The Girl of His Dreams (5 page)

S
econds before the second-period bell rings, I drop my backpack to the floor and slide into one of the chairs closest to the door, in back of AP English class. I decide this will be my seat for the rest of the school year. I ain't ever beat to sit any closer to the board than I have to. And, yeah, I get mostly A's—some B's. Still, I prefer to sit in the back of the class wit' my peeps. But don't get it twisted, yo. Even when it looks like I'm not listenin', I'm still payin' attention. I just don't like to let peeps know that I am, so I front like I'm kinda slow, even though I'm in mostly advanced placement classes. Still, for me, sittin' up front is whack. It's reserved for the nerds and teachers' pets.

“Okay, class,” Mrs. Sheldon says, getting up from her desk, then writing on the chalkboard. “Let's get started. For those of you who had me last year, you already know what to expect....”
Yeah, mad readin' assignments, essays, and twenty-page tests!
Mrs. Sheldon's a beast, real rap. But it's all good 'cause I dig readin' all kinda books and poems, then pickin' 'em apart. She makes us read books written by some of the greatest authors and poets in the world, then forces us to think about the themes and the characters in each book. She challenges us. And I dig that. I dig a challenge. That's what keeps me comin' back for more.

“So, Mr. Lopez,” she says, turning around from the board and eyeing me. “I guess it would be too much to ask for you to step outside of your comfort zone this year and sit in one of the seats up front where I can keep my eye on you.”

I grin. Last year, I had her class last period and a few times I would slip outta class before the bell rang. She never wrote me up for it 'cause—aside from the fact that I'm one of her favorites, even though she'll never admit it—I always had my assignments turned in on time and I always got one of the highest grades on tests. “Nah, Mrs. Sheldon,” I say, smilin' at her. “I'm good.”

She raises a brow. “Well, you had better be 'cause I expect much more from you this year than I did last year, so slipping out of class will
not
be tolerated unless you're looking to fail for the year. Are we clear?”

“I got you, Mrs. Sheldon.”

“Good. You make sure you do. Now let's . . .” She stops herself when the classroom door flies open, and in struts the hottest chick in the game—my future wifey. Real rap. E'eryone's head spins in the direction of the door as she glides her sexy self up to the front of the classroom, wearin' a pair of black designer shorts that hug her curves like a glove and a white gauzy-type blouse over some kinda black tube thingy. Her smooth, toned legs look mad sexy in what I can tell are expensive heels.
Damn, she's fine!
I've never bagged a chick who rocked heels to school. But, I could most def get used to havin' a sexy chick like this hottie on my arm e'eryday.

“And
you
are late,” Mrs. Sheldon says, clearly annoyed that her class is bein' disrupted even if the bell only rang five minutes ago. It doesn't matter that the hottie is new to the school either. Mrs. Sheldon doesn't play that steppin' up in her class late mess. She expects e'eryone to be in their seats before the bell rings.

All you hear as she walks by is, “Yo, she's hot like fire, son.... Damn, she gotta phatty, yo.... Yo, you see her body. . . . Whoa, she's bangin' for real, yo!”

I wonder why she wasn't in class yesterday.

“I apologize,” Sexy says, handin' Mrs. Sheldon a hall pass. “I had to speak to my guidance counselor about changing one of my classes.”

“How special.” Mrs. Sheldon eyes her as she says this and I'm kinda shocked that her voice is drippin' wit' sarcasm.
Oh snap! Let me find out Mrs. Sheldon's a hater on the low!
“Well, take a seat, Miss...” She glances down at the pass. “Miesha Wilson. You've already taken up five minutes of the class's time.”

Dudes are mad hyped wit' this hottie up in the classroom. Some of 'em even talkin' mad reckless 'bout how they'd beat it down. But this sexy babe doesn't seem pressed that she's the cause of all the commotion. In fact, except for Mrs. Sheldon, she hasn't given anyone in here any eye contact.

“Okay, class ... settle down,” Mrs. Sheldon says, givin' Miesha a stern look. I wanna tell 'er to ease up off her since she's new, but decide to stay in my lane and let Mrs. Sheldon do what she does. Nitpick over stupidness. “In less time than it takes to get to class on time, you have singlehandedly managed to shake my classroom up with your presence.”

