The Girl of His Dreams (20 page)

“Yeah, I guess I shoulda,” I say. “Maybe next time.” I hit 'er wit' some lame excuse—a'ight, lie—'bout not callin' 'er 'cause I lost all'a my contacts in my phone, and shift my attention to Luke. She plops back into the pillow. “Yo, man, you need to let me know what you tryna do, yo. You goin' to school or what?”

“Nah, man. My stomach's all effed up.”

“That's what you get effen wit' that White Castle, mofo. I tol' you before that ain't real meat they servin'.”

He laughs. “Yeah, whatever. But, nah, that ain't got my stomach all jacked. It's that One-Fifty-One, yo. We was takin' it to the head, no chaser. Got my stomach on fire.” He swings open his bedroom door, and rushes out into the hall into the bathroom. I follow out behind him. He's down on his knees, clutchin' the toilet, tossin' up his guts.

I shake my head. “Yo, on some real ish. You effen up, fam. On a school night, yo? I mean, you really couldn't wait to go in hard 'til the weekend?”

He coughs 'n' gags, heavin'. “Yo, not right now, son. My head's spinnin', yo.”

I stare at his back. He has scratches all down his spine from bein' clawed up from one'a them broads stretched out in his room. “Yo, I'm out. You can eff around if you want. But I gotta get to school.”

Deuces!
I spin off. Head down the stairs and out the door to my car. I back out just as Luke's moms is pullin' in.
Oh snap! It's 'bout to be on 'n' poppin' now. His moms is gonna flip her wig when she walks up in there.
She waves at me, gettin' outta her car. Damn! I stop, rollin' my window down.

“Hey, Mrs. Emmerson. How was your trip?”

“Hey, Antonio. The trip was good, thanks. I decided to get back a few days early.”
And you're in for a real surprise.
“How's your father doing?”

“He's good.”

“Good. Tell him I asked about him.”

“Okay, I will.” I reach for my phone 'n' try'n text Luke on the low to give him a heads up. Yo mofo ya moms is outside

“You here to pick up Luke?”

911 nucca ya moms outside

“Uh, yeah. But, uh, he didn't answer the door.” I don't know what else to tell her. It's true. He didn't. I don't even know why I'm textin' him. It's not like he can swoop through the crib 'n' clean up 'n' get all them heads outta there before his moms hits the door. So, he's gonna hafta wear this one.

She glances at her watch. “Ummph. I hope that boy isn't still up there in bed. You boys weren't hanging out last night, were you?”

“Uh, nah, I was home last night.”

She smiles. “Well, let me get in here and see about this child of mine. You'd better get going before you're late for school. Drive safe.”

“I will. Thanks.” She waves, and I wave back, backin' out, glad I ain't the one getting' caught up wit' a buncha nude chicks 'n' hungover dudes stretched out all over the place.
It's a wrap. Luke's dead!

“O
oh, girl, them jeans are so cute,” Fiona says walking up to me at my locker. She pats my butt. “And your booty looks so big 'n' juicy in them.”

I snap my neck in her direction. Narrow my eyes. “Girl, you must want your jaw cracked. I don't know what kinda tricks you into, but I don't play those kinda games. Now touch me like that again, and see what I do to you.”

She giggles. “Girl, please,” she says, dismissin' me. “I like what I like.”

“Well, I don't
like
being touched, especially by a chick.” I slam my locker shut. “Do it again, and I'ma break your arm.”

She laughs. “Girl, ooh, I love it rough. But, relax. I'm not into girls like that.”

Ugh! This chick is so annoying.
“Fiona, what can I do for you?”

“What's up with you and Tone? Seems like there's something brewing between the two of you.”

I cut my eyes at her. I don't trust a chick who stays tryna grin up in my face. “I'm just having fun,” I tell her.

“I heard that. And you're having fun with the right ones, too. Brent, Trevin, and Tone. Oooh, all the hot jocks at the school. Mmph, you know how to pick 'em, boo. Wait, what happened with Tone's boy, Justin?” She pulls her hair behind her right ear. I catch the sparkle of a diamond stud.

