Girls From da Hood 7

by Nikki-Michelle Redd

  Samson refused to let her go until everything was cool. More safety officers rushed into the cafeteria, and the girls fighting were quickly broken apart and detained. The area was a mess. There was food everywhere and some blood. Lunch was over for everyone.

  Billy walked over to where Samson was holding Baby. He glared at the brutal young student and shook his head. “Baby, there’s always some problem with you. Just take her to the main office, Samson.”

  “Fuck you!” Baby spat. “That bitch started it!”

  “And you had to finish it.”

  “They tried to jump me, and she got fucked up,” growled Baby with the screw face.

  Billy looked at Samson and said, “Just get her out of here.”

  Samson escorted Baby out of the cafeteria with her still cursing and carrying on. But Samson had her under control. He was forceful with the young girl. When they’d exited the lunchroom, Baby began to calm down somewhat. Her hair was in disarray, and she had a few scratches across her face, but everything else about Baby was okay. Her pride and ego were more bruised than anything.

  Samson marched Baby up the stairs and into the main office, doing as he was told. He pushed Baby into the chair and stood over her.

  “Damn, muthafucka ... Why you gotta be so rough?” Baby exclaimed.

  Samson didn’t respond. He just stood near her to make sure she didn’t go anywhere. Baby started to size him up. She knew he was new. Samson was built like stone and was almost wide like a door. His muscles stretched all over him. He wasn’t smiling, but remained adamant.

  “So, you like pushing me around like that, huh, Conan?” Baby asked, giving him the name Conan because of his overwhelming physique. “Did it make you feel good to grab a bitch like me like that, huh? I got ya dick hard, nigga? Let me see.”

  Samson didn’t respond to her. When Baby tried to grab his crotch, he took a step back and said to her, “Don’t go there.”

  “Why not?” She smiled.

  Samson turned his attention away from her. Baby chuckled. “Whatever, faggot!”

  But she found him impressive and mysterious. He’s different from the others, Baby thought. She became calmer. She slouched in the chair and looked up at Samson. “You must be a military man,” she continued.

  Samson looked at her.

  Baby smiled. “Yeah, now I got ya attention. Marines, right?” Baby continued with the questions. “But ya cute . . . damn, fuckin’ sexy. You could touch on me if you like.”

  Before Samson could comment, the principal stormed into the main office. He stared harshly at Baby and said, “What is your damn problem, Monica?”

  “My name isn’t Monica, it’s Baby,” she corrected him with attitude.

  “In my school, your name is Monica. Get inside my damn office,” Principal Palmer exclaimed. “You’re pushing my buttons, young lady. You seriously are!” Principal Palmer stormed off.

  Baby jumped up from her chair and looked at Samson. “Well, it’s been fun; see ya around, Marine,” said Baby. She then coolly strutted toward the principal’s office, following Palmer.

  Samson stared at the girl longer than needed. He sighed and exited the office.

  Principal Carson Palmer was a distinguished black man in his early fifties. He was educated with a few degrees in business and education from Harvard and Columbia. He grew up in Harlem during the seventies and was well respected in the school and in the community. He was a hands-on principal—always interacting with many of his students via programs, events, lingering in the hallways, and knowing many of his students by their names and personalities. He was also well acquainted with the teachers, staff, and officers. Palmer cared for everyone like they were his own family. He was a married man of fifteen years with three kids.

  Baby walked into the principal’s office and slumped down in the chair. Her face was still in a scowl with a nonchalant attitude. Principal Palmer sat behind his large desk opposite Baby and looked at her for a moment. His office was decorated with bowling and track trophies from his previous school days. There were pictures of his wife and kids situated on his desk, and many degrees from a few elite schools he graduated from were hanging up on his office walls in a proud display of accomplishments. It indicated how far he had come and how educated he was.

  Palmer was dressed in a dark brown suit. He was handsome and tall, sporting a grayish goatee, and had a swag about him that preceded him.

  He leaned back in his leather chair, stared at Baby and asked, “What am I going to do with you, young lady? What is wrong with you? Aren’t you tired of coming to this office? And it’s your birthday today ... what a way to celebrate it.”

