Crazy Love

by Amir Abrams

  “Thank you,” I say, walking over to him, wiping my eyes with the back of my hands. I am so happy to see him.

  “Damn, you a’ight? Why you crying?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not crying.”

  He eyes me. “Looks like it to me. But a’ight; if you say so.”

  I smile. “Trust me. I have nothing to cry about.” I know it’s a lie, but the truth is, I don’t know why I was crying. “How long were you standing there?”

  “Long enough to see how talented you are.”

  I smile. “My dad let you in?”

  He shakes his head. “No, your mom did. She told me you were down here practicing.”

  I am shocked. “Wow,” is all I can say. I lift up on my tippy-toes and kiss him.

  “You’re real sexy in them tights.”

  I laugh. “It’s a leotard.”

  “Yeah, you’re real sexy in that, too.”

  I smile.

  “So, what was the name of that song you were dancing to? It was sounding a’ight.”

  “‘Moments in Love,’” I tell him, grabbing a towel and dabbing the sweat from around my neck. Sincere walks over to the sofa and takes a seat. “I wanna use it for my Juilliard audition.” I toss the towel over on the barre.

  He leans back, legs wide, staring at me intently. “Real sexy,” he says, licking his lips.

  “What’s real sexy?”

  “You. That little thing with all them sexy spins you were doing. The music. All of it.”

  I realize that that was the first time Sincere has seen me dance. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”

  “Nah, I loved it. Damn, Miyah, you got real skills, baby. I didn’t know you were that good. You’re about to be the Beyoncé of ballet.”

  I laugh, walking over to him. “Whatever.” I sit on the sofa next to him, lifting his arm up, then draping it over my shoulder. I lean back on him. “Well, I’m good at a lot of things.”

  “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  I look up at him. “Like this,” I say, kissing him on the lips.

  “Yeah, okay. What else?”

  I grin. “I’m not saying. You’ll have to find out.”

  He laughs. “Oh, word? It’s like that?”

  “Yup.”

  He kisses me again, gazing in my eyes. “Dance for me.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah. Do something just for me.”

  I smile, getting up. “And I have just the song,” I tell him, walking over to the stereo. I shuffle through a stack of CDs until I find the one I want, slip it in, then skip through the tracks. Jill Scott’s “He Loves Me” starts playing. And for the next five minutes and forty seconds, I give Sincere a dance he’ll never forget. I give him my heart and my soul. I give him everything that I am. And everything he is to me.

  19

  Okay, so I’m not on punishment. Well, I am. But I can see Sincere, and I’m going to Brittani’s birthday party this Saturday. Still, I’m not allowed to drive my car for the next two weeks. Mmmph, I don’t even know the point of having it, since it’s been parked more than it’s been on the road. Anywaaayz, I have to go straight home after school on the days I don’t have dance. So I’m not allowed out of the house. Whatever. I can still have company over, only for an hour, though—supervised, of course. Blah, blah, blah. Still, I’m not complaining.

  I am at my locker when I spot Zahara and Ameerah coming around the corner. Zahara and I haven’t spoken in two days, since last Saturday night when I was on speaker with her.

  Ameerah smiles at me. Zahara cuts her eyes and keeps on walking.

  Sometimes you have to admit when you’re wrong, even when you’re not. I sigh. “Zahara, wait up, girl,” I say, walking over to her.

  She stops. Places a hand up on her hip, giving me attitude I guess I deserve.

  “What is it? I’m gonna be late for class.”

  “Since when you care about being late for class?” I ask.

  “Since my so-called best friend started coming at me all sideways,” she says sarcastically.

  “I’m sorry, Zee. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh no, sweetie. Don’t apologize. You said exactly what you felt. But be clear. I don’t care what you think of me. I’m still fly, boo. You gotta man, I’m happy for you. But ever since you got with him, you’ve been changing up. And it ain’t cute.”

  “I haven’t changed,” I say defensively. “I just have a lot going on with school and dance.”

  “And Sincere,” she adds, twisting her lips up.

  “Okay, yes. With Sincere, too. But we’re still girls.”

