Heels, Heartache & Headlines

by Ni-Ni Simone

  Click! I hung up on him. I can’t believe he asked me, am I good. Hell no! I need the comfort of a man!

  I turned off the highway and into the drive-through of Buffalo Wild Wings. After paying for my order of twenty extra-hot wings, I called Knox.

  Brnggg . . .

  “Hello?”

  He was my baby-pop even though I hadn’t seen or heard from him in months. And things ended real nasty, but still, he could not resist me. “Hey, poo!” I said lovingly.

  “Rich?”

  “Yeah, Knox. It’s me. How are you?”

  “This is really you, Rich?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, okay. Just making sure before I hang up on yo’ azz.” Click.

  Done! Absolutely finished. I couldn’t chill with Corey. Knox turned on me. And after I practically had to bust my mother upside the head, I was not going home.

  Call Justice! No!

  You know you miss him.

  I know this.

  Then for once, just swallow your stupid pride and call him.

  I pulled in a deep breath, then pushed it out.

  Okay. Okay. I’ma call him. But if he talks slick, I’ma cuss him out.

  Brngggg . . . Brngggg . . . Brngggg . . .

  “Yeah, wassup?” He answered.

  I sighed. “Hey, poo.”

  “What you want?”

  I hesitated, and for a moment, I thought about hanging up but quickly changed my mind. “I wanna come see you.”

  “For what?” He said dryly.

  “’Cause you my baby. And I miss you, and miss those lil tongue tricks you do, and the way you make my honey heat. And I know you miss me too.”

  “Yeah, a’ight, whatever. Your mouth too slick, yo.”

  “I’m not trying to be slick. I’m trying to make up.”

  “Well, make up then.”

  Deep breath in. Deep breath out. “I can show you better than I can tell you. Can I come over?”

  “You gon’ know how to act? And if you say anything other than yes, I’ma dead this. You a wrap. I’m over this dumbness with you. You know I got mad feelings for you, but I swear, yo. You gon’ have me bust you in your mouth.”

  “Yeah, umm hmm. Yes. I’ma know how to act. I’m not gon’ talk slick. I’ma change my ways, poo. I promise. You know it’s hard, though. It’s hard being me.”

  “Yeah, a’ight. Whatever, that’s what your mouth says.”

  “Is that a yes? Can I come over?”

  “Nah. You on punishment. Hit me up tomorrow.”

  14

  London

  The next morning, I spotted Rich at her locker. Great, she’s alone. The fact that she didn’t have her little one-girl hype squad with her was a good thing. Still, I didn’t know what to expect. Rich was unpredictable. Erratic. Ratchet. And her ghetto-ness had no boundaries. She’d make a scene just for the heck of it.

  She lived for the drama.

  And the spotlight.

  Because she was a self-proclaimed attention whore.

  I took a deep breath, relieved that my morning cleanse had rid me of my excruciating bout with gas and bloating, and mustered up my confidence, taking tentative steps toward her, my heels clicking against the polished floor; each determined step causing anxiety to creep up in me.

  “Here’s my friend’s number,” I heard in my head, replaying the night I’d handed Rich a shiny business card with Justice’s name embossed on it. It was the first part of the master plan. “Call him.”

  What a disaster. Mmmph. The best-laid plans of mice and men, I thought, as my mind flashed back to the poem “To a Mouse,” which I’d read in my ninth-grade literature class about plans going astray no matter how well thought out they might have been.

  Mmmph.

  Always expect the unexpected.

  “Have you spoken to Justice?”

  “Justice? Who’s that . . . ? Oh wait. You’re talking about that sweet piece of chocolate, that stud daddy, who you acted all stank and overprotective over? The one you wanted to introduce to me?”

  “Yeah, him. Justice, who you practically seduced in front of me.”

  “Girl, bye. He’s cute and all. But I’m not checking for him like that. That boy has issues. I don’t do issues... why would you try to hook me up with some jerk like that? He doesn’t even know how to play the sideline. He’s too busy tryna be all front and center. I can’t mess with him. He’ll ruin my life. And disrupt my get-right with my man. And I can’t have that . . .”

