Caught Up

by Amir Abrams

  With Hope and Jordan, I feel like I am constantly under a microscope with them dissecting every little thing I say. It’s become too exhausting trying to get them to respect my choices. So I’ve slowly distanced myself from them.

  Besides, Malik feels it’s for the best.

  And I agree with him.

  “Yo, I know they ya girlz ’n’ all, but if they ain’t tryna have anything good to say, then you need’a cut ’em off. Dey need to stop hatin’ on ya man, yo. All dat negativity is for the birds, yo.”

  “You’re right,” I said, deciding right then and there to deal with them on a very limited basis. And I have been.

  Malik stands behind me, hugging me. I can’t lie. I won’t lie. Malik’s arms feel so good wrapped around me. I feel so wanted, so needed... so special.

  “I can hold you in my arms forever, baby,” he says, kissing the back of my neck. Then pauses. “Yo what you thinkin’ ’bout, huh?”

  I smile, glancing up at him over my shoulder. “You.”

  He grins. “Dats watz up, baby.” His cell starts ringing. He plucks his phone from off his hip, glancing at the screen. “Yo waddup? Oh, word? When? Oh, a’ight, bet. No doubt, no doubt... I got you. A’ight, bet.” He ends the call, then brings his attention back to me. “Check it, baby. I gotta make a quick run tonight.”

  My mood immediately turns sour. He promised to take me out to dinner tonight. I look at him. My body stiffens. “A run where?”

  He frowns. “Yo, wat I tell you ’bout questionin’ me, huh?”

  “I’m only asking. I thought we were going to go into the city tonight; that’s all. I was really looking forward to it.”

  “We was, but somethin’ came up I gotta handle.”

  “Oh,” I say, disappointed. “Well, what am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

  He looks at me as if I’ve asked the dumbest question in the world. “Wait for me. What else?”

  I frown. Try to break out of his embrace, but he is holding on tight. He turns me around to face him. “What, you mad now?”

  “Nope.” I turn away from him, walking toward the door.

  He grabs me. “Where you goin’?”

  “Home,” I say, pouting.

  He smirks. “Oh, word? And how you gettin’ there?”

  Oops. I hadn’t thought about that.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Walk.”

  He chuckles. But I don’t see anything amusing. “Yo, stop. You ain’t walkin’ nowhere. And you ain’t leavin’.”

  I suck my teeth and cross my arms. “I wanna go home.”

  He smiles, looking me up and down.

  “Nah, not tonight. You lookin’ ’n’ smellin’ too good to go home.” He pulls me into his arms, then kisses me on my forehead, then the tip of my nose, then lightly on my lips. He presses himself into me. Then starts grinding real slow and nasty-like into me. I can feel his excitement growing. “I need you.” He glances at his watch. “C’mon. Let’s lay down real quick.”

  “Are you going to see some other girl?” I ask, feeling insecurity creep into my heart. I can’t help but remember what his sister has said about him. Even though I know she was only saying those things to be messy and I’ve never told Malik everything she’s said about him, her words linger in the back of my mind.

  “Ain’t no other girl, yo. It’s me ’n’ you, ya heard?”

  I nod. “It better be.”

  Malik gently grabs my chin and turns my face toward him. “Da only girl I’m checkin’ for, Kennedy, is you, baby. You know dat, right?”

  I look into his eyes for any signs of deceit. There are none. My disposition softens. I nod. “Yes.”

  He grins. And then there’s the sound of his pants being unzipped. “You my everything, baby; ya heard?”

  I swallow and nod. “Yes.”

  The last thing I remember before removing all of my clothes and getting swept up in the heat of his hands and kisses is him saying, “Let’s make a baby . . .”

  31

  “Girl, my period late,” I hear Mercedes telling someone on her cell as I walk into the kitchen to get something to drink. She’s leaning over the sink, staring out of the window into the backyard.

  She looks over her shoulder at me when she sees me going to the refrigerator. She sucks her teeth, straightening her body. “I don’t need to take no test. I already know I am. My period is never late unless . . . uh-huh. Girl, who knows.” She laughs. “I tol’ dat nucca to pull out... girl, please. I was lit dat night ’n’ besides it was feelin’ too good.”

