Street Soldiers (13 page)

“Whatever,” Trish says, sounding as annoyed as I am. “When’s my god baby coming home? I want to take her to the mall with me and Tasha.”

“Oh no, Trish. I know you’re tripping now,” I say, spraying my lemon-coconut hair sheen over Rah’s immaculate style. “I’m her godmother, not you.”

Trish looks at Rah with a crooked smile spread across her beet-red lips. Rah looks up at me then down at the floor like he’s guilty as sin.

“Rah, what the hell is she talking about?” I ask, the spray aimed in the air.

Trish, Nigel, Chase and Alia watch as the calm scene quickly gets live. Before Trish walked in we were chilling. Broads always bring heat wherever they go.

“Jayd, it’s just on paper and there was no reason for you to know about any of it,” Rah says, glaring at Trish. “It’s for the courts. There has to be some relationship between Trish and Rahima other than her being my…” Rah begins but trails off in the middle of the word.

“Not saying it doesn’t make it any less true, Rah. Spit it out,” I say, looking at my friends. I know they only know each other through me, but I suddenly feel like I don’t belong here anymore.

“We’re back together, Jayd,” Trish says, taking the words out of Rah’s mouth. “Get a clue.” Trish should’ve left five seconds ago when I could still see straight.

“Y’all might as well just go on and get married, make it official,” Chase says, attempting to bring some levity to the situation to keep me from going off. Chase thinks he’s just being funny, but I can tell by Trish’s reaction she’s had the same thought.

*

“What the hell, Rah? Are you seriously considering getting married, to her?” I feel like I’m in a Vesta video. This is not an episode of
Unsung
and I’m not about to cry over this fool. I’m way too young for this shit.

I know Rah’s desperate to gain full custody of his daughter but marriage isn’t the answer. Sandy’s pregnant with Trish’s brother’s baby, the two of them are shacked up at Trish’s house, and now Rah’s also making Trish Rahima’s godmother. This is too much ignorance to tolerate, even for the best of friends.

“Jayd, calm down,” Rah says. Nothing good ever comes after those three words. I know it’s time for me to go.

“Bye, y’all.” I smack Rah in the back of the head as I collect my things and make a move. This is too much bull for me to deal with, especially on my day off.

“But what about my hair, Jayd?” Chase asks. “You promised you’d hook me up after Rah?” He must be kidding. Didn’t he hear the same conversation we all did?

“Chase, I said I’d try. But your extra-soft hair needs a little more length for me to pull the braids into shape.” I could smack the shit out of Chase right now. He’s lucky his mama’s helping Mama and me out. “I’ll stop by your house next week and give it a shot.”

“Jayd, come on, girl. We haven’t even officially started the session yet,” Nigel says, rolling a blunt. I wouldn’t be a part of that rotation anyway.

“Jayd, it’s not that serious,” Trish says, sounding more like Paris Hilton than the bougie hood girl she most definitely is. “Besides, you’re just his hair braider, not his woman. That’s my position.”

“Whatever,” I say, charging out the back door with Rah at my heels. When was he going to tell me that he was dating Trish again? This is the same stunt he pulled in junior high when he started seeing Sandy behind my back. I didn’t tolerate the shit then and I certainly won’t now.

“Jayd, please. Talk to me,” Rah says, grabbing my arm.

“Ouch,” I say, pulling away from him. My tattoo begins to burn from the contact.

“I’m sorry, Jayd. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.” Rah begins to explain his stupid actions but I have no patience to hear his rationale this afternoon.

“Rah, I don’t want to know what you and that girl are doing.”

“Jayd, listen. In order to solidify custody of Rahima I have to prove to the courts that I can provide a stable home for her. That means no more slanging and a steady girlfriend. Now, since you’d rather live in La-La land with your white boy I’ve got to do what’s necessary for my daughter before Sandy tries to pull another stunt.”

I don’t care what the reason behind it is. Rah knows this is the end of anything that could’ve possibly happened between us.

“I told you when you begged to be back in my life last year that if you ever lied to me about anything again that would be the last time I’d forgive you,” I say, remembering our verbal contract. I should’ve got it in writing.

