Street Soldiers (16 page)

It must be nice to have friends who have your back no matter what life brings your way. I’ve tried to be the best friend I know how to all of my friends. How is it possible to have so many people I’m responsible to yet be so lonely at the same time?

“Why aren’t you worth it?”

-Jeremy

Drama High, volume 2: Second Chance

* * *

CHAPTER TEN: YOU GOT ME

When I finally made my escape, my mom and aunts were well into the wedding planning, the many-parties before-the-wedding planning, and which strip club to frequent after all of the planning’s over. As long as they’re out of the apartment when I get back later so that I can get some much-needed sleep I’m good. All this friend and boy stress has been hard on my dream world and that’s never healthy.

Keenan’s nowhere to be found yet and I can’t say that I’m surprised. He’s a hot, popular athlete and he’s single—Saturday nights are his for the taking. Without him here there’s no one to flirt with. Lucky for me I have a ton of studying to keep me busy. I can’t believe that I forgot my headphones. As a result I’m forced to listen to the hipster jazz music floating through the speakers. Every now and then some Whitney Houston or Mariah Carey might slip through, but usually it’s just the standard coffee shop music. I need my playlist to get into my study flow. Otherwise I’m not only subject to the manager’s pick but also to the random conversations of others around me, which can be very distracting.

“Excuse me, dear,” an elderly white lady says to me from a neighboring table. Her frail touch makes me jump slightly almost like when I first saw Pam’s ashen skin in my dreams.

“Yes?” I ask. Other than Keenan no one’s ever spoken to me in the coffee shop before.

“Your glasses are so pretty. Where’d you get them?” she asks, making me smile.

A compliment on the specs I resent so much was the last thing I expected to hear from her. My dad forced me to go to the eye doctor, accusing me of wasting his insurance if I didn’t use it and I came out with a prescription. Who knew I needed help seeing?

“The optometrist in the mall,” I say, showing her the case with the information on it. “Here’s the number.”

“Oh, dear. I haven’t been to a mall in ages, but they look so nice on you.” She smiles at me displaying a row of yellow teeth from years of smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee I assume. The huge diamond rock on her ring finger says she’s not hurting for cash, so why not spring for a teeth-whitening session?

“Thank you,” I say, leaving her to her book and me to my stack of work.

“Making new friends, I see,” Keenan says, much to my surprise. I don’t need glasses to see his fine ass light up the dimly lit café.

“Hey,” I say, accepting his peck on my right cheek. “I didn’t think you were working tonight.” But I’m so glad that he is. Keenan’s soft blend of cologne and dark roast coffee makes me forget all about my issues and responsibilities.

“Where else would I be?” Where else, indeed. “I’m on my last break. I get off in a couple of hours.”

“Oh, I see,” I say, tapping my fingers on the work piled up in front of me.

“You look like you’re making your way through that notebook of yours pretty quickly,” he says, noticing my iyawo journal. I’ve caught up on my entries this week.

“Thank you, much. If I could just get through my senior year as victoriously I’d be the happiest black girl in LA.” The stack of school essays and other assignments towers over my spirit work, as usual. If Mama had her way it would be the complete opposite.

“What colleges are you applying to?” Keenan asks. He places his leather backpack down on the floor and takes the seat across from mine. “I hope UCLA’s on your list.”

I don’t think I could handle it if we ended up attending the same school. I’m nearly sprung on him as it is and we only see each other once a week.

“I’m not sure yet. There’s this program at my homegirl’s church that pays for your college applications as long as you attend the meetings, and five out of the ten colleges have to be HBCUs.”

“Sounds like a good opportunity, but you know black colleges don’t pay.”

“So I’ve heard, which means I can’t go.” Not to mention that Mama would have a conniption fit if I went to school out of state.

I know she’s secretly praying that I attend Cal State Dominguez or Long Beach State—both schools within minutes of her house. Personally, I’m planning to apply to the University of California, San Diego and San Diego State, which happens to be Jeremy’s first choice of schools, too.

