Caught Up

by Amir Abrams

  I lean in, mindful so that no one else around us can hear me. “So, let me understand this. Are you saying that the only reason we’re out today is because you’re looking for sex?”

  “Nah, ma, dat’s not what I’m sayin’.” I eye him as he lifts his drink, places the straw between his lips, then takes three long sips.

  I tilt my head, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Then what are you saying? Because that’s what it sounded like to me.”

  He belches. Doesn’t even excuse himself. I frown. “Oh, my bad. But, I’m sayin’. I ain’t gonna front on da panties, ma. I wanna get up in ’em ’cause, yeah, you lookin’ right. So yeah, I wanna stroke you up. But I ain’t on it like dat. Its whateva, whateva. But, I’m sayin’, you can still let me see what dem lips ’n’ dat mouth is all about, nah mean.”

  Now I’m ready to go.

  I push my chair back, pulling out my phone. But then I remember I can’t call anyone. I’m supposed to be with Jordan and her dad and quickly toss it back into my bag. Now, I’m stuck with this boy. And I’m annoyed at myself for lying to my mother just so I could spend time with him.

  I narrow my eyes. “Listen, Blaze. I don’t know what impression I gave you, or what you think you know about me. And I definitely don’t know how other girls are when they’re with you. But I’m not a whore. And I’m definitely not playing head nurse to you or anyone else. So if that’s what you’re hoping for, then you’re sadly mistaken and you have definitely wasted your time, and your money.”

  I dig down in my bag and pull out my wallet. I snatch out a twenty, tossing it at him, then stand up.

  He starts grinning. “Yo, why you trippin’? What’s dis for?”

  “I’m not tripping. It’s for your time and for my half of lunch, plus the tip.” I sling my bag up over my shoulder prepared to walk off.

  “Yo, hol’ up. Where you goin’?”

  “To find me a way home.”

  He quickly stands and reaches for me. “Nah, nah. Chill, ma. You ain’t gotta roll out like dat. I was only effen wit’ you.”

  I fold my arms, giving him a “yeah right” look.

  He puts his hands up in mock surrender. “You gon’ break my heart, yo, if you bounce.” He picks up the money, handing it to me. “Yo, take dis back. I don’t need ya paper, yo.”

  I stare at his hand.

  “C’mon, relax. Real spit, I’m not on it like dat. I was only testin’ you. Here, take ya money, ma. I don’t need ya paper. I got dis.”

  I raise my brow.

  “I’m sayin’. I dig you.”

  I tsk him. “Boy, please. It seems like you’re more focused on trying to dig something else instead. So if you are, then we need to leave now.”

  “Nah, we good, babe. I mean. Yeah, I wanna get up in dat. I ain’t gonna front. I’m tryna cuddle up ’n’ boo you up. But I’m not gonna press you for da panties. I respect how you get down.”

  I know just seconds ago I was ready to bolt for the door, but now I suddenly have a change of heart. I keep from smiling at the thought of cuddling up with him. Even though I know he’s a horndog, there’s still something about him I like. Still, I let him know, again, that I am not easy. And that I’m not going to allow him to treat me like I am.

  He apologizes. Gives me a sad puppy-dog face. “I got you. My bad, a’ight. Let me make it up to you.”

  “How?”

  He grins. “I’ll figure sumthin’ out, a’ight?”

  I shrug, reluctantly pulling out my chair and taking a seat. “Well, let’s see if we can get through the movie first.

  He grins. “Oh, we will. Believe dat.” He lifts his drink, taking long deep pulls as he glances at his watch. “C’mon, let’s roll.”

  7

  The movie was good. Hazel Eyes was a gentleman through most of the movie. I mean, yes. He did put his arm around me. And a few times his hand did accidentally wander a little too high up on my thigh. But other than that, I really enjoyed myself.

  It’s a little after six o’clock in the evening and now we are heading back to his place. I’m nervous. And, okay, I know I shouldn’t be going over to his house. But I want to. Truth is, I’m not ready to go home. Well, I can’t go home . . . not yet.

  I sent Jordan a text to see if she and her dad were back from Connecticut. They’re not. So that’s that.

