Upper East Side #2

by Ashley Valentine

  Yasmine watched her leave, wondering how she had turned into such a royal bitch. She’d thought hanging out with Bree would make her feel closer to Mekhi, but it had only pissed her off. Bree was just like all the other six-hundred-odd girls at Emma Willard—shallow and stuck up.

  Yasmine, too, could not wait to fucking graduate.

  13

  Instant Message

  From: PSinclaire@EmmaWillard.edu

  To: KBraxton@St.Judes.edu

  PSinclaire: hey bae.

  PSinclaire: i’m going insane here, everyone wants to talk about the wedding, as if i could give a fuck.

  PSinclaire: Kaliq? i know you’re online, are you meeting me after French club today or what?

  PSinclaire: did you get the present i left for you yesterday?

  PSinclaire: hello????

  Instant Message

  From: KBraxton@St.Judes.edu

  To: BHargrove@EmmaWillard.edu

  KBraxton: hey brianna.

  BHargrove: hey

  KBraxton: want to meet me in the park after school?

  BHargrove: um, ok. what are we doing?

  KBraxton: I don’t know, what do you want to do?

  BHargrove: i dunno. will ur friends be there?

  KBraxton: no, just me. still wanna come?

  BHargrove: definitely. I can meet u outside ur school if u want.

  KBraxton: just meet me in front of the Met.

  BHargrove: okay, see u then.

  Bree logged off, feeling even cooler than ever. She was still only a ninth-grader, but her name was Brianna, and after school she was meeting up with Kaliq, the finest senior boy in the entire city. She was going to have to blow off helping Yasmine with Rancor, but it was completely worth it.

  If she were Mekhi, she’d write a lovesick poem about how gorgeous Kaliq was and how twisted fate could be, bringing two people who had nothing in common together. How it was destined for tragedy. But Bree was more of an optimist. She satisfied herself by writing Mrs. Brianna Braxton in her best calligraphy on the back of the gray mouse pad she was using.

  Don’t laugh. That’s what ninth graders do when they’re in love.

  Across town at Riverside Prep, Bree’s brother Mekhi was at that very moment e-mailing Chanel his latest love poem, entitled “The Last Time I Died.”

  Your rope snug around my neck, I jumped.

  Your lips kissed me as I fell, and falling still

  “Come on, freak,” his friend Zeke Freedman called from the door of the computer lab. “We’re late for Latin.”

  Amo ergo sum, Mekhi thought. I love therefore I am.

  “I’m busy.” He typed in Chanel’s e-mail address at Willard.

  “Well, I don’t want detention,” said Zeke, getting ready to leave. “Want to play some b-ball in the park later?”

  “Fine,” Mekhi answered, distracted. “I’ll see you there.” He began constructing a brief e-mail to send along with his attachment.

  Dear Chanel,

  This weekend is going to be cool. I got an interview set up for Saturday, and my dad’s giving me some extra cash. I can’t wait.

  I attached a poem here. Just something I wrote this morning. Hope you like it. I’ll be in the basketball court near the Meadow if you want to hang out after school.

  Love,

  Mekhi

  Amor omnia vincit! Love conquers all.

  14

  Bree stood in front of the Met steps, trying not to be grossed out by the guy lying on the steps behind her. His pants were pulled down, and she was pretty sure his penis was hanging out.

  You get used to seeing this stuff when you live in the city, but it’s still seriously gross.

  She really wanted to move, but Kaliq had told her to wait there, and Bree didn’t want to risk missing him.

  “Take a hike!” the penis man shouted at a tourist.

  A hot dog vendor on the sidewalk nearby was talking on his cell phone. Bree edged closer so she could listen, hoping he was calling the cops. But it sounded more like he was talking to his mother or something because all he said was, “Fine,” over and over.

  Someone touched her shoulder. “Hey.”

  Bree wheeled around. “Hey,” she said, smiling up at Kaliq. Her hands rose self-consciously to her face, pushing her unruly black curls behind her ears. “I’m glad you’re here. That guy was freaking me out.”

