The Girl of His Dreams

by Amir Abrams

  “Off these streets, hun. You know how I do. Anyway, I peeped how you and ya girls were grillin’ my cuz. Not cute, boo. Not cute at all. She’s my baby cousin.”

  I eye the chick, then cut my eyes over at her crew. They’re all cute chicks, but they still ain’t bringing it like me. But whatever...

  “Ooh, girl,” she says, glancing over at me. “We ain’t know. It’s all love, though. You know how I do it, boo.”

  “Uh-huh. I sure do. And you make sure you and ya girls get a good look at”—she pulls me into her, draping her arm around me—“this pretty face. Anyone out here effs with her, they gonna catch it from me. And you know how I do. So, keep it cute, boo. And bring it to someone else.” Mariah tilts her head. She straight punks this chick.

  The chick chuckles. “Girl, you still crazy. I miss seein’ you around the way, boo.” She looks over at me again. Tells me her name is Adrina. Then introduces her crew. I give ’em all phony smiles and half-waves ’cause I already know what it is. These broads would try to bring it to me if they could. Hatin’-azz tricks. I kinda laugh to myself.

  “We need to chill, girl. Smoke a blunt and get drunk like old times,” Adrina says.

  Mariah tells her she’ll hit her up, then steps. We make our way through the crowd over to the bleachers, then take a seat three rows up.

  “Girl, will you look at them hard-body boos,” Mariah says, fanning herself. “Whew, lawd have mercy. I feel hot all over. I think I need a doctor. Makes no sense.”

  “What? A doctor? What’s wrong with you?”

  She rolls her eyes, pointing toward the court. “Girl, you sure know how to screw up a wet dream. I was talking about all of that fineness out there on the court.”

  I give her the finger. “Oh, hush. How I know that’s what you meant?”

  “Pay attention and follow the yellow brick road, boo. Now look on the court.”

  I laugh. “Whatever, tramp.” I take in the two teams on the court. One team is rocking wife beaters. The other players are all bare-chested and sweaty. I blink. Oh my god, they go to my school. I peep Justin as he calls a time out. I gotta admit, he’s a cutie-pie. I watch as the team swaggers over toward the sidelines, huddling up. Their shorts hang low, showing off their different color boxers. And, yes, oh yes . . . they are all looking finger-lickin’ good! But of course the one who stands out the most is the one and only, drum roll puuuuhleeze . . . Antonio Lopez. Of course I keep my thoughts to myself. Not. A. Word!

  Mariah leans into me, then whispers, “Soooo, has Tone tried to holla at you, yet?”

  “Who?” I ask, feigning stupid.

  She rolls her eyes. “Tone, girl.”

  I frown, leaning away from her. “Ewwww...no thank you! I mean, yeah, he’s tried to speak, but nothing major. I pays him dust.”

  She twists her lips. “Uh-huh. You think he’s cute, don’t you?”

  I shrug. But I don’t stop looking at him. As Antonio dribbles the ball down the court, he takes it up in the air. Swish! The ball goes in, smooth. Just like him. Ugh! “He’s okay. I guess.”

  She playfully pushes me. “Mmmhmm. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You guess? Ha! You stay stylin’, boo. You know that ninja’s more than just some okay. But whatever. Trust. If I wasn’t in love and didn’t believe in monogamy, Tone could get it. Mmmph. They all could.”

  I laugh. “That’s ’cause you’re a ho on the low.”

  She laughs with me. “You already know.” She stops laughing. “Great,” she hisses, elbowing me. “Here comes this dirty beeeyotch!”

  Quanda! Oh lawd! Why this ghetto trick gotta show up here? I think, eyeing her as she shakes her hips all fast, hard and nasty over toward the bleachers. I narrow my eyes. Open and close my fists. And outta all the places to sit out here, this messy broad just has to squeeze her stank butt in a space next to these dudes two rows down. Dead-smack in front’a me. She glances over her shoulder, cutting her eye at me. The heifer just wants to make sure I see her. Oh, I see you, boo; trust.

  “I can’t stand that ratchet beeeeoytch . . .”

  “Girl, ignore her dumb azz. We here to chill and have a good time. Unless her sister’s out here with her, she doesn’t want it. Trust. That ho’s all talk. Is she still poppin’ her gums at you in school?”

  “Every chance she gets. But I keeps her on ghost. Make her invisible, all day.”

  “Good. But, I’m tellin’ you. You might have to do her face the next time she comes at you. Tricks like her never learn unless you learn ’em real good.”

  I shake my head. “I already know. And trust. If she even looks at me wrong, I’ma snap her head back.”