  “Mmmph. I thought we were, but I guess I was wrong.” She glances at her watch. “Look, I gotta go. The homeroom bell is going to ring in two minutes and I’m not tryna be late for some chick who doesn’t know how to treat her friends.” She walks off, leaving me standing in the middle of the hall, feeling like a fool. But I know Zahara. She’ll stay pissed at me for a few days, then get over it. We’ll be back laughing it up in no time. I walk up into my Advanced Calculus class just as the bell rings. I take my seat.

  “Okay, class,” Mr. Langston says, grabbing a stack of papers from off his desk. Oh, great! “Please take out a pencil and put away everything else. This is your first test of the marking period. You may use your notes from previous class discussions only. If I see you glancing over at someone else’s desk, I’m going to take that as you’re cheating. And you will automatically be given an F. If you ask to use the bathroom, you must turn in your exam first. And it will not be given back when you return.” The whole class groans. I glance over my shoulder and catch Jarrell staring at me. He winks at me. I roll my eyes, turning back to face the front of the class. “Does anyone have any questions?”

  Someone in the back wants to know, “What if we fail it?”

  “Then you will have to try harder on the next exam. But there’ll be extra credit you can take to help with your end of the marking period average. Are there any other questions?”

  “Yeah, Mister L,” Jarrell says. “You real foul for dumping this on us like this without any warning. Wassup with that?”

  “And you’re real foul for not paying attention, Mister Mills. Now wassup with that?” Everyone laughs. “Settle down. You were all told the first week of school that this is an advanced math class, that besides weekly homework assignments and quizzes there would be at least two surprise exams and one final. And so, surprise, surprise. Here’s your first exam. Anything else before we get started?”

  “Can I make a quick cheat sheet?” someone else asks. What a loser!

  “Sure you can, if you want to fail.” Mr. Langston hands me my exam. “Okay, let’s get started.”

  Someone says, “Dang. This is a lot of formulas and concepts.”

  “No talking,” Mr. Langston warns.

  I sigh. There are eight problems and three concepts to answer. The first question wants us to explain how to solve for the equation of a tangent line. That one’s easy. The second problem wants us to define an equivalence relation on X. Then we have to justify our answers. Okay, another easy one. The problems get progressively more difficult. And now I am wishing I would have been paying closer attention to the notes on the board instead of doodling Sincere’s name and writing him love letters all in my notebook. I inhale, then exhale. This is going to be one long period.

  “Looka here,” Brittani says, dragging Zahara by the arm over toward my locker. It’s the end of the day. And the only thing on my mind right now is seeing Sincere. He’s picking me up from school, then driving me home. “The two of you need to peace this dumbness up right here and now, so we can get on with being girls. My birthday is in five days—that’s this Saturday, okay? And the two of you need to air it out, then get the hell over it ’cause both of my besties are gonna be there, and I don’t want either one of you acting all stank, ruining my damn day.”

  “I tried to apologize to her earlier,” I say, shutting my locker,
“but she wasn’t tryna hear it.”

  Zahara rolls her eyes up in her head, all dramatic and whatnot. “Oh, puhleeeze. Is that what that mess was earlier? Give me a break. Honey, that was an epic fail!”

  “Whatever. I said I was sorry.”

  “And we both know you didn’t mean it.”

  “I did mean it. I was wrong for coming at you like that.”

  “Mmmph. Then you try to play me with Jarrell. I’m not even thinking about that boy.”

  “Well, that’s not what he said,” I say, eyeing her.

  “Well, I don’t care what he said. That’s not what it is.”

  Mmmph, then why you getting all defensive? “Look, I don’t care one way or the other if it is or isn’t. I’m not messing with him, so it’s whatever. I’m sorry if I offended you. If you wanna stay mad at me, then stay mad. I still love you, boo,” I say, pulling out my phone. Sincere has sent me a text letting me know he’s outside.

  “Well, this isn’t about Jarrell,” she states, frowning. “This is about you coming out of your face talking about I stay scheming on other chicks’ dudes, like I’m some sheisty chick. Then you pop ish about my weaves and thangs, calling me knotty-headed and whatnot, like I’m some real live ooga booga or something.”

  “Well, half the time your weaves are a mess.”

