No Boyz Allowed

by Ni-Ni Simone

  “Nothing. The sky I guess.” Did I say that? Really? Now was not the time to say something soooo dumb! I wouldn’t be surprised if he walked away. Matter of fact, I’ll just count the seconds until he bolts outta here... one . . . two . . .

  “I’m not talking about the sky,” he said and instead of doing the expected two-step, he continued, “I’m talking about you—”

  I know. “Oh, you’re talking about me?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Now tell me what’s good with you? I gave you my number a minute ago. And I called you like two days in a row and you never called me back. I mean, it’s cool, but you could’ve told me straight up if you didn’t want to be bothered.”

  “It’s not that,” I said without thinking.

  “Then wassup?”

  Wassup is that every time I picked up the phone to call you, I froze and forgot the conversation that I’d practiced in my head. But I didn’t say any of that, instead I said, “Has it really been that long? Oh my.” I placed my hand on my chest and clutched invisible pearls.

  Ny’eem looked at me like I was as crazy as I felt and said, “A’ight. I see you playin’ and since I just finished a game, I’ma catch you later.” He hit me with a two-finger peace sign and walked away. Leaving me to wonder if my knees would withstand the embarrassment.

  O.M.G. Am I dreaming? I pinched myself. I wasn’t dreaming—I was screwing up my reality.

  I watched Ny’eem walk past a few people, including Man-Man, give them dap, and then walk out of the court.

  Follow him.

  He already thinks I’m nuts, I don’t need him thinking I’m a stalker.

  Just chance it...

  The soles of my sneakers skated like sandpaper across the court and down the tree-lined path, as I did my best to catch up with Ny’eem. Once I was a few inches away from him, I stopped and called his name: “Ny’eem!”

  He kept walking.

  And just when I was torn on whether to call him again or leave it alone and walk away, he turned around and faced me. “What?”

  Just say it. “Can you come here for a minute?” I asked him.

  “No,” he said. “I’m not chasing you anymore. You wanna talk, you come to me.” He continued walking, but he did slow down a little.

  I swallowed as I caught up to Ny’eem and started walking alongside of him. I fiddled with my index finger, swallowed, and said, “Look, I had a long day. Fa’ real. Nothing went as planned, including this moment. And it’s not that I didn’t want to call you or talk to you.” I paused. Spit it out. “I just didn’t know what to say to you.”

  “You could’ve started with ‘hey wassup.’”

  “True.” I hunched my shoulders. “But I guess I didn’t think about that.”

  “Maybe you think too much.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “Maybe you just need to chill.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Twice in one day.”

  “Huh? What happened twice in one day?” Ny’eem stopped for a moment and turned to me. “Somebody else told you to chill?”

  I kicked bits of brittle branches and litter with my feet. “Yeah, my bff.”

  “Maybe you should listen?” We started slowly walking down the tree-lined path again.

  “Maybe.” I shrugged.

  “Enough with the maybes and just do it.”

  I stopped and looked Ny’eem in the eyes. “It’s not that easy for me. My life is different.”

  “Different how?” He turned to me.

  I swallowed. “Look,” I said with a little more attitude than I should’ve. “I’m not from the burbs, or this la-la side of Brick City. I’m from across town, where all the daddies are made of thin air, the mamas get high, and all the kids go to foster care. And the family I live with, psst, please, they aren’t related to me. They’re my foster family. I just met them a few weeks ago. And every time I thought about calling you I didn’t know how to tell you that...or if I wanted to tell you that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it made me feel weird. How was I supposed to say to a dude that I’m checking for that I’ma foster kid? Talk about killing the mood.”

  “You just say it.”

  “So I should’ve called you and said, ‘Hey, Ny’eem, you remember me? I’m Gem and I’m homeless.’”

  He chuckled a bit. “You’re not homeless.”

  “I’m living someplace that’s not my home.”

  “That’s ’cause you won’t make it your home. Are you cool where you’re at or it’s a problem?”

  “No. It’s no problem. They’re good people.”

