Love Me or Miss Me

by Dream Jordan

  During my next tutoring session, I made mistakes on purpose just to avoid being questioned by Felicia. I wanted to keep her as my tutor. I really liked her. I wasn’t sure if she was catching on to my scheme, but I didn’t care at the time. This charade went on for a whole month. Felicia would crack corny jokes during our sessions. She even got me to smile a couple of times. At my group home, I had to play hard 24-7, so my time with Felicia felt fresh and new. Felicia was the first girl I could just be myself with—to study with, to laugh with. I felt like I was still young when I hung around her.

  I remember being lonely ever since I was little. Even when I had friends, I felt lonely. Surrounded by other kids in foster care, I couldn’t cry or clown around like I wanted to. We all tried to act hard, because we had to. It’s called protecting ourselves.

  So finally, one day, I said, Bump it, Kate!! Keep it real. I invited Felicia to the park to watch a basketball game with me. She said yes. And it was a wrap. From then on, we started sticking together like Krazy Glue. I tried not to care about what kids said about our “goofy” friendship, and tried to stay focused on the brand-new me. I started raising my hand in class, got more A’s and praise from teachers. I was finally opening up to a girl my own age for the first time in my entire life.… Felicia and I became so tight, people outside of school swore we were sisters even though we looked nothing alike.

  Listen, I got ninety-nine problems, but my homegirl, Felicia, has never been one. Man, I missed her so much.

  * * *

  “Felicia never tries to clown me,” I said under my breath. I guess not under my breath, because Naleejah heard me.

  “Who’s Felicia?”

  “That ‘doofy’ girl you were dissing earlier … my best friend.”

  “Oh, my bad!” exclaimed Naleejah. “I didn’t know it was that deep. Y’all don’t look like crew to me.”

  “We’re more than crew,” I corrected. “She’s like a sister to me.”

  “Well, where is she now?”

  “South Africa—for the summer.”

  “Oh man, she’s way across the globe!” Naleejah smiled and linked her arm through mine. “Shoot, I’m your sister now.”

  Uh, I don’t think so.

  We stepped inside the brightly lit pizza shop. White and red tiles covered the walls, and tall fake trees stood in every corner. Five tables were filled with older men playing dominoes and talking Spanish. A red countertop was situated by the window, and two stools were sitting underneath. I claimed the stools, pushed them together, and threw my knapsack on top.

  Our spot.

  I walked up to the counter where Naleejah was standing, sticking her butt out. For who? I didn’t know. Not a single cutie in the shop.

  “What are you getting?” Naleejah asked, as if my answer would determine hers.

  “A cheese slice,” I said.

  “That’s it?” Naleejah looked at me like I had three heads.

  “Yep, that’s it.”

  “Don’t want any chicken or pepperoni on your pizza? Just plain old cheese?”

  “I’m straight,” I insisted. I couldn’t tell this jiggy-jive female that I had only enough money for a cheese slice and tap water. It was none of her dang business I was flat broke.

  Naleejah studied me for a minute and suddenly said, “Listen, I got you.” Before I could blink, she ordered four pepperoni slices and two bottles of Snapple Raspberry Iced Tea. I was tongue-tied for two seconds, grateful and embarrassed.

  I muttered, “Thanks.”

  The pizza slices were smoking on our paper plates. I couldn’t wait to dig in. But just as I was about to wolf down a slice, I noticed Naleejah digging into her Gucci bag. She pulled out a silver cell phone decorated with a thousand glittering crystals.

  “I swear dude better pick up his phone,” said Naleejah. “This is my last time trying, for real.” She frantically pushed a couple of buttons.

  Well, I didn’t want to look greedy. So I decided to wait for Naleejah to complete her call. But her call was complete before it got started. She angrily clicked her celly shut and made a big huffy sound. “Freak him, for real! There’s plenty other dudes out here way better-looking than him.”

  “True,” I said, divided between courtesy and hunger. But my stomach could wait no longer. I picked up my first slice, hoping Naleejah would follow my lead. She finally stashed her phone away and turned to face her food.

