No Boyz Allowed

by Ni-Ni Simone

  “For what?” Pop snarled.

  “’Cause we wanted to go and get something to drink.” Janay hesitated.

  “Well, I’m not thirsty,” Pop said, sarcastically. “But since you are, then you better get on.”

  “Whatever,” Janay said, as she hurried out of Pop’s way. Once she was out of eyesight Man-Man smiled from ear to ear and said to Pop, “It wasn’t even like that. As soon as Janay started smiling I told her to close her mouth.”

  “Don’t try me, G.”

  “Look at you,” he carried on, proudly. “Getting all mad. I just love it when you get that wrinkle in your nose.”

  Pop fought back a blush and rolled her eyes. “Mad? Puhlease. I ain’t mad!” she carried on but I could no longer focus on what she was saying, because something—or better someone—across the room had just snatched my attention away.

  I thought about turning away, but I couldn’t. I felt forced to look straight ahead and stare. I couldn’t help it. The cutie who stood across the room from me was soooo fine—that all I could think was goddamn. . . .

  He was 6’ 2”, wore a navy-blue Yankees snap back bent like a half a moon over his chestnut-colored eyes. His skin was the color of a Hershey’s Kiss, and his right arm was covered with a colorful tattoo sleeve. Sexy. And his gear was on point: slightly baggy skinny-jeans, a blue and white plaid button up, with the sleeves pushed over his elbows, and crisp white Jordans on his feet.

  As if on cue the D.J. played Monica’s “Anything (to Find You)” and he walked toward me.

  My stomach did four flips. I diverted my eyes from him and turned to the side.

  Breathe in . . .

  Breathe out . . .

  And chill...

  I turned back around and like a flash of light he’d disappeared.

  My heart jumped.

  “Gem.” Pop called my name as if she’d been calling me for a minute.

  I felt like I’d been in space. “Yeah?”

  Pop pointed to the middle of the living room floor where couples slow danced. “Me and G decided we couldn’t live without each other so we’re going over here to celebrate.”

  And before I could protest, say okay, or even ask her what she’d just said to me, they were already in the middle of the floor wrapped in each other’s arms, leaving me to wonder if I’d just gone crazy.

  I did my best to shake off my thoughts as I walked back toward the bar, glanced over my shoulder, and thought that maybe . . .

  Know what, I’m trippin’ . . .

  I placed my dollar on the bar, reached for my drink, and leaned against the wall.

  “Praying to see me,” drifted into my ears.

  I opened my eyes, swallowed, and fought with everything in me not to smile, but nothing stopped my eyes from dancing in delight. The corners of my lips crept their way toward a smile, but I managed to keep them turned down as I said, “Am I praying to see you? Not at all.” I sipped my drink. “But what I did pray, is that you weren’t stalking me.”

  Why did I say that?

  He smirked—a sexy smirk—but a smirk nonetheless . . . then he looked me over, leaned in, and stroked the right side of my face from my cheek to my chin. “Trust me, I’ma lot of things, Pretty Girl, but one thing I’m not is a stalker.”

  “And how would I know that?”

  Oh...my...God...Just when I thought I couldn’t get any dumber, my mouth sinks to an all-new low.

  I smiled, hoping that my cuteness would somehow erase his memory of what I’d just said.

  My heart thundered loudly and I wondered if he could hear it. I swear all of this was new to me.

  I sipped my drink and he smirked.

  This whole deal was going south real quick.

  “Know what? You’re way too beautiful for your mouth to be so slick. And maybe the next time a dude tries to kick it to you, you’ll have your mind right.” He hit me with a two-finger peace sign and left.

  Did he just call me crazy?

  I swallowed.

  Watched him disappear into the crowd.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have...

  “Everybody on the floor...!” Ciara’s throwback “1,2 Step” blasted through the D.J.’s speakers and I joined the line dance. A few minutes into it—and although I knew every step—from watching the video over and over again—my rhythm was off. And the last thing I wanted was to look stupid, again.

