Dear Yvette
Page 20
I looked toward the doorway. A teary-eyed Yvette stood peekin’ into the kitchen. Another useless one.
Queenie snatched my face around. “As much as you stay fightin’ in school and I have to cuss the teacher out. And as much as you ’round here tryna fly kick Face in the chest and he makes two of you, ain’t no way you got robbed. You musta gave it to ’em.”
“Nah-uhn,” I spat, shaking my head. More tears filled my eyes. “They jacked us. At the store. Soon’s we walked out the door. Knocked Yvette out cold. Slapped me to the ground and straight jacked me for er’thang. I was looking fresh to def too.”
I scanned Queenie’s eyes. They narrowed to icy green slits. She pointed the tip of the blade lightly into my jugular and I held my breath.
Hot specks of spit checkered my face as she said, “One thing I can’t stand is somebody tryna play me. You must want me to slice your lil lyin’ throat open and whip yo’ fresh lil—”
“Okay. Okay. Just pleeeeeeeeease don’t kill me. Pleeeeeeeease. Queenie. See ummm, what had happen was, ummm—I was in a break-dancin’ battle—” My heart raced and my body dripped with sweat. Queenie hated break dancin’. “And the prize was a Doug E. Fresh cassette tape.” And she hated cassette tapes. She was stuck on forty-fives and eight-tracks. “But I wanted that tape baaaaaad. So I killed it on the cardboard. And this girl Aiesha and her crew got mad ’cause I won.”
“And . . .”
“I called ’em fake break-dancin’ hos. I gave ’em the middle finger and told ’em to take they ugly behinds home. But. That didn’t give ’em no reason to jack us!”
“And they was bigger than us!” Yvette tossed in. “Waaaaaaay bigger than us!”
“I know you ain’t care about no size?!” Queenie snapped, grimacin’ at me. “I know you ain’t stand out there and let some ho beat you down ’cause she was big?!”
“No!” I practically shook my head off. “Size don’t matter to me. ’Cause I woulda left they lungs on the sidewalk. But. It was four of them and only two of us. It wasn’t a fair one, Queenie.” Fresh tears sprang from my eyes. “Now I don’t have nothin’. Not my favorite sneakers. Not my chain. And not my tape. How I’ma be fly and jacked? That’s bad. Real bad. Hella bad.”
“And where they jack you at?”
I sucked in a breath. Slowly eased it outta the side of my mouth. “We dipped off.”
“Where?”
I hesitated. “Umm . . . we was in Weequahic—” Before I could finish, Queenie slapped me so hard that my neck whipped to the left and a gush of spit kicked its way through my lips.
She’d told me a million times to stay outta the park. That too many girls was raped and left floatin’ face down in the lake. But . . . I was nowhere near the lake. The break-dancin’ battles was always on the playground. I started to tell her that, but judging by the look on her face, I didn’t think now would be a good time.
Besides, it was no secret that Queenie hated me. Before I came burstin’ through her golden coochie, she’d been daddy’s bottom treat, beatin’ the concrete and keepin’ his stable of hos tight just to prove her love. But. Once she gave birth to me, the hustle changed.
“A’ight. That’s enough, Queenie,” Daddy said, finally saving my life. “Get that blade outta my baby’s face and don’t slap her no more.”
“Zeke—”
He shot her a look. The same look he’d given her the other night when he’d told her to shut up. She hadn’t listened. So he’d wrapped his belt around her neck, dragged her around the room, and made her be quiet. “I said that’s enough. Now come here, baby girl.”
Queenie grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me over to Daddy. He pulled me into his lap and wiped my face and neck with the palm of his hand. “Did you forget who you is?”
Silence.
“Answer me.”
I blinked back tears and sniffed. “No. I ain’t forget.”
“Well, it’s lookin’ that way to me. You lettin’ somebody punk you in the street.”
“I ain’t forget, Daddy.”
“Then talk to me. Lay it down fo’ me. Who is Isis Carter?”
I sucked up snot. “Yo’ princess. Yo’ baby girl, and I ain’t never s’pose to be scared.”
“And why is that?” Queenie interjected.
“ ’Cause I’m betta than that.”
“And . . . ?” Daddy pressed.
“I know my rep is er’thing. That’s why I know how to shoot my own gun and fight my own fight—”
“Damn skippy.” Queenie beamed.
Daddy continued, “Then you already know you gon’ have to go back out there and handle this on ya own.”
Silence.
“Now, go change them clothes and getchu a bat—”
“A bat? Oh, hell no. She gon’ take this blade.” Queenie placed the shiny metal in the palm of my hand.
My eyes bulged and my heart sank to my feet. I’d been in a whole lotta throwdowns, but this was a whole other level.
“This is war,” Queenie spat. “So you may as well get your mind right. ’Cause you goin’ back out there. And if you come back in here wit’ out them tennis shoes, that gold chain, and that Doug E. Somebody tape, then I’ma peel the high yellah black offa you.” She pointed to the pile of blades on the table. “Now try me if you want to.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ni-Ni Simone is a Jersey girl with an obsession for reality TV and celebrity gossip. She never intended to write teen fiction, but her editor and the literary gods had other plans. She whipped up her first novel, Shortie Like Mine, in two weeks, and has been in love with writing ever since. Shortie was the first of Ni-Ni’s books to be selected by YALSA (Young Adult Library Services Association) as a Quick Pick for Reluctant Young Adult Readers, and it’s also a Virginia Readers’ Choice Selection. When she’s not writing, Ni-Ni is soaking up inspiration from music, TV, and most of all, the teens out there hanging tough no matter what comes their way. Ni-Ni lives in North Jersey with her husband and their children. Visit her online at ninisimone.com, on Facebook @ NiNiSimoneOfficialFanPage, and follow her on Twitter @ IamNiNiSimone.