She put her hands over her eyes to shield herself from the blazing sun, and that’s when she saw him. As soon as Simmy realized he was walking toward her, she wanted to turn and run back to the house.
Shit. Not now. I look a hot mess. Literally!
Her stomach immediately cramped up, and more sweat beads lined up at her hairline like ready soldiers. She definitely wasn’t dressed or prepared to run into her all-time biggest crush, Kyan Barkley.
Simmy dug into the pocket of her shorts in hopes that she had something she could use to wipe her sweaty face. Of course I run into him when I look tore up from the floor up! Simmy thought, biting down on her bottom lip, which was the thing she did whenever she was nervous. Simmy’s heart jammed against her breastbone when she locked eyes with him.
Dang! Now he would know for sure that she saw him. Still, Simmy quickly averted her eyes, put her head down, and crossed the street, acting as if she hadn’t see him.
Kyan was a young dope boy who Simmy had had a crush on since fifth grade. They attended the same high school, but all Simmy could do was watch him from a distance. He was out of her league. Way out of her league.
Simmy had watched Kyan go from the neighborhood bum kid with run-down outlet sneakers, dirty, bargain-center T-shirts, and ripped no-name jeans to one of the best dressed young dudes in her school and neighborhood. All of the girls on her block were pining for Kyan. Simmy had recently heard that he was dating a gorgeous girl from across town named Ava. Even Simmy knew she couldn’t hold a candle to Ava’s beauty. Everyone in school said Ava looked like a young Nia Long and Simmy had to agree.
What Simmy failed to realize was that her perfectly clear, smooth caramel skin, thick, curly hair, and deep-set almond eyes made her beautiful in her own right as well. Not only did Simmy have a beautiful face, but she had a body that many women would pay for. Simmy had a Coke-bottle shape like her grandmother. Her thick thighs led up to her round, firm bottom. She had a small waist and perky C-cup breasts. Grown men often gawked and tried to approach Simmy whenever she’d walk to the store or through the mall. At seventeen years old, Simmy had the body of a grown woman.
Simmy rushed into the grocery store relieved that she’d managed to avoid Kyan. She was glad that he had only seen her from a distance. Now she prayed that no one she knew was inside, since she had to use Mummy Pat’s EBT card for her purchases. Simmy rushed around the store picking up the things off the list, all the while silently praying that nobody she knew entered.
Simmy finally finished paying for the groceries, and she was in the clear. She wiped sweat from her forehead and breathed out heavily. No one had spotted her using the card. She grabbed the four plastic bags and headed out the door.
“Oh, my God,” she wheezed, stumbling backward. She had bumped hard into someone. The plastic handle on one of her bags popped and her grandmother’s groceries went scattering on the ground.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” Simmy stuttered, setting the other bags down as she bent down to pick up the items that had fallen. She was so thrown off by the body crash, she hadn’t even looked up.
“No. I’m sorry. That was all my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” a smooth voice said.
Simmy moved her head in slow motion. It was him! She had touched Kyan! Her heart leaped in her chest, and her hands started trembling.
“You’re Simone, right?” Kyan asked, although he already knew her name very well. They had been in school together for years.
“Ye . . . yeah,” Simmy answered, still unable to stop shaking.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to knock you over,” he said, flashing his gorgeous smile. He bent down and helped her gather up her scattered items.
Simmy could feel her cheeks burning from embarrassment. She hurriedly tried to pick everything up so she could be on her way. She couldn’t believe she had somehow managed to bump into him after she tried so hard to avoid him. This had to be the worst day ever.
Kyan extended his hand to help her stand up. Simmy took his hand into hers and felt like someone had attached her to an electric current. God, he looks like an angel. She could’ve sworn she saw a bright flash of yellow-tinged light glowing around Kyan.
“Um, thanks for helping me,” she said, unable to hold eye contact for fear that he’d see into her eyes and somehow see how crazy she was about him. She felt her heart racing and palpitating against her chest.
“You’re welcome.” Kyan gave her a wide smile. “You live around here now?” Kyan asked. “I know you used to live on Long Island awhile back, but you still came to school out here.”
