13
A
few days later, Daddy is steering his Mercedes truck into the drop-off zone, dropping Crystal and me off for school. “All right,” he says, shifting the gear into neutral. “You girls enjoy your day.”
“Thanks, Mr. Daniels,” Crystal says, opening the rear passenger door. She climbs out and shuts the door behind her.
I lean in and give Daddy a kiss on the cheek. He smells of cologne and Dial soap. I breathe him in. He always smells so nice. “Thanks, Daddy. Love you.”
He smiles. “Love you, too, Butterfly. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Wait. What time will you be home?” I ask, opening the SUV’s door.
“Hopefully before seven thirty,” he says. “Do you want me to pick up dinner?”
“No. That’s okay. I’m going to go over to Crystal’s after school, then maybe grab something to eat down at the Poetry Café. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine. Do you need me to pick you up?”
I shake my head. “No. Crystal’s mom will pick us up, then drop me off later.” He wants to know what time I’ll be home. I tell him before curfew. By ten.
“Okay then.” He smiles at me. “Call me when you get out of school.”
“I will.” I shut the door, then wave good-bye as he pulls off.
Crystal loops her arm through mine. “How much you want to bet Cameron’s somewhere lurking by the lockers waiting for us?” She sucks her teeth. “Ugh. He’s so annoying.”
Uh-huh. More like annoyingly cute.
But okay. If she says so.
“Um, no,” I say, shaking my head. “He’s waiting for
you
.” I know, I know. He swore up and down he doesn’t like her like that. But I don’t believe him.
Not really.
She stops and gives me a look. “
Me
? Oh, no. That boy had better go kick rocks. He is so not my type.”
I shake my head. “You are such a liar.”
She guffaws, swats me with a hand. “I am not. I’m serious. Have you seen him? That boy’s goofy.”
And cute.
“He’s like one of my annoying brothers,” she adds, half-convincingly. “That would be incestuous.”
Now I’m giving her a sidelong glance, confusion painted on my face. But I don’t say anything. When we finally arrive at her lockers, guess who’s already here, waiting?
You guessed it!
Cameron.
Crystal raises a brow, and gives me a look. “See. What I tell you? Stalker.”
“Hey, Cam,” I say, dismissing her comment.
“Hey,” he says back to me. Then to Crystal he says, “Good morning, Madame Ugly. Who’s stalking you? The ASPCA?”
She rolls her eyes, then punches him. “You make me sick, boy!”
“Ow!” he yelps, rubbing his arm. “I see someone ate their Wheaties this morning.”
Crystal sucks her teeth. “Whatever, boy.”
He grabs her, then kisses her face.
“Ew!” she cries, shoving him away. “You’re such a loser.”
She wipes her face with her hand.
“Hey, but you love it.” He grabs her by the waist, picks her up, and twirls her around. She yells for him to stop, but is laughing at the same time.
I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Get a room, already. Geesh.”
He puts her down. And she pretends to be annoyed that he’s messed up her hair as he always does. But she’s still grinning. “I so hate you right now. I’ve been contaminated by this boy’s lips.” She wipes the side of her face again. “I wonder if I can press charges.”
“Hey. You better frame that kiss,” he says, laughing. “It’s probably the only one you’ll ever get.”
“Yeah, don’t you wish,” she says back.
And then Cameron’s on to the next thing, glancing at his watch. “What took y’all so long, anyway? The bell’s about to ring in less than ten minutes.”
“Well—”
“Hey, Cameron,” Shelly Locksmith says, cutting me off and waving at him. She’s a senior.
And campus flirt, I might add.
“Hey, Shelly,” he says back. That only encourages her to stop in front of us, arching her back just so to make her boobs pop out of her low-cut blouse even more.
I eye Crystal eyeing Shelly as she sidles over to Cameron, putting a hand on his arm.
Crystal clears her throat. “Oh, how rude. So you don’t see anyone else besides Cameron over here?”
She flashes a fake smile. Then she flips her lusciously long, sleek, hair over her shoulder as someone doing a shampoo commercial would. “Oh, hey, Crystal. Hey, Nia. Apologies. I get so overwhelmed every time I see this hard-bodied hunk that I forget my manners.”
She giggles.
Crystal frowns.
And I have nothing but a blank stare on my face.