“Don’t give up so easily,” Keenan says, leaning his fine self back in the wooden chair and crossing his muscular arms across his chest. If The Game had a college version of the show he’d definitely be a cast member.

“Oh, I’m not. As a matter of fact I have a scholarship fund already set up from the cotillion I participated in last month, if my benefactor doesn’t succeed in getting her sorority to revoke it.” I won’t tell him that the woman happens to be the mother of his team’s top high school recruit.

“Why would she do that?” Keenan asks. How many times have I asked myself the exact same question?

“Because I embarrassed her by leaving the dance early due to an unforeseen illness,” I say, recalling my hot head that night. “I’m fighting it, though. She didn’t even tell me I won the damned thing.”

“You know you can get that money put into a trust if you have a bank account set up in your name,” Keenan says. “As long as you attend an approved school she can’t touch it.”

“Word?” I didn’t even think about that. I bet Mrs. Esop didn’t think I’d ever find out about that option, either.

“Fo shizzle,” he says. I love it that Keenan and I can switch our conversation from smart to hood in an instant. It’s a skill few successfully acquire. “If you bring your laptop I can show you how to download the link and get started with online banking.”

This brotha’s on his game and then some.

“That’s cute,” I say, shifting from my left butt cheek to my right. I’ve been sitting in the same place for over an hour and my ass is falling asleep. Too bad, because I have at least another two hours worth of work to do. As packed as the café is, Keenan looks like he’s got plenty of work cut out for him this evening, too.

I wish I could live in Jeremy’s world for a day. It must be nice knowing his future’s secured because of his parent’s wealth and connections. Chase could have the same future but he’s chosen to apply to a historically black college or university, much to his mother’s horror—not because she doesn’t want him to attend a black college, but because she doesn’t want her only child leaving home.

“Did I say something funny?” Keenan’s sincere in his offer to help but he has to know that I can’t afford a computer of my own.

“Everyone’s not as blessed as you are, Mr. Cosby,” I say, making him laugh. From what he’s told me about his family the reference sounds about right.

“Do you know how much I paid for my MacBook?” Keenan asks, pulling the sleek, silver computer out of his bag.

“At least two grand,” I say, admiring his notebook. “I’ve been to the Mac store and daydreamed.”

Chase has an iPhone, an iPad and probably a few more i-contraptions I know nothing about. Most of the students at South Bay are just like him. Nigel’s the only one in our crew with a computer at his parent’s house but since he’s not there anymore, he and Rah share the PC they mix beats on. They also let me write on it when need be if I don’t get my computer work done in the library.

“Try two hundred.” He places the MacBook on our shared table, smiling at my surprise.

“I never took you for the type who buys his electronics off the back of a truck in dark alley downtown,” I say, gently touching the computer. I wish I could take it home. When I get my hands on some extra money the first thing I’m going to do is hook myself up with one of these.

“Girl, I know you know better than that. I’m trying to hip you to game.” Keenan types in a web address and moves his chair closer to mine so we can share the screen.

He needs to scoot back over before it gets too hot in here, and it’s already pretty warm from where I’m seated.

“Why are you all up in my space?” I ask, catching another whiff of whatever else he’s wearing besides coffee grounds.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he says, making me blush. He’s too sure of himself for me to make a smart-ass comeback quickly. “This site’s for students across the country. They sell refurbished computers at a fraction of the original costs. Check it out.”

Keenan expertly surfs through the site looking at the latest online deals. There are thousands of computers in all makes and models.

“You’re just full of useful information, aren’t you?” I ask, scanning the page.

Keenan looks up from the screen and into my eyes, making my heartbeat faster with each blink.

“I can be if you let me.” Neither one of us has addressed the huge elephant in the room. The kiss was good—very good, and that’s the problem.

