Dear Yvette

by Ni-Ni Simone

  I forced myself to suck my teeth. “Do I have a minute? Boy, please. What? You don’t have enough time of your own, now you need some of mine? Hell, no. Now get off my tip.”

  Why did I say that?

  Whyyyyy did I say that?

  Brooklyn took two steps toward me, then one more into my personal space; I was pleasantly trapped and my back was pressed against my locker.

  His hot breath was the essence of sweet butterscotch, as he hooked his russet brown eyes into mine, radiatin’ a strength that I’d never experienced and didn’t quite understand. Desperately, I wanted to lift one of my hands and wave it over my face like a fan.

  “You know what?” he said. “You need to learn to shut up sometimes.”

  “Or what?” I shoved a hand up on my hip.

  “Check it; I’m not . . .” He paused. Pulled in a deep breath. Pushed it out. “So you really wanna do this another day?”

  “Do what?”

  “Beef. Or you gon’ let me apologize and get this over with?”

  Apologize? Was he serious?

  “Yeah, apologize,” he said, like he’d read my mind.

  This was too good to be true. “And what? Do you want your dollar back?”

  “Look, this is not about a dollar. This is about me calling you a ho. And how bad I felt for saying that.”

  Keep it cute raced through my mind, as I searched for somethin’ to say. “Okay . . .” I hesitated. “Well . . . I guess I need to apologize to you, too.”

  He raised a brow. “You guess? Yo, if you was a li’l bigger, you would’ve body-slammed me.”

  I shook my head. “Size doesn’t matter to me. Trust, if I wanted to body-slam you, ya boys woulda been standin’ over you sayin’, ‘Down goes Frazier!’ ”

  He laughed. And, oh, what a cute laugh!

  I continued. “About yesterday, though, my bad. I ain’t have to pop off like that. I hope you can accept my apology.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  Is he blushin’?

  Is he?

  Oh my God, am I blushin’?

  “So does this mean we can start again?” he asked, as the late bell rang.

  “I guess.” Am I still blushin’?

  “You guessing again? Pretty girls should always be sure.”

  Now I had a full on grin . . . I couldn’t help it. And for once, I didn’t want to. “I’m sure; let’s start again.” I held out my fist for a pound and instantly regretted it. Did girls give guys pounds or did givin’ pounds make me one of the guys, in his eyes?

  Unsure, I almost tucked my fist back in, until he took his fist, completed the pound and said, “That’s wassup. I’m Brooklyn.”

  “Hi, Brooklyn,” I said, and some dumb giggle slipped out. “Yvette.”

  “Yvette.” He softly flicked my chin with the length of his index finger. “I like that. Maybe we can catch up after class.” He took a step back.

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  18

  Me, Myself, and I

  “Heifer!” Tasha flopped down in the center of my bed, tossin’ her clear jelly backpack on the floor. “Why’d you rush home so fast after your last class? I was looking for you. And Brooklyn”—she paused—“was looking for you too.” She sat Indian-style with one elbow pressed into her thigh, her hand tucked under her chin. Her eyes demanded that I have an acceptable explanation. She blinked. “I’m listening.”

  I sat on my bed with my back against the white iron headboard, clutchin’ Kamari’s pink Care Bear to my chest. “’Cause.”

  “ ’Cause what?”

  “You was takin’ too long and I couldn’t wait. I had to get home.”

  “Lies. Aunty Glo and Kamari are not even here. You could’ve waited for me.”

  “How would I know they wouldn’t be home?”

  Tasha twisted her lips.

  “Okay, look,” I said, “tomorrow, I’ll wait. Now can we drop it?”

  “Umm-hmm. Now on to Brooklyn. I saw him follow you to your locker. But just as I was about to go behind y’all and see what was goin’ on, Li’l Herman called me a cock-blocker.”

  “No, he didn’t!”

  “Yes, he did.” She snapped her fingers. “And you know me. So you know he got checked.”

  “Dang. Did you call off your date?”

  “Heck, no. I ain’t stupid. After I told him off, I smiled and said, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, pumpkin.’ ”

  I snickered. “Both y’all sick. And twisted.”

