Heels, Heartache & Headlines

by Ni-Ni Simone

  A few seconds later Justice called me.

  I pressed IGNORE.

  He called again.

  IG. NORE.

  He called again.

  I smiled at the phone while sending him to voice mail.

  He texted me. “Wassup witchu? I know you see me calling you.”

  I texted back. “It’s over.”

  He replied. “I miss you.”

  I sucked my teeth and did everything I could not to smile. Apparently, he thought I was playing. “This is not a game. London stepped to me at my locker, saying you used to be her man. You told me you were friends. Why you lie? I hate liars.”

  “You trippin’. Stop acting crazy. And hit me up when you get outta school, so I can know what time you comin’.”

  I blinked five times. Oh no he didn’t! “Bye, boy.”

  “I know you miss me. ’Cause I miss you.”

  Ugg! I hated when he did this! Now I was trying my best to stop my heart from skipping beats and my cheeks from blushing.

  Godlee, he made me sick. Always doing the most.

  He knows I’m trying to break up with him. “I’m not playing with you, Justice.”

  “I’ma cook some beer-battered and double-fried hot wings. Enough for two.”

  I sucked my teeth. He killed me with this. Always thinking of sweet and sensitive ways to say he was sorry. But I was not letting him off that easy. “Psst, please. I can’t stand hot wings. And anyway, I’m busy.”

  A few seconds later my phone rang. Justice.

  I started to let him go to voice mail again. But I couldn’t. So I picked up and said, “Yeah. What?”

  “You too busy for me?” He asked, his voice low, almost hushed and sweet ju-ju-bead sexy.

  It took me about five point seven seconds to fight and ultimately swallow my smile; then I said, “Yop. You got it. Too busy for your bull. You tried to play me with London, and now you wanna act like it’s nothing. I’m done with you, and that includes being done with your nasty chicken too.”

  He sighed.

  “I don’t know what you sighing for. You’re the one always lyin’!”

  “What I gotta lie for, Rich?”

  “Da hell?! Whatchu mean whatchu gotta lie for? You lie ’cause you like it. You lie ’cause it taste good to you. ’Cause you like how lies roll around in your mouth. You lie ’cause you a liar and that’s what liars do. They lie.”

  “Oh word?” He said in disbelief.

  “Word.”

  “Yoooo.” He paused, and I could imagine him shaking his head. “It’s always a problem witchu you, yo. And this is why you gon’ always be fat and miserable, ’cause you too busy looking for reasons to trip. And if you keep it up, in a minute I’ma fall back. All the way back.”

  “Negative. False. Pause. Excuse you, was that a slight read? You’re the one who lied to me about your bromance with London. She told me you were a couple. About to get marrrrrrriiiieeed! You ain’t gotta lie, Justice!”

  “You’re right, so let me just hit you with the truth: It was a million chicks before you, and the way you actin’, it’s gon’ be a million more when I get rid of you. I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not that punk-ass college boy. I’ll break yo’ jaw!”

  I felt like he’d just drop-kicked me. “Rid of me? Boy, please—”

  “You know what, Rich, you’re actin’ real stupid!”

  “Justice—”

  “You got me effed up, and if I was sittin’ next to you I’d slap the ish outta you for coming outta the side of ya neck—”

  “You will never—”

  “Never what? Wife you? ’Cause right about now that’s what I won’t be doing. I don’t deal with stupid-actin’ broads like you for long. And since you trippin’ so hard, maybe I oughta call London and get wit’ her, make her my girl, since you don’t know how to act right.”

  Another dropkick dead in the chest, but just as I shook it off, Justice came at me again, “Can’t believe you, yo. You let some hatin’ azz trick get in between us? Got you comin’ at me all crazy! Word? Actin’ all bipolar? I tell you what, I’ma give you just what you lookin’ for.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “Means it’s time for you to step off.”

  Click.

  I couldn’t breathe. And although my heart raced a thousand miles a minute, it was not in my chest. It had dropped to my feet. What just happened? Did Justice just cuss me out and hang up on me? Did he just tell me to step off? Like we’re done? Over? Oh hell no. I can’t let my man go like that. Why didn’t I just be quiet and believe him? I had to get my baby back. I had to.

