by Amir Abrams
Hood classy? Wow, okay. That’s a new one.
“Sasha, I really apologize if I gave you the impression I was implying that you weren’t classy. I definitely wasn’t trying to disrespect you.”
“Oh, I’ma let it slide this time, boo-boo. But the next time I’ma take it straight to ya face.”
I blink.
She stares me down, then cracks up laughing. “Psych! Gotcha!”
I don’t see anything funny.
“Girl, you shoulda seen your face. It was priceless! I had you going. Hahahaha.”
I let out a slight sigh of relief. Although I finally relax a little, in the back of my mind, I’m thinking, This girl is a loose cannon.
“Yeah, you definitely got me.” I let out a nervous chuckle. “I thought you were getting ready to attack me.”
She waves me on dismissively. “Girl, please. Unless you cross me, you’ll never have to worry about me doin’ you dirty.”
“Oh, you won’t have to worry about that,” I say truthfully. “I’d never do anything to cross you.”
“Then I’ll always have your back.”
She walks over to her closet and flings open the mirrored door. My mouth drops open. Her closet is packed tight to the seams with designer clothes, shoes, and handbags, many of them still with tags on them.
I have a lot of clothes, but nothing compared to this. Then again, I have a walk-in closet and all of my things aren’t all cramped up into one space. “Wow. Your mom must really work around the clock to make sure you have all this nice stuff.”
“Pfft. My moms? Girl, stop. I wish. That stingy bish ain’t hardly comin’ up off’a no paper for me. If I wanna keep nice clothes on my back, then I gotta get out there ’n’ get it the best way I know how. I been doin’ me ever since.”
I cringe at her calling her own mother the B-word. I would never. My mom would have my head if I even thought it. “Oh, wow.” I don’t know what else to say. My parents buy me anything I want within reason. Not that I ever ask for much.
Now, I’m looking at her and kind of feeling sorry for her, understanding a little bit better why she’s the way she is. Mean-spirited.
Sasha keeps talking as she pulls clothes from off the rack. “Soon as I turned sixteen that trick told me I was grown ’n’ needed to finance my own needs. If I wanna eat, I gotta buy my own groceries.”
I blink.
“And that ole greedy heifer was still gettin’ EBT benefits for me up until last year.”
She sees the confusion on my face.
She lets out an annoyed sigh. “Food stamps. Girl, keep up.”
“Oh. Okay. What about your dad?”
She screws her face up at me. “My dad? Why you askin’ ’bout him? What, you a social worker now?”
I apologize for asking. But then I turn around and I ask her how she affords all of this stuff on her paycheck if her parents don’t buy them for her.
She bucks her eyes, then scrunches up her face. “See. Now you still doin’ too much. But since you asked, I’m on the ballers ’n’ boosters program.”
I give her a confused look.
She sucks her teeth. “You don’t know much of anything, do you?” She shakes her head. “You suburban hoes got a lot to learn. I forget y’all kinda slow.”
“Not knowing what something is doesn’t make me slow,” I say, feeling insulted by her.
“Yeah, okay. Whatever. I only rock wit’ ballers who can finance my wears. And if they not tryna come up off them dollars, then I roll up on the boosters ’n’ put my order in. They can get whatever you want. From the knock-offs to the official ish.” She pulls what I’m sure she believes is an official Louis Vuitton bag from off a hook, holding it up. “I’m serious ’bout mine. This bag costs almost fifteen hunnid in the store, but, thanks to my connect over in the Bricks, I got it for only three hunnid.”
Although I don’t personally carry the coveted luxury bags, my mom does. And I’ve been inside enough Louis Vuitton stores in my lifetime to know what’s real and what’s not. This poor bag she’s holding up, bragging about, isn’t legit.
“That’s nice,” I lie. I don’t have the heart to tell her that she’s been scammed. Bamboozled. Then again, it’s not my business and I don’t want to be “doin’ too much,” as she said.
She tries to give it to me. “Here, you can rock it today, if you want. I’m goin’ to serve ’em my Gucci satchel.”
I shake my head. Decline the offer. Although it’s a really good replica of the real thing, I wouldn’t be caught dead carrying it. “Oh, no thanks. I appreciate the offer, though.” I point over to my lipstick (that’s the name of color) Tumi crossbody bag. “But my little ole bag will do just fine.”
