The Girl of His Dreams (18 page)

“Yes, he did,” she says, all grins and giggles. Sickening.

“I'm not gonna front. I started feelin' some kinda way how they was treatin' him. What they were doin' to all those kids. What they went through was torture.”

“And still he survived,” she says. “His story is a testament to us all that no matter what you're going through, or have gone through, you can come through it. It's a horrifying first-person account of life as a child soldier, but resilience rings loud throughout the book.” She walks over to the board and starts writing as she discusses more about the book. The two of them go back and forth like they the only two in the room. Until a few other kids chime in. And that's fine by me. I glance at my watch. I have fifteen more minutes until next period, until I'm away from
him
. Sitting this close to him is making me . . . dizzy.

I take in his profile. He could definitely be a model. He catches me staring at him. He winks. I roll my eyes, shifting in my seat. He opens his notebook, tears a piece of paper out and scribbles something down. He folds it, then slides it over on my desk.

“Open it,” he whispers, nudging it closer to me. For some reason, I feel like the whole class is looking at me, like everyone was this morning when I walked into the building. Girls who never spoke to me before are all of a sudden speaking, like it's all good. Oh, no, boo-boo. Boom! Not. They get the ig button, okay. I'm not with that phony ish. Yeah, most of them heard I stomped Quanda out down at the courts, but the fact that I boldly walked up and lip-locked it up with
her
ex-boo yesterday was worthy of keeping my name coming outta their mouths.

I open the note.

I smirk, shaking my head. “I'm not,” I say, sliding the note back to him.

Mrs. Sheldon glances over her shoulder. “What was that, Miss Wilson? Since you wanna talk in my class, tell us what the army brainwashed Ishmael into thinking.”

I sigh. “That each rebel killing may avenge the murder of his family.”

“That's correct. Now talk in my class again, and you'll be serving detention.”

Antonio tries to keep from laughing. “Get away from me, boy,” I mumble under my breath.

“Nah, you started it,” he mumbles back. “Now it is what it is, yo. You stuck wit' me, baby. Now give me ya number so we can proceed.”

“I'll think about it,” I say as the bell rings. I stand up and grab my things with him hot on my heels, heading out the door.

“Yeah, a'ight. Let me give you somethin' else to think 'bout . . .” Before I know what's happening, he reaches for my hand. Then the next thing I know, his head is leaning toward mine; he's cupping my chin with his hand, and his lips . . . ohgodohgod. He kisses
me
! And, this time, it is
me
kissing
him
back. When he finally pulls his lips from mine, he steps back, grinning. I'm stunned. I blink.

“Yeah, that was nice. Now we're even.” He walks off, leaving me standing in the middle of the hallway with kids walking by staring at me all crazy, feeling like I've just been swept up in a tornado.

Oh, no. This is
not
how this game is supposed to get played.

Y
o , what the heck is wrong wit' chicks? They stay on their bullshit, yo. I mean, like what's really good with the games they stay playin'? It's been two days since I kissed Miesha in the hallway 'n' she still ain't hit me wit' them digits. And, yeah . . . a'ight, I know what her mouth says. That she only kissed me from the rip to eff with Quanda. Okay, that might be true. But she ain't 'bout to have me believin' she ain't diggin' me. Nah, I ain't buyin' it. I know she felt what I felt when we kissed,
both
times. I can't explain it. It was like a rush of heat shootin' through my body; word is bond. I ain't never feel no ish like that before. Not even when I'm gettin' it in wit' a chick. Nah, if she can make me feel like that just kissin' her, I can only imagine what it's gonna feel like when we rock them springs.

Damn. I want them lips again.

Her lips.

Booty.

Boobs.

I want all of her.

And now I wish I shared more than one class wit' her. I can't believe this chick really got me buggin' like this. I walk past her locker and slip a note inside, then head down the hall to sixth-period French, replayin' those kisses in my head over and over.

“Um, hel-
lo,
Earth to Tone!”

I shake my head and squint, bringin' Quanda into focus. She's standin' in front of me wearin' a dark pair of shades wit' a hand up on her hip, her head tilted, attitude on ten.

“I
asked
you is this how you doin' it now?”

I sigh. “What are you talkin' 'bout, yo?”

“You screwin' that
bitch
, now?”

I blink. This is the first time I've seen her since the fight down at the courts. I heard she was back in school today, but didn't see her this mornin' at her locker, or in the halls in between classes.

