“Deux pour le dinner, s’il vous plait.” Omar says in a mixture of Brooklyn and Paris, which sends a smile to my face the size of the River Seine. “Nous célébrons le birthday de mon amour.” My heart drops beneath the floor.
Even though the words come out uncomfortably slow. And even though the waitress probably doesn’t speak French. LOL! And even though he really didn’t have anything to prove, when my boyfriend tells the waitress in Rue de Jean, on my birthday, that I am his amour, Omar Smalls has officially TAKEN. ME. THERE. Again.
Omar
6:47pm
Omar Smalls: Dawg, I just saw them Bayside nuckas on King St. They rolling six deep.
Fast Freddie: Where you at?
Omar Smalls: In an art gallery, near the Sottile
Fast Freddie: Da sottile? WT . . .
Omar Smalls: George Street. Off of King.
Fast Freddie: You hiding out in the water closet?
Omar Smalls: I got homegirl with me.
Fast Freddie: What you wanna do?
Omar Smalls: Text Willie Mack. I’m gonna wait like fifteen minutes. Hurry up.
Fast Freddie: A’ight, if it’s going down, we got your back, T. Fo’ sho. I’m in the car. I’m in the car w/ B right now. On our way.
Omar Smalls: Thas whas up. Hurry up, we got 7:15 reservations at a French joint, and if we’re late, we lose ’em.
Fast Freddie: No hablo espanol. Bwahahaha!
Fast Freddie: What you want us to do when we get there?
Omar Smalls: Make sure them woadies is gone, then text me. Me and homegirl be inside checking out a black mermaid exhibit.
Fast Freddie: Black mermaids? WTFFFFF?
Omar Smalls: Focus man. You coming?
Fast Freddie: Just in case they still downtown and they wanna roll up on you, right?
Omar Smalls: Exactly!!!!
Fast Freddie: T, you still in the water closet?
Tdiddy Smalls Yesterday was the best day of my life. Be thankful!
Unlike · Comment · Share · Thursday at 1:00 am ·
You and Claudia Clarke like this.
Willie Mack Dude, you watching Oprah? WTF!!!!
Thursday at 1:10 am via mobile · Like
Blu McCants Bwahahahahaha!
Thursday at 1:11 am · Like
Claudia Clarke Y’all leave my babe alone.
Thursday at 1:11 am · Like
Freddie Callaway “babe” *dead*
Thursday at 1:12 am · Like
Tdiddy Smalls Drinking that haterade.
Thursday at 1:12 am · Like
Savannah Gadsden LOLOLOL!
Thursday at 1:30 am · Like
Claudia Clarke > Tdiddy Smalls I can’t sleep.
Like · Comment · Share · Thursday at 4:03 am ·
Tdiddy Smalls Me either.
Thursday at 4:05 am via mobile · Like
Claudia Clarke I want to go to Italy.
Thursday at 4:05 am · Like
Tdiddy Smalls *Random*
Thursday at 4:05 am via mobile · Like
Claudia Clarke I just finished reading the two chapters on Italy, and we have to go.
Thursday at 4:06 am · Like
Tdiddy Smalls I heard the food there is bananas. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.
Thursday at 4:06 am via mobile · Like
Claudia Clarke Awwwwwwwww!
Thursday at 4:06 am · Like
Blu McCants Get a room, already. Jeez!
Thursday at 4:07 am via mobile · Like
RedBone Follow me @RedboneDaRapper
Thursday at 4:10 am · Like
Tdiddy Smalls Oh, wow!
Thursday at 4:10 am via mobile · Like
Blu McCants Bwahahahahahahaha! Only in the country.
Thursday at 4:11 am via mobile · Like
Tdiddy Smalls Claudia, pick up, I’m calling.
Thursday at 4:14 am via mobile · Like
Tdiddy Smalls Ring ring, homegirl.
Thursday at 4:15 am via mobile · Like
Tdiddy Smalls Blu, where ya girl go?
