The Girl of His Dreams (14 page)

I peep Justin comin' outta the locker room, followed by Cease 'n' Luke. Justin shoots a look at me. I can tell he's still stuck in his feelin's. I ain't gonna press up on that broad, so he needs to relax. A few secs later, the coach comes out, blowin' his whistle.

“Lopez . . . Davis . . . partner up.”

I frown. As captain of the team, I usually partner the players up. But, whatever. I know not to come at Coach's neck if I don't want the whole team to suffer for it.

Justin ain't too happy 'bout it 'n' neither am I. But it is what it is. I glance over at Cease. The mofo gotta smirk on his face so I already know what it is. I shoot him the finger, then toss Justin a chest pass. It's time to make it pop.
D-up, mofo! It's game time . . .

“U
mmm, hey, girl,” the Fiona chick says, walking up to me at my locker, “you think I can bum a ride home with you today . . . ?”
Is this chick effen serious?
“My brother usually picks me up but can't today. And none of my friends' parents allow them to have passengers in their cars. I can give you gas money, if you want.”

I look her up and down. She's all flossy-glossy in a fly sky-blue denim jumper. She has her boobs pumped up lovely, all perky and happy. The legs of her pants are tucked down into a bangin' pair of six-inch, wine-colored boots. Her Dooney & Bourke hangs in the crook of her arm. Yeah, I said this ho was messy. And I still believe it. But she stays runway ready. I immediately start taking her measurements in my head and thinking up designs for her. I do that sometimes. Imagine chicks wearing my collection.

“Yo, what's good, Fiona?” this medium-build, brown-skinned guy says to her. I've seen him in the halls, but he's one of the few who hasn't said anything extra to me. He just stares.

“Oh, hey, Benji. You know my girl Miesha, right?”

“Nah,” he says, eyeing me, “I've seen her around though.” He nods at me. “What's up?”

“Nothing much. Chillin',” I say, gathering my things from outta my locker, then shutting the door.

“I feel you.” He looks over at Fiona. “You comin' through later?”

“I don't know. I might. It all depends on what my girl here wants to get into.”

Oh, wait a minute!
My girl? Again? Really?
This broad is really reaching now.

He looks me over. “Yo, bring her, too. We can all get
into
somethin' together.”

I frown.

She waves him on. “She ain't ready for that, boo. I'll text you later.”

“Oh, a'ight. Bet.” He pulls Fiona into him, then whispers something into her ear. She giggles. He steps back, looking over at me. “I'll see you around, ma. Nice meetin' you.”

“Yeah, you too.” I wait until he walks off and is almost down the hall before I turn to her and ask, “What was that all about?”

She waves me on. “Oh, that. Psst. Girl, it's nothing. Benji stays tryna hump, girl.”

“He's another one of those boys you gotta be on watch for.” Why I even bother asking her if she messes with him—when I know she probably does or has—is beyond me, but I do, anyway. “Well, I'm not one to gossip, girl, 'cause I can't stand hoes who kiss and tell, but yeah . . . he's my BWB.”

“Your what?”

“My boo with benefits, girl.”

“Oh.” She tells me they have a special understanding. That they can chill with other people if they want as long as the other is cool with it. “Wow, so y'all don't mind sharing, huh?”

“Not at all, girl.” She runs her hand through her thick, luscious hair, walking alongside me down the hall toward the stairs. “It cuts down on all the drama. There's no cheating. No lying. I'm not jealous. He's not jealous. And we both stay very happy. Everything's right out in the open.”

She waits until we hit the bottom flight of stairs to hit me with. “Benji thinks you're hot. And so do I, girl. . . .”

I blink.
Uh, ohhhhkay . . . And?

“We wanna have a threesome with you.”

I stop in my tracks. “I don't know what kinda kinky freak games y'all got going on up at this school, but I'm not playing 'em. So you had better hop along and go find yourself another participant.”

