Caught Up (15 page)

“A
www, shiiiiiiiiit. Looka here, looka here. Dere goes dat dirty trick right dere,” I hear someone say, pointing over in my direction.

I stop dead in my tracks. My knees buckle. It's that Hennessey girl wobbling in our direction with two other girls on either side of her.

Jordan whispers out of the side of her mouth, “Ooh, look at them ugly girls walking toward us. And the one with that orange yarn going through her hair looks like she's the queen of the ghetto.”

“Jordan, not now,” I say in a hushed tone. “She's crazy.”

Hennessey says, “Trick, it's on now. I knew I was gonna run into you again, sooner or later.”

I grab Jordan's hand and take off running with the two girls with her chasing behind us. Jordan and I run through the food court zigzagging through the crowd, trying to get to safety before they catch us.

“Get her, Quanda!” I hear someone scream. I think it's that Hennessey girl. But I can't be for certain. “Yeah, you betta run, you effen
thot!
Stay away from Malik!”

“Wait! Wait! Ohmygod, Kennedy! What is happening? Why are we being chased by these wild girls?”

I can hear the two girls chasing behind us, calling us names and laughing at the same time.

“You betta hope I don't ever catch up wit' you,
bish!
You can run but you can't hide!” I hear one of the girls yelling in back of us as we zigzag through the mall, toward the escalators. “I know what you look like!”

My heart is pounding in my chest so hard that I think I am on the verge of having a heart attack. Jordan and I are both out of breath as we duck into Carol's Daughter, a skincare store, on the second level.

I have never been more frightened in my life. The last thing I want is to be attacked by that Hennessey girl and her friends; especially not after seeing how they all jumped on Malik that night at the restaurant.

“Ohmygod! Who were those girls?” Jordan wants to know, breathing heavily. She bends over, placing her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

“I don't know them,” I say, clutching my chest. I take slow, steady breaths to calm my nerves some.

Her eyes pop open. “What? You don't know them? Then why in the heck are they chasing us?”

“The girl who had the yarn in her head is this girl Hennessey. . .”

Jordan's eyes buck. “Ghetto trash. Go on.”

I sigh. “She kind of got mad when she ran into Malik at Applebee's and saw me sitting there with him.”

“Wait.” She puts a hand up to stop me. “Wait one minute. Who the heck is Malik?”

“Oh, he's this guy I met through Sasha who I kind of like.”

She frowns. “Wait a second. The girl you work with who hates you? That Sasha?”

“She doesn't hate me, really. But yeah. Her.”

“That girl is trouble.”

“How can you say that?” I ask, walking over to the entrance leading out into the mall and peeking out to see if those girls are anywhere in sight. “You don't even know her.”

She snorts, placing a hand up on her hip. “Oh. And now you do?”

I turn to face her. “I didn't say that. But that doesn't mean it's okay to say unkind things about her.”

“Hello,” a saleswoman says, walking over to us. “Can I help you young ladies find anything in particular?”

Jordan looks over at her. “Yes, please. The nearest police station.”

The sales lady gives Jordan a confused look, glancing from her, then over to me. “Excuse me? Is everything all right?”

“Oh, don't mind her,” I cut in. “She's a little melodramatic. We're browsing, thanks.”

“More like hiding out,” Jordan says, irritated. “We've just been chased through the mall by a pack of hood hyenas.” She looks down at her four-inch wedge heels. “I can't believe I had to run for my life in these shoes. I could have broken my ankles being dragged like a rag doll.”

I apologize. Tell her I'll treat her to a pedicure.

She rolls her eyes. “That's the least you can do after dragging me out to this trifling mall. And cohorting with that Sasha trash.”

“That's not nice, Jordan. She really isn't bad. She's actually a lot of fun.”

Jordan blinks. “Mmph. Isn't that something. Now you're taking up for the girl. How classic.”

I raise my brow. “What do you mean by that?”

