Diva Rules

by Amir Abrams

  Ooh, boo-daddy. Talk that talk! Beat it up, beat it up!

  I swallow. “Then why you want me?” I ask again as JoJo sings her drawz off about how she used to believe in love ’n’ fairy tales until her heart was broken. Mmph.

  “Yo, c’mon. Don’t front. You know you one’a the hottest chicks in school, hands down.”

  Yeah, I know, boo.

  “And you just figuring that out?”

  “Yo, c’mon now. You know I know what it is. Don’t play me, yo.”

  “Mmph. So now you wanna bag me, huh?” I get up from bed.

  “Yeah, sumthin’ like that.”

  I twist my lips up. “Mm-hmm. Something like that. Boy, please.”

  “A’ight. I ain’t gonna front—I wanna wife you up.”

  “Uh, no ma’am, no sir. Fiona ain’t even signing up for that, boo.” I walk over to my closet door ’n’ open it, standing in front of the mirror hanging on the back of the door. I stare at my body, turning from side to side, admiring my bangin’ curves. I make my booty bounce ’n’ clap, watch each booty cheek pop. Pop, pop, pow! Who loves you, boo?

  Yeah, that’s what you wanna see, isn’t it?

  He chuckles. “Yeah, a’ight. Maybe not tonight.”

  “Umm, maybe not ever, boo.”

  “Oh, so I’m ya boo?”

  I laugh, stepping away from the mirror. “No. What you are is getting on my nerves. You some boy tryna get him a taste of some’a this hot sugar. But I ain’t offerin’ none up, boo-boo. Just ’cause I do a lil hoin’ here ’n’ there, that doesn’t mean I’m slidin’ my goodies down every Tom, Troy, ’n’ Cease’s pole.”

  He cracks up. “Yo, Fee, you straight crazy, you know that, right? You stay wildin’, ma. It ain’t all about tryna get the panties with me.”

  “Uh-huh. So what is it about then?”

  “It’s about me ’n’ you linkin’ up—”

  “Linkin’ up? Uh-uh, boo-boo. That already sounds like some late-night booty call.”

  “Yo, chill-chill wit’ that. Let ya future man finish his sentence before you start movin’ them sexy lips.”

  Man? Ohhh, okay, boo-daddy. Talk that talk. I press my lips together, then say, “Not a word. Carry on.”

  He continues. “I wanna chill, nah’mean? Me ’n’ you on some cool-out type ish, just vibin’.”

  I blink. Am I surprised he wants to chill? Nope. Am I surprised he’s claiming not to wanna smash? Nope. Most boys stay lyin’ about tryna get the cookie when they know that’s all they really want. Buncha greedy, lyin’ dogs. But, mmph. Fiona ain’t the one you gotta lie to. If she wants to give you a lil taste, that’s what she’s gonna do. But not tonight. And not with Cease.

  I change the subject. “So what were you doing before you hit me up? And don’t even say playin’ in ya man cave.”

  “Hahahaha, nah, yo.” He tells me he was chillin’ on his PlayStation doing whatever it is that boys do on that thing, like I got time to really care. I open my bedroom door, then head downstairs to the kitchen for a lil snackie-snack. Of course there’s nada-goddang-thing up in here I wanna eat.

  “So you hooked on playin’ games, huh?”

  He laughs. “Is that a loaded question?”

  Of course it is. “It’s whatever you want it to be.” I suck my teeth, slamming the refrigerator shut. The least Ruthie-Ann could do is make sure there’s food in here I can wrap my lips around.

  “Oh, a’ight.”

  Mmph. Who can I call to bring me a treat?

  “Well? Answer the question. You like playin’ games?”

  “Yeah, video games. It relaxes me. What about you? What relaxes you?”

  Ooh, a chocolate boo-daddy with a set of strong hands ’n’ sweet, juicy lips.

  “Shopping,” I tell him, rummaging through the cabinets. And sex. I open ’n’ slam cabinet doors shut. Ohhhh—my—god! No chips. No dip. No lil Miss Debbie cakes. No sunflower seeds. Nothing but a buncha dang canned goods up in here. Who lives like this? This is nutritional abuse in the worst form!

  “Oh, word? That’s wassup. So how was ya day at school?”

  I stop in my tracks. Excuse me? What? Wait. No boy has ever asked me how my day was, ever. All they’ve ever cared about knowing is how good the cookie is ’n’ when they can come through ’n’ chill. I blink, blink again.

