by Dream Jordan
“Well, it can’t,” began Naleejah, “unless you feel like running to the Chinese store and buying two packs of human hair and some glue.”
My bottom lip hit the floor. “Say what?”
Naleejah chuckled and said, “You so crazy. Girls can usually tell I rock a weave.”
“I wasn’t studying your head that close,” I said testily.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I do manage to fool a lot of people.”
“Anyway, can we get started, please?”
“As soon as you take that scarf off your head.”
I removed my scarf, thinking a scream would come next at the sight of my wild bush. But no. Naleejah calmly pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and got ready to operate. “When I get through with you, you’re going to be a whole different person.”
“Now, that’s what’s up,” I said. “Do your thing.”
But as soon as Naleejah began sectioning my hair, my mind suddenly divided in two. Should I be getting this perm without permission? I wondered. Or should I go ahead and get fly? Tisha’s voice rang in my head like a million bells. “Treat every new foster home like a new beginning,” she had warned. “Don’t sabotage yourself, Kate. Don’t repeat the same mistakes.”
Yeah, I can admit it. Whenever I had it good—or at least okay—with a new pair of foster parents, for some reason I’d always manage to sabotage my situation. I’ll never forget the nicest foster family I’d ever stayed with: the Gordons. They used to take me to amusement parks with their own kids, called me their daughter instead of foster daughter, and always complimented me for little things, like washing the dishes without being told, and making up my bed. Seemed like a dream that wouldn’t last. So what did I do? Joined the Lady Killers. As soon as the Gordons found out, I was removed. They had smaller children and couldn’t risk keeping me. I didn’t last longer than three months with them. And I wasn’t surprised.
I wasn’t used to foster folks remaining nice to me, so maybe a part of me preferred to act up before they could flip the script and get rid of me.
But I wanted the Johnson household to be different.
I wanted to stay with them for as long as possible.
“Hey, girl,” I began slowly, “I think I should call home first … to get permission.”
Naleejah jerked her head back. “Permission to do what?”
“To get my hair done,” I said.
“Wow.”
“Wow, what?” I asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m crazy.”
Naleejah started chuckling.
“What’s so funny?”
“Well you are crazy,” said Naleejah. “You must be. It’s your hair. Why would you need permission to look decent for a change?”
Okay, rude of her, but true. My hair was in desperate need of a change. And it was my hair, on my head, so what harm could I cause with my perm? So, bump it. Case closed. I sat back, relaxed, and let Naleejah do her thing.
When she started smearing the smelly white cream all over my head, she exclaimed, “I can’t believe you went around with this bush for so long!”
“And?”
“And your hair is fighting with the perm! It doesn’t want to get straight!” She shuffled and sighed, running around all sides of my head, smoothing down the cream from root to ends. Twenty minutes later, my scalp was on fire! I squirmed in my seat.
“Okay, okay!” said Naleejah, rushing me to the kitchen. She put me under the sink and let the warm water cascade down my burning scalp. I felt so relieved when she washed that fiery cream out my head. Whew.
After the burning drama, we went back into Naleejah’s bedroom. She sat me down on a crooked chair and set my hair in big pink rollers. Then she threw me under a tabletop dryer. Forty-five minutes later, I was finally freed from the heat. My hair rollers were removed and—bam—my hair was banging!
I almost cried when I saw myself in Naleejah’s mirrored closet door. My hair was actually flowing, touching my neck for the first time ever. I swung my head from side to side, and my hair moved with every swing. I couldn’t believe how fabulous I looked with a bootleg perm. I was so impressed.
Naleejah fluffed out my hair, then stood back and admired her work. “Kate, are you proud of me?” she asked, raising her pencil-thin eyebrows expectantly.
“How could I not be? You got skills to pay the bills!”
“You are so pretty right now.”
“Thanks.” I beamed.
“Now, you know we have to go out and celebrate this makeover, right?”
We? Uh-oh.
