We finally leave the apartment and head down the stairs. “Yeah, he’s a good kid,” says Nestor. “I gotta spend more time with him.”
Abjure (v.) to reject, renounce
“Efrain, get up.” Scrawny fingers grab and shake my shoulder, and I get a whiff of flaky chocolate. I open my eyes to see Mandy’s dusty brown fingertips with butterfly stickers over chipped purple nail polish. “Efrain …”
Man, the last thing I want to do is get up. I hit the block after taking Candace home and didn’t get into bed until almost two this morning. My mother even woke up when she heard me come in and asked me what took me so long. I muttered some nonsense about staying late because we were short and the manager needed help with inventory. Moms mumbled something about calling next time so she won’t worry but quickly fell back asleep. She believed it because she has been in that situation plenty of times. I crawled into bed just to stare at the ceiling for another half hour before I finally crashed, so I don’t want to know about a damn thing before noon.
“Efrain!”
I smack Mandy’s hand off my shoulder. “Amanda, if you don’t stop bothering me, I’m going to tell Moms you be using her nail polish.”
“Jerk!” The brat goes and chops me in the neck.
“Just for that, I’m going to tell her you’ve been eating the Cocoa Pebbles out of the box, too.”
Now she looks scared. As hard as Moms works, she keeps this apartment immaculate and hates it when we do unhygienic things like eat dry cereal out of the box and drink juice from the carton. Mandy yells, “Chingy’s here, stupid.”
Just like I’m not allowed to hit her, she’s not supposed to call me names. “Why couldn’t you just say that, then, instead of shaking me and whining in my ear?” I know I shouldn’t stoop to her childish level, but Mandy’s being such a brat, and it’s first thing in the morning. First thing in my morning anyway. “You need to stop spending so much time around little kids and babies ’cause you starting to act like one.”
“Shut up, Efrain.” She whips around like a top and storms toward my door.
“Yeah, that’s really mature.” I throw back the covers and climb out of the bed. “Get out of my room.” She slams the door behind her. Hopefully, Chingy won’t mind if I just meet him on the basketball court at St. Mary’s in a couple of hours.
When I open the door, Chingy flies into my bedroom. In a flash, he spots the Joe’s I wore last night draped over the chair by my desk. Chingy snatches the jeans and clenches them in his fist. “New gear, huh?”
“Yeah, I got those on sale,” I say. Yeah, I OD’d a bit when I went shopping with Nestor. Don’t I deserve some new clothes that aren’t already a year behind the style when I get them? I bought Christmas presents for Moms and Mandy, too. And nothing I bought could I take home anyway, hiding everything at Nestor’s except for this one pair of jeans.
“The five-finger discount?”
This is so unbelievable, I laugh for a second. “How’re you going to roll up into my crib and accuse me of boosting some jeans?”
“’Cause that’s how you get down now, right?” says Chingy. Then he throws the jeans at me. If I had not been quick on the catch, the button would have caught me in the eye. “That’s how you living, right?”
I fling the jeans onto my bed. “Yo, why you tripping?”
Chingy saunters over to me. “At least when Nes went foul, he was man enough to be open about his shit. I give him that much. He didn’t front like some altar boy.”
“Ain’t nobody fronting, man.” The words don’t come out as angry as I feel them. I can barely hear myself say them.
“Then how come I have to find out that you’re slinging rock at Hunts Point from Leti, GiGi, and them?”
I can’t believe those bochincheras! None of them have actually seen me do anything to be running at the mouth, never mind exaggerating like that. “You’re supposed to be my boy, but you jump to believe the first person to talk sideways about me?”
“Don’t even try to turn this on me!” Chingy interrupts. Now he’s in my face. “How long, son?”
Although I don’t back away, I can’t look him in the eye. “Since around Halloween.”
“And all the times we’ve hung out since then, were you dirty?” So ever since GiGi and her friends yapped, Chingy’s been running scenarios through his head. He’s been imagining us hanging out—playing ball, eating pizza, heading to the movies, or whatever—and the cops suddenly rolling up on us, finding crack vials on me, and then hauling us both to jail. He done worked himself into a tailspin like the Tasmanian devil.
