A Girl Like Me

by Ni-Ni Simone

  Ciera rolled her eyes. “Anyway,” she said to her crew, “I have backstage passes.” She wiggled her neck as she looked through the racks. “And my cousin on my father’s side, his god sister’s brother manages Haneef, so you know we gon’ get V.I.P. treatment.”

  “And you talkin’ ’bout wearin’ some old shit,” Naja mumbled. “Please, I wish you would.”

  Ciera carried on, “And I didn’t have to call the radio station beggin’ for tickets.” She peeped over at me and waved. “Hey Elite, hey Naja. I thought I recognized you two. Wassup with y’all?”

  “Nothing,” Naja said, and I ignored her.

  “Hey, Elite, can’t speak?” she asked as her Supremes stood behind her and twisted their necks to confirm she’d asked me a question, shooting me looks like I’d better answer.

  “Exactly,” I snapped. “I can’t speak.”

  “Whatever,” she flicked her hand as her phone rang. “Typical behavior of a hater…hello?” she answered while staring at me. “Hey, Jahaad…”

  Jahaad? This bitch was trippin’.

  “Jahaad?” Naja looked at me. “Is that your Jahaad?”

  I tried to play it off because truthfully I didn’t know. “Girl, please. Does Ciera look as if she want it wit’ me. Heck no, that’s not my Jahaad. Besides, he’s too stuck on me to even go the skeezer route.”

  “Don’t sleep on hos and tricks,” Naja warned.

  “Whatever. Anyway, as I was saying, I’m not stealing,” I whispered.

  “It’s borrowing, and what if you make it onstage with Haneef? You doggon’ well got to be beyond fly, and not some average everyday mall fly, but bebe-va-va-voom fly. Especially if you wanna get selected to sing.”

  “Naja…I just don’t know.”

  “Hold it. I know you not gon’ let this rainbow shop skeezer play you? Come on, Elite, you gotta come better than that.”

  She had a point.

  “And look at that heifer—” she carried on.

  “I’ma get this,” Ciera said. “And I’ma rock this with my Fendi heels and bag—”

  “And on top of that you gon’ let that ho steal yo’ man?” Naja continued. “She’s already put the moves on Jahaad, so you know you beat for Haneef if she gets next to him.”

  She had a point again. “So if I borrow it, you think Thelma will notice?” I asked reluctantly.

  “No, just bring it back the next day and act as if someone returned them.”

  “True.”

  “All I’m saying is don’t get played to the left by some ghetto bird.” She nodded toward Ciera, who was eyeing the very outfit I had wanted all week.

  “Ooule, I like this.” Ciera held up the hip hugging jeans and champagne halter with the braided strap. “Oh, this is fly.”

  “Now what you gon’ do?” Naja twisted her lips.

  “I’ma borrow it,” I said, still unsure.

  “Ai’ight, cool, so let me go collect your gear.” Naja walked over to Ciera. “Oh, my God, girl. This stuff is irregular, you don’t need this. If you wear this, it’s gon’ turn you into even more of a hot barnyard ass mess. Let me take this from you.” She snatched it out of Ciera’s hand and then proceeded to remove the rest of the clothes from the rack and take them in the back.

  Ciera stood there stunned. “What in the—know what, I don’t have to take this. I can go someplace else.” And she stormed out of the store.

  “Bye!” I waved. “See you at the concert!”

  SPIN IT…

  Track 4

  I was always welcome at the Throwbacks, a.k.a the Joneses. Naja’s house. Where the only place time changed was on the outside. True story—Naja’s family were the nicest people on the block, but I always thought somebody, somewhere along the lines, jacked them up. All her dad, who everybody called Nephew (why? I don’t know), said was “Yup-Yup,” “Word up,” and “You gots to chill.” And her mother, Neecy—could you say leg warmers, spandex, tube tops, and two-tone jeans? She was the black version of Cyndi Lauper, the ancient eighties in the flesh.

  And her grandmother, Mom-Mom, made everybody call her Delicious, was senile, and told everybody she was a retired stripper. Oh, and she thought everybody on TV was real.

  “Ma!” Naja screamed. “Come and get Mom-Mom. She’s screaming at another repeat!”