  I practically tripped outta my car and raced through the parking lot. My stomach bubbled, and I felt like I was going to hurl at any moment, I didn’t have time to get sick, though. Not right now.

  I took the steps two at a time to Justice’s apartment and could barely catch my breath by the time I arrived on his floor.

  I huffed as I rushed over to the door, and there he was. Justice. Leaning against the door frame, looking at me like I was crazy.

  18

  Heather

  I’d never kissed a girl before.

  Ever.

  Never even thought about it...

  Until now . . . when I spotted Nikki.

  I was at San Diego State, watching her step across the courtyard, single file with her sorors lined up behind her.

  She was lookin’ all fly: fitted white jeans, lavender tee with white Greek letters spray-painted across it, three strands of white pearls, and purple heels.

  My chick stayed on fleek.

  Scratch that.

  Nikki stayed on fleek.

  I smiled at her. She winked. Then she puckered her shiny pink lips and softly blew me a kiss. My heart skipped at least fifty beats and was seconds from diving for my feet.

  I closed my eyes and squeezed them so tight that tears slid through the lids.

  Stop.

  Breathe.

  Fireflies erupted in my stomach, causing my cheeks to blush and my face to glow.

  Ugg!

  Relax.

  Coco’s voice rang in my head: “Tell her how much you really like her and then ask her does she like you.”

  I opened my eyes, and my gaze landed on Nikki.

  God, I wanted to press my full lips against hers . . . and taste her lip gloss. Drift into the heat of a sweet and sloppy tongue dance. Place my hands on her tiny hips and breathe her in.

  Then exhale.

  And melt into her embrace...

  But.

  I knew I couldn’t do that.

  So.

  I played it cool.

  “Cheeeeeeeeeewee!” Nikki and her sorors catcalled as they broke out into a fly dance of stomping their feet, clapping their hands, and moving their arms and shoulders, in the same pulse and to the same beat.

  A mob of people stood around, their eyes gleaming and glued to the middle of the courtyard, where Nikki and her crew stomped. There were even other sororities and fraternities anxiously waiting their turn to jump in and show off.

  Nikki and her sorority chanted:

  “ATZ is the best! Yes! We are the best! Yes!

  We are blood, sweat, and heels.

  Motivated. Educated. Highly rated.

  Always imitated. But never duplicated.

  ATZ is what all the girls wanna be.

  But not everybody can sit with me!

  ’Cause we are the what?

  Yeah! We are the what?

  Blood, sweat, and heels ...”

  The crowd roared, and some of the onlookers even joined in on the chant and the line dance. I could tell Nikki was in her zone. She was sassy, sexy, and serious.

  I jumped up and down, and before I could stop myself, I was sounding like Coco, “Yaaaaaas, bish! Yaaaaaaaaas! Werk!”

  Nikki looked at me, and I shot her a high five through the air, and she shot me one back.

  Everybody cheered and clapped as ATZ finished
their dance, and another sorority jumped in, stepped, and chanted, “Don’t wanna be no ATZ, just wanna be DCT! Not nine white pearls. But twenty white pearls!”

  The whole atmosphere was crazy! And I was lovin’ it!

  Nikki ran over to me, and we fell into the tightest hug ever. “OMG, honeybunch! I’m soooooooo happy you’re hereeeeeeeeee!” She squealed.

  “Me toooooooo! Yooooooo, Nik! That was the business.” I snapped my fingers. Yasssssss, I loved that. I could do that, boo!”

  She smiled, stood back, and looked me over. “You could do what? Show me!”

  “You ain’t said nothin’ but a verb!” I broke out into a solo step dance.

  Nikki giggled. “I could use a chick like you on my team.”

  And what does that mean? That she likes me? My heart rushed through fifty beats, and for a moment I had to force myself to breathe. “Say word.” I said.

  “Word.”

  “Okay. Then I’m on your team.”

  “Seriously? So you changed your mind about college? Would you really consider San Diego State?”

  Wait. Pause. She meant the San Diego State team? Not the get with me and be my boo team?

  Now I felt stupid.

  Maybe she doesn’t like me . . . like that, anyway.

  I forced myself to grin. Well, not a full grin, but I managed a half of one. “I sure would,” I said.

