Boy Trouble (7 page)

W
hen Sheridan and I had agreed to put our lockers next to each other freshman year, I'd thought it was a really good idea. But this past year, I'd had more times than not that I regretted that decision.

Today was one of those times.

I just was not in the mood. She was going to mess around and say the wrong thing to me and I might snap. I took my time approaching my locker. Sheridan was digging for something inside of hers.

“So, you're not speaking?” I said, opening my locker up and tossing my binder inside.

“I was here first. Seems like you should be speaking to me,” she said all nonchalantly.

I really didn't feel like fighting with her anymore. “Look, Sheridan,” I said, deciding to take the high road. “I'm sorry if I made you mad about Javier. I'm just worried about you, that's all.”

Sheridan shut her locker and glared at me. “I told you, you don't need to worry about me. I'm a big girl. I can handle myself.”

“Whatever you say.” I held my hands up in defense.

She stepped in my face. I couldn't tell if she was trying to jump bad or make her point. “You think I've liked every guy you've dated? I think Bryce is a snob, J. Love is an arrogant jerk, and you're sleeping on Alvin. But I didn't try and tell you what you should and shouldn't do with them. I minded my business and let you love who you wanted to love. And I don't understand why it's so hard for you to give me that same respect.”

Wow. I had no idea that she felt that way. “As a friend, you should've told me if you didn't like my boyfriends.”

“No, as a friend, I let you do you. No, they weren't my cup of tea—including Bryce, because you know that whole mess with him was because I was mad. But they weren't for me to like. If you liked them, I loved them.”

I stood speechless for a minute, before finally throwing my hands up and saying, “Okay, fine.”

“Fine. Hopefully we don't have this discussion anymore. I gotta get to class.” She spun around and bumped right into Shay, Bali, and Evian. They traveled like a pack of wolves now.

“What's up, Sheridan?” Bali said.

“Hey, girl,” Evian added.

“Did you get your invitation to Bali's birthday bash?” Shay asked.

I couldn't make out what Sheridan said, but she was smiling, which I guess meant that she had.

Then, they completely ignored me as they brushed past me. I wondered if they really thought they were hurting my feelings by not speaking to me and not inviting me to a lame high school party. I partied with superstars. They could keep their little busted parties.

Evian actually stopped and ran back over to me. “Hey,” she whispered, “you might want to go check on your girl.”

“Check on who?” I asked. Evian hadn't said much to me over the past few weeks. I really think she was ashamed because she'd sunk to an all-time low over spring break when she'd faked her own kidnapping.

Both Shay and Bali side-eyed her, like they were mad that she was talking to me. But she ignored them and continued talking. “Kennedi. She's in the bathroom. She's crying and I think she's hurt.”

I took off toward the girls' bathroom. As soon as I opened the door, I could see that it was empty. I looked under the stalls and in the third one, saw Kennedi's UGG sneakers.

“Hey, K. You all right?” She didn't answer. “K,” I repeated, “it's Maya. Don't make me climb over the stall.”

There was a pause, then the door clicked, and opened. “You know you're not about to climb over a bathroom stall,” she said, trying to force a smile.

“Well, you're right about that, but I needed to get you out.” I studied her. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes red, like she'd been fighting and crying. “What's wrong with you?”

It was then that I noticed the bruise on her right cheek. “OMG, what happened to you?”

“I fell,” she said, brushing past me.

“You fell? Where?”

“On my way to school.”

I couldn't help but stare at her. I knew that Kendrick had dropped her off at school today because I'd seen her sitting in his truck when we got to campus.

“How could you fall and get a bruise like that?” I demanded to know.

“I just did, okay! Leave it alone.”

“Did Kendrick do this?” I asked, feeling my anger already building. She didn't have to tell me the truth. I already knew.

“Maya, chill, okay?” She leaned in the mirror and examined her face. Then, she reached in her clutch and pulled out some face powder and dabbed it over the bruise.

