by Ni-Ni Simone
Also by Ni-Ni Simone
SHORTIE LIKE MINE
IF I WAS YOUR GIRL
A GIRL LIKE ME
TEENAGE LOVE AFFAIR
UPGRADE U
THE BREAK-UP DIARIES, VOL. 1
HOLLYWOOD HIGH (with Amir Abrams)
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
No Boyz Allowed
NI-NI SIMONE
Dafina KTeen Books
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by Ni-Ni Simone
Title Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
NO BOYZ ALLOWED
Discussion Questions
Hollywood High
HAVEN’T HAD ENOUGH? CHECK OUT THESE GREAT SERIES FROM DAFINA BOOKS!
Copyright Page
To the Gems of the world—
know that as long as there is God,
there is Love.
And wherever there is love,
there is always hope.
And wherever there is hope,
there is always the ability to
be anything you want to be!
Brown beauty
is limitless.
It is not confined to the size of your thighs
the color of your eyes
or your bra size . . .
It has nothing to do with your waist,
your face,
or how nice that cutie told you your booty was . . .
It is not bound by religion
race
creed
your mama,
her mama
big mama’s mama...
It is immeasurable
unstoppable
fierce
fly
and oh so fabulous . . .
It cannot be bound by circumstance
happenstance
or a missed chance . . .
It does not die
it does not fly
it dreams
and loves
and believes
that it can be anything
it wants to be . . .
It is a quiet rebel
a lady with a cause
a little girl with a mission
standing tall
and demanding for the world to see
that she
is Brown beauty!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
All thanks to my Father, God, and His Son, Jesus, for loving me and blessing me. My prayer is that I am able to take the blessings You have bestowed upon me and be a blessing to someone else.
To my parents for always being my champions.
To my husband and my children for making me laugh and for being the best family anyone can have!
To my daughter, Taylor, for the quick morning reads.
To my little cousin and assistant, Korynn, for always being there one chapter at a time!
To my family, thanks for your support!
To Keisha Ervin for being seventeen with me no matter how old we really are!
To all of my friends, thank you for your love and encouragement!
To my brother from another mother, Amir Abrams. How sweet is it that the Universe aligned our steps so that we could take that train ride from Manhattan to Newark, become spiritual siblings, and have our destinies unfold before us. And to think the best is yet to come! So, in short, I’ll simply say that I’ll see you for high tea at the estate!
To my editor, Selena James. Thank you for your patience, your talent, and most of all, for the push and belief you have in me!
To my Kensington-Dafina-KTeen family, thank you for everything! As I often say, I may have written the manuscript, but together we made this a book.
To my agent Sara Camilli, you are truly the best!
To the bookstores, the blogs, sales teams, the librarians, the students, the schools, and the parents who have introduced my work to their teens, I thank you for bringing me into your lives, your homes, and your stores. I appreciate all of the support, the e-mails, and the letters. Thank you for letting me know that my work truly makes a difference.
Saving the best for last, the fans! I can’t thank you enough for the joy you bring me. I thank you for your support and encouragement. Here’s to an unlimited amount of best sellers! Be sure to keep the e-mails coming: [email protected]. Also visit my Website: www.ninisimone.com.
One love,
Ni-Ni Simone
1
Brick City, USA
The moment the soles of my crisp white Concords hit the concrete and my brother and I stood in front of our new foster home—our third one this year, our umpteenth this lifetime—I knew this was destined to be a hot mess.
Some ish, fa’real.
And there was no way we were staying here.
Straight up.
Seriously, I’d been in foster homes since I was nine—so I could tell the strict from the don’t-give-a-damn; the halfway decent from the get-me-the-hell-out-of-here; and the money whores from the fake saviors. So, based on sight alone, I knew these fools were all of the above.
“Hey, how y’all doing?” Apparently, that was the head of the foster-home welcoming committee. “I’m Cousin Shake.”
I blinked not once, but twice. What the heck is a Cousin Shake and what . . . in the bejesus . . . does he have on? Sparkling rainbow doo-rag, rainbow sequin short-set, and black gazelle glasses with no lenses. And wait, hold up . . . Hold. Up. Is he rockin’ high-top L.A. Gears on his feet?
What the...
Cousin Shake continued, “And this is my boo.” He pointed to a five-foot-tall honey-colored woman standing next to him.
“I’m Ms. Minnie,” she said. “Welcome, sweets!”
I couldn’t believe this. Not only did Ms. Minnie have on the same exact short-set as Cousin Shake, she wore a curly-blond lace-front wig with the hairline practically glued on her eyebrows. Nasty. And to make matters worse, she smiled at me and on the right side of her mouth were two gold teeth: one on the top and the other on the bottom. Gross.
Know what? Maybe I’m crazy and none of this is real. I clicked the heels of my sneakers together. Nothing. I was still in Oz a.k.a. Newark, New Jersey. Better known as hell.
“Hi, Cousin Shake,” my eight-year-old brother Malik said, grinning.