She makes a face, tossing the bag back into her crammed closet. “Suit yaself.” She shuts the door, then walks over to her bed and tosses an armful of clothes onto the center of it. “Pick through these outfits ’n’ see which one you wanna rock. I’ll be right back.”
She heads for the door, leaving me wondering what I’m getting myself into by befriending her. Reluctantly, I sift through the pile of designer clothes on her bed. Everything she’s pulled out is skimpy. But I won’t lie. A lot of it is very nice. Still. The idea of having all of my business out doesn’t sit right with me.
But I did say I wanted to be adventurous this summer, didn’t I?
Five minutes later, Sasha comes back into the room carrying a bottle of Hennessey and two shot glasses. “I brought us some Hen dog to get the party juices flowin’.” I eye her as she pours herself the first shot. I quickly say no thanks when she’s about to pour me a glass.
She looks at me and shrugs. “Whatever. More for me.” She snaps her head back and swallows the dark elixir in one gulp. She refills her shot glass and tosses it back. “Aaah.” She shakes her shoulders and shakes out her hands as if she’s having a seizure. “Whew! The devil is a lie. Henny does the body right. We need some music up in here.”
I watch her as she scuttles over toward her Sony Bluetooth speaker, holding up her phone. A few seconds later, Trinidad James’s “All Gold Everything” starts playing.
“Woo-oooh!” She snaps her fingers. “This ish right here goes hard.”
I shrug.
She dances over to where she’s left the drinks and pours another shot, then tosses it back. “And please don’t tell me you wearin’ some big ole nasty granny panties underneath them jeans. Please, don’t. I’m goin’ to hop in the shower. Don’t be goin’ thru my ish, either, bish.” She laughs. “Let me stop effen wit’ you. I’ll be back in a sec.”
She shakes her butt out of the room.
Several minutes go by and her Samsung rings over on the dresser. She quickly stalks back into the bedroom with only her purple thong on. “Ooh, I thought I heard my phone. It’s about time this ninja hit me back.”
Her naked breasts sway. I quickly avert my eyes, reaching over and picking up the latest issue of Ebony. I flip through the pages, pretending to be interested. But, honestly, my mind is starting to race about this party we’re going to. Like who’s going to be there? What types of guys are going to be there? Stuff like that.
“Hello? Yeah . . . uh-uh . . . where you . . . ? Oh, okay . . . We gettin’ dressed now . . . Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah . . . I know . . .”
I feign interest in some article about the woes of the music industry until I stumble on an article about how most New Yorkers don’t use condoms during sex. I cringe. “Ohmygod, that’s so nasty,” I mumble, reading on. It states that only one out of three adults in New York used a condom the last time they had sex. I read on, wondering why anyone would jeopardize their health like that, knowing the risks involved. I shake my head as I finish reading.
“Yeah, she’s here . . .” I look up from the magazine, glancing over at Sasha as she prances around the room half-naked. “Yeah . . . the chick I was tellin’ you ’bout . . . hol’ on . . .”
“Here,” she says, shoving her cell into my face. “My b
oy wants to holla at you.”
I frown, staring at her hand. “Who is he?”
“Someone who’s gonna change your life; that’s who.”
I shake my head, pushing her hand away from me.
“Girl, don’t play. I been talkin’ you up to him ’n’ he’s tryna get at you. So you better act like you know ’n’ get wit’ the program. I’m tryna upgrade you, boo.”
Upgrade me?
“You can thank me later. Now here.” She shoves the phone back in my face. “Hello,” I say in a low whisper.
“Yo, wat’s good, ma?” I hear the smooth voice on the other end of the line say. I’m not going to lie. He has a really nice voice. “I’ve heard a lot ’bout you from my peoples.”
I shoot a look over at Sasha as she heads out of the door, telling me over her shoulder that she’s going to take her shower.
“Oh,” I say, fidgeting with the diamond Tiffany cross around my neck. A gift from my grandparents given to me on my thirteenth birthday. “Who is this?”
“Malik. But cats in the streets call me Money.”
“Oh,” I say again. Not sure what I’m supposed to say after that.
“So what’s good? You got a man?”
