Love Me or Miss Me

by Dream Jordan

  Shaking his head, Sting shut the bedroom door behind him and moseyed on down the hallway, I guess to talk some sense into Jason, if that was possible.

  I shoved the bedroom door open to find Naleejah still under the sheets, sprawled out in Sting’s bed. “Come on,” I demanded. “We got to go.”

  From the doorway, I monitored Naleejah to make sure she was getting ready. I didn’t wince when she climbed out of bed butt-booty-naked. After living in group homes, you’ve seen it all. But I couldn’t believe Naleejah’s crazy calm composure. No concern. No shame in her game. No rush, no rush at all. At her own lazy pace, she slipped into her top, her skirt, twisting this way and that, acting like we had all the time in the world for her to get dressed.

  “Hurry up,” I cried. “We have to go!”

  Finally, Naleejah emerged from the bedroom. Her hair rumpled, her skirt twisted to the side. She walked past me without a glance and started for the bathroom. She was walking mad funny. I ran up behind her and yanked her drunken butt away from the bathroom. “We don’t have time for you to be primping!”

  I dragged Naleejah out of the apartment before Sting or Jason could block us.

  But Sting had already got what he wanted from Naleejah, so he didn’t even try to stop us.

  The minute we hit the streets, Naleejah plopped down on the stoop, pulled out her cell phone and a business card. “Call a cab for us, please?” she slurred. “I can’t talk. My head hurts.”

  “Do you have cab money?” I asked.

  “Check my wallet for me?”

  I dug in her purse and pulled out her wallet, and thank goodness she had a twenty-dollar bill on her. But could we even catch a cab with Naleejah looking so tore up, like she was ready to throw up any minute?

  I was still half-wondering if Sting would eventually come downstairs and offer us a ride. Then I had to remind myself again: This was a hit-and-run situation. Sting couldn’t care less how we got home.

  Well, I’d been through this drunken drama plenty times before, been twisted personally and with friends, so I knew the drill: I had to walk Naleejah around in the fresh air before we hopped into any cars. Naleejah beefed about having to walk, but I didn’t care. She needed to sober up—and possibly throw up—and then we could think about a cab.

  Besides, I needed to clear my head too. The sight of Jason’s stuff was enough to give me nightmares. I had never seen one that up-close before. Shudder.

  We walked downhill on Kingston Street. Five minutes into the walk, Naleejah stumbled toward a parked car, bent over, held on to the car door, and a rainbow glob gushed onto the curb. Then she started retching.

  I sat her down on a random porch, and then ran across the street to the store and bought her a bottle of water. Finally, I called the cab. The cab took less than ten minutes to arrive, thank goodness.

  We rode home in silence. Naleejah’s head was leaning way to the side, like she was about to doze off on my shoulder. She kept her mouth shut for most of the ride. But then she started talking—well, more like gibbering. “Is my hair okay, Kate?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” I said without looking at her.

  “You got a light?” she asked groggily.

  “I don’t smoke, remember?”

  “Aw, dang—I need me a smoke!” she cried.

  “We’ll be home soon,” I said, trying not to gag because her breath smelled like vomit. Forget water—I should’ve brought this chick a pack of peppermints.

  When the cabbie pulled up in front of Naleejah’s house, I was so grateful to see lights off in every window. That meant Naleejah’s parents were most likely not home, or getting their freak on behind closed doors. Who knows? Who cares? As long as they weren’t around to interrogate me. Shhhooot, I could already imagine them asking me twenty questions about their smashed-up daughter—and I would have no answers to give.

  I fumbled with Naleejah’s keys, found the right ones, got her all the way inside, and shoved her purse into her hands.

  “Get some sleep,” I whispered, and slipped out the door.

  * * *

  During the long walk home, I received compliments left and right, like “Hey there, beautiful” instead of “Nice big booty.” Felt kinda good being appreciated for being cute; this took my mind off the grimy drama I had just gone through.

  But I wasn’t stupid enough to stop for any of my admirers. No cutie in the world was worth me being late for curfew.