  “They keep doing the same things to me!” Mom-Mom screamed. “Over and over again! I swear to Gawd, I’m ’bout to straight Crip on a fool!” She threw her fingers in the air and started crossing them. For a moment it looked as if her hands were having a seizure. “East side!”

  Neecy pushed Naja’s room door open, “Come on, Mom-Mom.”

  “My name is Delicious, and I’m a retired stripper.”

  “Come on, Delicious,” Neecy said, shaking her head.

  Immediately, Mom-Mom dropped down and started getting her eagle on. “Where is a pole when you need one?”

  “You’re embarrassing Naja,” Neecy said as she grabbed Mom-Mom’s hand and ushered her out of the room.

  “Naja,” I whispered as Neecy closed the door behind them. “Has your grandmother always been like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “You know, senile.”

  “Oh, she’s not senile, she’s from North Carolina. She crazy as hell, but she’s not senile.”

  Why did I bother? “Can I use your phone?”

  “Yeah,” Naja said as she proceeded to get dressed. I dialed my house and Sydney answered. Mica was screaming in the background. “Syd, what is wrong with him?”

  “Aniyah did it. He asked her was there was really a Santa Claus and she told him no, Santa got capped last year. And the next thing I know, he’s all tangled up in that Superman sheet he wears, having a nervous breakdown.”

  “Let me speak to him.”

  “Mica!” she yelled. “Elite on the phone.”

  “Si-si-sistah,” he sniffled as he spoke into the phone. “Santa—Santa—Santa…”

  “Mica, it’s October. Why are you worried about Santa?”

  “Oh God—oh God—he got shot.”

  “He did not!” I said sternly. “Now you stop crying and get yourself together. You’re a big boy.”

  “Yeah, Mica,” Aniyah said in the background. “Santa didn’t get shot. He’s in a halfway house.”

  “Aniyah! Put Aniyah on this phone!”

  “Yeah?” she said, getting on the line.

  “You better stop! Now look, Ny’eem should be home any minute. I’ma be home late.”

  “Okay. Should we put the extra lock on the door to keep Mommy and Gary out until you come back?”

  I looked at the calendar before I answered the question. First of the month. “Mommy won’t be home for a minute, so you’ll be alright. Just remember what I said, and stop teasing Mica.”

  “All right,” she snickered. “I will.”

  Once I hung up, I proceeded to get dressed in my fitted bebe jeans, champagne colored halter, open toe stilettos, and instead of flat-ironing my hair, I let it drape over my shoulders in an abundance of ocean waves. I was too fly for words. And I decided to heck with the disguise. Jahaad will just have to live with me going to the concert and gettin’ my groove on!

  Naja placed her hands on her hips. She rocked a pair of fitted Juicy jeans with a matching rhinestone hoodie, and heels. We pranced out of her room and stopped in the living room.

  “Daddy,” she said, “How do we look?”

  “Yup-Yup.”

  “That means,” her mother chimed in, “that you real fly.”

  “And you know this,” Naja smiled. “Okay Ma, we’re going to the concert.”

  “You need a ride?” We both looked at her mother in her too small purple spandex leggings, white tube top, and platforms. “Nah, we’re good,” Naja and I said at practically the same time.

  “Okay, but if you need a ride, hollah.”

  “Bye, Ma!”

  “Bye, y’all.”

  “Bye, Daddy!”

  “You gots
to chill,” he smiled.

  “Bye, Mom-Mom—”

  Mom-Mom screamed, “It’s Delicious!”

  SPIN IT…

  Track 5

  “Oh…hell…to da nawl!” Naja yelled as we sat in the front row at Continental Arena, feeling like hip-hop princesses and looking twice as fly. “Is that,” she continued, “Lil Wayne hugged up on Trina?” Naja shoved her soda in my hand, causing the ice in the cup to rattle about. “Here, hold this, ’cause in a minute it’s about to be on and poppin’. How Lil Wayne gon’ take her back?”

  Naja stood up from her seat and I snatched her back down. “What the—?” She was outta pocket! “Gurl, you straight trippin’. you can’t go runnin’ up on Lil Wayne!”

  “Why not? He can get it, too. I don’t believe this.” For a minute I thought she had tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe Lil Wayne didn’t wait for me.”

