Download Drama

by Celeste O. Norfleet

  I start laughing. “I think that would be awesome.”

  She nods. “Okay, good. I’ll call your grandmother next week and see what we can arrange for after school and weekends. And yes, you will be paid.”

  “Um, my grandmother will be away all next week. She’s leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Okay, have her call me tomorrow morning. Now it’s not going to be easy. You’ll have to pitch in and help out like the rest of us. You’ll need to…”

  I totally tune out right about now, but I keep nodding and smiling and Ms. Jay keeps talking. I swear I have no idea what she’s saying ’cause all I can think about is dancing and getting paid. I’m flying on cloud nine. Who needs coke or meth or pills or any of those other stupid drugs—dancing and getting paid is the biggest high there is. And it’s a part-time job doing what I love. I feel like dancing all the way home.

  “…so have your grandmother give me a call tomorrow. Okay, then, I’ll see you later,” Ms. Jay says.

  “Okay, I’ll make sure she calls you.”

  She smiles, then turns to go back to her desk. I leave, then open the front door and I see that it’s almost dark outside. I know it’s not that late so I look at my cell phone, anyway. It’s only seven-thirty. Still I’m smiling and energized. I can’t wait to tell my grandmother, my sister and my girls. They’re all gonna be so thrilled. It looks like my life is finally turning around. Things are going my way. What could seriously go wrong now?

  Four

  Got Drama?

  kenishi_wa K Lewis

  Drama be on my butt chasing me down I like I owe it money. Every time I think I’m safe and my life is getting back to normal, here it comes again.

  26 Apr * Like * Comment * Share

  shit. Why did I ask that question?

  About a block away from my grandmother’s house I see Darien outside again. This time he’s leaning against his car that’s parked across the street from his house. Shit. Unfortunately, I have to walk right by his car to get home. That means walking right by him. Right now I see him before he sees me. He’s talking on his cell phone and he doesn’t look happy. He nods his head and agrees to whatever the other person is saying.

  All of the sudden he starts yelling about money and something not being his fault. I can’t tell what else he’s talking about, but I can tell he’s pissed. He pushes away from the side of the car and turns around. He stops yelling and looks right at me. I’m already looking in his direction, so we eye each other. His eyes are mean and angry. I have a feeling it’s more to do with seeing me than with the phone call now. Of course, neither one of us says anything. Our history is way too screwed up and we both know it, so we just stare.

  I keep walking, praying he doesn’t step up to me. The last thing I want to deal with is Darien in my face, especially when there are no trophies around to grab. The only thing I have is my dance bag and that’s useless, so I keep walking. Seconds pass and seem like hours. That’s how long it takes for me to walk past him with him watching me the whole time. Thank God my prayer is answered ’cause he doesn’t say anything to me.

  Then all of the sudden he shifts his weight like he’s about to make a move. My heart starts to pound harder, but I can’t run. I know he’s faster than me. My lungs feel tight as I try to breathe normally, but I can’t. Air is getting in but I can’t exhale out. I notice there’s nobody else around except him and me. He takes two steps away from his car. Shit.

  Just then a car horn beeps. I look around quickly. It’s Troy, his sister and another little girl. The window is rolled down and he’s smiling at me. “Hey, you want a ride home?”

  I take a deep, calming breath and try to pull off a smile. I know it comes off halfheartedly, but I don’t think Troy notices. He isn’t my favorite person, but right now he’ll do. “Hey,” I say while I keep walking. I glance over at Darien to see what he’s doing. He’s at the back of his car and he’s still staring.

  “Do you want a ride?” Troy asks again while driving really slowly beside me. It’s obvious he doesn’t have a clue what’s really going on.

  “To whose home?” I ask suspiciously, knowing I have no intention of getting in anybody’s car and going anywhere.

  Troy smiles and chuckles—he knows exactly what I’m talking about. He’s been bugging me since I got to the Penn about going over to his house and hanging out with him. Everybody knows the real meaning of “hanging out” with him and I have no intention of being one of his mindless groupies. “Nah, it’s not like that, for real. I promise.”

  “No, thanks,” I say while walking and getting farther and farther away from Darien.

  “Are you sure?” Troy persists, still driving along slowly beside me.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks, anyway.”

  “Okay, talk to you later.”

  He starts driving away and I keep walking. After a while I hear Darien yelling on the phone again. A part of me wants to turn around, but I know I can’t. It’s like if I do I’ll invite him back into my life again and acknowledge that I see him and I seriously don’t want that. I just want him to go—to his father’s house, to prison, to hell… I really don’t care which one.

  Now I walk a little faster. But it still feels like Darien is right on my back. I know it’s just my imagination, but all I can think about is the night I had to beat him down and everything that happened after that. I know I can’t keep being scared. I was never like this before.