I sucked my teeth. Clearly Malik didn’t listen. He knew he was supposed to follow my lead and speak when I said to speak, but instead he gave Cousin Shake a high-five like they were boys. “Wassup?”
“You got it, baby.” Cousin Shake clicked his tongue. “Know what, baby, you a lil chunky like me.” He continued, proudly, “So maybe I’ll change the baby up and call you Baby-Tot-Tot, you know, short for toddler.”
“Word.” Malik nodded and smiled in amazement. “Yeah, I like that. Baby-Tot-Tot. That’s hot.”
Oh heck no! “Malik, get yo behind over here,” I snapped. And yeah, everybody’s heads turned and they all looked at me like I was crazy, but so what? “You must be trippin’! Baby Tot-Tot, did you have crack in your cereal this morning?”
“We didn’t eat this morning.” Malik shook his head and looked at me conf
used. “You know that foster mother had our things packed and us standing on the curb for two days. She told me don’t even think about eating!”
I placed my hands on my hips. “It wasn’t two days it was just today and you get my point.” I turned to Cousin Shake and said, “Get this straight, my brother’s name is Malik and if you can’t call him that, don’t call him at all!” I spun on my heels toward Ms. Thomas, my caseworker. The look on her face said that she was ready to dump us and get back to her office. But the look on my face let her know that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. “Get us out of here!”
Ms. Thomas’s eyes pleaded with me. “Give them a chance. Please behave. They’re nice people.”
“Oh no, oh no, oh no—” Cousin Shake stuttered. “We don’t beg children to behave, we chop ’em in the throat and make ’em do it!”
Chop ’em in the throat? I wish somebody would... Hmph, this old dude really don’t know me. I snapped my fingers and swung my neck—practically into a 360. “You might wanna bring that down, Cousin Crazy.”
“What kinda boom-boom-bull is this? Hold me back, Minnie!” Cousin Shake spat as he spun around, broke out into the cat daddy, and topped it off with the bounce. “Hold me back!”
Am I dreaming? Am. I. Dreaming? Why is he dancing?
I looked at my caseworker and she looked at her watch.
“Let it slide, Shake,” Ms. Minnie said, stretching out her arms before Cousin Shake. “Let it slide. She ain’t ready for you, Shakadean. She. Ain’t. Ready. For. You.”
“Hell nawl, she ain’t ready, ’cause I will slide some bilingual on dat. Cousin Shake-O ain’t the one-O. Comprend-O? So, what you ain’t ’bout to do-O—”
“You’re here!” An excited voice interrupted Cousin Shake’s stupid tirade, and before I could turn to see where the voice had come from, this woman had snatched a hug from me and quickly followed up by hugging and kissing my brother on both cheeks. “I didn’t know you were coming so early,” the woman said, now shaking my caseworker’s hand. “I’m Grier and this is my husband, Khalil.” She pointed to a tall and dark brown man who held two large Target bags. “We’re the foster parents. Well, we’re all a family, us, Cousin Shake, Ms. Minnie, and my children. We live here together.” She pointed to the house in front of us.
I quickly scanned the two-story colonial, with the large front and backyard, and the long and wide driveway with the seven-foot basketball hoop at the top of it. For a moment, I wondered if these clowns were hustling. Then I looked back at them, soaked in how ridiculous they were, and knew right away that they were too played to be hustling anything other than a nine-to-five. I was definitely in Squareville.com.
Ms. Grier carried on, “I’m so sorry we’re late. But we were picking up some things for the kids’ rooms.” She beamed in excitement. “I could hardly sleep last night I was so nervous about you all coming. I hope you’re hungry, because Ms. Minnie cooked a feast! So let’s go inside.”
“I thought I smelled a meal!” Malik said, letting my hand go and reaching for Ms. Grier.
“Shut up,” I snapped. “You don’t smell anything.” I snatched his hand back.
“Grier,” Cousin Shake tried to whisper but failed. “What kinda lil baby-lifers tryna bring up in here? If you want me and Minnie to leave, all you have to do is tell us.”
“I’m not a lifer, thank you!” I wiggled my neck. “I’m Gem!”
“Cousin Shake,” Ms. Grier said, agitated. “Would you and Ms. Minnie please cut it out?” She looked back at me and smiled. “Honey, you’ll get used to them.”
I twisted my lips and popped my eyes. “No I won’t, ’cause I don’t do old and crazy.” I turned to my caseworker. “I know you can see that these people are nuts!”
Cousin Shake broke out into his cat daddy and bounce routine again. “Lawd, please take away these evil thoughts running through my mind. Take away the thoughts about how I need to go inside, grab my belt, and whoop dat—”
“Cousin Shake!” Ms. Grier yelled. “Don’t cuss at these children.”
Cousin Shake snorted. “Okay, then let me put it like this.” He looked me dead in my eyes. “Some-bleep-bleepin’-body need to bust yo bleep-bleepin’ bleep. ’Cause if you keep tryin’ me it’s gon’ be a mother-suckin’ bleep-bleepin’ problem.” He took a step back and mouthed, “Now try me. Please.” He arched a brow. “I bleepin’ dare you.”