  Nikki’s eyes beamed.

  I continued, “The next sitcom I star in I’ma make sure the writers step Wu-Wu’s game all the way up and send her to college. And if we get clearance, I’d even suggest that she be a part of ATZ. But as far as me coming personally, umm, no. I’ma stay in Silver Screen University. And rock that team.”

  “Wait, hold up.” A medium-brown skinned girl, about five-seven, with sandy brown Bantu knots, cowrie-shell earrings, and the same ATZ uniform that Nikki had on, stepped into our conversation. “I’m soooo sorry to interrupt, but is this . . .”

  The girl paused, looked at Nikki, and then looked back at me. “Are you Heather Cummings? As in Wu-Wu Tanner? As in the Pampered Princesses of Hollywood High, as in the BFF of Rich Montgomery—”

  Screeeeeeeech! BFF? Whose BFF? I held up my index finger. “Negative. Now bring it back. I’m not Rich Montgomery’s anything.” I looked over at Nikki. She tried to hold a blank face, but I could almost read her thoughts. “We go to the same school, yes. And on a rare occasion, like February thirty-ninth, we may chill together. But she is not my friend. And yes, I’m Heather Cummings, as in Wu-Wu Tanner.”

  “I sooooo love you!” The girl snatched me into a hug. “You are the bomb!” She draped an arm over my shoulders. “I know you said you don’t do Rich. But you two give me life. And you two kind of resemble. You have the same eyes.”

  I sucked in a nervous breath.

  The girl continued, “But Rich is like the blond-black Paris Hilton. Anyway, I’m Khalila.” She turned to Nikki and playfully pushed her on the shoulder. “Heifer, whyyyyyy didn’t you tell me that you chillin’ with the stars and Wu-Wu Tanner is your friend?”

  “Because Wu-Wu Tanner is not my friend,” Nikki said. “Heather Cummings is my friend.”

  “You know what I mean.” Khalila carried on. “So Wu-Wu, I mean, Heather. I know you gotta be hangin’ with us today. Right, Nikki?”

  Nikki smiled. “I hope so.”

  Khalila popped her lips. “That means yes. We’re having a dorm floor party. And just so you know, the cuties will be in the hiz’zouse!”

  “It would be dope if you stayed,” Nikki insisted.

  “It would be hella dope!” A Latina girl, with bouncy, shoulder-length black curls and pecan-colored skin tossed in. “My name is Jacinda, and I knew who you were the whooooooole time. I’m the one who told Kareema, who told Melissa, who told Khalila to ask. I spotted you the moment we got out here. I watched all of the Wu-Wu Tanner shows, but I hate the new Wu-Wu. They need you back. But, anyway, I read on a blog you’re doing a reality show. Is that true?”

  I smiled. “Yes, it is.”

  “That is sooooooo hot! You need to bring the camera up here so we can show ’em how college girls get down.”

  I laughed. “Maybe I will.”

  “So is that a yes?” Nikki pressed. “You’re hanging out with me and my girls?”

  “I mean, it’s no paparazzi or anything,” Khalila added.

  Jacinda jumped in, “But we know how to party!”

  “Then let’s get it, boo!” I said.

  We made our way across the sprawling and manicured campus to their sorority house; an eight-story, lavender brick building with ATZ spray-painted in white across the entire face.

  I couldn’t help but feel out of place, as I noticed how Nikki and her crew walked.

  No, strolled.

  No, sauntered.

  Erase all of that.

  They strutted.

  Chins up.

  Backs straight.

  Hips to the left, then to the right.

  One foot in front of the other.

  They had swag. Divalicious swag. About their business swag. And their vibes all screamed, “I’m the ish!”

  They were nothing like the Pampered Princesses, who only had camera-balls and gossip-rag esteem.

  Nikki’s crew were clearly feeling themselves, but not full of themselves.

  These chicks put the Pampered Princesses to sleep. They were pretty, brilliant, and straight fly.

  Don’t get it twisted, the Pampered Princesses were pretty too. Pretty pathetic and pretty pitiful. And yeah, they rocked Gucci. But these heifers right here, ATZ, were straight Gucci.

  There was a difference.