  “Why I’m the only one here? I wasn’t fighting myself,” she spat.

  “Oh, they will be disciplined too. So you don’t have to worry about them. But right now, we’re here to talk about you,” said Palmer.

  “Then let’s not,” snapped Baby. “’Cause I really don’t give a fuck right now!”

  “You watch your mouth in this office and in my school.”

  Baby sucked her teeth.

  Palmer let out an irate sigh. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his desk and clasped his fingers together. He locked eyes with the young, rough Baby. He was very familiar with Baby’s pedigree—knowing her history very well. He knew about her mother dying in prison when she was only fourteen, and that her father was killed overseas during his tour in Iraq a few years ago. Baby was alone. She felt abandoned. She was staying with her elderly grandmother who had dementia. They had an in-house nurse living with them who was taking care of her sick grandmother. Baby was the only child, and the only person she had close to her who was like a sister to her was her cousin G.G. The two girls had been through thick and thin together. They started and ran the Pussy Packin’ Pound crew jointly.

  Palmer wanted to believe that Baby’s wild and promiscuous ways were all a façade. He truly believed that she was hiding her pain of the loss of her parents by acting out—fighting and fucking whoever. She was a very pretty girl, so pretty that they said her beauty was able to hypnotize any man with a swinging penis. Baby’s innocent look with her almond-shaped eyes, full, luscious lips, and butter-like complexion could stir any man’s heart—but not everything that glitters is gold, and Baby was far from gold. She was poison.

  “You want me to expel you from this school like your cousin, G.G.,” said Palmer. “This beef with the L.D. girls needs to stop now, Monica, or I’ll guarantee that you’ll be gone from this school like your cousin.”

  “You act like G.G. give a fuck about this school. She out there gettin’ money right now, somethin’ that I need to be doin’ too, instead of wasting my time in this bitch. But do what you gonna do, Principal Palmer. I’ma still be good, no matter what happens, ’cause I’m a hustler, and I’ma get mines,” she proclaimed with attitude.

  “Listen, Monica—”

  “Baby ... Stop callin’ me that,” she interrupted angrily.

  “You know I will never call you that.”

  “Yeah, look,” Baby started, standing up from her seat. “I need to go; we done here? Can I leave now?”

  “Why did you show up to school in the first place?” he asked sympathetically.

  “’Cause I wanted muthafuckas to sweat me up in here on my birthday,” she returned. “You know how I do.”

  “You need to change your ways, Monica. I’m putting you on a three-day suspension. I’m going to help and pray for you,” Palmer said.

  Baby chuckled and replied with, “You is such a hypocrite nigga, fo’ real, Principal Palmer. You better pray for yourself, ’cause you the one that’s gonna need it.”

  Baby turned to exit his office, leaving the principal shaking his head and looking stunned. Everyone knew that he let her get away with too many things. Baby seemed almost untouchable in his school. They knew that Principal Palmer had a soft spot for Baby. He was known to care about his students, good or bad, but Baby had too many chances and they felt she had
burned her bridges with everyone a long time ago.

  Baby stormed out of the front entrance and right past Samson and Marvin.

  “I’ll see you in three days, Conan,” she said to Samson with a pleasant smile.

  The two safety officers watched Baby strut out of the building, their stares lingering on the perfect, round bubble formed in her shorts. Marvin shook his head, smiled, and said to Samson, “That young girl right there, she’s nothing but a whirlwind of trouble. Stay far away from her, my man, ’cause that bitch right there can be a nigga’s Delilah.”

  Samson didn’t comment back. He just stood near the exit door and remained cool. His new job seemed more interesting in more ways than one.

  Chapter 4

  G.G. sat perched on the park bench in front of the baseball field, smoking a Newport and hanging out with the Pussy Packin’ Pound girls. They passed around a burning blunt, along with a bottle of E&J—joking around and passing the day by getting high and talking shit. G.G. took a drag from the Newport, then took the blunt in her hand and took a long pull from it. She exhaled and laughed at T.T.’s comment.