  “Yeah.” He put his arm around her. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  At his touch, all the blood rushed to Bree’s brain. “Okay,” she gasped, leaning into Kaliq’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  Kaliq kept his arm around her as they headed into the park, winding their way to Sheep Meadow. They found a nice sunny place in the grass and sat down facing each other, cross-legged, with their knees touching. It felt so nice Bree was having trouble believing she wasn’t dreaming. Out of all the girls in the entire city Kaliq liked her. It was incredible.

  “I hope you don’t mind, my boys are going to meet us here in little while.” Kaliq pulled a bag of weed from his pocket.

  Bree shrugged. “I don’t mind,” she said, although she was a teensy bit disappointed. Warily, she watched Kaliq pull a few tufts of weed from the bag and sprinkle them into a rolling paper. Then he expertly rolled a tight little joint and licked the paper to seal it. He offered it to Bree and she shook her head. “I’m okay.” She knew it might sound lame, but she already felt a little out of it, sitting so close to him. She didn’t want to lose her head completely.

  “That’s cool.” He dropped the joint into the bag and stuffed it back into his coat pocket.

  Bree blew out a small breath of relief. She wanted to get to know Kaliq when he was just Kaliq, not when he was all high. “So, have you been visiting colleges on the weekends and stuff?” she asked. “Deciding where you want to go?”

  “Yeah,” he said, frowning. “But I’m also thinking about maybe taking a year or two off. Going sailing with my dad. I might even try to get on a team for the America’s Cup.”

  “Wow,” Bree said, impressed. “That sounds amazing.”

  “Maybe I’ll take three years off and we can go to college together,” Kaliq said, taking her hand. She had the smallest, cutest fingers.

  Bree caught Kaliq’s gaze and they smiled at each other for a moment. He let his head roll forward and it fell onto her shoulder. She smelled like clean laundry. “Mmm,” he said. He couldn’t get over how comfortable he felt with her. He usually had to smoke up or have a few drinks before meeting Porsha, just to deal with her constant planning and nagging about the future. But with Brianna he didn’t even need to be high.

  Oh my God, Bree thought. He’s about to kiss me. She closed her eyes. Her whole body felt tingly. Kaliq’s head was warm, and he smelled like pine needles.

  “Brianna,” Kaliq murmured sleepily. He lifted his head. “This feels nice.” His green eyes roamed around her face, finally settling on her lips.

  Bree giggled. He was definitely about to kiss her.

  “Yo, Braxton!” somebody shouted. “Save some for us!”

  Whoa. Seriously bad timing.

  Bree and Kaliq both turned to see Anthony, Jeremy, and Charlie loping across the grass. Jeremy was carrying a soccer ball. Kaliq stood up quickly, backing away from Bree.

  “Hey,” he greeted his friends casually. “You made it.”

  “Hey guys,” Bree said, standing up slowly and brushing the stray bits of grass from her school uniform. She wished they hadn’t come.

  “So are you going to roll us up a big fattie or what?” Anthony nodded at the plastic bag hanging out of Kaliq’s pocket.

  Kaliq shook his head. “I’m already baked like a loaf of bread, man,” he lied. He pulled the bag out of his pocket and tossed it to Anthony. “There’s one rolled already.”

  “Thanks.” Anthony plunked down on the grass and got to work. “Man, do I need this,” he said under his breath. “Fucking college advisor has been up my ass for the last hour.”

&n
bsp; “Tell me about it,” Jeremy muttered.

  Bree bit her nails, feeling a little left out. She looked at Kaliq, but he had grabbed the soccer ball out of Jeremy’s hands and was busy dribbling it between his feet.

  “That’s nothing. My dad’s been up my ass about college since eighth grade,” Charlie said. “He’s already talked to some dean at Yale Law School, like, getting them ready for me to show up there. It’s like, hey Dad, slow down!”

  “So we’re still going up to Brown this weekend, right?” Jeremy asked

  Brown. Bree snapped to attention. That was where Mekhi and Chanel were going this weekend.

  “Hell yeah.” Kaliq passed the ball to Bree and she kicked it softly back to him, smiling to let him know that she really didn’t mind that his friends had come, or that they were all talking about college while she was only a ninth grader. She liked knowing that Kaliq wasn’t actually as baked as a loaf of bread, and that he’d told her he was thinking about taking some time off before college. She already knew more about him than his best friends did!

