We pulled into Vance’s subdivision; rows of beautiful houses stood tall with their manicured lawns. Vance’s family lived in one of the more expensive neighborhoods in College Park, the kind that had a security gate. He hit the garage-door opener attached to his sun visor, and we pulled into the three-car garage. Jinx rushed toward the passenger door, and I sat still, my heart pounding fast. Vance stepped out of the car.
“Jinx, come here!” he yelled and then snapped a leash on his collar. “It’s okay, Tameka. You can get out. He won’t mess with you.”
I slowly opened my door and walked to the back of the car as Vance took Jinx outside, near the curb. Jinx was playful and jumped around like a little kid before finally lifting his leg and relieving himself.
“Go inside that door,” Vance told me before bringing Jinx back into the garage.
I stepped inside the door and into a huge kitchen with shiny hardwood floors. The silver refrigerator was bigger than any I’d ever seen. With lots of cabinets, it had to be the biggest kitchen I’d ever seen, too. It looked like one of those kitchens that you saw on HGTV or on MTV Cribs. I adjusted the strap of my Coach purse on my shoulder and stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, waiting for Vance.
“Relax,” he whispered in my ear from behind. I hadn’t even heard him walk into the room.
He removed my purse from my arm and placed it on the kitchen counter, grabbed my hand and led me up a flight of stairs right off the kitchen. It was like one of those hidden stairways, like the one on The Cosby Show reruns.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“I wanna show you around,” he said.
We took a stroll down the long hallway, my Nike sneakers making a squishing noise with every step. We stepped into the huge master bedroom, which looked like a mini apartment. It had a sofa, a huge flat-screen television hung from the wall, and the built-in bookshelf probably had a thousand books.
“This is my mom and dad’s room,” he said. “Big, huh?”
“That’s not even the word,” I said, looking around until my eyes landed on the huge bookcase. “I can see that somebody likes to read.”
“My mother is an avid reader. She reads, like, five books a week.” He laughed. “Come on. I wanna show you my crib.”
I followed Vance down the long stretch of the hallway and into a room that was smaller than his parents’ bedroom, but not much. The entertainment center against the wall held Vance’s flat-screen television, a DVD player, stereo equipment and lots of other electronic gadgets. The comforter on his king-size bed was a tribute to the New York Jets, and posters of LeBron James, Kobe Bryant and Dwyane Wade were plastered all over the walls. He hit the power button on his stereo, and Keyshia Cole’s voice rang throughout the room.
“You okay?” He hopped onto his bed.
“Yeah.”
“Have a seat,” he said and patted the spot next to him on the bed. “I won’t bite.”
I sat next to Vance, and before I could relax, his arms were pulling me closer. His lips touched mine, and I remembered all those dreams I’d had about kissing him. Only this time it was for real, and I decided to savor the moment. His fingertips began to caress my breasts, and at first, I wanted to pull away, but I relaxed against his touch. He stretched out across the bed, on his back, and pulled me on top of him. As soon as he began to pull down the zipper of my skinny jeans, I felt uncomfortable. I remembered our conversation the other night, the one that had left me sleepless until four o’clock in the morning. I wanted to be in Vance’s arms, but it was happening too fast. Sex was like being on a roller-coaster ride at Six Flags Over Georgia—once you were on it, there was no getting off. This was unknown territory for Vance and me, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.
I pulled away and sat straight up on the edge of the bed.
“What’s up?” Vance asked, breathing heavily.
“I’m not ready for this,” I said.
“I thought you said you’d done it before,” he said. “Not scared, are you?”
“A little,” I admitted.
“I got you. I promise I won’t hurt you,” Vance whispered.
I had never seen this side of him before. Up until then, he’d been somewhat of a quiet guy, smart, with future goals and dreams. But today he was a teenage boy, with hormones raging out of control. It was confusing and a little scary.
“I’m not ready. I think this is something we should talk about first and make sure it’s the right time.”
