by Ni-Ni Simone
I was blushing. Fascinated that he found me fascinating. I just wish he had a little bit more edge.
“Hey, you didn’t tell your dad that I was going with you to the dance, did you?”
“No . . . why?”
“Just asking,” I mumbled. The real reason was I sure didn’t need the added pressure of him telling his dad that I would go. I was really struggling now. Why couldn’t I come up with an excuse?
“So, can I count you in?”
“Hmm . . . Jay, give me to the end of the week to get back with you.”
Awkward silence again.
“Jay, are you there?”
“I was just thinking there must be somebody else you had in mind for the dance. It’s okay if you don’t wanna go with me, just say it.”
“Just give me to the end of the week.”
Not ten minutes later, DeMarco called and said he wanted to meet. I suggested that we meet at Tony’s, this little pizza parlor around the corner from my house.
I heard him when he pulled up in a Cadillac Escalade with rims, blasting a Lil Wayne song. All the patrons in the restaurant heard him as well. The music was so loud, I was embarrassed.
He wore new Timbs, True Religions, and a Polo sweater. I was almost blinded by the diamonds he had in each ear and the blinged out watch on his wrist. Not the same watch that he was wearing the day I met him.
When DeMarco walked in, I was standing at the counter. I ordered a slice of cheese pizza. He ordered the same. I had a Diet Coke and he had a Coke. To pay for our order, he dug in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, hundreds and twenties. He peeled off a twenty and handed it to the clerk.
An elderly white couple behind us looked at us and the bills in DeMarco’s hands, but didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to say anything. I knew just by the looks they wore on their faces that they wondered where he got all that money and I was a little embarrassed by the situation. DeMarco didn’t pay anybody any mind. I knew he was the type of guy that didn’t care what people said or thought about him and that was a good thing, but I’d wished he didn’t pull a whole bank roll of cash to pay for eleven dollars worth of food.
“Why are you drinking diet soda?” he sounded disgusted.
I love my diet soda. I never had regular soda—my Mom had been giving me diet soda since I was a baby. She said she didn’t want a fat daughter. A girl’s gotta watch her figure, you know.
I guess he decided to back down, ’cause he said, “I’ll do that.” Whatever that means. He smiled, then winked.
When the pizza came, we sat in a booth in the back of the restaurant.
“Damn, you looking good, shorty.” His voice was so seductive. Made me think I was as delicious as the pizza.
I had to admit I did look good. I had put on my skin tight Seven jeans and a designer sweater. My heels were from Aldo, but they were banging brown lizard skinned in purple. Five inches. I could barely walk, but they made me look so much taller than my five foot six inches. They made me look really grown too. I’d worn a pair of flats when I left the house ’cause my Mom would flip if she knew about these killer heels.
“Thank you,” I said nonchalantly. Didn’t want him to think I was feeling myself. “So, how can you afford a car like that?” I asked, nodding my head toward his Escalade outside the restaurant.
Instead of answering, he stirred his Coke with his straw. Suddenly, he was acting kind of shy and it was endearing coming from a guy with so much confidence. I was seeing a side of him that I’d never seen before. Hmmm . . .
I tried my question again. “How come you’re driving such an expensive truck?”
His smile covered his whole face. I saw dimples. “Since when is driving a nice car against the law?”
“It’s not, I was just asking. We’re about the same age. That’s a lot of car for someone our age to handle.”
“Of course we are.” He’d only addressed half of what I said.
Looks like I was going to have to run this conversation. “You don’t have a job, and if you did have a job, you couldn’t possibly afford a car like that unless your parents are rich.” Please, please, let his parents be loaded. I want to hit the jackpot!
“I ain’t got no parents. Mom is dead and I’ve never seen that deadbeat of a father of mine.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Though my dad didn’t live with me, he was my heart and I loved him very much. We just had a situation where he and my mom weren’t meant to be together, but I was still glad that he was in my life. I couldn’t imagine a life without either one of them. I wouldn’t touch the subject of his parents unless he wanted to talk about them.
I moved the conversation back to the start. “So, how did you get the money to get a car like that?”
“It’s a truck, shorty,” he said sarcastically. Okay, his swag was starting to dull.
“Car, truck, whatever. You know what I mean.” I bit into my pizza. I was hungry. It was a big bite. I was not the type of girl that tried to be cute around boys. I like to eat and I didn’t care who saw me.
“It’s my brother’s truck.”
Finally. “Really?”
“Yeah, he’s twenty-two.”
“So what does he do?”
“I don’t know what he does. What’s up with all these questions?”
I ignored that last bit and continued. “You don’t know what your brother does?” At that point, I knew the rumors must have been true about his brother being a drug dealer. How else could a twenty-two year old afford a truck like that? How did he not know what his brother did for a living?
He sipped his drink. Face went blank. I could tell he was thinking about something. Perhaps he was thinking of a lie to tell me. I’d thought about what Malaka said about him moving packs. I knew he would never tell me that. I would never find out the truth about him and his brother, at least not today. His brother was still young, still had his whole life ahead of him, too. It was really a shame.
“Shorty, that’s not important. Let’s just enjoy the moment.”
