by Dream Jordan
I went downstairs to find Gerald sprawled out on the living room couch, snoring like a pig, instead of watching us. I didn’t know where Belinda was hiding. Mrs. Cooper was off for the holiday. So I was free to do me, no questions asked. The rules posted on the wall were mad bogus. This was the most lax group home I’d ever been in. Everything was done backward here; but since this meant my freedom could be achieved with so much ease, their careless sloppy system was just fine with me.
I went into the kitchen. Was about to hook me up a quick bowl of corn flakes. But then I peeped a mousetrap sitting on the stove. Ugh. Lost my dang appetite.
I signed myself out of the group home, hit the streets, and exhaled a big sigh of relief. I looked back at the shabby, three-story house wishing I could make it disappear with a magical stare. Two blinks later, nope, it was still there.
Our block was deader than a graveyard. Nothing but small brown houses, perfectly paved sidewalks, and Beamers and Benzes lined up against curbs. Not a soul in sight.
Come to think of it, I kinda liked things quiet and empty. At my other group homes, we had to deal with snoopy neighbors on the block peeping out of windows and doorways, giving us group home girls the side-eye every time we walked out the house. At least here, nobody was around to judge us, to mistrust us, to give us a hard time just for being in foster care.
Anyway.
The morning was cloudless and warm. I felt drama free as I breezed through the open air. The six-block walk to the F train was cool and uneventful. The train took less than five minutes to pull into the Avenue U station. It felt like it was going to be a very smooth day.
The feeling didn’t last long.
My whole train ride to Bed-Stuy was jacked up. The “F” train must stand for Foul. First, there was a track fire, and then I was stuck in the tunnel for twenty minutes. Next thing you know, a passenger decided to get sick on the A train. Stalled again. I practically crawled out of the Utica Avenue train station, feeling hot, sticky, and beat.
But when I caught a whiff of the fresh morning air, I felt revived all over again. My emotions were running wild, up, down, and sideways.
The streets were alive in Bed-Stuy. Cars driving by pumping bass in the AM, people roaming around handling their business, firecrackers popping off in the far distance. Gravesend is a ghost town by comparison. Matter of fact, there is no comparison. I’ll be reppin’ Bed-Stuy till I die.
As I neared the front gate of the garden, tall trees with enormous leaves blocked my view of the inside. Then I stepped through the gate and was hit with a floral wonderland. Sunlight beamed from all different directions as I explored the breathtaking surroundings. Sunflowers and red roses were everywhere. A winding path made of red bricks led me to a cute little wishing well, then a pretty pond full of goldfish surrounded by big rocks, and then a towering willow tree with crazy shade underneath it.
The garden was huge, I marveled. Crazy space to lounge in. There were benches all over the place, and lots of cozy private corners to cuddle with your boo.… Too bad I didn’t have one.
As I came across each nook, Felicia came to mind. She would have loved it here; and she was the main reason I even know what a “nook” is. Because of her, I could also name the “paper birch tree” situated in front of me, and the “sparrow” that just flew past my eyes. There was so much to learn while hanging with Felicia. So amazing how she went from being my seventh-grade math tutor, to my “life” tutor and best friend in the whole world. Too bad she wasn’t here with me now. I really missed her.
A sudden rush of volunteers swirled around me from all sides. Some were carrying food to and fro, others were pulling weeds here and there. Out of the blue, a sweaty, short, stocky man who looked like Humpty Dumpty scurried up to me.
I was the only one not doing anything, and he wanted to change that. He had to be Mr. King. “Kate?” he asked, with his hand extended for a handshake.
He was so frenetic and fidgety I was tempted to deny it. “Yes, Kate,” I finally admitted, shaking his clammy hand. Ugh.
“I’m Mr. King,” he exclaimed. “Glad you’re here! We need all the help we can get!” He waved his chubby arm forward. “Follow me.”
I brushed past folks, trying to keep up with him. He led me to the back of the garden, and stopped short in front of a long wooden table.
“This will be easy work,” he assured me, handing over a potato peeler.