Thursday at 4:23 am via mobile · Like
Tdiddy Smalls Yo, anybody on here?
Thursday at 4:24 am via mobile · Like
RedBone Cop dat Redbone and Hoe Daddy mixtape, playa.
Thursday at 4:25 am · Like
Tdiddy Smalls I love Claudia Clarke like the winter loves snow.
Like · Comment · Share · Thursday at 4:51 am ·
Tdiddy Smalls Homegirl, where you at? Don’t make me come over there.
Thursday at 4:51 am via mobile · Like
Freddie Calloway > Tdiddy Smalls T, I tried to call you. Went straight to voicemail. Check your inbox. ASAP.
Like · Comment · Share · Thursday at 4:52 am ·
Tdiddy Smalls Phone’s dead. Checking it now.
Thursday at 5:09 am · Like
Blu McCants > Tdiddy Smalls I’m soo sorry . . . but love no longer lives there . . . And no, she didn’t supply a forwarding address. . . . Things are changing and so is she . . . asshole
Like · Comment · Share · Thursday at 6:30 am ·
Tami Hill > Tdiddy Smalls Call me boo, if you need a shoulder to lean on.
Like · Comment · Share · Thursday at 7:00 am ·
Belafonte Jones > Tdiddy Smalls T, you coming to school today?
Like · Comment · Share · Thursday at 7:07 am ·
Rich Smalls > Tdiddy Smalls CUZIN, why you ain’t tell me you was ’bout to go all Ray J on these tricks. LOL! #sextape
Like · Comment · Share · Thursday at 7:29 am ·
Eve Chappell via Kym King You got exactly what you asked for. The grass isn’t greener on the other side! You had it good and you wanted “better.” . . . Well, Omar, maybe next time, you will treat the women in your life “better.”
Like · Comment · Share · Thursday at 7:51 am ·
Eve Chappell@EveILLNana: Watch @DaRealTDiddy in the locker room taking advantage of Kym King. #Busted #SexTape Click here for video.
“You’re an asshole, and she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Blu says, and hangs up on me for the fifth time. “EVER!”
Claudia didn’t come to school on Friday, so I haven’t seen or spoken to her in four days. I call her back again.
“Look, before you hang up, it wasn’t what it looked like.”
“And your clothes magically disappeared and she poured cement on your dick. And you let her suck . . . you know what, never mind. You’re busted.”
“Look, Blu, just tell Claudia I want to talk to her, and I can expla—” and she hangs up again. She’s staying at Blu’s house, but Blu said her brother would shoot me if I showed up at her place. And after hearing the stories about him after he got back from Iraq, I ain’t going nowhere near that shell-shocked joker.
Fast Freddie texts me and asks if I want to watch the Jets-Patriots game with him and Belafonte. The only thing I want to do is lie under my covers and pray that Claudia Clarke calls me back and forgives me for this ish that I didn’t even really do.
How was I supposed to know that the whole time Kym was pushing up on me in the locker room, Eve was recording everything on her iPhone? That’s some foul ish. They set me up, and the messed-up thing is, I didn’t even do anything wrong. Not really. It’s not like I slept with her.
They made that joint look like I was enjoying it. I mean I was, who wouldn’t, but I stopped it. Told her to be out. They made it seem like we did it right there in front of my locker.
I done a lot of messed-up stuff over the years, but Claudia was different. I guess that karma ish is real, ’cause the one time T-Diddy does the right thing is the time he hurts the one girl he loves.
“Smalls, it’s your Sunday to cook,” Uncle Al says from my doorway. “What are we eating?”
“I don’t feel like cooking tonight, Unc.”
“Oh, man, you done messed up, didn’t you?” he counters, like he’s reading the guilt and grief written all over my face. “Didn’t I tell you she was spec
ial? Dayum, dayum, dayum! What have you gone and done?”
“I made a stupid-ass mistake.”
“Watch your mouth, Smalls. So now you’re sitting up in this dark room, pouting?”
“She won’t even talk to me. I can’t even explain to her the truth. I’m in pain, Unc.”