She giggles, flipping her hair. “Oh, relax, boo. I know you're not.
Didn't
you hear me tell him that you're
not
ready for that? That's what I was talking about.”

“Well, you got that right! I'm
not
ready. Nor will I ever be.” I shoulder my book bag and head toward the doors that lead out into the parking lot. She's right behind me.

“Well, can I still get a ride . . . ?”

“Yo, Miesha,” I hear in back of me. I crane my neck to see who's calling me. It's Brent. He's in his lacrosse practice uniform. The season doesn't start until the spring, but he's in some kinda fall league. I stop and wait for him to catch up. I take in his swag. The way his uniform shirt hugs his arms and his chest and flat stomach. Whew, he has a nice, toned body. It's hard not to keep staring.

“Hey,” I say, shifting my eyes.

“Yo, wassup, Fiona?” he says, giving her a nod. She says hi to him, then tells me she'll wait for me. Brent waits for her to walk off. “Hey what are you doing later? You wanna go grab something to eat?”

I tell him I'ma need a rain check. That I have a buncha homework to do and a test to study for. I glance down at his legs, again. Oooh, I just wanna run my hands all up and down them. He has nice, brown, muscular legs. And they're kinda hairy. Hairy legs on a guy is sexy to me. It's soooo manly to me.

“Oh, a'ight. Then maybe this weekend we can do something.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I say. He asks if he can get my number. “I guess.” I reach into my bag and pull out a pen. I fish out a scrap of paper, and write my number down for him.

“Okay, cool. I'll hit you up later.” He walks off. I stare at his heart-shaped calves for a hot sec, then quickly glance around the parking lot, hoping that that Fiona chick is ghost. When I don't see her anywhere in sight, I make a sudden beeline to my car. But there she is, standing by my car, waiting with a smile on her face.

 

“Girrrrl, I see you met Brent,” Fiona says, looking over at me. “Mmmph. Girrrrrl, between me and you, he's the only one who can
get
it unwrapped. All day, okay? Ooh, I know he'll make some pretty babies with all that wavy hair and nice skin. That boy's too dang cute. And he's nice, too.” She's so busy running her trap that I don't think she even realizes that I haven't said a word since we left the parking lot.

I take my eyes off the road real quick to look over at her. “Well, it does sound like you like to have sex, a lot of it.”

She waves me on. “Girl, sex is good for the soul. And I only have sex with boys I really like. Or if I'm extra bored and don't have anything else better to do. I just like to have fun.”

“Well, there are other ways to have fun. You do know that, right?”

She shrugs. “I guess.”

“Ummm, how about taking up a hobby? Oh, wait. Sex
is
your hobby.”

Now she shoots me a look.

“Well, from what it sounds like,” I say, tryna clean it up. “I mean, look. I don't know you. But all you've talked about, since you introduced yourself, is boys or about something relating to sex. Isn't there anything
else
you like to talk about other than boys and sex?”

She frowns. “Well, no. I mean, yeah.”

“Okay, good. Like what?” I ask, not that I'm really pressed to know. But since she's all up in my space, I'm tryna get inside this chick's head to see if she's more than just a walking sex ad. Anyway, Miss Messy Hot Box tells me she loves shopping and going into the city. Okay, so we have two things in common. “Where do you get all of your pocketbooks and belts and stuff? And I know it's all real 'cause I can tell.”

She waves me on. “All of my stuff is from my older sisters. They have good jobs and can afford all this high-priced stuff, so I get all of their designer hand-me-downs.”

I make a right onto Martin Luther King Boulevard, then stop at another light. She tells me to make a left onto Bergen, then go down and make a right onto Wilkerson. I can't wait to get this broad outta my car. She's givin' me a pounding headache. She tells me her house is the brown and beige one on the left. I stop in the middle of the street. I don't even give her a chance to shut the door good before I am pulling off.
My gawd, that ho's all over the place!