  Ameerah and Brittani give me a look.

  I shrug.

  “Whatever,” Zahara huffs. “It’s my hair. I paid for it and I’ll wear it however I want.”

  “Do you, sweetie,” I say, getting annoyed.

  Ameerah huffs. “Look, will y’all two stop all this ying-yang back-and-forth and make up? Damn! I don’t have all day to be standing here listening to this retardedness. I wanna get to my boo’s practice.”

  “Well, I said I was sorry, but she still wants to act all funny about it, so whatever.”

  “Yeah, I’m acting funny about it the same way you’ve been acting funny since you got with Sincere.”

  “Ohmygod . . .” Sincere sends me another text. I text him back, telling him I’ll be right out. “Look, I gotta go. Can we talk about this later? Sincere’s outside waiting for me.”

  Zahara turns her lips up. “Mmmph. What else is new? Sincere, Sincere, Sincere. Instead of tryna peace things up with your girl you’d rather run off to ya man. Go do you, ’cause I’m done.” She walks off.

  Brittani and Ameerah shake their heads.

  “I’m sorry, but you was dead wrong, Miyah. You didn’t have to go in on our girl’s weaves like that,” Ameerah says.

  “But wait,” Brittani says. “Forget the weaves. I wanna hear more about her and Jarrell. Did she . . . ?”

  I shrug, shaking my head. “I don’t know if she did or didn’t. I only know what I heard.”

  They both shake their heads again. We go back and forth a few minutes more, then bounce. I race out the door and hop in Sincere’s truck. I lean over and give him a kiss the minute I shut the door.

  “Damn, you smell good,” he says, smiling.

  “So do you,” I say. Sincere has one hand on the steering wheel and his other hand on my thigh. I have on a short skirt and leggings today. He licks his lips. “What time is your mom gonna be home?”

  I shrug. “Like around six or seven.”

  He grins, moving his eyebrows up and down. “So you think we can get it in real quick?” He inches his hand higher up my thigh. My legs part slightly. I know I’m not supposed to have company, especially a boy, in the house when no one’s home. But it’s Sincere. And his hand feels good on me. And I wanna feel them both all over my body.

  “Yessss,” I whisper. “Let’s hurry up and get there.”

  20

  Okay, so it’s Brittani’s birthday, whoopty-do. Right now I’d rather be somewhere, anywhere other than here listening to them sing “Happy Birthday.” Like chilling with my man.

  I am staring around the room as everyone sings. We’re all at Brittani’s, celebrating her birthday with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Wynn, her sister, Briana, and three of her female cousins—KreeAsia, Tiffany, and Shawna—from Newark. I don’t really know them all that well. I mean, I’ve been around them before, but never really made any effort to get to know them. And, truth be told, I still won’t. They’re not the kinda chicks I wanna hang with on the regular. Tiffany and Shawna aren’t so bad. But KreeAsia—with her multicolored bob weave and skintight leopard jeans—is a loud, obnoxious mess.

  Anywaaayz, as a gift, Briana’s parents bought her the iPad 2 and a cute pink cover to go with it. I got her the boots, which she loves—of course! Zahara got her some Bath & Body Works products, and Ameerah bought her a charm for her Juicy bracelet.

  And for the grand finale, Brittani was told she’s going to be getting Briana’s Volvo because her sister’s getting a new car. Brittani’s extra-hyped now. And I don’t blame her.

  “Wait, wait,” Zahara says, holding her hands up, all dramatic and whatnot. “Ameerah and I have another verse to sing.” She glances over at Ameerah, then me—as an afterthought, I’m sure. She’s nice enough to include me. Zahara starts off. “Happy birthday to . . .”

  Then Ameerah chimes in.

  Then I start singing my verse—even though I don’t really wanna be a part of it

  Brittani is cracking up ’cause it’s the birthday song sung by the lion, giraffe, and hippo in the movie Madagascar. Although it came out when we were mad young, it’s still one of our favorite movies.

  “Now make a wish with your big bubblehead,” Briana says, laughing.

  “Forget you, with your nappy-headed self,” Brittani says, laughing. She closes her eyes for a few seconds, then blows out the candles. Everyone claps.