“Seriously?” I pointed at her face. “That's okay with you?”

“Maya, it's not even like that. Just stay out of it. You don't know nothing about nothing.” She dropped the compact back in her purse. “You know what? I'm out. If Ms. Clark asks where I went, tell her I'm sick.”

Kennedi stormed out of the bathroom. I debated following her, but I knew it wouldn't do any good. This was the last straw. I made a mental note that I was going to do some digging. I needed to get through to my friends. Maybe some hard statistics would do it. I doubted it, but I needed to at least try.

I
would never understand why a girl thought it was okay to let her guy put his hands on her. But obviously, there were a lot of girls who didn't feel the same way. That was all I could think as I read all the stories of domestic abuse.

I'd sat down at my desk to do some research, thinking I'd pull up a few stories here or there. But the number of young people dealing with domestic abuse was mind blowing. I'd thought that only people with low self-esteem and no love for themselves would put themselves in a situation where they'd be beat up by someone that was supposed to care about them. But as I read story after story, I knew that wasn't the case at all. These were stories from honor roll students, from girls who were rich, poor, black, white, from all religions. Each of them enduring pain in the name of love.

I'd loved my ex, Bryce, something crazy. But I'd loved
me
more. That's why we weren't together now. He hadn't treated me like the queen that I was, so he'd had to go. I was having a hard time understanding the mindset that allowed a person to be in an abusive relationship, and the whole “he hit me because he loves me” mentality made no sense to me. Love didn't hurt. Period.

I sadly shook my head as I clicked PRINT on yet another article about Demond Cash's abusive history. Apparently, he'd been arrested for domestic assault three years ago. But it was before he'd become a big-time actor so it wasn't well known.

Mynique needed to be thanking me for exposing her man for the creep that he was because anyone who would throw her around like Demond did needed to be put on blast. And even though she couldn't see it now, I had no doubt that one day she would.

I looked up from my desk to see security racing down the hallway. I stood up and poked my head out my office door.

“What's going on?” I asked Shelby, one of the production assistants.

“You,” she said, a worried look across her face.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“You over here creating drama, girl.” She pointed toward the front lobby. “Apparently, the people at the front are demanding to see you.”

“Me? Who is it? And what did I do? I'm in my office minding my business.”

“Demond Cash and Mynique Foxx,” she said like that was the worst thing ever.

I hadn't heard from Demond since my story aired. I knew he wasn't happy about it because Mynique had called and cussed me out all kinds of ways. Or rather, cussed my voice mail out because I never answered her countless phone calls.

“He wants to talk to you,” Shelby said.

Oh, no way. I wasn't about to go up there and talk to Demond face to face. I wasn't a scaredy cat and I stood by everything I said, but I wasn't crazy either.

I don't know if Shelby read the look on my face, but she said, “Don't worry about it. It looks like security has it handled.”

I was about to turn and go back to my office and lock the door when Tamara came racing down the hall. She stopped and looked at me. Worry lines creased her brow.

“Was everything legit?” she said.

“Of course,” I replied.

She didn't say another word as she pushed the glass door open that led out into the lobby.

I immediately heard Demond going in. “Where is she? I want to talk to her! I demand a retraction. You people can't just air anything you feel like whenever . . .” His voice trailed off as the lobby door closed.

I debated going back into my office, but I really wanted to know what he was saying. So, I moved closer to the lobby so I could try and hear the conversation. I needed to know everything that was said in case they tried to lie on me and get me in trouble.

“Sir, calm down,” Reggie, the security guard, told him.

“Now, we're going to have to ask you once again to exit the premises.”

“I'm not going anywhere until I talk to Maya!” he demanded.

I heard Tamara say something, but I couldn't make it out, so I eased a little closer, and just my luck, my stiletto got caught in the carpet and I went tumbling to the ground.

All eyes turned in my direction. I eased up off the floor with as much grace as I could muster. Then, I had to make a split-second decision whether to run in the opposite direction or face Demond.

