Read The Ex Factor: A Novel Online
Authors: Tu-Shonda Whitaker
The Ex Factor: A Novel
Praise for
Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker
,
Essence bestselling author of Game Over“All hail to the Queen of urban fiction writing. If you are an author in the game you better watch your back because Tu-Shonda Whitaker has arrived on the scene!”
—Keisha Ervin, bestselling author ofMe and My Boyfriend
Praise for
Flip Side of the Game“A riveting story that captures your attention from the very first page!”
—Danita Carter, bestselling author ofSuccess Is the Best Revenge and Revenge Is Best Served Cold
“Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker stands and delivers with this debut novel.
Flip Side of the Game
is filled with gut-wrenching emotions, drama, and authentic conflict. Every woman of color in America should read this book. I know 95 percent of them can relate to Vera Wright-Turner.”—Danielle Santiago, Essence bestselling author ofLittle Ghetto Girl: A Harlem Story
“Urban literature with a romantic twist… raw and uncensored.”
—Shelia M. Goss, bestselling author ofRoses Are Thorns, Violets Are True and My Invisible Husband
“No matter how much you may want to, you will not be able to look away from Vera and
Flip Side of the Game
, Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker's debut novel. The language…is raw and in your face, and Vera is painfully aware of the turbulent, violent obstacles that can unexpectedly come out of life and keep one from living. [She] has
no
problem telling us about those obstacles in her life. Be prepared for a rocky journey of drug addiction, bad memories, despair, friendship, love, forgiveness, and hope.”—Shonell Bacon, bestselling author ofLuv Alwayz: The Opposite Sex and Relationships
Also by Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker
Flip Side of the Game
Game Over
Cream
(contributor)
To my daughters Taylor and Sydney,
I pray to teach you what dreams are made of! …
AcknowledgmentsIn my Father's house there are many mansions, if it were not so I would've told you….
—ST. JOHN 12:2
My Father God, my solid rock on which I stand, I come before You as humbly as I know how, thanking You for Your grace, Your mercy, and for Your Son, Jesus Christ, who saw to it that I would have life and have it more abundantly.
To my husband, Kevin, and my children Taylor and Sydney, no words could ever describe the joy you bring me. I thank you for your love and neverending support.
To my mother and father, Barbara and Melvin, thank you for always being in my corner and for always believing that even my wildest dreams would come true.
To my family in America and Trinidad, who are there to support me no matter what, I couldn't ask for a better family. And to my aunties, who ask everyone they meet, “Did you read my niece's book?”
To my dear friends, who laugh at my corny jokes, listen to me read page after page, and dare me to dream bigger, thank you for your love, support, and for always keeping it real.
To Kenya Williams—no matter how long we're apart, when we have an opportunity to talk, I am reminded of what a true friend is.
To Keisha Ervin and Danielle Santiago, my little sisters, I want
soooo much for the two of you, because I
know
that you are able to capture the world! Forever be blessed!To my dear friend, Valerie Hall-Moore. Why'd you move to Atlanta? Dang, Val, Jersey just isn't the same. I miss you!
To Nakea Murry, my homegurl! Girlfriend, nobody makes me laugh more than you. You are such an inspiration to me. Thank you for always believing that I could write anything, even when I had my doubts.
To Lisa Scofield-Ham, thanks so much for your love and support and thanks even more for being my friend.
To Treasure E. Blue, K'wan, and K. Elliot, you are three of the baddest authors in the game!
To Vickie Stringer, you are one in a million!
To Melody Guy, what a wonderful editor you are. I can't thank you enough for believing in my writing. The opportunities you have presented me with are endless, and I hope to make you proud.
Danielle Durkin, thanks for assisting with this project, and I look forward to working with you again.
To Selena James, working with you was such a treat that I had to thank you again. Be Blessed.
To my church family and co-workers, thanks for all the love and support.
