Caught Up

by Amir Abrams

  I cringe at the idea of knowing that he’s had unprotected sex with her, knowing she was sleeping around with other guys.

  “And you’re sure her baby isn’t yours?”

  He shoots me a look. “What I just say. Let it go. We got it in, a’ight. I ain’t strap up. It is what it is.”

  I raise my eyebrow. “Look. Just forget I even asked,” I say, folding my arms.

  “A’ight then. Stop stressin’ over dumb ish, yo.” He shakes his head. “You young broadz real wet behind da ears, yo.”

  I shift uncomfortably, blinking. “Well, maybe you should get with someone whose ears aren’t so wet then since you feel like that. I won’t ask you anything else.” I turn my body and stare out the window.

  I hear Malik sigh. He reaches over and lightly grabs my knee. “Yo, c’mon, baby. I didn’t mean it like dat.” His voice softens. “It’s just dat da past is in da past ’n’ I don’t want us to have to live in it, a’ight. Henney’s baby ain’t mine. But I give her a few dollars here ’n’ there ‘cause I feel kinda bad for her. But dat don’t mean I’m tryna claim her baby as my seed, yo.”

  I don’t say anything. I keep my gaze locked out into the darkness watching the buildings as they pass by.

  He gently squeezes my knee. “I’m where I wanna be wit’ who I wanna be wit’.”

  I turn my head to look at him, then go back to looking out the window. Thinking. Wondering. Hoping. Desperately wanting to believe that I am—that I will always be—enough for him.

  Silence fills the space between us.

  What if Blaze was right? What if Malik really isn’t right for me? Then what? I feel like I have given up so much of myself to be with him that I can’t imagine being without him. And I can’t imagine it not being right.

  The truck stops at a stoplight.

  Malik lights another blunt, takes a pull from it, then hands it to me. “Here.”

  He pulls off when the light turns green. I take a deep pull from the blunt and release the smoke through my nose, then hand it back to him. It doesn’t take long before I am feeling the effects of the marijuana. I am feeling much more relaxed. I settle back into my seat, laying my head back against the headrest.

  Malik reaches over and grabs my hand. “Yo, we good, baby?”

  I glance over at him through half-slits and nod. Then lean over and kiss him when we stop at another light.

  He laughs. “Yo, my baby lit, huh?”

  I nod, grinning.

  A car in back of him honks its horn. Malik speeds off. Then reaches over and takes my hand again. He brings it up to his lips and kisses it. I close my eyes, lean my head back against the headrest again and smile once I feel warmth and wetness of Malik’s mouth as he sucks each of my fingers.

  “Mmm . . . you taste so . . . sweet.”

  I smile.

  And for the next three weeks, Malik and I become inseparable.

  37

  Saturday night.

  The place is packed.

  The music is loud.

  Marijuana smoke fills the air as guys walk around holding bottles of Ciroc and Hennessey in one hand while holding blunts up to their lips with their other hand. There’s a group of girls passing blunts between them, while others are grinding up on guys on the dance floor.

  The inside of my stomach trembles. And I don’t know why. Something doesn’t feel right. But I can’t put my finger on it.

  “Yo, Malik, my nucca, wutz good, yo?” someone yells over the music. I look to the right of me and spot a tall, brown-skinned guy sitting between two cute girls with really big boobs wearing skimpy outfits. He stands up, spreading his arms open. He’s wearing a neck full of jewelry. He’s real tall. Taller than Malik. And really, really cute. He kind of puts me in the mind of Kendrick Lamar a little, but a cuter version of him.

  “Yo, whaddup, Que.” He rushes over and the two embrace in a brotherly hug, giving each other that pound-handshake-thingy they all do. “Long time no see. Where you been, yo?”

  “Layin’ low, my nucca. Watz good wit’ you.” He glances sideways at me, and grins. “I see you still pullin’ da honeys, yo. You sharin’?”

  Malik laughs. “Nah. Not this one, my dude. It ain’t dat type’a party.”

  I shift my weight from one foot to the other, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the way Malik’s friend is looking at me.

  Malik turns to me. “Kennedy, this my manz, Que. Que, this my girl Kennedy.”