  I peeped Naleejah’s eating style from the side of my eye. She was daintily dabbing off the extra grease on the pizza with her napkin. Then she dribbled a mountain of hot pepper all over both slices. (My mouth burned just glancing at her plate.)

  Then I stared in disbelief as she daintily picked up a plastic knife and fork, like we’re having dinner at the table. She proceeded to eat her pizza, nibbling like a dainty mouse. Watching her eat made me feel like a savage as I held my greasy slice with my bare hands. I immediately eased up on my slice and took much smaller bites.

  Ten minutes passed with us eating in clumsy silence. It was no surprise that I had finished dogging my food five minutes before Naleejah. It felt kinda embarrassing. I had to twiddle my thumbs until she finished.

  “Those slices were slamming!” said Naleejah, gracefully patting her lips with a napkin. Then she whipped out her mirror, her lip gloss, and carefully reapplied some shine. Well, the grease from the pizza had done my lips just fine, thank you very much.

  “Hey, good looking out,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too pitiful.

  “No problem,” she replied. “You seem mad cool.”

  “You too,” I said, half-believing myself.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, you too!” I shouted. I had to shout now because the owner of the shop had suddenly decided to pump loud Spanish music. I could barely hear myself talk.

  “I wish I would’ve met you a week earlier!” Naleejah cried out.

  “Why? What happened?” I yelled.

  “The Fourth of July. We could’ve gone to Coney Island. I haven’t been there yet. I bet there were crazy cuties roaming around that night.”

  “True, true,” I said, now back in my regular voice. The owner finally had enough sense to lower the music a bit.

  “Well, what did you do on the Fourth?” Naleejah asked. “Picnic with the family?”

  This was not the time to get into my home-life situation, so I simply said, “Nah, I chilled at the crib.” Then I stared blankly at my empty paper plate. The mention of family always gets me down.

  “Well, I didn’t get to see any fireworks either,” Naleejah explained. “I was bored out of my freaking mind! My parents forced me to go to this boring-behind barbecue way out in Queens. There was no music. No honeys. Just my parents showing me off to every long-lost aunt and uncle, like they were so proud of me. Any other time, they barely pay attention to me. I couldn’t even—”

  I glanced up to see who, or what, had suddenly arrested Naleejah’s speech. She was looking out the window now, her mouth shaped like a terrified O.

  Boom! I spotted them. The two loud girls at the Stuy Court were now standing outside, leaning against a red car, staring at us with their arms folded tight. Oh man, they must’ve followed us here! Not cool. Not cool at all.

  Two seconds later, the menacing pair decided to step inside. From the look on their faces, I could tell they weren’t hungry for pizza; they were hungry for blood. These girls looked much tougher and rougher under the pizza shop’s bright lights. One girl wore scruffy bright blond box-braids, and the other wore frizzy burgundy cornrolls. They both wore the same nasty scowl. I knew something dirty was about to go down.

  Blondie took one step forward and stood over Naleejah like a shadow. “Can I holler at you for a second?”

  “About what?” asked Naleejah.

  “You talk to Finesse?”

  “I talked to him after the game, and that’s it.”

  “Well, I talk to him now,” explained Blondie. “You understand what I’m saying
?”

  Naleejah shrugged.

  “What? Cat got your tongue?” asked Blondie, and then she smirked at her friend.

  As if on cue, Burgundy stepped up, looking like a pit bull ready to bite. “Must be the case, cat got her tongue.” She shook her frizzy head and laughed.

  Naleejah sat silent like a marble statue. I joined her in this moment of silence, all the while wondering when she was planning to go “ballistic” on these broads, you know, back up all that big talk she was spitting at me a minute ago. If I didn’t feel so sorry for Naleejah, I would’ve laughed—ha, ha, ha—right in her big-talking phony face.

  Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t want to see Naleejah hurt. However, I couldn’t see myself jumping in. This wasn’t my beef, and my fighting days were supposed to be over—only when necessary from now on.

  * * *

  “What? Nothing to say?” asked Blondie, moving closer to Naleejah’s terrified face. Poor girl looked about ready to fall off her stool or hide under it. Any minute now, and I expected her to cry out for help. But I guess she figured, why bother? The men in the shop were too busy jamming to their music and slamming down their dominoes to be paying us any old mind.