“What about him? I wasn't messing with him, if
that's
what you're getting at. Matter of fact, I'm not
messing
with any of those boys.”

“Girl, no judgment here. Do you. 'Cause I know I do me. But, annnnyway, back to you and Mr. Fine-Fine-Fine. Girl, Tone is a catch. Good luck with snagging that one.” She looks over her shoulder. “I'm not one to gossip, but, girl, whatever you do, be careful.”

I frown. “Be careful? Of what?”

“Well, you didn't hear this from me. But Tone doesn't care about no one but himself. All he's gonna do is use you up, then dismiss you when he's gotten all he can, or when the next hot chick comes along.”

“Mmmph, that sounds personal. Trust me, hun. I don't have that worry. Can't no boy use what I don't give him. So it is what it is. Now tell me this, since you handing out advice tips, have you slept with him?”

“Have I slept with who? Tone?” We round the corner and there's Quanda and that big linebacker girl, Sam the Man. “Mmmph, here goes trouble. Girl, whatever you do, just ignore those two. They're gonna talk slick to get you to go back at them so they can jump you.”

I laugh. “Oh, trust, I stay ready.”

We walk by Quanda and Sam the Man. They eye us. “I should punch her in the back of the head,” I hear Quanda say.

I look over at her and laugh. “And get ya face dropped, okay. Just because you gotcha bodyguard with you, don't think that'll save you from another beatdown, ho.”

She starts getting all loud and extra with it, drawing a buncha unnecessary attention. Sam the Man says something slick, but I'm not really checking for her, so I'm not hearing jack she's saying. The only one I want is Quanda. Fiona tells Sam to mind her business. I'm surprised when big girl doesn't jump bad with her.

“You got lucky that day, trick,” Quanda says. “But trust. There won't be a second time. You better watch ya face.”

I'm not even about to go with the back and forth. I drop my book bag and get ready to charge her when someone snatches me from behind. It's Antonio.

“Get your hands offa me,” I snap. “This dirty roach wanna stay popping her gums, so let me stomp her out.”

“Nah, yo. You ain't fightin' her.” He starts pulling me away. “Quanda, you crazy, yo. You need to chill for real. She done beat you down once already. What more is it gonna take?”

“I told you, Tone. If I can't have you, I'ma make it hell for anyone else to have you.”

“Well, guess what, ho?” I snap without thinking. “I got him. I'm everything you'll never be. And now I got the one thing you'll never get back. Your man! Boom! Come see me, boo.” Her face is cracked. She tries to run at me, but two security guards snatch her up. They drag her down to the vice principal's office.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen, get to class. The show's over,” one of the teachers says, telling everyone to clear the halls. He looks over at Antonio. “Mr. Lopez, please tell me you're not the cause of this commotion.”

“Nah, not at all,” he says, flashing the teacher a smile. “You know I'm all about world peace, Mr. D.”

“Good. And I expect that you will come in peace and ace your Economics test third period.”

“I got you, Mr. Dangerfield.”

Fiona walks over with my book bag. “Girrrrl, I thought I was gonna hafta peel back these press-ons and punch a ho up.”

“Thanks for having my back,” I say, taking my bag from her.

“Girl, please. It's what I do. Ain't that right, Tone?”

He laughs. “No doubt, baby.” I shoot him a look.
How he gonna call this chick baby right here in front of me when he claims he's tryna get with me?
He winks at me. I roll my eyes.

“I don't know about y'all two lovebirds. And don't even act like y'all don't have
something
going on,” she says, walking off. “But I'm going to hang out in metal shop with my boo Mr. Lester until the next period bell rings.” I tell her I'll meet up with her later. Okay,
maaaaybe
, I might be wrong about her. Well, not about her being sluttish. But, about her not being someone I can hang out with. Maybe she's not just a pretty face after all.

“Yo, you know we mad late for homeroom,” Antonio says, leading me by the arm down the hall, “so we might as well skip it and just wait for next period. The bell should be ringing in another”—he looks at his watch—“ten minutes. Let's go down to the library. I can get Mrs. Barney to hook us up with a pass.”

