly stayed planted in their seats and continued on with their chatter as if I didn’t exist. And at that very moment, I felt like the whole cafeteria had zoomed in on me. I quickly glanced around the room to assess the situation. All eyes were clearly on me! Cameras clicked.

  I picked up a fork from off the table and tapped one of the glasses with it. “Umm, excuse you. Excuse you, excuse you.”

  The chick sitting at the far end of the table craned her neck in my direction and stared me down. “The name’s Harlow. H-A-R-L-O-W. And whaaat? You want my autograph? ’Cause I don’t do groupies.”

  Oh no, now I knew that them being at our table was not a mistake. Those tricklets had strutted over to this side of the campus purposely to bring it. All in the name of getting it crunked. . . .

  DAFINA KTEEN BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2013 by Ni-Ni Simone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager: Attn.: Special Sales Department. Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  KTeen logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.

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  ISBN: 978-0-7582-8772-4

  eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-8773-1

  eISBN-10: 0-7582-8773-9

  First Electronic Edition: December 2013