Love Me or Miss Me

by Dream Jordan

  When I felt the last braid fall into place, I couldn’t wait to look in the mirror. Lynn must’ve felt me trembling because she said, “Go ahead and take a peek.”

  I ran to the bathroom, eyed myself in the mirror, and my face broke out into a smile. I was so happy with what I saw. Lynn came up behind me and asked, “You like?”

  “I love!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know you could get down like this.”

  “Yeah, and I could’ve been doing your hair all along … as a matter of fact, when you first came to the house, I asked if I could do your hair and you practically barked, No!”

  “I did?”

  “Yes, you did.… You’re good at blocking stuff out, huh?”

  I smiled shyly. Now I remembered. First day at the Johnsons’, didn’t want Lynn touching my head. I didn’t know her, didn’t like her; my scarves and hats were my only friends. My bad.

  When Ted came home from work, he complimented my hair and asked how much I paid Lynn for her excellent service. Lynn said, “Pay Ted no mind,” and we all laughed together—first time ever.

  * * *

  Lynn let me off punishment three days early for good behavior. First thing I did was call Felicia. Before she could say hello, I blurted out, “I’m off punishment. What you doing?”

  “Waiting for you to be off punishment!”

  I laughed. “Well, hurry up and get ready. I can’t wait to see you.”

  “For sure,” said Felicia. “Quick shower and I’m out.”

  “Okay, what do you want to do?” I asked.

  “See you first, and then we can think of something to get into.”

  “Okay, bet.”

  When I went into my closet, my heart stopped. The memory of Naleejah’s sister came flooding back to me. I had a dead girl’s clothes cramming up my closet. The more that I thought about it, the more the situation spooked me.

  I had to get these clothes out this house … then there were my shoes, my beautiful but stolen shoes. They had to go too. If I wanted to get rid of all my ghosts, ain’t no half-stepping. I had to come fully correct.

  I ran into the kitchen to call Felicia with the sudden change of plans. “Hey, girl, don’t rush,” I said. “I have to take care of some business first.”

  “What business?” asked Felicia.

  “I have to drop off some clothes at the Salvation Army.”

  “You need help?”

  “Nah, I’m good—but if you want to come.”

  “Of course I want to come! My dad can even drive us to drop off the clothes.”

  “No, no, that’s okay,” I blurted out. (You know I don’t dig Felicia’s father—at all.)

  “Well, my dad can drop me off at your house, then,” said Felicia. “Then we can go from there.”

  “Cool.” I hung up the phone and got busy. Took my shower and threw on my old red shorts and a white tee.

  I grabbed two large plastic bags from the kitchen and asked Lynn if I could borrow her laundry cart. When I told her why, that I was getting rid of Tammy’s clothes, she said she was proud of me, and that I didn’t look right wearing them anyway.

  I packed up the clothes, threw in the shoes, and Lynn helped me drag the big bags down the stairs.

  Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang.

  I ran to answer it.

  “Kate!”

  “Felicia!”

  Felicia opened her arms wide, and I ran into them, hugging her for a long, long time. “I’m so glad to see you,” I said.

  “What? I was missing you like crazy,” Felicia replied.

  She looked so pretty and refreshed. She had a serious tan, which changed her skin tone from brown to cocoa brown. She wore a pink T-shirt, baggy blue shorts, her favorite loud yellow sneakers, and her medium-length hair in a ponytail. Her smile lit up my hallway.

  Felicia came inside to say hello to Lynn and Ted. They were sitting in the living room, full of questions. I was itching to leave so that we could swap stories. But Lynn was busy interviewing Felicia and spouting off South Africa trivia—she just couldn’t help herself.

  On the sly, Felicia slowly backed out of the living room, smiling and nodding at Lynn until she was finally over the threshold.

  I grabbed my cart, called out good-bye, and Felicia helped me down the steps with the cart. Before we made it off the porch, Felicia grabbed me and said, “Stick out your arm and close your eyes.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just do it!” Felicia exclaimed.