She rolls her eyes, picking up a body lotion sampler and sniffing it. “It's sounding real Stockholmish to me.”

I suck my teeth. “Ohmygod, Jordan. You can't compare my getting to know Sasha to Stockholm syndrome. One, because she hasn't kidnapped me, and, two, I wasn't her hostage.”

She waves me on dismissively, then sets the lotion back on the table. “Yeah, you were only the victim of her abuse at that little job of yours. But whatever. Glad you could find it in your heart to be so forgiving, so soon.”

I shake my head, then walk over to where she's standing. “There wasn't really anything to forgive.”

“Mmph. I guess not. So when did you and the crazy girl become new best friends? And why am I just now hearing about it?”

“Jordan, relax. It's not that serious.”

She grunts. “Oh, okay. I'll be sure to remember that the next time I'm being chased through a mall by a bunch of knife-wielding thuggettes.”

I shake my head, walking toward the mall entrance. “Come on. Let's get out of here.”

“With pleasure,” she says, stomping off ahead of me. “I can't wait to call Hope and tell her all about this drama.”

“Can you please not?” I quickly say.

She shoots me a look. “And why not?”

“I want to be the one to tell her.”

She rolls her eyes. “Alright. If that's how you want to play it, I'll keep your little secret. For now.” Her last words to me before speedwalking toward the parking garage and leaving me behind are, “So much for fun.”

I can't help myself. Maybe I can. Okay, okay... I don't want to. Can you blame me? There's something about him that I can't shake. Even after that whole mall incident over a week ago, it's like I'm more drawn to him than ever before. I don't know what it is that has me wanting to know more about him. But I do. Badly.

Maybe because I know I'll be living on the edge.

Maybe because I know he comes with a lot of drama.

And excitement.

And mysteriousness.

I close my eyes, as Ariana Grande's “Tattooed Heart” plays low in the background. Without thought, I start humming softly.

“Yo, wat's dat you hummin'?” Malik wants to know. We'd been texting practically all day during my work shift and now—although I'm on punishment and can't leave the house—we've gone from texting back and forth to talking on the phone. I tell him who the artist is. “Oh, word? I ain't up on her. Sing me somethin'.”

I laugh.

“Nah, real ish, baby. Let me hear you spit somethin'.”

“I can't sing.”

He laughs. “So. It'll be our secret, a'ight?”

I giggle. “Ooh, I like that. Our little secret.”

“You already know. So wat's good? You gonna let me hear it or wat?”

“Ohgod. Are you serious? I sound horrible.”

“C'mon. What, you want me to beg? I know you ain't tryna make me beg for it, are you? But I will if dats wat you want.”

The way he says
it
. . . that he'll beg for
it
. . . if I want him to, makes me feel warm all over.

Mmmm. Do I want him to beg for
it
?

“So you want me to beg?” he says in a low, husky voice. It sounds as if he's smoking.

“No. You don't have to beg,” I say in almost a whisper.

He blows out a breath. “Oh, word? A'ight then. Let me get dat then. Let me hear dat sexy voice sing in my ear.”

I blush. Then take a deep breath, and sing a verse. Then end it with, “All I need is all your loving . . .”

“Oh, word? Dat's all you need?”

I swallow. “It's from the song. I wasn't speaking of me, per se.”

“Yeah, I know. But I'm sayin' . . . who you givin' all ya lovin' to?”

“No one.”

“Oh, word? So when's da last time you let someone hit dat?”

I blink. “Ohmygod! Never!”

“What, you still a virgin?”

My eyes pop open. And for some reason I am embarrassed to tell him that I am. Silence. I am relieved when he doesn't press me for the answer.

“I bet you mad tight 'n' real juicy, like fresh fruit.”

The way he says that makes me flood with heat and excitement. And I know I should probably not let this go any further than it already has. That I should probably change the subject now before things get way out of control and I end up getting into something I'm not ready for. But I don't.

“You think you ready to let a man make you a woman?”

“Who says I'm not already a woman?” I say coyly. I know I'm flirting with danger, still...