  During the ride over to his place, August Alsina’s CD is playing. August is so sexy to me. And I love his voice. I close my eyes, bobbing my head as “I Luv This Shit” starts playing. In my head, August is singing to me. I snap my fingers to the beat.

  Blaze laughs. “Yo, what you know about dis?”

  I open my eyes and look over at him. “What, you think I don’t listen to this kind of music? I love August. And his music is dope. I’m not gonna lie. At first, when I first heard this song on the radio, I thought he was Chris Brown singing.”

  “Yeah, he do sound kinda like Chris Breezy. Dude is def doin’ his thing. But I ain’t tryna talk about him.” He turns the volume down. “What’s good wit’ you? You sure you wanna chill?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  “So you gonna let me push dem panties to da side?” He grins, moving his eyebrows up and down. I give him the evil eye and he laughs. “Chill, chill. I’m only effen wit’ you.”

  I roll my eyes, sucking my teeth. “Yeah, right. Please don’t have me Mace you.” I shift my body in my seat, folding my arms across my chest.

  “Yo, real spit, ma. I got you. Trust. You in good hands.”

  I give him a “yeah right” look.

  “Word is bond. I got you.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see,” I mumble, reaching over and turning up the volume to the radio. Future’s song “Honest” is playing. I lean back in my seat, bouncing my head to the beat, pretending like I know what the heck he’s sing-rapping. Truth is, I don’t understand his country grammar, but I like the beat. I’m just being honest.

  When we finally pull up in front of a yellow house with green shutters and a big bay window on a quiet street, I look over at Hazel Eyes, confused. “I thought we were going to your place.”

  He looks over at me, shutting off the engine. “This is my spot.” He frowns. “What, you think e’eryone who lives in da hood is livin’ in da projects or sumthin’?”

  Busted.

  I won’t lie.

  I did kind of think, expect, that maybe he did. Suddenly I feel guilty for thinking like that. But then I know it’s part out of ignorance and part out of fascination that I hoped he did live in the projects.

  I look over at him sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure; that’s all.”

  “Yeah, a’ight. And just so you know. My moms isn’t on drugs. My crib isn’t dirty. And I don’t have roaches. And we ain’t on section eight.” He opens his door. “C’mon. Let’s go in.”

  I immediately feel asinine for thinking—okay, hoping—he did. I unfasten my seat belt, then open the door and slowly ease myself out, shutting it behind me.

  He walks over and takes my hand. Surprisingly, I don’t pull away. It feels good, my hand in his.

  “You smoke?” he asks, grabbing a shoebox from out of his closet, then pulling out a plastic baggie stuffed with what looks like oregano. But I know better. It’s marijuana. We’re up in his room. His room is small but nice. He has a full-size bed that’s actually made up. The walls are painted light blue. And he has large framed posters of basketball players on them. A gigantic picture of a half-naked girl with an enormous butt is hanging over his bed. She looks Spanish. There’s a stereo system up on a dresser and a huge flat-screen TV up on his wall. His closet is packed with clothes. And along the right wall there are boxes of sneakers neatly stacked up.

  He shuts his closet door, then comes and sits on the side of the bed, next to his nightstand. I stare at his profile and it’s really hard to think straight, let alone talk. His skin is smooth and clear, the kind of skin girls at my school pay hundreds, maybe even thousands, of dollars in skincare products an
d spas for.

  I shake my head. I’ve never smoked anything in my life. And, although I’ve had fleeting thoughts of curiosity as to what it’d be like, I’m not sure if I’m ready to find out. I tell him no as he pulls out a cigar. He glances over at me, his lips curl into a crooked grin. “Yeah, you one of dem good girls. I like dat.”

  Fascination dances in my eyes as I watch him slice open a cigar, remove the tobacco, then pack it with marijuana. I eye him with excitement as he places it between his lips and slides his tongue over it, just so. Then he takes it between his thumbs, index fingers and middle fingers and slowly rolls it to perfection.

  “So why do you like the fact that I’m a good girl?” I finally ask, pulling my gaze away from the thick blunt Blaze places on the nightstand before he starts slicing open another cigar, then packing it with marijuana.

