Teenie

by Christopher Grant

  Oh no. Greg had a girlfriend and lied about it. Can it get any worse? I don’t even know what to say. What can I say? I look over at Crystal, and she won’t even look me in the eye.

  “Hold up. What you looking at her for? I’m the one talking to you, not her. Tell me. Why were you in the staircase with my man?”

  “I’m sorry. I … I didn’t know he was your—”

  “Okay, stop right there. You’re a damn liar. I can’t stand liars. I know for a fact that Crystal told you he had a girl, so don’t make me slice your pretty little face open.” She shows me the box cutter that’s in her purse. “I already told you. Be honest and it will be better for you in the end. Don’t make me say that again.” She closes her purse and resumes questioning me. “Now. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  The tears are really pouring down my face. How did I end up here? How the hell am I going to get out of this?

  “Leave her alone!”

  We all turn at the same time and see Garth. He’s trying to look tough.

  “You better get outta here before you get hurt.”

  Judging from the look of Passion, I think she is the type to back that statement up.

  “I said leave her alone.” Garth’s voice cracks. He’s shaking like a leaf.

  Garth is bigger than Passion, but that doesn’t stop her from walking over to him and punching him in his eye. Garth hunches over, holding his eye, but he gathers himself and stands his ground. Passion seems confused by his bravery.

  “Oh, so you wanna be Captain Save-a-Ho now, huh? I got something for you.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out the box cutter.

  She pushes the blade out and gets ready to slash him but stops when a train comes barreling into the station. The Long Island Rail Road crowd bursts out of the door and forces its way between us. She puts the blade back in her purse, and I stand up and grab Garth’s arm, pulling him into the train. The doors close before she has a chance to react. She stands on the other side of the door, glaring at me as the train pulls away, mouthing, “You’re dead.”

  Chapter 18

  “Why is God doing this to me? Why?” Garth sits with me at the train station near my house while I try to compose myself. I’ve been sobbing for about forty-five minutes, boogers and all. He keeps passing me scrunched-up napkins from his book bag.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting home?” My nose honks after I blow into the tissue. “It’s getting kind of late.” Garth lives in the Bronx, about a two-hour train ride from my house.

  “It’s alright. I usually go to the library on Fridays, so no worries.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say, trying my best to smile. “I’m sorry about your eye.”

  “Ahh, no problem. I’ve been hit harder.” His eye is a little swollen and red. He’s been rubbing it since we got on the train. “I sure am glad that I was able to find you.”

  “What were you doing at school so late anyway?” I’d been wondering how he just happened to be there to save me.

  “I was hanging out. You know, just chilling.”

  The look on my face shows him that I find that hard to believe.

  “Okay. I was tutoring a couple of the football players and … I asked them if they knew what a, what a blessing was, so …”

  “So you stayed at school because I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.”

  “I looked all over for you, but I couldn’t find you. So I gave up looking and decided to go home. That’s when I saw those girls bothering you from across the platform.”

  The way he’s looking at me, I can tell he wants to ask me if I went through with it, but he would never make me feel uncomfortable. I don’t have the strength to tell him the whole story, so I give him the short version. He never lets go of my hand.

  “I saw him when I left school. I was wondering why he was limping down the street like that. That must’ve been some kick, Teenie. That’ll teach him.”

  I laugh, and then we both sit quiet for a minute. I never realized how easy it was to talk to him. “I feel like such a loser right now.”

  “You know, Teenie, my mother says that God will never give you more than you can handle, and that if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you can move mountains.”

  I nod my head, because my mother says the same exact thing—well, at least the first part anyway. That mustard seed thing is something new, and pretty cool. “I’ll make sure to pray the next time that crazy girl comes looking for me.”

  “I promise I’ll be there if she does.” His weak smile shows that he’s just as afraid as I am. We sit in silence for a little bit before he says, “So what’re you going to do now?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Are you going to tell?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t really know what I should do. I’m such an idiot.” A few tears start to leak out of my eyes. Garth looks at me with a long face.

  “I’m out of napkins.”

  I laugh and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Why are you so nice to me, Garth?”

  “Teenie, you’re my only real friend. My brothers, all they do is give me wedgies and call me Nerdimus Prime. The guys on the football team only talk to me because I can help them stay eligible to play. I mean, I hang out with some of the guys from the Robotics Club sometimes but they’re kind of boring. You’ve always been nice to me, no matter what.”

  “You’re like my guardian angel.”

  “Lucky for you I’m not the kind that sits on your shoulder.”

  We both laugh, and I glance at my watch. “I think you should be getting home.”

  “Okay. But at least let me walk you home.”

  “I’ll be okay. It’s only a few blocks from here.” I hug him and kiss him on the cheek. His face lights up like a Christmas tree.

  “I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Bye. Get home safe.”

  Wow, he really likes me. I can tell by the way he’s skipping across the street to the other side of the subway station.