“I tried to talk to you about it the other night, remember?” Of course I remembered. “Everybody’s doing it, Tameka,” he said, and then his lips touched mine again. “And it’s the perfect time. My folks are gone, and we have the whole house to ourselves. And…I got protection, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand, pulled out three or four condoms and placed them near the lamp.
“I need to get over to Mickey D’s. That’s where I told my parents I would be. I wanna be there when Mr. Summer picks up Indigo so he can take me home, too. My parents trust me to be responsible, and I don’t want to mess that up.”
“You think making love to your boyfriend is irresponsible?” he asked. “I have girls throwing it at me on a daily basis, Tameka, but really I just want it to be with you.”
“Girls like who?” All I heard was the word girls. I wanted to know who these girls were, and if he was catching it when they were throwing it at him.
“Like, a bunch of girls. I don’t keep track.” He stood, grabbed the autographed football from his bookshelf, tossed it into the air.
I was flooded with jealousy at the thought of other girls pushing up on Vance. At that moment I was faced with a decision—the decision to give it up simply because that was what I was expected to do. Or walk away, think it through and not make a hasty decision. I thought about my mother and how she had taught me to never let anyone touch my “pocketbook” before I was ready. I could still hear her voice in my head, giving me the same lecture that she’d given me a million times.
“Please take me to McDonald’s, where the rest of my friends are, so I can catch a ride home.”
Vance pulled his car keys from the pocket of his jeans, held them in the air. “Let’s go,” he said.
In the car, he turned on V-103’s Quiet Storm.
“You mad?” I asked.
“Nah, I’m cool,” he said. “You cool?”
“I’m okay.”
“I didn’t mean to rush you into something you weren’t ready for, Tameka. I’m sorry.” He sounded so sincere.
Now that was the Vance I knew—sweet, respectful. His fingertips brushed against my cheek.
“Thank you for understanding.” I smiled.
He shrugged.
I could see the golden arches up ahead, and I wondered if I’d made the right decision. After all, we were in a serious relationship. Not just a fly-by-night, casual sort of thing. We’d made vows and promises. I just wondered what was required in a serious relationship. Did you give up your right to say no? Not to mention, girls were throwing it at him on a daily basis. It was just a matter of time before he considered going somewhere else, and I knew it.
“Just let me know when you’re ready,” he said.
I buttoned my coat up, slipped my gloves onto my hands, pulled my toboggan onto my head and braced myself for the night air.
six
Vance
I listened to the score on ESPN as my eyes slowly drifted shut. I hit the mute button on the television and hit the power button for the stereo. Lil Wayne spit some lyrics to me on 107.9. Things with Tameka hadn’t gone as planned. She wanted to wait until we had talked about having sex before we actually did it. What sense did that make? What a waste of an empty house, I thought as my head bounced against my pillow, and I struggled to stay awake and catch the score from the game.
My phone vibrated on my nightstand. I picked it up. A text from Tameka.
WUP?
Nuthin,
I typed.
Just wanted 2 say GNITE.
U OK?
Yes.
Cool.
CUIMD, she typed. It was her favorite phrase. See you in my dreams.
:-O I gave her a yawn to let her know that I was sleepy.
GNITE, she responded, and then she was gone.
I kicked my sneakers off and heard them hit the floor with a loud thud. I pulled my shirt over my head and removed my jeans. I was down to my boxers and tube socks. I thought I heard a noise, like someone was in the house, even though I knew I had locked up. I decided to go downstairs and check the doors, make sure the house was secured. I peeked into the garage just to make sure I’d let the garage door down when I came in. I checked the front door, made sure it was locked. Checked the back door. All locks were secured. I swung open the refrigerator door, hoping for a late-night snack. I searched the freezer and ended up with an ice-cream sandwich and a bottle of Gatorade. I took the stairs two at a time to my room, plopped onto the bed. My phone vibrated again. Maybe Tameka had had a change of heart and was planning to sneak out of the house and head back over here for a nightcap—that way we could finish what we’d started earlier.