  Naleejah stole a glance at me; she was shaking like a cold wet kitten. I tried to dodge the beam of fear shooting from her eyes. But oops—zap—she caught me. I got sucked into the drama.

  Blondie poked Naleejah in the forehead and said, “Get your own man, understand?”

  Suddenly, I jumped up from my stool and squeezed between her and Naleejah. “I’m saying can we squash this beef already?”

  Blondie stared me down, long and hard. Her pupils were pitch black and cold, trying to put my guts on freeze. Oh, so she wanted to take it there? Well, I returned her wicked stare. Now we were standing toe-to-toe. I was in her face, and she was up in mine. Everything around us seemed to disappear.

  “Go sit down somewhere,” said Blondie.

  “Make me,” I said, getting all up in her face.

  See, it’s bad when you know you can fight. You walk around with this S on your chest like you’re Superwoman, thinking you can beat any and everybody down. Right now, there was so much bass in my voice, so much courage in my heart, so much adrenaline pumping through my veins that you couldn’t tell me nothing. “So, what’s up?” I demanded.

  Blondie laughed, suddenly taking me for a joke. She placed her hands on her hips and asked, “Who are you supposed to be?”

  “The wrong chick to be messing with,” I snapped.

  Blondie slowly leaned her head to the side and said, “Seriously, go sit down somewhere before you get yourself hurt.”

  “Yeah,” Burgundy chimed in. “You can’t save a ho, and you ain’t got nothing to do with this situation.”

  “Well, this is my friend, and I’m in the situation,” I explained, surprising myself with these words. Friend? Since when?

  “Oh, she just stupid,” said Burgundy, shaking her head at me.

  “Let’s see how stupid,” I snapped back. “Why don’t you come test me?”

  The old Kate was back in full force, ready to rumble and snap some necks. Listen, I don’t scratch. I punch. It was going to be downright ugly. I felt wild surges of rage coursing through my blood. I clenched my fists. Ready and set.

  “Let’s take this outside then,” suggested Blondie.

  “Bet,” I said, courageously leading the way. Once outside, I scanned my surroundings. Not a soul in sight. No passersby. Not even a stray dog. Just Blondie and Burgundy circling me like underfed wolves.

  “So, where’s your friend now?” Blondie teased, laughing and pointing at me.

  “Yeah, where’s your friend now?” Burgundy chimed in.

  Good question.

  I looked to my left, then to my right.

  Naleejah was nowhere to be found.

  Chapter 4

  Blondie stepped up to me, rammed her face close to mine, and said, “So swing, or get swung on, punk.”

  “Punk?” I said, backing up a bit. “Please, you’re not even ready for me.”

  To tell you the truth, I wasn’t ready either. Two against one is never fun. Where in the world was Naleejah?

  “See, you had all that mouth in there,” began Blondie, jutting her chin toward the shop. “Why you standing out here all stiff and quiet? Scared?”

  “Scared? Please. I will knock you out.”

  “Knock me out?” repeated Blondie. “I wish you would.”

  Her wish was my command. I punched her dead in the face. Blondie staggered back. And then it was on. We went off like a bomb. Fists flying. Hair pulling. I fought that girl with all my Brooklyn heart. When I started getting the best of Blondie, her homegirl, Burgundy, jumped in. Now I had two pairs of hands and feet hitting and kicking on me at one time. Next thing I knew, somebody hooked a foot around my ankle, and—bam—I hit the sidewalk hard. Before I could scramble to my feet, I heard loud voices yelling in Spanish, and then I felt a man’s hands seizing me by the waist. He held on to me with a vise grip. I kicked and flailed, trying to break free, but no matter how hard I struggled, he held on to me.

  Two other potbellied men came running outside, bumping into each other like sumo wrestlers and cursing in loud Spanish. They dragged Blondie and Burgundy down the block by the collars of their T-shirts.

  “You better sleep with your eyes open!” Blondie yelled from down the block.

  “Yeah, punk,” Burgundy chimed in. “This ain’t over.”

  “What? You threatening me?” I yelled back, still kicking and flailing, dying to return to battle. I didn’t give a snap. I was ready to kill somebody.