  “Because you ain’t all hard ’n’ gutter like a lotta these birds cluckin’ ’round here. You got ya head on straight. And you ain’t got no rep in da streets. You def wifey material.”

  “I am? Why you say that?”

  “Why I say what?”

  “That I’m wifey material. What does that mean?”

  His lighter flicks, and the air around me immediately fills with the strong scent of weed. I blink and swallow as he takes deep, long pulls. Aside from seeing it in movies and videos, this is the first time I’ve actually seen anyone actually roll a blunt, let alone smoke it, live and direct. I can’t lie. I find myself becoming enchanted with how the thick smoke rolls around his tongue then floats out of his mouth and up through his nose.

  The more he smokes, the more odorous his room becomes. Scary thing is, I’m not even bothered by the pungent smell.

  “It means what it means.” He exhales a mouthful of smoke, getting up, holding his sagging pants up with one hand as he walks over to the window and opens it. His blunt dangles from his lips. “You a good girl.”

  “But what if I don’t want to be that, a good girl?”

  He comes back over and sits beside me, then leans back on his forearm. He takes another pull from the blunt. “You ain’t ready for dat life, ma.” He blows smoke in my face. I cough a little. And he laughs. “You drink?”

  I shake my head.

  “You puttin’ in dat neck work?” I blink. He looks down at his lap. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. Givin’ up dat dome. Head.”

  I frown. I thought we already went through this. Thought I already put him in his place. Boys. They only hear what they want to hear. I shake my head.

  “I know what you meant. No, I’m not doing that.”

  I refrain from telling him how gross I think oral sex is. Still, I sometimes find myself wondering why girls enjoy doing it and why every boy I know goes crazy over it. The first time I heard the term oral sex used I was like eleven. I was on the school bus en route home when this white girl in back of me, Katie Livingston, started talking about how she performed it on her brother’s friend in their garage. He was in high school. Ninth grade. We were in sixth grade. I remember how Katie described the white stuff that filled her mouth and how he had wanted her to swallow it.

  I couldn’t wait to get home to ask my mother all about what I’d heard. When I asked her what oral sex was, she explained what it was, then added, “It isn’t ladylike. Fast, nasty girls are the only ones out there putting their mouths on a boy’s penis.”

  When I asked her what the white stuff was Katie was talking about, she said, “Make sure you don’t ever drink or eat anything from that little nasty girl. It’s semen. And swallowing it will give you throat cancer and make your tonsils fall out.”

  I believed her. The idea of getting cancer or having my tonsils fall out scared me to death. And even though I know better now, I still think putting my mouth on a boy’s thing is gross. And it’s definitely something I’m not interested in ever doing.

  “And you ain’t lettin’ anyone smash so dat makes you nun-like. You pure.”

  “Ohmygod! Is that your nice way of calling me corny?”

  He laughs again. “Nah, nah. You a good girl, that’s all. Don’t let anyone change dat. On some real ish, ya innocence is mad sexy, yo.”

  I smile. He reaches down into his nightstand drawer and pulls out a bottle of Hennessey and two plastic cups. “You want some?”

  I shake my head. He laughs again, opening the bottle, then filling his cup halfway.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, feeling myself becoming slightly annoyed. I’m not sure if he’s laughing at me or not. All I know is I don’t like it.

  He smirks. “Like I said, you a good girl.”

  Feeling curious about the drink, almost dared if you will—even if it’s only my imagination—I reach for Blaze’s cup and take one small sip. As soon as it hits my tongue, my face twists into a grimace and my eyes water. Just the small drop of brown liquid sends a trail of fire down my throat and into my belly. For a moment, I think I’m going to die.

  Blaze laughs. “See. You ain’t ready.”

  I roll my watering eyes, determined not to be deterred from taking another sip. I place the cup up to my lips again, and this time I take a bigger sip. I swallow. And the wet heat instantly sweeps through my body, causing me to feel an unexpected tingle all over that rushes to my head.

  I hand Blaze back his cup. He grins, then takes a large gulp of his drink. He takes the bottle and pours himself some more.