“Maya, I see you,” Demond screamed. “If you woman enough to go on air talking all that garbage, you should be woman enough to face us.”

I stood contemplating my next move. I decided that since security was there, there really was no reason for me to be scared, so I pushed the lobby door open.

I raised an eyebrow in a “what?” gesture and waited for him to say something. “May I help you?” I finally said.

“How dare you air that story?” Demond yelled at me. “We demand that you do an interview with both of us”—he pointed between him and Mynique—“so that she can tell you that we were just playing around.”

Mynique stood looking like some kind of dumb puppet, which was shocking because she always acted big and bad with me.

“If you don't do our interview, I'm gonna own this friggin' TV station,” Demond snapped.

“You forget that I was there,” I told him. “I saw the way you smacked Mynique.” Mynique cringed when I said that, but still she said nothing. “I know you weren't playing around.”

“You little . . .” Demond lunged toward me, but luckily, Reggie grabbed him from behind in a big bear hug.

“You itching to go to jail today, huh?” Reggie said. Demond squirmed to try and break free, but Reggie had a tight grip on him.

“You don't need any more bad press, Demond,” Tamara said, “so, I suggest you do like Reggie said and leave, because the cops should be here any minute now.”

Demond glared at me for a minute. If he could've strangled me to death right then, I have no doubt he would have. Luckily, Reggie gripped his arm a little harder just in case he was getting any ideas. Demond snatched his body away from Reggie. “If I were you, I'd watch my back,” he told me. Then he stomped toward the door. “Come on, Mynique.”

Mynique looked at me and for once, I didn't see arrogance. I didn't see hate. I simply saw fear, and I knew this thing with Mynique and Demond ran a lot deeper than any of us knew.

I
needed to put all the boy trouble of my friends (and enemies like Mynique) aside. That fear in Mynique's eyes had been haunting me, and the drama with Sheridan and Kennedi made me mad. But standing here looking at my cousin, Travis, with his suitcases on the floor next to him—that made me sad.

And sad trumped mad any day.

When Travis had shown up at my house and my dad had announced that Travis would be staying with us, I had not been happy. I was an only child, used to being an only child, and I hadn't been trying to share my parents with anyone. But Travis had come in and done what he always did, made me laugh and proved why he was my favorite cousin. Yeah, he'd almost gotten me in some major trouble by hooking me up with his drug-dealing friend a few months ago. But Travis had been ready to take full responsibility. And we'd gotten caught up in some major drama. Besides the fact that trouble seemed to always follow him, Travis really was a good guy. A playa when it came to the girls—but still a good guy. Hence, the reason why he was giving up his senior year at a school where he had quickly fit in to go home and be with his sick mother.

“How's Aunt Bev?” I asked him.

Travis shrugged, and I could tell he was trying to be strong. “They said she may . . . she may . . .” He couldn't even get the words out. But I'd heard my mom and dad talking earlier. They thought Aunt Bev only had a few weeks to live. The breast cancer was back and more aggressive than ever. The pneumonia had made her immune system weak, and apparently, she was in her final days.

“Come on, son,” my dad said, stepping up on the side of Travis. He patted Travis's back. “It doesn't matter what the doctor says. We know there's a higher power that has the final say.”

Travis nodded, even though I could tell he didn't really believe it. I wasn't some religious freak, but I was definitely going to send up a prayer for Aunt Bev tonight. I would pray for Travis, too. He'd already lost a brother to gang violence. I don't know what he would do if he lost his mother, too.

“All right, son. We'd better get going,” my dad said, reaching down and picking up his luggage. “We need to make sure we don't miss that flight.”

I looked at Travis and had to struggle not to cry myself. I'd never even realized until that very moment how much weight my cousin bore on his shoulders. “Stay strong, okay?”

“Yeah, I'm good.” He managed a smile. “You know how I do it.”

I wanted to end on a happy note, so I added, “And don't be picking up any girls at the hospital.”