  Both teams are going at it hard, but Antonio and his boys murder them. They shoot jump shots from every angle of the court, shutting the game down! Mad heads are going wild, popping mad junk. I’m not even gonna hate. I’m impressed with his skills.

  Ghetto Tramp jumps up and yells through cupped hands. “Get it, Daddy! Do that shit, boo! Oooh, my baby knows he can play some ball. Y’all don’t want it with him. Whoop, there it is!” The chick really turns it up, knowing I’m sitting in back of her.

  These dudes in back of me start goin’ in on her. “Yo, Quanda, sit ya ugly, ho azz down, yo,” one of them says this while the others start making clucking noises. His boys start laughing.

  Middle finger up, she turns around and starts going off. When she finally shuts her trap and sits back down, somebody throws an empty soda can and it hits her in the back of the head. Of course, I laugh because it’s mad funny to me. But that’s all it takes to set it off.

  “Trick-ho, I know you not sitting there laughing at me.”

  “Quanda, girl, boom,” Mariah warns, eyeing her. “Take a seat, boo. You don’t really want it. Not today. So fall back, sweetie. Before you get knocked back.”

  “Nah, don’t tell her nothing. Let her bring it,” I say, getting up from my seat. I place a hand up on my hip. “Yeah, I’m laughing. Hahahahaha! Now what you wanna do about it? Where’s ya little fan club at now?”

  “I don’t need no fan club. Trust. I handles mine, solo. So it’s whatever. Believe that.” I hear a buncha oohs and aaaahs. Eyes are on us, like they watching a tennis match with all the back and forth going on between us. Finally I’m sick of it. I’m ready to go with the fists.

  “You know what, ho. I’m done with all this talking.” I excuse myself, squeezing through people as I step down from the bleachers. I wait until I hit the ground, then spread open my arms. “Let’s do this. From day one you’ve been tryna bring it to me. So bring it, boo-boo!”

  “Whoop her tail, Mi,” Mariah says, hyping me up. “Stomp that ho for old and new. And nobody better even think about tryna jump in it.”

  I don’t even wait for her to swing first. I just take it to her face the minute she comes at me. We go at it hard, too, swinging fists like we in the boxing ring. But my hands are quicker. My punches are harder. I have a buncha adrenaline pumping through my veins. I’m so amped up I might really break all of the teeth in her mouth. Blood gushes out. I’m stinging her face up.

  She swings one good right hook that lands on the side of my head. But it’s not enough to take me down. I got too much fight in me. She screams when I wrap my hands up in her weave, then swing her. It’s quick. And it’s hard when she hits the ground. I rep for Brooklyn. I rep for the chicks who stay mindin’ their business. I give her a beatdown she won’t ever forget. And if she does, she’ll get another one to refresh her memory. I go hard, tryna snap her neck.

  “I’ma kill you!” she yells, swinging wildly. But I’m not pressed or stressed about it ’cause I know I can fight. And I know without a doubt that this ghetto-trick can’t beat me.

  I punch her upside the head and all in her face. I take all of the bottled-up anger I have about moving to Jersey, about being at a school I hate, about my mom ruining my life, and all of Quanda’s slick talking me from day one out on her face. Finally someone tries to break us up. But I hear someone else saying, “Nah, let
them hoes fight. Somebody needs to beat Quanda down for once.”

  I hear loud voices yelling. And then I feel a set of big hands around my waist, yanking me up off ’a her. I kick, and thrash about tryna break free so I can finish punching that ho’s lights out.

  “This ain’t over, trick! I promise you. You better watch ya back and ya front ’cause this ain’t over!” she screams.

  I laugh. “Whatever, ho. It was over the minute you hit the ground! And that boo you think you have? You know the man you keep claiming as yours? Well, guess what? He’s gonna be mine now, trick! I’ma show you who the real chick in charge is!” All eyes are locked on me, but I don’t care. I’m soo pumped right now, ready to fight whoever wants it. I hate when I get like this ’cause once I do, it’s hard for me to reel it back in.

  Three dudes drag her away, still yelling and screaming, threatening to have me bodied. But I’m not fazed. That ho got what she deserved. And I’m ready to give it to her again. I blink, looking around, wondering why all these dudes are gawking at me with they mouths all open. It’s not until Mariah comes over to me that I realize why these fools are all on me. My shirt is torn open and my boobs are hanging out for all to see. I’m so worked up that I don’t even try to cover them. They can look all they want.

  Mariah pulls me to her, tryna cover me up. “Girl, let’s get outta here. You whooped that trick down, boo. You did me proud. Now let her run home and tell her skank sister that. I’ma . . .”