“Nah, you still a woman-in-trainin', yo. But hang wit' me 'n' I'ma make you a full-fledge, card-carryin' one.” He pauses. “Dat's if you think you ready.”

“Boy, I was born ready.”

He cracks up laughing. “Oh, I see you like to talk a good one, huh? But I'ma man, baby. I ain't one'a dem li'l boyz you 'n' ya li'l friendz chase 'round da playground. You steppin' into man territory now, babe. I got somethin' for you to play on, but it ain't no swing.”

“Mmmhmm,” I purr without thinking. I'm surprised at how flirtatious I am being. I feel sexy. “I know that.”

“Word? So wat's good? You think you can handle all dis good lovin'?”

I blink. Press my thighs together. “I don't know.”

“I'm sayin' . . . then there's only one way to find out.”

My heart skips two extra beats.

“Yo, I wanna see you, ma,” Malik says real low and sexy-like into the phone, causing every bit of my sensibilities to go out the window.

“I want to see you, too.” I glance over at the clock. It's a little after eleven o'clock at night. We've been on the phone for almost twenty minutes. Malik isn't really a phone type of guy. He'd rather text. But the fact that he called me and isn't rushing off the phone tells me he must really be interested in me. The thought makes me smile. “I know how you don't like talking on the phone, but I'm glad you called me.”

“True, true. But you an exception, babe. I'm feelin' you, yo.”

My smile widens. “I'm feeling you, too, Malik.”

He blows a breath into the phone, causing me to close my eyes. I imagine his lips moving as he speaks. He tells me he wants to take me into the city to go shopping then out to dinner this coming Saturday. That he then wants me to spend the night with him.

My heart flutters. And everything inside of me starts to vibrate.

“Dis ish is killin' me, ma. You got me goin' thru it. Hearin' ya sweet, sexy voice got my man all excited. I wanna taste dem pretty lips.” He lets out another breath. “Yo, you sure there ain't no way you can get out? Just for an hour or so.”

I glance over at the clock again.

I pull in a deep breath. “Come get me. I'll be standing at the corner waiting.”

“Aah, dat's what I'm talkin' 'bout, baby.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “You know I'ma 'bout to make you mine, right?”

I wonder if he can see me smiling from ear to ear right now. Or if he can hear how fast my heart is beating this very moment. I feel like I'm floating.

I give him the address to where the WaWa is. He tells me he'll meet me there in twenty minutes before we disconnect.

Hurriedly, I swing the sheet off of me and hop out of bed, excited. I race around my bedroom trying to find something cute to wear, mindful not to make too much noise. I go into the bathroom, wash my face, and pull my hair back into a ponytail. Ten minutes later, I am gliding on a coat of cherry lipgloss then climbing out of my window in a pair of fitted jeans and a black T-shirt with the words
LOVE ME
printed across my chest.

I shimmy my way down the side of the house, then make my way in the still of the night down the winding, lamplit streets, through the gates, then down the street to meet Malik.

Malik's struck a match. And now I'm playing with fire. The only question is, how far am I willing to go? And just how badly am I willing to get burnt?

“K
ennedy! What are you doing sneaking into this house, huh? Do you see what time it is?”

Oh
nooo
, busted.

Unfortunately, I was left with no other choice but to use the spare key hidden in a small black key box tucked down in one of the flowerbeds. When I crawled back up to my window to get into my room, the window was shut and locked.
Locked!
I couldn't believe it. I was locked out of the house. I'd been caught.

“Have you lost your mind?” my mother questions, flipping on the foyer light as I slip into the house and attempt to tiptoe my way up to my bedroom at a quarter to three in the morning. “Sneaking back in here at this time of the night. Where have you been?”

“I w-w-was only gone for an hour or so.”

She tilts her head. “Don't you dare stand there and lie to me, Kennedy. I went to check on you over three hours ago. And you were not in your room. So where were you? And who were you with?”