To the fans, readers, bookstores, book clubs, and message boards, your support is endless and I thank you so much for the e-mails and the words of encouragement. I will forever be grateful for people like you. I encourage you to e-mail me at [email protected]. I would love to know what you think of
The Ex Factor.And to all of those who nodded their heads and understood when Lauryn Hill said, “When I try to walk away you do your best to make me stay… this is crazy…,” I wrote this novel for you.
Be blessed and enjoy!
Since arithmetic
is the Universal language
then you should understand
that one plus one
has recently begun
to equal two …And that I am no longer
diggin' being multiplied by you
simply to be equivalent
to just one …And when I told you about
the light bill
and the phone bill
and the rent that was due
you had
me
take it to the power of three …And when it seemed that the Universal language
had begun to vibe wit' you
you became a wiz at this mathematical quiz
and suggested that we remove your fraction by way
of an unnatural subtractionAnd I was feeling that
so I agreed
'cause there was no way I wanted you and me …
to equal three …And when you asked me to add
just one more chance to your simple-ass list of things to do
I explained to you that one plus one
now equaled two
and that you really needed to understand
that I had subtracted me from you
in order to get two …And I had to explain that there was no rhythmatic flow
and that you and me could never be
and to consider me to be
like one of those Colored Girls
who has had enuf of your rainbow …And to know that I will not be added to you,
or vibe'n wit' you,
'cause I'm not feel'n you
and that's why I'm speak'n to you
in this Universal language
for you to see
that the soulmatic equation
that used to be
you and me
is now a constant flow … of zero.
I'
MA SLICE HIS fuckin' throat,” Imani hissed as she watched the pregnant Shante board the prison's shuttle bus in front of her.
For two years Imani had been asking Walik if he was still fucking with Shante and he swore to her that he wasn't. He said that Shante had the type of pussy a niggah just wanted to hit it and quit it—nothing more than that. He swore on their son, Jamal, and on every block he had locked in the street that Shante was no longer a factor.
“On some real shit,” Walik constantly assured Imani, “fuck that dusty bitch. She's just a used-up jump-off! Why you even sweatin' that shit? You know she hate you 'cause she ain't you. On the real, she like a stray dog around here, any niggah that feed her can keep her!”
“Whatever.”
“Come on, Imani, I made you, why would I play you?”
“Then why is she calling me, Walik?” Imani would ask.
“I don't know, her ass is crazy.”
“Then you better handle her crazy ass.” Imani would hand him the phone. “Call and check that bitch!”
Walik would take the phone and cuss Shante out, time and time again. And that was always enough to psych Imani up as if nothing had ever happened, returning their relationship to full-pledge “wifey and my boo” mode… but not this time. Imani was convinced that forgiveness was a big piece of shit found underneath a curb your dog street sign.
Imani reached for her six-year-old son's hand as he leaned against her thigh and began to fall asleep. “And to think I spent my last dime and got my wig tightened 'cause I was comin' to visit this niggah.” Imani mumbled as low as she could, trying her best to keep her bottom lip from trembling. She wanted to cry, but instead she tucked in her bottom lip and began to rock slightly from side to side. “I ain't got on no drawls underneath this skirt and shit. My ass all hangin' out. I gave my son a double dose of nighttime Tylenol so this niggah could get some visiting-hall pussy in peace, and I won't have to stop bucking the dick to say,
Turn around, Jamal.
” She pushed her burgundy-tipped wavy micro braids behind her ears and turned to board the rickety old prison bus.
Stepping onto the platform, she took a deep breath. Already the stale air and the condemned look of the bus had started to get to her. The faded, cracked leather seats, the smells of fried chicken, baby formula, and hair products, and the rough feel of octagon-shaped wire window bars that usually left imprints on Jamal's cheeks when he pressed his face against them were enough to make her feel as if she had boarded the bus to Oz.
For a moment she thought about turning around and going home, but the more she stared at Shante, the more determined she was to see Walik's face, so she could look at him and say,
See why I ain't fuckin' wit' yo' ass?