“Yeah, muhfuggah, I heard all about how she kissed you in the cafeteria. And I heard how
you
had your tongue all down that whore's throat the other day in the hall. I
thought
you didn't kiss. All the times I tried to kiss you and you'd turn ya head tellin' me to
get that neck
. Like really? Where they do that at? But you kissin' all up on that ho.” She bites her bottom lip. The right side of her face is still kinda puffy and her lip is still swollen.

I sigh. “Yo, on some real ish, let's not do this, a'ight? I mean, c'mon. How many times I gotta keep tellin' you it's over between us, yo? Why can't you get it through ya head. It's over.”

“Why?” she asks, poutin'. “We were so good together, Tone. We can still be if you'd just stop chasin' behind all these skeezers. You know them hoes can't handle you like I do.” I walk off, not even botherin' to waste breath. “I'm not gonna stop loving you, Antonio Lopez!” she yells down the hall at me. “And I'm
not
lettin' you go without a fight. So tell that
slut
, she'd better buckle up and get ready to knuckle up.”

All during French class, my mind is stuck on tryna figure out what class Miesha's in this period, and if she'll go to her locker afterward 'n' see the folded note I slipped through the slits for her. If she'll run into Quanda's dumb behind, and what'll pop off if she does. Fifty-seven minutes of wonderin', that's what I'll be doin' 'til the bell rings. I stare over at the door, then back toward the blackboard where Mrs. Duvet is writin' the lesson in French. I pull out my cell and text Luke. Yo wat class u hv wit' Miesha?

A few minutes later, Luke hits me back. afro history 5th period y?

I don't respond back. He askin' me why like he's her keeper or somethin'. These mofos kill me. As soon as the bell rings, I snatch up my things 'n' jet outta class.

I eye Miesha comin' down the hall wit' some mofo from the lacrosse team all up on her. “So, we still on for tomorrow night?” I overhear dude sayin' as I walk up on them at her locker. He's leanin up against the locker next to hers, wit' his arm up on her locker door all comfy while she's pullin' books outta her locker. I try 'n' keep myself in check as I approach them, but on the inside I feel like chippin' dude up, for real for real.

“Wassup?” I say.

“Yeah, we're still on,” she says, iggin' me. “What time you picking me up?” she finishes before lookin' over at me. “Oh, hey.”

“What's up?” dude says, givin' me a lopsided head nod. Yo real rap, I feel like punchin' the smirk off 'a his face. I give him a head nod back.

“You two know each other?” she asks.

“Nah, not really. I've seen him around,” dude says, eyein' me. “You on the basketball team, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Brent, this is Antonio. Antonio, Brent.”

He extends his hand. I wanna spit in it, for real for real. But I know I'm thinkin' real crazy 'cause the dude ain't never did or said nothin' sideways to me. I shake his hand.

“A'ight, so I'll talk to you tonight, cool?” dude says.

She grins. “Cool. Talk to you tonight.”

“A'ight, later,” he says and walks off.

I wait for him to be outta earshot, then say, “So, what's good? You still tryna be on ya BS, I see.”

She smirks. “What BS are you talkin' about, boy?”

“I want them digits, yo. And you still frontin' on me. But I see ol' boy got ya number. What's good wit' that?”

“What, you jealous?”

I laugh it off. “Jealous? Ha! Never that, ma.”

“Yeah, whatever.” The bell rings. “See, now you've made me late for class.”

I lean in close. “Yeah, a'ight. Tell ya teacher I held you up.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Yo, keep it a hunnid, ma. Why you stuntin' on me, huh?”

She smirks. “Boy, please. I'm not hardly stuntin' on you.”

“Oh, word? You not?” I say, kissin' her cheek.

“No, I'm not.” She looks into my eyes, then shifts her stare at somethin' or someone comin' down the hall.

“Then stop playin' games wit' me, ma.”

“Kiss me,” she says outta the blue.

“Huh?”

“I said, kiss me.”

“Give me them digits, first.” She huffs. Pulls me to her by the neck, then whispers her number in my ear. I grin. “See? Was that so . . .” Her lips are on mine again.

“Trick-ho,” Quanda snaps, walkin' up on us. I break from her kiss. Now I see why Miesha was so quick to wanna give me her number 'n' kiss me. She still tryna get at Quanda.

Quanda looks mad hurt. But that's not my problem. It's over. “You might
think
you got him for today, but trust. Tone knows”—she pats her crotch—“where his home is. So enjoy him while you can 'cause he'll be back.”

Miesha laughs, shuttin' her locker. “Sweetie, boom! If you know like I do, you'll keep walking before you hit the floor again.”

