Authors: Amir Abrams

Crazy Love (8 page)

“I
'm sorry,” I say, leaning up against the frame of her bathroom door. It's taken me three hours and forty-seven minutes from the time Daddy dropped me off to finally get around to making nice with her. Well, trying to, that is. The idea of apologizing to her is torturous. But my motivation to hop up on the Witch's broom is for four reasons: One, I wanna drive my new car to school. Two, I wanna get out of this hellhole. Three, I need to see my boo. And four, Brittani sent me a text telling me her sister's boo-thang's frat is having a Halloween party next month and she invited us to go. And you know I am not tryna miss a party. Although I still have six weeks to go before the party pops off, one, two, and three are most critical. So a girl's gotta do some damage control. Well, at least try to. Kissing up to my mother has never been one of my favorite things to do.

She's sitting at her marble vanity removing her makeup with Neutrogena face wipes. She stops what she's doing and looks at me in the wall mirror.

“What are you sorry about?” she asks, shifting her body so that she can look at me.

I shrug. “Everything, I guess.”

She raises her brow. “You guess? So basically what you're saying is, you don't really know what you're apologizing for, do you?”

“Iâ”

“Well, obviously not,” she states, cutting me off. I hate when she does that. “'Cause if you did, you wouldn't be coming in here with this âI guess' mess.” She stares me down. “Kamiyah, your mouth and your attitude are really getting out of control. I don't know what has gotten into you. You're starting to act just like your sister did when she was living at home.”

I huff. “Oh, puhleeeeze, Mom. I am nothing like how Erika was. And you know it.”

“Well, you're damn near close to it,” she snaps. “First I had to deal with the disrespect with Erika, and now you're trying to do the same thing. But I have news for you, young lady. I am not going to put up with it.”

“Maybe if you'd try to loosen up and stop being so nitpicky all the time, we'd get along better.”

She blinks. “Wait a minute. Who do you think you're talking to? See, this is what I'm talking about, Kamiyah. Here you go again, trying to give it to me. No.
We'd
get along better if you learned your place in this house, young lady. I'm the adult. You're the child. End of discussion.”

I try not to roll my eyes, or suck my teeth, or put my hands up on my hips. But it's reeeeeeal hard not to. I fold my arms across my chest. “Mom, I'm not tryna be rude. But why is it if I speak my mind it's me being too grown or too disrespectful? But it's okay for you to say whatever you want? You act like you don't want me to have a mind of my own, or be able to say what I feel. I feel like you want me to be a puppet you can dangle on a string.”

“Kamiyah, it's not what you say. It's how you say it. I want you to be able to express yourself. But what I want you to understand is that there are some things that are not up for debate, period. And I definitely don't want you thinking you can speak to me like I'm one of your little friends. You and I aren't girls. And you don't get to make the rules around here.”

I grunt. “Well, how long are you going to keep me locked in this house?”

She takes a deep breath. “For as long as I want,” she snaps, turning back toward the mirror. She starts smearing cream all over her face.

Witch!

But I don't crank it up. I spin on the balls of my feet and walk off to my room, mindful not to slam my bedroom door or throw anything. I turn on my stereo, slip in my Adele
19
CD, then flop across my bed. I log into Facebook and read the news feeds, then click onto Sincere's page. “Crazy For You” starts playing as I read his wall posts. He has a picture of me and him together as his profile pic, but his status still reads
single
. Strike one! I click on a post he was tagged on by “Sexy Latina Bombshell.”

It's a picture of this Spanish-looking chick with wavy hair, blowing a kiss.
Wait, I've seen this chick somewhere before,
I think, staring at the screen real hard, trying to remember where.
Where the hell do I know her from?
I'm not gonna hate on her and say she's busted 'cause truth is, she's serving it. But the big bad heifer has no dang business tagging my man with a picture of her blowing kisses, whether they're to him or not. I click on her profile, then click on PHOTOS. Then I spend the next hour going through all two hundred and seventy-two picturesâhappy chick was dumb enough to keep her photos publicâuntil I figure out she's the same rude chick that was all up on Sincere the night I first met him.
Oh, so this is the ho who pulled him away from me.
She has about fifteen pictures of Sincere; some with her in them, and others with him alone or with other peopleâmostly dudes.

I'm not really too pressed, since most of the pictures were taken last year and over the summerâbefore
me
. Still, I want her off Sincere's page. I click back on his page and start reading some of his older posts and see all this thirstiness going on with a buncha birds sweating him.

One of these pigeons posted: H
ORNY.COM
! S
END ME SOMETHING GOOD TO LOOK AT OR CALL ME SO WE CAN LISTEN TO EACH OTHER MOAN
.

I frown.

Another post reads: H
EY SEXY.
W
ISH I HAD YOU FOR MY BOO.
I'
D SHOW YOU SOME NEW TRICKS
I
LEARNED OVER THE SUMMER.
A
ND YES, IT'S THAT GOOD!