  I made it home at eight o’clock on the dot, with a whole hour to spare, and thank goodness for that. After the day’s crazy turn of events—Naleejah the Drunken Sexpot and Jason the Ex-Con Groper—I didn’t need any more stress in my life.

  I stepped inside the house. Lynn was in the living room, watching television. I suddenly remembered Ted’s “high road” speech, and stuck my head inside to say hello; I even flashed a fake smile. Instead of Lynn returning my hello, she just stared at me funny style and nodded coldly in place of a greeting.

  Jealous of my new look? I wanted to ask. Instead, I simply shrugged. Hey, at least I tried. I sprinted up to my room, hopped into my house clothes, carefully wrapped my hair the way Naleejah had showed me, and covered up my tresses with the silk scarf she gave me. Then my stomach started rumbling.

  I went back downstairs to raid the kitchen. (That’s one thing I liked about the Johnsons’. Unlike in other homes, I could go into the fridge anytime without a problem.) But before I could start opening cabinets and whatnot, I felt Lynn’s eyes blazing on my back. There’s a clear view from the living room to the kitchen. So to confirm my funny feeling, I stole a peek at her. Sure enough, Lynn was still staring at me hard. Why?

  “Leftover steak is in the fridge,” she offered. “Rice and green beans too. Leave enough for Ted.”

  “Oh, okay, thanks,” I said, still feeling funny. Something weird was going on. But I couldn’t figure out what. As I pulled out pots and pans to warm up my food, Lynn suddenly raced up the stairs. Five minutes later, Ted came through the door, red-eyed and hungry. I offered to warm up his food too, and asked if he wanted to play a game of checkers in the meanwhile.

  “Lynn upstairs?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, let me go say hello to Lynn first,” Ted said. “You know she’ll have a fit if I forget.” Ted headed upstairs.

  Next thing I knew, Ted was having a fit upstairs. I heard him yelling about something (and Ted never yells), so I wondered what he could be howling and huffing about.

  I soon found out.

  From the top of the staircase, Ted ordered me to come up.

  My bottom lip hit the floor when I laid eyes on my room. Ransacked. Clothes all over my bed, papers all over the floor—my room was a total wreck.

  Lynn did this.

  I looked at Ted for answers, but he looked too angry for words.

  Lynn flailed her hands in my direction. “Ask her if she’s dealing drugs, Ted. Go ahead, ask her!”

  Chapter 12

  Wearing a sad expression, Ted turned to me and asked, “Kate, where’d you get money for your new clothes … your new hair?”

  Okay, now I understood.

  Brokenhearted, I had to pause for a second. Guilty without a trial, huh? A lump formed in my throat and almost choked me to death. I was hurting so much right now.

  “Well?” demanded Lynn.

  “Lynn, calm down, will you?” Ted shot her a nasty look.

  Lynn flashed her big bubble eyes at Ted and said, “We shouldn’t have to wait this long for a simple answer.”

  I stared directly at Ted and said, “Remember the girl’s house you drove me to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, she did my hair—”

  “But what about the clothes, Kate?” Lynn cut in. “What about the clothes?” Lynn’s voice was stupid loud, and she had her hands on both hips like she was trying to scare somebody. Instead of giving Lynn an answer, I stared directly at Ted again and explained, “Naleejah gave me her sister’s clothes.”
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  “Oh, I don’t believe that!” She waved her hand in the air as if swatting flies.

  “Lynn, what did I tell you? You need to calm down—you went about this all wrong in the first place.”

  My eyes started filling up. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Was this really happening? “Ted, I’m not lying to you,” I said in a shaky voice. “I swear, I’m not lying to you.”

  The crease in Ted’s forehead disappeared. “I know, Kate. I believe you.”

  “You believe anything, don’t you?” butted in Lynn.

  Then suddenly, the smoke alarm in the kitchen started going off. I ran downstairs to turn off the pots and escape this terrible scene.

  I got to the kitchen too late. My food was crispy burnt. Didn’t matter, though. I’d lost my appetite. Instead, I drank a glass of cold water just to cool my nerves.

