Diva Rules

by Amir Abrams

  I give Miesha a dismissive glance. “Trust, it’s one of the nicer names I have for her. I swear that lady’s crazy.”

  “Welcome to the club. You know I know all about crazy.”

  I nod knowingly. Even though Miesha decided to stay in Jersey ’n’ live with her aunt so she could finish school with her boo, Tone, her mom decided to move back to Brooklyn with her dad. And from what Miesha’s told me, her dad likes to feed the needy ’n’ greedy his man-pole. But her mom keeps putting up with his cheating. Leaving him one minute, then taking him back the next. If you ask me, that’s just too much craziness going on.

  “Well, it’s really gettin’ on my last nerve,” I say, pulling out my cosmetic case, removing a tube of pink cotton candy lip gloss. “That lady stays tryna do me. I swear I think her mission in life is to ruin me.” I flip down the visor, then glide a coat of gloss over my lips. I pop my lips. “She better get her life.” I toss the lip gloss back into my compact then stuff it down into my bag, venting. “I swear, she better be glad it’s open-toe season ’n’ Fiona ain’t tryna have her pretty feet stuffed inside a pair of blue bobos; otherwise I’d turn it up on—”

  “Girl, what the hell?”

  “Going to jail, boo. If I didn’t love my freedom ’n’ havin’ cutie-boos at my fingertips, I’d be doin’ a bid by now. Trust. ’Cause most days my mother really makes me wanna take it there.”

  “Stop. Just bring it back,” Miesha says as she drives down the Ave., holding one hand up while gripping the steering wheel with the other. “Enough of the drama with ya mama. Give me the dirt, girl. All of it. Scoop by scoop, boo. Don’t hold nothin’ back.”

  I give her a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

  She shoots me a look, shaking her head. “Uh-uh, don’t do it, boo. Hel-lo? You. Cease. Sunday.”

  I frown, twisting in my seat. “Whoop, whoop! Blow the whistle. There was no me. Cease. Or Sunday.”

  “Girl, I don’t know why you frontin’. You know you like him.”

  I pucker my lips. “Sorry to disappoint you, boo, but Cease can’t do nothin’ for me; except maybe massage my feet ’n’ nibble on these toes. That’s it. Trust.”

  She laughs. “What a freak.”

  “Uh-huh. But I ain’t messy.”

  “Yeah, okay. You need to stop playin’ ’n’ snatch that boy up before somebody else does.”

  I shrug. “They can have ’im. Cease is nice ’n’ all. And we both know he’s fine. But . . .” I pop my lips. “I already know if I gave ’im some of this good-good he’d end up strung.”

  “Girl, you a mess.” She chuckles, shaking her head.

  “Mm-hmm. But I ain’t lyin’. The world already has enough fiends out here; no need for me to add another one to the census count.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, okay. Front if you want. You scared to chill with him ’cause you know that six-five hunk’ll prolly be the one turnin’ you inside out.”

  I laugh. “Mitch, please. Never that. I’m a beast in the sheets. Trust. That boy ain’t ready.”

  Brows raised, smirking, Miesha looks at me. “So he didn’t call? Text? Skype? Or hit you up on Facebook?”

  “Nope. He doesn’t have my number, anyway. And we’re not Facebook friends. And I’m definitely not about to Skype with some boy who ain’t one of my boo-daddies. So there you have it.”

  “Uh-huh. For now,” she says, pulling into the lot. She shuts off the engine.

  I gasp, opening the door ’n’ climbing outta the car. “And what is that s’posed to mean? For now?”

  She grabs her things, slamming her door shut, then arming the alarm. “You keep tryna convince ya’self not to like him ’n’ let me know how you make out.”

  25

  “W. E. B. Du Bois wanted people of color to blend in and become one with whites, but he also rationalized the need for Blacks to maintain a separate institution within black communities. Whereas, Booker T. Washington was considered more practical.” Mr. Nandi pauses. And hunni, trust. I find myself struggling to stay awake in class. Well, okay. . . lies. I can’t concentrate.

  One word: Cease.

  There, I said it.

  And, noooo. I’m not gonna get all stalkerish on him. Chile, boom! It’s not that serious. I’m not about that life. Trust. Still. I can’t help not thinking about last Saturday night at the bowling alley. And, yeah, I know I really wasn’t beat to be swinging a ball down an alley. But, mmph. It ended up being a good time. And I ain’t even gonna front ’n’ act like I wasn’t cheesin’ all hard inside when Cease stood behind me ’n’ pressed himself into me, tryna show me how to handle a bowling ball. Ooh, he was so cute. Mmph.