Homeboy had me skinning a giant mountain of potatoes. Next thing you know, he had me shelling a mob of peas. By the time I was through peeling and shelling, I had rusty hands and green crap stuck underneath my stubby nails. I was hot, dumb hungry, tempted to eat some raw peas and potatoes. My day was starting off busted, for real. But when Mr. King gave me my next errand, I was ready to run for my life.
“I need you to pick up some donated paper plates and cups from the Fulton Street Market,” he explained.
The Fulton Street Market?
Of all the stores in all the world, why did I have to go there?
“You know where the market is, right?” Mr. King asked.
I heard the question, but I didn’t answer him. I was still stunned, like I had just gotten sucker-punched.
“Hello?” said Mr. King, twitching his nose like he had something up it.
“Oh, sorry, yes, I know where it is,” I stuttered.
I knew the Fulton Street Market all too well. A few years ago, I used to terrorize the store’s owner, Mrs. Thomas, with my old gangbanging crew, the Lady Killers. We were terrible with our madness.
I can’t say she didn’t deserve it, though. The first time I stepped inside her store she had disrespected me for no reason. “Miss, let me get a pack of sunflower seeds,” I had said.
Mrs. Thomas stood behind the tall counter with her thick eyebrows raised and she snapped, “My name is Mrs. Thomas, and it’s not ‘let me get,’ it’s ‘may I have.’ Your mother didn’t train you better than that?”
Say what? Oh, your girl Kate was hot. This lady had some nerve talking down to me, as if speaking from a throne. She wasn’t ruling anybody, especially not me. Time to put a chick in check. I stood on tippy toes, raised my pointer finger as close to her face as I could get, and said, “You don’t know me like that, stupid B—”
Then I stormed out the store, making sure to slam the door. I usually don’t call grown women the “B” word, but the lady had really gotten to me that day.
The next time I went inside the store was only because no other store had my favorite brand of fifty-cent chocolate chip cookies. I was five deep with my gangster girls this time, so I felt mighty powerful. We, the Lady Killers, wrecked worlds all day, okay? We had money in our pockets and we were ready to buy a grip of cookies and candy, and the oldest of my crew was going to hook us up with five forty ounces of beer. But before we could start picking up stuff, Mrs. Thomas sent her son Percy to follow us through the aisles, making sure we didn’t steal anything. When we collectively peeped the dirty game she was playing, we were collectively pissed and wanted to do something about it. Icy set it off by saying, “Bump that, let’s give her a reason to treat us grimy.”
On the count of three, we spread out and ran through all four aisles, knocking down cans and bottles. Splashing and crashing everywhere. “Rocky, kick the glass in!” Icy yelled. My foot whapped at the glass enclosure in the front of the store, but it didn’t break. “Yo, snatch some sour cream chips,” yelled Killah. “I got you!” shouted Crash. Menace snatched up three packs of my favorite cookies and one forty-ounce beer, which was all she could carry.
Everything was happening so fast, we had Mrs. Thomas’s and Percy’s heads spinning. But Percy finally caught his bearings, and yanked me up from behind. Like a karate kid, I spun around and kneed him hard where it hurts. He let go of me, doubling over in pain. Then Icy kicked open the door and we all ran out, screaming and laughing like a wild pack of hyenas.
After that incident, you could find us in front of the Fulton Street Market g
iving Mrs. Thomas mad problems. Sometimes Percy would chase us away, sometimes Mrs. Thomas would call the cops. All the time, we had so much fun causing mayhem at their expense.
Funny though. Back then, I didn’t realize how fine Percy was. In my tomboy days, dudes were the last thing on my mind. But about a month ago, I’d seen Percy outside, sweeping the sidewalk, and let me tell you, brother has it going on. From way across the street, I could see his body is sick, delicious muscles galore, towering tall, wrapped in beautifully smooth almond vanilla skin. His wife-beater tank top fit him oh so right. His swagger was out of this world. He had to be about eighteen or nineteen years old by now. Maybe a bit too old for me, but a girl can dream, can’t she?
