Love Me or Miss Me

by Dream Jordan

  * * *

  Naleejah was still looking at me, shaking her head.

  “Listen, I’ll get it together,” I said. “I just have to get used to my new look, okay?”

  “Well, how long is it going to take for you to feel fabulous?” Naleejah asked. “Can’t you see the dudes are already checking for you?”

  “I said, I’ll get it together, okay?”

  “Yeah, I hope you get it together,” she replied. “Because if you don’t know what to do with Charles, I’ll surely handle him for you.”

  “Oh, it’s like that?” I asked with an attitude.

  “You know I’m only kidding.” She laughed.

  Ha, ha, whatever. I wasn’t laughing with her.

  As we were about to cross Malcom X Boulevard, a sparkling emerald-green Range Rover pulled up on the opposite side of the street. The driver honked at us three times. Naleejah’s eyes popped out of her head, and she almost broke her neck trying to peep at the brothers inside. They waved at us. Naleejah grabbed my arm and made me wave back like I was her puppet. Next thing I knew, the driver made a zany U-turn and slid so close to the curb, he almost ran over a fire hydrant.

  Naleejah zipped over to the truck, and I stood right where I was, trying to look cool and blend in with the background. Five minutes were filled with Naleejah’s flirty chatter. Her head was all up inside the ride.

  “Who’s your friend?” I heard the passenger ask. “She lookin’ mad shady standing way back there.”

  “Kate, come over here.”

  I trudged up to the Rover.

  “This is Sting and Jason.”

  “Hi,” I muttered.

  I hung back, waiting for Naleejah, the giraffe, to pull her long neck out of the truck. Five minutes passed. Next thing I knew, Naleejah was motioning for me to come even closer. I shook my head in protest, growing impatient, thinking she needed to get the digits and get gone already. But no. Next thing I knew, Naleejah was jerking open the back door. In disbelief, I watched her hop inside the truck. She held the door open, motioning for me to follow her lead.

  Chapter 11

  I knew Naleejah was crazy enough to roll with these dudes whether I came with her or not. For some reason, I felt the need to protect her. However, before I leaped inside headfirst, I walked up to the front of the truck’s grille and made sure these dudes saw me checking the license plate. I moved my lips as if memorizing the letters and numbers. I stood mumbling for a minute. I wanted to look smart about it.

  “Yo, your girl is mad scared,” said the passenger, laughing his head off.

  “Kate, get in!” shouted Naleejah.

  I finally hopped inside. The driver had a shiny bald head. He looked like a roughneck and at least ten years older than us. He wasn’t cute to me, but I guessed his Range Rover was fine enough to take Naleejah’s mind off funky old Finesse. On the other hand, Jason was a dark-skinned cutie with the waviest hair I’ve ever seen on a dude; he must’ve worn his do-rag for years to get that special effect.

  The Rover rolled through the streets bumping old-school Jay-Z, a chorus of children singing “Hard Knock Life”—and you know that’s my song because I can surely relate. I tried to get lost in the song and not to worry about being trapped inside of a stranger’s ride. But it was hard to chill. My body shook from the bass of the music, and my ears were ringing from the earsplitting treble pumping out of the speakers. All I heard was boom, boom, boom, my head pounded with every beat. And Naleejah’s perfume wasn’t helping my headache; the smell of strawberries invaded my nose and flooded up to my head.

  Sting, the driver, was coasting two miles an hour, so everyone standing on every corner could get a good look at him. He had all of the windows rolled down, and half his body leaning out the truck. Either the truck was brand-spankin’-new, or he had just gotten it detailed, because the shiny flyness was catching mad attention, and this seemed to be Sting’s sole purpose for driving.

  “Ohhh snap, check that out!” Naleejah said in an excited whisper. I glanced up and saw what she was so keyed up about. A mini television hung up in the front, but it didn’t need to be turned on for my entertainment, I was too busy watching Naleejah act the fool, like she wasn’t used to anything. I’m not used to anything either, but I try not to show it. Dudes love a giddy wide-eyed chick, and I’m not the one.

  At a red light, Naleejah scooted up in her seat and tapped Sting’s shoulder. “How much did you pay for this?”