“But Jayd, this is different. This is real shit, not me cheating on you over something stupid,” Rah says, now screaming at the top of his lungs.

“I don’t give a damn the reason behind it, Rah,” I yell, matching his octave range. “The fact is that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.” Tears well up in my eyes and Rah’s begin to glisten as well. “You’re a liar, Rah. Forget you know me.”

“Jayd,” Rah yells to my back and he can keep yelling for all I care. Sometimes he makes the worst decisions ever. Letting Sandy move in was one, and getting back with Trish is definitely another.

I start my mom’s car, pressing hard on the clutch until it finally turns the ignition. Why did Rah have to go and screw up when my mom’s car is tripping? This dude’s really got my head spinning. But as Trish so eloquently stated, Rah’s no longer my problem. Trish can have him and his baby mama drama. This is the last time Rah gets to make me cry.

“My main question is how do some chicks do it? And, more importantly, how can I be down?”

-Jayd

Drama High, volume 7: Hustlin’

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT: IRREPLACEABLE

So far it’s been a rough week at school and we weren’t even here for the first day. These freshman chicks are getting on my nerves, whispering about the black witch of South Bay High with Misty and Emilio fueling their superstitious beliefs. Now that she and KJ are officially over she’s got too much time on her hands. And to add to my issues, Mrs. Bennett’s been tripping hard on my weekly assignments, saying that I need to dig deeper into my subconscious to understand the complex nature of the literature in her class. I want to tell her to kiss my complex ass but I don’t think that would solve the problem.

Unfortunately, Misty and Mrs. Bennett don’t compare to the shade the new bitch in my life’s throwing my way. Cameron’s using the photo of her kissing my estranged boyfriend to gain popularity while attempting to win Jeremy over, who’s absent today. With yesterday being a holiday and today being the standard short Tuesday, I guess Jeremy didn’t see the point of making an appearance. I may not like Jeremy’s bad habits, but I’m not sure that I’m completely done with us yet. Even if I am, I’ll be damned if he rebounds with Cameron.

“Okay class. It’s good to see everyone,” Mr. Adewale says. It’s definitely good to see him, even if his class is mostly full of the same people I try to avoid at all cost. “We need to formally greet our new student who’s transferred into the class last minute,” he says, gesturing toward a sistah with the thickest hair I’ve ever seen sitting up front.

“Hello,” she quietly says without rising. “My name is Marcia Naranjo and I’m from San Francisco.”

“Welcome to Speech and Debate, Marcia,” Mr. Adewale says, showcasing his dimples and bright eyes. “Okay class, please take out last week’s assignment and be ready to give your rebuttals to today’s posted debate topic.” Mr. Adewale gestures toward the white board from the corner of his desk, his favorite seat during class.

“Mr. Adewale, I left my homework at the crib,” KJ says. Only he and his followers laugh at his immaturity. Even Misty’s unimpressed with his outburst.

“Well, perhaps you should ask your mommy to bring it to school for you,” Emilio says, shocking every one, including Mr. Adewale.

When Emilio first transferred to South Bay from his school in Venezuela last year, Mr. Adewale was like his big brother, especially since we all share the same religion. But Emilio’s changed ever since he joined Hector’s spiritual house. Who knows what he’s capable of now that he’s under Esmeralda’s influence?

“What the hell did you just say to me, fool?” KJ says, rising from his seat in the back of the classroom. “You need to learn to mind your own business before your Mexican mouth writes some checks your punk ass can’t cash.”

“I’m from Venezuela, not Mexico,” Emilio says, coolly. “You should get a map too when you retrieve your homework.” Emilio smiles at Misty who’s seated next to him, much like he did when I intervened between KJ and Misty last week to keep her from getting pimp slapped and him from going to jail.

Misty returns the smile, her blue contacts aglow. What the hell?

KJ charges toward Emilio’s seat. Quickly, Mr. Adewale jumps to his feet and in two steps stops KJ’s fatal advance.

“Okay, you two,” Mr. Adewale says, calming the situation. “That’s enough. KJ, return to your seat and we’ll talk about your missed assignment later.”