During my five-block walk to the market, a million thoughts ran through my mind. Would Percy remember me? Would Mrs. Thomas kick my behind for giving her such a hard time?
The only good thing was: I looked mad different. Back in the day, I used to rock my baseball cap pushed so low over my eyes you couldn’t see my face, and my jeans were always extra baggy like a boy’s. I was a thuggish ruggish broad back then. But now, at least I look like a female. My big boobies and booty are crazy hard to hide these days.
When I reached the front of the Fulton Street Market, I took a deep breath, and walked inside like an innocent little customer. The store still looked the same. Still smelled the same, like lemons. Bright overhead lights, shelves fully stocked, black-and-red tiled floor spotless because Percy was forever mopping.
Mrs. Thomas was standing behind the counter looking mean as ever. Her flawless brown skin wasted on a mean old face. She wore her usual green sack of a summer smock, and her thick eyebrows were knitted as if she had a 24/7 headache.
I approached her like a timid little kid.
She stared at me for a full minute, as if she had a moment of recognition. “May I help you?”
“Mr. King sent me for the cups and plates,” I said in a soft sweet voice, hoping with all my heart she didn’t recognize me.
“Percy!” she yelled. “Come out here!”
And that tall fine creamshake of a man emerged from the backroom. He swaggered toward the counter, staring at me hard, just like his momma.
Did he remember me? I really hoped not.
“Bring me the bag for Mr. King,” ordered Mrs. Thomas.
“Where is it, Ma?” he asked, in a deep voice.
“Do you ever listen when I talk to you?” asked Mrs. Thomas with her hands on wide hips. “The bag is sitting plain as day by my chair.”
Percy rushed into the backroom and came back carrying a giant black plastic bag. He handed me the bag. “Here you go … Rocky,” A slow grin crept over his lips.
My bottom lip hit the floor.
Percy jutted his chin toward me and said, “Ma, you know who she is, right?”
Part of me wanted to flee. The stronger part of me stood my ground. But my knees were made of liquid.
Mrs. Thomas frowned at me for what felt like an hour, and finally said, “Oh yeah … I do remember you.… You used to raise a ruckus in my store.”
I lowered my head in shame. If I were light-skinned, I would’ve been beet red in the face.
She cocked her head to the side and added, “But I guess you’ve changed … hopefully.”
I raised my eyes to meet Mrs. Thomas’s. She was still staring at me with a deadpan look. Percy was standing next to her, a gleam of amusement pasted on his handsome face.
Mrs. Thomas broke the ice by saying, “Doesn’t the party start at twelve? I’m sure Mr. King is waiting for you, young lady.”
“Oh, yeah, thanks,” I stuttered. “Okay, good-bye.” I headed for the door, carrying the giant black bag with both hands.
Percy dashed ahead of me, and blocked the door with his beautiful body, spreading his arms wide. “I’m not letting you get away from me this time,” he said, grinning.
“Quit playing around, fool,” Mrs. Thomas yelled. “Let the girl go.”
Percy flashed me a boyish smile, stared at me for long minute with his light brown eyes, and then held the door wide open for me to make my exit.
“Thank you,” I said, without looking at him, still embarrassed as ever.
“My pleasure,” said Percy, playfully bowing from the waist. “Come again.”
Joking or serious, heck no, I wasn’t coming again. I had made it out the store in one piece, and I wasn’t trying to press my luck.
On the other hand, the fact that Percy said “come again” made me feel like he actually wanted to see me again. Really?
I mean … putting me on blast in front of his mother was not nice at all … but Percy’s gorgeousness was so powerfully blinding that all I could do was sweat him in my mind.
Percy was so unique. Usually, super fine guys like him are too busy being fine—not playful. The way Percy had teased me as if he liked me or something was so unexpected and appreciated. I loved the way his smile lit up his whole entire face. I never had a guy stare straight into my eyes the way Percy did. Charles came close, but Percy’s gaze was mad intense.