  Right then and there, I wished the seats were made of quicksand instead of butter-soft leather. How embarrassing! But Sting just laughed off her tacky question.

  “I paid money for my Rover.”

  “I know you paid money.” Naleejah giggled. “I’m just asking you how much.”

  “Too much,” piped in Jason.

  “But you always riding with me, right?” Sting cracked back.

  “Anyway, did y’all eat already?” asked Jason. “Our original plan was to cop some KFC, but Sting got sidetracked by you.” His chin pointed toward Naleejah.

  “No, that’s okay, we’re fine.”

  “I know that’s right,” said Sting. “Mm, mighty fine!”

  “Thank you,” said Naleejah, giggling.

  I was pissed. How did Naleejah know “we” were fine? What if I wanted some food? I didn’t push the issue, though. I didn’t want to seem like a pig.

  Sting slid into a spot in the KFC parking lot. Jason hopped out, and ten minutes later came back, carrying a bag full of sweet-smelling chicken. The mouthwatering aroma caused my stomach to grumble and cuss out Naleejah with me. But as we coasted out of Bed-Stuy and into Crown Heights, my hunger pangs turned into fretful flips. Man, I was nervous! This was just not right! We didn’t know diddlysquat about these dudes. I had done this kind of thing before with my older group homegirls, but back then, I was too young to think about consequences.

  We parked in front of a four-story apartment building, and I was the first to jump out the truck, still on edge. Naleejah hopped out, looking happy and proud to have just been riding in style. Sting slid out his truck and walked around it three times before leaving its side, like this shiny piece of metal was a newborn baby. And Jason was busy glancing over at me, grinning, like he just knew I was going to be his baby for the night. Not.

  Naleejah tapped Sting’s arm. “So, is this your crib we’re headed to?”

  “Of course,” said Sting. “Don’t you know I’m the man?”

  Sting’s apartment was on the third floor. We climbed up, up, up the stairs, and on the third landing I was out of breath, and still feeling wrong about this whole situation. But I couldn’t leave Naleejah flat. Nope, no way.

  “Enter my castle, ladies,” said Sting, smiling mischievously as he ushered us inside.

  We entered the dim apartment, passed by a tiny kitchen, the bathroom, and then we were led into a boxlike living room that smelled like Sex on the Beach incense. (I know that scent anywhere. One of my ex-foster mothers used to burn it all the time, trying to hide the weed smell in her bedroom.) Sting flipped the light switch on. A single yellow bulb barely lit up the living room. Dull navy-blue carpet covered the floor, and pictures of brown naked women covered the four white walls. A droopy blue couch sat up against a bare window, and a matching love seat sat on the opposite side. A tiny spot. No room for anything else, not even a bar of sunshine could come through the apartment. The dullness of the crib couldn’t compare to the shiny flyness of Sting’s ride … but at least he had his own apartment, so let me shut up.

  “Cozy, ain’t it?” said Sting, searching for praise.

  “Yeah, your crib is nice,” offered Naleejah in a fake voice.

  “It’s cool,” I said.

  Naleejah and I dropped into the love seat. We didn’t say one word to each other. I was too busy being uncomfortable, and she was too busy checking herself in her pocket mirror. But when Sting went into the kitchen and Jason into the bathroom, Naleejah got close to my ear. “I want Sting,” she whispered.


  “Okay,” I said with a shrug.

  “Do you think Jason is cute?”

  “Yeah, he’s cute, but not my type.”

  “Well, I hope you know Charles isn’t the only guy in the world.”

  “Yeah, I know that already,” I snapped.

  “Well, if you want Charles, you better get with it. Guys like a girl with experience—and in order to please a guy, you need experience. So if I were you, I’d practice on Jason.”

  Before I could reply, Sting and Jason entered the living room, carrying their delicious fried chicken on plates. They sat down on the opposite couch so I could smell it. My mouth watered resentfully.

  “Are you sure you don’t want anything?” asked Sting, in between bites.

  “Yes, we’re sure,” Naleejah answered for me once again. “But can we get some music up in here?”

