Crazy Love (20 page)

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Authors: Amir Abrams

BOOK: Crazy Love
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“Oh nooo, calm down, hell! Get off of me.”
He's squeezing my wrists and holding my hands up over my head. “You shouldn't have put ya hands on me. I asked you not to, and you did it anyway.”
He has all of his weight on me, practically crushing me. I keep screaming and yelling at him to get off of me.
He refuses. “I'm not letting you go until you calm down.”
Since he won't let me go, I do the next best thing. I spit in his face. My spit clings to his skin. His eyes widen in shock.
“Oh, you wanna do the spitting game, huh?”
“Get off of me, Sincere!” I yell, still struggling to break free.
Sincere is yelling back at me in my face. “Let me show you how to spit!” He hawks up a bunch of snot and spits it dead in my face. It's thick and nasty. He does it again. And I am through!
25
I
am on Facebook, creating a new page. Sincere has left me no other choice, since he has blocked me from his Facebook page and I can't see what he's up to. I'm using a picture of one of my favorite cousins, Shalonda, as my profile picture. First I had to make sure she wasn't in any of the pictures in my Facebook album. Thankfully she wasn't. Anywaaayz . . . she has these real sexy eyes with long dark eyelashes and shiny black hair. She looks Hawaiian, almost. But she's half Asian and half black. Her father is my dad's brother, and they live over in Germany. He's in the army and that's where he's been stationed for the last three years. Shalonda's dad won't let her have a Facebook page, so I won't have to worry about her finding out about this page being up with her photo. I hope.
Well, it'll only be up for a few days. I just need it to spy on Sincere. I need to see what he is up to.
I pick up my phone to check to see if I've missed any calls or texts or e-mails from him. There are none. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes. He's changed his Facebook status to
It's complicated
. OMG, what's so complicated about it?! Either he loves me or he doesn't.
I can't lose you
,
Sincere
. I grab my phone beside me, then scroll through my pictures. I go through every one of them: pictures of me and my girls, pictures of Sincere—mostly of Sincere. I have tons of pictures of him, from our first date back up to three weeks ago. Before that trick texted him, before he spit in my damn face! Pictures of him sleeping, pictures of him driving, pictures of him eating.
I turn up my stereo. Let Rihanna's “Breakin' Dishes” play. I don't wanna fight Sincere. I don't. I wanna love him. And him to love me. But he keeps letting these hoes disrespect our relationship and I gotta check him. If he acted right, if he knew how to keep them hoes in check, I wouldn't have to go off on him. I wouldn't have to resort to creating fake Facebook pages, or sneaking out of my house and walk-running six blocks just to see if his car is home, or leaving notes on his windshield. If he just stopped doing things to make me go off, we'd be good.
I reread my profile. It says that I am seventeen, from Brooklyn; that I attend Medgar Evers College in Brooklyn. I send Sincere a message from my new profile: Y
OU'RE HOT
! Then I send him a friend request. And wait. I request a few other people. And wait.
My cell rings. I glance at the screen, hoping it's Sincere. It's Erika. I really don't wanna talk to her. I ignore her call. Two minutes later, I hear the house phone ringing and know it's her.
“Kamiyah, it's your sister,” I hear Daddy saying as he knocks on my door. I want to ignore him, too. Want to tell him to get away from my door; that I'm in the middle of tracking my man. I don't. I get up and open the door. He hands me the phone. I try to close the door before he can see me. But he catches a glimpse of my swollen, red eyes.
“You okay?”
I wanna slam the door in his face. “No,” I tell him, turning away from him before he sees me fall apart. “I'm not feeling well.”
He reaches for me as I try to walk away, pulling me into his arms. “I love you,” he says, kissing me on top of my head. “Talk to your sister. I'll be up to check on you later.” He walks out, closing the door behind him.
I love you
. I wanna hear those words from Sincere. Why can't he just effen call me!
“Hello? Hello?”
I have forgotten Erika's on the other end. “Yeah,” I say, sitting at the foot of my bed.
“I called you on your cell. Why didn't you pick up?”
“I didn't hear it,” I lie.
“Mmmm. Daddy says you've been moping around for the last two days. What's going on?”
Hmmm, let's see. My man is cheating on me. He spit in my face. And now he's not speaking to me. Oh, and by the way . . . I'm spying on him.
I wipe my tears, sniffling.
“Nothing.”
“Daddy seems to think it has something to do with. . . uh, what's his name?”