“Cool.”
“So, what do you like to do?”
“I like to hoop, but I didn’t play this year.”
“Why not?
“The practice took up too much time and I have other stuff to do. I’m better than everybody on the team. I don’t need no practice.”
Hmm, he’s too good for practice? Even Shaq practiced. He’s fine, but he needs some reality. “Everybody needs practice.”
“I’m the best,” he insisted, so I let it go. Maybe he was, but since I hadn’t seen him play, I didn’t want to contradict him. I am sure he could play; he probably had a lot of raw talent. I wasn’t about to get into it with him about why I think he needed practice; there was no way he was going to listen to me. I’m a girl, not a coach.
“So what happened? Did you get cut?”
He frowned and looked at me like I’d said something about his mother. I sipped my drink.
“I’ve never been cut from a team sport in my life.”
“But you’re not on the team.”
“He kicked me off the team. Said I had an attitude.”
“He cut you,” I said, emphasizing cut. I don’t know why I was baiting him.
He frowned at me. “Cut is when you’re not good enough. Now how can he cut the best player on the team?” He folded his pizza and took a bite. “Hell, they ain’t paying anyway. So screw the coach and screw the team. I got more money than anybody on that team, including the coach.
Now really. Did he think he had enough money to have this kind of attitude? I’d seen guys like him before flashing a few bills here and there. He thought he was rich because he had nice clothes on and was driving his brother’s truck. He talked big, but how long was his money? And more importantly, where did it come from? It was time for me to get some answers, and I wasn’t going to play coy with it. “Where do you work?”
“I don’t work. My brother gives me money.”
“The brother that you don
’t know what he does, but he drives an Escalade.”
He looked at me sharply. “Shorty got a smart mouth.”
I smiled, not wanting to piss him off because I really did like him. He had potential. I just wanted to make sure I had all the facts. “I’m just trying to get to know you, that’s all.” I smiled sweetly.
“You asking all the wrong questions, though.”
I bit into my pizza, not knowing what to say and trying to take my time finding the right response. I swallowed my food and flashed him my dimples. Guys were always distracted by my dimples.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Listen, I don’t want to talk about that wack team and I don’t want to talk about my brother. Let’s talk about you and me.” He leaned back in his seat and gave me a sexy smile. “You and me look good together. I can see me taking you places.”
Now that’s what I’m talking about. Glad that we were moving on from sports—I’d have to find another in for finding out about his money situation—I said, “I know.” Going places got me thinking about the upcoming dance. If I showed up as his date, the haters would lose their minds! Now, how can I get him to ask me out? “And I can definitely see you and me making the rounds. Since you’re popular,” I paused and flashed my dimples again, “and I’m the flyest chick you know,” I paused at his laughter.
“Shorty, I see where this is going, so I’ll stop you there. I’m not in to going to the dance. I wouldn’t be caught dead at a corny school dance.”
Whoa, then what’s the point? “Why not?”
“Not my thing,” he said and placed his elbows on the table again. Absolutely no table manners, and yet I was still intrigued. Somebody needs to come up with a cure for my bad boy attraction, ’cause I was trying to hang on to his arrogant, sexy self. I wasn’t going to give up yet.
“But I was thinking about going.” I leaned forward, my hands at my sides, letting the girls do the talking with me. “I know it may seem corny to you, but—”
“No. Dances is precisely what girls should do, not gangstas. Imagine me at a dance in a tux looking like a clown.” He laughed.
“So if girls are the only ones going to the dance, how is it going to be fun and who is going to escort the girls?”
“Those clown-type dudes.”
I laughed. This guy had life all figured out. At least in his world.
“So what makes you a gangster?”
He laughed again and bit into his pizza. Then laughed some more.
“What are you laughing at?”
“You sound so white. ‘So what makes you a gangster?’” he mocked me in his best white woman’s voice.
“I sound white because I speak with proper English?”
“Yep.”
Now that made me mad. Folks had been telling me that since elementary school, and I didn’t find it funny. And it was always the kids from the hood that made fun of me. Said I sounded white because I pronounced words correctly.
“So are you going to answer my question?”
“I’m gangster because I’m not like you. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth.”
“Silver spoon, whatever.” I laughed. “If that’s what you wanna believe.” I shrugged. “If you’re not cool with the dance, fine. I already have a date.”
“So who you going to the dance with?”
“Jay Richmond asked me.”
“Goofy ass Jay Richmond with the egg-shaped head? That’s exactly what I meant . . . a clown-type dude.”
“You know him?” I was so surprised. I never thought Jay and DeMarco would run in the same circles. How did they know each other? I wondered how they ever crossed paths. I knew Jay was on the basketball team; that had to be the connection, but Mr. DeMarco didn’t want me to bring that subject up again and I didn’t feel like arguing about something so meaningless.
“Yeah, I’ve been knowing the dude since we were eight, we played Pop Warner football together, Jay is on the basketball team and we’re in the same advanced calculus class together.”
Now I was confused. I thought he was a gangsta and how he’s talking about a math class. “You are in advanced calculus?” My dismay was clear.