I shake my head. No, but I want one. Hazel Eyes comes to mind. But I immediately shake any thoughts of him being my boo from my head. “No.”
“That’s what it is. You gonna be at my people’s party, right?”
“Yeah.”
“True. I’ma holla at you then, a’ight?”
“Okay.”
“True. Tell Sash I’ma get up wit’ her a li’l later.”
We disconnect. I walk over and set Sasha’s phone down on her dresser, then go back through the pile of clothes she has on her bed. This time I go through each outfit with a renewed purpose—to look fly.
13
“Maybe I shouldn’t have worn this,” I say, feeling uncomfortable as I step out of her car and my heeled foot hits the curb. “I feel naked.”
“Girl, stop. You got that fire, boo. And you thick ’n’ curvy in all the right places. You better stop playin’ ’n’ work what ya momma gave you.” She slaps my butt. I jump. “Ooh, you have a nice bouncy booty, too. I don’t even know why you be hidin’ it in all them corny clothes. Show some boob crack! Show some booty crack! Ninjas are visual. They need to see what they think they might be gettin’ even if you ain’t really tryna give ’em nothin’. They’re like dogs. You gotta know how to dangle a bone in front of ’em long enough to get whatever it is you want outa ’em. Then all you gotta do is give him a li’l treat for his generosity.”
I shake my head. “Oh, I don’t need a guy to buy me things. All I have to do is ask my parents or one of my brothers and they’ll just get it for me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, excuuuuse me, Miss Uppity. We all don’t have Mommy and Daddy’s wit’ endless bank.”
“I’m not uppity,” I say defensively, shutting her car door. “And my parents work hard. We’re not rich.”
“Mmph. Whatever. Everyone doesn’t have it like you, Miss I Get Whatever I Want. Some of us started from the bottom ’n’ had to scheme our way up on top.”
She stops, digs in her purse and pulls out a compact mirror. She checks herself in it. Glides a coat of lipgloss over her lips then blows herself a kiss before finally snapping her compact shut and tossing it back down into her bag.
“C’mon, let’s go.”
We walk up to the house. There’s like six guys on the side of the two-story house that looks like it’s seen better days, shooting dice and smoking. And I want nothing more than to go over and watch and listen and learn. But Sasha isn’t trying to hear it.
“Girl, please. Leave them dust busters alone. They ain’t pushing no real paper. You need a baller in ya life. Not some lightweight.”
Begrudgingly, I follow behind her trying to mask my disappointment. There’s a group of ten guys either standing or sitting on the porch in wife-beaters and sagging jeans with sparkling chains dangling from their necks, blinged-out watches on their wrists—a few have huge diamonds in their earlobes—drinking and smoking weed. One by one, Sasha introduces me to all of the thugged-out guys.
I smile, feeling like I’ve just died and gone to thug heaven.
They all say, “What’s good . . .”
I eye them, taking in their bulging muscles. Most of them look as if they’ve spent most of their time in the gym lifting weights, sculpting their bodies. A few look like they will shoot first and ask questions later. I feel a tingly sensation creep down my spine at their hoodness as they all drink me in with their wandering eyes.
“Ma, you fine,” a tall, dark-skinned guy with half-sleeve tattoos on both of his arms says, licking his lips. “Where you been hidin’ all my life?”
“Away from you,” Sasha jumps in, playfully pushing him out of the way. “Now back up off my girl.”
I glance at her; surprised she’s called me her girl. I mean, just a few weeks ago I was corny and I thought I was cute. Today, I’m upgraded to girl status. I’m not complaining, though. Still, I wonder for a brief moment if she means it or if it’s simply a figure of speech.
Tall, Dark, and Tatted mushes her in the head. “Sash, go ’head wit’ that slickness, yo. ’Fore I take it to ya skull. Ain’t nobody talkin’ to you.” He brings his attention to me. “What’s good wit’ you, ma? Who ya man?”
I open my mouth to speak, but Sasha cuts in before I can get a word out.
“Don’t worry about all dat,” Sasha snaps.
“She gotta phatty,” I hear someone say in back of me. I glance over my shoulder straight into the face of a reddish-brown skinned guy with cornrows and juicy red lips that he licks as he gazes at my butt. “Yo, I need dat in my life; word to mother. I need dat.”