  I blinked. Swallowed. Pushed back the memory. Of that day at Club Tantrum. Of that horrid conversation. Of Rich admitting she’d whored herself out to Justice.

  The closer I got to Rich’s locker, the more anxious I became. I felt myself shrinking in my heels.

  Girl, relax. What’s the worst that can happen?

  We tear up the hallway.

  I silently hoped the boom-bop queen remained civil. That she wouldn’t become defensive. That her loud mouth wouldn’t get too reckless. I didn’t want this to turn ugly. But if she pressed it, I’d have no problem banging my fists upside her head. Well, that’s if she struck first. I wasn’t going to lay hands on her first. Not this time. No. I was going to stay classy and approach her like the lady I was.

  But Rich didn’t always respond well to niceties. Sometimes you had to step down and meet her where she was. On the street corner, hugging the block like the thugette she was.

  I shook my head. No. Negative thoughts wouldn’t do. I had to focus. Stick to the plan. Give her the truth. Then go on my merry way, leaving her to marinate in its juices.

  I fluffed my hair. Took another deep breath. Then forced a smile. I could do this. I was London Phillips, for God’s sake. I’d been pretending all my life.

  I cleared my throat. “Um. Rich. Can I have a word with you?”

  She knelt down and started rummaging through the bottom of her locker, not once giving me a glance. “Uhhh, no. You may not.” She said nastily, stuffing a few colored folders into her oversized bag, then—as if she’d remembered she didn’t come to school to learn—she pulled them out of her bag and tossed them back into her locker before standing up.

  She pulled out a lighted travel mirror and started gliding a coat of gloss onto her plump lips.

  I twisted mine in response and kept from rolling my eyes.

  “Listen, Rich,” I said, mindful to keep my voice low, my tone even, “I really need to have a word with you.”

  She grunted. “Then have it. Then be on your way. I don’t do you, London. You’re a snake. And I have no use for you.”

  I blew out a breath. “Well, can you at least look at me?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m allergic to your big face. And the last thing I need is my eyes hurting first thing in the morning. You’re ugly, London. Zoo ugly. And I will not be blinded by your hideousness. So state your business, then go crawl back in whatever sewer hole you slithered out of.”

  I blinked. “It’s obvious you’re looking for a fight. But I’m not—”

  “A fight?” she snapped, finally eyeing me. “Girl, bye. I’m a lady. I don’t fight. I’m saved. Sanctified. And too damn blessed to be fighting nobodies.”

  I sighed. “Okay, I see you want to sling insults.”

  “Insults? Bye, lady. Not once have I insulted you. I’ve stood here, letting you blow your dragon breath all up in my space, killing up good oxygen cells. And not once have I mentioned how atrocious you are. Or how pathetic you are, Lonnndon.”

  “Listen. Say whatever you want. I’m coming to you to apologize.”

  She batted her lashes. Then stepped back. “You’re apologizing to moí? Uh, for what, Lonnnndon? For being ugly? For being two-faced? For being a lying trick?”

  She folded her arms and tapped her heeled foot.

  “Take your time. I’ll wait for the lies. That’s all you’re good for, L-Boogie. Lying.”

  I cringed. L-Boogie was what Justice had once called me in front of her during another one of h
is unannounced visits to my house. Days had gone by with no word from him. Then, as if on cue, he’d shown up—waltzing into my bedroom, after one of our many quarrels and him being absent for days—just as Spencer was swinging open my suite’s door and storming out, causing her to practically knock him over. Rich stood in the middle of my bedroom, meowing and purring at the sight of him. Then she practically pounced on him, throwing herself at him. She’d bounced and shook her D-cups in his face and practically offered to have his baby right there on the spot.

  And he’d grinned.

  And drooled.

  And flirted.

  And nearly offered up his bedroom services right there in front of me, as if I wasn’t in the room, as if I didn’t exist or matter.

  Then Rich scribbled her number down on a piece of paper, and... and . . . he’d taken it. That was the beginning to my end, the ending to my love story.

  And now this...

  “I’m sorry,” I pushed out, hoping like hell my words sounded sincere. I was sorry. Sorry for ever allowing myself to like this girl. Sorry for ever concocting such a ludicrous idea to hook her and Justice up in the first place. How silly of me to think that it would have ever worked the way I wanted it to.