He smiled showing all his teeth and those dimples were showing again. “Just because I don’t speak proper English like you doesn’t mean that I’m not smart.”
“Obviously you are smart, if you’re in advanced calculus.
“Advanced English, too, sweetie.” He grinned again.
I was impressed, I didn’t even have advanced English. Guys like him made me so mad. Smart guys, but wanted to pretend that they were dumb. Like that was cool or something.
“But yeah Jay asked me to go, I don’t know if I’m going or not.”
“Jay is a a’ight dude. Scared as hell of me though always have been, but Jay is not too much of a clown, not like some of those other dudes I hear that were going to the dance. I like Jay but he’s scared of me though.
“Why must you be so damn aggressive?”
“I ain’t aggressive, just throwing that tidbit of information out there.”
“I didn’t need it.”
“I know what you need. In fact, I got what you need.”
I played with my hair. I knew exactly what he meant because he was staring at my breasts when he said it. I pulled some lip gloss from my purse and applied it to my lips. He was in for a surprise, ’cause I wasn’t givin’ up the goodies.
“You don’t need to put that on.” He licked his lips suggestively.
“Why not—?”
He leaned across the table and leaned in for a kiss. Before he could put his tongue down my throat, I turned my head to the side so that his lips met the corner of my lips. That was as far as I’d let him get today, but I wondered if he was going to use that small peck to taunt Jay. I hoped he wouldn’t.
“So you and Jay going to the dance?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not? I told you Jay is a good dude.”
I looked away. I really didn’t want to say anything bad about Jay because he was such a nice guy and I didn’t want DeMarco to ever be able to tell Jay I said something bad about him. I didn’t think that would be right. “The dance should be cool, I just haven’t decided yet.”
“Well, don’t go.”
“Jay’s dad rented a limo.”
DeMarco’s eye’s grew wide. “A limo for a Christmas dance? That’s crazy, but Jay’s family got bread. I think his dad is a doctor or something.”
Okay, so he doesn’t really know Jay. “A dentist.”
“You see, that’s a clown type move right there, renting a limo for a Christmas dance. When will these dudes learn that chicks don’t appreciate stuff like that?”
I drew back in my seat. What girl wouldn’t like a limo, even just to go around the block. “I wouldn’t say all of that.”
He looked me directly in the eye and said, “If I asked you to go to that dance, we wouldn’t be going in no limo and guess what, there would be no debate. You would go.”
I didn’t answer.
Later that night, when my best friend Candace called, the first thing she asked was, “How was the date?”
“Exactly what I expected, but I did learn something about him.”
“Like what?”
“He’s a really smart guy, a little rough, but smart.”
“Really?”
“Advanced classes and all.”
“Yeah, I knew he was taking some advanced classes and he was really good at basketball, but the coach kicked him off the team because of that attitude.”
“Yeah, he told me all about it. That’s when I saw the crazy part of him.”
Candace squealed in anticipation. “What do you mean?”
“He went into this whole spiel about how he didn’t need to practice, how he was better than everybody on the team and he said screw the team. Screw the coach and nobody had more money than he had. The usual cocky stuff.”
“Ha, ha!” Ca
ndace laughed loudly. “He sounds a little crazy. What you going to do with that?” “Despite the crazy, I think deep inside he’s a good guy. I don’t think DeMarco is as crazy as he wants us to believe he is. I mean, he’s sixteen. How tough can he be?”
“Well, I heard that his mother got killed in a crack house when he was like seven and his brothers are raising him and they are both drug dealers. I found this out from this girl named Avril who lives on the next street over from him in the Valley.”
My mind went back to the Escalade he pulled up in. Went back to the questions I’d asked about him being a gangster and I felt sorry for him. I didn’t know what I’d do if I’d lost my mother. “Yeah, I think he has a few issues, but I don’t think that makes him a bad guy.”
“He’s a drug dealer,” Candace reminded me. “He’s doing that all on his own.”
“I know,” I said softly. I didn’t want it to be that way, but that’s the way it was. Knowing about his family situation was making it easy for me to fall for him. I knew Candace disapproved, but I was the one dating him, and I liked him. I just didn’t want Candace to run her mouth to my mother. Lord, the last thing I needed was for my mother to find out.
At school the next morning, Jay stood by my locker. He looked good today. He wore a purple and turquoise sweater and some cargo pants. The Louis Vuitton shoes were to die for. Dude actually looked appealing—he’d obviously swag. He was still a long way from DeMarco, but I was feeling his new look . . . until he opened his mouth.
“So why haven’t you called me to let me know if you’re going to go to the dance?”
He sounded so pathetic, almost desperate. No confidence at all. He needed to go buy him some self esteem to go with his gear.
“I said I would hit you up on Friday.” I was really not feeling like I needed to explain this to him. He wasn’t my boyfriend.
No response. He just stood there with this stupid look on his face. When he finally moved aside, I opened my locker.
“Today is Friday,” he said.
“I know, and I was gonna call you later.” I put my books in my locker, grabbed my gym shoes, then closed the door.
He leaned against the locker and blocked me in. “Listen, Zori. You gotta go to this dance with me. I know you were unsure before but you gotta go with me.”