  Enough, I’m not wasting my time thinking about his stupid ass anymore. I start purposely thinking about my new job at the studio. The closer I get to my grandmother’s house the more excited I get to tell her the news. This could change everything. I’ll be hanging out at the dance studio plus getting paid. By the time I get to the front door I’m smiling again. I run up the front steps and hurry to the porch. I unlock the door and burst inside, then reset the alarm. “Hello, I’m back,” I call out as soon as I walk in and close and lock the front door behind me. There’s no answer so I call out again. “Grandmom, I’m home.”

  I don’t smell anything cooking but head straight to the kitchen anyway ’cause that’s where she probably is. As soon as I walk in I see she’s not there. But there’s a note on the table and a plastic-wrapped dish of homemade chocolate chip cookies. There’s one thing my grandmother can do and that’s cook. For real, the woman is amazing. People stop by the house all the time when she’s cooking and baking. They just kick their shoes off under the table, loosen their pants and get busy eating everything in sight.

  I keep telling her that she should sell her food and not just give it away for free, but she says God gave her the ability and talent and she can’t sell a gift. Yeah, well, I’d be selling food and making some serious bank. I open the refrigerator and check out what we have to eat. It looks like she went shopping and picked up some cold cuts. I fix myself a sandwich and grab some orange juice.

  Before I leave the kitchen I check the new double-bolt lock we had put on a few weeks ago. It’s solid. The door doesn’t budge. Still, I push the trash can in front of the door. It’s a habit now. It makes me feel a little safer. I still think if I hadn’t done it when they broke into the house before I might never have heard them coming upstairs until it was too late.

  I grab my food, then go upstairs. I stop on the second floor and peek into my grandmother’s bedroom. The television’s on, but she’s asleep in her favorite easy chair. She still has her reading glasses on and her Bible on her lap. I walk over and look down at her. She looks so sweet and peaceful, I hate to wake her, but I do anyway. I know she’d want me to. “Grandmom,” I say softly, and then repeat it while gently shaking her arm. “Grandmom, I’m home.” She opens her eyes and jumps. “Grandmom, it’s me, Kenisha,” I say. “I’m home.”

  “Oh, Kenisha,” she says sleepily, then sighs. “I guess
I must have fallen asleep with my story on.” She glances at the television and then at the DVD player clock underneath. “Is that the time?”

  “I know I’m late. But it was because I was working—I got a job today.”

  “A job—where?” she asks suspiciously.

  Of course I know why and I guess I don’t really blame her for being concerned. The last time I told her I just got a job it was at the pizza place and it got robbed a few days later on my shift. “It’s at Freeman Dance Studio,” I say quickly, then sit down on the bed beside her chair. “A couple of the dance instructors couldn’t make it, so Ms. Jay asked me if I would take one of the hip-hop classes. I did and I was really good. Everybody said so. When the class was over she asked me if I’d be interested in teaching hip-hop part-time. She’d like you to call her tomorrow.”

  She smiles, seeing how excited I am. “It sounds perfect for you, but what about school?”

  “No, this would only be in the evenings and on weekends. And I’ll make sure it doesn’t interfere with school and doing homework. So can I do it? I promise my grades won’t drop.”

  “Let me think about it overnight. I’ll speak with Ms. Jay tomorrow,” she says.

  I nod slowly. All my excitement is gone. “Okay.”

  “Kenisha, I’m not saying no. I just need to know more about what’s expected of you. Part-time jobs have a way of becoming full-time jobs especially when you’re young. I don’t want you taken advantage of.”

  I nod. I guess that sounds a little better. “I know,” I say, then look around her room. Two suitcases are on the floor. One’s open and empty. “Are you getting everything together for your trip next week?”

  “Yes, Lord. I still have a few more things to do.”

  “When are you packing?”

  “I’ll pack tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. Are you going to be okay here by yourself tomorrow night? Jade said she’d come early if you need her.”

  “Grandmom, I’ll be fine. I’m sixteen years old. I’ve stayed in the house by myself before. It’s no big deal.” She looks at me and I can see the wondering in her eyes. She’s not sure. “You should go and enjoy your trip. I’ll be fine. I promise.” She nods hesitantly. I can see she’s not completely assured. “Okay, I’m going up to my room. I have a reading assignment to do,” I say, standing and walking over to the bedroom door.

  “Did you get something to eat?” she asks me.

  “I made a sandwich. Do you want me to make you one?”

  “No, I’m fine. I ate earlier.” She covers her mouth and yawns. “Oh, my, I guess I didn’t realize I was as tired as I am. I think I’m gonna turn in early. I have a big day tomorrow. Don’t you stay up too late—you have school tomorrow. Good night.”

  “I know. I won’t. Good night, Grandmom,” I say, and go up to my room. I drop my backpack and dance bag on the floor by the bed, then put my sandwich and juice on the desk. I sit down, take a bite of my sandwich, then plug my cell phone into the charger and open my laptop.

  I go online. My first stop is always Facebook. I confirm three friend requests, then check out my messages. I swear I have no idea how people lived without social networking. What did they do—just sit in a dark room and stare at the walls? So anyway, I check out my home page to see what’s happening and who’s talking. Boring. There’s nobody interesting on. I exit and hit up Twitter. Boring.

