by Dream Jordan
Naleejah was grinning at me proud, like yeah, I hooked my homegirl up.
“Okay, Ms. Thing,” Naleejah said. She reached up to smooth down my hair. “Maybe you can go another week, and then I’ll perm you.”
“Okay, cool,” I said. “Ready to rock?”
“Let’s roll!”
We walked the six blocks to the boutique, only to find out the store was closed. At random? No gates down? No explanation? Just dark windows and no souls inside.
I was totally pissed. I had always wanted to visit this shop, never had the nerve to go inside, never looked good enough to step in. Now that I was looking hot, the shop was closed. My timing was whack.
“What about Fulton Street?” began Naleejah. “I’m sure there’s a hat store somewhere over there.”
“Cheap hats though,” I said. “Didn’t you tell me, I need to step my game up?”
“True,” Naleejah agreed.
We spun around in our tracks.
“Hey, we should try Macy’s or something,” suggested Naleejah. “There’s more of a selection there.”
“Okay, I’m down with that.”
We hopped on the A train at Kingston Avenue and headed to Thirty-fourth Street. Once we got there, a mob of people were already there, pushing and bumping shoulders on every sidewalk. I wasn’t used to the crowd, the loud honks of horns and other sounds, and I was ready to go home as soon as we were through with Macy’s—a glitzy store—which had no hats I liked or could afford.
We walked down Thirty-fourth Street with me feeling dejected and Naleejah full of energy.
“Well, we didn’t come all the way up here for nothing!” exclaimed Naleejah. “So come with me to Victoria’s Secret.”
The minute we stepped inside the store, Naleejah grabbed my hand and whispered in my ear, “Kate, I didn’t forget about those big old drawers I saw you rocking. You better get yourself some sexy thongs—you getting too old for granny panties.”
I snatched my hand away. “Here you go again, telling me what I need. You need to calm down and mind your own business, for real.”
But I came out of Victoria’s Secret carrying a pink-and-white shopping bag filled with two lacy white bras (I couldn’t dare pass them up—they were on sale) and three scandalous red, pink, and white thongs. My whole fifty-dollar certificate was spent. On the train ride home, I was kicking myself as Naleejah chattered about nothing.
* * *
As soon as we made it out of the Utica Avenue train station, I spotted five tall guys standing in front of Boys and Girls High. One guy stood out from all the rest. See, when you have a serious crush, you’ll spot your sweetheart from a million miles away. I knew all of his moves. The way he dipped forward when he laughed. The dramatic hand clap he just gave the boy standing next to him.
As I watched my baby from afar, my heart lit up like a stick of dynamite. I couldn’t wait for Charles to see me, hug me, and make adoring comments about my good looks again. Maybe this time, we could finally get somewhere.
But Naleejah grabbed my arm and said, “Kate, let’s walk the other way, please. I see somebody.”
“Why, what happened now?” I asked, confused. Just the other day, Naleejah had stopped to talk to the storefront dude, cheesing and grinning, as if getting any male attention was better than no attention at all. But now, she was acting mad shady and crazy over the sight of some boys? Her nervousness reminded me of the pizza shop drama. And after what had happened there—me fighting over some nonsense?—I felt I had a right to know what was up this time. “Naleejah, does some guy want to fight you now?”
“Can we just turn back, please?” she said. “It’s not about a fight. I don’t want to see Divine.”
“Why, what happened with y’all?”
“Let’s just put it this way, size does matter.” Naleejah gave the “tiny” measurement with her fingers and added, “And I really don’t feel like seeing him again. He can’t satisfy me.”
“I hear you, but if we turn back, that would be too obvious,” I said, lying through my teeth. Of course, I was only concerned about Charles. I wanted to finish what we started.
“Listen, wait for me at the corner,” I said. “I just want to say what’s up to Charles, okay?”
“Hurry up, Kate,” said Naleejah in a big huff.
Now, what was she huffing for?
“I promise I’ll only be a minute,” I said.
“Well, I’ll be sitting in the park.”