  I gave up the dance and headed toward the bathroom. Of course there was a line—which I had no patience for. I decided to wait, and not because I had to use it, but because I wanted a moment alone. Scratch that, I needed a moment alone.

  The line moved hella slow.

  I opened my clutch purse and took out my compact.

  Lips . . . still poppin’.

  Eyes . . . revealed too many thoughts that I didn’t want to deal with.

  I quickly put the mirror away and continued to wait. But after a while the line seemed permanently on pause, so I gave up and walked away.

  This party had gone from a ten to negative one. All I wanted was to go home, crawl in bed, and toss the covers over my head. But at the moment, with Pop and Man-Man crazy-glued to one another I couldn’t do that.

  I need some fresh air.

  I walked toward the front door and as I made my way through the crowd my eyes scanned everyone... just in case...

  The night’s breeze felt like a relief when I stepped outside on the porch. My heels clicked as I leaned against the black iron stair rail and looked out into the street—only for my eyes to meet him: standing on the street corner beneath a flickering street lamppost, kicking it with a group of his boys.

  Be bold.

  No. If anything, I need to go back inside.

  Just chill and stand here.

  I hesitated.

  Maybe I should . . .

  Maybe I shouldn’t . . .

  I slid a piece of gum in my mouth, blew a minty-fresh bubble, and popped it.

  I can’t . . .

  This was crazy.

  He was too far for me to hear anything more than a few shrieks of laughter that drifted from his conversation but he was close enough for me to see him smile, turn his head, and notice me standing here. We locked gazes for about two point five seconds and then the butterflies took over my stomach and I couldn’t take the stare-off anymore.

  A few minutes later I looked back in his direction. He was no longer looking this way and had resumed his conversation with his friends. I wondered was he talking about me.

  I watched him pull car keys from his pocket.

  Is he leaving?

  Get it together...

  Get it together...

  And go over there...

  I swallowed.

  Just do it...

  My heels echoed like wind chimes as I sauntered through my anxiousness and catwalked over to where he and his friends stood.

  This was the bravest I’d ever been. Ever.

  Relax, relax, and play it cool. My presence immediately brought their conversation to a halt. “Hey.” I gave the group of five a small wave. Then I looked directly at my interest and said, “Can I speak to you for a minute?”

  Silence. Complete and utter silence for at least two seconds and then he gave each of his boys a pound and said to them. “A’ight, yo, I’ll get up with y’all later.”

  As his friends walked away they each looked at me and smiled. One of them even said to him, “This you?”

  He answered, “Maybe.”

  That response caused me to blush like crazy. I tried to erase it quickly from my face but no matter how hard I tried the blush didn’t fade. And suddenly I felt my temperature rise to two hundred degrees.

  Jesus ...

  Dear God, please don’t let that be sweat I feel bubbling on my forehead. This is no time to be anti-sexy.

  I placed my right hand on my forehead and slyly checked for sweat.

  No sweat.

  Whew.

  I am way too nervous. I need to calm down
. I mean, he’s cute and all, but it’s not that serious.

  Yeah right...

  Once his boys went their separate ways—some returned to the house party and others left in their cars—he looked at me and said, “Wassup?”

  I hesitated and unintentionally ended up swallowing my gum. Dang! “Umm, nothing’s up.” Why did I say that? I. Sound. So. Stupid. Let me try this again. “What I meant was something was up. I mean is up.”

  I was getting dumber by the moment.

  Ugg!

  I curled the corners of my lips, which made my dimples bling, and then I said in a soft and playful tone, “So umm, what had happened was I, umm, came over here because I thought you were this cutie that I’d just met at the party.”

  Please let him play along . . . please.

  “Oh, really.” He tilted his head to the side with a slight grin.

  Ding!

  “Umm hmm.” I snapped my fingers for emphasis and he chuckled a bit—not a lot, but enough to let me know I had his attention.

  The butterflies in my stomach felt like they were doing the Running Man, but I continued on. “He was tall like you, had eyes like hazel sapphires—just like you, he had the same sleeve of hot tattoos—like you, and his bad boy swag with the good boy edge was like yours, too.”