  “Hey, pop in a CD,” Sting ordered Jason. Jason licked his fingers, jumped up, and did as he was told, like he was the butler.

  A slow jam flooded the room.

  Hmm, I thought, they were really setting moods up in this piece. But I wasn’t in the mood. As Naleejah wriggled seductively to the music, I was busy wondering when we were going home. Hungry, hot, bothered, and bored, I continued to watch Sting and Jason polish off their plates.

  After the meal, Sting hopped up from the couch, swaggered to the kitchen, and came back carrying a big bottle of wine and four glasses on a tray. “See, I’m a classy kind of guy,” he said, winking at Naleejah.

  Sting poured Naleejah the first glass. He was about to pour me a glass, but I quickly said no thanks. I act straight stupid when I drink, so I don’t drink anymore.

  I used to drink to forget my life. Started at age ten and would still be tapping forty ounces if it wasn’t for Tisha and Felicia changing my world. I used to get drunk and reckless. Ready to fight at the drop of a wrong look, but add liquor to my mix and I’d get buckwild. Pick up a garbage can and throw it at you in a heartbeat. On special occasions, the older girls from my group home used to let me get twisted with them in the park. “Shorty drinking vodka like it’s nothing,” they’d say, laughing their heads off. I always wanted to show how big and bad I was. But I always went too far. Throwing up my guts. Stinking like vomit. Mad awful for me.… Thank goodness for Felicia. As soon as she came into my life, I never had to prove a thing to her. The realest friend. For real.

  * * *

  “Not even a sip of some Moët?” whispered Naleejah. “Why you such a cornball?”

  And why you such a gold-diggin’ slut? Well, of course, I didn’t say that, but I wanted to. What did Naleejah care if I turned down a drink? Funny how knuckleheads like her always pressuring me to be down, but when I get my butt in trouble, they ain’t never around.

  Jason and Sting gulped down two glasses each. Naleejah sipped down three—guess she was also drinking for me. Sting and Jason started making small talk with us. I gave one-word answers. Naleejah sputtered paragraphs. Then it became clear that she could no longer contribute to the conversation. Her head was all twisted up. She was saying stupid stuff—then again, she’s always saying stupid stuff—but adding to that she was giggling uncontrollably, wriggling on the couch to the music, and big-time flirting with Sting, playing with her hair, licking her lips, acting the straight fool.

  Next thing I knew, Sting and Naleejah shot up from the couch and headed to the back.

  Now Jason was ogling me in anticipation. I looked away from him and stared at the navy-blue carpet, wishing it were an ocean I could dive into.

  I mean, yes, Jason was cute, but he had to be more than cute to get my attention. He had to be Charles.

  Uninvited, Jason got up and plopped down next to me. “Why are you so quiet?” he asked.

  “I’m just a quiet person.”

  Jason slipped an uninvited arm around my shoulder, and said, “Well, you can talk to me. I don’t bite.”

  To escape his arm, I bent down to take off my wedges. Perfect timing. My feet were hurting for real.

  “Tight shoes?” asked Jason with a smile.

  “Yeah, Naleejah talked me into buying them,” I lied. Wasn’t any of Jason’s business the shoes were hand-me-downs.

  “Want me to rub your feet for you?”

  “No,” I said flat-out, far from amused.

  “Well, can I suck your toes, then?” He chuckled.

  About twenty minutes of this creepy nonsense dragged by like a year. I was so pissed at the situation. And by the freaking way, what was Naleejah doing back there? I wanted to be out of here already.

  Jason kept trying to pull conversation out of a magic hat. But, poof! There was nothing there. My mind was gone. I just nodded and smiled, nodded and smiled. His desperation was making me want to throw up.

  “I think I better go soon,” I said, wishing I had a wristwatch to stare at to help me act like I had somewhere important to be. This desperate dude was getting on my last nerves!

  Jason raised his thick eyebrows at me and said, “I’m saying, what’s the rush, ma? Your friend surely ain’t ready to go. I bet the panties are on the knob right now.”

  I jerked my head back. “Panties on the knob? What do you mean by that?”