  “It was okay. Up until I got detention.” I plop my booty up on a stool at the aisle counter. “Umm, how was your lil workout?”

  “It was good, babe. Got it in, hard.”

  “Boy, didn’t I tell you not to call me that? Ooh, don’t get ya face slapped.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. And I tol’ you I’m not a boy.”

  “Mmph. I can’t tell. But whatever. Why you callin’ me, again?”

  “ ’Cause I dig you.”

  Yeah, right. You tryna dig in my cookies.

  I laugh. “Ninja, you don’t even know me.”

  “Yeah, but I’m tryna change that.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, don’t hold ya breath,” I say, reaching over ’n’ grabbing the latest edition of Cosmopolitan. “I’m not givin’ out interviews.” I idly flip through the magazine. “But what I’m about to give you is the disconnect signal.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, a’ight. You stay talkin’ slick.”

  “Whatever. Next.” He asks if anyone else in my family has green eyes like me. I tell him no. He wants to know what I’m mixed with. I tell him I’m a mixture of none-of-ya-business ’n’ I’m-not-tellin’-you. He laughs. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting to know more. Am I the only child? Do I live with both my parents? If I have brothers ’n’ sisters? He goes on ’n’ on tryna pry in my dang business until I give him a lil taste. “No. I have four sisters. I’m the youngest. I live with my mother . . .” Who I can’t stand. “And I haven’t seen my dad since I was ten.”

  “Oh, damn. What happened to him?”

  I shift in my seat. Swallow hard. Truth is, he was murdered. Shot three times in the chest—right in front of me. All he was was a white man walking his half-black, half-white daughter in the park, his arm draped over her small shoulder, him telling her how much he loved her ’n’ would always be in her life, no matter what.

  Then in the blink of an eye, he was gone. Shot down. Murdered. Three effen thugs took him away from me. I can still hear the gunshots. Still hear the screams. Still feel his blood on me. He died in my arms. His last words to me were, “No matter what, I love you, princess.” That’s what he called me. Princess.

  I fight to keep my emotions in check. Tell Cease I don’t wanna talk about it. He doesn’t push it. And I’m relieved ’cause I really don’t wanna start bawling. Not tonight. So I do what I do best. Shake it off. Press forward. And pretend—something I’ve learned to do real well.

  I ask him about himself. Not because I really care at this very moment. But ’cause I’m not rude ’n’ it seems like the right thing to do—even though all I’m really thinking about is what I’m gonna eat—but then he starts telling me about his family life ’n’ about how he lives with both his parents ’n’ has two seven-year-old twin brothers ’n’ a three-year-old sister, his dad’s an accountant ’n’ his mother is a nurse (like my mom)—and I suddenly find myself hanging on to his every word, surprisingly. It sounds like he has a happy life.

  I close my eyes ’n’ take it all in. Oooh, ’n’ I ain’t even gonna lie, hun. Cease has a sexy voice. Mmph. Trust. Ooh, ’n’ he’s real lucky I’m not tryna click on my ho-meter ’n’ give him the heat ’cause I’d drop it down on him, then send him on his way. But, nope. So not interested.

  He lowers his voice. “You know I only called you tonight ’cause I wanted to hear ya voice, right?”

  I pop my lips. “Of course you did, boo. I’m hot like that. Just don’t be stickin’ ya hands nowhere below ya waist ’cause I know you nasty like that.”

  He cracks up. “Nah, nah. I’ll save that for you.”

  “Ewww. Not. Hand trollin’ is not what I d
o.”

  We both laugh.

  “Yeah, I hear you. But I’m sayin’ . . . I know you say you ain’t checkin’ for a man, blah, blah, blah, but I’ma change that, yo. I know you’re a whole lot more than them fly clothes you rock ’n’ them pretty-azz eyes that got mofos droppin’ at ya feet tryna get at you . . .”

  For some reason that character Pecola in The Bluest Eye ’n’ her desperately wanting blue eyes comes to mind. “Sometimes the prettiest eyes have cried the most tears,” I say in almost a whisper, more to myself than to him.

  “I feel you. Like someone with the biggest heart might’a felt the most pain.”

  I blink. “Yeah,” I say solemnly. “I guess.”

  “Yo, let me ask you sometin’.”

  I press my cell closer to my ear. “Yeah?”

  “You believe in love?”

  What? Love? Ooh, this is my cue to end this call, right here, right now. This boy’s tryna curse me! This diva has no time for none of that.