  “Wait for you?” Was this fool crazy?

  “Yeah.”

  Was she sniffling? Hold it…I knew that couldn’t be a tear I saw.

  “After,” she sniffed, “I didn’t make the second season of Flavor of Love, I wrote Lil Wayne and told him we were meant to be and that I’d be eighteen next year, so he should wait for me…And here he is, gettin’ it in wit’ Trina? Knowing she was droppin’ it for Young Buck, too? I swear, nobody listens to Kya or 50 Cent.”

  All I did was stare. There were no words for her. It was official: Naja’s common sense was twisted.

  “This is some bullshit, you know that, right?” Naja wiped her eyes, then looked to the side of us and stared as if she’d just seen a ghost. “Wait…a minute…wait…a minute. Didn’t I tell that big head ho to stay away from my man?!” Naja whipped her neck toward me. “Oh it’s ’bout to be a misunderstanding.”

  “You need to calm down before you blow something.”

  “Oh, I’ma blow something alright.” She pounded her fist at Rihanna.

  “Keep it up and they gon’ arrest you.”

  I wasn’t sure what she said in response because the lights went down and the crowd started screaming. Lloyd, Haneef’s opening act, took the stage and Naja started panting, “Lloyd! I love you! It’s me, it’s Naja, I call your record company every day! I’m all over your MySpace page. Did you get my friend request?! I wanna be your number one friend. Lloyd, did you get my email?!”

  “Would you shut up?!” I’d thought I was the world’s best groupie, but all along, my best friend had me beat.

  Lloyd and the crowd were singing his hit song together. People were yelling and screaming, and some girls were even crying. His band was fantastic and just as he went to sing his last song, Jordin Sparks joined him on stage.

  “Oh hell, no, he didn’t?!” Naja snapped. “I know he didn’t bypass me for American Idol’s rendition of Big Bird?”

  “Now you need to apologize for that,” I said surprised. “You know she can sing!”

  “Well, if singing is what matters, then why is Rihanna with Chris Brown?”

  I ignored her. I’d had enough of her insulting people. Once she saw I was ignoring her, she started enjoying the concert and singing along. As Lloyd and his entourage left the stage, Trey Songz hopped on and Naja passed out.

  I fanned her. “You better learn to breathe again, because here comes Haneef!” She sat up and we both started screaming. The entire place went completely black, and then spotlights shot back and forth across the audience.

  Everyone was yelling and holding up their lighters and flashlights, the streams of light and flickering flames seemed to illuminate the sky. Girls were crying, “I love you, Haneef!”

  “Hmph,” I shouted. “Not like I do!”

  Naja and I started bumping shoulders and throwing our arms in the air as the dancers came onstage and did some of the flyest hip-hop moves I’d ever seen. And right when they were in the midst of gettin’ down wit’ the get down, a spotlight streamed center stage, and there was a cloud of smoke and an array of helicopter noises.

  “Attention,” a computerized male voice radiated the arena. “Calling all cars—calling all cars—hip-hop sensation Haneef—is wanted…” The voice repeated itself, Haneef was lowered onto the stage, and the crowd went ballistic!

  Naja and I were screaming at the top of our lungs as Haneef started dancing and singing my favorite song, “All for You.”

  “Jeeeeee’susssssss!!!!!!” I started to hyperventilate. I looked to see where fresh air could be found, and guess who was staring right in my face? You guessed it: Ciera.

  I rolled my eyes, like chick, please, and commenced to getting my groove on again.

  I couldn’t believe this was happening to me and for the first time in my life, I forgot about all the adult responsibilities I had. And instead of feeling grown, I knew then, like at no other time in my life, that that was what seventeen was supposed to feel like.

  Haneef sang three songs: one remix, one from his new album, and a throwback. Afterwards, he slowed the music down and started talking to the audience, while his band continued to play in the background. “Jersey! How’s everybody tonight?!”

  The crowd shouted, “Alright!” in response.

  “Y’all look good out there!” He shielded his hands over his eyes like a visor and looked into the audience. “Well, on the radio yesterday I promised I would bring a hottie onstage with me to sing. Y’all ready for that?”

  “Yeah!” the crowd shouted back.