  I closed my eyes and stuck out my arm. Felicia inched cold metal over my hand and onto my wrist. I opened my eyes and saw the most beautiful, sparkling sterling silver bangle I’d ever seen. It was engraved with elephants, and it fit perfectly on my wrist. “Wow, thanks, girl!”

  “No problem,” said Felicia, smiling.

  “I’m never taking this off,” I said. “I’m sleeping with it!”

  I couldn’t stop grinning at my bangle … at Felicia. She was finally back in my world.

  * * *

  As Felicia and I trooped up my block, I kept playing with my bangle and raising my arm to admire it in the sunlight.

  “Thanks again,” I said.

  “Okay, you can stop thanking me now,” Felicia joked. “By the way, I’m loving your hair.… Where’d you get it done?”

  “Lynn.”

  “What!” Felicia’s brown eyes widened. “You let her put her hands in your head?”

  “Yeah … well, Lynn’s actually cool now—I just had to get to know her.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you guys are finally getting along.”

  “Not as much as me!”

  “So, tell me about Charles. What happened? Don’t leave a sister hanging!”

  I told Felicia everything. About Charles. About Naleejah. About Naleejah and Charles. Felicia’s mouth stayed fixed into a shocked O.

  “Wow, that’s so foul!” she exclaimed at the end of my tale.

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” I said. “But enough about me—anything juicy happen on the trip?”

  “Hmm, let’s see.… I almost did it with Umar.”

  “What!”

  “Almost! But I remembered your silly song, and it didn’t happen.”

  “What song?” I asked.

  Felicia busted out singing, “Hey, lookie, lookie, is he really worth the nookie?”

  I busted out laughing. “I don’t even remember making that one up.”

  “Girl, you’re getting old.” Felicia pinched my arm. “And don’t think I forgot about your birthday punches.”

  “Nah, the birthday present you gave me was more than enough—even though I spent it up in one day.”

  “Why, what did you buy?”

  “A couple of bras and some thongs from Victoria’s Secret.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, me. I let that silly broad Naleejah talk me into it.… Well, I guess, I’m the silly broad for listening to her.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” said Felicia. “Every girl needs to own some scandalous lingerie at least once in her lifetime.”

  “But I wasted my first sexy bra on Charles.”

  “Yeah, well, be glad you didn’t waste anything else on him—if you know what I mean.”

  “True.”

  And speaking of the devil …

  * * *

  We were approaching the corner of Fulton Street when I spotted Charles standing against the concrete island with a tall skinny girl leaning against him. My stomach took a nervous dip. I wasn’t quite ready to see him. But I quickly recovered and straightened my back. I wasn’t about to slink past Charles without saying anything. I wanted to be strong. To show him he didn’t faze me—that we were still friends.

  “Felicia, there’s Charles,” I said. “Be cool.”

  “No, you be cool.”

  I waited until we were six feet away and then called out, “What’s up, Charles?”

  “Yo, what’s up, Kate!”

  Felicia and I had already walked a d
ozen paces when Charles came running up to us. “Hey, Felicia, welcome back,” he said, out of breath.

  “What’s up, Charles?” asked Felicia, tagging him in the arm.

  “So, how was South Africa?”

  “It was all good,” said Felicia. “I had fun.”

  “Nice tan.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you find yourself an African lover?” Charles chuckled.

  “No, silly.”

  “Did you get to see live lions and hippos and whatnot?”

  “I’m looking at a hippo right now,” joked Felicia. “How you gonna leave the girl standing there? Why not bring her over and introduce?”

  Charles looked over at the girl and then turned back to us. “She’ll be all right.… So, Kate, I haven’t seen you in a minute. Where you been hiding? How you been doing?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I know you’re fine, but how you doing?” Charles’s eyes sparkled as he stared at me. But I tried to keep my cool.

  “You’re too much,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Not enough to satisfy you?”

  “Boy, you better stop playing.”

