The Pact

by Monica McKayhan

  “He’s way too cocky.” I laughed. “I think I might like to hang with T.I.”

  “Indi, he won’t be able to hang out with you until he gets off house arrest.” Dugan laughed. It was no secret that T.I. had legal troubles. He’d been arrested one night before the BET Hip-Hop Awards. I remembered when it had happened because it had almost brought tears to my eyes. I kept telling Jade that he had been set up, and I still believed it. But I was helpless. There was not much his biggest fan could do to relieve him of his troubles—except pray. And I had already done that.

  “That’s okay, I’ll wait for him.” Dugan and I both laughed.

  “I guess you’ll have to hang with Jay-Z instead,” Dugan said.

  “Nah. Beyoncé might not like that. And I ain’t got time to be fighting her over no man.”

  “But what if he preferred you over her?”

  I contemplated Dugan’s question, as ridiculous as it was. There was no way on earth Jay-Z would choose me over Beyoncé. She was the beauty queen of hip-hop.

  “She got more money, and way more booty.” I laughed, but Dugan wasn’t laughing.

  “You’re just as beautiful, though, Indi. For real.”

  There was that uncomfortable feeling again. And once again I was on the floor dancing to the beats of 50 Cent, a song where Akon was harmonizing in the background. Dugan noticed my discomfort and quietly finished his grilled-cheese sandwich, downed his second glass of Hawaiian Punch. Stood.

  “I’ll let you get some sleep, girl,” he said. “I’m stepping out for a little bit, so maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  “You need anything before I go?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, cool.” Dugan walked toward the door.

  “Thanks for the sandwich,” I said.

  “My pleasure.” He winked. “Sweet dreams.”

  The thought of my dreams was what scared me as he left the room. When I heard the front door close, and a key locking it, I became very afraid…afraid that instead of sweet dreams, I might have Dugan dreams.

  Chapter 7

  Marcus

  When I heard the tapping noise, I thought I was dreaming. It stopped for a moment and I dozed off again. Just as soon as I began to drift into a nice dream, the tapping started up again. That was when I realized that it was the front door. I looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was nine o’clock. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and hopped out of bed. I peeked into my mom’s bedroom. Her bed was neatly made and covered with beige and orange decorative pillows. I made my way into the kitchen, where a stack of pancakes and a few sausage patties sat on a plate on the stove. A note was posted on the refrigerator, held there by a magnet. It read:

  Marcus,

  I had to go into the office for a bit, but I made your favorite breakfast. Be home soon. Take the trash out when you get up.

  Love & Kisses,

  Mom

  I glanced over at the trash bag in the corner, neatly closed with a twist tie. Just as I was reaching for a plate on the shelf, the tapping started again. I had forgotten that someone was at the door. When I looked through the peephole, Michelle’s eyes were staring back at me.

  “What’s up?” I asked as I swung the door open.

  “Good morning, Marcus. What you doing?”

  “I was sleeping until you started knocking on the door like a crazy person,” I said. “You wanna come in or what?”

  “Yeah, okay.” She stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

  “My mother made me pancakes. You want some?”

  “Sure, why not?” She plopped down in one of the high chairs at the kitchen bar.

  I pulled a couple of plates from the shelf, set one in front of Michelle.

  “I’m gonna go wash my face. I’ll be right back.”

  I stepped into the bathroom and gazed at my reflection in the mirror, then rubbed a warm wash-cloth across my face. I brushed my teeth and swished mouthwash around in my mouth. When I heard Drew Carey’s voice from The Price Is Right blasting on the TV in the living room, I knew that Michelle hadn’t wasted any time making herself at home. When I stepped back into the kitchen, she had already fixed her plate and was pouring maple syrup on her pancakes.

  “Your mom asked me to show you around the city.” She grinned. “So where you wanna go?”

  “You got a car?” I asked, and began loading my plate down with pancakes and sausage.

  “Yeah. It’s not anything special, but it’s transportation,” she said.