I smirk. “Oh, really? So you just got all kinda hookups, huh?”

He grins. “Nah, not really. The only hookup I'm tryna get is wit' you.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

He waits until we get through the doors and down the first flight of stairs before he has me up against the wall, kissing me again. Ohgodohgodohgod. I can't do this with him. But his lips, his tongue. Everything in my body is on fire. I push him back.

“Boy, are you crazy? Tryna attack me in the stairwell like that.”

He laughs. “Ain't nobody attack nothin', yo. Now tell me you didn't feel what I felt. That heat.”

“I don't know what you're talking about, boy.”

“Yeah, a'ight. So, what's up wit' you tellin' Quanda you got me, that I'm yours?”

“I just told her that to piss her off. I don't know what you did to that chick, but she's a real nut over you.”

He sighs, opening the door for me when we finally get down to the first floor. “Yo, I don't know what she is. All I know is,
I'm
over her. I got my eye on someone else.”

Before we even make it to the library, the second-period bell rings and kids start pouring outta classrooms into the halls.

I smirk. “Oh, really? And who might that be?”

“I'll tell you. . . .”

“What's up, Tone? What it do, baby?” this extra-tall boy says, giving him dap. “You ready for practice today? Ya jump shot was kinda whack yesterday.”

“Yeah, whatever, man,” Tone says, laughing. “Get ya footwork up first, son. You know I'm big daddy out on that court, yo.”

He walks off.

“Now back to . . .”

Another interruption.

“Heyyyy
, Tone,” a voice calls out in back of me. I swivel my neck around to see who it is, then turn back to eye him. It's a dark-chocolate chick rocking orange leggings and a brown blouse that hangs off her smooth shoulders.

“Yo, what's up, Peaches?” he says, looking over my head to greet her.

I can tell just by the sound of her voice that she's all grins and giggles. “You, boo,” she says, brushing past me. I let it slide. Hatin'-azz tricks 'n' hoes will always see me as a threat. Antonio peeps what she does and drapes his arm around me.

“Yo, you know my
girl?
”

I blink. His girl?

“Your girl?” the hatin' trick says.

Now I look at her. “
Yeah
, his girl.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” she says, fronting like she didn't know who I was from the dip. “You're that girl who beat up Quanda down at the park.” She laughs. “Good for messy azz.” She says something else to Antonio, then walks off.

“Oh, so you my girl now,” he says, grinning as he holds the door back open so we can go back up the four flights of stairs.

“Well, obviously that's what
you
think. And stop looking at my butt.”

He laughs. A group of dudes come running down the stairs. He pulls me into him. “Yo, what's goodie, Tone?” one of the boys says, eyeing me. “We still hittin' the gym this weekend?”

“No doubt. I'ma hit you later.”

“A'ight, bet.”

This goes on all the way up to the fourth floor, one interruption after another. Seems like everyone knows this boy. Teachers stay speaking and smiling at him. Chicks stay waving and grinning. Dudes stay dapping him up. He waits until we turn the down the west wing hall toward English, then says, “So you mine, right?”

I laugh in his face. “Boy, boom. I'm just tryna piss off your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, whatever, yo. That's not my girl.”

“And neither am I,” I say, walking into the room with him right on my heels, just as the bell rings.

“Oh, Miss Wilson, Mr. Lopez,” Mrs. Sheldon says, eyeing us both, “isn't this special. So glad the two of you could make it on time.”

I roll my eyes, taking my seat.
Old ratchet heifer!

“Y
o, Pops,” I say, walkin' into the livin' room. He hasn't been home in almost four days, and I'm glad to see him. He's kicked back drinkin' a Heineken, watchin'
NCIS
. “Can I holla at you for a minute, man?”

He reaches for the remote and lowers the volume on the flat screen. “Yeah, wassup?”

I take a deep breath, tryna steady my nerves. Pops 'n' I talk 'bout mad things, but there's always been one topic that never comes up. That whole thing 'bout love. I mean, like, does it really exist? I know it does 'cause I got mad love for my pops. But can a guy really love a girl? I ain't never been in love, or felt anything other than horny when I'm wit' a chick—or thinkin' 'bout her. But that's not what it is wit' Miesha. She's different, yo. And I'm not sure how or why. All I know is, I'm feelin' some kinda way and it's makin' me crazy. She's makin' me crazy.