No offense, but Naleejah couldn’t roll with me. I felt foul and all, but before I could cop a plea, she pulled me to her closet and flung her mirrored doors open. I looked on in amazement at the rows and rows of clothes and shoes cramming her rod and shelves, like a department store.
“I’ve never seen so many clothes in my entire life!”
“Girl, I don’t play.”
“Man, your parents go all out for you,” I said, shaking my head in awe.
“Parents?” Naleejah jerked her head back. “Please, girl, my parents don’t hit me off like this. I get money from dudes, and I take myself shopping.”
“Say word?”
“Word,” replied Naleejah, clapping her hands to emphasize her point. “When it comes to getting mine, I got mad game, okay?” Naleejah crossed the room to lift her Gucci tote off the floor. “Do you think my busted old parents would pay over a thousand dollars for this bag?”
I shrugged.
“Or this?” Naleejah grabbed the thick gold link lying on the edge of her dresser. “Maxwell paid mad money for this chain. Believe that.”
I creased my eyebrows in confusion. “So Mom and Pop don’t be grilling you about where you get yours?”
“Please, they don’t sweat me,” said Naleejah with a dismissive wave. “As long as I don’t ask them to buy me nothing, they couldn’t care less what I do.”
“Mm, lucky for you.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Naleejah. “And I hit the jackpot right before summer vacation. Met this dude named Chase who was dealing out of Breevort. As soon as I gave homeboy some booty, he started lacing me up like crazy … and I’d still be getting money if he didn’t get locked up.” Naleejah shook her head and added, “Ever since I got a taste of that cream, I can’t ever go back to being thirsty. It’s so messed up Chase let himself get locked up.”
“True, that’s messed up,” I said. But in my head I was thinking, Whoa, that’s messed up to be sleeping with dudes for money. But nowadays, I try hard to keep my opinions to myself. I get tired of being called “old lady” whenever I say something moral-like to chicks my age. So let me shut up. Let Naleejah do her thing.
“Girl, I’m ready to get fierce,” said Naleejah. She sashayed back to her closet and started searching for an outfit. She pulled out a red stretch halter top and asked me what I thought. I said it was fire. Then she pulled out a super-short black Guess? skirt. I nodded, tight. Then she unearthed a pair of high-heeled black sandals. Hot.
“Man, you got it all,” I said, fighting off the jealous jitters.
“Please, you got the same goodies I got,” said Naleejah. “Ain’t no reason for you to be dressing like that.”
Naleejah’s eyes dropped down to my sneakers. “Tell me why your tennis shoes are leaning to one side?” Naleejah did a couple of leans and started singing, “Lean back, Lean back.” Then she busted out into a fit of laughter.
I rolled my eyes. “First of all, you’re not in Maryland anymore. They’re called sneakers, not tennis shoes. Duh?”
I thought I had dissed Naleejah into silence. But she busted out laughing even harder and said, “Well, your sneakers need to sneak off your feet because they’re straight up busted.… You need a man in your life.”
I flipped up my middle finger. “Laugh if you want to, but I’ll get mine regardless.”
“Get yours how?” asked Naleejah, looking me up and down again, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes.
I pointed to my head. “I got brains, okay? I don’t need no dude to lace me. And when I get out the system, I’ll be completely—”
“The system?” Naleejah interrupted.
“Yeah, I’m in foster care.”
“Oh,” said Naleejah, her mouth shaped like an amazed O.
“So, yeah, when I get out of the system, I’m emancipated. I’ll go to college, graduate, get myself a good job. Then I promise you, I’ll stay laced with my own money. Feel me?”
“Wow,” said Naleejah.
“Wow, what?” I asked, thinking she was impressed with my little speech.
“I didn’t know you were a foster child,” said Naleejah. “You really don’t look like one.”
“Well what does a foster child look like?” I demanded. “And by the way, I’m not a foster child. I’m in foster care, okay?”
In a huff, I plopped down on her bed and folded my arms across my chest.