  I walk around the corner to my house. My mother has Fridays off, so I’m standing at the door with my ear pressed against it trying to time when I should go in. With a ripped hood, I want to keep contact with people to a minimum. I can hear laughter coming from inside. It sounds like my mother has guests. More eyes mean that someone will probably notice my ripped jacket. I tuck the hood into the neckline. I push through the door and see two pairs of size 13 Timberlands dumped near the doormat. Great. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the twins are home.

  Chapter 19

  “Niblet!” they shout in unison. Bakari and Solwazi jump off the couch and rush over to give me a hug. Niblet was a name they made up referring to my lack of development in the chest area. They used to tease me and say that I would never have to spend money on bras, telling me that I’m so flat and skinny that I could slide into one of the rubber bands that Daddy brings home from his office.

  My brothers are taller than Beresford but I’m a little shrimp like my mother, so I am being crushed between their hugs like a teddy bear. Most people can’t tell them apart because they look and act exactly the same, finishing each other’s sentences and posing as each other when they date different girls. I told one girl who was seeing Solwazi that Bakari had a small scar on his lip (courtesy of Beresford’s spife). After Bakari tried to kiss her posing as Solwazi, she slapped the mess out of both of them.

  “Oh man. Don’t look like we can call her Niblet no more,” Kari jokes.

  “For real. Did you go and save up your allowance for implants?” Solwazi leans in close to ask me that one, makes me feel like such a little kid.

  These snaps are new material but not above any level that they’ve always thrown at me. With everything that’s happened to me today, I just can’t handle the onslaught. I turn to get away from them and I trip while I’m running up the stairs. They’re laughing at me, calling me spastic. I wish they would just go back to where they came from. I can’t stand them. Even after I
close my bedroom door, I can still hear them laughing at the bottom of the stairs. What I wouldn’t give for a grenade right now.

  “Martine! Go wash up and come downstairs and eat! We ain’t waitin’ for you no more!”

  That’s the third time I’ve heard Beresford yell up. I’m sprawled across the bed with my face down and my head under the pillow. I’ve been in this position since I got home, and I don’t have any intention of moving. My stomach is killing me. Thanks to Garth, I know that my stomach has its own nervous system, and my emotions can really make my guts twist and turn.

  I don’t want to talk to anyone. Wazi and Kari can go jump in a volcano. I’m sick of them making fun of me. Then there’s my dad telling me what a bad daughter I am because I didn’t tell him about what Cherise was doing. I wish I’d never even heard of Greg Millons. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about his psycho terminator girlfriend trying to carve her initials into my face. I just want to press rewind and do things over.

  I don’t get it. I never cause any trouble. Truthfully, I have got to be one of the most considerate people on the face of the earth. I clean up after myself, I don’t talk back to my parents, I eat—no, I actually like to eat—my vegetables, I study hard, I don’t curse, I treat people with respect, I even leave the toilet seat UP when my brothers are home!

  My mother says that I should treat people the way I expect to be treated. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Maybe I should flip that one around, something like Before others do unto you, do unto them.

  “Yo, Niblet!” I hear a banging at the door, and Bakari pushes in. I pull the pillow tighter to the sides of my head to keep the light out of my eyes. “Mommy and Daddy said we can’t eat until you come, so bring your narrow butt downstairs.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “What?”

  I lift the pillow from my face and say, “I’m not hungry!”

  “Oh, aight. Good. More shrimp for me.” He slams the door and thunders down the stairs, saying, “She ain’t coming.”

  Friday is usually date night for my parents and I have to fend for myself when it comes to food. Since my brothers are home, my mother cooked. My parents will know something is wrong when I don’t come running for her famous curry shrimp. One of them will be here soon, so I hurry into the bathroom and turn the shower on.

  I stop undressing when I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess and my eyes are puffy and bloodshot from all the crying. My face feels like my leather jacket, and there’s a deep groove on my right cheek from having it pressed against the edge of my bed. Before the mirror fogs up, I notice a scratch on the side of my neck where Greg grabbed my hood.

  The sound of my mother getting close to the bathroom door breaks my train of thought. I can tell it’s her even before she yells, “Martine!” from the sound of her house slippers dragging across the hallway floor.

  “Yes, Mommy!” I have to raise my voice to get it above the sound of the water hitting the bottom of the tub.

  “You not coming to eat? I made your favorite.”

  “I don’t feel so well! I’m gonna take a shower and go to sleep!”

  “You want me to make you some soup?”

  “No, thank you! I’ll be okay!”

  The door handle starts jiggling, and I hear my mother say, “Martine, open the door.”

  “I’m okay, Mommy! It’s just a little gas! I’ll be fine!”

  My mother is not going to give up that easy, so I’m not surprised to hear her say, “Martine, open this door right now.”

  “Just a minute!” In less than five seconds, I strip off the rest of my clothes, jump in the shower, turn the cold water on while I cover my mouth to keep from screaming because I get scalded by the hot water, push the showerhead toward the wall to let the water temperature drop, and reach from behind the curtain to open the door for my mother.

  “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “I’m not feeling so good. My stomach hurts.”

  “I’m going to make some soup.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t—”

  “I’m going to make you some soup and bring it upstairs for you. Make sure you finish it all.”