“My grandmother lives around here,” Simmy said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, too ashamed to admit that she no longer resided in her home on Long Island. “I’m visiting her for a while. But, not really living here.” Technically she wasn’t lying about what she’d said. She loved her grandmother, but she had never felt comfortable in that house. In the years that she had been living there, she had never felt like she was home. There were just too many people living there, and none of them were nice people.
“A’ight, that’s what’s up. That means I’ll get to see you for a while then,” Kyan said smoothly, licking his full lips.
Simmy’s legs felt weak, and she could barely hold on to her bags. She was having crazy thoughts. Grab him and kiss him all over his face!
“Well, I, um, I gotta—” Simmy struggled to find the words so she could get out of this awkward encounter.
“Hey, Kyan,” a squeaky voice cut Simmy off. “You out here helping charity cases now?” Loud laughter followed.
Simmy turned to find three girls standing behind her, pointing and laughing. It was the tallest girl of the group who had made the charity comment; the other two were standing on either side of her, sniggering.
“C’mon. Get out of here with all that.” Kyan waved them off. Simmy’s face flushed.
“Well, we didn’t think you like girls who wear last season’s cutoff Levi’s, Forever 21 two dollar tanks, and run-down Converses,” the tall girl said, looking Simmy up and down.
All three girls busted out laughing again. “Yeah. Converse cost $49.99, so who wears them until they’re filthy like that?” one of the other mean girls chimed in.
“I gotta go,” Simmy said, barely opening her mouth.
The girls moved together, blocking her path. “Kyan ain’t checking for no cheap-gear-wearing chick like you. And, look at that hair. Who did it? Your blind grandma?”
More laughter.
“You don’t know nothing about Chanel and YSL, do you?” the tall girl said, patting the letters on her T-shirt and then hitting the front of the bright red Chanel bag that hung at her side.
Simmy’s honey-colored face turned almost burgundy. She clutched the plastic handles of her grocery bags so tight the circulation in her fingers was cut off. Her eyes darted from one girl to the next and, each time, she felt lower and lower. Looking at how fly all three girls were dressed, Simmy felt like a dirty homeless person standing there. She definitely recognized the brands—Gucci, Chanel, and Louis Vuitton—that the girls rocked, but those were way out of her league these days.
“Kyan, I’m so disappointed. I thought you had better taste,” the tall girl said. “You out here looking trill as hell, rocking Balenciaga, but you trying to rap to a bum bandit?”
Simmy’s jaw rocked, but there was no way she would be any match for those three who had encircled her now.
“Leave her alone and get the hell on, Trisha,” Kyan snapped, putting his arm around Simmy’s shoulders so he could lead her out of the mean girl circle.
“Yeah, leave her alone and get the hell on, Trisha, before I catch a fucking case out here,” a familiar voice boomed from the left.
Simmy’s eyes went wide. “Jayla!” Simmy’s shoulders relaxed with relief, and she almost dropped all of her bags at the sight of her older cousin busting through the mean girl circle like a superhero.
“What’s
up, little cousin?” Jayla smiled. “You a’ight? Anybody touch you?
Simmy shook her head no. Jayla turned to the mean girls, her face all of a sudden pinched tight into a scowl. “Y’all see her?” Jayla pointed at Simmy. “Just know that’s me. Don’t ever let me catch y’all trying to play her out here again or it’s going to be a fucking problem. Y’all already know what I’m working with. I ain’t been gone from BK that fucking long, so y’all know exactly what it is,” Jayla said, pointing down to her gunmetal gray Chanel boy bag.
“And you. Pretty boy with the curly hair and fancy footwear.” Jayla rounded on Kyan and pointed in his face. “Stay the hell away from my little cousin if you ain’t going to protect her. How you got these basic bitches rolling up on my blood and you ain’t slap the life out of one of them? Fuck outta here if you ain’t about it,” Jayla snarled.
