by Amir Abrams
I roll my eyes, sucking my teeth. “But I didn’t. It wasn’t that serious. So next.”
“Well, it could have been,” she says back. “How do you even know someone didn’t put something in your cup?”
“Jordan, stop! You really need to lay off the CSI episodes. No one put anything in my drink . . .” I hope no one did. No, of course not! Sasha wouldn’t have done anything like that. She’s not like that.
“How do you know that? Did you see them make it in front of you?”
I raise my brow. “Well, no. But Sasha got it for me.”
She gives me a blank stare.
“Look. Forget it. I don’t want to rehash that. Yeah, I drank, got drunk, and threw up everywhere . . .” And practically took all your clothes off. “It happened once. And I haven’t touched alcohol since. I’m never drinking again. I learned my lesson.”
“I’m glad you did. But what if someone would have taken advantage of you? Anything could have happened to you.”
That boy Shaheed’s face pops into my head, his hands groping all over me. I shake the thought. “But no one’s taken advantage of me. So stop saying that. And I don’t appreciate you bringing all this up way after the fact. So moving on. What else?”
“Well, you don’t have to get all snippy. I’m only sharing how I feel.”
“I’m not getting snippy. I just don’t feel like hearing shoulda, coulda, wouldas today. But whatever. What else you wanna get off your mind?”
“Honestly, Kennedy, I think you’re getting in way too deep with this new crowd you’re hanging with. I don’t like that you sneak out and you’re having sex with that boy. I feel like you’re moving too quick. You don’t even really know him.”
“Ohmygod, Jordan! You say that like he’s some random guy. He’s my boyfriend.”
“Yeah, one you have to keep secret from you parents. What kind of boyfriend is that?”
“See, I knew I should have never told you about any of that.”
“That’s what friends do. Confide in each other.”
“Yeah. But they don’t turn around and throw it back in your face, either.”
“I’m not throwing it in your face. I’m simply stating how I feel. That’s also what friends do when they care about each other. They share how they feel. I mean, I am allowed to feel how I feel, aren’t I?”
I shrug. “You can feel however you want. I can’t tell you how you should feel.”
“Exactly. And, right now, I feel like your loyalty to Hope and me has changed.”
“How do you mean, my loyalty’s changed? I’m always loyal to both of you.”
She gives me a look of disbelief. “Oh, really?”
“Wait. Is this about me ditching going to the mall to hang out with Sasha?”
“Well, yes. No. I mean, every since you started hanging out with that trashy Sasha girl and sneaking around with that drug slinger you’ve been acting real different,” Jordan says softly.
“Ohmygod, I can’t believe you’d say that.”
“Well, it’s how I feel.”
“Well, first off, his name is Malik,” I correct with attitude. “Secondly, he’s not a drug slinger. And third of all, Sasha isn’t trashy. So don’t say anything negative about her ’cause you don’t know her. All you ever do is judge.”
“Ohmygod, Kennedy! I’m not judging anyone. Are you that dumb and blind? That boy is a drug dealer and you know it. So stopping lying to yourself.”
“I’m not lying to myself.”
“And that’s a lie right there. That’s all you’ve been doing is lying. Lying to your parents. Lying to Hope and me. Lying, lying, lying. But you go ahead and believe it. Maybe one day it might all become true. But for now, I don’t care what lies come out of your mouth. Your little thug boy is a drug dealer and—”
“He is not! So stop saying that about him.”
“Oh really? Then what is he then, huh, Kennedy? Because I know and you know he isn’t a trust fund baby. And he isn’t the owner of some Fortune Five Hundred company and he isn’t working on Wall Street. And we both know he isn’t a doctor or a lawyer. So if your high school dropout boyfriend isn’t a drug dealer, then what is he? How does he afford that Range Rover and all that jewelry and all those fancy clothes he’s been buying you, huh?”
“From his lawsuit,” I blurt out.
Jordan gives a fake, restrained laugh. “And you believed that? Hahahaha! How special. What lawsuit, Kennedy?”