  Lynn and Ted were still upstairs arguing, and I was still shaking, shaken. I had to call Tisha. Hearing her voice would calm me down. It was Saturday, true, and I knew Tisha was off, but she’d told me I could call her anytime, and this was the time I needed to call. I needed to talk to her right now. I needed Tisha to answer her phone. But no. No answer. I got voice mail. I left Tisha a desperate message: “Please, please call me as soon as possible.”

  I dragged myself into the living room and flung myself on the couch, ready to cry. But no. Oh no. Not here. Before I dropped a tear, I wanted to be shut inside my bedroom, away from everybody.

  But when you got to flow, you got to flow, and years of pain suddenly poured out of me. I was crying so hard, I hoped nobody heard me upstairs. I felt so bad and alone. I had given up trying to be loved by a family a long time ago. All I wanted was to stay somewhere stable—stay in one place, graduate, and be gone from the system for good. But now look at this bull. Seemed like I wouldn’t last a year staying here. Might as well live in a U-Haul truck—this way I’d never have to unpack.

  In my head, I went back and forth over the whole jacked-up situation. Okay, okay—yes, I knew my record follows me wherever I go. I understood that Lynn had already peeped my file. Plain as day, it reads: possession. A past offense. I’m guilty as charged. But could I move on, please? I’m saying, wasn’t my sparkling report card proof enough that I had changed?

  The echo of footsteps on the stairs interrupted my thoughts and tears. I quickly dammed up my eyes.

  It was Ted. Thank goodness. He wanted to know if I was okay. No, I was not okay, and no, I would not go back upstairs if that stupid witch was still lurking around.

  “Lynn really means well,” said Ted, sitting down next to me.

  “Yeah, okay,” I said, rolling my eyes—not at Ted, but at the thought of Lynn meaning well. Ha, now that’s a laugh.

  “Listen, Kate, I understand how you feel, and I’m sorry this happened.”

  “Not your fault,” I said. “Her fault.”

  Ted hesitated and said, “Believe it or not, my wife really thinks a lot of you.”

  “Yeah, okay … she thinks a lot of me, so she treats me like a suspect? I can see how that makes sense.”

  I shifted my weight on the couch, growing uncomfortable with myself, feeling fidgety and foul. I was snapping at Ted, and I didn’t mean to be snapping, but I couldn’t help myself: I was heated.

  “Tonight was unfortunate. But I promise you, things will get better. Just give Lynn another chance.”

  I started rocking back and forth, trying to calm down. “Well, she should’ve given me a chance,” I spat. “Ransacking my room like she’s some crazy B—”

  I stopped myself in midrant. When my sadness turns into anger, there’s no telling what I am capable of. A part of me was tempted to ask for my removal from this house. But no … I wasn’t in the mood to be shipped to a new family, learning new rules and feeling new discomforts—not to mention what if there were no other foster homes available? It might be back to a group home, sharing everything with a bunch of girls again. No. I had already gotten used to having my own room for the first time in my entire life. I’d rather stick things out here. At least I knew Ted had my back; he was definitely showing and proving tonight.

  Finally, I was ready to go back upstairs, get in my bed, close my eyes, and calm the heck down—but not before asking, “Is she still in my room?”

  “No,” said Ted. “And I promise she won’t bother you again.”

  Ted’s word is bond, so I went back upstairs to my bedroom. He followed. I was surprised to see everything put neatly back in its place. Ted stood in my doorway, smiling. “Did I do a good job?” he asked.

  “Thanks,” was all I could say. Between me and you, why was he the one cleaning up my room and checking to see if I was okay? Why wasn’t Lynn the one cleaning up and apologizing to me? Oh boy, I was getting myself worked up all over again. Thank goodness Ted intercepted my thoughts with a random question. “Hey, why is your life book so bare?”

  “What life book?” I asked absentmindedly.

  Ted walked over to my closet and reached up to pull out my beat-up life book. Oh, that. I was only keeping it just to be keeping it. I’m a pack rat.

  “This life book,” said Ted as he opened the shabby brown book to the first page featuring my latest honor roll certificate. I said to myself: Don’t remember putting that in there.

  Ted explained, “See, I’m starting you off. You should be filling this book up yourself. Why haven’t you?”

  Hmm, don’t ask me.