With that, she grabbed Simmy by the arm and pulled her toward the corner. “C’mon, before I really lose my shit on these little nothing-ass girls. I’m too dressed up for the bullshit,” Jayla said, flipping her hair out of her face. It was true. Jayla rocked a white tunic, the hottest multicolored Giuseppe Zanotti knee-high gladiator heels, and a pair of pearl-accented Chanel shades. Her hair was all out, with bouncy, blond-streaked curls bouncing around her fresh, professionally made-up face.
Simmy stumbled along but managed to look back over her shoulder at Kyan as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and hung his head as she walked away.
“Yo, Simmy, what the fuck was that?” Jayla asked her cousin.
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Listen, Simmy, I don’t care who it is. Don’t stand out here letting nobody play you like that. Ever,” Jayla scolded her.
Simmy sighed. It was hard to defend yourself when the girls teasing you had a point.
“Chicks will try you every day because of that light skin, them pretty eyes, and that beautiful long hair. It don’t matter who they are; you gotta hold your own against these ugly weave-queens hiding behind some clothes they had to sell ass to get. I know you grew up on Long Island for a minute but you been out here long enough to know how to handle yourself. Simmy, you gotta act real Brooklyn at all times,” Jayla lectured on. “What if Mummy Pat didn’t send me over here to see what was taking you so long? You was just gonna let them shallow-ass chicks play you like that? Nah, can’t happen like that, Simmy. If I don’t teach you nothing else, remember I told you to never let another bitch make you feel less than. You are always your own number one fan. Always.”
Simmy nodded her understanding. “I wish you still lived here, Jay. I hate it here without you,” Simmy said sadly. Simmy and Jayla had only lived together for six months before Jayla moved out of Mummy Pat’s house, but they had grown up together, so they had always been close cousins.
“Aw. I know, baby girl.” Jayla softened. “But, for me, Harlem is where it’s at right now. I couldn’t do the crowded house thing no more. Everybody coming and going like it was a short-stay hotel. People touching your shit without permission. I had to get away, make my own money, you know? Spread my wings.”
Simmy nodded as they crossed the street. She knew all too well what Jayla meant about Mummy Pat’s brownstone being like a revolving door for anyone who fell hard and was down on their luck. Jayla’s mother, Chrissy, was Simmy’s father’s sister. Chrissy had been killed in a drug deal gone bad when Jayla was eleven. Jayla, just like Simmy, had been left parentless. Simmy’s dad, Chris, wanted Jayla to live with them but, with his illegal business, he couldn’t risk filing for custody and having them look into his finances. Jayla was left to fend for herself at Mummy Pat’s house.
Despite Jayla not being able to live with them, Simmy’s father still made sure she was taken care of. Every month he would drop off money to Mummy Pat so she could buy whatever Jalya needed. Chris felt responsible for his sister’s death since he was the one who had set up the drug deal that got her killed. He felt the least he could do was make sure that Chrissy’s daughter was taken care of and didn’t go without.
When Jayla and Simmy got to the front door of Mummy Pat’s brownstone, Jayla held on to Simmy’s arm to stop her from entering. “And, why you ain’t call me and tell me you needed things?” Jayla asked, gesturing at Simmy’s dirty sneakers and cutoff Levi’s.
Simmy looked down at her feet, her mouth sagging at the edges. “I just don’t like being a burden to anyone. I try to make the best out of what I have left in the account my father left. And I know Mummy doesn’t have a lot to give me, so I just try to get by with whatever clothes I have. And you know I hate asking anybody for anything. And, besides, I really don’t care about what people think of my clothes and stuff,” Simmy lied. She cared very much about what people thought of her. She hated her clothes, and the comments mean girls would make when she walked past them didn’t help. “I know I can’t buy any of the expensive clothes everybody out here wearing so I don’t even think about it. Right now I’m just trying to focus on finishing my senior year and graduating.” Simmy gave her cousin a halfhearted smile.