Cameron doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. “Umm . . .” He shoots a look over at me, then Crystal. “Thanks.”
This is like the only time I’ve known Cameron to be totally caught off guard.
Shelly rubs Cameron’s muscled arm again. “Do you mind walking me to my locker, then to homeroom?” she asks, pulling him by the arm before he has a chance to respond. “I need to tell you something . . . in
private
.”
She shoots a nasty look over at Crystal.
Cameron has a confused look on his face, as I do. He shrugs. “Umm. Sure, I guess.”
Crystal and I stare as she drags Cameron by the arm through the sea of students, disappearing into the crowd.
“Ohmygod. She’s such a snot ball,” Crystal says, rolling her eyes.
I can’t say I disagree. “What the heck was that all about?” I ask, opening my locker.
Crystal shakes her head. “Your guess is as good as mine. She gave me a look of death like I’d seriously done something to her. I think I’ve officially become mortal enemy number one.”
I wave a dismissive hand. “I wouldn’t pay her any mind.” I grab my books for the first three periods, then slam my locker shut. I lower my voice to barely a whisper. “They say paranoia runs in her family.”
Crystal snorts. “Oh, so she’s genetically crazy. Ha! That’s good to know. That says it all.”
14
L
ater in the evening, Crystal and I are hanging out at the Poetry Café. Her mom dropped us off about an hour ago—she’ll pick us up around nine she said—and now we’re sitting here finishing up an order of honey-glazed wings and cheese fries that we’ve shared.
Crystal licks her fingers. “Mmm. I love the wings here.” She plucks a cheese fry from the plate and holds her head back, dropping it into her mouth.
I grimace. “Ugh. That’s so not ladylike.”
She rolls her eyes, chewing. She swallows, then says, “Who has time trying to be ladylike eating cheese fries and honey wings? Not me.” She licks her fingers again, then smacks her lips. “They’re so heavenly.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Well at least try to be—”
I’m not given a chance to finish my sentence. One of the Café’s regular poets walks over to our table, smiling. “What’s going on, Nia?”
“Hi,” I say coolly.
Oh Lordy!
What’s his name?
I don’t want to sound lame and ask him, since he’s
always
able to remember mine. But for the life of me, I can’t recall his name. I just know he’s really, really tall—like
extra
tall—and has lots of tattoos, and an eyebrow piercing.
This is so embarrassing.
Crystal elbows me, extending her hand out. “Hi. I’m Crystal. Dang, you’re tall. And cute. Don’t mind the sticky hands, though. Want a honey wing?”
He eyes her, amused. “Nah. Thanks. Nice meeting you, though.”
“Nice meeting you, too. Are you married? Single? Any babies?”
“Ohmygod,” I say, utterly embarrassed at the drool gathering in the corner of her mouth. “Don’t mind my nutty friend,” I say. “She’s off her meds.”
He chuckles. “It’s all love. I haven’t seen you around in a minute, Nia. Things good?”
“Yes. They’re great. I’ve been around. Just haven’t been here in a while, though.”
He grins, revealing a row of straight white teeth. “Yeah. I see. You’ve been missed, though.”
Aww, dang. Now I really feel bad for not remembering his name.
I smile back at him. “Thanks. Are you performing tonight?”
“True indeed,” he says, nodding his head. “You?”
I shake my head. “No. Not tonight.”
He eyes me thoughtfully. “You should. I dig how you move on the stage. I enjoy watching you.”
I shift in my seat, feeling myself blush. “Thanks,” I say sheepishly. “I might, if they still have room.”
“They always have room for you,” he says. “And if not, they’ll make room. You know that.”
Crystal clears her throat. “Umm, hello? Why am I being excluded from
this
conversation? Is this about to turn into some poets’ meeting I’m not privy to?”
I roll my eyes and shake my head.
Crystal is a mess.
Mr. Extra Tall grins. “My bad. What would you like to talk about? Um . . .” He snaps his finger. “Crystal, right?”
She tosses a look my way. “See. He remembers my name.”
I roll my eyes up in my head as she stands in front of his six-foot-something frame, hand on her hip, flirting with him. “Let’s talk about
you
.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Are you dating anyone?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Are you looking for a date? Because if you are, I’m free every day except for Tuesdays and Sundays, and so you should know I never, ever, kiss with an open mouth. I’m borderline germaphobe.”