“I-I was with Jordan,” I say. The lie rolls out of my mouth without much thought. “She was really upset. And she needed someone to talk to.”

She glares at me. “And the two of you couldn't talk over the phone?”

“No. I mean, yes. But I needed to be there with her.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “Well, why didn't Jordan just come over here, huh?”

“I thought you said I couldn't have company.”

“No. I told you that you were
not
allowed to leave this house. And you did anyway. You defied me. Something you've never done before. So it must have been really important for you to sneak out of this house. So where were you? And don't you dare lie to me, Kennedy!”

“I'm not lying,” I whine. “I was with Jordan. Hope got into a big fight with her parents. Then she ran away and said she was going to hurt herself.”

Mom raises her brow, looks at me as if she's trying to decide whether she should believe me or not. She narrows her eyes. “You just said you were with Jordan. That she was upset. Now you're saying you were with Hope.” She taps her slipper-clad foot, crossing her arms. “Which is it, Kennedy? Were you with Hope or was it Jordan?”

I swallow. “Both. They were both upset. First Jordan called me. Then she did a three-way call to Hope. She was crying hysterical. Talking real crazy, like she didn't want to live anymore. I got scared. And asked Jordan if she could pick me up so we could be with Hope. I had Jordan meet me down by the gates, then we drove over to where Hope was.”

Mom eyes me. “If Hope was in such a state of crisis why didn't you let me know, huh? Why didn't you ask me if it was okay for you to leave out of this house to go see about her, huh?”

I lower my eyes. Glance around the foyer. Fidget with the hem of my T-shirt. I will my knees from shaking. “I thought you would tell me I couldn't go. And I really wanted to be there for her, Mom. I know I was wrong for sneaking out, but this was important.”

She stares at me, studying me. I can tell she's still trying to decide if she buys the bull crap I've just offered her as my reason for defying her. “Yeah, it must've been really urgent for you to climb out of your window like that.”

“I'm sorry, Mom. It won't happen again.”

“That's the second time you've had to say that,” she says, looking me up and down. “First, you stay out all night and come home intoxicated. And now this. These behaviors are starting to look like a pattern. And I do not like it one bit. Do I need to call your father?”

I shake my head. “No, please. Don't call Daddy. There's no need to worry him about nothing. I promise you, it won't happen again.”

“I hope not. And you're certain you are telling me the absolute truth? You were with Hope and Jordan? And not that Sasha girl?”

I nod. “Yes. I'm telling the truth. I promise you, I wasn't with Sasha.” Sadly, this fact is the only truth to my night.

Mom's stare drops to my shirt. She frowns. “Why is your shirt on backwards?”

I blink. Pull at the neck and see that the tag is in front. “I was in such a rush to get to Jordan, I must have put it on without looking.”

She opens her mouth to say something, then stops herself. I take that as my cue to say more, to fuel the lie even more. “I'd never heard Hope talk like that before, Mom.” I shake my head for effect. “She sounded so broken. And it scared me. I'd never think she'd run away from home in a million years. But she did.”

My mom's face softens. The ice in her eyes slowly starts to melt. “That seems so unlike Hope.”

“I know. That's why I had to sneak out, Mom. And I'm sorry. But I couldn't chance not being there for her and something bad happened to her.” I look away. “I'd never be able to forgive myself.”

“Well, where is she? Is she okay now?”

“Yes. She's okay. At least she seemed to be. She's staying at her grandparents' house for now. She promised us she wouldn't do anything to hurt herself.”

“Go up to your room. It's late. And I have to be up in less than two hours for work.”

“Good night,” I say, quickly turning for the staircase.

“Kennedy?”

I stop in my tracks. Keep my back to her. “Yes?”

“I've never had any reason to doubt you.
Please
don't give me a reason to now.”

I'm not,” I offer, silently relieved that I'm going to get away with sneaking back in. For the second time. I say a little prayer, holding back a sly grin.

“For your sake,” Mom says, “I hope not.”