Diva Rules (7 page)

“S
o how was school?” my sister Leona asks the minute I slide into her Benz 'n' buckle my seat belt. When I get old like her, I wanna be just like her. Fierce. Young heads stay checkin' for her, but she ain't havin' it. I don't blame her, though. She has a master's degree in marketing from NYU, owns a fabulous crib with tons 'n' tons of closet space packed with designer clothes 'n' heels 'n' handbags for days. And she has a fab job working in the city for American Express, making loads of money. She gets to travel all over the world, so I can understand why she wouldn't be interested in havin' a young boo-daddy on her arm.

But if you ask me, girlie needs to drop down 'n' get her freak on. I mean, she needs some serious sheet action. All work 'n' no play is soooo not it. For the life of me, I can't understand why she doesn't have her a lil boo-daddy. It's not like she's disturbingly ugly or something, so I don't understand what the problem is. She claims she doesn't have a man because she doesn't have time for one 'n' that she refuses to settle.

Is that what they callin' it?
Settle?
Chile, boom! Her manless drought is soo not cute. But, uh, um, so you settle for cobwebs all up in ya honeypot instead? Girl, bye! Go out 'n' get you some!

I flip down the mirror 'n' recheck my lip gloss, sighing. “My day was
borrrring
. New day, same old mess. But I did almost have to beat this hood rat down for steppin' to me over some boy a few days ago.”

She looks over at me. “Please tell me you didn't.”

“I said
almost
. You know fighting is not my thing unless I'm provoked to take it there. Besides, who got time to be breaking up fingernails? Not me.”

“Good,” she says, pulling off. “It's your senior year and the last thing you need is to get yourself suspended for foolishness. You know what happened the last time you got into a fight.”

Yeah. Don't I
.

She's talking about the fight I had three years ago when I stabbed this girl in her forehead with a fork because she kept yappin' her jaws. I told the chick to fall back. To take it down several notches. But she kept tryna bring the rah-rah. She wanted to show out in front of her lil crew, so I slammed a fork into her forehead, then beat her down. Yeah, I had to get locked up for it. And, yeah, she had to get rushed to the hospital. Oh well. But I tell you what. I bet you she keeps it moving anytime she sees me now. Every time she looks at herself in the mirror she sees my four-prong stamp. Bottom line, don't eff with me 'n' I won't have to take it to your head!

I grunt. “Mmph. I'm not thinking about that trick. But if she steps to me like that again, I might have to do them ten days, 'cause I'ma beat the skin off her. Senior year or not, she stays tryna get it turnt up. I can't stand her.”

“What do I always tell you, Fiona?”

I sigh. “I know, I know. Pick 'n' choose my battles.”

“Exactly.”

She goes into mom mode. Tells me how it's not ladylike to be cussing 'n' fighting, especially over a boy. I quickly enlighten her on my diva rule: Read 'em for filth.
Snap, snap!
Never, ever, look for trouble. But if trouble comes strutting your way, give 'em a tongue-lashing before a beat-down. Please. I ain't got no time to be breaking a nail or twisting an ankle in my heels. Going with the hands should always be a diva's last resort. Well, um, that's unless a trick puts her hands on you
first
, then it's showtime.

She chuckles. “I don't know what I'm going to do with you, girl. You're so much like Sonji. That chile was always suspended for fighting some girl when she was in school. It's a wonder she even had enough credits to graduate.”

Sonji lives in New Haven, Connecticut, with her husband, Rondell. Her 'n' I aren't as close as I am with Leona or my sister Kara. I think I'm probably the closest to those two, more so than with Sonji 'n' Karina, because they were the ones who spent the most time with me. Usually, wherever one of them went, I went with her.

“Well, I can't wait to graduate. Trust. I'm so over high school.”

“Don't rush it. Savor it for as long as you can. Trust. It'll be over before you know it.”

“
Hunni
, four months 'n' counting. I can't wait.”

“Well, wait until you get out into the real world, sweetie. You're going to wish you could have stayed in school longer. You'll be tryna rewind the clock. Don't rush it.”