  “Then chill. Stop trying to predict the future. Trust me, just let it go.”

  “See you don’t understand—”

  “Gem,” he reached for my hand. “My life hasn’t been perfect either. My mother was on drugs ever since I could remember and she didn’t get clean until recently.”

  I couldn’t believe that. “What?” I said taken aback. “Seriously?”

  “Word. My moms did her thing for a while. I mean, she’s clean now, but when she was in the streets it was hell.”

  I giggled, and not the stupid SpongeBob giggle, a nervous one. “So having a mama strung out in the streets isn’t exclusive to my neighborhood?”

  He laughed a little. “Nah, y’all don’t have that on lock. Sorry.”

  I smiled so hard, it’s a wonder my teeth didn’t fall out. “But, Ny’eem, the difference between me and you is that my mom doesn’t wanna get clean.”

  “That’s not the difference. The difference is that I knew I had to make my own way and I did. I didn’t do pity parties, I took care of myself, and no, I didn’t always make the best choices, which is how I ended up in juvy.”

  “Juvy? Like kiddy jail? Oh, you a real bad boy, huh? My James Dean.” Dumb . . . dumb . . . dumb . . . I just get dumber by the moment. If he walks away this time, I’ma just let him go.

  To my surprise Ny’eem didn’t walk away. “I can only be your James Dean,” he said, “if you pick up the phone and call me.”

  Freeze. Collect yourself, and don’t say anything stupid. “I’ma call you. I promise.”

  “A’ight, we’ll see,” he said as we started our stroll again.

  After a few moments of silence I said, “If you don’t mind me asking, what did you go to juvy for?”

  “Stealing cars.”

  “Stealing cars?” I was stunned. “Let me find out you stalking people’s keys.” There was my mouth again, out of control. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s cool,” he smiled. “Because I didn’t have to stalk keys. If I wanted a car I took it. Period, that was the point of being a car thief. I wasn’t nice about it.”

  “Oh dang, it was like that?”

  “Pretty much, until I got caught and was facing charges and double digit numbers.”

  “Wow. So what happened?”

  “I plead guilty and the court offered me a first offenders juvenile program. I lived in a halfway house for a year.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, that’s where I met my mentor, Josiah. He plays college ball for Stiles U in New Orleans.”

  “I know who you’re talking about!” I said excited. “He owns college ball. Fa’ real, he stays on ESPN.”

  “Yeah,” Ny’eem smiled proudly. “That’s him. And believe it or not but Josiah was the first person to ever take me to a real basketball court.”

  “Fa’real?”

  “Yup. And after a while, when I realized that I had talent on the court, I knew I had a choice: grinding or giving in. And since I wasn’t about to give in, I got my grind on. And the next thing I knew I was being recruited by one of the top high schools in the country. And the rest is history.”

  “So are you tryna make it to the NBA?”

  “Nah, Pretty Girl.” He stopped walking and turned to look at me. “I’m just tryna make it.”

  Silence. I wanted to say something—scratch that—I
wanted to say a million things and ask him a million questions, but I didn’t, because suddenly it clicked to me that he pretty much told me the same things that Pop did. So maybe, maybe they were on to something. And if I wanted something different out of this place, this life, and this new zone I was tossed into, then I had to take it and make it work. I had to grind.

  Hating that awkward moment of silence that had slid in between us I said, “So, what’s a good time to call you?”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready now.”

  “Oh really?” He grabbed my hand and we locked fingers. “Straight.”

  I blushed. “I’m glad I came to see your game.”

  “Me too,” he said.

  “And speaking of the game I just have one lil thing I want you to do differently the next time.”

  “Oh, what you a coach now? Can you at least be my girl first, before you start directing my skills?”

  His girl? Did he say his girl? Umm... am I melting? “Being your girl,” I said brazenly, “has nothing to do with me noticing your skills. I’d be your girl even if I didn’t know a thing about ball. But, since I do I just wanna tell you that the next time you’re at the foul line, bend your knees.”

  “Bend my knees? What?”