  “Oh really.” His eyes smiled. “He sounds familiar. I might know him.”

  “You just might.”

  He cracked up. Not too much—but just enough to let me know he had a sexy laugh.

  He was such a boss.

  “So, anywho, since you looked like the dude I thought I would chance it and run over here.”

  “A’ight, you’re here and I’m him. Now what?”

  Good question . . . “Now you tell me your name.”

  “Hmmm...”

  “And not your street name, your government.”

  He gave me a slanted smile and my heart fluttered.

  “Why do you wanna know my government?” he teased. “What are you supposed to be, the police?”

  For some reason, him saying that turned me on. “Are you gon’ tell me?”

  He stepped into my personal space. My nose was a few inches from his collarbone and for a moment, all I wanted to do was take the tip of my index finger and slide it across it. He looked down into my eyes and said. “Ny’eem.”

  I cheesed. Hard. “Hi, Ny’eem. I’m Gem.”

  “Nice meeting you, Gem.”

  “You, too,” I said nervously, wondering if my buckling knees would hold up in my stilettos.

  “I’d like to see you again, kick it with you sometime.”

  “Yeah, that would be cool.”

  “Let me see your cell phone.”

  I swallowed, nervously handed him my phone. He programmed his number and pressed CALL so that my number would pop up on his phone, then handed the phone back to me and said, “I’ll look for you to call me.”

  “I will,” I said and took two steps back. I didn’t want to walk away, but I felt a nervous urge to. I blushed. “Later.” I waved bye and boldly blew him a kiss.

  Just as I’d turned away, Ny’eem called my name, “Gem.”

  I turned back toward him and he walked up close to me, moving even deeper into my personal space than he was before. “I wanna tell you something,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I know we just met and everything, but I wanna kiss you.”

  Pause. What did he just say? Did I just pass out and have an out of body experience? He wants to what? Kiss me?

  “Really?” was all I could think to say and just when I knew I had to be dreaming he said, “Yeah, really.”

  And he kissed me.

  And I kissed him back.

  Tongues dancing...

  Smoothly...

  Slowly...

  Gently...

  In the soft yellow stream of the flickering street light.

  In the shadow of the platinum moon.

  We kissed...

  And we kissed until his hands embraced my waist, mine slid around his thick neck, and I felt like we were the only two people in the world who existed.

  10

  Six thirty A.M.

  “Rise and grind, super-freaks it’s schooltime! And triflin’ season has officially ended.”

  Am I having a nightmare . . .?

  Am I . . .?

  “This is my favorite time of the year,” Cousin Shake announced proudly as he pounded his fist from my bedroom door, down the hallway, and over to Man-Man’s room. “’Cause I’m the Get-Y’all-Azzes-To-School police!”

  He snorted and continued, “See, the warm weather runs y’all crazy, and school time is just what I need to rein your lazy behinds back in. All summer long you been running around here gettin’ ya derelict on. Man-Man grew a goatee and now he’s addicted to hoochies. Gem ran away and had to be carted back by the social-workin’-po-po. Now Baby-Tot-Tot may eat up everything in sight, but he’s the best one around here. At least he has some manners. Respectful. Matter-fact, he’s the reason y’all are still alive. He keeps me calm, ’cause I can’t stand teenagers. I wanna bust ’em in the chest every chance I get.”

  O...M...G...

  His voice has to be illegal.

  I grabbed my pillow and placed it over my head.

  “Now get up!” He pounded on my bedroom door again. “’Cause you got three minutes to shower, kill your stank morning breath, and get to school.”

  Trippin’.

  “I’m up, Cousin Shake, dang, man,” I heard Man-Man say. He must’ve been standing right outside my door, because he was close enough for me to hear the aggravation in his voice.

  Cousin Shake worked everybody’s nerves.

  “What you mean ‘dang’?” Cousin Shake barked. “Dang is real close to bang. What you a gangsta now? Is that a threat, homie? Huh? Huh?” I may have only been able to hear them, but I knew for sure that Cousin Shake was doing his cat daddy and bounce routine.