  “So what’s up with you and Brooklyn? ’Cause Reesie told me that she was passin’ by and saw you and Brooklyn kissing. And I was like ‘Whaaaaaat?’ And Ebony was like, ‘Stop playin’, yo.’ Then Reesie swore on her dead grandmamma that she was tellin’ the truth. But that don’t mean nothin’, ’cause Reesie’s Grandmamma was a lady of the night, which means that swearin’ on her grave don’t mean a thing. So I figured when I got home I’d go straight to source. Now did you kiss or is Reesie lyin’ again?”

  “No, we didn’t kiss. Reesie know she goin’ to hell with gasoline drawls on.” I continued. “But he did flick my chin. Well, kind of, I guess.”

  “He did what? And what do you mean kind of? You guess? That’s like bein’ a li’l pregnant. Is the piss hot or not?! Now would you tell me what happened before I burst!”

  This chick has got to be the nosiest person that I know. “Yes, he flicked my chin,” I said.

  “Flicked it, like how? Like this?” She inched over toward me and gently ran her whole hand under my chin. “Or like this?” She made a closed fist and softly nudged the bottom of my right cheek.

  “Like this.” I took my index finger and swept it under her chin.

  “Ouleee weee, baby! Yes!” she squealed, fallin’ back on the bed and kickin’ her legs in the air. A few seconds after her excited fit, she resumed her original position, then said, “I know your moisture meter was off the rack! You know that means he wanna bone.”

  All I could do was shake my head and fall out laughin’. This trick was really crazy. “You know you’re nasty, right? A straight freak.”

  “Whatever. Freaks are God’s children too. And you still didn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t have an answer for that. Plus, he’d have to do a whole lot more than flick my chin to get some. I’m not that easy. And besides, I’m just tryna get things together for me and my baby. I don’t have time for boys.”

  Tasha looked at me strangely. “So what you’re sayin’ is, you’ve gone from dragging some heifer off the bus and beating her down, to now tryna be like Jesus. That’s what you’re telling me?”

  “I am not tryna be like Jesus.”

  “Then what’s the problem? How can you not have time for boys? Unless you have time for girls.” She closed one eye and squinted with the other.

  “You have lost your mind.”

  “I’m just asking. It’s no judgment over here, ’cause sometimes I wonder about Ebony. So you can tell me anything.”

  “Not that I have to explain myself, but just so you’re clear, I like boys. I just don’t have time for any right now.”

  “Why not? What else do you have to do?”

  “I have plenty to do. I have a baby, remember?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. So puhlease stop acting like a saint, ’cause at some point, them panties hit the carpet.”

  “This is not about my panties hittin’ the carpet.”

  “Then what is it?” she pressed.

  “Brooklyn is different. I’ve never messed wit’ anyone like him before.”

  “First time for everything.”

  “Plus, I don’t even think he likes me for real. I think he sees me like”—I snapped my fingers—“a possible homie.”

  Tasha curled her upper lip. “So you think he followed you to your locker ’cause it’s what, Wednesday? Chile, please.”

  “Maybe he followed me ’cause he’s a nice guy who wanted to apologize for callin’ me outta my name.”

  �
��He ain’t that dang nice. He apologized and he followed you down the hall because he knows you’re pretty and he likes you. Hello.” She waved a finger before my eyes. “This is how it goes. Boys are like hound dogs. They sniff out and piss up their territory; everybody knows this.”

  “What’s with you and all this piss? That’s so disgusting.”

  “Don’t change the subject. He likes you.”

  “Tasha, unlike you, guys do not be checkin’ for me like that. When I walk into a room, I swear they see e’ry girl but me.”

  Tasha shook her head. “That’s not true. Did you not see how many dudes were sweatin’ you today in school?”

  “No, I didn’t. Especially since all those phantom dudes didn’t say nothin’.”

  Tasha stared, then said, “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Now you need permission?”

  “Not really. So, okay, let me ask you this: When’s the last time you went on a date?”

  “A date?”

  “Yeah, like the movies, the arcade, the mall, hangin’ out in the park and kicking it with a dude.”

  “Umm.” I snapped my fingers. “Never.”

  “I’m serious,” she said.

  “I am too.”

  “Wait . . . What? So you’ve never been on a date before? What about Kamari’s father?”