  “Mamí, no, no,” the men chorused. It took both men to haul me inside the pizza shop. Once inside, I collapsed on the nearest chair and put my head in my hands. I was shaking all over with anger.

  “Are you all right?” asked the owner of the shop. He slid a cup of grape juice in front of me. I nodded, thanked him, and took three sips of punch.

  Two minutes later, I felt someone else standing over me. I looked up to see Naleejah’s stupid face. She put her hand on my shoulder, and I flinched as if about to get hit again. “Don’t touch me,” I said, giving her the stink eye.

  “Are you okay?” she stuttered.

  “What do you think?” I snapped. “Where were you?”

  Najeelah pretended she didn’t hear my last question. “Do you need me to get you a Band-Aid or something?” she asked.

  “Why? Do you see a scratch on my face?” Better not be a scratch on my face, I thought angrily. The scar over my eye was supposed to be my last souvenir of my wildin’-out days.

  “Let me see your mirror,” I demanded.

  Naleejah hastily rummaged through her bag, then handed me her pocket mirror with a shaky hand.

  I snatched the mirror and peered into it. Not a scratch on my face. Good. But the hair on my head? Bad. Really bad. During the fight, my baseball cap had gotten snatched off my head, and now chunks of hair were sticking out here, there, and everywhere. I looked a hot mess.

  I jumped up from my seat and raced outside. Naleejah came running after me.

  “Kate, where are you going?” she yelled.

  I spun around to face her and said, “Oh, now you come outside?”

  “But where are you running to?”

  “Oh, now you act concerned?” I said. “Well, I’m looking for my baseball cap. Can you at least help me with that?”

  Naleejah joined my search. But all we saw were Blondie’s braids scattered all over the sidewalk like worms after the rain.

  My hat had disappeared. Man, I was twisted. Naleejah saw the madness written all over my face. “Kate, will you please listen to me?” she begged.

  “Listen to what?” I boomed. Without waiting for an answer, I stormed back inside the shop.

  Naleejah followed me inside and finished copping her plea. “Kate, please listen to me. I swear I didn’t want you fighting for me. But everything happened so fast.… You flew
out that door, and I was trying to get help, but nobody in here speaks English … only the man behind the counter … but he was in the bathroom.… You should’ve seen me punching the air and pointing at the door. I know I had to be looking crazy.”

  I almost busted out laughing imagining the scene, but no, I had to keep my screw-face on. Naleejah had to be made to understand that it’s not okay to desert your friends, no matter what. I’m saying, my goodness, have my back at least—even if you can’t fight, get your butt beat down with me.

  Naleejah sighed. “I guess that’s what I get for not paying attention in Spanish class—”

  I cut her off. “What do you mean that’s what you get?” I asked. “I’m the one who got jumped.”

  “And I’m really sorry for that,” said Naleejah. Now she put on a pitiful face. I wanted to rip the mask off and slap some realness into her. But I kept my hands to myself and said, “Whatever.”

  “Oh no, there’s a hole in your T-shirt,” Naleejah suddenly decided to point out.

  Did she really think that pointing out the hole near my armpit was supposed to make me feel better? What a chickenhead!

  Then she ventured to ask, “Um, do you mind if I fix your hair a little bit?” Without waiting for my answer, she dipped into her bag and started spreading out bobby pins, scrunchies, a mini-brush, and a comb on the table.

  “Go ahead and fix it,” I said. “Knock yourself out.”

  My hair’s medium length, and so thick, it breaks the teeth out of combs. I had no idea how she was planning to tame it.

  Naleejah began the struggle, trying to pull pieces of my hair together into a ponytail. “You need a perm,” she advised.

  “Don’t need a perm,” I corrected. “But I do want one.… I’ll get one—one day.”

  “One day soon, I hope,” Naleejah dared to say. Then she put the finishing touches on my ponytail. I could tell my hair looked really jacked up by the grimace she wore. “See, if you had a perm—”

  “Can you stop talking about a perm?” I broke. “Do you even know if I have the money to get a perm?” (You know I had to be heated for me to mention my financial situation.)