“Dang, sorry!” exclaimed Naleejah. “Don’t bite my head off.”
“Well, no need to be labeling me,” I said. “I don’t like labels.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” said Naleejah, lifting the tag inside my no-name T-shirt.
“Okay, it’s not funny anymore,” I snapped. “Now if you’re finished clowning on me, I have somewhere to be.” I jumped up, grabbed my knapsack, and headed out of her bedroom.
“Kate, wait up,” Naleejah called at my back. “Please?”
I swiveled around and barked, “What?”
“Don’t go yet.… I have something to give you.”
Chapter 8
“I’ll be back in a second,” said Naleejah with an odd look in her eyes. Sulkily, I sat down on her bed with a heavy plop. For five minutes, I was left wondering what Naleejah had to give me. More humiliation?
When she came back into her room lugging a giant plastic bag brimming with clothes, I tried to hide my cheesy grin.
“My sister, Tammy’s, stuff,” said Naleejah in a low tone. She dumped the bag’s contents beside me. “We’re going to find you something nice to wear, okay?”
I stared at the mountain of clothes and said, “Wow, your sister doesn’t want these anymore?”
Naleejah didn’t answer me. She sifted through the bag and didn’t look my way once. Her weird behavior was making me feel bad, like she wasn’t really happy to be hooking me up. Of course, I wanted to be made over. But not like this. “Listen, you don’t have to give me anything, if you don’t want to—”
“It’s not that.”
“Well, what’s wrong, then?”
“It’s nothing,” said Naleejah.
“Are you sure?” I didn’t mean to press her, but she had just changed moods on me fast and crazy, like she was on medication.
Then in a flash, she was all smiles. Felt like a false rebound to me. But, I was about to be laced from head to toe, so I didn’t have time to be worrying about what was really on Naleejah’s mind. Call me shallow if you want. I don’t give a snap. I haven’t been fly since the day I was born.
“What about this?” Naleejah asked, holding up a skanky purple tank top.
“Nah, too glittery,” I lied.
Then she pulled out a pair of Daisy Duke shorts. “Um, no,” I said. “I don’t like the flowers on the back pocket.” But on the real, I didn’t think my big butt could be contained in those things. Honestly, the stuff Naleejah was pulling out looked like straight-up stripper gear.
Finally, Naleejah dug up a pair of sky-blue skintight jeans, size 8, perfect size. “These will look hot on you.”
“True,” I said, holding them up to me.
Then Naleejah passed me a red stretch tank top to wear. I turned my back to her, tried it on, but it was too tight. My boobies were busting out of it. I turned back to show her: “No.”
“But what’s wrong with it?”
“Hello? Don’t you see my boobies busting out?”
“Don’t you know how many chicks would pay to have those?” Naleejah pointed at my twins. “Shoot, when I get enough money, I’m buying a pair just as big and bouncy as yours.”
I started laughing, but quickly sobered up once I realized she was dead serious. Naleejah gave me a lavender T-shirt to try on. Perfect.
When I tried on the jeans, Naleejah started cracking up. She had caught a glimpse of my white granny panties.
She shook her pointer finger at me. “No you didn’t walk out the house in those big old drawers.”
“Yes, I did, and my big old butt feels just fine in them.”
“You so silly,” said Naleejah, laughing and shaking her head at me.
“Yeah, I’m silly fly,” I said, primping in the mirror. I couldn’t believe a bona fide girl was staring back at me.… First time loving what I saw.
Naleejah came up behind me and grabbed the bottom of my T-shirt and tied it up into a ball so that a bit of my back was showing.
“My sister used to wear it like this,” she said in a faraway voice. “Looks better that way.”
“Oh yeah,” I exclaimed, twisting to the left and right. “Much better … so does your sister live with you?”
“No,” said Naleejah, suddenly looking away from me. Since she left it at that, I left it alone too. I recognized the need to mind my business.
Naleejah picked up a towel flung over her radiator and said, “Let me take a quick shower, and then we’re out of here, cool?”