“Oh, I'ma keep walkin', ho. But I ain't hittin' no floor this time. So you better watch ya back, slut!”

Miesha waves at her. “Bye, hater.”

I sigh, hopin' like hell these two don't start brawlin'. I ain't beat to be gettin' all up in the middle of a cat fight. “Yo, c'mon,” I say, grabbin' Miesha by the arm. “She ain't worth it, yo.”

“Well, you're worth it, Tone!” Quanda snaps, pointin' a finger at me. “But since you wanna take up for this stuck-up ho, you might as well watch ya back, too.” I ig her. She's not even 'bout to drag me into her nuttiness. Quanda already knows I ain't no punk, so all that yip-yap she poppin' don't mean ish to me.

Miesha keeps laughin' at her. I shake my head.
This chick hella fine, but damn she's a real problem.
I recite her number in my head over 'n' over 'til I have it memorized. I pull out my phone, decidin' to put her digits in my contacts just in case I forget them. Yeah, I'ma most def hit her up, but not today. At least that is the plan.
Yeah, I'ma make her wait for me, even if it kills me.

G
rabbing my iPhone from off the nightstand, I look at the screen. No calls. Why hasn't
he
called, yet?
I gave that boy my number like five hours ago. Mmmph.
He probably forgot it as soon as I whispered it into his ear. Boys! I shoulda never given it to him!

I click onto the last episode of
Project Runway
then pull out my sketchbook, grab four colored pencils, and start sketching a design that I've had on the brain for a few days. It's a sheer, ankle-length dress with a thigh-high split on the right side. Yeah, it's probably a little too grown, but it's sexy. I have mad sketches of all types of dresses and gowns that I hope to one day design. I remind myself to ask Daddy to buy me a sewing machine for Christmas. I'm gonna need to step up my game and learn how to make my own patterns and sew my own garments if I really wanna make it in the fashion industry. All I think about is getting into Parsons, and one day studying or interning in Milan.

I continue sketching my design. When I am done, thirty minutes later, it is a flowy, asymmetrical gown with a plunging neckline and low back. I smile. There's a knock on my door.

“Come in,” I say, closing my book. It's my aunt Linda.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, walking into my room. “I fixed dinner. Are you hungry?”

“Hey,” I say back. “A little. Is my mom here yet?” She tells me no. I glance over at the clock. It's almost eight o'-clock at night.
Mmmph. She coulda at least sent me a text or called to let me know whether or not she was working late.
I ask her what she cooked. She tells me baked tilapia, broccoli, and wild rice.
Oh, no thanks!

“Sounds good,” I lie. “I'll be out in a sec to eat.”

She smiles, walking out. “Okay. Take your time. You want your door closed?”

“That's okay. You can leave it open.” I stop her before she leaves. “Um, Aunt Linda, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, sweetheart. What is it?”

“How did you know you loved Uncle Frankie?”

She smiles. “When all I could do is think about him and smile. When I couldn't imagine ever being with someone else. That's when I knew.” Her face seems to light up talking about it.

“Do you still feel that way about him now? I mean after everything y'all have been through, like do you have any regrets?”

“No, I don't. I loved your uncle. And no matter what has happened between us over the years, I still do.” Oh my god, she sounds so much like my mom. I swear if I closed my eyes right now, I'd think it was her standing here instead of my aunt. She eyes me. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

She wants to know if I'm dating someone. I shake my head.

“No. Not since we've moved out here.”

“Well, is there anyone from your school you like?”

I shrug. “Not really. I mean, there are a few guys there that are tryna talk to me, but I don't really like them like that. They seem nice as friends.”

“Have you told them that?”

“Well, no. Not really.”

“Maybe you should let them know how you feel before they get too wrapped up into you.”

“I guess. It's not like I'm leading them on or anything. They know I'm not looking for anything serious. I just want to hang out. You know, have some fun.”

She gives me a thoughtful look. “I know. Just make sure you're very clear on what your intentions are. Don't mislead anyone. That's never a nice feeling. I'll let you get back to what you were doing. Don't forget to come get something to eat.”

“Thanks, Aunt Linda. I won't.” I wait for her to walk out, then snatch up my phone. “Where are you?” I ask as soon as my mom answers.

“I'm still in the city,” she says, sounding all giddy and free. I hear noise in the background, like a buncha chatter and music.

I frown. “Are you still at work?”

“No. I'm out having dinner with your father.”