  “I’m just sayin’. Every other part of your game is tight. Straight. But your free throwin’ is a little Shaq-esque.”

  He laughed. “So what you sayin’, you could take me?” He wrapped his arms around my waist and gathered me close.

  “Yeah,” I said, dissolving into his embrace. “I would definitely take you.” I slid my arms around his thick neck.

  “Then when are you coming for me?” He softly placed his lips against mine.

  “Now,” I said as we kissed passionately, for what felt like an eternity.

  15

  A week later

  Ever since Ny’eem asked me on a date—our first official date and not the lil Robin Hood run-ins we’ve had, but a date—the lyrics to Ciara’s “C.R.U.S.H.” were stuck in my head.

  It was like . . . like . . . I had musical Tourette’s. Because every time I turned around I was out of control and singing this song at the top of my lungs.

  Sicko.com.

  Imagine this: the other night at dinner and in the middle of Cousin Shake’s hour-long tirade better known as grace, this song popped in my head and flew out of my mouth! I did a Beyoncé dip, snaked back up, and topped it off with, “He’s a keeper!”

  O.M.G.

  It took me hella long—like two hours long—to explain to Cousin Shake and Ms. Minnie that I was not secretly sweatin’ Cousin Shake. They made me raise my hand and take an oath that they were family and family didn’t get “busy” like that.

  Ewww.

  Gag me. Seriously.

  I was done. And although I stopped singing during dinner, I did hum. But that didn’t settle Ms. Minnie because she still gave me extra hard side-glances—that clearly said she wouldn’t hesitate to drop down a smack-down over Cousin Shake.

  S.M.H.

  I felt like there was a spell over me because the mere thought of Ny’eem sent tingling chills from my big toes to my eyebrows, forcing me to borderline on passing out.

  Maybe I was possessed.

  Yeah, that was it. Someone else had invaded my body, ’cause this person I took quick peeks at in the mirror was nothing like the Gem I knew.

  This was some serious and for a moment I wondered if I needed crush-sick rehab. ’Cause there was no way in H to the double ell that this was normal; or that I should’ve been trippin’ this hard over a 6’ 2” cutie—I mean he did put all the hotties who’d ever lived to sleep. And he was soooo fine that his name should’ve been Fine. And yeah I love the way he texted me:

  Yo, pr3tty girl, w3 shld chill 2g3th3r on day 6. Hang and hit up a spot 2 g3t some food.

  Hellafied sexy. Especially the way he used 3’s for E’s.

  But still... I had to have some kinda trippin’ disorder to be going this hard.

  Right?

  Right.

  As “C.R.U.S.H.” blasted from my iPod and through my room I sorted through the mountain of clothes I’d dumped on my bed in frantic search of something fly to wear—which was turning out to be an epic fail. A dud. Everything that was cute and fly yesterday was today’s hot mess. And I couldn’t go see my cutie dressed in a hot mess. No way. No how.

  I stood at the foot of my bed and then suddenly and without warning I stomped my feet like a five-year-old and screamed, “I’m not going!” And then I passed out, face first, into the heap of clothes spread across my bed.

  “Woman down,” I mumbled into a pair of True Religion jeans. “Code blue.”

  There was no coming back from this and the only thing on my mind was what would be in my eulogy.

  Knock... knock...

  I turned my head toward my door.

  Not only was my door—which I thought for sure I’d closed—wide open, but Toi stood there cracking up.

  Can you say embarrassed? Oh, I wanted to slam her in the face!

  “I know my door was closed,” I snapped, annoyed.

  “No it wasn’t,” Toi said as she shook her head. “It was cracked. And when I heard you go from having a Ciara concert to having a love seizure I had to watch.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You may as well drop the extra, because I’m not leaving so don’t even ask me to.” The soles of Toi’s leopard slippers slapped across the floor as she invited herself further into my room and lay on my bed face up and next to me—putting her butt directly on top of my ripped jeans and her head on my Hollister T-shirts and camisoles.