Naleejah zoomed to Fulton Street Park, and I stood six feet away from the opposite curb, waiting for Charles to spot me from across the street. I didn’t want to go up to him. Let him come to me. Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer. I made a megaphone out of my hands and yelled, “Yo, Charles!”
Charles saw me and waved. He was about to cross the street on the solo tip, but this annoying dude named Qwan attached himself to Charles’s hip.
“Hey, y’all,” I said.
“Hey, where you been hiding?” asked Charles.
Qwan stared at me with his tongue wagging out his doofy mouth. “Yo, Charlie, if this ain’t yours, can I scoop it?” he asked, wearing a grin. Qwan has a gold grille in his mouth. I wanted to kick all the gold out of his stupid blowhole. Since when did I become an it to scoop anyway? And why was he blocking me from my baby?
“Qwan, stop playing,” I muttered.
“Ohhh snap, what’s up, Kate?” he said, recognizing my voice. “Dang, you done changed! You looking good, ma!”
“This is mine, right here,” interrupted Charles.
Mine?
At these words, butterflies entered my belly and started flapping wild. Qwan saw the way Charles was staring at me, and he finally took the hint and bounced.
I stood in front of Charles. He leaned up against a nearby telephone pole and kept staring at me. Intensely. Eyes roaming through my soul. I squirmed under his magnetic stare.
He glanced at my Victoria’s Secret bag. “For me?”
I put my finger to my chin as if in deep thought. “Hmm, could be.” Then I smiled. I was tempted to wink too, but I wasn’t overly confident in my flirting abilities yet.
“Don’t tease a brother.”
“I’m not teasing.”
“Yes, you are, and you know it.”
I smiled shyly. Since when did I start acting shy around Charles? I guess since things were no longer cool and easy between us … more like hot and hard. Listen, the way Charles was staring at my chest right now made me feel like a piece of meat he just wanted to beat. I was starting to wonder: Does Charles like me as a person, or just a booty? So to get back on familiar terms with him, I tried to make jokes. “Hey, Charlie, my face is up here.” I pointed to my face. Then I forced a chuckle—his cue to laugh too, but his eyes were still glued to my chest, not paying the rest of me any mind. Sad to say, I stayed in his face anyway.
“You got a man yet?” Charles asked. “Looking all good … I know you got a man.”
“Nope, I’m just chilling.”
“So … when are we going to chill together?”
At these words, my heart skipped three beats.
Charles had never asked me out on the official tip. Imagine that. No, I couldn’t imagine that. I had to be dreaming. My insecurity seeped out. “Since when do you want to take me out?” I asked.
Charles passed his hands over his wavy hair and said, “Don’t you know how long I been checking for you? You had my nose wide open since the second grade.”
How beautiful, I thought. Sounded like a poem.
“So, Kate, I’m saying, when are you free?”
“Where do you want to go?” I stuttered, hoping he couldn’t hear the excitement in my voice. Would he take me out to dinner? The movies? A walk in Prospect Park? What did my dream boy have in mind?
“Well, we can chill at my crib,” suggested Charles.
“Oh,” I said, as my high hopes dropped down to zero. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t still open to his program … depending o
n what the program was. “Chill at the crib and do what?” I asked.
“I’m sure we can find something to do.” Charles licked his lips with the tip of his tongue, like a sly cat.
“Well, do you have PlayStation?” I asked, trying to keep a shred of my dignity. I didn’t want Charles thinking it was that kind of party. Repeat after me: R-e-s-p-e-c-t. Okay?
Charles put his finger to his chin as if in deep thought. “Let’s see, I think Grand Theft is the only game I got left. My peoples are foul, though; I let them borrow games and I never get them back.”
“Oh, you’re just making excuses,” I joked. “You know I got skills, and you’re too afraid to lose.”
Charles paused. Then a slick smile spread slowly across his lips. “Mm, I can help you lose something else. But you’re the one afraid.”
“Oh, best believe, I’m not afraid,” I replied. “And I’m keeping that.” I rolled my eyes at him.