  I take a deep breath, then say before ending the call, “No.”

  27

  “You keep tryna convince ya’self not to like him ’n’ let me know how you make out.”

  Miesha’s words ring in my ears as I glance down the hall only to see Cease walking in my direction with LuAnna popping her hips alongside him. LuAnna! Ugh! Great! Just what the hell I need first thing this morning. Seeing him with that slanty-eyed trick!

  But why you care?

  Oh, trust. I don’t.

  Lies!

  I kneel down ’n’ start rummaging through the bottom of my locker pretending not to have seen him with her, looking for something, anything, to seem too preoccupied to even notice. I stuff a few folders into my bag, noticing a piece of notebook paper folded into a triangle, the word beautiful scrawled across it. I frown, wondering who it’s from. But my curiosity is quickly put on pause when I hear, “What’s good, sexy?”

  I look up ’n’ it’s Cease staring down at me with his dark chocolate eyes, grinning. He’s alone. And I’m not sure why I’m relieved, but I am. Ooh, this is soo not cute.

  I slide my eyes up over his body, then stand. Feeling my breath catch in the back of my throat. “I’m what’s good, boo,” I say, teasing.

  “Oh, word? Let me sample it then.”

  I slam my locker shut, slinging the straps of my Michael Kors bag up over my shoulder. “Whoop, whoop! Come again. Fiona ain’t on the menu.”

  He laughs. “Maybe not today. But you will be, soon.”

  I flick him a dismissive wave, heading down the hall. “Boy, bye. Lies!”

  He walks alongside of me. “Here, let me take ya bag for you. It looks heavy.”

  I blink. “I got it, trust. But thanks. Where’s ya lil girlfriend ?”

  “What girlfriend? I don’t have one of those yet.”

  I twist my lips, cutting my eye over at him. Sweet gawd! He’s so dang fiiiiine. Mmph. And he smells... delish. Ooh, this boy is so lucky I’m keeping my ho-meter switched off; otherwise ain’t no telling what Miss Fiona might do to him.

  The first bell rings just as I open my mouth to say, “Well, lucky you, boo.” I have five minutes to get to homeroom ’n’ I’m not tryna be late. Not even for a fine cutie-boo like Cease. He’s not worth detention. No boy is.

  “Okay, bye now,” I say, picking up my pace, my heels rapidly clicking against the floor. “Good day. Gotta go.”

  “Yo, chill.” He laughs, keeping in step with me. “You not gettin’ rid of me that fast. I’m walkin’ you to ya homeroom.”

  In spite of myself, I smile inside.

  “Yo, whatchu doing Saturday night?” he asks, rounding the corner with me. I tell him I don’t have any plans as of yet. “Oh, a’ight, cool-cool. Come to Luke’s party wit’ me. His parents are outta town again.”

  Ohmigod! That boy’s parents are never home with him. They might as well just move out ’n’ leave him the house ’cause it’s like he lives on his own anyway. Ooh, why couldn’t I be so lucky? Mmph.

  I give Cease an incredulous look. “Go to his party with you? Like as a date?”

  “Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Everything’s wrong with it. Fiona’s not tryna be no date ’n’ she ain’t interested in partying with anyone she has to see at school. Thanks, but no, thanks.”

  He laughs. “Yo, you mad funny. Why you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Always refer to ya’self in the third person like that?”

  “ ’Cause that’s what I do, boo. Why, you got a problem with it?”

  He grins. “Nah, nah. I think it’s funny, that’s all.”

  I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Heeheehawhaw. So glad you find me funny.”

  “Nah. I find you sexy. I find what you do, funny. Big difference.”

  “Good day, sir.” I smirk, stepping inside homeroom just as the bell rings.

  “Yeah, a’ight,” he says, laughing. “I’ma see you at lunch.”

  All through second ’n’ third periods I find myself daydreaming, opening ’n’ rereading the note I found in my locker this morning. It’s another poem.

  I See You

  Every time I look into ya beautiful

  green eyes

  I see love

  I see hope

  I see my future

  I see US

  And I realize

  You mean more to me than I ever knew

  You are in my thoughts

  I long to hold you in my arms

  To kiss ya lips

  And taste ya sweetness

  Every time I close my eyes

  I see you . . .

  I close the note, folding it neatly for the umpteenth time, sliding it back down into my bag. I sigh, wondering who this new mystery boo is. Ooh, he better be cute, too. Or I’ma slap his damn face for tryna do me!