  “Yo, word?” He smiles. “Watz good, ma? You got a twin?”

  I give him a half smile, shaking my head. “Sorry. I don’t.”

  Malik wraps his arm around me, kissing me on the side of my head. “Nah, my baby’s one of a kind, yo.”

  “I can dig it.” He glances over his shoulder. “Yo, let me get back to these two broadz before they start gettin’ restless.”

  “No doubt, playa,” Malik says, giving him another one of those fist and shoulder bumps.

  “Yo, you need’a come holla at me a li’l later, a’ight? I got some bidnesss I wanna holla at you ’bout.”

  “A’ight, No doubt. I got you.”

  I eye his friend on the sly, then ask him who he is. And how he knows him. Malik shoots me a look. Then catches himself from saying something when a dark-skinned girl wearing her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail that hangs down past her butt swishes her hips over toward us. She’s wearing a pair of white booty shorts and a silver glittery, low-cut bra. I glance down at her feet and wonder how in the heck she’s able to walk in those super-high platform heels.

  “Heeeeey, Malik,” she coos over the music, ignoring the fact that Malik has his arm draped around me.

  “Yo, watz good, Tasha. How you?”

  She bats her fake lashes. “I’m good. Real good.” She licks her lips, then smirks. “But you already know dat.”

  My body stiffens.

  “Yo, dis my girl, Kennedy. Kennedy, dis Tasha.”

  She cuts her eye at me and gives me the once-over. I open my mouth to speak and she rudely twists her lips up and turns her gaze back over to Malik. “I ain’t seen you in a minute, boo. What you been up to? How my girl Mercedes doin’?”

  “Crazy,” Malik says, laughing as he glances around the party. “But, yo, let me get movin’. I’ll holla.”

  “Yeah, you do dat.” She shoots me a dirty look, then says, “I know you still got my number. Use it.” She walks off. Her hips sway full speed as she moves through the crowd.

  Jay-Z’s “Open Letter” starts playing and Malik bobs his head from side to side. “Yo, let’s dance.” Before I can object, he’s pulling me onto the dance floor with him. Several songs later we are passing a fat blunt back and forth. And whatever nervous energy I had earlier is now gone. I’m feeling good.

  Beyoncé’s “Drunk In Love” starts playing and I pull Malik onto the dance floor. Whatever he had in that marijuana has me feeling like I can fly. I turn my back to Malik and he wraps his arms around me. I lift my hands up over my head, close my eyes, and get lost in the music as he grinds on me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tall, stocky guy with shoulder-length dreads and half-sleeve tattoos stalking over in our direction, but I don’t give it any thought. I keep dancing, blocking everything out until the guy jumps up in Malik’s face.

  Words are exchanged.

  Malik pushes me out of the way.

  Then all I see are punches being thrown.

  I look on at the scene in fear, confused, as other guys start rushing to the dance floor fighting.

  I get knocked to the floor, and scream.

  38

  Pandemonium.

  That’s the only way to explain what is unfolding right before my very eyes.

  Gunshots!

  Loud.

  People are screaming at the top of their lungs, scrambling for safety. Ducking bullets. Dropping to the floor and rolling for cover.

  We are all terrified.

  “Ohmygod, Malik!” I shriek. “What’s ha
ppening?” He snatches me by the hand and is practically dragging me. I know I said I wanted to have a thrilling summer. But this goes way beyond my definition of excitement. The crowd stampedes out the back and side emergency exits. We all pour out of the building, scattering.

  Malik and I run up two blocks, then finally slow down. I try catching my breath.

  “W-w-what is going on? What h-happened in there?”

  “Listen, babe. Not now, a’ight. I need you to focus.”

  “Focus?!” I scream hysterically, yanking my arm from him. “Are you kidding me? A bunch of gunfire broke out in the middle of a club. And I barely made it out alive! We could have been killed. How—”

  “Yo!” he snaps, pulling out his keys and disarming his alarm. “Chill wit’ da questions, a’ight? I need’a think!”

  I swallow.

  He opens the driver’s side door, tells me to get in, then hands me the key to his truck. “Stay here. You hear me? And if anything starts looking crazy be ready to peel off. You hear me?”

