by Amir Abrams
“It was Siiiiiinceeeere,” Ameerah and Zahara sing in unison.
“And you don’t even wanna know what I walked up on,” Zahara adds.
“Oh, whatever,” I say, laughing. “Like you don’t do worse.”
“Well, yeah. But I’m grown.”
“So am I,” I say, planting both hands up on my hips.
They start laughing when they see the Wicked Witch open the front door with a hand up on her hip.
“Not,” Ameerah says, cracking up.
“Yeah, talk to the hand, boo,” Zahara chimes in.
“Hi, Missus Nichols,” they say, waving as they walk up the driveway.
“Hey, girls. Kamiyah, y’all need to come on inside.”
“Let’s see how grown you are now,” Brittani mumbles, holding back a laugh.
“Oh, shut up,” I hiss under my breath.
4
“Ooooh, I’m soooo dang jealous, boo,” Ameerah says, peeking out of my curtains and looking down at my shiny new ride.
I showed them the inside of the car before we came inside, and the whole time, while they all oohed and aahed over it, the Wicked Witch was standing by the door, playing the Neighborhood Watch like I was gonna steal my own car or something. Like really, where am I gonna go with no car key? I swear, she makes me sick!
“I am so in love with your car. I wish I had a Daddy who bought me whatever I wanted.”
“Yeah, you’re real lucky,” Brittani says. “I’ll be lucky if I get a pair of Rollerblades to get around on for my birthday.” Her birthday is next month.
I laugh. “And I’m sure you’ll make it look mad fly, too.”
Brittani shimmies her shoulders. “And you know how I do, boo. Oh, Miss Bee gonna Rollerblade it up, okay.”
“Well, just make sure you don’t Rollerblade your butt into a ditch,” Ameerah says, moving away from the window, “like you did when you were busy tryna be cute on that skateboard and ended up getting a mud bath. Bam!”
We all start laughing. Well, the truth is, she had no business up on that skateboard in the first place, tryna impress some boy; especially since she had never even been on one before. But she liked him. And when Brittani likes someone, she goes all out to let it be known. Anywho, PJ—the guy she liked—always rode his skateboard everywhere he went. So Miss Ooh-I’m-’Bout-To-Make-His-Fine-Butt-My-Man decided to tell him she loved skateboarding, too—even though she didn’t own one. He invited her to go skateboarding with him and she had to beg her mom to rush out and buy her one. Then, when they finally hooked up, she skateboarded her butt right down into a ditch and broke her arm. He had to climb down and help her out of a buncha mud. Poor thing, she was a muddy mess! Then, after all that, he still wasn’t her man.
“Gee, thanks for reminding me,” she says, falling back on the bed. “I was never so dang embarrassed.”
“And you shoulda been,” Ameerah says, still laughing. “Be glad you had that helmet on; otherwise you probably would have gotten more than a broken arm. I swear, I wish I coulda seen you rolling around in that mud, looking like a pig stuck in slop.”
“Ohmygod, picture that,” I say, changing into a pair of pink boy-shorts. “That woulda been too funny.”
“It sure woulda,” Zahara agrees. “The crazy things we do for boys.”
Brittani sits up, sucking her teeth. “Oh, whatever. You boogas probably woulda tweeted about it and had it posted all up on Facebook, too.”
“Yup,” Zahara, Ameerah, and I say, high-fiving each other and laughing.
I add, “You know we love you, boo. But you already know we woulda had ya muddy mug all over the Net till it went viral, baby.”
Brittani grunts, folding her arms. “Ugh. And I didn’t even get to taste his lips.”
“Girl, that’s all you think about,” I state. “You’re so boy crazy.”
“Whatever, boo,” Brittani says. “Ain’t nothing crazy about going after what you want. And I wanted him. I woulda licked his lollipop up and down and all around.”
“Ewww, yuck!” Ameerah snaps.
Brittani waves her on. “Oh, please. Don’t knock it until you try it.”
I put a finger up. “Wait. You’re a neck bobbler?”
She bats her eyes, acting all shy and whatnot, sticking a fingernail in between her teeth. “Uh, yeah. I thought you knew, boo.”