  Rich narrowed her eyes at me. Tilted her head. “You’re sorry for what, London? Sorry for telling Knox them lies about me . . . ?”

  I blinked. This girl was delusional. They weren’t lies. You didn’t miscarry. You were up in the hills of Arizona, stretched out and strapped on a table having your insides vacuumed out. You told me this!

  “I told you that lie about being in Arizona just to see what you’d do. I don’t believe in abortions. I’m team Morning After pill. All day. But, anyway, Spencer was right about you. You’re two-faced. She’d told me you’d go running back with that bone between your teeth, like the rabid dog you are. I knew I couldn’t trust you.”

  Then why’d she slap Spencer? She had to have thought Spencer was the one who’d told Knox. Right? I know what I’d seen. And what I’d heard that day in the hallway when Rich punched a locker. She was livid. Tears had sprung from her eyes as I led her into the girls’ lounge. That wasn’t acting. There was no pretending. Rich had thought Spencer had betrayed her, as I wanted her to.

  And then I egged her on, goaded her into handling Spencer.

  “The best way to an enemy is with a smile. Get her away from her purse,” I’d told her. “Pretend to be real nice and sweet, then reel your hand back when she least expects it and slide her face across the floor . . . leave your business card in her face . . . you step up to her face. Sling her with words. Then you strike!”

  “It was all Spencer’s idea,” Rich said, pulling me from my thoughts, “for me to slap her down in class to make you think that I believed that she was the one who blabbed her knob slobber to Knox. Girl, bye. The joke was on you. You fell for it hook, line, and sinker. You’re an epic fail, Lonnndon. A total waste!”

  I blinked. No. No. That couldn’t be. This girl is crazier than I ever imagined. And I’m the one with the shrink. My heart started pounding in my chest. I fought to keep from balling my hand into a fist. No, no, no. I wasn’t about to let Rich lure me into a catfight. Not today.

  She slammed a hand up on her thick hip. “I’m waiting, Lonnnndon. What are you sorry about? Sorry for being born? Sorry for taking my kindness and goodness for granted? Sorry for . . .”

  I swallowed. “I’m sorry for not telling you about Justice and me.”

  She frowned. “Excuuuuuse you? Come again. What about you and my man?”

  I swept my eyes around the hallway, hoping no one was trying to eavesdrop on our conversation. So far, no one seemed interested in what was going on with us, at least not at the moment. “Can we speak in private?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  “No, heifer. We can’t. So say what you gotta say, Lonnndon, and get up out of my face. Your breath is killing my nostrils.”

  I pressed on, ignoring her comment about my breath, which I knew was minty fresh. “I’m sorry for trying to hook you up with Justice. I should have told you that we were going together. That we planned—”

  “Bwahahahahahaha!” Rich laughed, buckling over and clutching her stomach. “Bwahahahahahahaha! The lies you tell!” She cackled long and hard, catching me totally off guard. “Ohmygod, Lonnnndon! Good one! Hahahaha-hahahaha.”

  She straightened herself. Dabbed tears from her eyes. “Ooh, you really tried it, boo-boo.” She shouldered her bag, then pointed a finger at me. “Now let me get you right together, little girl. Trick, you must be really feeling your Wheaties this morning, stepping to me like you holding the number one slot. Get over yourself, Lonnndon. Justice would never have you, tramp. You’re not his type.”

  “Well, I was his type for two years.”

  She laughed. “Girl, bye. He told me you’d try to say some desperate mess like that. Get ya life, boo. You have issues, Lonnndon. Justice told me all about how thirsty you were. Tricking him to come over to your house, then start begging him to do it to your ole nasty butt. Who does that? Begging some boy to smash you out. Ugh. You’re sickening, Lonndon. Now I see why Doctor Corny dumped you. You’re pathetic, girl. Justice told me how he felt sorry for you because you didn’t have any friends back in New York.