He playfully hit my shoulder. “I don't pick up girls. Girls pick up me.”

I was happy that he was trying to remain upbeat. He hugged me good-bye, squeezing me just a little bit tighter than normal. Then, he hugged my teary-eyed mom, before he and my dad walked out the door.

As I watched them walk away, I wondered how I would feel if I ever lost one of my parents. The thought tore at my insides. As lame as they could be, I still loved my parents.

Scratch being sad, I'd rather go back to being mad.

I made my way back upstairs, debating whether I should borrow our maid, Sui's phone and call Kennedi since I had the feeling she was ignoring my calls, as they kept going straight to voice mail. But before I could make a decision, my cell phone rang and J. Love's picture popped up.

“House of beauty, this is cutie,” I said, even though I wasn't my usual chipper self. But I thought maybe if I tried to be upbeat, my attitude would improve.

“Oh, I must have the wrong number,” J. replied. “Because the girl I'm calling is gorgeous. Stunning. Ain't nothing
cute
about her.”

I plopped down across my bed. “You always know the right things to say.”

“Then why can't I get you to be my girl?”

“ 'Cause you had me as your girl and you didn't know what to do with me,” I replied as I curled a strand of hair around my finger.

“True dat,” he said. “But I know now, and like my grandma says, when you know better, you do better.”

“Boy, what do you want?” I said. I could just imagine him sitting up in some fancy hotel, his Timbs propped up on the coffee table, rocking his saggy jeans and colorful Elevate shirt. He was a spokesperson for that hip-hop clothing company so he didn't go anywhere without their gear on.

“I was just calling to see if I could fly you up to Vegas for my concert next week,” J. Love said.

“Oh, yeah, let me go tell my mom I'm gonna go spend the weekend in Vegas with my ex-boyfriend,” I sarcastically replied.

“Dang, I keep forgetting your mom got that leash on you,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, everybody ain't got it like you and can be emancipated at fifteen.”

“Shoot, my parents just trying to get paid.” Though he laughed, I could hear the pain in his voice. When J. Love had released his first hit record, he'd made the news because his parents had spent every dime of his money on lavish cars and houses. He'd had to file bankruptcy at fifteen. He got emancipated right after that and a year later, he was pushing out another hit record and landing back on top.

“Well, me coming to meet you in Vegas is not an option,” I told him.

“You got another man? Is that why you can't come?”

“Boy, I can't come because my mom would kill me and my dad would kill you. And it's not like I could lie with the way that the paparazzi stalks us. And why is that any of your business if I did have a man?” I added.

“Because I know it's only so long a fine thing like you is going to be single.”

“Honey, you boys are nothing but trouble.”

“That's why you need to get you a man.”

I imagined him stroking his small goatee, with that cute, cocky smile, and just shook my head. “Whatever, J.”

“You and nerd boy kicking it?” he asked.

“You can talk about Alvin all you want, but his bank account speaks for itself.”

“Yeah, I know. His pockets are pretty fat.”

That made me sit up. “How do you know anything about him?”

“Oh, you'd better believe I had ol' boy checked out. I had to know my competition.”

I just laughed. “Okay, J. Love.”

“On the real, you been doing okay?” he asked.

“I just had to say good-bye to my cousin. He's moving back home.” I closed my eyes, inhaled, then exhaled, trying to fight off any tears. “Then, I'm going through some drama with my friends.”

“Oh,” was all he said. I knew J. Love had no interest in anything other than us, so I asked, “Have you heard from Mynique?”

“I told you I don't mess with her like that,” he answered. “Besides, she ain't nothing but trouble. The way she flirts with dudes is gon' get her hurt.”

“You should know,” I said.

“Hey, I didn't flirt with her. And I'm just saying. Dudes don't like being disrespected like that and your girl is a trip.”

“She ain't my girl,” I said. “But whatever. If she wants to get beat up, more power to her. Not my problem.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I wondered if I'd one day be saying the same thing about my two best friends.