The Girl of His Dreams (15 page)

I nod. “I got you, Pops.”

“Now you see what I been tellin' you all these years 'bout how grimy broads are, don't you? I tol' you they can't be trusted. Didn't I tell you that?” I nod. “See. That's why you gotta always be three steps ahead of 'em. I tol' you, play smart. Be smart. You don't ever let a broad catch you slippin'. They'll screw you over e'ery time.”

“Yeah, tell me 'bout it.”

“And let this be a lesson to you. You don't ever toss ya condoms in the trash when you done spankin' it up. And you don't ever trust some hungry lil ho to handle it for ya. Those are ya lil soldiers stuck down in that wrapper. You take off ya own condom, then get up 'n' handle ya own business. You drop it in the toilet, flush, 'n' stand there 'n' wait 'til you see it go down. And if the lil broad want another round, you strap up again 'n' handle ya business. You hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, noddin', takin' it all in. “I got you, Pops.”

He sighs, then takes another sip of his beer before handin' it to me. I tell 'im I'm good. Any other time, I woulda taken it 'n' tossed it back wit' 'im. But, I don't know, right now, it don't feel right, drinkin' wit' my Pops. I don't know why, though. Real rap. I def could use a drink, for real for real. Seein' that grimy broad Tiffany posted up in here wit' her parents really got me on edge, yo. Then her pops talkin' 'bout some marriage if she is carryin' my seed. Eff outta here wit' that dumbness! He done banged his dome talkin' that ying-yang.

Pops apologizes again for flippin' on me. I tell him it's all good. “All I want is for you to graduate high school wit' out becomin' another statistic.”

“I don't wanna be a statistic either, Pops. I'm not tryna get locked up, or be a teen dad.”

“Good. All I want is the best for you, son; that's it. Understand?”

I nod. “I know, Pops. And I 'preciate e'erything you do.” He balls his fist, holds it out to me. “We cool?”

I nod, givin' him a pound. “No doubt.”

He smiles at me, gettin' up from the bed. “That's what I wanna hear. Listen, son . . .” He pauses. Runs his hand over his face. “I don't tell you this much. But so far you've done me real proud. You gotta good head on ya shoulders. I don't wanna see you get all twisted up in the game. Play or get played. You know how we do.”

Now it's my turn to smile. “I got you, Pops. Playa for life, man. You already know.”

“U
nh-uh, Miss Honey-Boo,” Mariah says, walking into my bedroom. I'm lying across my bed listening to Elle Varner's CD and reading over my notes for my English test. It's a sunny Saturday afternoon and I'm holed up here. Yippee. I couldn't go to Brooklyn this weekend 'cause my dad had to fly out to California to check on my granny. And my mom wouldn't let me stay at Tre's. She feels her mother lets her have too much freedom, and that there's not enough parental supervision going on. Oh, puhleeeze! She thinks I'ma get in a buncha trouble hanging out over there. Like, really? Whatever. Anyway, two days ago I spoke with my dad about living with him instead of here and he said he would talk to my mom about it. Well... surprise, surprise. I can't! She told him we're a package deal and if she's not going to live with him, neither am I. Are you serious? Who does that? When I heard she told him that mess I almost took it to her throat.

“And
why
would you tell him some dumb mess like that?!” I snapped, shooting her daggers. “I wanna go
home.
”

“
This
is your home. And this is where you're gonna stay. With me. So you might as well get over it now and get used to it.”

“
No
, this is not my home. And this is
not
where I wanna be. And I will
never
get used to being here. If you wanna stay here, then stay. But let me go back to Brooklyn. Let me live with Daddy.
That's
where I wanna be.”

She huffed. “Absolutely not! You're my child and—”

“I'm
his
too,” I said, cutting her off. “And I'm old enough to decide where I wanna live and who I wanna live with. And if I have to start running away for you to get it, then I will.”

“And where
exactly
do you think you're gonna run to, huh? Your father's? Your little girlfriends'? Please. You know all your father's going to do is send you right back here with me. And them little friends of yours' parents are not going to want any parts of harboring a minor, a runaway at that. So don't you dare try'n blackmail me with that mess, girl.”

She was right. Daddy might let me stay for a few nights; then again... if it was a school night, he'd drive me right back. And Tre's mom . . . mmmph, she isn't really even beat to have Tre in the house, let alone letting me stay there for any extended period of time. And as far as Stacy and Jalanda, well .. . those are my girls and all, but staying with them is definitely outta the question. Stacy's mom is mad cool. . . when she's sober, that is. But once she gets liquored, all hell breaks loose and she turns into a drunken beast. And Jalanda's mom keeps a real nasty spot. Dishes stay piled up in the sink, dirty clothes are all over the place, and they act like they allergic to taking the trash out. So, no thanks, boo-boo. Staying there is a definite no-no. I don't do filth.