  Man-Man released a deep and aggravated sigh. “Why you always dancing?”

  Knew it.

  Man-Man continued, “Don’t you have asthma? Didn’t you have to go to the emergency room the last time you broke out into a routine?”

  “Well this time I’ma take you with me. Now buck,” Cousin Shake spat. “I dare you.”

  “A’ight, a’ight, chill. Take your chest down, I’m going in the bathroom now.”

  “I thought so.” Cousin Shake grimaced. “’Cause you don’t want none of this, G-Bread, ’cause that G will be standing for ‘Got molly-whopped!’ Now say something, ’cause I’m looking for a reason to turn this into beat-down season.”

  Man-Man didn’t respond and when I heard the bathroom door close I knew he’d given up the argument.

  Surprisingly everything became quiet. I guess after cussing Man-Man out Cousin Shake forgot about me. Thank God.

  I looked at my alarm clock and figured I could steal a few minutes of sleep. I closed my eyes and snuggled into my pillow. And just when my mind filled with a beautiful dream of Drake, shouts of, “Gymnasium!” scared the heck out of me.

  I sat straight up in bed and realized Cousin Shake was back to rattling my bedroom door again.

  “Get up!” he said.

  I tossed the covers off of me, stormed out of bed, and snatched the door open. “I don’t need a human alarm clock.”

  “Well you got one.” Cousin Shake gave a sinister grin while his beer belly danced beneath the burgundy robe he had on. He took two steps back and we soaked up a full view of each other.

  I had on a pair of gray sweats and a white T-shirt.

  Cousin Shake looked like his name was Pookie and he was about to testify in a news interview. He had a floral shower cap on his head, a super-tight robe that fell to his ashy knees, black dress socks—one stretched up his left calf and the other slouched down to his ankle—and on his extra-wide feet were brown corduroy house shoes that he’d broken down in the back by walking on the heels—transforming his
house shoes to slip-ons. He grunted, “Breaka-breaka-one time. You opened that door like you tryna do something.”

  Suddenly I got a flashback of him dragging me by my neck, so I didn’t move and I didn’t say anything. Not that I was letting him punk me or anything, I just wasn’t in the mood.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think you wanted it.” Cousin Shake looked me over. “’Cause you know I will make it rain.”

  Whatever.

  Man-Man walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and one tossed over his shoulder. He looked at me and started doing the Running Man. “Now go on—get in the bathroom,” he said, mocking Cousin Shake.

  I cracked up and started doing the bounce. “I’s a goin’!” I said. “I’s a goin’.” I bounced and laughed my way into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

  “Yeah,” Cousin Shake said. “Y’all can dance all day like you think it’s funny, but you already know how I get down. ’Cause Cousin M.C. Shake ain’t playin’. So that’s right, gon’ get in that bathroom! And out of the three minutes you had to shower, Gemini, your nasty mouth has already used up two.”

  Kick Rocks

  I looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror that hung on the back of my closet door.

  My hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail.

  Eyes were lined.

  Lashes were full.

  Lips were plump and shiny with cherry-flavored gloss.

  My black jeans hugged my curves like a leather glove, my slouchy, yellow, and mid-drift sweatshirt hung off one shoulder, and my matching yellow camisole underneath was real cute. My brown leather stilettos—made like ankle boots with a peep toe—and my gold hoop earrings and bangles topped it all off.

  My gear was sick. Extra fly . . . so why didn’t I feel fly? Instead, I felt pissed. Scared. And I had the urge to crawl back into bed and pretend that none of this existed.

  This was the third high school I’d been in and I was only a sophomore. Every year I had to start all over again, secretly searching for somewhere to fit in, while acting like it didn’t bother me if kids kicked it with me or not—when sometimes . . . it did.

  I hated being the new kid.

  Hated it.

  But I was always new. Everywhere I went, I was always the last to arrive and the last to fit in...