  When the school day finally ends, all I can think about is grabbing my things ’n’ screaming, “Free at last! Thank you, jeezus! It’s Friday! Time to get my swerve on! Yesssss, hunni!”

  But I keep it cute, sashaying down the hall, rounding the corner to the hallway where my locker is to gather my things. “Hey, boo, wait up,” I hear in back of me. It’s Miesha. I glance over my shoulder ’n’ slow my stroll ’n’ wait for her to catch up to me.

  “Hey, hunni-boo,” I say as she walks alongside me. “I didn’t see you at lunch.”

  “I know,” she says, pulling out her phone, sucking her teeth. “Ugh. I swear this woman gets on my last dang nerve sometimes. Like fall back, already. Damn.”

  I shake my head, unlocking my locker. “Girl, you know I know. What ya moms stressin’ you about now, boo?” She tells me her mother wants her to go to Brooklyn for the weekend, but she’s not interested unless she’s gonna be spending the whole weekend hanging out with her girls. The thot pockets of Brooklyn.

  I cringe, swinging open my locker. Mmph. Them nassy hoodroaches. “Well, why don’t you wanna go?”

  “Yo, Fiona,” I hear in back of me. I don’t even have to look to see who it is because I know the voice. It’s Brent.

  “That boy knows he has some sexy legs,” Miesha whispers, eyeing him on the sly. I nod in agreement. Suddenly the image of my legs being wrapped around his hips quickly flashes in my mind ’n’ I shudder, twisting my lips. “Mmph.”

  “What’s up, Miesha?” Brent says when he approaches us.

  “Hey, Brent,” Miesha replies, her eyes darting back ’n’ forth between the two of us.

  He smiles at me. “What’s up, Fee?”

  “Nothin’, boo.” He’s in his lacrosse practice uniform, looking too delish for his own dang good. Too bad I know he ain’t as good as he looks in the sheets. Mmph. But I ain’t messy, so I’ma move it along.

  “What you getting into this weekend?” he wants to know. I tell him nothing much. “Oh, a’ight. I’ma hit you up later, a’ight.”

  Miesha raises a brow. “Should I leave the two of you alone?”

  I roll my ey
es. “Uh, nooo. You should not.” I look over at Brent. “Okay, call me tonight around nine.”

  “A’ight, cool. I’ma get to practice. Check ya later, My.”

  “Bye, Brent,” she says, eyeing me. She waits until he’s halfway down the hall, then says, “Oh no, sweetie. What. Is. Going. On. Here?”

  “What?” I ask, batting my lashes.

  She wags a finger at me. “Oh no, heifer. I know you not even thinkin’ about tryna ruin that boy’s life.”

  I laugh. “Lies! I ain’t tryna ruin nothing. Omigod! You stay tryna do me.”

  She smirks. “Uh-huh. Play innocent if you want. But I know ya kind, boo.”

  “And what kind is that?”

  “A man-eater. I keep telling you that boy’s too nice for you. You need you a boy with a lil more thug juice in his veins.”

  I crack up laughing. “Kiss my phatty!”

  “Oh, it looks like someone’s already tryna do that.”

  I wave her on. “Girl, bye! Yabba-dabba-boo-boo! Ain’t nothin’ poppin’ off between me ’n’ Brent. All that boy is, is eye candy, boo. Trust. Annnnnnyway. Back to you. Why you all huffy with ya moms? Why you don’t wanna spend the weekend in Brooklyn?”

  She huffs. “Yeah, okay. Change the subject. ’Cause she keeps pressin’ me about going home ’n’ I keep tellin’ her tonight I’ma be with my man.”

  I shrug. “Then go tomorrow.”

  “Uh, noo. Tomorrow night we are goin’ to Luke’s party.”

  I snap my neck in her direction. “Excuse you? Who’s we?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Me ’n’ you. That’s who. So, let me shut you down real fast before you even start tryna do me. We goin’. Period. So get ready to get yo’ life, boo.”

  I shut my locker. “Oh no, sweetie. Trust. Fiona already got her life. She ain’t even about to be up in no house party with a buncha thots ’n’ drunks. No ma’am, no sir.”

  We walk off toward the stairwell. “Well, Fiona better get her mind together ’cause she ain’t even about to have me goin’ up in there alone. So make sure Fiona gets her wears ready ’cause Saturday night we steppin’ up in that party to turn up. Or Miss Fiona can put them heels to work ’n’ hitchhike it home for the next two weeks. Trust.”