  She laughs again.

  I pour myself some apple juice in a glass, trying to act like I’m not listening in on her conversation. I take a few slow sips.

  Mercedes glances over at me, rolling her eyes. “Can I get some privacy? Unh-uh . . . Malik’s li’l girlfriend he keeps leavin’ over here. Mmph . . . don’t even get me started.” She shoots another look at me, then rolls her eyes up in her head.

  I press my lips tight, blinking my eyes real hard. Why is she so dang hateful?

  I quickly drink the rest of my juice, then wash and dry the cup out, put it back, then go back into Malik’s bedroom. As soon as I get ready to turn on the TV and lie across the bed, Malik texts me and says he’s on his way home. He wants me to heat up his food in the refrigerator. Now I have to go back into the kitchen. I suck my teeth, going to the bathroom, first, to wash my hands, then back out into the kitchen, hoping Mercedes is nowhere in sight.

  She is.

  I take a deep breath. Brace myself.

  I can feel her eyes on me as I flit around the kitchen, pulling down a plate from out of the cabinet, then rinsing it off before placing his takeout from Munchies—a Jamaican restaurant in South Orange—onto his plate and putting it in the toaster oven.

  I turn to walk out, catch Mercedes staring at me.

  “You really think you got da magic touch, don’t you?”

  “Huh?” I ask, confused. “What do you mean by that?”

  She twists her lips up. “It means, you really think Malik’s all into you, don’t you?”

  I shrug. “He says he is.”

  She laughs. “Nuccas say anything to anyone stupid enough to believe ’em.”

  I blink. “I don’t think I’m stupid.”

  She laughs again. “You’se a lie. But dat’s a matter of opinion.”

  “How many months are you?” I ask, trying to change the subject. And I immediately regret having ever said a word to her.

  “Why?” she says nastily.

  I shrug. “I was only asking.”

  “No, you were just bein’ nosy. Tryna be all up in my business. You really think you betta than me don’t you?”

  “No. Of course not,” I say incredulously. “I don’t think that about anyone.”

  “Yes you do!” she snaps. “But you ain’t. Just because you come from a little change dat don’t make you better than me.”

  “I know it doesn’t.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Mmph, it sure doesn’t. But keep actin’ like it does ’n’ see what happens.”

  I blink.

  Then, without thinking about whether or not I should say it, without editing it in my mind first, I ask, “Do you know who the baby’s father is?”

  Her eyes darken. Her face hardens into an ugly stare. “Bish, yeah, I know who my baby fahver is. See. Dis why don’t nobody ’round here like you. You too nosy ’n’ stay tryna talk slick.”

  I think to tell her I didn’t mean it like that. But before I can open my mouth to plead my case, her mother walks into the kitchen and says, “Mercedes, I know you ain’t even pregnant, again? Is you?”

  Mercedes shoots a dirty look over at me, then sucks her teeth. “You see, thot. You ’n’ ya big mouth.”

  “I asked you a question,” her mother says, glaring at her. “Is you knocked up again?”

  Mercedes looks at her mother and nods.

  Her mother rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “See, dis here don’t
make no sense. You just had a baby three months ago ’n’ ya knocked up, again. Mmph. What you gonna do wit’ four babies? I know you ain’t even tryna have it, is you?”

  Mercedes shrugs. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Wat you mean you don’t know yet, huh? You betta hope DYFS takes dis one, too, ’cause I ain’t watchin’ no kids.”

  I blink. Three babies? She’s only twenty-one! Ohmygod! I thought she only had the little girl.

  “I said I don’t know,” she snaps back at her mother. “Now get off my case about it. I’ll let you know wat I’ma do when I know wat I’ma do.”

  I quietly ease out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them there to argue. I want no part of any of their family squabble.

  Ten minutes later, I go back out to the kitchen to check on Malik’s plate. Mercedes comes back into the kitchen wearing a smirk on her smug face. “Someone’s here to see you.”