“That’s none of your business!” I snap. “And I don’t appreciate you trying to be all up in my man’s business. Or mine!”
“Wellllll, excuuuuuse the heck out of me,” she says defensively. “You want me out of your business. Fine. I’m out of it. But don’t you dare pick up the phone and come crying to me when your man and your new bestie both drag you down into the gutters with them.”
She’s gone too far. I can tell I’ve hurt her feelings. But oh well. She’s hurt mine as well.
I take a deep breath. Collect my thoughts. Check my emotions. Then say, “Listen, Jordan. I don’t need this crap from you. I don’t want to fight with you, okay?”
“Well, I don’t want to fight with you either. But I don’t like what that boy is doing to you. He’s changing you. He’s no good for you. And the only thing he’s going to do is bring you down, Kennedy. You are worth so much more than what you’re becoming.”
I huff. “And what is it you actually think I’m becoming, Jordan?”
“I’ve already said it. Ghetto.”
I blink. “Why? Because I don’t wanna always talk proper. Because every now and then I wanna use slang words? That’s not me trying to be anything.”
“Yes, it is,” she counters, giving me an incredulous look.
“That’s you trying to be”—she makes quotation marks with her fingers—“down. The way you’re now dressing, the way you’re talking, and even the way you’re sitting here now with your lips all twisted up. You’re trying to be something you’re not.”
“That is so not true,” I retort indignantly. “Why don’t you just stop hating on me?”
She grunts. “Hating on you? Is that what you call it, me being concerned about my friend hanging with the wrong crowd and going down the wrong path? That’s hating to you? Really, Kennedy? How priceless. You’re taking up for the same girl who just a few weeks back bullied you and treated you like crap. Now all of a sudden she’s your hero.” She rolls her eyes. “Mmmph. How epic.”
Jordan sounds jealous to me. Maybe she is. Or am I being paranoid?
“I mean, I’ve been trying to be sympathetic to your obsessive need to frolic with that kind of element.” She shakes her head. “But, it’s getting increasingly more disturbing. Hope and I were talking about it last night and she agrees.”
I blink. Somehow I feel betrayed. Hurt. That the two of them have been talking about me behind my back like this. I thought they were my friends.
“Ohmygod!” I shriek. “Bish, bye! Are you effen serious? I can’t believe you and Hope have been dogging me out behind my back.”
“We haven’t been dogging you. We’ve been discussing our concerns; that’s all. It’s like you’re changing.” Jordan pauses for a second, then adds, “And you’re even acting real ghetto now.”
I am taken aback. Literally floored that she would say something like this to me. That I’m acting ghetto. What the heck is acting ghetto?
“I’m acting ghetto, how?”
“Listen to yourself. You sound just like one of those section-eight girls. Acting all ghetto-fabulous.”
“Are you effen kidding me? Ohmygod, Jordan! Have several seats! And go find your life! I can’t believe you just said that. How am I acting ghetto-fabulous? Please explain.”
She plants a hand on her hip, jerking her neck from side to side. “You’re acting ghet-to . . . right now. Cursing and telling me to have several seats. That’s that gutter-trash talk.”
There’s no need for her to be getting all snip-snappy
with me. Shoot, she’s lucky I still want to hang out with her lame butt. But if she can’t respect my boo and my friendship with Sasha, then I’m going to have to cut her off.
I eye Jordan as she eases up from off my bed, then hooks the straps of her handbag into the crook of her arm.
“I miss my best friend,” she says. “I can’t do this with you, Kennedy.”
I tilt my head. Give her a quizzical look. “You can’t do what with me, Jordan?”
“This. Watching you become this stranger. I can’t sit back and silently watch you ruin your life.”
I frown. “I’m not ruining my life. I’m having fun. Something you should try having instead of always being so uptight and stuck-up.”
She blinks. “Is that how you see me? Uptight and stuck-up?”
“It’s the truth, Jordan. That’s what you are. A joy-killer. My god, no wonder no one likes you.”
Her eyes fill with hurt. Her bottom lip quivers.