  “Will it make it to the mall?”

  “Of course.” She stuffed a forkful of pancakes into her mouth. Syrup dripped down her chin, and she giggled.

  I handed Michelle a paper towel so she could wipe her mouth. “Let’s go there, then.”

  “Cool,” she said, and almost knocked her glass of orange juice over.

  She was clumsy.

  At the mall, I tried to break free from Michelle so that I could check out other girls, but I couldn’t. She was on my heels with every step. There were so many cute girls that I couldn’t help checking them out. And they were checking me out, too. The next time I visited the mall, it wouldn’t be with a nerdy girl like Michelle. She wore a knee-length denim skirt and a dull blue T-shirt with GUESS written across the front of it—something my grandmother would wear to the mall. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Michelle was plain; no guy would even give her a second glance, I thought as we strolled through the mall.

  “Marcus, do you play Madden?”

  “Of course. That’s my game.”

  “Well, let’s see what you got!”

  Before I could protest, Michelle had pulled me into a video store, grabbed a controller and begun playing Madden NFL. I grabbed one, too, and before long we were lost in the game. She was good at it, talking junk just like she was one of my boys. After my team lost, Michelle did the touchdown dance right in the middle of the floor.

  “Sorry I had to whip you like that, Marcus.” She laughed.

  “That was just luck.”

  “Not luck, boy…skill,” she said. “Let’s go grab something to eat. You hungry?”

  “I could eat.” I smiled.

  Michelle started cracking up. “You sounded just like Derek Luke in that Antwone Fisher movie when you said that….‘I could eat.’ Remember that scene?”

  “Of course I remember that scene,” I said. “That was one of my favorite movies. He was role-playing with Denzel Washington.”

  “My favorite movie was American Gangster,” she said. “Anything with Denzel in it is good.”

  “American Gangster was cool, but the best Denzel movie of all time was Training Day…hands down.”

  “Nah, I didn’t like Denzel in that movie. He played a bad guy.” Michelle frowned.

  “He can’t always play a good guy. He has to flex his acting skills a little bit.”

  “Whatever, Marcus.” She laughed. “What you want to eat?”

  “A burger is good,” I said as we stepped into the food court.

  There were so many different restaurants to choose from, with so many types of food to offer. A burger place was always a sure shot, so we stepped into the Burger King line, each ordered a Whopper combo meal and found a table in the center of the court. We talked about everything as we ate—sports, music, movies—everything. Michelle was just like one of the guys, and I’d had a good time at the mall with her.

  When I walked into the condo, Mom was in the kitchen, an apron tied around her waist. She was stirring some ground turkey in a pan.

  “I hope you’re hungry. I’m making tacos, baby,” she said.

  “I’ll be hungry in a little bit.” I kissed her cheek. “How was work?”

  “It was just work. Nothing special.” She pulled a package of taco seasoning from the shelf. “What did you do today?”

  “Um, I just went to the mall with Michelle.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. I asked her to show you around a little bi
t. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Nah, it was cool.” I smiled. “I’m gonna go change. I saw some workout equipment downstairs in the gym. I wanna go down there and pump some iron.”

  “That’s fine, Marcus. But hurry back. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Okay, Ma.”

  I changed into an old T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, headed downstairs. The windows of the gymnasium were fogged from the air-conditioning. It was freezing, and I wished I’d worn long sweatpants but knew it wouldn’t be long before I was sweating like crazy. I stepped onto the treadmill and began jogging. I had my iPod, and when I put the headphones on, Young Joc began to rap in my ears. After I got my heart rate up, I stopped running and began to briskly walk on the treadmill. Slowed to a less intense pace to cool down and then hopped off the machine to catch my breath. I started stretching my muscles and then stepped over to the free weights side of the room. Just as I began to pump some iron, a familiar face showed up in the gym.

  “You stood me up this morning.” Rena placed her hands on her hips. She was wearing short, tight gym shorts and a snug top that hugged her breasts.