“Uh, noooo, I didn’t know. But I do now.”
She shrugs. “It’s no biggie. Every now and then I like to hop on the mic if I think a guy’s worth it.”
We stare at her.
She shrugs her shoulders. “What? It’s not like I’m out there having sex.”
I look at her like she has the word dumbo stamped on her forehead. “So wait. You think oral sex isn’t having sex?”
“Well, yeah.”
I blink. Ameerah bucks her eyes at her. Zahara shifts her eyes.
“Girlfriend,” Ameerah says, smacking her lips, “I don’t know what Sex Ed classes you’ve been in, boo-boo. But last I heard, doing the superhead is sex.”
“Okay,” Brittani says, twirling the end of one of her braids. “Maybe it is. But, shoot. At least you can’t get pregnant. I just swallow and go. And my boo-of-the-moment stays with a smile on his face.”
I am speechless.
“Alrighty, then,” Zahara says, clapping her hands. “We know who failed what classes, so on to the next. Speaking of boys”—she glances over at me—“you better spill it.”
“Spill what?” I ask, playing stupid.
“You know,” she says, rolling over on her back. “All that goo-goo, ga-ga ish you been doing with Sincere.”
I laugh, walking into my bathroom, flipping on the light. “Oh, puhleeze. Goo-goo, ga-ga nothing.” I run the water, staring at my reflection as I talk to them. “Sincere and I are just talking, for now.”
“Girl, shut up with your lies,” Brittani chimes in. “Y’all been talking mad long. It’s time to kick it up a notch. We all know you feeling him. So why don’t you quit playing and get with the program?”
“I’m not in any rush,” I say, flicking my wrist at her.
Zahara pops her eyes open. “It’s been since July and y’all still not going together. Who the heck does that? Drag out a love affair? I woulda been done had him booed up.”
“Yeah, Miyah,” Ameerah cosigns. “Get with the program. You need to stop fronting and make it official. You know he’s your boo.”
“I’m not thinking about that boy,” I say, lying through my pretty white teeth—compliments of Crest Whitestrips, thank you very much! Anywaaayz, truth is I can’t stop thinking about Sincere! I already told you, every waking moment I have him on the brain. And I told you how bad I want him. But, like Erika and her girls used to always say, Never let a boy think you’re pressed. But the reality is, I AM pressed!! Still, coming off like I’m some thirsty chick is not how I do mine. And I’m definitely not about to play myself like that in front of my girls, either.
“Well,” Zahara says, “since you’re not thinking about him, you can pass him over to me, ’cause that boy is extra-fine-dot-com. I definitely know what to do with him.” She licks her lips.
Ameerah lets out a disgusted grunt. “Ewww!”
Brittani laughs.
I pop my head out of the bathroom and buck my eyes wide open, planting a hand up on my hip. “Excuse you?”
“Siiiiike,” Zahara says, laughing. “You know I’m only popping junk, boo.”
I raise my arched brow. “Hahahahaha, real funny.”
She and Brittani keep laughing. But I don’t see jack amusing. And if we weren’t celebrating my birthday, I’d scream on her for even coming at me sideways like that. And I’d scream on Brittani for thinking that ish is funny. But I’ma keep it fly for now and turn it up just a taste to let her know I don’t appreciate it.
“You can laugh all you want. But I tell you what. Go ’head and get your top rocked if you want.”
“Oh, Miyah, please. We’re girls, boo,” Zah
ara says, getting serious. “You know I wouldn’t do you dirty like that. Relax.”
Yeah, we’re girls and all, and yeah, I’m sure she was playing, but I’m not that kinda chick. And I don’t get down with playing like that. And she’s already done that kinda nastiness once . . . wait, twice . . . to her own cousin and this nondescript chick none of us liked, but still . . . what she did was real nasty. And if she did it to them, what should make me think she wouldn’t try to do it to me, too?
“Relax, nothing,” I say, eyeing her. “Girls or not, boo, I will beat the dust up off you if you ever try it with someone you know I’m dealing with.”
They all stare at me. “Uhhh, hold up,” Brittani says, putting a finger up in the air. “We thought you weren’t dealing with him.”