  “All your mother ever did was drag you around to casting calls, filling your big-bubble head up with lies that you’d be the next Tyra Banks. And look at you. The only thing you and Tyra Banks will ever have in common is those big-azz foreheads. So get over yourself, bish. All you are, all you’ll ever be, is a Top Flop. A washed-up, wannabe runway model. Justice saw how lonely and pathetic you were and tried to take you under his wing and be a big brother to you, but all you ever tried to do was get into his boxers. Get it together, Lonnnndon. Accept the fact that Justice and I are together. That we’re happy. And in love. And we will be married. So there is nothing you can say or do that is going to come between us. Face it. I got the ring. . . and the man. And all you have is a miserable life.”

  I swallowed. Fought back tears. Mortified, I swept a quick glance around to see who’d overheard her outburst.

  “Ohmygod!” I hissed. “You’re delusional.”

  “Trick, the only one delusional is you.”

  I shook my head as sadness washed over me. Not for me. No, this, this feeling of melancholy was for her. Justice had really brainwashed her, like he’d once done me. “You know what, Rich. I feel sorry for you . . .”

  “No, ho. Feel sorry for yourself. Look at you. You’re lonely. Desperate. And effen miserable. You’re jealous. Nobody likes you, London.”

  “Okay, Rich. Whatever you say. You think you’ve snatched the brass ring—”

  “Brass ring?” she snorted, fanning her ring finger in my face. “Trick, this is all platinum and bling, baby. Ain’t nothing brass about this right here. Get it right.”

  “Okay, Rich. Have at it then. You think your life is so perfect. Enjoy it while it lasts, sweetie. But know this: That little fairy tale you’re holding onto is going to go up in flames real fast. And you’re going to soon find out that your life isn’t all that picture-perfect after all.”

  “Ha! My life is everything you wish you had. I have two happily married parents. And a man”—she ran her manicured hand over her body, then thrust her hips—“who sings me sweet lullabies and knows how to rock my body to sleep.”

  I felt my knees buckle. Don’t let this girl drag you down, London. I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, okay. And when everything around you comes crashing down around your cute little pudgy feet, remember this, Rich: You’ve been warned.”

  “Warned? Beeeeyotch, please!” she snapped, finally slamming her locker shut and raising her voice two decibels higher just as the bell rang. Her outburst caused a few heads to turn in our direction. “You wish you could be me, whore! Well, newsflash, boo-boo: You can never, ever be me. While your life is hanging on life support, mine is fabulous! So kiss my plump, juicy azz! Jealous trick!”

&nbs
p; She stormed off, her hair bouncing over shoulders and her heels clicking like angry drums as her hips shook down the hall.

  I willed my heeled feet to move, but I was stuck. Jaw dropped, the palms of my hands sweating, the balls of my feet cemented to the floor, I stood there in the middle of the hallway—being bumped and shouldered by kids racing by to get to wherever they needed to be—feeling ridiculously embarrassed.

  In spite of feeling myself unraveling, I kept my head up and ignored everyone’s muttered jeers as I resisted the urge to go on a killing spree and throw sharp elbow jabs in response to being jostled in the hallway.

  Relax. Relate. Release.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Rich might have gotten the last word, that time.

  But that beeeeeeyotch had it coming.

  And the last laugh would definitely be on me.

  Trust and believe.

  15

  Heather

  “I need a favor,” I said to Coco as we sat in the school’s eighteenth-century-inspired library, having our fraps and attending to our business.

  And yeah, it was only ten a.m.

  And yeah, me and Coco should’ve been in class.

  But so.

  Whatever.

  I didn’t clock into life until at least noon.

  And a promise to be Coco’s lookout was the only reason why I’d dragged myself to Hollywood High this early.

  Therefore and forever more, the last place I was about to be was in front of some teacher and her sweatin’ me.

  Oh no.

  Not happenin’.

  So what I was gon’ do? I was gon’ sit right here and chill. Cross my legs, wait for the third-period bell to ring, and help my homie serve the brunch-time stoners some Beauty, LSD, Xanies, molly, K-2/spice, and weed.

  Coco cleared his throat and wiped invisible sweat from his pale yellow brow. “A favor? Is that what you just said to me? Oh no, honey-boo-boop. I don’t do favors.”

  I frowned. “And why not?”