“Chile,
boom
! I can't wait until I'm eighteen 'n' grown. I'm outta here.”

“And where are you off to? Have you even given any thought to what you want to do once you graduate, since you're so anxious to be out on your own?”

I shrug. “I don't know. I thought maybe I could come stay with you.”

She peels her eyes from off the road. “Oh, really? And do what?”

I toss my hair. “Shop 'n' be fabulous, of course.”

She shakes her head, laughing. “Girl, get those grandiose delusions out of your head. You have a lot to learn.”

I turn toward her. Poke my lips out. “So, you're saying I can't come stay with you?”

“No. I'm not saying that. I'm saying it's time you start giving some thought to your future. And moving in with me can
not
be your post–high school life plan. Have you even taken the SATs?”

Ohgod, is she serious? Not this again
.

“Yesss. I did. I took them a couple of months ago. But I'm going to take them again, just to see if I can improve my score.” Truth is, I'm okay with my SAT scores: 1100. I'll take it. Now what I'm going to do with them is a whole other story.

I'm not sure I wanna go to college. I wanna travel to exotic places 'n' be able to wine 'n' dine in fancy restaurants. I wanna rock lots of ice 'n' rock a fly whip, like my sisters. I think I'ma have to snatch me a baller 'n' marry rich.

“Good. Get your college degree, then land a great job and you can have the kind of life you've always dreamed of.”

Uh, ohhkay.
“Girl, hush. I already have a fabulous life,
hun
. I'm young. Gorgeous. Smart. And I get all of my sisters' wardrobes. What more could a girl ask for?”

She chuckles. “And let's not forget being spoiled rotten. And while we're at it, let me add conceited to the mix.”

“Hahaha. You wish. Never that. Okay, maybe a lil spoiled, though.”

She shoots me a look. “A
little
? Really?”

I laugh. “Okay, okay. A lot. But it's mostly your fault.”

She laughs with me. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm guilty as charged.”

I look over at my sister 'n' smile. I love her so, so much. I swear. I don't know if she realizes how much I look up to her. She's like everything I want to be. Fly 'n' paid!

“Mom said you and her got into it the other night,” she says, broaching the subject ever so lightly. Ugh. She knows I hate talking about our mother. Well, I don't mind talking
about
her; just not talking about something she's told one of my sisters about
me
, which is usually some level of exaggerated BS.

“No,” I say, shifting in my seat. I reach for the controls on the side 'n' adjust my seat. “We didn't get into anything. She slick-talked 'n' I checked. Game over.”

“She says you told her to kiss the back of your—”

“Omigod! Lies 'n' fabrications! I told her to go have several seats. I didn't
tell
her to kiss anything. I
thought
it.” I give her a run-through of what really popped off.

“It was still disrespectful, Fee.” I shrug. Tell her respect is given when it's gotten 'n' I'm not respecting her until she respects me. She shakes her head. “Well, who is this boy she said you ran up out of the house to be with?”

“Some lil boo-thing I chilled with. Nothing serious. The boy couldn't even kiss.”

She glances over at me. “Fiona, you're a beautiful girl. You know everything shouldn't always be about sex.”

I frown. “Who said anything about
sex
? I said he couldn't kiss.” She gives me a look like
Okay, and?
“Trust. I didn't have sex with him if
that's
what you're thinkin'. He had sex with himself.” She frowns, giving me a confused look. I give her a dismissive wave. “Long, sad story. Anywho . . . for the record, I don't sleep with
every
boy I chill with.”
Only some of 'em. Okay, okay... most of 'em. Still . . . I'm a selective ho.

She sighs. “I just want you to be careful. Mom's worried you're going to end up pregnant, or worse—contract some kind of STD.”

“Ohmigod. She is so over herself. Why is that lady all up in my honey hole? What she needs to do is go out 'n' get her some. Maybe she wouldn't be so miserable. Jeezus. Trust. I don't do
nothin'
raw. Period. Ain't nobody tryna get pregnant. I'm a handbag 'n' heels girl, boo. Diaper bags 'n' strollers are so not it.”