I laugh to myself. Mrs. Sheldon's gonna ride her e'ery chance she gets now that she's disrupted her class.

“Please...take a seat, Miss Wilson.” She eyes her closely.

Miesha shrugs. I grin, watchin' her take a seat in the front of the class. She slides her sexy frame onto her chair, shifts her body some, then crosses her legs. I peep all the kats in class eyein' her smooth, shiny legs. I hear a few chicks suckin' their teeth.
Yeah she's def gonna be a problem
, I think, smirkin'.

Mrs. Sheldon clears her throat, her eyes sweepin' around the room until e'eryone finally gets quiet. “Ohhhkay. Now that we're all back to reality, let's get started. Shall we?” She walks back over to the board and starts writin'. She tells us that our first readin' assignment will be James Baldwin's
Go Tell It on the Mountain
. Some peeps start to groan. She faces the class. “Groan if you will. But James Baldwin was one of the twentieth century's most extraordinary men of letters. And through his classic volumes of fiction and nonfiction, he boldly explored race and sexual relations.”

“Oh, yeah, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout,” this dude Kent says, clownin'. “I dig me some good sexual relations.”

A few heads laugh.

“And you're going to
dig
yourself into two days of detention,” Mrs. Sheldon shoots over her shoulder, “if you don't watch your step, Mr. Lyons.” She turns to face him. “Now
dig
that,” she adds. E'eryone laughs, except him. For the rest of the period, we listen to Mrs. Sheldon go on about how wonderful this Baldwin dude is. E'eryone hops up outta their seats the minute the bell rings, scattering for the door. I try to hang back and wait for the hot chick to walk outta class so I can check for her, but Quanda peeps me as she walks by the classroom and stops in her tracks.

I grab my backpack and walk out the door, eyein' her. I already know iggin' Quanda is only gonna make her turn it up more so I decide to kill 'er wit' kindness. “Yo, wassup?”

“You,” she says, grinnin' as she walks alongside me. “I'm glad you finally startin' to come to your senses.”

This broad makes me effen sick!
“Yo, that was real foul what you did yesterday,” I say, lettin' her comment go over my head, “throwin' ya bag at my car window like that.”

“Oh, well. It was real foul how you tried to play me, too. But today's a new day and all is forgiven, boo.”

I let out a sarcastic laugh. “I'm not lookin' for ya forgiveness, yo.”
I'm lookin' for you to leave me the hell alone!

“Oh, well. That's your choice. But you know how my feelings are for you, Tone.”

I shake my head. “And I keep tellin' you I don't feel the same way 'bout you, but you ain't tryna accept it. I keep tellin' you it's over and you still buggin'.”

“Because it's not over for me, Tone. And no. I ain't acceptin' it. I love you. I know things between us could work if you just gave us another try.”

I tell 'er it's not gonna happen. That there are no second chances.

“Tone, please. I mean what do you think you gonna get from these other chicks that you weren't already getting from me? Sex? Money? You know I always sexed you real good and I don't ever have a problem spending money on you. So what is it?”

She leans up against the wall of lockers as I open mine to get out my books for my next three periods. I glance over at her. She's standin' there lookin' all sad and crazy. “Quanda, I don't know how many times I gotta say it, yo. It's over between us.”

“Didn't I keep you satisfied, Tone? Didn't I let you get it any way you wanted it, any time you wanted it?”

I sigh.
How many times are we gonna go through this?
“Yeah, I ain't gonna front. You kept ya sex game tight. And you def kept me laced. But you also keep a lotta drama goin' and I ain't wit' the extras.”

“You didn't have to keep cheatin' on me with them other girls, either.”

“Yo, you buggin' for real. I ain't never cheat on you, yo. I told you what it was. It's only cheatin' if I didn't tell you.”

“Say what you want. You
still
cheated.”

I blink. Word is bond, yo. This broad has a screw loose for real. A'ight, I told her she could be my girl. But I also told her from the rip that e'ery now and then I'ma wanna tap somethin' else, too. And she said she was good wit' it as long as I didn't rock wit' anyone
she
knew. So I didn't. I respected that and went 'cross town and rocked wit' a few shorties from Synder High. Or I dipped over to Brick City and chilled. And, whenever she asked me 'bout doin' my thing, I told her. I kept it on the up 'n' up.