She's out having dinner and laughs with Daddy and I'm stuck here. Now I'm pissed. She gets to spend as much time as she wants with him. But she wants to limit when I can spend time with him. Until my birthday in January. I'm sooo outta here. “So, are you coming back here tonight?” She tells me no. Tells me she's staying in the city 'cause she has an early training. But I know she's lying. Always know when she's lying.

“Oh my god. You're such a liar.”

“Miesha, don't you call me a liar, girl.”

“Well, you are. You're out having dinner with Daddy. We both know you plan on going back to Brooklyn with him, so just say it. Stop acting like I'm some dumb little girl who doesn't know what time it is. I know you and Daddy are still sleeping together. And, before you go saying that's none of my business, I'll say it for you. I know it's none of my business. Still, you coulda at least sent a text saying you weren't coming here. Geesh.”

“Miesha, I'm not doing this with you tonight. Yes, I should have let you know that I'm not coming home. I apologize. It wasn't my intention to not come home. But then your father called and asked me to meet him for dinner. By the way, he says hi. . . .”

“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes up in my head. “Look, since you're not gonna be home tonight, I'm going out. And I'm not coming home, either.”

“Miesha, don't start. You had better be home by your curfew or—”

“Or what?” I snap. “You're gonna beat me? Hahaha. Picture that. Oh, wait. Threaten to take my car away. Whatever. Do what you gotta do. I'm outta here.” I disconnect, tossing my phone over onto the bed. What really has me heated is the fact that I could
still
be in Brooklyn. She did all this moving and snatching me away from my life for what? So she can go out on dinner dates and sneak over afterward to sleep with Daddy? That makes no sense to me.
I gotta get outta here
. I reach for my phone.

“Hey. It's me,” I say the minute Brent answers. “You busy?”

“Nah, just kicked back chillin'. Wassup?”

“I'm bored. Come get me.”

“What time you gotta be back?”

I glance over at the clock. It's a quarter to nine. “Whenever I want.”

“Bet. Let me throw on some clothes. I'll be there in thirty.”

“See you when you get here.” I disconnect the call, then head out into the kitchen to pick over the food aunt Linda cooked, then hop in the shower. My mom is busy living her life. Now it's time I start living mine!

 

By the time I get to school, I make it to homeroom less than a minute before the bell rings. I didn't get home until almost four in the morning. Purposefully. Aunt Linda was still in bed, but I'm sure she heard the alarm chirp when I walked in. I wanted her to. I want her to tell my mom exactly what time I got home. As far as I'm concerned, it isn't my aunt's job to watch me—not that I need watching. But still. . . she shouldn't have to be the one worrying about what I'm doing. My mom should! Anyway, I let Brent drive me into Brooklyn and we hung out over at Tre's house until like eleven-thirty. We woulda stayed out longer, but her mom started beastin' about her having company over so late on a school night so we bounced and went to Junior's to get something to eat since they don't close until midnight. After that, we just drove around Brooklyn, then over into Manhattan, then zipped back over across the water.

I can't even lie. Brent is a really nice guy in a nerdy kinda way. He's real smart, funny, and very thoughtful. I had to remind him that I only want to be friends. He says he's cool with that. But then he leaned over and kissed me. And, yes, I let him. It was okay, I guess. I mean he has nice lips. And they were soft. But, I didn't feel anything afterward. Not like I did with. . . ooh, there he goes now coming down the hall.

“Hey, what's up, Miesha?” this guy from my chemistry class says, walking by my locker. He sits a few seats over from me in class and every so often I catch him looking over at me.
Ooh good, just the distraction I need.

“Hey,” I say back. “You ready for that chemistry test next week?”

He stops, shifting his stack of books from one arm to the other, then smiles. “Nah, not yet. But I will be. What about you?”

“Ugh. I wish.”

“Well, if you'd like, we could study together.”

I smile all wide and extra. “Ohhh, for real? I'd love that.”

He grins. “Cool. Do you want my number?”

Oh my god, boy, boom! He's all thirsty for my attention.
“No. I don't need your number.” He looks at me all pitiful and whatnot, like his puppy done pissed in his cereal. Geesh.

He places his hand up over his heart. “Dang, you just shot my dreams down. Can't knock a guy for trying. But I was definitely kinda hoping you would have said yes.”

I eye Antonio as I'm standing here with this buster. He's all tore up in his plaid shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck. He's wearing a pair of jeans with. . . oh my god,
creases!
Creases?! Where they do that? That's soooo late and wrong. He has on a pair of Crocs. What Black boy you know wearing
Crocs
?

I start cracking up.