  Girl, get your drool together ’n’ stop the foolery!

  Girl, I’m just sayin’ . . .

  Chickie, boom! All that salivatin’ over a boy is so not cute.

  Yeah, but...

  Mmph. I’m not gonna act like I forgot how I’d gotten all hyped when I got my first, and only, strike of the night, ’n’ leapt into his arms. And how he kinda spun me around, all hyped with me. Oooh, he’s so big ’n’ strong ’n’ too dang sexy for his own damn good. Mmph.

  But I’m not even about to sweat no boy. Oh no, boo. That’s not what Fiona does. This diva keeps it moving.

  Then why am I sitting here wondering why I didn’t see him during fourth period lunch? Well, okay. Not that I was looking for him, really. I mean, I happened to glance around the cafeteria a few times ’n’ look over at the jock table for him, like once or twice. But that’s it. And, of course, I wasn’t even about to ask Miesha if she’d seen him. Psst. Please. I’m not even about to look thirsty.

  Oh no, hun.

  It’s a good thing I’m not one’a them weak-minded, thirsty chicks, like Quanda or some other dumb-dumbs I know; otherwise I’d probably be standing outside of his classroom before the bell rings, waiting for him to walk out. Or I’d be clicking my heels three times tryna find my way to his bed. I mean, to his house.

  Ooh, cuckoo-cuckoo. That is sooo nutty.

  But baaaaby, trust. I know some silly girls who stay doing that crazy ish. Boys, too! But Fiona isn’t tryna hop a ride on the cuckoo train with the rest of the half-nutty nut-nuts on campus.

  Uh-huh, picture that! Me falling for some boy!

  Ha! What a joke!

  Divas don’t fall, boo. They stand strong.

  “Miss Madison . . . ?”

  I blink, looking up into the face of Mr. Nandi, who is hovering over my desk.

  “Huh?”

  “Word to the wise, young lady,” he scolds as he glares at me, tapping my desk ’n’ eyeing me. “Daydreaming will have you failing this class.”

  I blink again. Then frown. “Ooh, see, you doin’ too much, Mister Nandi,” I say, waving him on. “Fiona Madison doesn’t fail. Oh no, hun. Trust.”

  “Well, does she take notes, hun? Because all I’ve seen since the beginning of the period is her staring into space looking starry-eyed.”

  A few kids giggle.

  Ooh. He tried it!

  I suck my teeth. Then shift in my seat. I fight to keep my eyes from rolling. Ooh, he’s lucky I’m not doin’ senior citizens today. I’d drag him by his dentures. “I’m paying attention. Trust.”

  “Then I trust,” he says, raising a brow, “you’ll ace next week’s quiz. Now how about you tell me what year Du Bois was born and during which president’s term?”

  I give Mr. Nandi the stink eye. He stays tryna be messy! But I’m not even about to let him do me. Not today, boo. I toot my lips up. “He was born in eighteen sixty-eight. The same time President Andrew Johnson was in office.”

  Boom!

  Take that!

  Mr. Nandi smirks, swiping his chalk-dusted hands across the back of his jeans. “That is correct.” He eyes me one last time, then shuffles his way back to the chalkboard, where he writes ’n’ speaks with his back to us.

  “Okay, folks, next week’s quiz will be on the social and economic philosophies of
Booker T. Washington, W. E. B Du Bois, and Marcus Garvey. So my advice”—he glances over his shoulder—“ladies and gentlemen: Take notes. And pay attention.”

  This nobody chick in back of me with the orange-colored hair ’n’ gapped teeth taps me on the shoulder. I crane my neck, giving her a girl-have-you-lost-your-mind-touching-me look.

  She frowns back. “Look. Don’t shoot the messenger.” She hands me a folded note.

  I give her a confused look. She nods her head over to the left, shooting a quick glance over toward David, sitting four seats over from her. He winks at me, licking his lips.

  Ugh. I roll my eyes, turning around in my seat. I open the note: yo. U wanna come thru 2nite?

  Boy, boom! I don’t think so. Been there, done that!