  “Come on,” Kaliq said. “Let’s play ball.”

  She just wished Kaliq had kissed her after all, and that he hadn’t stopped when his friends showed up.

  Mekhi sat on a bench to wait for Zeke and Chanel. Well, Zeke was definitely coming. And if Chanel showed up, Mekhi would tell Zeke to get the hell out of there and leave them alone.

  That’s what friends are for.

  Mekhi pulled a Newport out of his pocket and stuck it between his lips. His hands were shaking, partly because he’d drunk six cups of coffee since lunch, and partly because he was nervous at the prospect of seeing Chanel again, especially if she’d read his poem. He pulled his writing notebook out of his pocket and stared at the last few lines of the poem without seeing them. Any minute now Chanel was going to rush up and throw her arms around his neck, kissing him breathlessly and crying because it was so heartless of her not to show up on Saturday, and telling him over and over that she loved his poem. That she loved him.

  Or not.

  Mekhi inhaled too quickly and nearly coughed up a lung. Then he lit another cigarette with the one he was already smoking. He was going to chain-smoke until she showed up. He might be dead when she got there, but at least they’d be together.

  Puffing away, he stared across the grass. A short, brown skinned girl with big boobs and curly hair was playing soccer with four boys he recognized only vaguely.

  It was his sister, Bree. Since when did she hang out in the park with those boring, preppy, Upper East Side assholes? And was that guy, Jaylen the Pervert, with them?

  Feeling protective, Mekhi started to stand up, but then he forced himself to sit back down again. Bree looked like she was having a good time, and he could see Jaylen wasn’t there. If he wanted to be an asshole older brother, he could go over there and ruin everything, or he could just sit tight and let Bree have her fun. He could still watch her from where he was sitting. And besides, Bree needed to meet new people, especially now that he was seeing Chanel and had less time for her.

  Well, sort of seeing Chanel. If she ever showed up.

  “Hey, I’d really better head home,” Bree said, kicking the ball over to Kaliq.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you soon.” He put his hand behind her head and kissed her on the forehead.

  Bree nearly toppled over. “Bye,” she squeaked, waving to the other three boys. Then she turned and walked quickly toward Central Park West before she could pee in her pants. She couldn’t wait to see Kaliq again. Alone.

  “So what does Porsha think about your new little girlfriend?” Anthony asked Kaliq when Bree had gone. He lit another joint, took a hit, and passed it to Jeremy.

  “She’s not my girlfriend, man. She’s just a cool girl I stumbled into.” He shrugged. “I like her.”

  “I like her, too,” Jeremy said, passing the joint to Kaliq. “But Porsha would not be happy if she knew you were hanging out with some ninth grade chick instead of her. Right?”

  Kaliq took the joint and inhaled deeply. “She doesn’t have to know,” he grunted, holding in the smoke. Then he exhaled. “Dude, it’s not like I’m gonna ditch Porsha for Brianna. It’s no big deal.”

  “No big deal,” Charlie agreed, taking the joint.

  Kaliq watched the ember burn on the end of the joint. He knew what he’d said wasn’t true. It was a big deal. He just wasn’t sure how to handle it. A guy had to tread carefully when a girl like Porsha was involved. He’d seen what she could do, and it wasn’t pretty.

  “Sorry I’m late, loser,” Zeke said, bouncing a basketball against Mekhi’s head. “Come on, let’s play.”

  Mekhi looked up from his notebook. He’d started another poem called “Broken Feet.”

  Splintered wood, flat tires, broken glass.

  Fate wields its unfair axe. Collapse.

  It was about wanting to be somewhere with someone and not being able to get there. Chanel was obviously stuck somewhere she didn’t want to be, pining for Mekhi, wishing she were with him. Maybe she was on a subway somewhere, stuck between stops. And he was stuck in the park, with Zeke.

  “Hey,” Mekhi said, shoving his notebook into his bag and standing up. “Thanks for showing up.”

  “Fuck you. I had math tutoring, you know that.” Zeke dribbled the ball as they headed toward the basketball court.