Point-blank, Percy had revived the girly feelings inside of me. I wanted to see him again. Had to see him again. But how? I don’t believe in acting thirsty when it comes to boys. So I wasn’t about to stalk his store.
What to do? What to do? How could I make my move?
I walked back to the garden with my new crush on my mind. But as it turned out, I had no time to plot on how to make him mine. To my surprise, I had another bombshell waiting for me around the corner: An old flame ready to light up Percy’s spot.
Chapter 4
Charles.
My almost-boo, posted up by the garden’s front gate, talking on his celly, looking too freaking good for words. I’m saying, why the fine men all up in my mix today? Before Charles noticed me, I took in all of his loveliness. His dark brown skin sweeter than chocolate, his towering six-foot frame posed like a beautiful work of art. He was dipped in his favorite royal-blue jersey and baggy khaki shorts hanging off his sexy behind, not enough to show his drawers, but just enough to show his swagger. No more waves in his hair. Now he rocked a blown-out Afro. I must say, my boy be mighty fly from head to toe.
But every time I see Charles, I try to look straight through him like he’s a dirty window. Ignore the fact that he’s a dime, and concentrate on the grime. Just when I was ready to give my whole heart to him, he played me for a chump. So why should I make the same mistake twice?
Yet and still, sad to say, Charles can make my stomach flip to this day.
“What’s up,” I said, as I walked up to him, trying hard to look nonchalant.
Charles looked in my direction and his face broke out into a giant grin, showing off dazzling white teeth, and a large wad of purple bubble gum sticking out between them. He told whomever good-bye and shoved his phone into his back pocket. “Kate, what’s really good?” he exclaimed, reaching out to hug me.
I put the plastic bag on the ground and opened my arms wide. He held me for a long minute. His body felt so hot, a deep burning current ran through me. Oh man, I was getting flashbacks of the good old days.
Kate, remember the grime.
I caught my breath, pulled myself away, and said, “So what you been up to?”
“Same old,” he replied. “I haven’t seen you since what … May?”
“Yeah, that’s about right.” From the beginning of May till the end of June, I had stayed mostly in the house, mad depressed over my upcoming removal from the Johnson household.
“I missed you, Kate,” Charles said. “I really missed you.” He stared at me long and hard.
Whoa now. I didn’t want to be catching feelings again. No need for us to go back there. Charles already had his chance, and he blew it.
I quickly changed the subject. “So, are you here to support the cause, like the good dude that you are?” I was being sarcastic by stressing the word “good.”
“No doubt,” he replied. “What about you?”
>
“I’m volunteering.”
“Wow, that’s really sweet of you,” said Charles. “So where’s your partner in crime?”
“Up Marlon’s butt,” I wanted to say. Instead, I just shrugged.
“Did Felicia tell you I’ve been asking about you?” Charles asked. “She gave you my number?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why didn’t you check for me? Too busy for me?”
“Nah, I’m just trying to do something with my life.”
Charles smiled. “See, that’s why I admire you. You make me want to do something with my life, too … we’d be so good together.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Charles closed his eyes and busted into song. “Baby you’re my everything, you’re all I ever wanted, we could do it real big—”
“Anyway,” I interrupted, “the party doesn’t start till twelve. Craving to get in, huh?”
“Craving for you,” said Charles, lowering his eyelids seductively.
“Boy, stop playing.”
“Playing is for boys,” said Charles. “I’m a grown man now.”
“Please, you ain’t even old enough to drive yet,” I teased.
“Seriously, I’ve grown a whole lot.”
“You’re still the same height if you ask me.” Yes, all six luscious feet of him still the same. I loved craning my neck to look up at Charles. So dang fine, mm, what a shame.
“Seriously, Kate, trust me … I slowed down a whole lot.… It’s real out there … I mean … well … you heard about Naleejah, right?”
“No, what happened?” I asked, crazy curious. “What did the hussy do this time?”
“I can’t talk about that right now,” said Charles, looking down at the ground. “It’s not a good time. I just assumed you already heard by now.”
I hit Charles in the arm. “Man, don’t leave me hanging like that!”