  I glance over my shoulder at him, giving him my answer. Middle finger up, hell no. I wish I would get back on his leash ’n’ let him drag me around in some dog collar after he beat his ex-boo’s face in. No, ma’am. I ain’t signing up for no bedspring bouncing with some happy-handed boy.

  Fiona’s not that chick. Trust. I sling the note back at him across the room.

  He laughs. “You know you want it.”

  “Boy, lies! I had it,” I correct, snapping a finger. “And you didn’t know what to do with it.”

  Mr. Nandi snaps his neck over his shoulder ’n’ lands his glare directly at me like I’m the one causing problems up in here. “Miss Madison . . .”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, A. J. Cooper, M. C. Terrell, Ida B. Wells, and M. W. Stewart all have what in common?”

  See. He stays trying me. And I am so over him. But no worries, trust. A diva is always prepared. Never let ’em see you sweat. “Well, aside from being strong women who spoke their minds ’n’ didn’t take no mess,” I say, twisting my lips up at him, “they were human rights activists.”

  “That is—”

  The bell rings, cutting him off as everyone hops up from their seats ’n’ bolts for the door.

  “Oh, Miss Madison?”

  Dear God! What now?

  I stop dead in my tracks.

  “Yesss?” I turn around slowly, barely breathing as I study Mr. Nandi, tryna figure out what the heck he could possibly want with me. Does he not know that I left my compact home this morning ’n’ I need to pop a lil gloss up on these lips ’n’ fluff my hair a bit before next period? That I’m tryna get to the bathroom to do a spot check to makes sure my hair ’n’ face are still in place?

  I swear. Some of these teachers are just so dang inconsiderate. They have no regard for my time.

  “Is everything all right?”

  I blink. “Of course it is. Everything’s fabulous. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “You seemed a bit distracted today, that’s all.”

  “Oh, trust. Fiona has it together. Always.”

  He eyes me. “Well, I hope she does. It’s too close to the end of the school year for her to start slipping. As much as I enjoy having you and your magnetic personality in my class, Miss Madison, I will not hesitate to fail you.” He tilts his head. “Do you understand me?”

  Fail me?

  Ooh, he’s tryin’ me.

  I meet his gaze. “No worries, Mister Nandi. Trust. Fiona is not doing red Fs slashed across the top of any of her tests. I got this.”

  Mr. Nandi takes me in, shaking his head. I know I’m too much for him. Mmph. “Make sure you do. You have two minutes before the next bell. I suggest you get going.”

  Whaaat?

  He can’t be serious. I need to make a pit stop in front of a mirror.

  “Umm, what about a pass so I can go to my locker?”

  “You still have time to make it.”

  I blink. “Ooh, see you tryna be messy,” I say, placing a hand up on my hip. “You know there’s no way in—”

  He cuts me off. “Miss Madison, standing here won’t get you there any faster. I suggest you make a mad dash for it. That’s unless you wish to spend the afternoon in detention. I’m hosting.”

  I don’t give him a chance to say anything else. I hurry up outta his classroom as if my life depends on it. Well, it does. Detention is hell on a diva’s social life.

  I zigzag my way through the maze of students still cluttering the halls, trying to avoid bumping into anyone, so intent on getting to my next class while digging in my bag to make sure that I at least have my notes with me for my next class.

  I can’t believe him! Hatin’ on me ’cause I’m beautiful. Ole stank—

  “What the fu—”

  “Damn, sexy, where’s the fire?”

  Cease.

  “Oh, hey,” I say coolly, tryna keep the surprise outta my voice.

  Where the heck you been all day?

  “What’s good?”

  “Nothing much. Tryna get to class before I’m late.”

  “Oh, a’ight. I feel you,” he says, walking alongside of me.

  “Where you headed?”

  “Weight room.”

  I swallow ’n’ try not to breathe him in. Or cut my eye at him on the sly. Or think about him in his workout gear, pumping weights ’n’ getting all hot ’n’ sweaty.

  “Oh, okay.”

  The bell rings.

  Damn.

  “Yo, you think about what I asked?”

  “Boy, bye! Ain’t nobody been thinkin’ ’bout you.”

  He laughs. “See. There you go. That’s not even what I asked you.”

  Oops.

  He rounds the corner with me. “I meant no, I haven’t given it any thought. I’m not interested.”

  “Yeah, a’ight. Look. On some real ish, Fee. I need to holla at you ’bout somethin’.” He pulls out his cell. “Let me get ya digits so I can hit you up later.”