  “What’d you wish for?” Zahara asks.

  Brittani scrunches her nose up. “That your breath didn’t smell like hot skunk piss.”

  We start laughing.

  “Oooh, boo. Don’t do it,” Zahara warns, wagging a finger at her. “Or you’ll be wishing for a new set of teeth. You know you don’t want it with me.”

  “No, boo. You don’t want it with this fist,” Brittani snaps, making a fist, then moving it back and forth in front of her face, across her eyes. “One right hook and pow . . . have your sockets knocked out.”

  While the two of them are going back and forth, clowning each other, I glance down at my wrist, checking the time—7:18 P.M. I wonder what Sincere’s doing. I slide my hand down into my bag on the low and pull out my phone. I check for any messages or texts. There are none.

  Brittani stops clowning Zahara, looking over at me. Zahara rolls her eyes. Brittani shoots daggers. “Oh, I know you not about to stand here and start textin’ ya man, Miss Thang-a-lang,” she snaps, putting a hand up on her hip and neck rolling it up, “while we celebrating my birthday. This is supposed to be about me. Not Sincere. So all eyes on me, not ya cell phone, boo.”

  Zahara smirks, rolling her eyes.

  I suck my teeth, more so at Zahara than Brittani. I drop my phone back down in my bag. And give her my undivided attention.

  “Girl, hush,” her mom says, handing her a cake knife.

  “You worry about cutting this cake, so me and your father can go upstairs and let you young folks have the rest of the night to yourselves.”

  “You tell her, Missus Wynn,” I say, laughing.

  After Brittani finishes cutting the cake, she places two large pieces on plates and hands them to her mother. Her father walks over and gives her a kiss on the forehead. Tells her how much he loves her, wishes her a happy birthday again, then says good night to the rest of us.

  “Good night, Mister Wynn,” Ameerah, Zahara, and I say. We watch as he walks out, then climbs the stairs.

  “Whew, I’m soooo glad Auntie and Unc done finally dipped,” KreeAsia says, slipping her iPod into the station dock. “Now we can really get the party started. Just wish we had some boys here.”

  I roll my eyes. Walking off to the bathroom, I shut the door and call Sincere. When he doesn’t pick up
, I leave a message, then grab a few napkins and wet them. I text Daddy to come pick me up, then press the damp towels to my lips, walking back out to where everyone is loud-talking and dancing, and tell them I’m not feeling well. I clutch my stomach for emphasis.

  Brittani walks over to me. “Thanks for the boots, boo.” She gives me a hug. “I love ’em.” I frown as if I’m in severe pain. Well, I am in pain. I’m pained that I can’t get in touch with Sincere. And this not knowing what he’s doing or who he’s with right now is hurting me. “Miyah, girl, are you all right?”

  I shake my head. “No. I think I’m coming down with something.”

  “Oh no,” she says, sounding concerned. “You want me to get Brittani to take you home?”

  “No, that’s okay. I texted my dad to come get me.” My phone buzzes and I quickly pull it out of my bag, hoping that it’s Sincere. It’s Daddy. “This is him now,” I tell her. “He’s on his way.”

  Ten minutes later, I am walking out the door with everyone telling me they hope I feel better. Well, everyone except Zahara. She’s eyeing me with one brow raised. I act like I don’t see it and wave good night.

  “How come you didn’t text me back earlier?” I ask, the minute I am finally able to get in touch with Sincere. It’s nine thirty at night.

  “I met up with a few of my boys and we got it in at the gym,” he tells me. “Then we went to get something to eat.”

  I twist my lips up. “Oh, for real? Around what time was that?”

  “Like around six, seven. Why?”

  “ ’Cause I called you. Then sent you a text.”

  “You sent me three texts.”

  “And . . . you didn’t respond to any of ’em.”

  “I didn’t have my phone.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah, really. I left it at home.”

  “Let me guess,” I say sarcastically. “On the charger? How convenient.”

  He lets out a sigh. “Yo, why you tryna pick a fight?”

  “I’m not tryna pick anything. I’m simply tryna understand why all of a sudden you’re forgetting your phone all the time.”