  We walked into their dorm, where the lobby was packed with people and music echoed down the hall. “This is the party?” I asked Nikki.

  “Nope. They’re just hanging out.” Nikki said, as we all stepped onto the elevator and Khalila pressed the button for the sixth floor.

  “Daaaaaaaaaamn, kazam!” I said, as the elevator doors opened. “Party ova here!” My eyes wildly scanned the floor. The DJ was next to the elevator on the left, and pumping from his speakers was the dopest trap music. To the right somebody served dollar shots of toasted punch in Styrofoam cups.

  And. People. Were. Everywhere! They spilled out of packed dorm rooms. Lined the hallways. Some twerked, danced, popped it. Some just chilled, leaned against the wall, and kicked it. And others simply sipped their drinks and nodded to the music.

  I couldn’t believe it. I thought college parties like this only existed on TV and in the movies. Not in real life. I always thought that—with the exception of Nikki—college kids were a bunch of misfits. Like Spencer, but sane. I had no idea they were all the way live.

  The moment ATZ stepped off the elevator, Khalila walked over to the DJ, grabbed the mic, and announced—like she had nothing else to do or be but a blabbermouth—“This is Heather Cummings, as in Wu-Wu Tanner. As in the hit ‘Put Your Diamonds Up’! Let’s show her some love!”

  Within seconds, the DJ dropped my tune, and everybody danced.

  I should’ve rocked out. It would’ve been fly had I reached for the mic and said, “Check-one, check two . . .” and spit my rhyme. Tore the frame out the spot. And had this been any other place, or if I’d had a pinch of Beauty, I would’ve been off the meat rack! Waved my hands in the air, and acted like the only thing that mattered was me.

  But I couldn’t.

  Instead, I was a sober zombie, watching everybody else feel my music.

  After the DJ played “Put Your Diamonds Up,” he dropped my hit “The Gucci Clique.”

  I bounced my shoulders a little, but I couldn’t get all the way into it. I had too much on my mind.

  When my hits were finished, the DJ played more trap music, and people rushed over to me and asked to take ussies, which I couldn’t refuse. I was sure they were Insta-gramming, tweeting, and Facebooking it. I knew by morning the pics would all be featured on a few blogs.

  I so wanted to let
loose and be free, the way I usually was with Nikki, but I couldn’t. All I could think about was peeling outta here, heading home to hide, get high, and tell myself that I was stupid in peace.

  And yeah, everybody here seemed cool, so it wasn’t them, it was me. I felt like I had bisexual confusion, spawn of a drunk-coochie and a runaway sperm donor stamped to my forehead.

  “You okay?” Nikki’s warm hand reached for mine and squeezed it.

  I forced myself to smile. “Psst, please. Girl, yes. Yaaaaasssss, hunni!” I said, way too hyped and clearly extra phony.

  Nikki turned and faced me. Her eyes locked into mine. And although we were in the midst of at least a hundred people, I felt like we were the only two standing here. “Wassup? And tell me the truth.” She pressed.

  “Chill, boo.” I rocked my shoulders and popped my fingers. “I’m good. Thinking about getting myself a dollar shot. You want one?”

  Nikki’s gaze continued to pull me in. She paused, then said, “Let’s get outta here for a minute.”

  “Leave the party?” I frowned. “Relax. I’m okay. Let’s stay.”

  “No.” She gently pulled me by the hand.

  “Where y’all going?” Khalila, who was hugged up on a cutie, yelled over her shoulder.

  “We’ll be right back!” Nikki said, as we stepped onto the elevator and she pushed the button for the fourth floor.

  19

  London

  Surprise, surprise . . . Rich had officially blocked me from her Twitter account like she had already done on Instagram. And I no longer had access to her on Kik Messenger, either.

  So what was a girl to do?

  Create a fictitious account. And pretend to be a groupie. Yes. I was cyber-stalking her. How else was I supposed to know what was going on with that troll doll? Aside from reading about her on the blogs, I had no other means of staying abreast of her shenanigans since she’d banned me from her life.

  And here I offered to extend her an olive branch by going to her like a woman and telling her about Justice and me. I went to that girl with nothing but good intentions. And all she could think to do was lash out at me and call me names.