  I suck my teeth. “Boy, please. What you need my number for? Tell me now. I’m already late.”

  “Nah, yo. I gotta get to the gym. I’ma hit you up tonight, a’ight?”

  I twist my lips, reluctantly taking his phone as he hands it to me. “Mm-hmm.” I punch in my number, then hand him back his cell. “And don’t be tryna breathe all in my ear talkin’ no nasty ish, either.”

  He starts laughing, sliding his phone back down in his front pocket. “Yeah, right. You know you want it.”

  I give him the middle finger, walking into class almost four minutes late.

  Looks like I know whose face I’ll be looking into this afternoon!

  26

  My ringing phone wakes me up from outta a deep, delicious sleep. I was chillin’ on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills on a shopping spree with my boo Trey Songz. Ooh, my boo-daddy was doing me right, goshdangit, letting me run his wallet real lovely. I was modeling a real cute off-the-shoulder silk jersey dress with a pair of six-inch red-bottoms as he sang “Playin’ Hard” while I strutted my hotness, swayin’ my hips.

  Ugh!

  Now I won’t know how it all ends.

  I knew I shoulda turned my ringer off.

  I reach over ’n’ snatch my cell from off the nightstand, peeping the screen. Whoever it is, they aren’t saved in my contacts, so that makes them insignificant. Chile, boom! I glance over at the clock. Ohmigod! It’s almost nine o’clock in the evening. I stretch. I can’t believe that I’ve slept the whole afternoon away. After I got home from serving my detention with Mr. Nandi’s ole messy butt, I came home ’n’ took it down a few notches. All I planned to do was take a quick catnap. Not sleep my whole day away.

  Mmph.

  My cell rings again. It’s No Name again. “Yeah, how may I help you?” I answer with a lil stank.

  “Yo, what’s up? It’s Cease.”

  I yawn. “Who?”

  “Cease.”

  “Oooh. Ohhhkay, and?”

  He chuckles. “Did I catch you at a bad time? If you want, I can hit you later.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well, I was kinda in the middle of a date with my boo. But you just killed my vibe ’n’ jacked my happy ending.”

&nb
sp; “Oh, my bad. Don’t let me hol’ you then.”

  I suck my teeth. “Too late now. I’m up. So you might as well tell me what’s so private that you couldn’t tell me in school today.”

  “How you?”

  I blink. “Um. Right now, aggravated that you woke me from my delicious dream. And you’re about to hear the line go dead in five, four, three, two, one . . . if you don’t get to the point so I can try to catch Trey Songz before some other bish steals him from me.”

  He laughs. “Yo, you wildin’, yo. That’s who ya date was wit’?”

  “Yeah. In my dream, fool.” I can’t help but laugh with him.

  “Hahaha. But, damn. I’m sayin’. You in bed mad early.”

  “Not usually. But for some reason bein’ in detention staring in Mister Nandi’s ugly face made me exhausted.”

  He laughs again. “Shoulda got to class on time.”

  I suck my teeth. “Whatever. Maybe you should start flappin’ ya lickers ’n’ tell me what you want before I hang up.”

  “Oh, right, right.” He chuckles. “My bad, bae. Where you want me to flap these lickers?”

  I frown, sitting up in bed, propping two pillows in back of me. “Hold up lil tiger, let me yank your chain right quick. Just because I’m on the line kee-kee-cooin’ it up with you, I’m not ya bae ’n’ you won’t be flappin’ ya lickers nowhere on me. Get it right, boo. Get. It. Right.”

  “Hahahaha. Yeah, a’ight. You got that.”

  “I know I do. Now, move along. What did you need to talk about?”

  “Me ’n’ you, yo.”

  I laugh ’n’ cough. “Ooh, lies, lies, ’n’ more lies.”

  “Nah, I’m dead-azz. I ain’t even gonna front. I want you, ma.”

  Hmm. They all do.

  I reach over ’n’ grab the remote to my stereo ’n’ press PLAY. My honey-boo JoJo’s joint “Fairy Tales” seeps through my speakers. Ooh, I love me some JoJo! I close my eyes, easing back down onto my bed. “Why you want me, Cease? I know you don’t even think I’ma let ya nasty azz smash.”

  He laughs. “Nah, nah. I ain’t even on it like that wit’ you. I mean, yeah. I ain’t gonna front; if you let me hit, I’ma beat it up. But, nah.”