“Keenan, I’m sorry I didn’t call you after my mom walked in on our hair session,” I begin. Keenan touches my hand, silencing my apology.

“Jayd, it’s okay. I’m glad you came by tonight. As a matter of fact, I’d like to treat you to a late night dinner if you let me.”

“Keenan, I’d love to but honestly my life is so complicated that I can’t even imagine beginning anything new.”

Before I can give any more excuses, Keenan squeezes my hand.

“Dinner, Jayd. That’s all I’m asking,” Keenan says, standing up. I guess his break’s over. “I’ll even let you use my laptop while I finish my shift.”

The compact computer is just as tempting as its owner’s offer and just in time, too. The leftovers from Tuesday’s festivities ran out two nights ago and I’m tired of eating noodles.

“I could always go for a good meal,” I say, running my fingers across the smooth keyboard. I bet I can type a hundred words a minute on this thing.

“Good, then it’s settled. You can email yourself the documents you create so you don’t have to worry about saving them on a flash.”

I do have a free email account that I rarely use. I never thought of using it as a mobile flash drive.

“Another good idea,” I say, opening a new document. This is going to make my schoolwork so much easier. “Have I told you how grateful I am that we met?”

“No, but you can repeatedly remind me over dinner,” Keenan says, lifting my hand from the invisible mouse pad and kissing my knuckles. “Be good.”

I don’t know if being good is an option around this brotha. Keenan makes me excited in a way I’ve never felt before all while opening my eyes to new possibilities. Maybe Keenan’s just the distraction I need to calm my energy so I can move forward and let go of the negativity holding me back. Perhaps being good is being with him.

*

It’s almost midnight and the nightlife off of Wilshire Boulevard is just beginning. I didn’t even know this area existed nor can I believe I’m out on a nice date with Keenan. I should be down for the count but my complimentary cappuccino has me hyped up for another round.

“Here we are,” Keenan says, pulling into the parking lot of a quaint restaurant. It looks like the kind of place where famous people go to escape the limelight. “They’ve got the best seafood this side of town.”

Keenan parks his Jeep Wrangler, exits and walks around to open my door.

“Are you sure you chose the right spot? I’m Jayd, Jayd Jackson. The high school student who would’ve been happy with the buffet at one of the various Ethiopian restaurants near the coffee house,” I say as Keenan leads me inside.

“Not tonight, Miss Jackson.”

The usher leads us to an empty booth at the front of the restaurant. “I took the liberty of ordering ahead because I haven’t eaten a full meal in hours and I’m starved. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” I say, eyeing the expensive menu. “I wouldn’t know what to order anyway.”

“Not to worry. I ordered the same thing for both of us,” he says as the waiter places two steaming plates in front of us. “This is my favorite dish.”

I didn’t even realize how hungry I was until I smelled the attractive entrée.

“All of this for me?” I ask in disbelief. Jeremy’s the only other guy who’s ever treated me to a dinner this fancy but not on the regular. We were more of a pizza and tacos kind of couple, and that’s just fine with me.

“Me and my teammate Jonathan were just talking about that,” Keenan says before downing a forkful of his salad.

“About what,” I ask, enjoying the fresh grilled salmon, steamed spinach and pasta in front of me. I never knew I’d like hollandaise sauce. I may need some more of this to put on everything.

“Why some black women don’t feel they’re worthy of an expensive meal,” Keenan says between bites. “They’re quick to suspect that you want something out of them instead of just enjoying a nice meal with an equally nice guy—no strings attached.”

The pride in me wants to crook my neck to one side and question Keenan about his observation. But then again, didn’t I just do exactly what he said? Sometimes Keenan’s too smart for his own good.

“I didn’t say that I didn’t think I was worthy,” I say, refusing to admit any inherited insecurities to this brotha. “I simply asked why you’re doing this when we both know your money could go to better use.”

Jeremy’s family has plenty of money to spare unlike Keenan and I who work hard for every dime we earn.