  “So what’s his name?” she asked. “And don’t tell me none of my business. Oh and is he a cutie? For instance is he a milk chocolate brownie or a red velvet one with freckles sprinkled on his face. Or is he a butter pecan Latin cutie—Mr. Boneeeetaaah. Or are we takin’ it all the way to the other side and got us, I mean, you, a hot lil cream-puff boo. All right now. Does he look like Justin Bieber?”

  “Ill, no.” I frowned.

  “Ill? What you mean, ill? Bieber-boo is cute.”

  “So not my type.”

  “So what’s your type?” She arched her brow. “Or better who’s your type?”

  I blushed. “I don’t think you would know him even if I told you.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether I know him or not. Just tell me.”

  I hesitated. Since I’d been here Toi and I had barely said two words to one another so I wasn’t exactly sure if I needed to be blabbing all my business to her. I cleared my throat.

  “Are you worried I’ma tell Mommy?” Toi asked before I could say anything. “I’m the last one you have to worry about. Seven is the dry snitch—she’ll have your business all through the house. I’m the calm twin—well sort of. But still you can trust me not to tell Mommy. You see I have a son, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I had him at sixteen by a weed pusher turned deadbeat baby daddy.”

  “Fa’real?”

  “Yup. And Mommy tried to stop my madness by running up in his crib like at three in the morning and dragging me out. But by the time she did that I was already pregnant. Needless to say I have done so much dirt that I’m the last one to go around selling out your drama to Mommy. Now give me his stats.”

  “He’s no big deal.”

  “He’s big enough of a deal to be lying on a pile of clothes moaning.”

  “I wasn’t moaning.”

  “You were moaning. And another thing, I’m starting to feel some kind of way that you only want to hang with Man-Man, but are always on the defense with me. Wassup with that?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess half the time I’m trying to figure out why you’re being so nice to me. Like whatchu you want?” I’m not sure if I should’ve said that or not, but, oh well.

  “Man-Man is nice to you, too. And you don’t think he wants anything.”

  �
�Man-Man’s not nice to me. He’s using me to pull girls.”

  Toi chuckled. “You know he likes you.”

  I smiled, a small smile, but it was still a smile. Well sort of. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Well, maybe I like you, too, and I would like to be your big sister if you would give me the time of day. Unless you think I’m incredibly corny or whack or something.”

  After the story you just told me about your life I don’t think you’re incredibly corny or whack. Well, not any- 0 more . . .

  “You’re okay,” I said.

  “Well, since I’m okay, then tell me who’s Mr. Boo, ’cause I wanna know.”

  “Okay,” I swallowed, hoping to keep the butterflies down. “Okay, he’s one of Man-Man’s friends.”

  Toi’s eyes bugged. “Somebody from the broke-down-crew? Oh no, we don’t do broke boys. We start thinking about credit and bank accounts early.”

  I laughed. “He is sooooo not about the busted life. He works and goes to school. He’s only Man-Man’s boy, he’s not Man-Man.”

  “Oh, okay. Now what’s his name?”

  “Ny’eem.”

  “Ny’eem.” She snapped her fingers, as if she were trying to flick on a light switch. “Ny’eem . . . Ny’eem . . . Oh, lil fine Ny’eem. Mr. Hershey Bar basketball player. Hey-hey-now! Lil Wale in the house!”

  I was grinning so hard it’s a wonder the weight of my smile didn’t sink me through the mattress. “Yeah, that’s him. Party ovah here!” I said being unexpectantly silly.

  Toi and I laughed. Then I let out an exhausted sigh and rolled over on my back. “We’re supposed to go to the Meadowlands Fair tonight, but I don’t think I’m going,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I have nothing to wear.”

  “Nothing?” She looked confused. “We’re lying on a mountain of clothes.”

  “And not one thing is hot.”

  Toi sat up and looked toward my skimpy closet and shook her head. “Maybe we ought to sort through what we’re lying on.”

  “I already did, they’re garbage. Hot trash. I’d be flyer dressed as a Hefty CinchSak.”

  She laughed. “Girl, get up and let’s see what we can find that’s cute.”