At my sides, my hands balled. The spectators began to whisper in shock and awe. This was mere entertainment for them, but one look at Nandy, and I could tell it was her undoing.
Her eyes glistened with tears as she looked between Chad and me. Not stopping there, her attention landed on the crowd surrounding us. And then she let out a sob before rushing past Travis and me, taking off into the night.
26 | Nandy
I wasn’t sure what day it was, or what time. I just knew that I had a wicked headache from crying some moments and being sleepless the next. I lay in bed waiting for the Excedrin to kick in, or make me drowsy enough to where I wanted to just sleep. Whichever took me from this depressing state of consciousness.
After Chad’s ultimatum, I fled the scene, hailing a cab and then going straight home, only to get in my car and take off once again. No one knew where I was, and that was how things were going to stay. The model home was my sanctuary, and I needed its privacy more than ever.
To think, I’d spent practically the whole summer fussing over my big day, just to lose it over petty drama. All I’d wanted was to debut, and as I gazed online at my friends’ social media pages, at their photos and videos of the event, my heart ached at what I’d given up.
The more I lay in bed thinking it over, the more upset I became at the ugly facts.
This was entirely my fault. From Shayne, to Tyson’s angst, to Chad’s brutal way of publicly ending things with me.
Chad Bradley was the king, and I’d thought life would be easier as his queen. And it had been...until Tyson came back.
For the longest time, I’d felt like I needed to be perfect, because Chad’s family was perfect. I’d wanted to fit in, because his family was in. Chad had always felt like the safe choice, because everybody liked him. It was easier to be a part of the crowd, or to lead it, than to be against it. I didn’t want to be alone again.
But that’s exactly where I was.
I curled into a ball and refused to sob again, feeling some relief as I realized my headache was lessening.
A sudden burst of music startled me, and I shot up in bed, turned and discovered Tyson at the foot, gyrating his hips as he held up his phone. It took me a moment to recognize Omarion’s voice and the old B2K song that was playing. It was the goofiest, random sight, and I actually laughed.
At once he stopped and shut off the song. “Yeah, you better laugh. I watched four videos to memorize that move.”
I made a face. “If you watched four B2K videos, it was your own idea, just admit it.”
Tyson lifted a brow and I quieted down, knowing that this was the very reason I was in my current position. I was very much into Tyson Trice, and the people who were closest to me knew it and saw it, too.
Tyson stepped around the bed and stood in front of me, observing me in the silent, serious way that only he could. “I’m surprised there’s no fort.”
“Fort?”
He nodded. “I remember when we were kids, if you were mad or in trouble you’d build a fort in the living room and hide. We used to do that and lie there for hours. It was just you and me against the world.”
Him and me.
“I could really use a fort about now,” I said, as I thought of making one to hide in like he’d said, and to see if he’d join me.
“Or if you weren’t feeling well we’d lie on the couch and watch Arthur all day,” Tyson went on.
“You remember that?”
He shrugged. “I remember everything about you, Nandy.”
Every summer from when we were five until we were seven, he was mine. And then he wasn’t.
I remembered everything about him too, so much, one day it just hit me. I literally spent a day questioning which version of him I liked more, the boy, or the man. The man made me nervous and inspired me to dive deeper, and the boy had done whatever I wanted and always was by my side. Now I wanted every version of him, just for myself.
I was being selfish again, and I couldn’t find it in me to hide my shame, not with him standing in front of me, looking at me and making my insides melt.
“I don’t think Arthur’s going to make me feel better this time, Tyson,” I admitted.
Tyson sighed and hung his head. He peeked up at me, remaining quiet and making me nervous. “You gotta get out of here.”
“Do my parents know where I am?”
He shook his head. “No, but they suspect I’ve known where you’ve been for the past two days.”
“Thank you. I know we’re not on the best terms, but you’re here and you didn’t tell them.”
Tyson bobbed his head and took a step closer. “So go home and fix everything.”
“I don’t want to. Not right now, at least.”
He blinked, as if trying to stop himself from becoming irritated.
And then he took another step closer, practically hovering over me.
One moment he was leaning over me, staring intently, and the next he was closing the distance and bringing our lips together.
He pressed his forehead to mine, peering into my eyes briefly, measuring my reaction and taking in my wanton soul. His pause was too long, as my arms shot around his neck, beckoning him closer as I reunited our lips. Tyson came closer, his arms sneaking around me, his fingertips grazing the thin material of my tee. His touch was powerful, as was the feel of his kiss.
Oh God I wanted this, I wanted this so bad.
Tyson.
When he started to pull away, I was left grasping at his shirt to keep him near me, on me.
Tyson reeled back and just stared at me again.
“What was that?” I asked, noting that my chest was rising and falling.
“A hunch.” He stood up from the bed and tossed what I hadn’t noticed was in his hand—a bag—beside me. “Get dressed. We’ve got someplace to be.”
How could he go from kissing me to talk of going somewhere? “But...”
“You have a nice one,” he finished for me. “Now let’s go.”
“I told you I wasn’t ready to go home.”