I slip my hands into the waistband of my sweats. All of sudden I'm feelin' mad nervous wit' him starin' at me. “What's on ya mind?”

I shrug. “Nah, it's nothin', man. Forget it.”

He frowns. “Now how you gonna BS me, son? You think I don't know when something's wrong with my own flesh? You my seed, boy. You forget I've been takin' care of you since you were six years old.”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “You right, man.”

“Then what is it? No beatin' around the bush, either. You a man, so come at me like a man and tell me what's on ya mind?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

He makes a face that lets me know I've kinda caught him off guard wit' the question. Real rap. I know I'm comin' at 'im from outta left field askin' him this, but it is what it is. I need to know. And he's the only one I've ever gone to 'bout any-and-e'erything. He's the only person I've ever trusted to keep it a hunnid wit' me.

“Yeah,” he says, chucklin'. “Wit' good lovin', boy. That's the best kinda love. And I've been in love wit' some fine women who had that good whammie-jammie. Had me all twisted up in the head every time I gotta taste.”

I shake my head. “Nah, Pops. I'm not talkin' 'bout bein' in love wit' sex. I'm talkin' 'bout bein'
in love
wit' someone.”

He takes a swig of his beer, then sets it down on the coffee table. “Yeah, I've been in—what I
thought
was—love, twice.”

“And how did you know you were in love?”

“You too young to be thinkin' 'bout love, boy. All love's gonna do is kick you in the sack and have you all screwed up in the head. Take it from me, son. Stay away from it.”

“But what if you can't? What if no matter how hard you try to avoid it, it sneaks up on you and finds its way into ya heart?”

“You don't let it. You know the rule. Real men don't get caught up in love, and especially not wit' one broad.”

I walk over and sit on the arm of the chair across from 'im. “I know, Pops. You've drilled it into my head for mad long. But what if it just happens? What if you wake up and realize you feel something you've never felt for anyone else before?”

He shakes his head. “Then get ready for a buncha sleepless nights. Love ain't nothin' but a buncha heartache and pain. Who you goin' soft for?”

“It ain't that. I'm just askin',” I say, all of a sudden feelin' mad uncomfortable knowin' how he feels about catchin' feelin's for chicks.

“You askin' a buncha questions for someone who says he ain't in love. All you need to be concentratin' on is finishin' high school and not gettin' any of them hot-in-the-tail broads you got runnin' in and outta here all hours of the night knocked up. You have a bright future ahead of you, Tone. Don't eff it up. You hear me?”

“I got you, Pops,” I say, walkin' over and givin' him daps. I feel more confused now than I did before I came down to holla at 'im. “Thanks for the talk, yo.”

“That's what I'm here for,” he says, reachin' for the bottle opener, then pullin' back the cap on another beer. He extends it to me. “You want one?”

I shake my head. “Nah, I'm good. I better head back up and finish the rest of my homework.” For some reason, I wanna hear her voice. I can't front. I can't stop thinkin' 'bout her. I reach for my cell, then dial her number.

“Yesssss,” she answers—nah . . . hisses. And it sounds mad sexy, even if it is wit' a buncha attitude.

I sit back on my bed, restin' against the headboard.

“Yo, wassup? It's Tone.”

“Come again. You got the wrong number. I don't know no boy named
Tone.
”

I shake my head, smilin'. “It's Antonio.”

“Okay. How can I help you?”

“Aye, yo, why you always tryna play me?”

“Play
you? Boy, puhleeze. I got better things to do than spend my time
playing
with you.”

I grin, lookin' over at the poster of Beyoncé. I ain't gonna front. Bey has been wifey in my fantasies for a minute. But now Miesha has kinda taken up space in my head, replacin' whatever thoughts I mighta had 'bout snatchin' Bey up from HOV. Real rap, yo. I gotta have her.

“Yeah, a'ight, yo. That's what ya mouth says.”