KJ reluctantly sits down with his eyes focused on Emilio. Emilio winks at Misty and shrugs the confrontation off. I, on the other hand, am very worried about what their end goal is.

“We have our first competition of the year in two weeks at St. Agatha’s Catholic School in Westwood, directly across from the UCLA campus. I expect all Forensic club members to sign up.” Damn, that means me.

Reid and Laura almost look giddy at the announcement, and so does Cameron. Shit. The last thing I need is something else to do, but like my counterparts, I need just as many extracurricular points on my college applications as they do.

“Hey, Jayd,” Chase says, whispering into my ear from the seat behind me. Nellie, Mickey and Nigel are seated across the room pretending to listen but the announcements don’t concern them. The only club they’re apart of is the African Student Union. “There’s a party after school at Matt’s house. You should stop by. It’ll take your mind off of Rah and his bull.” Chase is right. I haven’t forgiven him for his flippant attitude toward yesterday’s news. A break from the norm is definitely in order.

“Maybe I can come through for a minute.” With Mama and Netta taking their Tuesday at the shop to spend at the jail with G and his attorney, I could actually stay for a while.

Mama keeps trying to emphasize a murder trial isn’t a game but G couldn’t give a damn. They’ve been dedicated to helping him even if he seems hell-bent on sabotaging his case. It’s almost as if he has a get-out-of-jail card he’s going to pop out at any second.

“Let’s get started on those arguments,” Mr. Adewale says.

If it’s one thing I’m tired of it’s fighting with folks. At least in class my venting will be productive, not that I really care about our mock topic. Between a good debate and eating the expensive spread Matt’s sure to provide later, perhaps this day will end on a good note after all.

*

Mr. Adewale threw me for a loop earlier with the competition announcement. How am I supposed to prepare for a debate a couple of weeks from now, run membership recruitment for our club by homecoming in three weeks, and work all at the same time? I swear, if there was a spell to split me in two I’d whip it up in a hot minute. People like Matt can hire others to help him out when needed, like all of the servers running around his house party. It looks like Buckingham Palace in here rather than an afterschool get-together. His parties are always off the chain—one of the many perks of being a member of the Drama Club.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Jayd,” Alia says, giving me a huge hug with her vodka breath and all. “This is Marcia. She just started today.”

I guess Alia forgot we are in several of the same classes all day long. Marcia’s not on the Advanced Placement track but we do share both of Mr. Adewale’s classes.

“Hey, Marcia. It’s nice to officially meet you,” I say, greeting the new chick on the block.

“Hey, Jayd. It’s nice to meet you, too,” Marcia says, barely audible over the loud music and people surrounding us.

She looks like she’s mixed with black and something else, but we’ll have the official ASU recruitment chat later. Right now I’m only interested in the chicken wings I smell coming from the bar area.

“I don’t mean to be rude but I’m starving,” I say, eyeing the plates full of food circling the room. I want to make a b-line to the buffet without seeming desperate. Times have been tough. Eating anything outside of the three basic daily meals is a luxury I can’t afford to pass up.

“Let’s get you fed then, shall we?” Alia says with enough joy to go around. I shake my head at my inebriated homegirl as she leads the way toward the food area.

“Is she always like this?” Marcia asks, following us to the edge of the majestic basement.

Matt’s parents recently remodeled the entire lower floor of the three-story house—inside and out. The garage is now considered an extension of the pool house with the basement left strictly for entertaining.

“There’s my girl,” Chase says, holding up a glass or brown liquor, his favorite. “Hey Jeremy, look who I found?”

Chase steps aside to reveal Jeremy sitting on a stool at the bar. Chase thinks he’s funny setting me up like this—I’ll have words with him after I eat.

“You should never piss off your hairdresser,” I say, whispering into his ear while giving him a quick hug before Alia claims him. I don’t know what it is about Chase but he seems to attract some clingy females. First Nellie, now Alia.

“That’s right,” Chase says, running his fingers through his head of loose curls. “You’re supposed to be hooking my braids up. I’m gonna look flyy, right babe?”