  “Y-y-yes. But w-where are you going?”

  “Back to handle . . .” Malik stops in midsentence and glances over his shoulder just as a black Suburban with tinted windows rolled halfway down with its headlights out approaches us. The first things I see are two black guns being held out the front and rear windows, aimed directly at us. “Yo, get down!”

  But it’s too late. I duck down and scream as the gunmen open fire, shooting up the side of the truck.

  Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohhhhmyyygod! I’m going to get killed!

  I hear tires screeching, then more gunshots being fired. Fearfully, I peek to see what’s happening. I am a shaken mess.

  Through tears, I witness Malik pulling a gun from his waistband, aiming at the speeding SUV and firing shots. He takes off running behind the truck. I’ve never seen him, or anyone—except Raynard Price, a guy who ran track and went to school with my brother Kent—run so fast. He hits the back of the truck, causing it to swerve then slam into a parked car.

  My heart is beating rapidly. This is all a terrible nightmare.

  Just when I think it can’t, won’t, get any worse, there are more gunshots being fired. At Malik!

  And then...

  He hits the ground.

  “Nooooo!” I scream, swinging open the door and hopping out of the truck, leaving the door wide open. I run to where he is. I run down the street. “Malik! Malik!”

  There is blood everywhere.

  He’s been shot.

  Ohmygodohymygodohmygod!

  “Ohmygod! Malik! Are you okay?”

  Sirens blare in the distance.

  “I’m fine. Aaah, shiiiiit! Punks clipped me in the leg ’n’ shoulder, dat’s all.”

  “Ohmygod! I have to get you to a hospital.”

  “Kennedy! I need you to focus! Uhhh! There’s no time for that!” He starts breathing heavy. “I need you to take this gun, and go back to the truck and get a black book bag from outta the backseat. It’s on the floor.”

  “Okay.” I am crying uncontrollably.

  Sirens squeal louder as they get closer to the scene.

  “Uhhh . . . I need you to get dat bag ’n’ get outta here. Don’t look inside. You hear me? Call Sasha ’n’ give her da bag.

  “But what about you?”

  “I’m cool. Just go.”

  “I can’t leave you like this!”

  “Look, baby, I got dis. Get outta here, a’ight? Now!”

  He hands me the gun. Without a thought, I take it and run back toward the truck. I am shaking violently.

  I can see the flashing red and blue lights. I open the backseat door, find the book bag and open it, stuffing the gun inside, then start running in the opposite direction. Seconds after this, police are everywhere. I don’t know how many show up after the first eight squad cars I count. A sea of blue uniforms hops out of cruisers. Weapons are drawn. Everything is happening so fast.

  “Police! Stop where you are!”

  Ohmygod! Are they talking to me? I haven’t done anything wrong.

  “Police!”

  My knees shake. “What’s going on?”

  “Drop the bag!”

  Ohmygod, they are talking to me!

  “Please. Don’t shoot. It’s all a big misunderstanding. Someone started shooting at my boyfriend. Then he started chasing them. And then he got shot. Please. You have to call an ambulance. My boyfriend’s is bleeding pretty bad.”

  “Ma’am. This is your last warning! Put you hands where we can see them. Now!”

  I do as they say. Next thing I know I am being swarmed by police. Then tackled to the ground. There’s a knee in my back. I am being handcuffed, then violently yanked up.

  Ohmygod! Where’s Malik?

  I glance over to where I left him lying. He isn’t there.

  “You are under arrest . . .”

  Oh, nooo!

  He’s gone!

  “You have the right to remain silent . . .”

  Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! What have I gotten myself into?

  39

  If I ever thought there wasn’t such a thing as a hell on earth, I was sadly mistaken. There is a hell on earth! And it’s this place! The Lorna P. Johnson Youth Detention Center. Metal doors clanking open and closed. Nasty steel seatless toilets. Metal bed frames bolted to concrete walls. Thin mattresses. Cheap bedsheets that cut like sandpaper. Pig slop served on thick, clunky plastic trays.

  I have been fingerprinted. Have had my mug shot taken. And have basically been treated like a criminal. Like I am guilty.