“And that's what it is. Now how can I help you?”

“I wanna see you, yo.”

“Not gonna happen. I'm booked.”

Hearin' her voice got me wantin' to light some candles, turn on some slow jams, then spark a blunt 'n' zone. She's really got me goin' through it. I squeeze my legs shut, then try'n take my mind off havin' her up in here stretched out in my bed, butt-naked.

“Yo, stop frontin' and let's go somewhere this weekend 'n' chill.”

“I already told you. I'm booked.”

“Then get
un
booked. I wanna chill wit' you.”

It gets quiet on the other end. And for a minute I think she done banged on me. “Yo, you still there?”

“Yeah. I'm still here. My bad, I was doing something.”

“A'ight. So wassup? We chillin' or what?”

“Well, I guess I can pencil you in,” she says, teasin'ly.

“Nah, eff that, yo. Ink me in. I'm tryna be permanent. Better yet, yo. Put me in bright red marker.”

“Uh-huh. Annnyway, if you wanna come by and watch
The Notebook, Dear John,
or
Titanic
with me, then maybe.”

I frown. What the heck is
The Notebook
? Or
Dear John
? I know what
Titanic
is. Some old flick 'bout a poor dude who falls in love wit' some mad rich chick 'n' the boat sinks or somethin' like that. So I guess those other two flicks gotta be some kinda chick flick wit' a buncha love ish up in it for her to be bringin' them up 'cause that's the only kinda movies chicks stay watchin'.

“Nah, I'm good, yo. I'm not wit' them chick flicks.” She starts laughin'. “Relax, boy. I'm only messing with you. Those kinda movies I'd only watch with my man. Something you'll
never
be.”

“Then what was all that slickness you was talkin' at school in front of Quanda?”

“Boy, that was jus talk.”

“Yeah, whatever. Let's chill this weekend.”

She gets quiet and I can tell she's thinkin' 'bout it. I ain't gonna front, yo. She's the first chick I've ever asked to take out somewhere. I mean
really
take out, like scoopin' 'em up 'n' kickin' out bread. Usually, broads take
me
out. I might meet a broad up at the mall and take her up to the food court to get a Happy Meal or a two-for-one combo, but to actually take her to a nice spot—to impress 'er. Nah, that's not how I do mine. But Miesha got me steppin' outta my box. There's somethin' 'bout her. Maybe I wanna taste them lips again. Nah, ain't no
maybe
. I want it, yo! And I want her.

“Yo, so wassup . . . we chillin' or what?”

“Not.”

“You can front if you want, but I know you feel what I feel every time we kiss. I see it in ya eyes, yo. And I feel it in ya kisses.”

“Boy, lies. I don't know what it is
you
feel or felt. But all I
felt
is you tryna shove ya tongue down my throat, tryna choke me. Not once, twice, but three times. Annnnnyway, why you calling me, again?”

I lower my voice. “I wanted to hear ya voice, yo.”

“Oh, really? Why?”

I shake my head, realizin' this girl's not gonna make it easy for me. “Look, check it, ma. I don't know what it is 'bout you. But I'm tryna find out. I ain't tryna wife you up . . .
yet
. I know that ish you stay poppin' in school ain't 'bout nothin',
yet
. But, I'm def tryna see what's good wit' you. All I'm askin' is for one night of ya time. Then if you not beat, cool. If nothin' pops off, then it is what it is. No pressure, no worry.”

“Mmmhmm. It sounds good. Oh, and don't think I didn't catch those
yets
, either. I keep telling you, you can't do
nothing
I don't let you, so all that wifing mess, save it.”

“A'ight, a'ight. I got you. So, I'm sayin' . . . you gonna let me scoop you up this weekend or not? I'm tryna chill wit' you, yo.”

“I don't know. Ask me again tomorrow.”

“And if you say no, then what?”

She laughs. “Then, duh, keep asking. I gotta go.”

“Yo, a'ight, but . . .”

“
But
nothing. Good night.” And with that said, she hangs up. I plop back on my bed, starin' up at the ceilin' grinnin', hard.
She must not know who I am, yo. . . .