  “The Do Not Enter sign,” Jason explained. “You ain’t up on that? I mean, you look kinda young, but you ain’t that young.”

  “I’m sixteen,” I lied, for no reason. I guess Naleejah was rubbing off on me.

  “You got a nice body for sixteen.”

  “Thanks,” I said blandly.

  “Well, can I at least get a kiss on the cheek?” Jason asked. “I mean, your friend is taking care of my boy, so why can’t you take care of me?”

  I stared straight ahead like a zombie.

  “Please?” Jason begged. “Just one kiss?”

  Believe it or not, just to shut him up, I leaned over and pecked him like a bird, and then I flew over to my side of the love seat.

  “Okay, now my turn,” he said, grinning. He scooted over to me, kissed me on the cheek, and waited for my reaction. I have to admit, his lips were warm on my skin. Then Naleejah’s voice started ringing in my head:

  You need experience.

  Practice on Jason.

  I didn’t want Jason to be my first kiss. Then again, I didn’t want to be awkward when my lips finally met Charles. I guessed I had to start somewhere.

  Jason realized I was suddenly with the program, so he wasted no time going for my lips. Only problem was, his lips were crazy wet and his breath smelled like chicken.

  Then he started trying to shove his tongue in my mouth. Reluctantly, I opened my mouth and let him inside. Our tongues went round and round each other, but I felt no desire in my belly. I was just going through the motions.

  Then Jason laid me down on the couch and climbed on top of me. He started grinding against my leg like a horny puppy. He was going too far. I wiggled, trying to get from underneath him, but he assumed I was getting into it, grinding to match his movements.

  “No, let’s stop,” I whispered. “That’s enough.”

  “No, baby, we’re just getting started,” said Jason in a hoarse voice. In one swift motion, he unzipped his shorts and whipped it out.

  I stared down at it, horrified. “Put that thing away!”

  “Don’t be scared of it, baby.”

  He tried to grab my hand. I snatched my hand away.

  “Please?” he asked in a pitiful voice. “Touch it, just once?”

  “No!” I pushed at his chest to get him off of me. He wouldn’t budge.

  Next thing I knew, he was groping me like a demented octopus. He squeezed my boobies, grabbed my butt. He was all over me.

  “Are you serious?” I yelled, “Stop it! Get off of me!” I struggled under his groping hands.

  “Trick-tease, stop fronting,” growled Jason.

  Finally, I got out from under him. When he tried to climb on top of me again, my kneecap met his groin. Jason yelped like the horny toad that he was.
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  “Word to my mother, you lucky I’m on probation!” he yelled.

  Probation? Oh, hell no! Jason probably hadn’t had a piece of pie in a minute. Well, he wasn’t getting a slice of me. I was out!

  While Jason doubled over in pain, rocking and cursing me under his breath, I snatched up my shoes and raced down the hallway barefoot, ready to snatch up Naleejah and get the heck out of this apartment.

  My bottom lip hit the floor when I laid eyes on the pink thong hanging on the bedroom doorknob. Jason hadn’t lied. It was just too crazy for words. Just a few hours ago, Naleejah was lecturing me about being selective with guys, and now she was sleeping with a guy she just met? I was too confused, too upset for words. I almost lost it when I came closer to the door and heard a bedpost rhythmically knocking up against the wall, and springs squeaking, and Naleejah moaning like a porn star.

  Oh my goodness.

  I quickly pulled myself together. Right now I couldn’t worry about what Naleejah was in the middle of: We had to be out. I pounded on the door. “Naleejah, let’s go!” I yelled.

  Two minutes later, Sting cracked the door open wearing nothing but boxers. I peeped inside at Naleejah, who was lying on the bed with the covers pulled up to her neck. I swiveled my eyes back to Sting and said, “You better tell your man something—he’s acting like he wants to rape me.”

  “Aw, he don’t mean no harm, baby,” said Sting, chuckling and crinkling his eyes at me like this was funny.

  “But I’m not joking,” I said.

  “He just likes you, that’s all.”

  “Well, I don’t like him. And I promise you, I’ll send his butt back to jail if he tries anything else. You better tell him something, for real.”