Never Again, No More

by Untamed

  I tried to stick it out with Raul, but he was a horrible boyfriend and an even worse father. I believed he loved Nadia, but he failed to realize that having a child was a full-time job and not an on-call duty, so I had to let him go. After we broke up, he got someone else, whom I knew only as Boop, pregnant. What the hell kind of name is Boop? I wondered. Anyway, all three of us had girls. That was a good thing, because he didn’t need any knuckleheaded boys in the world who acted like him.

  During my junior year in high school, I gave birth to Nadia. With my mother’s help, I cared for Nadia with little to no assistance from Raul. After finishing high school, I continued to work at the nail salon in order to do more of my part for Nadia. And instead of enrolling in college, I opted to find another job, and I had been working for the insurance company ever since. Determined to be independent, I moved out of my mom’s house and into a one-bedroom apartment when Nadia was three. My mom used some of her alimony checks and bought me a car. She didn’t ask for any money back, but every month I gave her some. I was determined to pay her back completely. My mom played hard, but she was mush when it came to her kids, and we were a mush when it came to her. She was all we had had ever since Papa had walked out on us.

  After a couple of years of fighting to pay bills and get by in real life, I decided to breathe easy. There was only one way that was going to happen, and that was taking my ass to school and getting a specialty or a trade. I liked the whole insurance vibe, since I helped people indirectly, and while I was part of a team, I worked solo. I figured that in the medical field, there would never be a recession, and they paid pretty damn well if you had experience and a degree. Now that I had a little experience, I needed the degree. This was the key to putting Nadia and me on the map.

  While I circled one of the parking lots at Piedmont Tech, in search of a parking space, my cell phone started ringing. I grabbed it from the passenger seat and answered.

  “Hello?” I said.

  Raul’s voice blared through my receiver. “Bring Nadia over. I’m home.”

  I sucked my teeth. “Fine time to be home, Raul. You were supposed to pick her up at one thirty. It’s two fifty. I told you I had an appointment!”

  “Ain’t nobody told you to schedule an appointment during the time she wasn’t in day care. Shit. I had things to do.”

  “Like what, Raul? What in God’s name did you have to do?”

  “Tend to my business, that’s what. You don’t question me. We ain’t together,” he said nonchalantly.

  I looked at my phone in disbelief as I pulled into a parking space. Then I snapped, “Oh, muthafucka, I know we ain’t together, and don’t let me remind you that this was my choice! But that ain’t got shit to do with your daughter. I scheduled the appointment at this time because unlike some of us, I actually show up at my job, and knowing that you may be late or short on your child support, I need every fucking penny I can get!”

  “Whatever, mami! So are you bringing my baby by or what? If not, I got some shit I can be doing besides listening to your grouchy ass grumble.”

  “Kiss my ass, Raul.”

  “Do you mean it?” He laughed.

  “Go fuck yourself in the ass,” I said angrily before hanging up on him. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and exited my car.

  Murder is still illegal in this country, I reminded myself as I headed to the building on campus that housed the admissions office. Otherwise, I’d buy the biggest gun I could find and go hunt down that muthafucka and any others like him. My father included . . . hell, guaranteed. I stepped through the front door and quickly located the admissions office.

  “I’m here to see Francesca Reynolds,” I said to the desk clerk after I entered the office.

  “Do you have an appointment?” she asked.

  “Yes. My name is Lucinda Rojas.”

  She checked the appointment schedule and told me to have a seat. I sat down in the nearest chair and looked around at all the motivational posters on the walls. From the table next to me, I picked up a flyer about the school, and it contained testimonies by former graduates endorsing the college and a list of all the accolades the school had received. I was beginning to see myself at Piedmont. I wanted to see myself at Piedmont. Hell, I needed to see myself at Piedmont.

  “Lucinda Rojas,” the clerk called out. When I looked over at her, she added, “Ms. Reynolds will see you now. Come on back.”

  I rubbed my hands nervously. I had to get into Piedmont.