  Bummer. Both sites are slow with nobody saying anything interesting. I read a few posts from people I know but decide not to respond. I usually only tweet with my girls, Jalisa and Diamond, and neither one is on the network right now. I check out the hip-hop sites I usually visit. Then a few minutes later my cell phone rings. It’s Jalisa and Diamond. “Oh, my God, I was just gonna call. You’ll never guess what happened today—I got a job.”

  “For real,” Diamond says excitedly.

  “Cool, where?” Jalisa asks. “But wait, I hope it’s not back at the pizza place like before ’cause that was too insane.”

  “No, it’s at Freeman Dance Studio. I’m gonna teach dance.”

  “No way,” Diamond says.

  Jalisa just starts laughing out loud. “No, she’s not. She’s just messing with us.”

  “No, for real, Ms. Jay asked me today. I went there after school and a couple of teachers couldn’t make it in, so she asked me to help out and teach one of the beginning hip-hop classes. I did it and she asked me if I wanted to teach at the school part-time. I said yes.”

  “What about us?” Jalisa asks.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno—does that ring a bell to you?” Diamond says.

  “I know, right,” Jalisa adds, “so just you.”

  “Yeah, just me. Why not just me? What, you saying I’m not good enough?” The line went silent on both sides. All of a sudden I got it. They don’t think I’m a good enough dancer to teach. “I can’t believe y’all are hatin’ on me like this. I thought you were my girls and you’d be happy for me. I guess not.” Okay, now this is starting to feel weird.

  “It’s not about hatin’…” Diamond starts saying.

  Right now I’m not in the mood to be hearing either one of them. “No, I got it. I understand. You don’t think I’m good enough to teach a class, right.”

  “Ain’t nobody saying that, Kenisha,” Jalisa says.

  “Then what?” I ask, knowing there’s nothing either one of them can say at this point to fix this. The line was quiet again. “Whatever. I gotta go.” I hang up. Shit. My cell rings again. It’s Diamond. I let it go to voice mail. I don’t feel like being bothered. I plug my phone back in the charger, then open my book to read my assignment. I finish my sandwich and drink my juice while I read and answer the questions. I figure I can check them over in first period ’cause I’m really tired now. I put my stuff away and lie across my bed, checking out Twitter and Facebook one last time. Both Diamond and Jalisa left messages that I don’t answer.

  I type out and send my sister, Jade, a Facebook private message about my new job, then just as I’m describing the class I taught today I get a chat alert. I don’t pay attention at first ’cause I figure it’s either Diamond or Jalisa. After a few minutes it beeps again. I pull up the little box in the corner and I stop cold when I see the name.

  Hey. It’s a simple message, but it shocks me seeing who sent it. For a few seconds I just sit there staring at the single word. It’s from Troy Carson. I know you’re there.

  I’m here, I type slowly, then press the enter key.

  What are you doing?

  I’m typing a message.

  To who? Him? he types.

  Of course I know exactly who he is talking about—Terrence. But I’m not gonna let him know I was typing a message to my sister. Why do you want to know?

  I’m curious.

  Well, then, it’s none of your business.

  Tell me, I want to know.

  Get used to disappointment.

  Are you telling him about us?

  I laugh out loud. I see you have jokes now. Us—there is no us. We attend the same school, that’s all.

  Are you sure?

  I wait a few seconds, then respond with my own question. So what’s with all the being nice to me now? We were never exactly best buds before. We despise each other, remember.

  I wait a few seconds, then a few seconds more. After a while I realize he’s not gonna respond to my comment. I look at the words I just typed. It’s the truth. Troy and I have always been at opposite points. Our lockers are the only thing that connects us. He’s a popular football star with a lot more smarts than he lets people see and he’s got just about every girl in the building falling at his feet—excep
t me.

  Everybody knows him. He’s the school’s quarterback and track star. He’s also the only seventeen-year-old junior who already has a five-year scholarship to an Ivy League university on lockdown. He’s tall and handsome and both his stepmother and father make big bank. He’s popular and everybody likes him. He can have any girl in school, so why is he all up on me? I don’t know the answer to that question and I’m not sure he does, either. And bottom line, I’m still not sure this isn’t one of his stupid childish games.

  Not despise, he eventually types.

  Then what? Why?

  Truthfully, I don’t know. I guess it’s ’cause you get me.

  So what, I figured out that he pretends to be a dumb jock, but in reality he’s a lot smarter than anyone thinks. Wrong, I don’t get you. I just know the game you play.

  Yes, you do. Yeah, I know I can be slightly insensitive and I have an ego, but…

  Slightly insensitive, I repeat, just slightly, is that all? LOL.

  Okay, maybe a little more than slightly, he types. Either way you get me and that’s why you’re scared of me.

  You obvious think you’re talking to someone else ’cause I am NOT scared of you.

  Yes, you are. You’re scared of getting close to me.

  Why would I want to do that?

  Because we both know that there’s more to us than what other people see. I know it and you know it.