Thirty-seven people liked this mess, including Sincere.

Another post reads: W
HO WANTS TO SEE ME SWALLOW A BANANA
? H
MU IF YOU WANNA CHECK MY SKILLZ.
I
F I LIKE WHAT I HEAR
I
MIGHT SWALLOW SOMETHING ELSE. LBVS.

Ewww!
My first thought is to call Sincere up and scream on him, but then I remember something Erika and her girls used to say:
Never, ever let someone know you're checking up on 'em, 'cause then they'll only cover their tracks. Monitor in silence, store your facts, then give 'em enough rope to hang themselves.

I open up another browser on my computer, then type into the search engine. When I find the site I want, I click on the link, browse their items, then add what I want to my cart and use Daddy's credit cardâthe one he gave me to use for emergencies
only.
Well, this
is
an emergency. I use Zahara's address as my shipping address, then make my purchase. There's no way I can have my package delivered here without my mother's nosy butt opening it up, then asking me a ton of questions. Oh no . . . not gonna happen.

I close out the screen, then reach for my phone and text Zahara to let her know to be on the lookout for a package for me that will be delivered in three to five days to her house.

She texts back: WHAT KINDA PACKAGE?

Me:
IT'S A GIFT
4 MY DAD. Okay, that's a lie. But she doesn't need to know that!

Zee: THN Y U SENDIN IT HERE?

Me: I DON'T WANNA CHANCE HIM BEIN HERE WHEN IT COMES

Zee: K

Me: TTYL

Zee: KOOL

I close out the text screen and my phone starts ringing before I can make a call. I smile. It's Sincere. “Hello.”

“Hey. Whatchu doin'?”

“Thinking about you,” I say, clicking through his Facebook photos.
Mmmph, thinking about you is all I do.
“I was just getting ready to call you.”

“Aaaah, that's wassup. What were you thinking about?”

Well, let's see. Who you're with when I'm not around? Why you didn't call me sooner? Who's all up in your face when I'm not around? Why the hell you got all these birds up on your wall, poking and tagging you? And the list goes on and on!

“Us,” I tell him, clicking back on Ho's page.
Stay away from my man!
I log off. “Are you messing with anyone else?”

Way to go, dumbo! You never ask a boy if he's messing around on you when you know all he's gonna do is lie to you.

“Nah. It's all you, baby.”

Uh, duh . . . you knew he was gonna say that
.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. Why would you ask something like that?”

I shrug as if he can see me through the phone. “Just making sure.”

“Are
you
messing with someone else?” he asks.

I suck my teeth. “Ugh!
Illll
, no. That's nasty.”

He laughs. “A'ight, that's what I wanna hear.”

“Sincere . . .” I pause. Listen to the way he lightly breathes into the phone.

“Wassup?”

“Are you happy with me?”

“Hell yeah, baby. I'm not interested in anyone else.”

“You better not be,” I say, smiling.

“I got you, baby. Yo, who's that singing in the background?”

“Adele.”

“Oh, word? She's dope. What song is that?”

“ âMake You Feel My Love,'” I tell him.

“Oh, a'ight. That's wassup. Is that what you're trying to do to me?”

“What?” I ask, reaching over on my nightstand and grabbing the picture of him I have in a glass picture frame. He's wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a tank top, holding a basketball. I roll over on my back and kiss his face, pretending he's here in the flesh. “Make you feel my love?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, what, you don't already feel it?”

He lowers his voice. “Yeah, I feel it.”

“Sincere . . .”

“Yeah, baby,” he says. “Wassup?”

“Don't ever leave me.”

“I'm not, Miyah.”

“Promise?”

“I promise you, baby. I'm not going anywhere.”

And for the rest of the night, we listen to each other breathe and whisper sweet nothings into the phone until I fall asleep with the phone still pressed against my ear.

D
addy picks me up bright and early and takes me down to the motor vehicle department to get my license, then drops me off at school with a note. I am cheesing real hard right now. Finally, I am an official card-carrying licensed driver!

“Did you apologize to your mother like I asked you to?” he asks, pulling up in front of school.

I give him a frustrated look, shaking my head. “Daddy, I tried. But she wasn't hearing it. I think she's really gonna try to keep me a prisoner for the rest of my life. You have to talk to her for me.”

“Try again,” he says, eyeing me. “I don't want to be in the middle of this with you and your mother. She felt disrespected and you need to fix it.”

“But, Daddy,” I whine. “She disrespects me.”

“She's your mother.”

“I know. But still . . .”

“There's no
but
,” he says, glancing at the digital clock in the dashboard. “Look, I have to get to the office for a meeting. We'll talk about this later. Okay?” Both of my parents are college-educated professionals. Daddy works in the city on Wall Street as a commodities broker. And the Witch is a high-powered litigation attorney for one of the most prestigious law firms in the country. Her law firm has offices in New York, Denver, and Los Angeles which is why she travels a lot.