  I give her a confused look. “Someone’s here to see who, me?”

  She twists her lips up. “Umm, did I stutter? Who else do you see in da room? Yeah, you.”

  “Who is it?”

  She shoots me a dirty look. “Do I look like ya butler? You’ll see when you get to da door.”

  I turn the oven off, then remove the food. “Okay, well let me wrap up Malik’s plate, first.” I pull out the aluminum foil from underneath the sink, wrap his plate up, place it back into the oven, then walk out into the living room.

  I think I see her lips curl into a sly smirk.

  32

  “Hi. Are you looking for me?” I say guardedly, walking to the door. The brown-skinned girl at the door, with the clenched jaws and menacing scowl on her face, is unfamiliar to me. Her hair is pulled back into half a teeny ponytail. There isn’t much hair gathered up into her red scrunchie sitting up on top of her head. Still, she wears it proudly with bangs slicked down over her forehead. A weave-piece, I think. She has one hand up on her hip. The other hangs to her side, balled up into a tight fist.

  “You Kennedy, right?”

  I nod. “Yes. That’s me.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Then yeah, bish, I’m lookin’ for you!”

  For a split second, I think I hear someone in back of me giggle. But I can’t be for certain. Yet I am not willing to take my eyes off the girl in front of me to see who’s behind me.

  “W-why?” I stammer, holding on tightly to the screen door handle.

  “You know Sha?”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t even front. You know who Sha is. Shaheed. The boy you were upstairs at dat party trickin’ wit’, then lied ’n’ said he tried to rape you.”

  I blink. “I-I . . .”

  My mind quickly scrambles back to that night. The only two people who I told were Malik and Sasha. I try to remember if I’d ever used the word rape. I don’t remember.

  My heart starts pounding.

  “I never said he tried to rape me.”

  “Bish, yes you did! Don’t lie; you dirty cockteaser!”

  I blink. And then it comes back to me. What I’d said to Malik that night.

  “H-h-he tried to rape me . . .”

  Ohgod!

  “I-I didn’t mean that,” I say quickly. I can’t believe how much my voice cracks. “It’s just that he wouldn’t stop grabbing on me when I told him to stop.”

  “Yeah right, trick. And you wanted it.”

  I shake my head. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t even know him.”

  She scoffs. “You dumb bish! Then why you even go upstairs wit’ him if you didn’t know him, huh? Don’t even try to act like you didn’t know what time it was.”

  “I swear. I didn’t know. I thought he only wanted to talk.”

  “Well, he didn’t. And you know it. Then you gonna lie ’n’ get him jumped.”

  “I didn’t do that. I swear.”

  “Yes you did. And now you ’bout to see how it feels. So you need’a step outside so we can handle dis woman-to-woman.”

  I swallow.

  I can’t lie. I am desperately afraid. And I don’t know why. I mean, I do know why. There’s a tall, thick girl with big hands standing on the other side of the door sneering at me.

  I haven’t done anything to anyone, and especially not to her or the four other girls standing in back of her. But clearly, judging by her hostility toward me, she seems hell-bent on thinking that I have wronged her in some way.

  And I can tell just by the way she’s glaring at me that she isn’t interested in hearing anything I have to say. And neither do any of her friends. They’re not here to talk. She’s here to kick my butt.

  All of a sudden my eyes get watery.

  And the only thing that stands between me and what I’m beginning to think, feel, is going to become my worst nightmare is flimsy mesh in a metal frame. I hold the door handle even tighter.

  “Trick, I said come outside!”

  I swallow.

  She’s now up on the tiny porch, one hand up on her hip; the other pointing at me through the screen like it’s a gun. Her face is so close to the screen, I can feel her hot breath through the torn mesh.

  I try not to look at her. Instead I focus on the scary black snake she has tattooed on the side of her neck.

  And I feel like crying.

  “Goddammit, Mercedes!” I hear Malik’s mom yell in back of me. “Who is at my front door wit’ all dat noise? You know I ain’t for no ratchetness early in da day!”