“I know,” Tyson said. “Prophet called me and told me they’re having a cookout and, no offense to your family, but I’ve missed some good old-fashioned soul food. Not to mention can’t nobody touch Alma’s pound cake.”
“You’re taking me to Lindenwood?”
“The way I see it, you haven’t eaten, and you could use the getaway. We’re gonna go eat, listen to some old-school, and just have a nice day,” Tyson declared.
I felt my heart warm and my face smile. “You’re taking care of me?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You took care of me.”
“I did?”
“It wasn’t too long ago you brought me here and got me talking, Nandy. Now let’s go, before Pretty’s greedy ass eats up all the food.”
I sifted through the bag and found a T-shirt and pair of shorts. He must’ve just grabbed anything, because the top was striped and the shorts were floral print. Thankfully the black-and-white top meshed well with the black floral shorts, nothing too crazy or bizarre.
I sat up and pulled my shirt over my head, and noticed how Tyson turned away.
“When did you start hating clothes?” he asked.
“According to my mom, I’ve always had a thing for running around naked, ever since I learned to walk. She said once, I was being changed and as soon as I was naked, I took off running around the house.”
“That sounds like you,” Tyson said. “I’m going to go wait downstairs.”
I replayed his kiss over and over as I got dressed, wondering if it meant that Tyson wanted me, too. Possibly. Maybe. Hopefully.
In Tyson’s car we listened to hip-hop and said nothing the first twenty minutes on the road. The more we kept silent, the more I swelled with questions.
“Ar
e we gonna talk about it?” I finally came out and asked.
Tyson shrugged. “Chad’s always been a bitch.”
Oh. We were talking about him. “I was awful to him. I don’t blame him.”
Tyson shook his head. “You know what your problem is, Nandy?”
“What?”
“You always get what you want.”
I bowed my head. “Does that mean I get...?”
“It means you’re taking your ass to Chad as soon as we get back so you can talk.”
“That’s done, Tyson.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“I guess you’re free.”
He was playing games with me, and I didn’t like it.
“So we’re just going to act like you didn’t kiss me?” I snapped.
“Like I said, it was a hunch,” he replied with a lazy shrug.
“So this is nothing?”
For a moment Tyson was quiet, and I felt myself begin to feel ill at a reality where it was all one-sided, where he would never like me the way I liked him. I had lain in bed for two nights, feeling upset about what Chad had said, but more upset with myself for what I felt for Tyson overall.
As bummed as I was about missing cotillion, I cared more about my predicament with Tyson.
Chad had embarrassed me, but he’d been right to call me out.
Chad was all I’d known, and then Tyson came back, and everything changed.
I loved one, but liked the other. It wasn’t supposed to be that way.
I was an awful person.
“Right now, I really don’t know. You’re the only one who makes me so damn mad and irritated. Back there in the bedroom, I figured if I kissed you, you’d get your shit together.” Tyson shook his head. “But I know it’s only a matter of time before you pull some other stunt that leaves me going crazy.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to fall for you. I had a boyfriend, and this just happened. Do you think I enjoy this? I feel like I have no control. You make me nervous, Tyson. Watching you and Shayne, I feel inadequate. I hate myself for being envious of my best friend instead of happy for her. I shouldn’t want you, but I do.”
Now Tyson appeared apologetic. “I’m sorry I can’t say the same.”
“Because of someone else?”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“So you felt nothing when you kissed me?”
“I didn’t say that.” He glanced my way. “I’m torn between wanting you and wanting to strangle you. The thing is, I don’t even know you anymore. You haven’t given me the chance to this whole summer. Now you want me, and I’m supposed to come running? It’s just like when we were kids, Nandy—you’d flash those looks, and I’d do whatever you wanted. Not this time. I don’t know how I feel, but at least I’m admitting that.”
It felt like I was drowning in my feelings and would never surface. One minute my heart was beating hard, and the next it was sinking low in my chest.
I kept quiet for the remainder of the trip to Lindenwood. I was a little nervous to be around his old life, especially because I knew of the illegal activities he’d done with his friends—that, and the harsh realities shown on the news about Lindenwood as a city.
“Before we head to the spot, there’s a place I want to show you, a place that reminds me of the old me,” Tyson said as we crossed the city line.
I sat up and kept a lookout for any special landmark or place.
When we stopped, I noted we were on the street by a local park and across from a library. Tyson got out of the car and I followed, figuring we were there.
My eyes skimmed the library before focusing on the park. It wasn’t what I expected in a place like this. It was breathtaking. The sign, naming the place Ashby Park, was freshly painted and stuck up out of the green, nicely trimmed lawn. That was what stuck out—the lawn over the stretch of land was a bright and healthy green. Not only that, there were flowers planted along certain areas, vivid yellows, reds, lavenders and pinks that prettied up the park even more. On the playground were a few families or single moms or dads with their children, who seemed to be having the time of their lives as they played on the unblemished equipment. There was no litter, no graffiti, no monsters in sight.
“Surprised?” Tyson asked as he gauged my reaction.