I frown, stepping out of the bathroom. I place a hand up on my hip, ready to bring it. “Well, I’m not. But that’s beside the point. I will be. And, for now, I’m speaking in general.”
Zahara frowns back at me. Ameerah jumps in before she can say something. “Now, hold up. Wait a minute . . . let me put my two cents in it.” She looks at the both of us. “We are girls. And, hellooo, we have a pact. No matter how fine a boy is, we never, ever let him come between us. And, Miyah, you know Zahara’s dizzy behind was only playing with you. Geesh. You must really like him.”
“Yeah, Miyah,” Brittani agrees. “Many times before, we’ve joked back and forth about passing off a guy if one of us didn’t want him, and none of us have ever gotten all twisted outta shape over it before. So you must really be feeling him.”
“You know what, y’all?” I stare at them, pausing. Then crack a smile. “Siiiiike. Gotcha, boo.”
They start grabbing pillows off my bed and throwing them at me.
“Oooh, girl,” Zahara says, laughing. “I really thought you were tryna crank it up over some boy.”
I keep laughing with her, but inside I’m dead serious. I will wrap my hands up in her weave and drag her through the streets. I’m gonna be watching her real close around Sincere. I already know. That’s my girl and all, but I know how she gets down. She’s kinda messy on the low. And I’m not the one. If she tries to step to my man, I promise you, I’m going to stomp her lights out. Friend or not!
“Girl, I hope you know I would never do any of you dirty like that,” Zahara says after we stop laughing about it. “We too fly for that.”
“You got that right,” Ameerah agrees.
“Look, I don’t know about you ooga-boogas,” Brittani says to Ameerah and Zahara as she gets up off the bed, grabbing the remote to my stereo from off the dresser, “but I’m here to celebrate our girl’s birthday. Not get into a buncha dumbness about some boy who isn’t even hers yet. Sorry, boo. Borrrrrrrring. So moving on.” She clicks on the stereo, then presses PLAY for the CD player. She clicks through the tracks until she finds what she wants. Trey Songz’s “Say Aah” starts playing. “Now this is who we should be beefing over. Now open wide and say aah.” She starts dancing toward me, then grabs me by the arms. “It’s ya birthday, boo . . .”
We all start laughing and dancing and just that quick I forget that only seconds ago I was ready to bring it to Zahara’s face.
5
TGIF! Yes, yes, yes. . .I am sooo ready for last-period bell to ring so I can sling my designer bag up over my shoulder and hit the door. It’s officially the second weekend of the school year and I’m ready to get it started! Sincere and I are going to the movies tonight. He wants to see that new action flick with Denzel Washington. Mmmph. Personally, I’m not interested. I mean, really. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to compromise, especially since I had to beg him to go see a chick flick with me last month, which I absolutely loved. And even though he tried to front and say the movie was “a’ight,” I could tell he enjoyed it, too. Anywaaayz, tonight’s his turn to pick whatever movie he wants to see, so I’m going to sit back and make the best of it. Besides, as long as we’re spending time together I really don’t care what we see.
I grab the books I need for my second-period AP English class, then shut my locker. If I wasn’t destined to be a dancer, I would major in Literature or something ’cause I actually enjoy it, especially Advanced Placement English—well, thanks to Mr. Croix. He is the first teacher—shoot, first man—I’ve ever met who gets excited just talking about literature and his love of books. He’s one of the toughest English teachers here, and his classes are demanding. But it’s because of him that I love going to class. He challenges us to explore the world through literature and to discover the themes in the books we read. He exposes us to poets and authors I would never have heard of if it weren’t for his class. I mean, he really takes us back through time. Mr. Croix makes us think. And I love it.
“Yo, wassup, Miyah?”
I glance over my shoulder and see Jarrell walking up behind me with a grin on his face. I’m not even gonna lie and say his dimpled chin isn’t real sexy, ’cause it is. But, uh, anywaayz . . . I suck my teeth. “What’s up, Jarrell?” I say. I don’t bother stopping.
But that doesn’t discourage him from catching up. I roll my eyes up in my head as he walk-runs up beside me. Jarrell is such a clown, I swear. And you’d never know he is one of the smartest dudes in our school.