  I’m not guilty!

  I haven’t done anything!

  This isn’t what my life is. Or was supposed to be like. Fingerprints and face mugs. And charges of crimes I didn’t commit. But somehow it’s what it’s become. This isn’t how I planned my summer to turn out. But somehow, in the blink of an eye, this is what it has come to. And now what’s left of my summer is ruined!

  I’m locked up! I’m sitting here in a drab navy blue uniform with the words LORNA P. JOHNSON YDC stamped across the left side of my chest in small block letters and a pair of slip-on canvas type sneakers that hurt the bottom of my feet.

  I am surrounded by other teens that had a penchant for making bad choices. Some of them were repeat offenders. Some of them were here on violent charges. And some of the girls here are scary. Rough-looking. Disrespectful. Nasty. Trifling. Vicious. And crazy. And all they want to do is pick fights with each other, including with me.

  It’s crazy here!

  Being called filthy names. Being threatened. Having to constantly watch my back. It’s all too much to bear.

  I’m starting to feel like the walls are closing in on me. I have to get out of here before I lose my mind.

  I thought being arrested, handcuffed, then shoved into the backseat of a police car was humiliating. But nothing prepared me for (or compared to) being in this hellhole. From getting processed at intake to getting strip-searched. I’d never felt so violated in my whole entire life, standing butt-naked and being told to bend over and pull open my butt cheeks while some strange woman looked on.

  I take a deep breath, willing my emotions in check while removing the receiver from the base of the phone and dialing.

  Please pick up! Please!

  “Yo?”

  “Hey,” I say softly, relieved and happy to finally hear Malik’s voice. I had been trying to reach him for the last four days to no avail. I’d even left several messages for him with Sasha. But even she’s acting funny now.

  “Look, Kennedy,” she said nastily when I called her last night. “You’re going to have to chill with all these calls. I gave him your messages.”

  “And what’d he say?” I asked anxiously.

  She sighed. “He said a’ight.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah, basically.”

  “Is he in the hospital?”

  “No. Somebody he knows is a nurse. She handled things.”

  “Oh.” I wa
s relieved to hear he was okay. But saddened that she hadn’t expressed that he was deeply hurt by my arrest. “Did he at least ask you how I was doing?”

  She huffed. “Look. Not really.”

  Hurt washed over me. He hadn’t even thought enough about me to ask her if I was okay. I couldn’t believe it. And I couldn’t believe she was acting like I was inconveniencing her.

  “Well, look, girl. You can write me if you want, but I don’t take calls from jailbirds, unless you my man. No shade.”

  “Oh, okay. I understand.” My feelings were hurt. But I kept it to myself. I felt like I had no one. “I’ll let you go then.”

  “Cool. Keep ya head up, girl.” And with that said, I heard the dial tone.

  “Who dis?” Malik roars into the phone, bringing me out of my mindless fog.

  I blink. “It’s me. Kennedy. Oh, wow. You’ve forgotten who I am that fast?” I say, half joking. “Have I been replaced already?”

  I clutch the phone tightly.

  He lets out a chuckle. “Oh, nah-nah. Just didn’t think you’d be callin’ me straight through; that’s all. I thought your calls were collect.”

  “They are. But the social worker let me call you since I can’t make collect calls to cell phones and I haven’t been able to reach you any other way. Did you get my letter?”

  “Oh, a’ight. Yeah. I got it. Good lookin’ out, babe. I been meanin’ to hit you back. But you know how it is.”

  “No. I don’t know how it is, out there anyway. I’m in here stressing, Malik.”

  “I feel you, babe. I’m stressin’, too, yo. Shit’s been mad hectic. I just got outta da hospital.”

  I blink. “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  I frown. “Sasha told me you didn’t go to the hospital. I thought some nurse you know took care of everything.”

  “Oh, yeah. She did. But I still had to go to the hospital.”

  I swallow. I can’t believe I’m hearing all of this. That he was in the hospital, even though Sasha said he wasn’t. That he’s too busy to take a few minutes out of his time to write me back. I’m the one locked up for something that he should be locked up for. And this is the thanks I get. I thought I was so important to him.

  Something doesn’t add up.