Between me and you, Charles was the most likely candidate to get my virginity. Making love to Charles would blow both our minds. We had enough electricity to light up Manhattan—man, our first kiss would be so freaking explosive, we’d probably black out the entire city, okay?
“Listen, I want you wearing a skirt when you come through.” Charles winked at me. “I never see you in a skirt. Matter of fact, I want you rocking skirts from now on, a’ight?”
I blinked, not because the sun was in my eyes (even though it was), but because I couldn’t believe my ears. Bad enough Charles wasn’t taking me out on a real date. But now he had the nerve to be trying to dictate my gear? I jerked my head back in confusion. “I’m saying, what are you, fashion five-oh?”
“Yeah, and you’re under arrest if you don’t dress like a girl from now on.” Charles threw back his head and laughed.
I bit my lip to avoid biting him. He looked so dang delicious right now.
Charles reached out and touched the back of my neck, trying to tickle me with his light feathery touches. I was going crazy inside.
“So, where were you headed anyway?” asked Charles. “Looking all good, for who?”
“Nowhere special, I said. “Me and my homegirl were—” I suddenly cut myself off, realizing I had left Naleejah waiting for more than the minute I’d promised. And that wasn’t right. No matter how much the girl got on my nerves, she was still my friend. Friends before men. Now that’s what’s up.
I turned to Charles and said, “Hey, can we kick it a little later?”
“Why?” he pressed.
“I left my homegirl hanging.”
“Where is she?”
“Sitting in the park.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“Okay,” I said reluctantly.
We found Naleejah slouched on a bench, smoking a cigarette. She looked from me to Charles, and then jumped up wearing a cheesy smile on her face. She flung her cigarette to the ground and stomped it. “Hey, Charles!” she exclaimed, gleaming.
“Yo, what up, shorty?” said Charles … gleaming back? Or was this just my paranoia at work?
Naleejah stood between us like a clueless third wheel. And I wanted her to roll the heck away. And at this ill-timed moment, Charles suddenly thought to ask, “Eh, Kate, I’m really trying to hang with you. Let me get your digits so I can get back to my boys.”
“Um, can I get your number instead?” I asked.
“Oh, I still can’t get yours, huh?” Charles asked absentmindedly.
“Nothing’s changed,” I said. “I’m still at the same foster home … surprisingly.”
“Yeah, her foster mother’s mad strict,” Naleejah butted in.
“Man, that’s messed up. I forgot about that,” said Charles. “And see, my cell phone got turned off because I didn’t pay the bill. My house phone is turned off too because we didn’t pay that bill either, plus we’re moving to a bigger apartment on the third floor of my building next week—”
“Oh,” I said, disappointed.
“Yeah, basically, I’m on the move right now. So you can’t reach me. I have to reach you. But I got plenty of quarters, see?” Charles jingled the change in his pockets.
I marveled at Charles’s unique swagger. Diamond blinging in his ear and he couldn’t even pay his phone bill. Nobody but my baby could do it like that! But I was so glad that Charles had just volunteered this broke-as-a-joke confession, thinking now maybe Naleejah would be forever turned off by him. But my hopes crashed louder than the thunder of Naleejah’s next words: “Hey, Charles, you can take down my number, and I’ll call Kate for you.”
Naleejah whipped out a pen quicker than lightning, jotted down her number, and slipped it to Charles. Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach; the butterflies died inside.
“So, Kate, as soon as we get settled in our new crib, I’ll holler at Naleejah and she can holler at you. Cool?”
“Yeah, okay,” I said vacantly.
“Bye, ladies,” Charles called over his shoulder. “Stay beautiful.”
Later on that night, instead of dreaming of Charles, I went to bed seeing red.
* * *
Bright and early on Saturday morning, I decided to pay the library a visit. I decided to let books be my hangout buddies for a while. Books were safe. They didn’t flirt with your crushes, offering their phone numbers and whatnot. No, books don’t stress you out, or dis you, or test your patience; they just sit there nice and quiet, waiting for you to open up and read.