By the time I shut off the engine and remove my key from the ignition, it's almost four o'clock. And school let out at 2:37
PM
. I sigh, opening the car door. I swear I don't wanna be here by myself. My mom won't be home until after seven, maybe eight, depending on what PATH train she catches. And my aunt Linda probably won't get home until about six. So I'll have the whole place to myself. Alone. I take a deep breath, letting myself into the house. I head straight for the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge, then go upstairs to my room as my cell rings. I fish it outta my bag, walking and shutting the door behind me.

“Hello?”

“Hey, wassup? It's Brent.”

“Oh, hey,” I say, dropping my book bag and purse onto my bed, then kicking off my shoes. I look around my room. The one my aunt Linda has soooo graciously given me. I know I should be thankful. And I am. But I still don't have to be happy about it. We weren't homeless. No. My mom chose to move. She chose this. And it really pisses me off. So what if I have a nice full-size bed, and my own closet, and a flat-screen TV. I had those things in Brooklyn.

“Yo, you a'ight?' he asks, sounding concerned. “You sound kinda down.”

“Yeah, I'm good,” I lie, gazing down at my water, twisting the cap back and forth, forth and back. “Just getting home, that's all.”

“Oh, a'ight. Do you want me to hit you later?”

“No, it's cool. We can talk now.” I finally unscrew the cap and put the bottle to my lips, taking a long gulp of water. It goes down cold and refreshing, quenching my thirst. But it does nothing for my screwed-up mood. I need to get outta here.

“Listen, Miesha. I, uh, dig you. I know you prolly got a lotta guys at the school checkin' for you. And you prolly already messin' wit' someone, but if you not, then I wanna spend time with you.”

I sigh. “Look, Brent. You seem like you might be a nice guy. But I'm not really interested in getting serious with anybody. I'm going back to Brooklyn the first chance I get so we should just keep things how they are.”

“Oh, a'ight. When are you goin' back?”

I close my eyes. “Soon, I hope.”

“Okay. Then for now, how about we chill? Let me get to know you. And you me.”

“It sounds good, really. But I'm not beat for any boy drama or silly games 'cause you know how you boys can be.”

He chuckles. “Correction. How
some
of us can be. I'm not any of them. All guys aren't about drama or playing games so you shouldn't categorize us all in one box.”

“Well, all the ones I know are.”

“Then maybe you should try spendin' some time with some of the good guys.”

I get up from my bed and walk over to my mirror. I stare at myself.
Girl, you too dang fly to be lookin' all pitiful. Snap outta this funk and get yo' life, boo!

“Umm, hmmm . . . maybe you're right. Maybe I
do
need to do just that. Chill with the good ones. You know any you can introduce me to?”

He laughs. “No doubt. You're talkin' to one, me.”

“Oh, is that so? That's what ya mouth says.”

He keeps laughing. “Oh, that's what it is, ma. I'm all that. Let me show you.”

Oh, I know exactly what'll snap me outta this funky mood. I know I can't drive my car into New York. And no matter how much slickness I pop to my mom, or how much she pisses me off, I don't really ever break her or my dad's rules, especially when it comes to my car. But that doesn't mean I won't break a rule or two to get to Brooklyn to see my girls. I grin. “Hey, you still wanna hang out tonight?”

“No doubt,” he says, try'n not to sound all hyped.

“Cool. And I know just the place we can go. But I gotta be home by eleven.”

“A'ight, bet. I'll have you back way before then.” He tells me he'll scoop me up at six. I give him the address, then end the call.
Oooh, I'm feeling better already!

R
eal rap, basketball is my first love. Heck, my
only
love. And I know I should be focused on perfectin' my dunks, 'n' layups, 'n' crossovers so I can get up in the NBA. And on some real ish, there really should be no time for chicks. But there always is. Even when I don't want there to be, they're in my face heavy on the regular, checkin' for a dude like me. And, yeah, some'a them broads don't even deserve to have me in their beds. I know it the minute they drop their clothes, that I ain't got no business givin' them a taste of this Lopez lovin'. But I do, anyway. And sometimes I end up kickin' myself, like I've been doin' wit' Quanda over the last few weeks. And now this . . .