“No, man, I swear. I don’t bring my work home. And I certainly don’t mess with that shit myself.”
Chingy smirks at me. “That’s what I’m talking about. Fronting like you’re some kind of saint. Living dirty and calling it work. Keeping secrets.”
I say, “Maybe if you weren’t so damn righteous, I would have told you.” That hits Chingy because he falls back some and doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Who can confide in you when you’re so freakin’ judgmental?”
Chingy backs up toward my door. After opening it, he pauses to look me in the eye. “You’re right, E. I am righteous. I am judgmental. I’m lots of things, some of which ain’t too cool. But at least with me, what you see is what you get. I’m out.”
“C’mon, Rashaan—”
Chingy slams the door behind him. I stand there for a few seconds contemplating whether or not to go after him. I decide against it since my sister is home, and God knows how much of our argument she already heard. Snatching a fistful of Cocoa Pebbles out of the box is nothing compared to what Mandy may have on me now.
Disdain (v.) to scorn, hold in low esteem
As I walk Mandy to school the next day, she chatters on about some stupid dating “reality” show. At first, I just laugh with relief that my argument with Chingy is out of her mind and off of Moms’ radar. Then again, I thank God Moms can’t hear all this mess about stripper poles and booty claps and whatnot. Just yesterday my little sister was all about Hannah Montana and the Cheetah Girls. I give it to my mother for preserving Mandy’s innocence for as long as she has, but I’m scared to death that any day now she might morph into Marlene! And it’d be nobody’s fault but Rubio’s. Had he been on point, Moms wouldn’t have to work such long days, and my sister wouldn’t have television for a babysitter. Hell, she’s probably watching that garbage at his place, since we can’t afford BET and VH1!
I drop off Mandy at her school and head to the corner of 141st Street and St. Ann’s Avenue as always. Today I wait for Chingy to come running up his block yelling Son, did you see the way Strahan sacked Hasselbeck? But he never shows.
I jump into my seat in Spanish class just as the bell rings. I feel lucky to arrive on time yet avoid las chismosas when Señorita Polanco starts to pass out a test on the future tense. I had planned to study for it, but it completely slipped my mind with everything else crowded in there. Luckily, after I take a moment to gather my wits, most of last week’s lessons come back to me.
I have social studies second period, my first class of the day with Chingy. He stands by the window with Marco and Stevie yammering about last night’s Giants game. Instead of heading over there, I go to my seat and dump my books on the desk.
Leticia clacks down the aisle in high-heeled boots as if she were still in the running to become America’s next top model. “Hi, Efrain!”
I don’t even look up. “Hey.”
“Did Chingy tell you?” she says. “GiGi and me think we saw Nestor and you at the Fulton Street Mall the other day. We weren’t sure, though, ’cause we were on the other side of the train platform and haven’t seen Nes in a looong time. I mean, GiGi swore up and down it was you, but I was, like, If that’s Efrain, where’s Chingy?” The bell rings, and Chingy takes his seat next to me. “Chingy, why weren’t you with Efrain and Nestor on Fulton Street?”
Chingy squints at her. “Where was I supposed to be?”<
br />
“Nothing, I’m just saying y’all used to be like the Three Musketeers, but I never be seeing the three of y’all together no more, so I’m, like, what’s up, you know?”
“Chingy was doing like Chingy do. Keepin’ it real.” After a sneer in my direction, Chingy adds, “And keepin’ it right.”
I say, “Whatever.” The bell rings, and I open my textbook just to have something else to look at.
Leticia’s eyes volley back and forth between us. “What’s with you two?” she asks. “Y’all fighting?”
Both Chingy and I say, “Mind your business.”
Leti hisses at us, “Later, then, for you two pendejos.” And she whirls around in her seat, her hair whipping in the air.
Ordinarily, that would have been enough to set things right between Chingy and me. We would have laughed at the way we both dissed Leticia and made an unspoken agreement to forget our argument ever happened. But that was before yesterday.