“Whatever you did, just give her a few days to work through it all.”
“I haven’t seen her in four.”
“Her clock ain’t set by how fast your hands move, Smalls.” I don’t say anything, just look out my window at the lonely moon. “Write her, tell her your side of things.”
“You think that’ll work?”
“I still don’t know what you did, but it can’t hurt.” He’s right. I take out my phone and start tapping away.
“What’s that you doing?”
“You said write her. I’m emailing her.”
“That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Smalls, that’s not what I meant. Don’t email, don’t text, don’t Twitter, and don’t facebutt her.”
Whoa, facebutt. Really.
“Write her a real letter, son.”
“Like with paper and an envelope?”
“And a stamp and a mailbox.” C’mon son. “Put some effort into this. You want her back, don’t you? Nothing better than an old-fashioned love letter on some nice parchment paper.”
Parchment?
“I got some paper in my printer.”
“Just shut up, Smalls. Grab my coat, let’s go.”
“Where we going, Unc?” I ask, pulling his coat and mine out of the closet.
“Fish tacos,” he answers.
Claudia
I haven’t written in my journal in over a year. Since Leo broke my heart. I keep playing it over and over in my head. The best birthday of my life. THE WORST BIRTHDAY OF MY LIFE. How did you let this happen, Claudia?
January 27
I am done with love. I’ve tasted the toxin of hurt. Swallowed its sword. Love will never be born again. Because I’m cuttin’ the cord.
No matter what I try to do to distract myself—watch TV, read, math homework—I keep getting the same common denominator: Omar Smalls. First, I was at Blu’s house, now I’m at my house, locked in my room, listening to the same sad love songs. Why did you let yourself fall like that, so fast? Haven’t you learned anything?
January 28
Fourteen Reasons Why I’m Done
Because my heart is in five million pieces
Because my soul is on fire
Because betrayal is like a torch
Because forgiveness is a foreign country
Because I don’t have a passport
Because my fears are ocean deep
Because my tears are river wide
Because I met a boy
Because right under the moon, the boy held my hand and promised to show me the light
Because I thought that promises were like mountains, solid and sacred
Because his promises were caves, empty and cold
Because my smile has vanished, my laughter silent
Because life, it seems, is a puzzle
Because I don’t know how to put the pieces back together again
I’ve tried to avoid him in school, but I can’t avoid him in my mind. Staring out of the window is my new hobby. He’s a guy, Claudia. What did you expect?
January 29
I was really into you, Omar Smalls. A part of me hates you. Letting a guy into my world this fast is unfamiliar. Letting a guy LIKE YOU into my world is unsafe. What you did to me was despicable and horrible, and yes, I too thought “we had a thing.” I guess not. A part of me loves the man you could be. Loves how you’ve changed our school for the better. Made kids care about something. Stood up like a real man is supposed to. How can somebody so wrong be—
“Claudia, open up,” my sister screams from the other side of my door. I mute the music. “I know you’re not asleep, girl. I heard the music. Don’t make me call Mom and Dad.” I know she’s not doing that, because they’ll have like a million things they need her to do. Nice try.
“Well, I know one thing, you’re not skipping school again. You have until the morning to get yourself together, or I’m busting the door down. Don’t think I won’t do it.” When I hear her go back down the stairs, I turn my Whitney Houston back up. “Saving All My Love for You.” Jeez!
She’s right, I do need to get back to school. AP tests are coming up, and missing a week of class is not good.
Plus I need to come out of my little silent treatment and face the music that awaits me. But I don’t care what song he’s singing, I’m still not talking to him.
Omar
Nothing like a sit-down meal at my favorite restautant, Juanita Greenberg’s, to brighten up T-Diddy’s mood. I probably ate about ten tacos and laughed my butt off. Uncle Al was crackin’ jokes all night, had the whole place in stitches.
We get to the van, which is parked right out front, as it always is, in the handicapped spot.
“Oh, snap, I left the keys on the table. Be right back, Unc.”
