Coldhearted & Crazy

by Michel Moore

  As Kenya and Carmen passed the liquor store, Daisy appeared. She was a middle-aged woman hard in the face strung out on heroin, who used to be friends with both Kenya’s parents and wouldn’t let the young teen forget it. No matter where the girls would go in the economically stressed neighborhood of longtime homeowners, they were reminded about their deceased parents’ impact on the community and its residents, whether they were fond memories or not.

  “Yeah, me, your mama, and daddy used to get our souls proper back in the day! All top side, uncut! That good shit!” Daisy rocked from side to side to the imaginary music that was playing in her drug-infested mind. “I’m telling you, Kenya or London or whichever one you is, your daddy only copped the best shit this damn city ever seen! Oh yeah! Ol’ Johnnie Roberts knew how to play the game, for real!”

  Always begging for this, that, and the third, she felt Kenya and London were obligated to give her spare change whenever she asked for it just on the strength that she and their parents shared needles or blow from time to time. Some mornings, this one in particular, Kenya was in one of her moods and cruelly decided to make Daisy dance for a dollar, recording it on her cell phone so she could laugh at it later and post on Facebook. After humiliating her parents’ less fortunate friend with not much coaxing, she and Carmen ran off giggling.

  “What’s so funny, y’all?” It was Allan, their homeboy from around the way. Randomly, he always seemed to appear out of nowhere when they least expected him to. He always walked with the girls to school. “I said what’s so damn funny? Why y’all laughing so hard?” He gave both of his friends a stupid look as he repeated his question, not receiving an answer the first time. They girls looked at each other and busted out laughing again.

  “Nothing, nothing.” Kenya was wiping the tears off her face. “It’s just I didn’t know that people could be so desperate that’s all.”

  Allan never got the joke and the girls let it go, especially because Allan’s mom was a closet head. Ain’t no true secrets in the hood and his mother’s smoking crack most certainly wasn’t one of them. Everything in the dark always comes to light, please believe. Sure she didn’t hang on the corner selling pussy or begging for bottles like Daisy’s good dancing ass or the other no-pride-having addicts, but a head was a head, bottom line. It wasn’t any true shame to what your kinfolk did. Like Daisy always pointed out, way back it was cool to snort a line or shoot a li’l somethin’-somethin’ into your veins, but now a dopefiend was treated like public enemy number one. But in the here and now, as long as it wasn’t you yourself getting high sucking the glass dick, it was all good. Hell, everyone had a fool somewhere in their family tree. That was life.

  The trio finally arrived at Central High School. While Allan was a junior for the second time, both of the girls were only freshman, but you damn straight couldn’t tell by the reception they received. As soon as they cleared the metal detector, it was all smiles and handshakes on their end for the most part. Every guy in the school wanted to get with Kenya if they weren’t gay, and of course her ever-present sidekick Carmen came along for the ride. Even the upperclassmen, who usually didn’t fuck with crab-ass freshmen, would stop what they were doing to gawk at the girls’ asses bounce by in those tight jeans or hooker short skirts that the two were infamous for wearing. But of course as always there had to be haters on deck lurking. You know that bullshit goes without saying. Hell, real talk, haters make the world go round and what school wasn’t blessed with them, Central students included, who regularly took hatin’ on the next person, in particular her, to the next level on a day-to-day basis.

  “They should rename this bitch Hater High but that might be too much like right!” Kenya blurted out loud as she mean mugged a few chicks who were giving her just as much shade and fever as she was giving them.

  As much attention as the fellas gave Kenya and Carmen, the other girls would stare them down and often roll their eyes at the pair. Truthfully speaking, there was not one single female who really liked the conceited pair. However, Kenya made it perfectly clear she couldn’t care less if any bitch in the entire school liked her or not; they were damn sure gonna respect her. She was settling for nothing less.

  “Hey, ladies, I like your outfits.” One girl grinned at Carmen and Kenya, while trying to be a real smart-ass.

  Kenya peeped that shit out and let the girl have it Kenya Roberts style. “Girl, I like your outfit too. I know I say that every week when you wear it, but it’s so cute.” Carmen and Kenya gave each other the side eye and snickered as they left the dusty female looking and feeling stupid as hell for even trying it in the first place.

  “You crazy!” Carmen was smiling and falling against the locker after Kenya had cleverly checked one of their many frenemies.

  “Man, fuck that skank-a-dank low-budget bird! She runs around here, always trying to be slick-mouthed all the time like her own shit don’t stank. Imagine that whore trying to come for me!” Kenya huffed, caught up in her emotions. “She should try putting that jaw of hers to better use and maybe, just maybe, one of those losers she fucks with would upgrade that yesteryear wardrobe she be rocking!” Kenya tried to hold her laughter as she gave the girl one more casually fake smile from across the hall as she entered her class. Once she made it inside the classroom and took her seat, Kenya was quickly surrounded by guys wanting a few minutes of her time. After a few moments of her holding court, the bell rang for the start of first period.