“Sincere,” I say. My heart aches saying his name. “His name is Sincere.”
“Yeah, Sincere. I don't know why I can't ever remember his name. I hope to meet him when I'm there for Thanksgiving. Anyway, what's going on with you two?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, it doesn't sound like it. You wanna talk about it?”
“There's nothing to talk about,” I say, reaching for my laptop.
“Well, sounds like there's something going on, even if you say there isn't. What is it?”
“I said it's nothing. I'm not feeling well, that's all.”
“Okay, fine. I'll drop it. Are you coming down with a cold or something?”
“I guess.” I glance at the clock on my nightstand. Fifteen minutes have gone by and Sincere still hasn't accepted my friend request or responded to my in-box message.
“What's up with the attitude?”
“I
told
you I'm not feeling well.”
“You know what? I'm gonna let you go, then. But know this. If you need, or want, to talk, you know you can always call me, right?”
I nod as if she can see me. “Thanks.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I say, hurriedly disconnecting the minute I see that there's a message in my in-box from Sincere. I click it open. W
ASSUP?
D
O
I
KNOW U
?
Finally, I have contact with my man! I type, N
O
. N
OT YET
. B
UT
I'
M HOPING THAT CAN CHANGE SOON
. I
SAW YOUR PROFILE AND THOUGHT U WERE REAL SEXY
.
He responds back.
T
HANKS
! U K
INDA HOT
2.
I frown.
So who the hell else you up here saying looks hot?
I type: D
O U HAVE A GIRL
?
I wait for him to respond.
S
UMTHIN LIKE THAT
O, WAT DOES THAT MEAN? Y'ALL FIGHTIN?
Y
EAH
My heart aches. U
WANNA TALK ABOUT IT
?
N
AH
, I
DON'T KNOW U
.
O,
TRUE
. M
AYBE WE CAN GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER.
C
AN WE BE
FB
FRIENDS
?
Y
EAH
A few minutes later, I have an e-mail notification from my other Yahoo! e-mail account—the one I made up this morning—that Sincere Lewis has accepted my friend request. I don't waste any time clicking on his page to read his updates. I scroll through his friends list to see if I see that Lana chick. I don't. I look for that chick Miranda's name. When I see it, I click on her page.
If I ever catch you, you'll be next to get swung down.
I click on her page.
Ohmygod, what an attention whore
, I think as I read all her status updates. I want to send her a message, telling her to watch her face. But I won't, not yet. I need to sit back and watch what's going on. I wanna catch her somewhere out and about when she least expects it.
I grab my cell and scroll through my call log until I come across her number, then grab the cordless phone and dial her number. I decide to call her from the home phone since our number comes up
private
on caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Stay away from my man,” I say, deepening my voice. “Or I'ma beat you.”
“
Whaaat?
I don't know who this is, but, ho, you don't really want it!”
“Don't—”
There's a knock on my door. It's Daddy. I quickly disconnect the call and shut my laptop, telling him to come in. “You want something to eat?” he asks, leaning up against the doorframe. I made some barbecued salmon and garlic mashed potatoes.”
I shake my head, shifting back on my bed. “I'm not hungry.”
“You've been up here all day, Miyah. You have to eat something.”
I can't. I don't want food. I want Sincere! I want to hear his voice! And lie in his arms!
“I can't eat anything right now.”
He stares at me for a few seconds, then walks in and sits on the edge of my bed. I scoot over.
“What's bothering you? You and Sincere have a fight?”
I nod.
“You wanna talk about it?”
I shake my head. “No, not really.”
“C'mere,” he says, opening his arms. “Give your old man a hug.”
I go to him and he hugs me tight. I hug him back, wishing it was Sincere.
“It'll work itself out.”
“I hope so, Daddy.”
He kisses me on the forehead. “It will. Trust me. Now come downstairs and eat something for me.”
“I will. I promise. As soon as I finish this homework assignment I'm working on.”
He gives me another hug, then walks out, shutting the door behind him. I quickly open my laptop and wait for the screen to come alive. I refresh my page, then go back to reading the posts up on that ho's page, then click back over to Sincere's. He has a new post up: W
HY DO RELATIONSHIPS
HAVE TO BE SO MUCH DAMN WORK
? W
HY CAN'T YOU JUST LOVE SOMEONE AND THEY TRUST YOU TO LOVE THEM BACK?
He has over a hundred likes. And eighty-seven comments. I read them all. Then decide to add my two cents.