  “Oh, I forgot all about that.” I found myself smiling—I couldn’t help it. “I told you I don’t play tennis, anyway. And especially not at seven o’clock in the morning.”

  Rena turned away, hopped onto the treadmill, started pressing buttons to set it where she wanted it. Her breasts began to bounce up and down as she started to jog, and I found myself staring at her toned legs as they moved back and forth. Her pink and gray Nikes matched her pink and gray outfit, and she moved to a rhythm all her own.

  After I finished pumping weights, I grabbed my towel, threw it over my shoulder and headed for the door.

  “Hey, Marcus, can you spot me on the weight bench before you leave?”

  I thought about it for a minute, and then said, “Yeah, I can do that.”

  Rena hopped off the treadmill, wiped sweat from her forehead and headed for the weights. She changed the weights on the barbell and then lay flat on her back. I walked toward the bench, helped her lift the barbell and spotted her as she lifted the weights—up and down, and then up and down again. She breathed and then released with each repetition. She was the first girl I’d ever seen work out this way. The girls on the basketball team at my school lifted weights, but weren’t as serious about exercise as Rena was. And most girls didn’t want to do anything that would mess up their hair. But it was apparent that Rena did it on a regular basis and that she was disciplined.

  After she’d put the weights back where they belonged, she sat up slowly, sweat popping from her forehead. Most girls would die if a boy saw them sweat, but Rena wasn’t afraid to get her workout on. It only made her more beautiful, and worse, made me more attracted to her. She grabbed the towel from my shoulder, wiped her face with it and smiled. I didn’t even mind that her sweat was all over my towel.

  “Thank you, Marcus,” she said. “You wanna go to the beach later? It’s a nice little drive from here.”

  “I don’t know….” I said. Part of me wanted to explore the beach with Rena, especially since I hadn’t been yet. And what could be better than playing in the ocean with a beautiful girl? But the responsible side of me knew that this girl had a boyfriend—and the beach at night was no place to be with someone else’s girl.

  “Oh, come on…the beach is nice. It’s very beautiful at night. You can actually see the stars reflecting off the water. There’s nothing like it.” She stood, threw my towel back to me. “Meet me out front at eight.”

  Before I could protest, Rena was gone. I stood there for a moment, watching her walk away. I should’ve gone after her, told her I wouldn’t make it, but I didn’t. Instead, I glanced at my watch. It was 6:36. I had exactly one hour and twenty-four minutes to come up with one good excuse for not going to the beach with Rena. But by the time 7:59 rolled around, I didn’t have a single excuse.

  Chapter 8

  Marcus

  She was ten minutes late, I thought as I glanced at my watch for the third time. I stood in front of the entrance to the pool, pacing back and forth, debating whether I should go back inside, call it a night, watch some BET. I was happy to see Rena heading my way, a colorful beach towel folded in her arms. She’d changed clothes and was wearing a swimsuit cover-up that just barely covered her thighs and was tied around her neck. Underneath, she wore a white bikini that I could see through the flimsy material. A pair of flip-flops on her feet, she walked briskly toward me.

  “Sorry I’m late, Marcus.”

  “I was about to leave,” I teased. “I don’t have all night to be waiting on you, girl.”

  “Shut up, Marcus.” She grabbed my arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Rena led the way to her little Hyundai Sonata that was parked in the lot. She unlocked the power doors and we both hopped inside. I let my window down to catch a cool breeze as we pulled out of the complex and onto the main road. As we merged onto Interstate 45 headed south, I started messing with the buttons on Rena’s radio in search of a hip-hop station.

  “Try 104.9, Marcus.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and tuned the radio to 104.9. When I heard Keyshia Cole crooning, I knew it was the right station.

  As we got closer to the beach, I could smell the salt water. We parked in a nearby lot, and I was the first to step out of the car. I waited while Rena sat in the car and refreshed her makeup. What was the point of putting on makeup when you were about to go for a swim? I thought about it for a moment but didn’t bother to try and understand. It was just one of those silly things that girls did.