I picked up my phone. Read the text.
Hi U.
It wasn’t from Tameka, and I didn’t recognize the phone number.
Who is this?
Guess.
Someone wanted to play games, and I wasn’t in the mood. It was too late at night, and I wasn’t in the best of moods, anyway, after losing to the worst team in the district. Not only had we lost our game against a team that sucked, but on top of it, I had issues with my girl, too.
Not in da mood 4 games.
It’s Darla. From Am Hist.
Darla from American history? The fine girl with the cute little dimples?
How did u get my #? I wanted to know. I didn’t remember giving it to her.
Got my sources:)
Girls had a way of tracking you down, no matter what. The more you tried to avoid someone, the more they chased. However, with Darla, I didn’t mind the chase.
WUP? I asked.
U looked good on da court 2Nite.
U were there?
Yes.
Cool.
U got a G-fnd, huh?
Yep.
Serious?
Somewhat.
Cool. Let’s B friends.
Sounds good.
CU L8R.
L8R.
She was gone, but thoughts of her still danced in my head. So much so that I wasn’t even sleepy anymore. I wanted to text her again but didn’t. I hoped that she would text me back, but she didn’t. It was better that way. I had a girl, and Darla was way too cute for her own good. She would have me distracted, and I didn’t need that right now.
I closed my eyes really tight and hoped for sleep.
Saturday morning, and I had a laundry list of chores. Cleaning the guest bathroom was at the top of that list, along with mopping the kitchen floor and vacuuming the family room. My parents were sticklers for a clean house, and they didn’t hire anyone to do it. My mother cleaned like a mad-woman, and they depended on my sister, Lori, and me to do our part. And since Lori ended up going to Philadelphia with them to visit my grandmother, she weaseled out of her chores. In my opinion, because she was twelve years old, she was able weasel out of a lot of things.
It simply wasn’t fair that she had the bigger bedroom, a bigger television and a huge closet to hold all her clothes, which she received for absolutely no reason whatsoever. If she aced a math quiz, she got a new outfit. When she made the volleyball team at her school, she got a new Nintendo Wii system, with four new games. I made good grades on a daily basis, and I was the starting guard for the school’s basketball team, but I didn’t have a Nintendo Wii. I was still using the PlayStation I’d got two Christmases before, and the joystick barely worked, de-pending on what day it was. My sister was truly rotten and got on my nerves just for the heck of it. If it had been up to me, I would’ve been an only child. Instead, I was stuck with her for at least the rest of my life.
I wiped down the toilet in the guest bathroom, poured a little Pine-Sol into the bowl in order to make the room smell fresh and clean. After vacuuming the family room, I collapsed onto the leather sofa, placed my feet on top of the coffee table. That was a no-no when my parents were home—feet on the furniture was absolutely out of the question. But what my parents didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. They were way too involved in my decision making, anyway; my dad was, at least. Especially when it came to my college choice. I knew what I wanted and was mature enough to make my own decisions, but trying to get him to see that was like pulling teeth.
When my phone vibrated, I jumped. Looked at the screen. Jaylen.
“What up, fool?” I answered.
“We going to the mall?” he asked.
“For sho.”
“You picking me up?” he asked.
“Um, I’ll think about it,” I teased.
“I’ll be ready when you get here,” he said and hung up before I could object.
Jaylen was my best friend. We played ball together and hung out most other times. We’d been tighter than glue since the first grade. The girls loved his six-foot frame, light brown skin and good hair. He was broke most of the time, though, and borrowed lunch money from me on a regular basis. That was what kept him from keeping a regular girlfriend. Girls expected you to take them to a movie or to McDonald’s once in a while. You couldn’t do that if you were always broke.