Honestly? “Yes.”
He snorted. “Lindenwood ain’t all bad, Nandy. We’ve got nice schools and public places, but don’t let the media tell it.” He gestured across the street at the library. “When I was a boy, my mom used to take me there all the time. That was my favorite place in the world, besides being next to you in Pacific Hills.”
Touched, I said nothing as I looked at the library. That explained his stance on reading and possibly writing.
“She used to have me read two books a month and give her a full oral review on them.” Tyson tapped his temple. “To keep my mind going.”
I admired his mother for this. Clearly she’d had a big impact on who Tyson was.
“This place is beautiful,” I said.
Tyson agreed. “We used to either read in the kid’s section in the library or sometimes out here in the field, or at a picnic table. I put up a fight about coming when my friends started kicking it on me.”
I frowned. “Tyson.”
He chuckled at my scolding. “You sound just like her. If I could go back in time, I’d change up and stick with her. For always.”
The thought of his mother made me curious. “Is her grave near here? Do you want to go?”
At once Tyson visibly tensed. “I—I... I can’t... I can’t go. I can’t see her...like that. I can’t. I can’t.” The sound of his voice caused me to step closer and lean into him for support as my heart tore in two. This wound was still fresh, still sore, and would probably never heal.
I rubbed his back. “It’s okay, Tyson, it’s okay.”
It wasn’t, but someday, it would be.
“Don’t blame yourself, okay? Your mom would be so proud of who you are and what you’re becoming,” I assured him.
Tyson regarded me deeply, silently, intently.
He soon blinked and looked elsewhere. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”
We got back in his car and rode over to the cookout.
“You’ll be fine,” Tyson insisted after we’d made it to a house that was surrounded by cars.
I kept close to him, and he let me. “I’m nervous.”
“You should be.” He flashed me a smile and put his arm around me.
The house before us was all one-story. By the chipping paint on the concrete porch, I could tell the family who lived here had been here for years. There was a bed of flowers in the yard, a personal garden of white roses that made me smile.
“What kind of name is Prophet anyway?” I asked as he led me up the driveway.
“It’s a nickname,” a third voice cut through the air. A guy Tyson’s height was coming our way. He was definitely older than us, and had a friendly aura about him as he came to a stop in front of us. He stuck his hand out. “Prophet.”
I placed my hand in his and shook. “Nandy.”
He smiled. “Named after Queen Nandi of the Zulu clan?”
I felt myself brighten, hearing the reference. I was growing to appreciate my name more and more. “Yes.”
He faced Tyson and bobbed his head. “I like this one, but Asiah won’t.”
“She here?” Tyson asked.
Prophet made a face. “You know Momma love her some of that girl. Plus, you know, Read’s been around.”
Tyson said nothing, and I wondered what was going on.
Prophet turned back to me. “Anyway, Prophet’s a nickname. We all got one, it’s a crew thing. Trice is the only one whose real name I actually remember.”
“What�
�s your real name?” I felt brazen enough to ask.
If my question was too personal, he didn’t let it show. “Hakeem. People started calling me Prophet due to my teachings, among other things. You come on back here, and we’ll work on your nickname.”
He led Tyson and me toward the backyard, where the smell of barbecue billowed in the air as classic R & B played loudly and Al Green sang about staying together. Everyone was enjoying themselves as they talked and ate at picnic tables and goofed off. One boy, with vibrant golden-brown skin and natural curls in his hair, was dancing around an older woman, trying to coax her to dance with him. It was goofy and so genuine.
Tyson nudged me. “That’s Pretty. We call him that because, well, it’s obvious.” He placed his hand on my hip and pointed to each person and named them. Asiah stuck out the most, the girl who was shorter than me, shared my skin tone, was super pretty in a hard and tough way, and was sporting a plain black T-shirt and camouflage capris. She had a don’t-mess-with-me look about her, and I didn’t even think about going and introducing myself to her, especially as Tyson said she was his ex.
Asiah got one look at us and stopped what she was doing, her gaze lingering where Tyson’s hand was on me and how close we were standing. Attitude lit up her face, and the boy next to her, Read, stared at her and then glanced our way.
That girl who’d cut Tyson’s hair, Tasha, was nearby as well, entertaining a young girl and a baby.
“Is that Trice?” Alma came on over and was quick to hug Tyson tight, and he hugged her just the same. “Oh, it’s good to see you, baby. Just because you don’t live here anymore don’t mean you can’t call us.”
Tyson brightened up, showing how happy he was to see her. “I’m here now, Alma. Especially for that pound cake.”
She narrowed her eyes and pretended to swat him before turning her attention on me. She sized me up. She was maybe a few years older than my mother, her hair holding more gray and her expression more tired, yet friendly. “And who is this?”
Tyson stepped to the side and left me to speak for myself.
“Nandy,” I said, going and holding my hand out.
Alma looked at my hand like it was a foreign object before leaning over and pulling me into a hug. Where I came from, we shook hands, but I liked how she felt the need to actually hug me, as if she knew me.
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