  “So I kicked that bird bitch dead in her ass, and heard the bitch howl and fart.”

  The group laughed. T.T. was the comedian. She was able to lighten up anyone’s day with her wild antics and storytelling. She was both the rough and funny one in the group. T.T. was the one who would say something funny while whooping a bitch’s ass or would be quick to clown on anyone who wasn’t up to par, or if their wardrobe was whack. She didn’t hold her tongue for anyone.

  “You is dead wrong, T.T., but that’s some funny shit. I hate that dumb bitch. You should’a cut that bitch, gave her ass a buck-fifty, fo’ sure,” said G.G.

  “I let her be, G.G. I embarrassed that bitch enough already,” T.T. replied. “But next time she look at me stupid like that again, I will cut that bitch like I’m Chef Boyardee.”

  “Shit, I’ll do it for you. That bird bitch, Melissa, already know I don’t like her trifling ass ... Slut bitch,” G.G. said.

  G.G. took another pull from the blunt and passed it to the closet girl to her. G.G. was the dominant girl in her clique. She was just like her cousin, Baby—fierce and nothing nice to play with. She was also eighteen and a beautiful young woman. She was thick in the right places, with dark, penetrating eyes—but she carried a small scar across her right cheek: a clear indication of the numerous street battles she endured over the years. However, the scar didn’t take away from her beauty or luscious figure; it only added to her assertive personality. Men still chased her, and females either envied or feared her.

  G.G. was a hood bitch. She was always found fighting, selling drugs, fucking, or cursing somebody out. Her fierce reputation moved around like the wind in the air. She had no time for games or shit talking. G.G. was that bitch who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt or even shoot someone when she felt disrespected or threatened. She carried a .25 for protection, and a razor. Sometimes it was concealed in her mouth, under her tongue, or on her person. Her record of arrests was as long as her arm. She had been tried in court for everything from felony assaults to drug possession, and even attempted murder. Her cases were all thrown out, dropped to lesser charges with a light plea, or she’d beaten the charges completely. G.G. had been a lucky woman over the years. She spent minimum time in Rikers Island.

  G.G. was a young, beautiful girl, but one look in her young face and you were able to see the hardened image of someone who had been through enough hell. Her eyes told many stories of hardship and abuse. She had a sick mother at home, dying from cancer, and selling crack on the street corner or in the belly of the project stairway just wasn’t cutting it for G.G. anymore. She was ready to look for means from a different hustle.

  G.G.’s thick and long legs were clad in a pair of tight jeans along with a fitted T-shirt that highlighted her breasts. She sported a pair of fresh white Nikes, and a few trinkets around her wrist and neck. Her hair was styled into long, fine-looking dreadlocks that she’d been growing since she was thirteen. G.G. always took time out to take care of her appearance. She was a little rough around the edges, but her attire was always up to par, and her hair was always done.

  The girls continued to smoke and talk. G.G. noticed young Meeka walking across the park. She stared at Meeka as the sixteen-year-old moved toward the clique with a sense of urgency. G.G. took a few more pulls from her cigarette and uttered, “What Meeka want? She rushing over like something happened.”

  The girls turned to see Meeka approaching. Everybody was quiet. Meeka ran over to G.G. and exclaimed, “Yo, G.G., fuckin’ Erica and her crew just tried to jump on Baby.”

  “What?” G.G. shouted. “When?”

  “I was there, this morning, in the cafeteria ... They tried to go ham on your cousin.”

  G.G. jumped off the bench and walked toward Meeka. “Where my cousin at?”

  “She got suspended.”

  “Yo, we gonna fuck that bitch up,” G.G. exclaimed. “I swear, I hate that fuckin’ bitch! She fuckin’ wit’ the wrong crew!”

  Her girls had her back. They were six deep, and ready to storm up to the school and hunt Erica down. G.G. was ready to lead her pack into battle. They were quick to follow her lead. G.G. showed no hesitation. She marched toward the high school just as the afternoon classes were coming to an end. She wanted to find Baby.