“Slick, fall back, boo. Malik’s already got dibs on dat.”
Malik? Got dibs on that? I haven’t even met him yet. What if I don’t like him? I mean, yeah. We spoke on the phone. And he sounded okay. But that didn’t mean I’d want him to have dibs on me. I keep from frowning. The way she said on that makes me feel like I’m a piece of furniture or something.
Truth is, I kinda like Hazel Eyes. And I know he likes me. I’ve only gone out with him once. And I haven’t been back over to his house since that one time. But we Skype almost every night and we text each other every day. And, okay... I snuck out to see him once.
“Oh a’ight, a’ight. That’s what it is.” He winks at me. “Yo, you mad sexy, though. That ninja don’t treat you right, come holla at ya boy. I got a pet snake that would love to crawl up in da sheets wit’ you; ya heard?”
Everyone in earshot laughs.
“Someone else says, “Word is bond. I’d tap that up. She’s fresh meat, son; real fresh, just like how I like it.”
I blink, hoping like heck my nervousness and shyness isn’t too obvious.
“Girl, c’mon in the house,” Sasha says, pulling me by the arm and guiding me through the cloud of smoke. “Don’t pay them fools no mind. They all a bunch of horny hounds.”
“So where’s this Malik guy you’ve been bragging about?” I ask once we’ve made it into the house and through the throng of bodies and thick fog of weed smoke. A few girls either shoot me the evil eye or kind of roll their eyes at me as I pass by, but I don’t really mind. I know I’m looking cute in my short white tennis skirt and halter top. And my red-painted toes look real cute in the strappy sandals Sasha let me borrow.
“Braggin’ about?” she says with attitude. “Oh, no, boo. Never that. I don’t need to brag, hun. It is what it is. That mofo’s fine. But don’t worry, girl. He’ll be here. Trust. Then you can see for yaself. In the meantime, let’s get you loose. You’re a li’l too tight for me.”
“I am not. I’m loose.”
She laughs. “Yeah, okay. Not. You’re ’bout as loose as a virgin in a chastity belt, but I’ma break you in real right.”
I shrug, not really sure exactly what it is she
means. I let it go over my head, following behind her into the kitchen. As I walk past a group of girls, I hear some girl say as Sasha walks by, “Yeah, there goes that grimy bish. She gave my brother chlamydia.”
“Well, Loquita, that’s what he gets for goin’ in raw. He shoulda strapped it up before he tapped it up.”
“Biatch, please. What you tryna say? That it’s his fault that that bish is nasty? Girl, bye! She shouldn’t be servin’ up effen cooties. I should run up on her ’n’ punch her in da back of the head.”
I blink, quickly glancing over at them. They are both cute girls. One is brown-skinned. She has shoulder-length hair dyed pink and green-colored eyes. Contacts, I muse. Her lip is pierced, as is her nose and eyebrow. I don’t get a real good look at the dark-skinned girl with the bright red hair standing next to her because Pink Hair blasts me.
“Trick, why you all over here? Snap ya neck back around ’n’ keep it movin’ before you find ya face on the floor.”
Her friend laughs, shaking her head. “Nosy hoes, I tell you.”
I look away real quick. Don’t say a word. Just walk. Fast.
When I walk up to where Sasha is, she introduces me to this string-bean-thin girl with humongous boobs. She’s kind of okay looking, I guess. She has a little too much purple eye shadow going on, but then again . . . what do I know? I’m not a makeup kind of girl.
“Kennedy, this is my girl Shayneetha. Shay, this is Kennedy.”
“Hi,” I say, extending my hand out to her.
She dismisses my outstretched hand. “That’s nice.”
Taken aback by her rudeness, I quickly drop my hand down to my side.
“Ooh, Shay-Shay, play nice.” Sasha looks over at me. “Girl, don’t pay her no mind. She’s shady like that wit’ everyone. I’ma go grab us a couple of drinks.”
I nod my head. “Okay.”
Now I’m standing here next to this girl, feeling insecure. I can feel her sizing me up and I don’t even know why. It’s not like I’ve done or said anything to offend her. I think I might have heard her mumble This corny bish, under her breath, but then some brown-skinned guy with dreads walks over and whispers something in her ear, but he’s looking over at me.