I quickly regret ever saying those words. But it’s too late. It’s out now. And I can’t take them back. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Wow. Don’t apologize for how you feel. You meant exactly what you said. That’s probably the only honest thing you’ve said all summer.”
“Jordan, I—”
She puts a hand up. Stops me from finishing my sentence. “The truth hurts. But I’ll get over it. Just like I’ll get over you and our friendship.” I eye her as she removes her friendship bracelet. “This girl you’ve become isn’t the girl I want to associate with any longer. Call me stuck-up. Call me uptight. Call me a joy-killer. Call me whatever you want.” She pauses. I can tell she’s holding back tears. “The only person I’ve ever cared about liking me is you.”
I feel like I’m going to cry myself. I know where this is going. I can feel it in my bones. An aching. My chest tightens. We’ve had plenty of fights. But none that have ever felt like this one. Absolute. Final. Like there is no coming back from it.
I stand up, reach over and gently place my hand on her shoulder. We’d been friends, besties, sisters, for like forever. But, in a snap, words have suddenly changed that. I feel like I am about to lose a piece of myself.
“I’m so sorry.”
A tear slides out from Jordan’s eye as she stares at my hand. Neither of us says anything for a long, pained moment. She removes my hand from her shoulder. Lays her bracelet down across my nightstand before finally breaking the heavy silence between us.
Her lip quivers. “So am I,” she says somberly, and walks out the door.
34
“Kennedy, where have you been?” My mom wants to know the second I step through the double doors. She greets me at the door with a dagger-like glare. Her face painted into a tight scowl.
“Out,” I tell her, briskly walking through the foyer, tossing my house keys up on the round foyer table centered in the middle of the entryway.
“I know you were out! Out where?!” she snaps, hot on my heels. “You’ve been gone for almost twenty-four hours. How many times do we have to keep going through this, you leaving up out of this house and going missing for two and three days? And who was that you were sitting out in our driveway with in that Range Rover?”
It was Malik. But that’s none of her business. He’d dropped me off before heading into the city to take care of something. Lately, it seems like that’s all he does is take care of something in the city. But I try not to question him because he doesn’t like it. He thinks it’s disrespectful for a girl to question her man. I would never do that. And I don’t ever want him to think I’m being disrespectful to him.
“You’re to look pretty and be seen, yo. Not heard,” he told me when I asked him the other day why he had to go into New York all the time. “I ain’t effen wit’ no broad who’s gonna give me grief e’erytime I gotta make a move, ya heard? I dig you, real spit, baby. But you gotta stay in ya lane. Word to da mother. You need’a fall back or I’ma have to replace you, feel me?”
I blinked, caught totally off guard. My heart dropped. I couldn’t believe he’d break up with me for asking him one simple question. I wasn’t trying to be nosy, or get all up in his business. I truly just wanted to know. But to Malik my asking was “out of line,” as he called it. So this time I kept my mouth shut when he mentioned where he was going. I didn’t want to upset him. And I didn’t want to ever be replaced.
Anyway, before letting me go inside, he’d reached over and given me a long passionate kiss, then told me how much he already missed me.
I couldn’t help but blush.
I felt special.
He always makes me feel special. Like I’m his everything.
I know he’s mine.
Still... I wish he didn’t insist on me coming back here. To this house. With her. But ever since those girls came over to his house to fight me he says he doesn’t want me left there alone. And he doesn’t want me hanging with Sasha, either.
So I’m stuck here. And now I have to hear her mouth.
I don’t know why he just couldn’t take me with him! “Kennedy, do you hear me talking to you?”
I ignore her, walking into the kitchen to grab a glass of cranberry-pomegranate juice. I fill my glass, then drink it down in four big gulps. I pour another glass.
So what if I’ve been gone since yesterday. I was out with Malik. We spent the whole day down at Six Flags, then went to grab something to eat at the Cheesecake Factory. Afterward, Malik brought me back to his place—well, his mom’s apartment—and we smoked and cuddled. And kissed. And well, you probably already know what happened next.