As a matter of fact, I had already finished reading Manchild in the Promised Land. It was a good book. The day I tried to give the book back to Lynn, she said, “No, keep it.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Now do you understand why I gave you that book?”
“Yes.”
“Just yes?” Lynn patted the couch, her signal for me to sit down beside her. I sat down and prepared myself for a long, drawn-out talk.
“So, what did you get out of the story?” Lynn asked, flashing me a rare smile.
“I got a lot out of it,” I said. “I like the way the character went through so many problems, but he made it in the end. He also made me laugh a lot—even though his life wasn’t funny, he was able to look at the funny side of life.”
“Good for you,” said Lynn. She looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Since you love to read so much, why don’t you start a summer book club?”
My eyes lit up at the idea—then dimmed. “Well, I don’t have anybody to start it with.”
Lynn raised one eyebrow. “What about your new friend? You can start with the two of you, and then grow from there.”
“Well … nah, Naleejah doesn’t like to read.”
“Mm, that’s a shame,” said Lynn, shaking her head. “See, you need to widen your circle of friends. I tell my students this all the time. Don’t miss out on opportunities just because your friends aren’t down— In fact, I’m in contact with a few of my girls from school. They’re around your age, and most of them love to read. If you want, I can ask them to join your club.”
“No, no, that’s okay,” I blurted out. What fourteen-year-old needs a friendship hookup from a grown-up? How desperate and doofy could I be?
“Okay,” said Lynn with a shrug. “It’s your choice.” She seemed to be no longer in the talking mood, so I left the living room.
* * *
On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, you could’ve found me lounging inside the Macon Library reading and chilling. Copped my little corner in the cut, and skimmed through a pile of books. Picked at least two. Then whipped out my library card like it was made of platinum, and strutted out the door with my books under my arms. Listen, everything was all good. I had my routine down pat: reading, chilling, and laying low in the Johnson household. Trouble couldn’t find me, because I was busy hiding in the library—until the day I received that fateful call.
Chapter 22
On Friday afternoon, as soon as Naleejah mentioned the words big-time party, I dropped my books—boom—
flat in one snap. I was ready to get my party on. “Girl, you know I’m down!” I exclaimed.
“Ow, don’t bust my eardrums!”
“My bad,” I said. “I’m just amped. Haven’t done anything hot this whole summer.”
“Listen, mad cuties will be there,” said Naleejah. “I can’t wait!”
I hoped she was right about the cuties. I needed to move on from Mr. Flaky anyway. Charles was flakier than the snow! He hadn’t even bothered to leave a single phone message with Naleejah, and every time I asked her if he had called, Naleejah just said, “No, sorry.” What could I do but leave it at that? I couldn’t see myself sweating him anymore. All I could do was brush my shoulders off and prepare to crush on some fresher meat. Moving on from Charles would be difficult, but absolutely necessary.
“So, who’s throwing this party?” I asked.
“You heard about that new gangster rapper T-Money on Death Scope Records?”
“No,” I said blankly. Hanging with Felicia for so long, I’d been out of the hardcore hip-hop loop for a minute.
“Well he used to live in Fulton Street Park Building,” explained Naleejah. “He got a record deal last year, and he’s about to blow up.”
“Whoa,” I said. “So, who invited you?”
“This dude named Rahiem. I met him last week. Said he wants me to be his ‘trophy’ for the night.” Naleejah giggled at the thought.
“Work it out, girl.”
“Yeah, Rahiem is paid,” said Naleejah, “but please believe he’s not getting any from me any time soon.”
“Okay!” I said admiringly. “Now that’s what’s up.”
“Yeah, I’m learning that you get more dollars from dudes if you make them wait at least a week or two.”
No comment from me, so Naleejah got back to spouting the rest of the party info. “I heard T-Money is like Jay-Z and Fabolous—you know, a dude who keeps in touch with his peoples from the Stuy.”
“Now that’s hot.”
“And listen, if Jay-Z or Fabolous show up at this party? I’ll just about die, okay?”