  “Are you sure you should be drinking?” I ask him, trying to maintain my composure. Trying not to let the simmering heat and pleasure coursing through my veins overcome me. “I mean, you still need to take me home.”

  “Oh, I’m good. I got you. I’m not tryna get twisted, babe. I drink and drive responsibly.”

  He drinks and drives responsibly? I frown. How in the heck is that being responsible? He isn’t twenty-one, so I guess he failed to get the memo on underage drinking. I decide against reminding him of that important detail.

  “I’m sure you do. I just would like you to be even more responsible before you get behind the wheel. I want to get home in one piece.” I glance at my watch. It’s seven fifteen. I reach for my buzzing phone. It’s a text from my mother wanting to know how things are going and around what time I think we’ll be home.

  I text her back. Tell her what Jordan told me. WE SHLD B HOME BY 10. WE’RE STOPPING TO GET SOMETHING TO EAT

  Ok, sweetheart. See you then. Be safe & enjoy

  I swallow, slipping my phone down into my front pocket.

  “Yo, you pretty,” Blaze says, reaching over and stroking my cheek. “You mad sexy, you know that?”

  I blush, shrugging. “Not really. I mean. I know I’m not butt-ugly.”

  He chuckles. “Nah, you def not dat. You pretty in da face, small in da waist ’n’ dem hips mad thick, yo. I’m feelin’ you, real spit, ma.”

  My nerves start to get the best of me. I start to second-guess myself for coming over here, thinking maybe I’ve made a mistake. But then a little voice in my head tells me to relax. Reminds me that it’s the summer. School is out. To have a little fun. And that’s what I want to do.

  I take a deep breath. “Umm, I like you, too.” I think.

  “That’s wassup.” He stands up and removes his shirt. Then his wife-beater comes off. I look away. “You good?” he wants to know, trying to hold his sagging pants up with one hand while holding his blunt up to his lips with the other.

  I nod my head. “Yeah, I’m good.” The words come out sounding meek. Unbelieving. But I am. Strangely, I am enjoying myself. There’s something about him l really like. And I want to know more about him.

  But I am scared.

  He pulls the blinds down, dimming the light in the room. Then turns on his stereo. Trey Songz starts pouring out of his speakers real low and sexy. Next thing I know we are kissing. Hazel Eyes has a long tongue. I can smell and taste the mix of alcohol and weed on his breath and tongue. My head starts to spin. And I don’t know if it’s from his kiss, or
from the sip of his drink. Or if it’s from the faint scent of his cologne tickling my senses, or from his wandering hands that seem to be slowly melting everything inside of me. He’s a good—no, great—kisser.

  His body is hot against mine, causing a deep burning wave of heat to course through me. All I know is, all of this deep kissing is going to lead somewhere way beyond our parted lips and dancing tongues if I don’t get a hold of my senses and move his hands from up under my shirt, from off my breasts.

  This isn’t the first time I’m kissing a guy. And it isn’t the first time anyone’s touched my breasts, but it is the first time I feel like I’m riding a waterslide.

  I’m wet, like a waterfall.

  8

  “Ohmygod, Kennedy!” Hope exclaims, covering her mouth in shock. Her eyebrows shoot up. “You little tramp! I can’t believe you lied to your mother, then went to that boy’s house and made out with him.”

  “I went to the movies first, before making out with him,” I say jokingly.

  “Well, how was it?”

  “What, the movie?”

  “No, silly.” She playfully swats a hand at me. “Making out with him?”

  “See, if I tell you, I might have to kill you,” I say, laughing.

  She rolls her eyes. “Okay, then. Be like that. Selfish.”

  I laugh.

  I close my eyes, reliving the whole night. How he kissed me on my neck. Dipped his tongue into my mouth. And how I had to try to keep up with him, losing my breath in his warm kisses.

  “Dag, it was like that?” she asks, laughing.

  I nod. “It was heaven.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you.”

  I feign ignorance. “What? What can’t you believe?”

  “This new you; sneaking over to some boy’s house and lying to your mother. I never knew you had it in you.”

  “It’s not that serious. It’s not like I went out and committed a crime or something. All I did is make out with a boy.”

  “Yeah. A boy who you know your parents would disapprove of if they ever found out.”