  Charice

  “The quarterback faked the throw, and the handoff was made to Westmore. Moore goes in for the tackle, and he misses! Oh, he misses! Westmore cuts back, and he’s grabbed by Reese, and oh my God . . . Westmore breaks the tackle, and he is going, and he is gone. To the thirty, the twenty, and touchdown, Dallas Cowboys! Now they are up by six. What a run from Ryan Westmore,” the announcer yelled excitedly.

  “See, this is why he is such a phenomenal player. This is what he does best. He knows how to shuffle, plant his feet, make defenders miss, and find those openings to make big plays. He is a force to be reckoned with and has truly added something special to this Dallas team,” the other announcer commented.

  “Well, I know what he doesn’t do best,” my mother said bluntly as we sat in the living room, our eyes glued on the television.

  Rolling my eyes, I let out a deep sigh. “Mom, please don’t start. I am trying to watch the game with the boys. They want to see their father play.”

  “And I want to see their father pay,” she said seriously. “Back pay, current pay, future pay and all.”

  “Mom,” I whined.

  “Mom, hell,” she whined back. “You need to get your head out of the clouds and sue his raggedy, no-good ass for child support. You have three children by his rusty ass, and while he runs up and down the field, making millions, he won’t even acknowledge his children. What kind of shit is that? And then you let him get away with it!”

  “Ryan, Ray . . . go into the family room with your grandpa and watch the game,” I ordered my sons. Once they were out of the room, I turned to my mother and lashed out. “Do not talk about their father like that in front of them. They love him and love to see him play.”

  “Charice, when are you going to wake up?” my mom replied. “The moment you found out you were pregnant, Ryan, his family, and the coaches shut you down, and it’s been like that ever since. All so the kids wouldn’t ruin his chances in the NFL. Then they have the nerve to give a grand here and there just to keep you appeased enough not to go after his ass for support. And don’t let me remind you that he hasn’t seen those kids since they were two years old, when he was drafted. After coming home and telling you his good news, he screwed you, dropped you a hundred dollars for three kids, and left you to get an abortion after he denied being the father of the fourth child he impregnated you with.” She took a deep breath. “So forgive me for speaking so rudely about their father,” she added, using those stupid air quotes, which drove me insane.

  Well, so much for a peaceful afternoon of Sunday football. I turned off the television and sat back in my armchair. I hated when my mom got into her rants about Ryan. It brought up the pain that I had struggled to hide and was ashamed of. After all these years, I was still in love with Ryan Westmore, a pro football player and the father of our triplets, Ryan Jr., Charity, and Raymond.

  When they discussed the consequences of teen pregnancy, they damn sure skipped the chapter about the possibility of having more than one child at one time. I think my mom and I both fainted when we found out that I carried the family gene for multiple births. My great-grandma was the last one to experience multiple births: she delivered two sets of identical twins, first daughters and then sons. One of those daughters was my grandmother Agnes. None of my grandmother’s four children had multiple births, but when I got pregnant my junior year of high school, I pulled the golden number. Not one, hell, not even two, but three children.

  When Ryan and I began dating when I wa
s a sophomore and he was junior, I thought he was so damn sexy and fine. I think I fell in love with him at first sight. Hell, I’d wanted him since the first day I stepped foot in high school. Our first encounter was when I was a freshman. I dropped my purse, and he picked it up for me.

  “Aw shit,” I cursed, bending down to grab my fallen purse.

  “No worries. I got you,” I heard someone say as he bent down, picked up my purse, and extended it to me. “I do believe this is yours.”

  But I didn’t take the purse. Instead, my eyes met his, and instantly I heard “The Star Spangled Banner” playing in my head. Ryan was five feet, eleven inches, with smooth mocha skin. His baby face sported a little chin fuzz, and his shiny brown eyes were adorned with the longest eyelashes that I had ever seen on a man. He had a strong jawline and dimples in both cheeks. Let’s not forget his gleaming white teeth and his muscles from head to toe. His hair was cut low, and he kept waves in it. He looked as if he was twenty instead of fifteen, and he was the only sophomore that had played on the varsity football team. He was that good and that good looking.