“Gem, you have to be respectful!” Ms. Thomas squealed, embarrassed.
Oh no she didn’t! “You don’t tell me what to do!”
“Gem.” Ms. Thomas spoke in a low and patient tone. “I’m trying really hard to find you a home, but at sixteen I need you to work with me. Now, I have done my part. I have found you home, after home, after home, but your behavior causes you to be removed from everywhere we place you. I need you to help me to help you.”
“Whatever.” I flipped my hand dismissively.
She continued, “I know you’re hurting.”
I rolled my eyes. I hated when people tried to analyze me. And besides, I wasn’t hurt I was pissed off. “It’s not that serious,” I assured her. “I’m just ready to leave.”
Ms. Grier said, “Try to give us a chance. My mother died when I was a teen and my sister and brothers lived different places until Cousin Shake took us all in and raised us together. So I understand what you’re going through, but I think if you gave us a chance you’ll like staying here. I have twin daughters, both in college. Toi, the oldest, is here in New Jersey. She has a son, Noah. My youngest daughter, Seven, is away in New Orleans at Stiles U.”
For a moment my eyes brightened up. I always wanted to go to Stiles U.
“Maybe I can arrange something where you can visit Seven on campus.”
My eyes narrowed. “I’m not interested.”
“Well, hopefully that will change.” She smiled. “I also have a son, Amir. We call him Man-Man.”
“How old is he?” Malik asked, excited.
“Seventeen.”
“Seventeen!” Malik gasped. “A big brother!” He turned to me. “Can we at least have some chicken and Kool-Aid before we go?” Malik begged, like he was starving. “I swear it smells like K.F.C.”
If looks could kill, Malik would be cremated. I hated that he was so needy! Always begging somebody! I was embarrassed and the more I stood here, the more I thought about how I needed to leave. To hell with this caseworker and this ridiculous family. I was over it.
I looked at Malik and said, “How about this. If you rolling with me, then let’s go. If not, then peace, ’cause I’m out. I’ll see you around.” I hesitated for a moment and when Malik didn’t budge, I felt a swift kick to my gut. I took a few steps backward as I struggled to hide the tears that filled my eyes. “You’re really not coming with me?” I said, more to myself than to Malik.
When he didn’t answer, I sucked in a breath, hit them all with a two-finger peace sign, and took off down the street; and as I rounded the corner I heard Ms. Grier say, “We have to go after her!”
2
I decided I was doing me.
Period.
And I hated to leave my brother, but with the way I felt, if he wanted to stay in that foster home with Cousin Creepy, then that was on him.
Seriously.
I had things to do.
Places to be.
Which was why I walked into Newark Penn Station with my back arched and my confidence on overload. I needed a fresh start—a new beginning. And for once in my life I was going to decide where I wanted to go, not where the caseworker wanted to place me. Screw that. I was blowing this place and the nightmare that came with it.
I considered a few cities where I could start over.
Washington, D.C.?
A smile ran across my face.
Boom, there it was. Endless parties, Obama-land, and a chance to have a drama-free start and stamp my independence. Yeah, that was it. D.C.-bound.
I cheesed from ear to ear as I proudly stepped in line an
d waited my turn to see the ticket agent.
I was determined to do it and do it big. Once I arrived in my newfound promised land, I would figure things out from there.
The closer I got to the front of the line I couldn’t help but notice the ticket prices.
Washington, D.C. was sixty-five dollars.
I hope like hell they took I. O. U. ’s . . .
“Excuse me,” the ticket agent interrupted my thoughts. “May I help you?”
I nervously bit the corner of my lip and leaned from one foot to the next.
Confidence.
“Umm, yes, that’s a very good question you just asked me.” I did my best to speak with perfect diction. This way she wouldn’t think I was crazy. “I was wondering if you would be so graciously kind and wonderful and let me know if you can, umm, give me a ticket to Washington, D.C., and I, umm, could come back next week and pay for it?” I shot her a quick Barbie-doll smile and as my single dimple sank into my right cheek, I batted my long lashes, stood back, and waited for an answer.
“Excuse me?” The agent looked at me as if she was two seconds from calling security. “We don’t do that.”
“Okay, ummm . . . yeah. I was just checkin’,” I said as I maintained the dumbest smile in the world. Then I stepped out of line and sauntered to the back of the station.
Damn.
I sat down on one of the hard wooden benches and tossed my head between my knees. My hair swept from my shoulders forward and for a brief second I wished that I could disappear.
3
Public Service Announcement: I am pissed.org.
How did I fall asleep in Penn Station? How did I let the police catch me? How did I end up in the back of my caseworker’s green Chevy Malibu . . . again? And how did I get hand-delivered back to hell was all beyond me. . . .
Something was definitely wrong with this picture.
“You are a beautiful young woman,” Ms. Thomas said, as if she’d just blessed me with a brilliant idea.