“So, you wanna explain ya'self?” Pops says, eyein' me mad hard. The minute I step through the door. There's smoke comin' outta his ears, that's how heated he is right now. My stomach drops to my feet, along wit' the spinnin' ball I have up on one finger. This ain't what I expected to see—Tiffany 'n' her parents sittin' on the sofa. But here they are! And
this
is how my day ends. The minute I see their faces, I feel sick. They're starin' me down. Well, not Tiffany. She's lookin' down at her hands in her lap.

“I'm waitin',” Pops snaps. “Don't have me ask you again, boy.”

“I-I . . . uh,” I stutter, lookin' from him to trick-azz Tiffany to her suited-up pops to her Mary Kay-caked-faced moms.

“Don't stand there stutterin', boy. This girl's parents tell me you done got their daughter pregnant. Is it true?”

“No, it ain't true. Pops, you know me, dawg. I ain't go in raw, yo.”

“You a lie!” Tiffany snaps, coverin' her face in her hands. “You told me you was gonna get me pregnant. You told me you wanted me to have your baby.”

“You a damn lie,” I snap back. “I ain't never wanna have no seed wit' you, yo. Yo, Pops, this skank broad's lyin'!”

“Now hold on a minute, son,” her pops says, loosenin' the knot in his blue, pinstriped tie. He's already outta his suit jacket. His starched white shirt is buttoned up to his thick neck. “I'm not gonna let you stand there and talk disrespectful about my daughter. Now, did you and my daughter have sex?”

I nod. “Yessir. But we always used condoms.”

“That's not what I asked you, son. I asked if the two of you were having sex. Now, I want to know where the two of you were
having
it.”

“Daddy, I—”

“Not a word,” he warns Tiffany, shootin' her a dirty look. “You're in enough trouble as it is, young lady, bringing shame to our name. I'm a deacon in a church for God's sake. This is not how your mother and I raised you.” He turns his attention back to me. And Pops is shootin' me mad rocks. I can tell he's ready to bring it to my head. I ain't seen him this heated at me in a minute. The last time musta been like six years ago, when I was eleven and I took his car keys, got behind the wheel of his whip, and took it for a spin, knockin' over mailboxes and sideswipin' other whips before hoppin' a curb 'n' runnin' into someone's fence. He tried to whoop the skin off 'a me, after he made sure I was a'ight. But the look in his eyes that day had me shook, like right now. “Where were you and my daughter having
sex
?”

“Mostly at your crib, sir. In her room. Down in your basement. Out in the garage. Or sometimes, she'd sneak outta Bible study on Wednesday nights 'n' we'd do it outside in my whip. But that was only twice we did that.”

Her moms gasps, clutchin' her chest. Her pops's eyes almost pop outta his head from hearin' this. That his lil church girl is a freak. “On the church grounds?”

I nod.

“Daddy, that's not true! He's lying!”

“Girl, shut your mouth!” her pops snaps.

“Sir, I don't gotta lie. I admit I was smashin'—uh, havin' sex wit' Tiffany. But I ain't the only one. Tiffany's been mad loose for a minute.”

“Oh my god!” she shouts. “I don't believe this. Don't even try'n play me like that, boy! You was the first boy I been with.”

“Yeah, whatever, yo. I mighta been the first
that
night, but I def wasn't ya first, yo. You know it and I know it, yo. So save that BS for the next mofo.”

“You're such a dog! I
was
a virgin!”

“Yeah, in ya dreams.”

She starts cryin'. “Daddy, Mommy. . . you gotta believe me. He's lying on me!”

“I'm keepin' it a hunnid, yo. And you know it. But you sittin' here lyin' on me, like that's cool. That's some real savage ish, Tiff. You know that's not my seed, yo. But tell ya parents what you told me. How you was goin' into the bathroom pullin' the used condoms outta the trash.”