When I run back in to grab them, me and the waitress have a moment. Why not? It ain’t like I got a girlfriend anymore. She smiles, I smile. I ask her name, we flirt a little, then, as I’m glancing out the window, I notice a couple of dudes in football jerseys talking to Uncle Al.
“Nice to meet you, Jo. I gotta run, but I’ll holla,” I tell her, even though I know I probably won’t. Claudia’s got me vexed.
When I get outside the restaurant, I hear Uncle Al shouting at these kids.
“Like I said, just watch where you spit next time, young ’un!”
“You crippled mutha—”
“Hey, chill on that, homeboy,” I say to the kid kirking off on Uncle Al. When he turns around, I know we got trouble. Dayum!
“It’s Titty. You with this retard?” says the kid I recognize from the Bayside football team.
“Omar, let’s go, before I have to whoop these punks,” Uncle Al says. I press the remote to unlock the car. The other Bayside dude, Moose, stands in front of Unc.
“Ty, I guess crip ’bout to get up out that wheelchair,” Moose says to his partner, and they laugh.
“Step off—we don’t want no trouble, homeboy,” I say.
“Well, you found it anyway, Titty,” the one named Ty says. “I told you Bayside don’t forget.”
The loud noise we hear next sounds like a bear stepping on a twelve-inch nail. The few people on the street look at us to see what it is. Ty and I turn around to look, and see Moose on his knees, his arm twisted behind his back and being held by Uncle Al. How in the heck?
When dude turns around, I know he’s gonna come at me. I don’t let him. As soon as our eyes connect, I clock him, right in the jaw. And he’s down. Uncle Al lets Moose go, and he’s still moaning on the ground.
“Let’s roll, Smalls.” I put him in the van, and just like that, we’re out.
“What was that about, Smalls?”
“Some ol’ nonsense. They’re still salty about that beatdown in the championship game.”
“That looked like more than a football grudge, Smalls. Some personal beef.”
“West Charleston and Bayside been beefing forever, Unc. I don’t even sweat it. They got sense enough not to come ’round our way with no craziness.”
“I’m just saying be careful. Crazy ain’t never made sense.”
“What? You sound like Clyfe. Stop worrying, I got you,” I say, driving down Meeting Street.
“Just watch your back, son. Uncle Al is straight.”
“Yeah, how you get that big joker on the ground like that?”
“I ain’t always been in this wheelchair, homeboy. I’ve taken down bigger than him.”
“That’s what’s up. When I clocked that kid, he—”
“Smalls, it happened and it’s over. I ain’t one for glorifying violence and whatnot,” he says, like he’s about to tell me another long-ass story. Then he s
tops. Thank you, thank you.
A minute later, the rain comes fast and hard. The silence reminds me of homegirl. I change the subject back to her.
“Uncle Al, I don’t even know what to say in a letter. She ain’t talked to me in like a week. What am I gonna do?” No answer. “Seriously, dude, I need help, this girl is on my brain.”
I peek through the rearview mirror and that joker is asleep. We’re fifteen minutes from home and he’s out. Juanita Greenberg’s does it to him every time.
The radio is broken, but the CD player works. I press play, and one of his slow-jam mix tapes comes on. Nothing like a little Temptations singing “My Girl” to mess you up.
Claudia
I am so sick of petty high school mess. I can’t wait to graduate and meet some legitimate men. Heck, and women. This place is just so insignificant. It’s like a prison of immaturity with no chance of rehabilitation for any of the frickin’ inmates. I want out!
Blu and I leave Starbucks, and we’re on our way to school.
“I don’t know if I can do this, girl. I’ve never been this embarrassed in my life. He made me look like a two-dollar fool.”
“Speaking of that, you still owe me two dollars from last month.”
“Really? I’m all distraught and whatnot, and you’re cracking jokes?”
“Get over it already. You cried for like three days straight. Stop playing the frickin’ victim. Be a woman.”
“Thanks for being so sensitive, Blu.”
He Said, She Said Page 17