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  “And since you not feeling well, I don’t want you on that computer or phone all night.”

  “Yes, Mommy.” It’s not like there’s anyone I want to talk to anyway.

  With the twins downstairs, I’ll be able to stay in the shower as long as I want. My father will be too distracted grilling them about school to keep track of how long I’m in here. No matter how many times I wash myself off, I still feel dirty. I start to soap my body again, but just sag to the bottom of the tub crying.

  Sitting under the water reminds me of playing in the fire hydrant with Cherise when we were younger. Instead of smiling at what should be a nice memory, I cry even harder. All the kids on Cherise’s block were jumping around, wetting passing cars, and screaming their heads off like it was the happiest day of their lives. It looked like so much fun, but I was afraid to join in because I knew it was illegal to turn the hydrant on. I’ve always been afraid. Doing things the safe way is all I know. After pulling at my arm for like fifteen minutes, Cherise persuaded me to join her and the rest of the kids. I had such a good time that day. Thinking back makes me realize how much I miss her.

  I feel lost without her. She’s the only person I can really talk to about this stuff. If Cherise were around, there’s no way Greg would have been able to dupe me like that. Now I guess I can understand where she was coming from when she said she was tired of carrying me. What am I good for? I want my mother to hold me, but I can’t stop crying long enough to call her.

  All in all, I spend about forty-five minutes getting pelted by the water. The tips of my fingers are all wrinkled up, so I finally find a reason to get up. I’m just so confused. I’ve gone from sadness to anger to regret and back to sadness again. Now I just feel numb, and very tired. I can’t dry myself off fast enough as I’m thinking about how badly I want to sleep.

  Chapter 20

  I wake up to laughter, and it takes me a few moments to realize that I am on the receiving end of yet another prank by the twins. This morning, they used one of their old tricks, tickling my nose with a feather. They filled my right hand with some mess so when I went to brush away the feather, I smeared the stuff in my right hand all over my face.

  They’re laughing hysterically like two hyenas, closing the door just as my shoe bangs against the wall where Kari’s head was. It’s my fault for leaving my bedroom door unlocked. I had gotten used to them not being around, relaxed, and paid for it with a face full of shaving gel. A half a year in college, and they still act like little kids.

  I look over at the clock and realize that I have overslept. When the twins are around, I usually wake up before them to keep them from catching me with one of their pranks. It’s almost noon by the time I get into the shower. I slip on a big hoodie to cover the scratch on my neck.

  When I finally make it downstairs, my mother is putting away the dishes from what must have been brunch. It smells like I missed some good stuff, but I still don’t have much of an appetite.

  “Morning, or should I say afternoon, sleepyhead.”

  “Good afternoon, Mommy.”

  “You feeling better?”

  “I’m okay, I guess.”

  My mother reaches out and touches my forehead and then the side of my neck to see if I have a temperature. She just missed touching the scratch.

  “You don’t feel warm. Did you eat something bad yesterday?”

  “I’m not sure. I can’t remember what I had for lunch.”

  “You probably just need purging.”

  If my mother can’t figure out what’s wrong with a quick exam, she says we “need purging.” I’m in no mood to be sitting on the toilet all day. I’ll pass on her homemade prune smoothie—Drano Juice, as Wazi named it.

  “What you got planned today? You and Che
r—?” She pauses mid-sentence, remembering Thursday’s falling-out. I’m sure the look on my face tells her that Cherise and I haven’t patched things up yet.

  “I have some studying to do. YSSAP stuff.”

  “Come with me to Flatbush Avenue. An hour won’t kill you.”

  “No, thank you. I have a paper due, and a math test on Monday. Plus I have to finish washing—” I look up at my mother and realize she wasn’t making a request. She looks over at me until I say, “Okay, let me go and grab my coat.”

  The corner of Flatbush and Church avenues is like the center of the Caribbean universe in New York. If someone is from the West Indies and they live in Brooklyn, they’ve spent at least one day in their life out here. My mother has been bringing me here since I was really small, and she knows to park a few blocks away instead of trying to deal with the crazy traffic.

  Before my father started getting promotions, my parents used to buy everything here, from fruit to clip-on ties for my brothers. My mother came down here so much she was on a first-name basis with cashiers in like fifteen different stores. They practically rolled out the red carpet for her whenever we walked into Bobby’s Department Store.

  It’s been a while since we’ve been on Flatbush. Now my mother does most of her shopping at Target and the twenty-four-hour supermarket. Flatbush was always a little different for me be cause we would visit such a variety of stores. I have to admit that it doesn’t feel as fun as it used to. That could probably be because of my mood, but it is beyond crowded out here. Some little kid bumps into me and knocks the grocery list out of my hand. He’s so busy sending a text on his cell phone that he doesn’t even notice. To think, this little shrimp, he can’t be more than seven years old, and even he has a cell phone.

  “Martine! Come on!” My mother is standing at the entrance of the fruit stand, hollering my name down the street.

  “Yeah, Martine, you better hurry up.”

  I turn around and see some cross-eyed boy smiling at me. I roll my eyes, pick up the list, and storm away from him.