The tension between Chingy and me becomes more obvious with every passing class, even in gym, when Chingy doesn’t choose me for his team. “Get over it, fellas,” Coach Moretti cracks. “She’s not the first; she won’t be the last.” Now all the herbs who were oblivious to the static are tuned in, talking about er, huh, what?
So I spend my lunch period in the library. I don’t want to listen to Chingy and the rest of the guys who sit at our table jawing for forty-five minutes about the Giants’ game anyway. Until we get right, sixth period will sound like SportsCenter all day, every day, and I have more important things to do, like study. Never again will I get caught out there unprepared for a test. Never! But five minutes into my vocabulary list of the one thousand most common words on the SAT, I conk out until the seventh-period bell rings.
Caustic (adj.) bitter, biting, acidic
After sleepwalking through my civil rights class, I walk into physics to find GiGi sitting on my desk. “Hi, Efrain.”
“Hey.” She looks good in her Southpole jeans. Too good. “Excuse me, please,” I say as I motion her to move her butt off my desk. That apple bottom is a quadruple threat now. I’m involved with Candace, my boy Nestor wants to get with her, Chingy and I are on the outs, I’m dead on my feet…. The girl has to go.
But GiGi plants herself at Chingy’s desk. “So what’d you get the other day in Brooklyn?” Chingy walks into the classroom. I need him to reclaim his desk, but, instead, he just scorns me, taking GiGi’s seat in the front of the room. “I bet you got something really nice for your girlfriend.”
I don’t need all this attention right now. I wouldn’t appreciate the interrogation if GiGi were ugly, but she’s the business. And she smells good, too. The bell finally rings, thank God. A brother has never been so eager for physics class to start.
Mr. Harris hands back our latest homework assignments. GiGi leans over to crack her gum at my grade. “Bummer,” she says to my big, fat sixty-five. I shove the work sheet into my binder, even though Harris is reviewing the answers.
GiGi pretends to drop a pencil to toss a note on my desk.
Listen Efrain if you want help, you can come to my house after school so I can tutor you.
I guess GiGi’s forgiven me for standing her up a few weeks ago. Honestly? I want to go to her crib. Not only do I seriously need the help before my physics grade wrecks my average, I’m craving the company. I could go to the tutoring program after school, but how’s that going to look? Besides, I’d much rather get tutored by a dime like GiGi than some dude like Chingy who’s not trying to have my back these days anyway. GiGi winks at me, then tosses her hair, sending a hint of coconut my way so strong, I almost feel her hair brush across my face. Damn.
I catch Leticia at the front of the room sitting sideways at her desk so she can stare at GiGi and me, all giggling and whatnot. Does that chismosa ever quit? I flip GiGi’s note and scribble an answer across the back.
Thanks, but I’m straight. Besides, I have to work.
When Mr. Harris turns around, I drop the note on GiGi’s open notebook. She grabs and opens it. Two seconds later, a crumpled piece of torn loose-leaf sails into my face and lands on my binder. I glance at GiGi. Her nose flares as she pretends to concentrate on Harris’s review. I take the crumpled note apart and read it.
You call a 65 straight??? Whatever Efrain!!!
She’s trippin’, yo. Would GiGi be checking for me if Leticia and she hadn’t seen Nestor and me shopping for gear? GiGi’s hot and smart and sometimes even sweet, but she’s also the female equivalent of an asqueroso who hollers at women on the street. Like I taught Mandy, the only right answer is no answer. He doesn’t care what you say to him—dis his mama if you want to—but the second you acknowledge him, he’s won. This is what I have to do with GiGi, even though just the idea of being alone with her is so exciting, it scares me.
GiGi waits for my response, but, instead, I pay attention to Mr. Harris. Then she flings another note on my desk.
Just don’t come looking for this Butta Rican when you’re done with your MORENA PHASE!!!!!
Okay, I have to put an end to this. I couldn’t care less if a girl is Black, Puerto Rican, Dominican, or whatever so long as she’s down for me no matter how I make my paper or how I spend it. I start to write I’m into mujeres decentes. Chickens need not apply but check myself. Mr. Harris will catch her, then punish me, and no way can I give that foul morena comment any traction. Instead, I just correct the spelling and grammar on her note and grade it. Then I fold it into an airplane and fly it over to her desk. I mean, Chingy’s desk.