  The Triple P girls stood across the street from the school in a mob. The students who were exiting from their last period classes instantly knew something big was brewing—a fight. There were close to twenty people lingering in Baisley Pond Park, and the looks shown on the girls’ faces indicated that they weren’t at the school to laugh and mingle. G.G. stood among her girls, poised for battle with a scowl and trying to scan the crowd for Erica, or any one of her girls, to jump on. Baby wasn’t around.

  School safety officers were at the entrance of the school and they became on high alert when they noticed G.G. standing across the street with eight project girls standing behind her. They didn’t want any problems, but they had seen this type of commotion before. They all were very aware of G.G.’s reputation. She was kicked out last year for assaulting a teacher and being caught with crack in her possession. She was arrested, charged, and had a court date pending, but she always was coming back for trouble.

  G.G. stood with her mob of girls and searched the crowd for Erica. She was ready to fuck her up. It was fifteen minutes past 3:00 P.M., and the school grounds were flooded with students on their way home, or to the nearest bus stops. Many students decided to linger around, anticipating a fight or beat down to happen. There was gossip—many knew about the incident earlier in the cafeteria with Baby and Erica. They knew the beef wasn’t over; round two was expected to happen sometime soon. School staff and officers were on edge. Their school had become a battleground for fights between warring gang members like the Bloods, the Crips, the Triple P, and the L.D. girls. They inundated the hallways showing off their gang signs when it was not allowed, tagging the bathrooms with their marks, fighting each other, and threatening anyone who came against them. It had become a serious problem for the principal and his staff.

  After a moment of waiting, G.G. finally saw her rival.

  Erica and her crew emerged from a side exit of the school. Word had gotten back to her about G.G. waiting outside to fight her. She was ready to confront G.G. and tear her face apart.

  “There go that bitch right there!” G.G. exclaimed.

  G.G. and her crew ran over to where Erica was seen approaching. They glared at each other with their fists clenched, and a few razors and knives in their possession. It was about to get ugly. Security noticed the confrontation about to take place, and a few ran over to try to prevent it while 911 was being called.

  “You try and jump my fuckin’ cousin, bitch!” G.G. shouted. “I swear, if you come near my fuckin’ cousin again, I’ma fuckin’ body you, bitch!”

  “Fuck you and that bitch,” retorted Erica. “Get fucked u
p like she did earlier!”

  “What, bitch?”

  “You heard me, bitch! Step the fuck off, you dumb slut!” shouted Erica. “Get the fuck out my face!”

  Tempers were flaring. The girls were harsh, and soon up in each other’s face like their skin itself. A large crowd had formed around the girls. It was getting ugly. The girls were ready to kill each other. The harsh words aimed at both groups were vile and threatening. But the two groups didn’t come to curse each other out. It was inevitable for them to start clashing with fists and blows at each other. Before security came to break up the dispute, G.G. quickly swung on Erica, striking her in the head a few times. Erica fought back, grabbing G.G.’s shirt and ripping it from her shoulders. Rapidly, both mobs of girls began tearing into each other—a full-scale fight in front of the school and in the middle of the street had escalated.

  The crowd that stood around watching were yelling and screaming. It was an exciting episode. The vicious assaults happening in front of their school had them wide eyed and some were cheering for it to continue. The fighting was brutal—weaves were being ripped apart, girls were being stomped on, and the yelling and cursing was loud and obnoxious.

  “Fuck that bitch up! Fuck that bitch up!” someone was heard shouting.

  “You stupid bitch!”

  A few camera phones were recording the incident, following numerous fights among a dozen or more ruthless girls, with some clothing being ripped loosely and tits being exposed, with some skin showing. It excited the young men.

  “Yo, this shit is goin’ on Worldstar, son ... YouTube and everything!” one young student shouted out excitedly, as he followed the action with his camera phone in hand.

  The fight moved up the block away from the school, and was stopping some traffic coming down Baisley Boulevard. More people stopped to witness the fighting. Security officers attempted to break it up, but there were too many girls in the conflict for them to handle at once.