I
F YOU REALLY LOVE SOMEONE YOU'LL DO WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO TO MAKE IT WORK.
Y
OU'LL ACCEPT THEIR FLAWS.
A
ND LOVE THEM NO MATTER WHAT.
I wait for a response back from him. There is none. He simply clicks
LIKE
.
26
“H
eeeeey, Boo-boo,” Zahara says in her singsong voice, walking up to me at my locker. She's stylishly dressed in a brown and orange swirl-patterned dress with a banging pair of brown Gucci booties. She has her thick, woolly hair stuffed underneath a brown derby. No weave today. Even though I don't trust her, and I still think she's messy, she's still my girl. I just have to keep my eyes on her, very closely. Anywaaayz . . . I'm glad we've made up. Still, I'm not beat for a buncha chitchat this morning.
“Hey,” I say nonchalantly. I still haven't spoken to Sincere since the incident that popped off at his house last Thursday. And now it's Tuesday. We had yesterday off and I was stuck in the house—okay, okay, I'm lying. I drove past Sincere's house twice. And even rang his doorbell. But his mother said he didn't wanna talk to me. I handed her a gift for him—a hundred-and-fifty-dollar pair of sneakers that I bought as a peace offering with money I saved up from my allowance. Okay, maybe as a bribe. Anywaaayz, his mom told me she'd give them to him, then slammed the door in my face. Can you believe that? Okay, well, maybe she didn't actually
slam
it in my face, but it felt like it.
Anywaaayz, I spent the rest of my day up on Sincere's Facebook page, watching and monitoring what he's up to. It's been FOUR whole miserable days!! I want my man back! I've called him and left him a buncha messages, apologizing. But he hasn't responded. Even though I'm still pissed at him for spitting in my damn face—so what if I spit in his face first—it doesn't make what he did right. That was a damn no-no! Two wrongs don't make a right. And what he did was dead wrong, and nasty. But I know we can work it all out and get through it. Okay, well. . .I guess I should mention I broke the screen on his phone when we got into it, then keyed up the side of his truck on my way out.
Punk!
I bring my attention back to Zahara, who's staring me down. “What? Why you all up in mine like that?”
“Why you actin' all stank-a-dank this morning?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I tell her, slamming my locker door, shifting my eyes away from her stare. She walks with me down the hall. I have my calculus class this period. “Oh, by the way, cute dress.”
“Nope, not gonna work,” she says, cutting her eye at me. “You should have said that when I first walked up on you instead of giving me that ‘hey' like I'm some Penn Station hobo you was tryna shoo away.”
In spite of being mad and sad and missing Sincere really, really bad, I laugh. “Zee, you crack me up, girl. What you doing after school tomorrow? I don't have dance, so I thought maybe we could hang out after school.”
She stops in the middle of the hallway, raising a neatly waxed brow. “Wait,
you're
asking
me
what I'm doing after school? What, you and Sincere beefing or something?”
“No,” I say, shifting my eyes. Because I know Zahara's jealous of my relationship with Sincere—even though she'd never admit it—there's no way I'm about to tell her much of anything. “Not really.”
“Mmmph,” she grunts, pulling out her iPhone. “Well, let me check my calendar and get back to you.”
I laugh, shutting my locker. “Whatever. You do that.”
“I'll let you know sixth period,” she says, walking off.
Whatever
, I think, walking into the bathroom. I go into one of the empty stalls and pull out my cell. I call Sincere again. It goes to voice mail. I leave him another message. Then I call, blocking my number; still no answer. I feel myself starting to hyperventilate. “Sincere, please call me. Please. I miss you. And I love you. I'm so sorry. Please, baby. Call me the minute you get this.”
Two minutes later, I call his cell again. This time the recording tells me the mailbox is full. I have the urge to throw my phone up against the wall, but I don't. I send Sincere another text instead. He ignores this one as well.
When I get to class, I swing open the classroom door and hurriedly take my seat as Mr. Langston is passing out the graded tests from last week's calculus test.
“How special of you to make it to class after the bell, Miss Nichols,” he says as I slip into my seat. “And I want to see you after class.” There are a few “oohs” from the back of the room.
“Somebody's in trouble,” Jarrell says, laughing.
I suck my teeth. Mr. Langston slides me my test. I flip it over, glancing at it. I blink, blink again. I literally feel faint.
This can't be right!
Ohmygod. Am I in trouble!