  I bragged on him as if I were the ugly duckling, but don’t get it twisted. I was far from it. I had an hourglass figure and long mahogany-colored hair, and almond-colored eyes. So you see, I looked damn good, but when you were Ryan Westmore, you could have your pick of any girl you wanted. So to him, I was just another good-looking girl in the litter. Senior girls were after Ryan. That was how fine he was. Out of the thirty-five hundred students that attended our school, he absolutely was the most attractive.

  “Do you want your purse back?” Ryan asked, still holding it out to me.

  I shook my head after I realized I had been staring at him like a damn fool. “Yeah . . . um, yes, of course. Thank you so much,” I said, taking my purse from him.

  He smiled at me, and I could’ve died. “You’re welcome, Miss . . . ?”

  “Charice Taylor,” I answered quickly.

  He shook my hand. “Charice Taylor, pleased to meet you. I’m Ryan Westmore. Let me guess. This is your first year?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “I’d remember seeing such a pretty face around here,” he answered, flirting.

  I blushed and then waved him off. “You’re just saying that.”

  “You are pretty,” he said, staring me in the face until I looked away. “Don’t act shy.”

  “I’m not. I just . . . I better head to homeroom.”

  He stepped aside. “Don’t let me hold you up. Enjoy your day, Charice, and calm down. It’s a fun school.”

  I laughed. “I’ll remember that,” I said before walking away.

  As I walked down the hallway, I heard one of the football players joke about Ryan trying to catch the fresh meat, but I didn’t care. I had already been caught . . . hook, line, and sinker. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I wasn’t the only one. Even though it appeared Ryan was feeling me, I saw that he was flirtatious with a lot of females. By lunch, I was off his radar, and he no longer noticed me. I had become just one of the picks of the litter, and what made it even worse was the fact that we had the same lunch period, so I couldn’t help but notice him. He sat at the football table, which was the most popular table in the cafeteria. All the star football players sat together, laughing and joking while eating lunch. The only other people allowed at the table were their friends, girlfriends, and the picks of the week. I didn’t want to be in the friend category, and I sure as hell wasn’t looking to be in the pick of the week category, or, as I call it, the ho at the time category. I wanted to be like Stephanie Galloway and Miranda Hill, in the girlfriend category. Stephanie was the quarterback’s girlfriend, and Miranda was one of the wide receivers’ girlfriend. Those two were the most popular and prettiest females in the school.

  I had it so bad for Ryan that I didn’t date anyone my ninth grade year, hoping and praying that he’d step to me. I wanted to be available if and when he asked me to be his girl, but it never happened. I later got an opportunity when Miranda’s younger sister, Monique, and I performed in a spring recital together. Afterward, Miranda approached me.

  “Hey. Charice, right?” She smiled.

  “Yes.”

  She stuck her hand out. “Hi. My name is Miranda Hill. You probably don’t know me, because I’m a junior, but I go to school with you.”

  I shook her hand and smiled. “I remember you. Your sister, Monique, was in the recital.”

  “Yeah, she goes to this dance academy. She swears she’s going to be the prima donna of her own ballet company,” she joked.

  “She is good, though,” I complimented. Although she was good, she wasn’t anyone’s prima donna, but I wasn’t going to degrade her sister in front of her. I believed that I was better, and her sister confirmed it.

  “Yeah, but you’re better. You have that it factor.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Well, I guess I should get to the point of my visit. With skills like that, why didn’t you try out for the squad this year?”

  “The squad? As in the cheerleading squad?”

  “Yes, girl. That split you did onstage was to die for. We need fresh faces and new talent. We came in third at regionals, but if you were on the squad, we could’ve won first place.”

  Shrugging it off, I said, “I always thought that the leaders picked their friends, so I didn’t think I would have a chance.”

  She smiled. “We do, but you can consider yourself a friend.”

  “So you want me to try out for next year?”

  With a giggle, she answered me indirectly. “Here is my number. We should hang out this summer. I will be the captain, since Stephanie graduated. It’d be a real good look for you to be on the squad. We always get the flyest guys. I’m sure there is a guy you have your eye on.”