  I started cheesin’and Najah whispered, “Look at Ciera.”

  Ciera was straightening her clothes and hair as if she were sure her name was going to be called.

  “And I decided,” Haneef said, “to let my homeboy Chris Brown pull out a name for me.”

  Chris Brown walked onstage and Naja screamed, “I love you, Chris! To hell with Rihanna! It’s all about me and you! I love you!”

  Chris Brown reached into a spinning barrel of names and handed one to Haneef.

  Ciera stood up and mouthed to her friends, “Told you,” then proceeded to wink at me.

  “Elite Parker!” Haneef said into the microphone, while shielding his eyes again. “Come on and rock this with me!”

  “What did he say?” Had he just called my name?

  “Elite,” he repeated.

  I looked around. Had he really just called my name?

  “Is Elite here tonight?” he asked again.

  “Right here!” Naja pointed, pushing me on the shoulder. “Right here, this is my best friend! She is just like my sister! Here she is, right here!”

  Security came over, placed a microphone headset on me, and that’s when I knew the moment was for real. I screamed in excitement at the top of my lungs.

  Once onstage, Haneef walked over and grabbed my hand, then started slow dancing with me, and the next thing I knew he was singing, “Rather fall in love with a girl that’s made for me…” and on he went.

  I was in such a daze that I forgot about the duet, until he nodded at me. “Oh,” I pointed to myself, “I guess it’s my turn.” My hands were shaking like crazy and usually I was never nervous when it came to singing. Heck, I can’t count the number of drug dealers I sang for to get my mama some free crack.

  I took a deep breath and let my voice flow. “And who knew you would find a girl like me…” I thought my voice had cracked or something because the crowd went silent, and even Haneef looked shocked.

  It was official. I was dead and my dreams of being a star had been buried along with me. But just when I thought all hope was lost, the crowd suddenly lost control and started edging me on. All I could hear was: “Sing! Get it, girl. You workin’ it!”

  I continued to sing and Haneef kept staring at me. It felt sort of strange because something in his eyes said his stare meant more than just tryin’ to please a fan.

  Haneef had gotten at least three cues that I had been onstage too long, but he ignored them. By the time we were done, everyone was on their feet giving us a standing ovation, and Naja was on the sidelines shouting, �
�That’s my girl!”

  I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. For once, my life was perfect.

  “Make sure you come see me backstage.” Haneef kissed me on the forehead as security escorted me back to my seat.

  For the next hour and a half the concert remained off da hook, and all I could do was bask in the kiss that Haneef placed on my forehead. I didn’t know about Naja, but I was thinking they might have to physically remove me from that place, because the way I felt, I might never leave.

  Immediately after the concert ended, everyone who had backstage passes lined up. Naja and I rushed over. I was on cloud nine and Naja was bragging about how well she and I sang. I looked at her. “Last I checked, I was the one singing.”

  “Oh, you ain’t hear me?” she asked surprised. “Listen, I was singing like this, ‘Ahhhhhhhhhh…’”

  Oh, God, her voice was cracking. “It’s cool, yeah, I heard you.”

  “No, seriously,” she insisted. “I’ve gotten better.”

  “Uhmm hmmm, I know,” I said as I felt my cell phone vibrating in my pocket. “Dang, who is this?”

  As I pulled out my phone, security started rushing us to the front. I saw Haneef talking to a fan and taking pictures. I was so amped, I forgot the phone was ringing. I looked at the caller ID and saw it was someone calling me from home. Oh heck, no. I wanted to say voicemail.

  We slowly moved closer to Haneef and dang, this phone was vibrating again. I pulled it out and flipped it open.

  “Elite!” Sydney screamed. “Everybody in here is dead!”

  “What?!” My heart jumped in my chest.

  “Er’body. Aniyah, Mica, and me. Can’t you hear it in my voice? Don’t I sound dead?”

  “You’re not dead!”

  “We are dead. We haven’t eaten all day since the bologna they served us at school and it’s going on midnight.”

  I looked at security and they told me to put away the phone. “Where is Ny’eem?” I asked.

  “Ny’eem hasn’t been here at all and we’re starving. Here, listen to Mica.”

  I heard Mica in the background moaning, “I’m dead. Somebody help me. I’m dead.”