  A life book is like a scrapbook for us kids in foster care. We’re supposed to put the things that matter to us in our books. But I’ve never been interested. Didn’t have much mattering in my life when I first received it, and don’t have much mattering now.

  I shared my thoughts with Ted.

  He disagreed. He placed the book on my dresser and said, “Listen, Kate, you need to capture all of your life’s moments. Big things, little things, good times and bad. Whatever happens to you is important—and I promise you, when you fill up all of the pages in your book, we’re going to commemorate the moment, celebrate your life.”

  I didn’t like when Ted said things like this—“when you fill up all the pages”—like he’s hinting at a long-term future of me living here when there’s really no guarantee. I mean, look at what happened tonight.

  But I just nodded at Ted and smiled at him, and tried to make a joke to keep myself from crying again. “Celebrate my life?” I began, “Ted, you mad funny—got me feeling like I’m in some after-school special.”

  Ted chuckled at this and said, “Well, that’s because you are special, and I’m schooling you. Now go to bed, missy.”

  “Sorry I burnt your dinner.”

  “Not your fault.” Ted patted me on the shoulder and left my room.

  I went to bed feeling a whole lot better, calmer, cooler, and composed. But the next morning I woke up anxious and uptight, still dying to settle the score with Lynn.

  Chapter 13

  On Sunday morning, at ten o’clock on the dot, I cracked my bedroom door open. All was quiet on the home front. Lynn was still asleep, and Ted had gone out to take his usual Sunday stroll for the newspaper. Cool. I blazed down the stairs to call Naleejah. She was going to help me make Lynn feel stupid. Real stupid. One phone call, and Lynn would find out that yes, Naleejah did my hair, and yes she gave me her sister’s clothes, and yes, her parents could back up my story. Bam, take that!

  But before I could pick up the telephone, it rang. It was Tisha. Telling me to sit tight; she’d be over before twelve o’clock. Whoa, I didn’t expect her to make a special trip over here, especially not on her day off! But she had already said bye-bye before I could protest.

  Then I called Naleejah, who answered in a groggy voice.

  “Listen, I need you to speak to Lynn for me,” I blurted out.

  Oops, I didn’t even ask her how she was feeling, whether she was still hungover or not. Sometimes I have a one-track mind when I’m stressing. Pardon me.

  “You need me to speak
to Lynn about what?” asked Naleejah, still out of it.

  “The stupid witch I live with got me dealing drugs—”

  “Oh my gosh!” Naleejah cried, now wide awoke. “She got you dealing drugs? But that’s crazy! How can she make you—?”

  “No, no, I don’t mean she got me dealing. I’m saying—the new clothes you gave me, the new hair—she thinks I sold drugs to get mine.”

  “Oh no, Kate!” exclaimed Naleejah. “You got in trouble over that? Man, you stay in trouble.”

  “No, I’m not in trouble this time. I just want to make Lynn feel stupid for accusing me. So it would be really cool if your mother, or father, could speak to her, because I—”

  “Oh, girl—I can do better than that,” Naleejah interrupted. She told me to hold on, and next thing I knew she was like, “I’ll be over in about a half hour. What’s your address?”

  “Dang, you don’t have to come over,” I said. “A simple telephone conversation would do.”

  “Hush, girl. My father’s going to drive me to your crib. We were supposed to be headed out of here anyway, but I fell back asleep. I got five freaking bags of laundry to do.”

  “Whoa, five bags?”

  “Yeah, my mother is too damn lazy, and my father don’t do jack around the house, so I’m stuck doing the laundry when I could be in my bed.”

  “That’s messed up,” I said. “Five bags?”

  “By the way—I wanted to bring over the rest of Tammy’s clothes.”

  “More gear for me?” I exclaimed, “Thanks!” I stay fly … no lie … and you know this—

  “Hello, Kate?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m here … just in another zone.”

  “Shoot, I’m the one who should be out of it after last night.”

  Well … since you brought it up.

  “Hey, are you okay with the way things went down with Sting?”

  “Girl, I stay okay,” said Naleejah. “Don’t nobody stop my stride. I keeps it moving, feel me?”

  “Now that’s what’s up.”