“Do you hear me talking to you, young lady? I asked you a question. I’m getting tired of you thinking you can do whatever you like around here!”
I take a deep breath. “I heard you the first time. Dang. Get off my back.”
“Then answer me, dammit. And don’t you dare use that language or that tone in this house at me.”
I shoot her a nasty look. “Oh, but it’s okay for you to use it at me. I don’t think so.” I gulp down the last of my drink, then set my empty glass into the sink.
Mom slams a hand up on her hip. Her nose flares. “Don’t you question me, young lady! I’m the parent! I’m the adult! Not you!”
I let out a disgusted grunt. “You’re such a hypocrite.”
“Whaaat?! Oh you have really lost your mind!”
“I haven’t lost anything,” I snap. “I’m finally standing up for myself. I’m living my own life.”
“Kennedy, what has gotten into you, huh?! You’ve never spoken to me like this. You leave up out of here and half the time don’t let me know where you’re going. Or you tell me you’re going to be one place and then I find out you weren’t even there. Your brothers never pulled half the stunts you’re pulling.”
“Well, get over it,” I snap. “I’m not the perfect little goody two-shoes that my brothers were. It’s not my fault they were a bunch of nerdy pricks! How about this: I don’t wanna be the perfect daughter. I don’t wanna follow your stupid house rules. I don’t wanna be stuck in this prison camp. I wanna go out and have fun. I’m sixteen years old. I shouldn’t have to have some dumb curfew or have you tryna control my every move. I’m sick of you!”
My mom’s jaw drops. Then in one swift motion she is in my face, the palm of her hand slicing into my cheek.
Slap!
“Don’t you ever—and I do mean ever—talk to me like that as long as you live. I brought you into this world, little girl. And I will snatch you out of it! I keep warning you! I will not have that talk in my house!” She yanks me by the arm. “Do you understand me?! You will not disrespect me! I am your mother. Not one of those skanky little girls you’re trying so hard to be like! I will not tolerate it! This is not you, Kennedy!”
“You don’t know who or what I am,” I shoot back, yanking my arm from her. In all of my sixteen years of life, she’s never hit me. I’ve never even experienced a spanking as a child. Time-outs and
loss of privileges are the only forms of punishment ever dished out in our house. Until this very second.
She gives me a pained look. Then shakes her head in frustration. “You’re right. I don’t know you. Not anymore. All I know is, the girl that’s standing in front of me wearing that godawful hoochie-momma outfit and hooker heels is not the daughter I’ve raised. And I will not allow this kind of dress in this house. Your breasts are practically popping out of that blouse and that little skirt you have on is barely covering your behind. It’s not acceptable.”
I know I should apologize, or even run out of the kitchen and simply slam my bedroom door, but I don’t. The stinging in my cheek won’t let me. The voice inside my head won’t let me. They both tell me otherwise. Tell me to rebel.
And I do.
“You know what?” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “Screw you! I’m sick of you trying to ruin my life! You don’t own me! I don’t have to listen to you! I can wear what I want. I’m sixteen! And grown! I can do what the heck I want, when I—”
Slap!
“Oh no you can’t! And you won’t!” Slap! Her palm slams into the side of my face causing my ears to ring. And this time tears spring from my eyes as I grab hold of my face, stunned that I’ve been hit again. She glares at me. “You are not grown! Not here in my house! Not at sixteen! Not as long as your father and I take care of you, you’re not! Now I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, but you’ve been sadly misinformed. At sixteen, young lady, you are nowhere near grown. You may think you are. But I am still responsible for you. You will do as you are told! Now get your smart-mouth behind upstairs, take off those street clothes and go wash your face! You’re grounded!”
“I hate you!” I scream, stomping up the stairs.
35
“Screw her!” I mutter to myself, snatching open my dresser drawers and tossing everything into my designer duffle bag. “I don’t have to take this crap from her. I’m outta here!” I rush into my walk-in closet and start yanking clothes off hangers and stuffing them into my bag. “Putting her hands on me like that! I hate her!”