“She did what?!” her moms snaps, her face all twisted up in disgust. “Oh, no. I know my child didn't do no nastiness like that. Girl, tell me this boy is making this mess up.” Tiffany's skank-butt keeps up wit' the lies. Tells them I would put the condom on, then when she wasn't payin' attention, I'd take it off. And it just pisses me off more.

“Oh, word, Tiff? That's how you doin' it, yo? I ask, reachin' in my bag 'n' pullin' out my phone. I search through my files, then play the one I'm lookin' for. “Tell me if I'm lyin' now, yo.”

Her face cracks the minute she hears her voice.
“Yeah, and I know you was dumb enough to let me take the condoms off of you, too. And why you think I'd go straight into the bathroom? So I could handle my business. All it takes is a turkey baster, and a few drops in the right spot . . . and bam!”

Her moms gasps, again.

I stop it.

My pops is shakin' his head. He glares at me. I shift my eyes.

“Now,” I say, frownin'. “I don't gotta lie 'bout jack. And, sir, no disrespect to you or ya wife, but your daughter's a ho.”

“Now, you wait a minute, young man,” he says, standin' up. “You're way out of line.”

“No, Mr. . . .uh—” Pops snaps his finger. “Wait, what did you say you last name was again?”

“Fitzgerald.”

“Yeah, Mr. Fitzgerald. Sounds like your daughter is the one outta line here. Now, I'ma deal wit' Antonio. Best believe. But I suggest you and ya wife go on home and deal wit' your daughter. If my son says that baby ain't his, then it ain't his. But we gonna wait 'n' see for sure. If them test results come back that it's his, then he's gonna handle his responsibilities as a man.” He shoots me a look. “Isn't that right, boy?” I peep the veins in his neck thumpin'. And that only means one thing.

I'm dead, yo!

I shift from one foot to another. My palms are sweaty. I nod, hangin' my head. “Yes, sir.”

“Daddy, it is—”

He yanks her up by the arm. “I told you to shut your mouth. Now take your fresh tail on outside with your mother before I forget my religion up in here. Olivia, get this girl out of my sight before I do or say something I can't take back.” Mrs. Fitzgerald snatches Tiffany by the arm 'n' drags her outta the crib, spewin' a buncha curse words at 'er. Tiffany's pops waits for them to walk out, and shut the door behind them.

“How old are you, son?” I tell him seventeen. He asks when I'll be eighteen. I tell him in November. “Listen, son. I was your age once. And I know all about peer pressure. And I know all about raging hormones and having sex way before you're really ready, even when you think you are. I know you young kids all want to have sex and grow up fast, but all you're doing is messing your lives up. Now look.” He pauses, shakin' his head. “The damage is already done. There's nothing we can do to undo what's already done. All I'm asking is that—
if
this baby is yours—you do
right
by my daughter.”

I frown.

Pops frowns. “Now, Mr. Fitzgerald I done already told you if that baby your daughter's carryin' is his, Antonio's gonna take care of it. He's gonna be in that child's life, period.”

“I trust you'll make sure he'll do right by his baby. But, he
needs
to do right by
my
daughter.”

“Right by
your
daughter?” Pops says, tiltin' his head. “What exactly you tryna say here? I know you not suggestin' what I think . . .” He eyes him. “Are you?”

“I most certainly am. When this young man turns eighteen, I expect him to man up and marry her.”

My mouth drops open. “
Marry her
?” My knees buckle. I feel sick!

“Yes,” he says. “It's the right thing to do. She'll be seventeen by the time she has this baby. And I will sign consent for the two of them to be married.”

I can't believe this!
I swallow. “Sir, no disrespect, but I'm not about to marry that girl. I don't even like her. I'm goin' away to college.”