“Nothing much. How you?”
“I’m good. But I’ll be better once I get away from you.”
He laughs. “Damn, girl, that’s cold.”
I shrug. “Then get a blanket.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” he says, laughing.
“Whatever. What do you want?”
“I wanted to walk to class with you,” he says, glancing at the book in my hand. “That’s all.”
Jarrell is in the same English class with me. Actually we’ve both had Mr. Croix for the last two years, together. For some reason, I’m starting to think it’s not a coincidence. But he’d deny it if I asked him, and I can’t prove it. So it is what it is.
I grunt. “Mmmph. Oookay, then . . . walk. Don’t talk. Your voice is annoying.”
“Yeah, right,” he says, taking the book from my hand. “Did you have a hard time reading this?”
He’s talking about Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. The book deals with racist stereotypes. And in today’s class we have to present on what we’ve read. We have to discuss the emerging themes. OMG, this book is so dang deep. It was written waaay back in 1950-something. And it’s about this black man, living in a racist world, trying to define himself through the expectations and values of others around him. I am so glad I didn’t grow up in them days.
Jarrell flips through the pages as we walk to class.
“Nope,” I tell him. “I loved it.”
“It figures you would,” he says, handing the book back to me. “You love anything Mister Croix gives us to read.”
“Yup. Did you finish it?”
“Yeah, sort of. After reading three hundred and fifty pages of it, I stopped reading and went straight to the epilogue.”
I shake my head. “Cheater.”
“Yo, that book was mad thick. Mister Croix knows he needs to be smacked for having us read that big ole thing.”
I laugh. “Boy, you should have just kept reading. Another eighty-nine pages and you woulda been done.”
“Nah, I’m good. I got the gist of it. Dude was all effed up in the game.”
“Whatever.”
“Eww,” Zahara says the minute she rounds the corner and sees me walking with Jarrell.
“If it isn’t the little Chia Pet,” he says to her.
She ignores him. “Umm, excuse me, girl,” she says, throwing her hand up in his face. “Why are you walking with that clown?” She motions her head in his direction.
“That clown? Hahaha. You real funny. Oh, and extra ugly. But I got your clown all right.”
“Whatever. Beat it,” she says, cutting in between the two of us. “Sooo, wassup, boo-thang? You chilling with your girls tonight? We’re going to meet up at the Red Lob
ster on Twenty-Two.”
“I can’t. I’m going to the movies with Sincere tonight.”
“Okay. What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I have dance at eleven, then I’m going over to Sincere’s house to spend the day with him. Let’s go out to the mall next Tuesday after school. I don’t have anything going on that day.”
“Daaaamn, dude got it like that?” Jarrell says. “He must really be beatin’ that thang up.”
“Ugh,” Zahara and I say at the same time.
“Mmmph, it must be nice to be sooo busy,” Zahara says sarcastically. “Well, since you can’t seem to fit us in tonight, then I guess next week’s cool.”
“Damn, Zee, you sound jealous,” Jarrell says, laughing.
“Jarrell, why don’t you go find a bridge to jump off of,” Zahara says. “It’d really make the world a better place.”
“Yo, Zee. Has anyone ever told you that you smell like spoiled clam juice?”
“Womp, womp, womp . . . you fail,” she says, giving him the finger. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell like the back of a garbage truck?”
I laugh.
“Nah, they haven’t. But I heard your mom’s breath smells like one,” he shoots back.
“OMG,” I say, laughing. “That’s so wrong.” And I know I shouldn’t be laughing, but . . . OMG, and I can’t believe I’m gonna say this. Now, don’t get me wrong. Zahara’s mom is really, really nice. But, um . . . the truth is, her breath is a bit raunchy. And she stays chomping on chewing gum tryna cover it up. Ohmygod, Zahara would be so pissed if she knew I even thought this.
I can tell by Zahara’s face that she feels some kinda way about Jarrell going in on her mom’s breath like that. She puts a hand up on her hip, then starts neck-rolling it. “I know you don’t even want it with me with your little Vienna-sausage-having self.”