  When she was finally done, Rena and I walked along a dirt trail that led to the beach, our towels in tow. I was prepared for a nice swim in the ocean, dressed in a pair of swimming trunks and an old T-shirt. Finally, I could feel the warm sand between my toes and the blue water stretched as far as the eye could see. Jet Skis raced up and down the ocean, and sailboats slowly made their last journeys across the water. It was getting late, and most people were packing things up and heading home.

  Rena spread her beach towel out on the sand, and I stretched mine out next to hers. She plopped down and I sat beside her.

  “Isn’t it beautiful out here, Marcus?”

  “It’s cool.”

  “The beach is a very romantic place,” she said. “I love coming here.”

  “You come here very often with your boyfriend?” I asked.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said.

  That wasn’t the picture I had. I’d seen her with the dude in the Monte Carlo and he might as well have been wearing a T-shirt that said RENA’S BOYFRIEND across the front of it. But I let it go, changed the subject.

  “So what grade are you in, anyway?” I asked Rena.

  “I’ll be a senior when school starts. Planning to go to FAMU when I graduate,” she said. “What about you, Marcus?”

  “I’ll be a junior. Thinking about either Yale or Harvard.”

  “Yale or Harvard? Those are schools for nerds,” she said.

  “According to who?”

  “According to the African-American population, Marcus. News flash…black kids don’t go to Harvard or Yale.” She laughed. “What about an HBCU like Morehouse or Clark Atlanta?”

  “I had a white coach tell me once that I wasn’t good enough to go to Harvard or Yale. So it’s been my sole purpose in life to prove him wrong. Why can’t black kids go to an Ivy League college just like white kids? What makes them better than us?”

  “It doesn’t make them better than us. It’s just the way things are, Marcus. They go to white schools, and we go to black schools,” Rena said. “I’m not interested in a school like that. I want to go to a school where I can learn about my heritage…and where other students look like me.”

  “I hear you,” I said, and then stretched out on my beach towel, placed my hands behind my head and gazed into the sky. I was done talking about it, because it was clear that we didn’t agree o
n the subject.

  The sun had gone down, and it was beginning to get dark. The only light was from the moon and the stars. Rena took off her dress, and when it dropped to her ankles, I found myself staring. The bikini covered so little of her body that it should’ve been against the law to be dressed that way in front of me. She headed for the water, took a swim. I decided to join her. The water felt warm and refreshing as a wave crashed upon the shore. Every few seconds another wave would hit, and I found myself fighting just to stand up. I swam deeper into the ocean, and Rena looked hesitant to join me.

  “Come on,” I told her.

  “Not too far, Marcus,” she said. “I’m cool right here.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re scared.” I moved toward her. “Aren’t you a lifeguard?”

  “The ocean is different from a swimming pool. It’s much deeper,” she said, “not to mention it’s dark out here.”

  “Come on, I won’t let anything happen to you.” I reached for Rena’s waist. She was resistant at first. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and I eased her out into the water.

  She pulled closer to me and then buried her face in my neck. It felt like we were slow dancing or something, the way her arms tightened around me, and when the waves knocked up against us it was a struggle just to balance ourselves against them. I lifted her and carried her farther out into the ocean. That was when I noticed how good she smelled, like some bubble-bath products that girls picked up at the mall. As her legs wrapped tightly around my waist, my heart started pounding rapidly. There was no doubt I was attracted to this girl. She made thoughts of Indigo disappear, and at that moment I wanted to kiss her…just to see what it was like. As soon as the thought reached my mind, Rena’s lips were against mine, cold and wet. She kissed me first. With her eyes closed, she grabbed the back of my head. It felt as if I was having an out-of-body experience.

  A few minutes later she broke free and splashed out of the water, headed for her beach towel. Lying on her back, she stared at the stars.