  “If I could get with you, I’d be out the game for good.”

  “Such a smooth pimp,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  When Charles realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, he glanced at my shopping cart and asked, “Headed to the laundry?”

  “Something like that,” I said. Then I glanced over at the girl. I started feeling bad for her. “You better get back to your lady friend,” I said, jutting my chin in her direction.

  I stuck out my fist to give Charles a good-bye pound, but he grabbed my hand, stared at me intensely, and pursed his lips into an air kiss. “I really miss you,” he said softly.

  Hot shivers raced through me. I looked into Charles’s radiant brown eyes, and I almost tripped under a dizzy spell. But I quickly came to and refocused, seeing Charles for what he is instead of who I wanted him to be. With all I’ve been through, why would I purposely pick a player to give my heart to? If a guy burns you once, his bad. Twice? my bad. So, sorry, son. Game over. Charles could go find some other chick’s heart to toy with. I am not the one.

  I snatched my hand away from his. “Listen, your girl is waiting for you. I’m out.”

  “And I said she can wait.”

  “But I can’t.… Me and Felicia got things to do.”

  Charles shrugged and said, “All right, then, ya’ll—peace.”

  “See ya,” said Felicia.

  “Bye, Charles,” I called over my back.

  I grabbed my shopping cart, and we rolled.

  As soon as we got out of earshot, Felicia tapped my arm. “Did you see how he left that poor girl hanging just to make goo-goo eyes at you?”

  “I know, right,” I said, trying to cover my smile. “And I’m looking all bummy too.”

  Felicia stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, twisted her lips to the side, and said, “You know you don’t even look bummy, so stop it.”

  “Yes, I do,” I said. “Check out my sneakers leaning.” I let go of my cart, did a couple of leans, and laughed.

  “And?” said Felicia, cocking her head to the side. “You still look good—and it’s not even about what you wear.”

  Okay, I guessed Felicia was right. Let me stop. Doesn’t matter what I rock, as long as I’m holding my head high to the sky.

  Felicia shook her head at me. “You need to be confident on your own. Stop fishing for compliments.”

  “I wasn’t fishing—but thanks.”

  “And Charles always liked you anyway.”

  “Yeah, as a homegirl.”

  “Not even,” said Felicia. “I’ve seen the way he used to look at you.… I just never told you. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” said Felicia. “But to be honest, I never thought he was good enough for you anyway. Too much of a player.”

  “True,” I said. “But you have to admit, Charles is a dime—”

  “Whatever,” Felicia broke in. “Players come a dime a dozen.”

  “True.”

  “And if Charles ever plays my girl again, you know I’ll have to jack him up! Dissing you for some loosey goosey chick?”

  I laughed and squeezed Felicia’s arm. “See, you always got my back.”

  “You already know,” said Felicia. “But I can’t believe you let that girl make you think something was wrong with you.”

  “Yeah … I know … but then again, you have to admit, if it wasn’t for Naleejah, I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I did with Charles. No matter what you say, Charles sure wasn’t checking for me until I got fly.”

  “And even with you fly, he still dissed you for some used-up booty. He’s not even good enough for you, girl.”

  Oops, she had a point.

  I didn’t say a word, and Felicia thought I wasn’t convinced. So she looked over at me, knitted her eyebrows, and said, “I know you’re not second-guessing me. You’ll be straight playing yourself if you ever go back to Charles. He’ll always be the first thing on your mind, and you’ll always be the last thing on his. He already disrespected you once, sleeping with your friend behind your back? Come on, now, Kate. Get a hold of yourself!”

  “Naleejah wasn’t my friend,” I corrected, trying to make myself look better.

  “Whatever,” said Felicia, waving her hand. “If you start falling for the okeedoke now, I feel sorry for you when you get older.”

  “It’s not that serious,” I said. “Calm down.” I playfully tapped Felicia on her arm. We weren’t arguing. Just a friendly debate. That’s how Felicia and I get down. It was all good.