  “Girl, please. All he could offer me was something to get high with. That’s it. I don’t even know how I fell for him,” I said, disgusted.

  “Get high? You mean smoke weed?”

  I paused, and drifted into an unexpected vision of me and Flip free-basin’ rock. “Sometimes weed. Sometimes a little more than weed.”

  I could tell Tasha didn’t know what to say, so I carried on. “I only got high with him a few times. I never liked the way it made me feel. Plus, I ain’t wanna end up doin’ to Kamari what my mother did to me, so I stopped.”

  “Just like that?”

  “I ain’t have a choice. I wasn’t about to be nobody’s junkie.”

  “Where’s Kamari’s father now?”

  “In Jersey.”

  “Duh. I figured that. But I mean, what is he doin’?”

  “I guess whatever old fiends do.”

  “Old?” She frowned. “Like how old?”

  “Like thirty.”

  “Dang, he’s old as hell.”

  “Tasha, you should know that when you’re out there in the street, on yo’ own, and doin’ yo’ own thing, age ain’t nothin’ but a number. He was just somebody who told me I was pretty and gave me some attention.”

  “It still wasn’t right. He was too old to be messin’ with you.”

  I shrugged. “It don’t have to be right to be real. So no, I’ve never gone on any dates. I’ve never had a boyfriend. And I’ve never had any dudes tryna get with me, other than an old fiend on the street. And that’s why today I jetted right after school, ’cause I didn’t know what to say to Brooklyn, and I wasn’t sure if he was really checkin’ for me anyway.”

  Tasha scooted to my right side and draped an arm over my shoulders. “Brooklyn’s checkin’ for you. Trust me.”

  Silence seemed to be the only thing that could fill this moment, but a few minutes into it, Tasha hopped off the bed. “Dang, I almost forgot! Ebony and Reesie are outside.”

  I blinked. “All this time?”

  “Yeah. I ain’t wanna just bring ’em in here and bumrush you wit’ no company. I had to see what kind of mood yo’ lightswitchin’ behind was in.”

  “Whatever.” I chuckled and scooted off the bed. “Let’s go outside.”

  “Bet. But, umm,” she hesitated.

  “What?”

  She twirled a lone end of her hair. “It, umm, might be a few other kids from school outside too.”

  “Why?”

  Tasha handed me a handmade business card. It read, “For customized denim with personalized New York subway style graffiti, come see Vette-B.”

  I was completely confused. I read the card again. “Come see Vette-B? Who is that?”

  Tasha smiled. “Umm, yeah, about that. Vette-B would be you.”

  “What the hell?!” Was she crazy? “Are you crazy? First of all, who told you to do this? Second of all, Vette-B? Where’d the B come from? My last name is Simmons. And third, I’m from New Jersey, not New York.”

  “I know, but Vette-B sounds dope. We couldn’t say Vette-S; how whack is that? And I know you’re from New Jersey, but more people know where New York is at.”

  “It’s somethin’ wrong with you. I’m convinced.”

  “Is there something else you have to do? No.” She answered her own question. “And besides, it’s already a few people waiting outside for you. Cheddar in hand.”

  “Cheddar? Like money?” My eyes popped open wide.

  “No, like cheese. Of course like money!”

  “Soooo not only did you go around tellin’ people that I would air-brush their denim, you charged ’em.”

  “This is 1989; ain’t nothin’ free, girl. Do you know what this could mean for us?”

  “Us?”

  “Yeah; we’re business partners. I manage you. And Reese and Ebony are the hype crew. And you gon’ be the designer and the secretary, keep the orders straight. Now check it, this is how it all started. When me and Reesie was in algebra, this girl, Pam, walked over and said to me, ‘I saw you with this new girl yesterday, blahzay-blahzay. Her pants was fresh, yada-yada. Do you know where she got ’em from?’ And Reese was like, ‘Yop. We sure do. Give us a minute and after school we’ll have our card for you.’ ”

  “Our?”

  “Our. Us. Now let me finish.”

  “Go ’head.”

  “So, me, Reesie, and Ebony discussed it and decided that the idea of having our own clothing business was fresh. And we wanted to run all this past you, after school, and get your thoughts. But when we couldn’t find you, we took it upon ourselves to make it happen, and the rest is Vette-B graffiti-wear history. Now, Vette-B, we need to go. It’s bad business to keep our customers waiting.”