I nod as the music in the car stops and his phone rings. We both glance at the number that flashes up.
Speaking of the Wicked Witch
, I think, opening the door. “Okay.”

“Hey,” he says, answering the call.

I hear her ask, “Did she get her license?” as I shut the door. I wave at him. He waves back and I watch as he drives off, shaking his head at something she's said, I'm sure.

I walk into the attendance office and sign in. Mrs. Bergen gives me a hall pass. It's already the middle of third period and I think it really makes no sense going to class, so I decide to go to the library instead, until the fourth-period bell rings. I quickly change my mind and head to my locker so I can get my AP Lit book. I open the door and glance at my reflection in the mirror.
Boo, you just too fly
, I think, digging in my bag and pulling out a comb.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall . . . who is the flyest chick of 'em all?” Ameerah says, walking up on me.

“Definitely not you,” I say, smirking.

She laughs. “Whatever, pumpkin head. Are you just getting here?”

“Yeah.”

“
Well?
” she huffs, putting a hand up on her hip.

“Well, what?”

“Uh, hellooooo . . . license, today.”

“Oh, that.” I laugh, fishing inside my bag for my wallet. “
Bam
,” I say excitedly, flashing my brand-new ID.

“Heeeey, that's what I'm talking about. I can't wait to get mine. Two more months and counting.”

“Uh-huh.” I pull out a little pot of MAC gloss and dab some on my lips.

“Let me get some of that,” she says, sticking her finger in, then gliding some on her lips as well. She smacks them together for effect. “Anywaaayz, boo. You need to hurry up and get off punishment already. This makes no sense, three whole days of cruel and unusual punishment. It's heart wrenching. We miss you, boo.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, I don't care if you have to beg, borrow, or steal. You need to get back in your mom's good graces, like yesterday. You know Brittani's birthday is on the first, which is next Saturday. Then at the end of the month is the Halloween party. And you know we are gonna get our trick and treat on, okay?! So you need to act like you know.”

“I know, I know. I'm working on it. But, ohmygod, that woman is so difficult. I tried apologizing to her last night and she just straight played me to the left. I'm so over her right now.”

She grunts. “Mmmph. Well, you better get over it. And make niceâ
quick!
”

I start combing my hair out. “I will.”

“Shoot. What you need to do is learn to keep your trap shut.”

The bell rings and kids start pouring out of their classes, flooding the hallway.

“Ohmygod, my future baby fahver is too fine for his own good,” Ameerah says, looking over my shoulder as she's standing at my locker waiting for me to finish combing out my wrap. I already know without looking who she's talking about. Joe-Joe. He's a senior and our indoor and outdoor state and regional track star in the 400- and 100-meter sprints. He also runs cross-country to stay conditioned. The boy is crazy fast.

“Heeeeey, Joe-Joe,” Ameerah says, waving at him as he walks up to us.

I roll my eyes up in my head.

He steps into our space with his long-legged self, grinning. “Hey, Meerah. Wassup, Kamiyah?”

“Hey,” I say back.

“Are you still gonna wait for me after practice?” he asks Ameerah. I try to act like I'm too wrapped up in making sure my do is good to be all up in their convo. He's cute. Okay, okay, he is fine and he has a banging body. But in my head I'm picturing her playing all up in his curly hair and popping them nasty zits with her fingernails. Ugh!

“Of course I am. You already know.”

“A'ight, cool. I gotta get to class, but I'll talk to you later, a'ight?”

“I'll be waiting,” she says, sounding real extra with it. He says good-bye to the both of us, then dips.

“Oh God, he's so fine.”

I suck my teeth. “Girl, get a grip.”

She scrunches her nose up at me. “And what is that supposed to mean?” She places her hand up on her hip, waiting for my response.

I take out the books I need for my last three periods, then shut my locker. “Uh, it means you are sounding real thirsty right now. Okay, you dig the dude, but geesh, you don't have to be so desperate with it.”

She puts her hand up in my face. “Screeech! Oh, puhleeze, look who's talking. Miss All-up-on-Facebook-and-I-can't-stop-looking-at-my-phone-and-answering-on-the-first-ring.”

Wait, who told her that? How she know I stay up on his Facebook page?
I frown. “Wrong answer, boo. I'm not sweating Sincere like that. You got it confused. That's what you do, sweetie.”

She rolls her eyes. “Lies. But, okay. If that's what you believe. Truth is, you're worse than me, boo. Admit it.”

I laugh, flicking my hand at her. “Whatever.”

“Exactly. It's time forâ”

I dig in my bag when I feel my phone vibrating. She stops in midsentence when she sees me pulling it out. It's a text from Sincere. HEY BABY. WAS THINKN BOUT U