You call a 65 straight??? Whatever Efrain!!! Just don’t come looking for this Buttaer Rican when you’re done with your MORENA PHASE!!!!!
75=C=Average
GiGi reads the note and crumples it into her fist. Then she turns and throws it in my face. “¡Pendejo!” She’s lucky I’m not some beast who hits girls.
Harris turns from the board and yells, “What’s going on, Miss González, Mr. Rodriguez?”
I say, “Nothing.” Then I can’t help myself and start to laugh. “Believe that, Mr. Harris.” GiGi’s doing her best to not turn in her seat right now, but I know my laughing upsets her.
Harris looks to where GiGi usually sits and finds Chingy at her desk. “Miss González, why are you sitting there?” Even with his back to me, I know Chingy is grinning like a hyena.
Without missing a beat, GiGi says, “I’ve just been diagnosed with hyperopia, Mr. Harris.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, I’m farsighted. My old seat is too close to the board. I see it much better from back here.” GiGi’s slick. Got to give her that. She probably had that excuse planned all along when she decided to colonize Chingy’s seat. On any other day, that’d be mad sexy, but she lost major cool points for acting like a gold digger and making that indirecta about Candace. Just goes to show that GiGi is smart only when she wants to be, which is why when she acts ignorant, it’s far worse than helpless stupidity à la Lefty Saldaña.
“Get back to your seat, Miss González.” Obviously, stupid Harris ain’t. “Bring in a note from your eye doctor, and then I’ll reassign you. Mr. Perry …” Chingy reluctantly gathers his things and heads back to his seat.
GiGi jumps out of Chingy’s desk and grabs her books and jacket. I mumble, “See ya, hate to be ya.”
“Don’t speak to me.”
I wave her away like a housefly. “Done.”
GiGi huffs past Chingy, almost knocking him into the kid seated in the next row. “Damn, what’d I do?” he says. The class laughs. When Chingy reaches his desk, he has this bewildered flicker in his eyes. He’s dying to know what this is all about. I’d volunteer the 411, but since he’s too good for a brother… pues, sufre. He could’ve gotten the real deal straight from the horse’s mouth, but now let him consult the rumor mill like everyone else.
Enamor (v.) to fill with love
The rumor mill grinds at lightning speed, because when eighth period ends, Candace is waiting for
me in the hallway.
“What a nice surprise!” I kiss her on the forehead without checking to see if anyone is watching. That was for Candace only. “Everything okay? Aren’t you tutoring today?” If she feels like playing hooky from work, I’d be down for that.
But Candace looks mad worried. “Yeah, but…” She pulls me into the stairwell and waits for the crowd rushing home to die down. “Listen, I need to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth.”
Oh shit. She knows. I say, “All right.” Then I hold my breath.
“There are rumors going around that you and Chingy are on the outs over a girl.” By the look in her eyes, not only does Candace find the gossip plausible, she suspects that the girl is not her.
I exhale without miraculously blowing the poor thing down the stairs. “No, ma, that’s not what’s up between Chingy and me.” I reach out and caress her cheek.
She sighs with relief. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Efrain. I figure that if Chingy and you had fought over some girl, it’d have been before we got together.” It’s mad cute the way Candace says some girl. Obviously, the rumor mill supplied a specific name. “And I know that just because we’re together now doesn’t mean that you guys are going to squash your beef just like that. I know how that goes.”
“First things first. This girl who likes me—”
Candace spits, “GiGi.”
One useful thing I learned from watching Rubio in action: your girlfriend doesn’t want her suspicions about a potential rival confirmed, and just saying her name is confirmation enough. No matter if she’s some ’hood rat you’d never mess with: speak her name, ask for drama. And if she’s a banger like GiGi? Olvídalo, kid. You might as well say Yeah, I’m hitting that all day, every day, even if she thinks you’re a troglodyte. It’s still a wrap for you with your girl.
Efrain's Secret Page 10