  London

  “I love you, Gran!” London lovingly told her with affection as she left out the front door. Let me double check. I’ve got all my books, my homework and my lunch. London always took her own lunch so she could sit under a tree and study if she found time. As she slowly walked down her block, the compassionate teen always took time to speak to all of her neighbors, asking if each was having a good day. She, unlike her sister, was friendly to everyone, which was why everyone on the entire close-knit block loved London much more than her cynical-minded twin.

  At the very end of the street barely stood the house where Amber and her family lived. She was London’s best friend ever since she was four years old and came to live with Gran. Even though she had her sister to play with, Amber made living on Glendale bearable. At first London seemed to miss her old toddler playmates, her own bed, and her own house, not to mention both her parents, but with the love of Gran and the friendship of Amber, she would grow into her new life without any noticeable problems.

  “Hey, girl.”

  “Hey, Amber.” London returned her friend’s smile.

  “Did you get a chance to finish that report in English you were working on?” Amber had a sympathetic look on her face, hoping for the best. She knew all the hell that her best friend London caught trying to study at home; with Kenya blasting the radio half the night and talking on the phone the other half, London fought hard to keep her grades up and her sanity intact.

  “Yeah, I got it finished, finally. The teacher wanted at most four pages, but I ended up with six and a half. I tried to cut some down,” London said nonchalantly, always known for overdoing it when it came to schoolwork.

  Amber grinned, telling London the exact same thing she said after every A paper that London received. “Please don’t forget the little people when you become president one day.” They both smiled as they continued walking down the same side street they took every day.

  “Hello, girls.” The old lady who walked her little dog every morning waved.

  “Hi,” they answered in unison.

  They always stopped to talk to old Mr. Phelps. He was practically blind and a lot of kids in the neighborhood would throw stuff on his porch to scare him and always left his gate wide open. He being eighty-one and blind made him an easy target for kids and drug addicts alike who often took advantage of his disabilities. London, known for being overly nice, would sometimes lose her temper, like her sister, and get in the zone falling into the dark side. It didn’t happen often, but seeing some of her peers me
ss with the elderly or people who couldn’t stand up and defend themselves was one surefire way to get London up in arms and to prove she was also her father’s daughter.

  “Hey, Mr. Phelps,” the girls yelled up to the porch where he sat every morning. “How you doing? Do you need anything on our way back from school?” they both inquired.

  “No, girls, I’m fine, just fine. I’m just getting some of that good morning air, thanks for asking.” Mr. Phelps smiled and thought how nice London and Amber both were. He knew those two girls were going to be somebody someday. Especially London, who’d always made sure on Sundays to bring him by a healthy plate that her Gran would cook.

  “I hope there’s not going to be a science test today,” London stated while kicking a can down the street.

  “Me too,” Amber agreed as the high school came in sight.

  Both girls chatted between themselves about school, homework, and other things that teenage girls talked about: boys. Although her sister was the self-proclaimed diva of Detroit’s Central High, London went through school practically unnoticed by both boys and girls alike. The only people at school who noticed Amia London Roberts were her teachers. She was the only one in class who would turn in all of her assignments on time, sometimes the only one who turned them in period. They admired her ambition. Yet, some of the least enthusiastic instructors hated the fact that London had a lot more knowledge than they possessed on most subjects and never once seemed to let them forget that fact.

  Some teachers just wanted to cash their paychecks, avoid conflict, and go home to their families. However, London was having none of that. She had a thirst for knowledge and made all her teachers earn their salary, each and every penny. Gran used to joke that London had been here before, and many she’d encounter believed her grandmother’s assessment to be true.

  As London and Amber entered through the doors of school, they went their separate ways. London went in and out the crowds with ease. She didn’t want to bump into anyone or call attention to herself. If she were to make eye contact with any of her sister’s sworn enemies, she would give them a faint smile and try to avoid confrontation if at all possible. Some days, of course, were better than others.

  “Hey, twin,” Shannon hissed with a hint of nastiness she was infamously known for.

  “Hello, Shannon,” replied London nonchalantly, trying not to look up. She knew both Kenya and Shannon equally hated each other and that made Shannon in turn hate London because she looked exactly like her sister. All this crap probably over some stupid boy, thought London. “Why are females so one-dimensional? They need to elevate their brains,” she mumbled underneath her breath.

  “Excuse me, but did you say something over there you want to repeat, Ms. Thang?” growled Shannon as she bucked her eyes out wanting trouble.

  Having more self-control than her sister, London shook her head and walked away, not once looking back. She heard Shannon and her girls still laughing as she made her way down the hall but she didn’t care. London scurried up the hallway quickly before the last bell rang, not wanting to be late. As she passed by one of the classrooms, she saw the most popular girl in the entire school surrounded by a flock of boys. She waved at her sister, Kenya, who waved back. London had to get to class. The bell was ringing.

  Chapter Three

  Bitch, Please!

  After three grueling years of high school passed, it was the last week of the term. The twins had made it and were going to finally be seniors next semester. The only thing left before vacation was final exams. Kenya acted as if passing them would be a total breeze. Concentrating on tests wasn’t easy for Kenya. The popular teen knew that she needed to study but would still sneak out of the house almost every night doing God knows what with God knows who. London, on the other hand, would study constantly, keeping her head buried in the books. Although they were both smart girls when it came down to it, unfortunately only London would apply herself.