  I tune Mariah out. The only thing I’m thinking about is getting to school on Monday. To get to him, Antonio Lopez, right in front of her. Truth is, I don’t even want that boy. So this isn’t about him. Oh, no. This is about showing that ho what I’m capable of. She forced my hand.

  Later on in the evening, I’m in my room, listening to music. My right hand is swollen so I have it wrapped in an ACE bandage with an ice pack up on it. Aunt Linda and my mom are out shopping or whatever it is they do on Saturdays together. I’m just glad neither of them were home when we walked back up in here. Hearing my mom’s mouth is the last thing I’m in the mood for. I’ve texted, Skyped, and talked to my girls about what popped off since I got in. And now I’m up on Facebook.

  I post: STOOPID CHICK AT MY SCHOOL TRIED TO CLOWN ME, AGAIN. AND I TOOK IT TO HER HEAD DOWN AT THE COURTS. SHE DON’T KNOW ABOUT ME. I COLD CRUSH HOES. I’M THE CHIN CHECKER. THE MAN SNATCHER. SHE WANTED IT, NOW SHE GOT IT. SHE COME AT ME AGAIN N I’MA ROCK HER JAW, AGAIN! THAT’S Y I’M TAKIN HER SO CALLED MAN! Y? CAUSE I’M THAT CHICK!

  Funny thing, that boy, Antonio, hasn’t opened his mouth to say not one word to me over the last few days. Not even in English class. Usually he has some kinda slickness to say when I walk by his desk to get to my seat, but nope . . . he doesn’t even follow me around the school now, or stop past my locker. He just keeps it moving. Oh, wait. Don’t get it twisted, boo. Not that I care. I’m just sharing; that’s all. But anyway...

  As soon as my status hits my Timeline, I get mad likes and then comments.

  THAT’S RIGHT GURRL. LEARN THAT TRICK!

  SHOW HER HOW WE DO IT, BOO!

  BK, STAND UP!

  DO DAT HOE DURTY, HUN! BROOKLYN, BABEEEE!

  DO OR DIE BED-STUY!

  I grin. Then comment back: YOU ALREADY KNOW WAT IT IS! 2MORROW IT’S ON!

  Mmmmph! Play with me if you want!

  23

  Antonio

  Yo, it’s all over the school how Quanda got her top rocked by the new hottie. And how the hottie’s shirt was tore open and her boobs were outta her bra. I look over at Justin, who ain’t diggin’ how dudes are talkin’. I gotta laugh to myself, though. She ain’t even thinkin’ ’bout him. In fact, I doubt she thinkin’ ’bout any’a these clowns. But they all think they got the magic plan to wife her. A’ight, a’ight, includin’ me. But, difference is, I know I can bag ’er if I really wanted ’er. But after Justin got all sensitive on me, I fell back. It’s not worth the effort or the aggravation. I get enough of that from Quanda. Maybe now that she done got her sockets rocked, she’ll fall back ’n’ leave me the hell alone.

  “Yo, chill, how you speak about her, dawg,” Justin says to Leon, foldin’ his arms across his chest. His face is all scowled up. “A’ight cool. You saw her boobs. But you ain’t gotta be all disrespectful about it.”

  Leon grills him back. “I talk ‘bout her, or any broad, how I want. What, you bonin’ that or somethin’? She ain’t nothin’ special, yo. She a trick, just like all the rest of the hoes up in here. The only difference is, she just ain’t been had, yet.”

  “Yo, dawg,” Justin says, droppin’ his arms. “I know you don’t want it, bruh. But if so, then it’s whatever, yo. But you need’a chill wit’ ya mouth, yo.”

  “Or what, bruh?” They’re in each other’s face now, chests heavin’ all fast ’n’ hard like they both ready to lock horns. Both of their jaw muscles are clenchin’.

  “Hol’up, hol’up,” I say, steppin’ in between them. “Are y’all mofos serious right now? That broad ain’t thinkin’ ’bout neither one of you. And y’all standin’ here gettin’ ready to go at it.” I shake my head. “Man, listen . . . y’all really ’bout to clown ya’selves over some chick.” Leon narrows his eyes, stares Justin down. Neither wants to be the one to back down first. But I can see it in Leon’s eyes that he really don’t wanna get into it.

  “Yo, c’mon, Just, man. Let it go, yo.” I look over Justin’s shoulder and peep one’a the security dudes—the one we call Batman ’cause he’s always somewhere tryna rescue someone—is comin’ down the hall toward us. I pull him by the arm. “Yo, chill, fam. We got company comin’.”