  “And where we gon’ get all this paint from?” I asked.

  “Li’l Herman. His daddy owns a hardware store. So I told him if you expect me to chill witchu, then you need to get this paint for me.”

  “Did he?”

  “He’s already outsiiiide! So we in the hoooooouse, baby! Now come on!” Tasha opened my bedroom door and I walked behind her, in disbelief that any of this was happening.

  “How many people, besides Ebony and Reesie, are outside?” I asked.

  “Not many.” Tasha pushed open the screen door leading to the porch. She said, “Like two.”

  I stepped onto the porch and there was a line of kids halfway down the block. “You mean like twenty-two.”

  “Stop exaggerating. It’s like twenty.”

  My eyes scanned the line of smilin’ teens, all with jeans tucked in the creases of their arms. “All I know is that if Ms. Glo comes home before these people leave, she gon’ kick yo’ behind. Not mine.”

  19

  New Jack Swinga

  Cruisin’ down the street in my ’64! Blasted from Li’l Herman’s boom box as he lined up ten cans of multicolored paint across Ms. Glo’s bottom step. Tasha and Reesie laid two white sheets across the lawn, while me and Ebony hung a piece of cardboard from the wooden porch railing.

  A steady line of kids, with jeans, tee shirts, and denim jackets in hand, snaked down the block. No one seemed to mind waitin’, especially since there was a block party started. A group of kids in windbreaker suits break danced and did the whop in the street and on the sidewalk; and another group was shootin’ dice at the bottom of the driveway.

  Tasha and Reesie walked over to me and Ebony.

  “We ’bout to make mad loot, homie!” Tasha said, her Californian accent in overdrive. “I promise you, blood, e’rybody gonna want Vette-B’s airbrush.”

  “Word up!” Reesie slapped Tasha a high five.

  “Yooo, this was the dope
st idea yet, Tasha,” Ebony said.

  “Dope idea or not,” I said, “I just hope we can pull it off before Ms. Glo comes home.”

  “Girl, Ms. Glo is at prayer meeting,” Tasha insisted. “And those meetings last at least three, four hours.”

  “You sure?” I said. “Remember, she has Kamari with her.”

  “Exactly. So they may be gone even longer than that. I’m sure those old ladies are eating Kamari up. Believe me, Aunty Glo will not be coming home any time soon.”

  “But what happens if she does?” I pressed.

  “Then I’ll handle it. I got Aunty Glo wrapped around my finger. Trust.”

  “I hope so,” I said. “’Cause your fingers are not that long, so let’s hope she hasn’t slipped off.”

  “Okay, pissy Patty, you sending my high to hell. Chill. Now everything is all set up, so, if it’s okay with you, can we start calling these people over here so we can get this money?”

  My eyes scanned the block; half of Norfolk seemed to be out here. The last time I’d seen this many people in one place, it was tax time in Da Bricks and e’rybody was coppin’. My gut was on edge, but I was trying my best to loosen up. I pushed a smile onto my face and said, “Let’s get it!”

  Tasha spun around toward the crowd. “Time to get hooked up! Vette-B is red’ta go. So step up, step up! Where ya dollars at?”

  “Hey.” The first person, one of the girls who lived down the street, walked up to me. “We go to the same school and I thought those pants you had on was fly.” She handed me a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. “So I wanted you to put my name, my boyfriend’s name, my cousin’s baby’s name, my mama’s name, and . . .”

  “That’s enough,” Tasha said. “We don’t have all night.”

  Screeeeeeeech!

  Boom!

  Ms. Glo.

  Everybody froze.

  “What in the?!” Ms. Glo yelled, as she hopped out of her dark brown sedan, which I could’ve sworn had popped a wheelie and landed lopsided on the curb. “Why are all these kids lined up outside of my house?” she said to no one in particular, her eyes takin’ in the crowd. She stomped over to the driveway. “I know you weren’t shootin’ dice on my property!” She slapped both hands on her hips, looked up toward the heavens, then slowly lowered her eyes over the crowd. “Everybody go home!”