Jayla sucked her teeth. “And you really want me to believe all that shit you just tried to feed me?” Jayla smirked. “C’mon, Simmy, I know you care about your clothes. You ain’t got to lie to me, little cousin. I know what the deal is. Didn’t I tell you before I got you? You ain’t no damn burden. And, I don’t throw shit in people’s faces when I do for them. You’ve seen me bring Jordans for Marcus’s boys, and fitted hats, sneakers, them stupid-ass thirty dollar Nike socks, and all of that for Sheryl’s kids, so why wouldn’t I hook you up if you asked? Remember, Simmy, I’ve been where you’re at right now.”
Simmy parted a halfhearted smile and gnawed on her bottom lip. “I know. But, I just can’t get used to asking people for stuff. And I don’t want you to think I’m being shallow just trying to look fly.”
“Oh, my God, Simmy! You know I don’t think like that,” Jayla said, waving her hand like Simmy was being ridiculous. “Now take them bags inside and let’s go.”
Simmy crinkled her brow and tilted her head. “Where we going?”
“Just go and drop off Mummy Pat’s shit so we can go do something with that bird’s nest you call hair and get you some wears. Shit, you can’t be out here representing me and not really representing me,” Jayla said, laughing lightly afterward.
Simmy smiled wide and rushed into the house. She returned so fast Jayla had to laugh.
“Damn, little cousin. You wasn’t playing, huh?”
Simmy blushed.
“To new beginnings,” Jayla said, locking arms with Simmy. They bounced down the street, giggling. It was the happiest Simmy had felt in a long while.
“You still ain’t say where we’re going.”
“If you must know, nosey, straight to the Dominicans you go. Can’t have all that beautiful long hair looking crazy like this. So, first stop: hair. Second stop: Saks and Neiman for some shit that will knock those little bitches out the box. You about to level up, little cousin.”
Simmy was too excited by the thought of new clothes and a new hairstyle that she never bothered to ask her cousin how she was going to pay for it all.
Chapter 2
Learning the Ropes
Simmy didn’t return to Mummy Pat’s house that entire weekend. After she’d gotten her hair laid for the gods by the girls at the Dominican shop, Jayla had whisked her away on a whirlwind shopping spree in Roosevelt Field Mall on Long Island.
Bloomingdale’s, Neiman Marcus, BCBG Max Azria, and Nordstrom were just a few of the stores they had blazed through, grabbing things like money wasn’t an issue. Simmy was amazed watching Jayla whip out her credit cards, sparing no expense.
Balmain dresses, Givenchy T-shirts and bomber jackets, Moncler coats, BCBG pants suits, Gucci sneakers, Aquazzura boots, and Sophia Webster pumps were just a few of the things Jayla bought for Simmy during their shopping spree.
“All the hood ratchets wearing red bottoms now. We off that,” J
ayla had chided her, snatching the shoe from Simmy when she’d picked up a pair of Christian Louboutins while they were in Neiman.
“You’ll learn the difference between high fashion and fashion frontin’ hanging with me, little cousin.” Jayla had winked. Simmy had smiled. She was a willing student excited to learn her cousin’s shopping tricks.
Simmy stayed the entire weekend with Jayla in a suite on the top floor of the Aloft Hotel on Duffield Street. Jayla had said it was far enough away from all of the crazy J’ouvert and Labor Day activities, but still in Brooklyn so they could party and not have to travel all the way to Jayla’s place up in Harlem.
Simmy didn’t care where they stayed, so long as she was getting a break from being in Mummy Pat’s hot, crowded house. Simmy felt alive and carefree being away from the house. Jayla never made her feel unwelcome or as if she were a burden.
“Wake up, girl.” Jayla nudged Simmy.
Simmy groaned. It felt like she’d just gone to sleep. Jayla had picked up a fake ID for her little cousin, and they had decided to go out one more time before Simmy had to go home. They had just gotten back to Jayla’s hotel room at five in the morning from partying all night. Staying up until the wee hours of the morning was not something Simmy was used to. This was all new to her.
“It’s almost noon. Sleepyheads don’t get paid,” Jayla said, nudging Simmy again. “I have to take you home. I got business to take care of.”
Simmy finally sat up. Disappointment flashed across her face.
“It’s all good. I’ll be back. I promise,” Jayla said, flopping down on the bed next to Simmy.
Magic Touch Page 2