  “Dats some chicks from around da way for Malik’s li’l girlfriend,” she says. She sounds amused. “Looks like she done got caught up in some drama.”

  “Say what? I know one thang, li’l Miss Uppity betta go on ’n’ take dat mess away from my goddamn door. Tell her I said to go outside wit’ dat mess! I don’t know why Malik left her here anyway, like we some babysittin’ service.”

  I cringe. And the next thing I know, I am stumbling out the door as it swings open and hits Snake Neck. I’ve been pushed from behind. I am caught totally off guard. So is Snake Neck. Before I can break away, or even scream for help, she lunges at me.

  “Bish! I’ma kill you!”

  She grabs me by the shirt and punches me in the jaw. I am no street fighter. Heck, I’m not any kind of fighter. But this girl is. And she is out for blood.

  I scream.

  Her friends circle us, cheering her on.

  “Beat her face in!” someone yells out.

  Next thing I know I feel Snake Neck’s razor-sharp fingernails clawing into my face, like she’s trying to peel my skin off.

  Instinct and desperation set in and my arms and hands take on a life of their own. I start swinging wildly. I windmill her up. My fingers clawing at her hair, my nails digging into her skin: there is no one here to help me and I am fighting for my life.

  I hear people yelling, “Fight! Fight!”

  But I am not sure who or where it’s coming from.

  I can’t believe this is happening to me. All because of some boy who tried to have sex with me. All because Malik had him beat up. All because Sasha had to go off and leave me alone at some party I had no business being at.

  Someone knees me.

  Someone else punches me in the back of the head.

  Ohmygod!

  I am being jumped.

  Someone else’s hand wraps around my hair.

  I am being yanked and punched and kicked.

  I feel the tears burning my eyes and rolling down my face as I try to fight these girls off me. I struggle to hang on to Snake Neck’s hair, struggle to not hit the ground, knowing that it will be over for me if I do.

  I bite Snake Neck’s arm. She yelps. Hits me upside the head. But I don’t let go. I tighten my grip and try to rip a chunk of her arm out. Now she is screaming. And her friends are punching and kicking, harder and faster.

  Snake Neck and I both hit the ground. I am on top of her. Her crew is now stomping and kicking me. My stomach and side and chest hurt.

  “Yo, what da fuqq!” I hear someone yel
ling. “Get da fuqq up offa her!” Then I feel someone yanking bodies off of me.

  It’s Malik.

  33

  Speak now or forever hold you peace...

  “I’ve been holding back from saying this,” Jordan says, slipping out of her leather open-toed Giuseppe sandals, the ones her mom bought her at the beginning of summer from Barney’s New York. “Because I don’t want this to turn into an ugly argument.”

  I reach for the new Ni-Ni Simone book my mom bought me and left up on my dresser for me. I guess it’s her way of trying to make up with me. For the last week we’ve been fighting constantly, especially after I came home over a week ago beat up and bruised up from when those girls jumped me.

  She was pissed.

  “I want you to tell me who those girls were. Then we’re going down to file assault charges on them.”

  I wouldn’t cooperate. I refused to tell her anything. And I didn’t want her to press charges. Truth is, there wasn’t anything to tell. I didn’t know much of anything where any of those girls were concerned. No names. No addresses. Nothing.

  Anyway, back to this book. My mom knows how much I love all of Ni-Ni Simone’s books. I have her whole collection. But, as I sit here flipping through the pages, it feels like forever since I’ve picked up a book—any book—and read it.

  Fact is, the last book I read was two weeks before the school semester ended, over a month and a half ago. Seems like so much has changed since then.

  I look over at Jordan, closing the book. “You don’t want what to turn into an argument?”

  She lifts her feet up onto my bed. “How I feel about what you’ve been doing over the summer so far.”

  I frown. “What do you mean, what I’ve been doing so far?”

  “You know, hanging out all the time, smoking, drinking. . .”

  “Ohmygod! I only drank once.”

  “Yeah, and you got really drunk. I’m still really bothered by that. You could have died from alcohol poisoning or something.”