“
Not
if that's your baby, you won't be,” he says, raisin' a brow. “You may not
like
her. But if she was good enough to have sex with, then she's good enough for you to marry.”

“Mr. Fitzgerald,” Pops says, stormin' over to the front door 'n' swingin' it open. “It's time for you to bounce. Like I said, my son
will
handle his financial responsibilities. But he ain't about to wife no young trick.”

Mr. Fitzgerald grabs up his suit jacket. And heads toward the door. “I can't blame the boy for bein' who he is. I had hoped we could all be men about this. But I see the apple don't fall too far from the tree.”

“Yeah,” Pops snaps. “And it's fruit ya daughter kept tryna eat. Now get the hell outta my house.”

“We'll be in touch,” he says, brushin' past Pops, walkin' out. Pops slams the door behind him.

I don't get my mouth open good to say a word, to try'n cool things down, before Pops is on me, snatchin' me by the throat 'n' slammin' me up against the wall, hard. “What I tell you 'bout handlin' ya business, huh?”

I gasp. “Y-y-you s-s-said . . . don't . . . be . . . sloppy.”

He slams me into the wall again. “Then what the hell you got this lil ho comin' up in here wit' her folks for talkin' 'bout you got her knocked up, huh?” He slaps me upside the head. “And why you didn't mention this shit to me?” His face is all up in mine. His hot breath 'n' spit hits my face. I ain't ever disrespect my pops, and I ain't 'bout to start now, even though I feel like he real outta pocket for yokin' me up like this. My blood is boilin', but I know enough to keep my hands at my sides, palms open, 'cause if I close 'em into a fist, it'll be curtains . . . lights out for me. “Answer me, boy!”

“I-I-I c-c-can't . . .” I try to talk but he's really chokin' me up. And now I'm mad spooked that he might really crush my windpipe. He must see it in my eyes. Fear. He lets me go.

“Go up to ya room,” he says. “I'ma deal wit' you later.” He ain't yellin'. But I wish he was 'cause now I don't know what he's gonna do next.

“But, Pops—”

“I
said
. Go. Up. To. Ya. Room. And I'm not gonna tell you again.” He says this, lips tight. Jaws clenched. I do as I'm told, takin' the stairs two at a time. I ain't even gonna front. Pops got me shook.

 

“I'm disappointed in you, son,” Pops says, leanin' up against the doorframe. He's up in my room, holdin' a half-full beer in his hand. I'm lyin' on my back, starin' at the ceilin', listenin' to music. I sit up, grabbin' the remote to my stereo. I lower the volume. His face isn't all twisted up, like earlier. And I'm relieved, for real for real. He puts the bottle to his lips, takes a sip, then drops his hand down to his side. “You know the rules. Don't be sloppy. And you know what I expect of you. No cuttin' school or classes, no C's or D's on ya report cards, no drinkin' 'n' drivin', no lock-ups, 'n' no damn babies; period.”

I lower my head. “I know.” I look over at him. “And I'm doin' all that, Pops. Word is bond. I ain't get that lyin' trick pregnant.”

He takes a deep sigh, walkin' into my room. He takes a seat on my bed. I scoot over some. He looks at me. “I believe you. And I was dead-wrong for puttin' my hands on you like that. But how you think I felt when the doorbell rings and I open the door and this girl 'n' her folks are standin' in front of me, talkin' 'bout ‘we need to talk 'cause your son got my daughter pregnant and now doesn't want anything to do with her'? Then I find out you knew about this. How you think that made me feel?”

“I know, Pops. And I shoulda tol' you. But I ain't really think it was a big deal. I mean, I knew she was lyin', man. I didn't mean to keep it from you.”

“I know you didn't. But we're supposed to be able to talk about e'erything. We don't keep secrets from each other.”

“I wasn't tryna keep . . .”

He puts his hand up, stoppin' me. “Let me finish. The last thing I wanna hear is 'bout you havin' some young thing knocked up out there. That's not what I wanna hear, you feel me?”