She rolls her eyes. “But I told you I didn't like it and you kept on doin' it anyway.”

“And you kept doin' dumbness. But whatever, yo. It's over, so it don't matter.”

“Whatever, boy. I don't care what you say. I'm not givin' up on us. So you can say whatever you want. All that you talking I'm not tryna hear. So go run off and sleep with whoever you want. But, trust and believe, boo. If I can't be with you, no one else will either.”

“Yo, go 'head wit' that, girl. You soundin' mad nutty, yo.” I step off.

Quanda catches up to me, grabbin' me by the arm.

“Nutty or not, I mean it, Tone. You just watch and see. It's not over until
I
say it's over. And I'm not gonna let
anyone
come between us.”

I yank my arm away. “Yo, Quanda, for real. Do what you gotta do. I'm done.”

I'm mad relieved when she doesn't follow behind me this time tryna crank up the rah-rah. Instead, she walks off, turnin' down another hall.

Two periods later, I'm walkin' outta my economics class wit' my boy Luke—the center for our basketball team—laughin' 'bout this chick passin' gas in class mad loud 'n' nasty just as the bell rang. She bust off like it wasn't nothin', then had the nerve to start poppin' ish when we started gunnin' her for smellin' like a sewer and bein' so triflin'. Even Mr. Dangerfield, our econ teacher, was lookin' at her crazy after she let loose.

“Yo, word is bond,” Luke says, still crackin' up. “Maribel tore a hole in her drawers, man.”

“Yeah,” I agree, pullin' out my phone to see who hit me up. I grin when I see text messages from two of my jump-offs. And they both wanna let me smash tonight. “She walkin' 'round wit' chocolate tracks in her drawers.”

“Hahaha . . . that's if her nasty, stank-butt had any on.”

“Right, right.” I shake my head. “That broad's a walkin' sewer, yo.”

We gun on her a few more rounds as we head toward our lockers, then start talkin' 'bout our upcomin' basketball drills and how neither of us is really lookin' forward to them. Luke blazes almost as much as Cease durin' the summer, but he also likes to toss back the yak mad heavy, too. So I already know what it's gonna be like for him out on the court. As we round the corner to where our lockers are, I spot her. And, of course, some corny mofo from the lacrosse team is all up in her face tryna holla at 'er. “Yo, word is bond, son,” Luke says, practically droolin' as he taps me on the arm. “You see that honey right there, yo? She's straight fire, man. Hands down, fam. She's one'a the hottest hoes I've seen in a minute, for real for real. And I thought Fiona was fine. But that cutie right there. She's smokin' hot, yo.” I gotta agree. She is. But I keep it to myself. “I can already tell she's one'a them stuck-up ho-types. But I'd still beat it down.”

I nod in agreement. “Yeah, she prolly is.”

“I know she is, yo. And them stuck-up ones be the mad nasty ones, man.”

I keep my eyes on 'er as she plays cat to the left. I can tell dude's game's mad whack just how she's lookin' at him. I peep how she dismisses him. He says somethin' else, then walks off. She catches me lookin' at her. And I swear I think I see her lick her lips at me. At least that's what I see in my head.

At lunch, Cease, Luke, and Justin—another one of my boys and our team's power forward—are sittin' at our usual spot eatin' mad junk. Sweet potato fries, a buncha hot wings loaded wit' blue cheese, cheeseburgers, and chips. The only healthy thing on our table is the cartons of milk we drink to wash e'erything down. Cease and Luke burp at the same time, then start laughin'. I frown. Tell 'em both they should learn some table manners for real. But they ain't beat. They just keep on burpin' like wild animals wit' no home trainin', laughin' at that nastiness. Afer a while, like we always do, we start poppin' mad ish 'bout chicks and some of the stuff we did over the past summer in between makin' paper to stack for the school year.

“Yo, man,” Cease says, glancin' over at me, while stuffin' the rest of his fries in his face, “how you make out wit' Chantel yesterday?”