“I'm not tryna blackmail you,” I told her, tryna convince her to let me move back home with my dad. But she wasn't tryna cooperate. “It's my life! And I should be allowed to do what I want with it. What gives you the right to think you can control it, or me?”

“You listen here, little girl. I gave birth to you. And I am responsible for you. So until you turn eighteen, you will do as
I
say. And this is where you're going to stay, whether you like it or not—end of discussion!”

Whatever! I'll be eighteen in three months, then I'm outta here. And there's nothing she'll be able to do or say to stop me. I made sure I told her that, too.

“And if that's what you still want to do when that day comes, then I'll be glad to help you pack.”

Soooooooo, needless to stay, I'm marking the days on the calendar while I do my bid here in Jersey. Stuck and disgusted!

“C'mon, hooker,” Mariah says, snapping me outta my thoughts. She claps her hands. “Chop, chop! Let's get it crackin', boo.”

I roll my eyes in up in my head, glancing up from my notebook. “Excuse you?”

“
Whoop-whoop!
Wrong answer,” she says, strutting across the room wearing a sexy pair of ripped-up faded jeans cuffed with a matching jacket over a red cami and a pair of black pointy-toed ankle boots. “There's no excuse, hun. It's time we get out and breathe in some fresh air. It's nice out. And you need a man in ya life, boo. And today is the day to make it pop. I know just the place for you to bag one.”

I laugh getting up. “Girl, you stooopid. Let me find something to wear, then hop in the shower.”

She grunts. “And don't even think I forgot to ask how your lil date with that lil chocolate hunk on the lacrosse team went. I was waiting to see how long it would take before you told me. But as usual, you fail miserably. You stay withholding juicy details.”

I wave her on, standing in front of my packed-tight closet overflowing with a buncha clothes—some still with tags on them, mad boxes of shoes, and handbags. “Puhleeze. There's nothing to tell. And it wasn't a date. We went to Brooklyn for a while, then got something to eat in the city. Brent's a nice guy, but not my type. So that's about as juicy as it gets.”

“Oh, well. So much for a love connection,” she says.

“Exactly. Now where are we going? I need to know how to dress.”

“Cute. That's all you need to know. Dress real cute.”

I step outta my jeans. I scoop them up, and toss them into the hamper. Since it's still kinda warm out, I decide I'ma rock a faded, short jean skirt, a cute lil black stretch top with the words
TEMPT ME
scrawled across the front in red glitter.

Mariah screeches, causing me to look over at her. “What?”

“Oh my god! You are so wrong for”—she points at my pink granny panties—“havin' that big, bouncy booty of yours stuffed in them big, ole nasty drawers. Please tell me you do not wear them ugly things to school. It's no wonder you're man-less.” I crack up laughing, giving her the middle finger and telling her to kiss my big, ole bouncy behind. She shakes her head at me. “Girl, if you wore some sexy drawers, you might have you a man kissing
it
for you.”

She rummages through my underwear drawer, pulling out a red thong and matching bra, then tossing it over on the bed. “Wear this.”

“Yes, mother,” I say, sarcastically walking off to take my shower. Twenty minutes later, I step back into my room with a big, fluffy towel wrapped around me. Mariah has her butt perched up on top of my dresser, flipping through a Ni-Ni Simone book. She grunts and hisses every so often as she thumbs through it.

“What in the world? Why you making all those crazy-azz sounds?”

“ 'Cause this chick is a trip. Oh my god, what the hell is an Uncle Shake?” She tosses the book over to the side. “I can't.”

“Well, I like her books. They're entertaining and have some real-life lessons in them.”

“Whatever.” She huffs, glancing at the time. “Umm, will you hurry up, please? I wanna get to the courts before all the birds start flockin' in.” I slip into my wears, then slide my feet into a sexy pair of red heels.

I twirl in front of my mirror. “
Boom
, boo,
boom!
Oooh, I'd be scared of all this fierceness if I wasn't me.” I shake my hair out, run my hands through it, and let it hang off my shoulders, wild and carefree . . . like how I wanna be.

“You doin' it, boo,” Mariah says, hopping off the dresser and snapping her fingers. “Now let's do this out the door. Please, and thank you!”

“Okay, okay. One sec,” I say as I glide a coat of lip gloss over my lips. I grab my purse, stuff my lip gloss, keys, cell, and ink pen inside, and slip my shades on. “Let's roll, boo.” We head for the door. “Umm, you're driving.”

“Of course I am.” She disarms the alarm. “Now get in.”

 

O-M-G! Lincoln Park is hot and poppin'! And I can feel myself getting caught up in its heat. There's mad heads out, flossing it up in their wears. And the cluckers are out in full force, shaking their tail feathers every which way, tryna snag the attention of a cutie or buffed boo. I can't even front. My cutie meter is on high. The energy and excitement is enough to get me outta my funk—for the moment, anyway. Me and Mariah strut through the crowd snapping mad necks. All kinda cuties keep tryna check for us.

“Yo, ma, what's goodie?”