The rest of my school day is ruined. I still can't believe I got a D on my exam! Although Mr. Langston tried to reassure me that this wouldn't affect my final grade, that I still have time to bring up my grade, I am sick over it. Getting a D is like getting an F. It's still failing. I never get anything less than an A-minus! Cs and Ds are not heard of from me. Never! And a B is rare. I never fail at anything!
Students here are expected to achieve and maintain high academic standings. If you get a grade less than a C, it has to be signed off on by a parent. I am sooo dead now! I feel like screaming. Mr. Langston offers me a buncha extra credit assignments to offset my grade. I don't need extra credit work. I need to talk to Sincere!
Mr. Langston tells me he needs the signed test back
tomorrow
. I'm not worried about the signature part. I'll do a little forgery. But I'm stressed about how it'll affect my final grade. I will have to ace everything in his class. I can't think any more about it. I sneak into the bathroom and try calling Sincere again. It goes straight to voice mail, but the mailbox is still full.
At the end of the day, I am at my locker getting my stuff. Ameerah is coming down the hall with Joe-Joe, laughing at something he's said. And Brittani is coming down the opposite side of the hall with Zahara. I lean up against my locker and wait. I watch Joe-Joe lean in and kiss Ameerah lightly on the lips and feel a pang of jealousy shoot through me.
“You getting ready to leave?” Brittani asks, walking up to me.
“Yeah, in a minute. I have to be at dance by three thirty.”
“You still wanna hang tomorrow after school?” Zahara asks, squinting at me.
“Yeah.”
“Umm, hold up,” Brittani says, tilting her head. “All of a sudden you wanna hang out?” She eyes me. “What's that all about?”
I shrug. “Nothing. I miss chilling with my girls, that's all.”
She twists her lips up. “Hmm . . . you and Sincere must be beefing or something.”
“Why you say that?”
“ 'Cause all of a sudden you wanna hang with your girls. Picture that.”
“Yeah, Miyah, what's really good?” Zahara wants to know. “I wasn't gonna even call you out on it, but since Brittani did, then I wanna know, too. Are y'all?”
Careful what you tell them
, I remind myself.
Never tell 'em everything
. “We're having some minor difficulties right now,” I decide to say. “But it's nothing we can't work out.”
Zahara raises her brow. “See. I told you. And the minute they're back all coochie-crunch, she'll be right back on her bull again.”
“No, I won't.”
Ameerah walks over to us. “Who's staying after school with me so I can watch Joe-Joe practice?”
“Don't look at me,” Zahara says.
“Me either,” Brittani says.
Ameerah looks at me. “What about you?”
“I can't,” I tell her. “I gotta get to dance.”
“No, Kamiyah,” Miss Johvonna snaps, clapping her hands. “Stop the music. Look at you. You come down like big clunky elephant. Not light and airy like butterfly. What is the matter with you? Concentrate. You are all over the place like wild mongoose. You're wearing your troubles on your shoulders and it's showing in your movements—heavy and clumsy, like fat old walrus. Twelve years of training and you dance like newborn klutz. I do not like.”
“I'm sorry, Miss Johvanna,” I say, hanging my head, embarrassed by her tone and her disapproval. This whole mess with Sincere has me on edge. It's bad enough I can't eat, think, or sleep. But now it's affecting my dance. Everyone in class is staring at me, smirking. They are enjoying the fact that her most talented dancer is not so perfect after all. I try to catch my breath. My muscles ache. She has been making me stop and redo my steps for the last forty minutes. I try to forget the blisters sticking to my toe shoes. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“I see. And none of it on ballet. Again, on
pointe
.”
I do as I am told. Go up on the point of my right foot, then go into a series of hops.
“If you wish to be ballerina, you will need to block out all outside forces. When you hit the stage and the curtain goes up and lights come on, ballet must be all you bring out there with you. You are changing, Kamiyah. Do you not wish to be ballerina?”
“Yes.”
“Then dance like one, or leave!”
In all the years of working with Miss Johvonna, she has never spoken to me like this. But everything she's said to me is true so I can't be mad at her. She knows better than anyone how badly I want to be a professional dancer. Miss Johvonna's the one person I'd never, ever, give attitude to; no matter how hard she is on me.
And for the next thirty minutes she yells out combinations, making us stop and start over. This is my punishment for ducking out on all those dance classes to be with Sincere. And now it's showing. And she's making the whole class pay for it. I follow Miss Johvonna's commands, avoiding the piercing eyes of those in back of me. If their stares were bullets, I'd be dead.

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