I put the cleaning products away and then rushed upstairs to take a shower. I was hungry but decided I’d grab something at the food court at the mall. I listened to SportsCenter as I sat on the edge of the bed and tied my green-and-white Nike sneakers. I decided on my Southpole jeans and my green-and-white Southpole shirt. I brushed my hair until the waves appeared, and got upset when I saw a pimple growing on my light brown forehead. It was all I needed.
The minute that Jaylen hopped into my car, he took over my stereo.
“You gotta hear this track that we put down last night,” he declared.
Music was his life. It was all he thought about. He had a makeshift studio in his basement, where we spent hours recording and putting lyrics to beats. Sometimes on the weekends, we recorded until the wee hours of the morning. We had enough music to drop a demo. We were good, both of us could flow, but the problem was getting someone to listen. That was why I hoped for a chance meeting with Tameka’s father. He had a lot of pull in the music industry, and I knew that if he ever heard our stuff, he would be impressed.
As the music filled the car, I smiled. It sounded good.
“Where’d you get that beat?” I asked.
“You’ll never believe it.” He grinned. “You know Terrence Hill from the basketball team, right? Well, his little brother, Trey…I think he’s, like, ten years old or something…He creates beats….”
“Come on, man. A ten-year-old created this beat?” I asked.
I wanted to meet this musical genius. I didn’t know Terrence that well, but he seemed cool. I guessed he would be our go-to man from now on, whenever we needed a hot track.
“I kid you not,” Jaylen said. “Get it? Kid you not.”
Jaylen had the corniest sense of humor of anybody that I knew. He wasn’t the most popular dude at school, but he was cool. He was more like family to me, because we’d known each other for so long. We’d grown up on the playground of our elementary school together, skinned our knees together, and both of us had lost our two front teeth in the same week.
The beat was hot, the lyrics were hot, and we bounced our heads to the music all the way down I-287.
seven
Tameka
The relaxer was cold against my scalp, and it didn’t take long for it to begin to sting. I bit my bottom lip in order to ease the pain. It was no secret, I was tender headed. Cynthia knew it, and she usually took extra care in making my beauty-shop experience as painless as pos
sible.
“You burning, sweetie?” she asked as she slapped the rat-tailed comb against my scalp.
“A little bit.” I frowned.
“Just a few more minutes and then we’ll wash it out,” Cynthia said. Her hair was in a red Afro, and low-cut jeans hugged her hips. “How you doing over there, Mel?”
“I think I’m dry,” my mother said.
“Meka, you go on over to the shampoo bowl. Mel, you can have a seat right here in my chair.”
Saturday mornings at the beauty shop took up half of our day, but it was always worth it, because we looked so fly when Cynthia finally finished working her magic on us. It was cool sitting there listening to all the latest adult gossip. I always learned something new—grown-ups were a trip.
I leaned my head back against the shampoo bowl and Cynthia washed the relaxer out of my hair. The smell of the shampoo that she’d used to wash my hair filled the room, made my scalp tingle. Cynthia was running her mouth nonstop with the heavy woman who sat under the dryer across the room. They talked about what was on sale at Dillard’s, traffic and Cynthia’s latest trip to Las Vegas. She had won two thousand dollars at the slot machines but then lost it all before she left. But she’d had the time of her life.
Cynthia wrapped my hair and then sat me under the dryer. I flipped through an Essence magazine and read a few of the articles. After getting bored with that, I flipped open my cell phone, decided to send Vance a text message. The night before had left us both feeling awkward, but I hoped we could get past it.
Hey U. I sent a quick message, waited for the reply.
There was none. I figured he’d probably slept in, as he did most Saturday mornings. The heat from the hair dryer made me doze.
“Okay, let’s go, Meka.” Cynthia woke me up with a tap on the shoulder. “Go sit in my chair.”
I opened my eyes and glanced across the room at my mother, or at least at the woman I thought was my mother. The woman favored her, all the way down to the tight-fitting red Guess shirt and the skinny jeans. The only difference was this woman had a short, sassy haircut, and my mother wore her hair thick and shoulder-length.
Deal With It Page 5