  “Yeah, well, you should work harder in math,” Mekhi said. “Then you wouldn’t need a tutor.”

  “And you should go fuck yourself, because you’re lame,” Zeke replied.

  “What’s that’s supposed to mean?” Mekhi dropped his bag by the court fence and peeled off his coat.

  Zeke danced around with the ball. He was a little overweight and had wide hips like a girl, but he was the best basketball player at Riverside Prep. Go figure. “You’re always busy these days, and you’re always in a bad mood. You’re getting lamer and lamer.”

  Mekhi shrugged and lunged forward to steal the ball away from Zeke. “Hey, what can I say? I have a girlfriend,” he said, backing away and dribbling the ball down the court. He did a layup, missing the basket by a foot.

  “Nice one, loser.” Zeke sprinted up and caught the rebound. “A girlfriend?” he asked, bouncing the ball without going anywhere. His belly jiggled beneath his white T-shirt. “Who, Yasmine?”

  Mekhi shook his head. “Her name’s Chanel. You don’t know her. We’re going college visiting together this weekend.”

  “Wow.” Zeke spun around to dribble the ball down to the other basket. He didn’t sound all that impressed.

  Mekhi watched his friend take a perfect jump shot. He stood still as Zeke dribbled the ball back down the court.

  “So, it’s pretty serious, huh?” Zeke asked, tossing him the ball.

  Mekhi caught it and stayed where he was. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was pretty serious to him, that was for sure. But was Chanel at that very moment telling her friends all about Mekhi, her new boyfriend? Was she daydreaming about their weekend away together?

  Not quite.

  At that very moment, Chanel was at the dentist, getting a cavity filled. She was hungry and a little pissed off that she was going to have to wait for the novocaine to wear off before she could eat anything.

  Not exactly the stuff of poetry.

  She had also read Mekhi’s poem, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it. She was used to guys’ attention, but not this sort of attention. Mekhi was becoming vaguely stalkerish, and it was really starting to weird her out.

  15

  “What sorts of questions have you prepared?” Ms. Glos asked Porsha. It was Wednesday afternoon, and Ms. Glos was prepping Porsha for her Yale interview on Saturday. “You’ll need to show them that you’re interested in things that are particular to Yale, that you’re not just applying there because it’s a good school and you’re a legacy child.”

  Porsha nodded impatiently. What did Ms. Glos think she was, a moron?

  Ms. Glos uncross
ed her legs and picked at a piece of lint stuck to her tan pantyhose. Her upper body was thick and square like a man’s, but Porsha noticed she had remarkably good legs for a fifty-year-old college advisor. “I’m going to ask them about opportunities to travel in France junior year. I’m going to ask about their sports facilities and about housing. I’m going to ask about opportunities to participate in student government. Oh, and I’m going to ask about job recruitment." Porsha pulled out her iPhone and made a note to herself.

  “Good girl. That will show that you’re not just an academic. You’re well-rounded, you’re interested in participating.” Ms. Glos closed Porsha’s file and slipped it back into a drawer in her desk. “You’ll do fine,” she told her. “You’re more than ready.”

  Porsha stood up. She already knew she was ready. She’d been prepping for this her whole life. “Thanks, Ms. Glos.” She reached for the doorknob. “If it goes well, I can apply early and forget about looking at other schools, right?”

  “Well, it can’t hurt to look at a few other places—you might find somewhere else you like better,” Ms. Glos said, dabbing at her nose with a Kleenex. “But I don’t see why Yale wouldn’t take you.”

  Porsha smiled. “Good.” Then she opened the door and closed it behind her, satisfied.

  When Porsha got home to the penthouse on 72nd Street, she could tell immediately that something was different. Suitcases and boxes littered the hallway. She could hear the scratching of a dog’s claws on the wood floors, and there was a leash hanging from the doorknob.

  Porsha walked inside and dropped her backpack on the floor of the foyer. She was greeted by an enormous brown boxer, who trotted up and butted his head into her crotch.

  “Hey,” she said, batting the dog’s nose away. “Fuck off.” She peered down the apartment’s long hallway. “Mom?”