  “You better know you’re the prize,” Felicia continued. She was waving her arms around, getting excited. “There’s plenty other guys out here who will like you for you.”

  “Dang, girl,” I suddenly broke in. “Be easy! You’re starting to sound like me.”

  “Exactly … so what happened to the Kate I know?”

  “She’s right here.” I pointed to myself.

  “Well, act like it.”

  “Okay, okay, I hear you. I am the prize.”

  “Thank you,” said Felicia, nodding her head in approval.

  “And this is why I’m hot,” I sang, wiggling my shoulders in a happy dance.

  Felicia started smiling and singing, “And Naleejah’s mad ’cause she’s not.” She wiggled her shoulders too.

  I pretended to pass on my fabulousness to Felicia with a wave of my hand, and sang, “And this is why you’re hot.”

  Felicia clapped her hands. “What? You thought I forgot?” Then she passed her fabulousness back to me. We bent over laughing at how silly we could be. Felt like old times again. So natural and so cool. Standing there at the intersection of Fulton Street and Malcolm X Boulevard, I made a mental note: This is how friendship should feel from now on.

  “Girl, I’m so glad you’re back.”

  “Same here,” said Felicia. “You already know.”

  I smiled at her. “You ready to roll?”

  “Always ready.… We can’t let this beautiful day go to waste.”

  “No doubt.” I linked arms with Felicia, grabbed my cart, and we kept it moving down Fulton Street straight into the sunshine.

  To all Survivors

  Acknowledgments

  I’m now two books strong and still blessed in my Dream Team: Daniel Lazar, my sharp and dazzling agent, Sara Goodman, my amazing and extremely perceptive editor, Kia Dupree, an early believer in my work, who has put her editing pencil aside to pen her own novels, and the entire St. Martin’s Press staff, who helped bring my book to life.

  Many, many thanks to all who gave me invaluable insight and feedback for my work. Big shout-out to those of you who consider yourselves true-blue Hot Girl fans. Your encouraging messages are invaluable. You make me blush.

  And what would I do without all of the wonderful
librarians and teachers who have spread the word about Kate? A toast to you! I’m so happy to have met some of you, too. Special thanks to PEN American Center; it is always a pleasure and an honor to work with your organization.

  Finally, I am deeply indebted to all of the special people in my life who have supported me in times of doubt, and cheered me up just by being there throughout my writing journey. You know who you are.

  Prologue

  This time it wasn’t my fault.

  On the last day of June, I was leaving the Johnson household and headed to my thirteenth placement. This day I had dreaded for so long. Standing by the front door, baggage by my side, I faced my foster parents, playing my best tough-girl role. “Y’all don’t have to wait outside with me,” I said.

  “Are you sure?” asked Lynn, her light-skinned face red from crying.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I lied.

  Lynn reached out and hugged me so tight I almost lost my breath. Ted hugged me, too, then hastily let go. I could tell he wanted to cry just as bad as me. His hair was so much grayer than I remembered. Usually jolly as can be, he now looked plain old miserable.

  I quickly looked away from Ted. No need to prolong this sad scene. I had rehearsed an unemotional departure in my mind for an entire week. Just needed to say my good-byes and be done with it. “Well, guess I better go,” I finally said.

  Wearing a fake smile, I flashed them the peace sign, swung open the front door, and stepped outside into the late-afternoon air. As soon as I closed the door, my smile instantly faded, and my heart sank inside my chest like a torpedoed battleship. I felt so defeated, so alone.

  As I struggled down the porch steps with my enormous red suitcase on wheels and two black duffel bags hanging from each shoulder, a rusty blue van pulled up to the curb. “Hello there, young lady,” the baldheaded driver called out his window.

  He received a polite nod instead of hello. I was in no mood for chitchat and he looked like the chitchatty type. He opened his door, about to hop out and help me with my bags. I stopped him cold flat with an outstretched hand. “No thanks,” I said, “I got this.”