  Gran often worried about both her granddaughters’ well-being. However, there was only so much she could do or say to point them in the right direction. At some point it would be up to the sisters themselves to make the right decisions and choices in general. The flow of life was starting to take its toll on Gran; she was getting old. In between the grief of losing both of her own children and trying her best to raise two now-teenage girls, she was rapidly losing speed.

  The last bell rang and it was thankfully over. The final class for the semester had concluded. Rambunctious and excited student after student poured out the doors of the school building like it was on fire and they had on gasoline attire. The joy of no more class until fall was on their minds, but the true source of their merriment was the anticipation that’d been growing all day, really all year long. Kenya and Shannon, constant adversaries who argued day after day, were about to battle and the shit was about to be on. They were going to fight on the basketball court after school. Everyone knew about it, even the teachers. But they didn’t give a shit; their so-called tour of duty was finally over, so to hell with the students and their madness!

  “Let them kill each other,” London overheard one of the teachers snarl while she drank her coffee. “Their parents are raising little animals so this is the type of behavior I expect.”

  Walking past, London, who was ear hustling, couldn’t help herself and jumped into the otherwise private conversation. “Wow, you’re supposed to be adults, teachers no less. We should be looking to you for guidance. You should be trying to find a way to help us end this black-on-black crime instead of turning a deaf ear.” London was in rare form as she waited for a sign of remorse from the teacher. “Somebody should report y’all!”

  “Well, Li’l Miss Wannabe Harriet Tubman and Oprah rolled into one,” the younger of the teachers smugly responded to the teen. “Instead of you being all up in here giving us a black history lesson, don’t you think you should be out on that basketball court trying to stop your sister from getting her pretty little teeth stumped out her mouth?” The teacher, not trying to defend her initial proclamation, was rolling her head around and snapping her fingers, just like she was London’s equal. “You’re in here judging us like your parents weren’t out in the streets back in the day destroying the minds of the youth! Girl, bye! We all know the story of your people!”

  Hearing her sarcastic statement about her deceased parents and Kenya’s impending battle swiftly snatched London back into reality of what was really about to take place. It was true. While she was preoccupied inside being a one-woman martyr for humanity, the here and now was taking place just yards away. She had to get off her soapbox and get outside fast. That no-good, “always got something ugly to say about folk” Shannon had been running off at the mouth all day long about how she was gonna jump on Kenya when school was out. Well, seeing how the last bell had rung over ten minutes prior, London knew time was ticking. “I hate violence, but there’s no way I’m not gonna have my sister’s back,” London said out loud as she ran down the deserted hallway, bolting out of the school’s double doors. Immediately eyeing the crowd gathering, swarming around like flies on a pile of shit on the basketball court, London couldn’t believe how many people were actually cheering, happy to see two females try to beat one another down. Why can’t Kenya stay out of trouble for once? she thought, quickly approaching the middle of all the commotion in the field. It seems like Gran is right. Her temper is gonna get her in big trouble one day!

  “Fake ass!” Shannon brazenly taunted, feeling as if the crowd was backing her up. With her hands on her hips, she was front and center of the small mob surrounded by her so-called clique, which consisted of three ghetto-painted-face females who also took the bus from the projects every day to get to school. However, that didn’t mean much of nothing to Kenya at all. Matter of fact, the only thing it really meant was they weren’t just hood rats; they were low-budget project rats. To Kenya it didn’t matter much if you were rich, poor, black, or white, old, young, boy, or girl. If you came for her,
she had no problem whatsoever returning the favor ten times over and coming for you. So if Shannon wanted to feel Kenya’s wrath, then so be it, she would. It was on.

  “What?” Kenya let her intended victim rant and rave before she had her turn at showing Shannon what was really good in the hood.

  “You heard me, bitch! What it do, Ms. Uppity? You been acting like you wanted some all year long, so what’s up?” Shannon was straight-up frontin’. Honestly she was scared to death, but she tried her best to not let it show, especially in front of half the student body.

  The crowd was geeking it up and that’s all Kenya, already mentally prepared to take her opponent’s head off, needed to hear. Knowing her DNA bloodline ran deep on her father’s side, Kenya didn’t crack a smile, showing not one tooth. She was cut from a different cloth than many, and, in her words, they didn’t even make that fabric anymore. The west side’s known wild child offspring of Johnnie and Melinda Roberts did her best clowning in front of an audience and this was one of her biggest to date. She had a point to prove about hoes running off at the mouth just because they had lips, and school was back in session for Shannon.

  Carmen was on her left and London, not truly wanting to fight but would and could, had just burst through the crowd and was loyally posted on her right. Allan, who’d dropped out a couple years back, was also up at the school to hold them down, just in case one of those busters Shannon would trick with flexed and wanted their ass kicked too.

  “Fake ass? Come on now seriously, is that what you let rip out that raggedy grill mouth? Girl, look at you, from the bottom to the top you need a clue. Your synthetic weave has been recycled from week to week. Your blouse got a permanent ring around the collar and do your pants even know what an iron is?” Kenya was going ham and the mesmerized crowd loved the show she was giving them.