“Damn, let me get them digits, yo . . .”

“Yo, Mariah, who's shorty you wit'? Let me holla at 'er . . .”

“Yo, let me bounce up on them cakes you shakin' . . .”

Mariah waves 'em on, though. “Girl, these fools extra thirsty out here. But they lucky I'm taken 'cause I'd be out here quenching their thirsts.” A group of chicks grill us, rolling their eyes as we strut our sexiness. “Bonita, girl,” Mariah says, stopping in front of one of the chicks. She's a cute brown-skinned girl with long, thick lashes. “I know you not even tryna serve up the stank ‘cause you out here with your girls, ho. You know I will do you, girl.”

“Oh my god, Mariaaaaaah?!” she yells, running up and giving her a hug. “Girl, I ain't seen you in like forever. Where you been, boo?”

“Off these streets, hun. You know how I do. Anyway, I peeped how you and ya girls were grillin' my cuz. Not cute, boo. Not cute at all. She's my baby cousin.”

I eye the chick, then cut my eyes over at her crew. They're all cute chicks, but they still ain't bringing it like me. But whatever...

“Ooh, girl,” she says, glancing over at me. “We ain't know. It's all love, though. You know how I do it, boo.”

“Uh-huh. I sure do. And you make sure you and ya girls get a good look at”—she pulls me into her, draping her arm around me—“this pretty face. Anyone out here effs with her, they gonna catch it from me. And you
know
how I do. So, keep it cute, boo. And bring it to someone else.” Mariah tilts her head. She straight punks this chick.

The chick chuckles. “Girl, you still crazy. I miss seein' you around the way, boo.” She looks over at me again. Tells me her name is Adrina. Then introduces her crew. I give 'em all phony smiles and half-waves 'cause I already know what it is. These broads would try to bring it to me if they could. Hatin'-azz tricks. I kinda laugh to myself.

“We need to chill, girl. Smoke a blunt and get drunk like old times,” Adrina says.

Mariah tells her she'll hit her up, then steps. We make our way through the crowd over to the bleachers, then take a seat three rows up.

“Girl, will you look at them hard-body boos,” Mariah says, fanning herself. “Whew, lawd have mercy. I feel hot all over. I think I need a doctor. Makes no sense.”

“What? A doctor? What's wrong with you?”

She rolls her eyes, pointing toward the court. “Girl, you sure know how to screw up a wet dream. I was talking about all of that fineness out there on the court.”

I give her the finger. “Oh, hush. How I know that's what you meant?”

“Pay attention and follow the yellow brick road, boo. Now look on the court.”

I laugh. “Whatever, tramp.” I take in the two teams on the court. One team is rocking wife beaters. The other players are all bare-chested and sweaty. I blink.
Oh my god, they go to my school.
I peep Justin as he calls a time out. I gotta admit, he's a cutie-pie. I watch as the team swaggers over toward the sidelines, huddling up. Their shorts hang low, showing off their different color boxers. And, yes, oh yes . . . they are all looking finger-lickin' good! But of course the one who stands out the most is the one and only, drum roll puuuuhleeze . . . Antonio Lopez. Of course I keep my thoughts to myself. Not. A. Word!

Mariah leans into me, then whispers, “Soooo, has Tone tried to holla at you, yet?”

“Who?” I ask, feigning stupid.

She rolls her eyes. “Tone, girl.”

I frown, leaning away from her. “
Ewwww...no
thank you! I mean, yeah, he's tried to speak, but nothing major. I pays him dust.”

She twists her lips. “Uh-huh. You think he's cute, don't you?”

I shrug. But I don't stop looking at him. As Antonio dribbles the ball down the court, he takes it up in the air.
Swish!
The ball goes in, smooth. Just like him. Ugh! “He's okay. I guess.”

She playfully pushes me. “Mmmhmm. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You
guess?
Ha! You stay stylin', boo. You know that ninja's more than just some
okay
. But whatever. Trust. If I wasn't in love and didn't believe in monogamy, Tone could get it. Mmmph. They all could.”

I laugh. “That's 'cause you're a ho on the low.”

She laughs with me. “You already know.” She stops laughing. “Great,” she hisses, elbowing me. “Here comes this dirty
beeeyotch
!”

Quanda!
Oh lawd! Why this ghetto trick gotta show up here?
I think, eyeing her as she shakes her hips all fast, hard and nasty over toward the bleachers. I narrow my eyes. Open and close my fists. And outta all the places to sit out here, this messy broad just has to squeeze her stank butt in a space next to these dudes two rows down. Dead-smack in front'a me. She glances over her shoulder, cutting her eye at me. The heifer just wants to make sure I see her.
Oh, I see you, boo; trust.

“I can't stand that ratchet
beeeeoytch
. . .”

“Girl, ignore her dumb azz. We here to chill and have a good time. Unless her sister's out here with her, she doesn't want it. Trust. That ho's all talk. Is she still poppin' her gums at you in school?”