  Now, I liked Ryan, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. “Not really.”

  “You have a boyfriend or something?”

  “No—”

  “Please don’t tell me you like females?” she interrupted.

  I pointed at myself. “Me? Like girls? Hell no. I just don’t have a boyfriend. My parents didn’t want me to date until tenth grade.” That was the truth, but I would’ve gladly defied that rule for Ryan Westmore.

  Smiling with relief, she clapped. “Well, then, I’m right on time. Seriously, call me, so we can hang and get to know each other. Cheering will keep you athletic and do wonders for your reputation all at the same time.”

  I nodded. “Okay, I’ll call you. Thanks again, Miranda.”

  She hugged me. “If you join, all the thanks will be going to you. You are fire, girlfriend!” she said. Then she walked off.

  All summer long I hung out with Miranda. We hung out so much, it pissed off LaMeka and Trinity, and then I was accused of breaking up the crew, because LaMeka couldn’t hang with Miranda and me. Why? Simply put, Miranda was an upperclassman, and LaMeka had just got out of eighth grade. I wasn’t messing up my opportunity for anybody. Besides, I was trying to put us all in a better position. When LaMeka became a ninth grader, she would have her rite of passage through me. I would be able to get her on the squad, and she would be popular from the jump. Since I was the oldest, it would also pave the way for Trinity and Lucinda. So, there was a method to the madness.

  Cheerleading tryouts were at the end of the summer. Of course, I made the squad and quickly became friends with the current squad members, whom I already knew since I’d hung with Miranda over the summer. Your girl had arrived, and I felt so good when I met Miranda at her locker on the first day of school, with LaMeka in tow.

  Fresh to death was the look, with my short-sleeved, one-piece jean pantsuit that hugged my curves and a pair of cute platform sandals. With my long hair in a ponytail, I stepped with confidence that day. I’d made sure LaMeka was on point as well. She sported a pair of formfitting jean capris, a batwing top, and a pair of wedges.

  “Hello, ladies,” I said, then hugged Miranda and a couple of
the other squad members.

  “Hey, Charice,” they sang in unison.

  “Who is this?” Miranda asked, pointing to LaMeka.

  I turned to LaMeka and winked. “This is my best friend, LaMeka Roberts. She’s a freshman, but she’s cool as hell.”

  Miranda gave her the once-over and nodded in approval. This made the other girls smile. “Any friend of Charice’s is a friend of ours. Ain’t that right, ladies?”

  “Yep,” they said in unison.

  I was relieved that LaMeka had passed the test.

  “Thanks for letting me hang with you guys,” LaMeka said with gratitude. While she was happy, I was ecstatic on the inside. She didn’t understand what this meant for her.

  “No problem. Like I said, you’re family now,” Miranda told her. “You know, we have one freshman slot on the squad left, if you’re interested.”

  LaMeka smiled. “When do I try out?”

  Miranda smiled and tapped me on the shoulder. “I like her,” she said from behind me while we all walked down the hall.

  Luckily, we all had the same lunch period as Ryan, Miranda’s boyfriend, and some of the other star players on the football team.

  “Okay, ladies. We’re headed to the football table. LaMeka, you are probably the only freshman to ever be allowed at the table. I want you two to be cool, and for Christ’s sake, don’t embarrass me. We are confident, strong, and we are the baddest bitches in this school. Remember that. Now let’s go over and grab you two some boyfriends. And, LaMeka . . . Rodney is off limits. He’s mine,” Miranda said, schooling us, before we reached the football table.

  Miranda didn’t have to school LaMeka about Rodney, because she already had her sights set on Tony Light, a freshman, who was also at the table. Ryan played recreational football with Tony and liked him. Tony was a starter on the junior varsity team. Like Ryan, there was no doubt that he would be on the varsity squad this year.

  As we walked over, I was more nervous than I had been on my first day of school. I prayed to God that Ryan noticed me this time.

  “Hey, fellas,” Miranda said as she set her tray down beside Rodney’s and took a seat.