He laughs, sliding his eyes over at me. “Wow. Where have you been hiding her? She’s quite the comedian.”
She eyes me. “Yeah, Nia. Tell him. Where have you been hiding me?”
I sigh.
When Crystal has her sights on someone, it’s nonstop banter and a bunch of flirty nuances. I am relieved when the waitress comes to the table to collect our dirty dishes and to see if there’s anything else we want.
Extra Tall tells the girl to put our bill on his tab.
I thank him. But then little Miss Flirty goes
waaaay
overboard.
Again.
Practically throwing herself at him.
“Ohmygod,” she cries. “That’s so sweet. What a gentleman. I could almost kiss you, if I wasn’t afraid of catching the kissing disease. This is almost like our unofficial first date.”
And your last, I think as I hold my head and cover my face in my hand, shaking my head, just as the lights dim.
Our cue.
That open mic is about to begin.
“Okay, gotta go.” He winks at me. “Hope to see you up on that stage.”
I smile at him. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“Nice meeting you, Crystal,” he says, grinning. “I’m sure we’ll flirt later.”
“Oh, we sure will,” she says coyly.
And then he’s gone.
“Dang,” Crystal mutters. “I didn’t get his name.”
Neither did I.
But that all changes the minute the host introduces the night’s first act. “Everyone let’s give it up for one of Long Beach’s finest. At six foot eight, put your hands together for poet Six-Eight.”
Crystal and I lean forward.
Our eyes follow his every step as he gallops up the stage and snatches the microphone from its stand. He recites a piece titled “Flirt,” about a girl who entices guys using the art of seduction. It’s sensual, as is most of his poetry. And when he finishes up his piece, Crystal hops up from her seat and whistles and claps, swearing he wrote that poem about her.
There’s no convincing her otherwise.
So I leave her to her delusions.
By the time the seventh poet hits the stage, I’m feeling inspired to take the stage. I catch the eye of the host and wave her over.
“Hello. I’m Nia Daniels. Is it too late to go up?” I ask her the minute she reaches us.
She smiles. “I know who you are, darling. You haven’t been here in a while. And, no, there’s always room for a favorite.” She tapped her tablet with a long, acrylic nail. “We’ll call you up shortly.”
Wow. I’m a
favorite
.
I smile back.
Touched by her kind words.
Two more poets take the stage—and end their pieces to thunderous applause—before I’m finally called up. “Okay, we’re going to call up our next poet,” she says, looking down at her electronic device. “Next up is Nia Daniels. It’s been a while since we’ve seen her. Let’s welcome her back to the stage.”
Everyone claps. Of course, Crystal can be heard the loudest whistling and catcalling like a loon. But, hey, what can I say?
That’s my bestie.
I take the microphone, and clear my throat. “This piece is called ‘Let Me.’ It goes out to anyone who has ever felt stuck, or trapped in people, places, or things.”
“A’ight,” someone says. “Go deep on ’em, li’l sis.”
I smile.
I close my eyes for a few seconds, then open them.
Let me . . .
Reach into your locks
uh
not
your
dreadlocks
no
your
dead
locks
and
unchain
your
enslaved mind
Let me . . .
unleash you
from an existence
where
mental stagnation
and
self-depreciation
keeps you
locked
in a box;
not
a
sandbox
but
a
locked box
trapped
in
fear
Let me . . .
Free your mind
Free your body
Free
you
from a
darkened
shell
No
No
A self-made
prison cell
of
flesh n bone
vacant
of
barbed wire
and
concrete walls
Let me . . .
liberate you
from
the burden
of judgment
of
stereotypes
of
contemplative silence;
Let me . . .
Release you
from the
pain
of
unspoken words
that cling
to a tongue
that fears
truth
That swallows
the rage
of a
past that
bares no semblance
to happiness
Let me . . .
reach up
into
your locks
and
free you
and
make you
breathe
again...
can
i
free your mind
can
i
free your soul
can
i
make
you
whole
yes
only
if you
let me . . .
The piece is well received by the crowd. I am smiling as I gallop down the steps and return to my seat. Crystal is still standing and clapping. “Oooh, yes! You killed it, girl.” She gives me a hug. “That was deep as heck. Loved it.”
I smile wider, hugging her back.