  Justin snatches his arm away. “Yo, I’m out.” He walks off down the hall, headin’ toward his homeroom. I turn to Leon, tell him it really wasn’t worth it.

  “Yo, eff that punk-azz dude,” he says, walkin’ off in the opposite direction. I shake my head, goin’ over to my locker to get my books for my first three periods. Man, that chick ain’t even been here but a minute ’n’ she got mofos fightin’ over her. And not one’a ’em got them cookies, yet. I knew she was def gonna be a problem! I slam my locker shut, headin’ down the hall. There are mad heads in the halls tryna scramble to homeroom before the bell rings. I holla at peeps as I walk by. Give a few chicks hugs, then press on.

  “Heeeey, Tone,” I hear in back of me.

  I glance over my shoulder. It’s Fiona. Real rap, this broad got some real juicy fruit. But she done let most of the school chomp all up on it. “Oh, wassup, girl? How you?”

  “I’m delicious, as always, boo. Thought you knew.”

  I grin. “Yeah, I do.”

  “And you know you can always get another taste.”

  I laugh. “Yo, you stay tryna freak off.” Fiona’s most def a ho, and she knows it. But she’s so cool you can’t help but respect ’er, which is why she’s prolly one’a the few girls none’a the dudes go in on. “Well, you know I have my favorites. And you can always get it.”

  “Yeah, I know that, too.”

  “Just making sure, boo. But, annnyway, I heard ya girl got her face beat in by the new cutie-boo, Miesha.”

  “That ain’t my girl, yo.”

  She laughs. “Whatever. Tell that to Quanda. Annnyway, you know her jaw is all wired up, and her nose is broken, too.”

  “Oh, word?” I say, turnin’ the corner and walkin’ down the East Wing toward my homeroom. Damn, she did her dirty like that? Wow. “Nah, I ain’t hear all that.”

  “Well, that’s what they were sayin’ at first. But then I heard that her nose isn’t really broke; she just got lumped up real good. You know I’m not one for a buncha gossip, but that’s the word on the streets. And on Facebook.” I tell ’er I haven’t really been playin’ the Book too tough lately. I laugh, though, at her always sayin’ how she ain’t beat for gossip, but she stay gossipin’. This broad got the 411 on e’eryone. Sometimes she knows ish that’s poppin’ off wit’ peeps before they do. I shake my head. This broad’
s nosey as hell. She walks ’n’ talks ’n’ flirts wit’ me to my class, then tells me she’ll catch me later. I ain’t gonna front, I watch her walk off. She gotta nice shake ’n’ it’s thick, so hey . . . what can I say?

  I get through my next two periods, wonderin’ why I haven’t seen Miesha, yet. She wasn’t in English second period ’n’ I haven’t seen her in the halls. I even went past her locker, but she wasn’t there. And since she don’t really eff wit’ anyone here at the school, I can’t even holla at ’em to see what’s good wit’ ’er. I bump into Chantel ’n’ LuAnna as I’m walkin’ outta the bathroom.

  “Aye, wassup, LuLu, baby?”

  “Nothing much,” she says, eyein’ me all sexy-like. “What’s up with you?”

  I grin. “You already know.” I glance over at Chantel. She standin’ here wit’ her eyes all rolled up in her head, lookin’ in the other direction, like she ain’t beat. “Yo, what’s goodie, Chantel?” She sucks her teeth, iggin’ me. I laugh. “Oh, it’s like that? You still ain’t speakin’, yo?”

  “LuAnna, girl, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria,” she says, walkin’ off. I keep laughin’. “Screw you, Tone,” she snaps over her shoulder.

  After walking LuAnna to her locker, I say, “You stay stylin’. You know you wanna give me that goody.”

  She slams her locker shut. “Yeah, I do. But that doesn’t mean I will.”

  I press up on ’er, grabbin’ her ’round the waist. “Yo, stop frontin’ ’n’ come slide through . . .”

  “Heeeey, boo,” someone says in back of me. I glance over my shoulder. It’s Alicia.

  “Oh, wassup, Alicia?”

  “You, punk.” She laughs as LuAnna pushes my hand off ’a her. “Call me when you get a chance. I need you to help me with something.”

  I grin, knowin’ she wanna ’nother round wit’ the kid. “Oh, a’ight. I got you.”

  She looks over at LuAnna. “Hey, girl.”

  “Hey,” she says back, cuttin’ her eyes at me. They exchange a few more words, then Alicia dips. I tell ’er I’ma hit ‘er up later. LuAnna smirks. “Did you get that, too?”