Oh no.
Not cool.
I mean … I was truly grateful for my makeover and all, but it was time to tell Naleejah that she couldn’t roll with me. I couldn’t risk her eclipsing my moment with Charles. This was my time to shine.
Of course, I felt bad about being this way. And I understood Naleejah would feel dissed and pissed when I told her to sit her butt back down.
But what could she do? Nothing. She wasn’t brave enough to snatch the clothes off my back, or snatch me baldheaded. I was dolled up, ready to go, and I’d catch up with her later. Period.
“Hold up, Naleejah,” I began. “I have to go somewhere first, and then I’ll come back for you. Okay?”
“What time will you be back?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
“Um, around four or five o’clock? Cool?”
“Hell no, that ain’t cool,” Naleejah exclaimed. “I’m not staying stuck in this house all day.… Where are you going anyway?”
I didn’t expect to be questioned like this. And I wasn’t able to think fast on my feet. I blurted out, “There’s a game at the Stuy Court.”
“Wow, you didn’t even ask me to go with you,” said Naleejah in a hurt voice.
Think, Kate, think!
“Oh nah … see,” I began, “um … I was afraid that those girls might come after you again.”
A puzzled look registered on Naleejah’s face. “But why aren’t you worried about them? You’re the one who had the fight.”
“Well … if anything goes down again, Charles will have my back.”
“But won’t Charles have my back too?”
“Yeah … I’m just saying—”
“What are you saying?” Naleejah butted in. “You don’t want me to come? You get your hair done and run?”
“No, no, it’s not like that,” I said, feeling like a butthead. “I mean—you can roll with me, I just didn’t think you’d be interested in the game, that’s all.”
“If Finesse is going to be there, I’m definitely interested. I’m interested in showing him what he’s missing out on.” Naleejah pointed to her outfit lying on the bed. “When he sees me in that, oh trust, he’ll come running back. I’ll give that boy a heart attack. So let me hurry up and get ready.”
“No rush,” I said. “We have about two hours to kill.”
“Dang, two hours?” exclaimed Naleejah. “Well, I’ll take my shower now anyway. I’m feeling sticky.”
Fifteen minutes later,
Naleejah came back into her bedroom wearing a short orange towel, only covering up her upper parts. I saw nothing but long brown legs and a bright pink thong, and wondered why she didn’t get a bigger towel; I didn’t need to see all that. Finally, she threw on a pink robe with a big old hole in it.
She pushed off all of the clothes on her bed. We plopped down on it and talked about nothing special. By the time twenty minutes to two o’clock rolled around, I was all talked out. I urged Naleejah to get ready. She slipped into her tight outfit looking hotter than hot. I would’ve been proud of her fierceness if she wasn’t a potential threat.
Naleejah twirled in front of me. “Now this is what you call dressed up, feel me?”
“Yeah, okay,” I said curtly. “Are you ready to go now?”
“Well, I am.” Naleejah pointed at my feet. “But you’re not.”
I looked down at my feet and sighed. Oh well. I could no longer deny it. My sneakers used to be white, and now they were dingy beige, and the rubber soles had a serious gangster lean.
“What size do you wear?” asked Naleejah.
“Eight.”
“I wear a seven and a half,” said Naleejah. “But hold up.”
She dropped to her knees and started pulling out shoes from underneath her bed. She unearthed a fierce pair of cute brown leather wedges and stuck them out at me. “They’re a little too big for me, and they might be too high for you. But if you can walk in them, you can have them.”
“To keep?” I asked. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” said Naleejah. “I told you I get mine, didn’t I? I can get me another pair”—Naleejah snapped her fingers—“just like that.”
I tried the wedges on. Then I wobbled across the floor. They were mad tight in the painful sense of the word, but they looked blazing hot on my feet. In pain or not, I was ready to twirl my pretty little self outside. I grabbed my knapsack from off the floor and said, “Okay, let’s hit the road!”