She sighs, shaking her head. “Fiona, you know I love you, honeybun, but sometimes your mouth is real extra and you know it. I know Mom can be a little rough . . .”

“A lil? Uhh, you
think
?”

She chuckles. “Okay, a lot. But that's still our mom. And you have to know when to pick and choose your battles.”

“Omigod, Lee!” I cross my arms in front of me, feigning insult. “You don't know what I have to put up with. I try iggin' her. I try bitin' my tongue. But her mouth is reckless. That lady has always treated me like crap. And you know it.”

“Stupid little girl
.”

She shakes her head. “I know Mom hasn't always been exactly nice to you . . .”

“Ooh, you don't say?”

My own sisters saw her hatred toward me, which is why they always tried to protect me from her beatings 'n' erratic tirades the best they could. But then one day, everything just stopped. Her yelling. Her name-calling. Her beatings.

Maybe it's because I went to school 'n' told Miss Neilson—my seventh grade social studies teacher—who told the prinicipal, who then called New Jersey's Division of Youth and Family Services on her. Maybe it's because DYFS threatened to bring charges against her butt the next time she put her hands on me, beating me with brooms 'n' hairbrushes. Mmph. Or maybe it's because I pulled a knife on her 'n' was ready to slice her in her sleep. All I know is, it stopped. And I know it didn't stop 'cause she knew what she was doing was wrong, or that she felt bad, or that she loved me.

Leona takes her eyes off the road, reaching over 'n' grabbing my hand. “And you know I'm so sorry you had to go through all that.”

I shrug. “It's a little too late to do anything about it now. The damage's already done. She's ruined me.”

She gives me a pained look, squeezing my hand. She tries to tell me that I'm not damaged or ruined. That I shouldn't ever think like that. That I'm far from ugly. That I'm beautiful 'n' talented 'n' bright 'n' loved. Blah, blah, blah.

Yeah, okay.
That's how I feel sometimes. Ruined. Damaged. Ugly. Thanks to my mother. I swallow, turning my head toward the window. I'm done talking. I swipe a lone tear lingering in my eye. Ugh! That woman's not even here 'n' somehow—once again—she's managed to spoil my dang mood.

“H
ello.”

“Fiona?”

“Uhhh, yeah. Who's this?”

“What's up? It's Brent.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I wanted to make sure you didn't give me the wrong number.”

“Oh no, hun. I'm too grown for that. I ain't wasting my time givin' out no wrong numbers, boo. If I'm not beat, I just say it. Who got time for them kinda tricks?”

“Yeah. That's what I like about you, Fee. You different. Always have been.”

“Well, I'm glad you called,” I tell him, not sure how much of it's truth. I mean, yeah, I've flirted with this cutie-boo 'n' I've even lusted for him on the low for a minute. But all Brent's ever been is a fantasy boo. Someone I have shamelessy laid in bed thinking about in the wee hours of the night with my wandering hands 'n' eyes closed 'n', well, uh . . . you fill in the blanks.

“I'm glad I hit you up, too.”

I smirk. “It took you long enough.”

I'd given Brent my number right after seventh period today when I ran into him in the hall 'n' he asked me for it. So I'm not surprised that he's calling me seven-and-a-half hours later. Sure, he coulda played it like he really wasn't beat 'n' let a few days go by or even the rest of the week. But he didn't. And he wouldn't have. I'm sure lil daddy couldn't resist holding out any longer than he's already done. Mmph. I've known him since freshman year, so the fact that it's taken him 'til senior year to finally get up the nerve to step to me says he's a bit slow, or shy, or maybe even... special.

Ooh, bless his lil heart.

But I'm not gonna hold that against him. Oh no. But I got something I'ma hold him against. Yes gawd,
hunni
. Trust. Miss Fiona has been wanting her a lil taste of Brent since the moment I laid my green eyes on him in freshman gym 'n' saw him 'n' all'a his goodness in a pair of gym shorts. But I never stepped to him 'cause: one, I had too many other boo-daddy distractions; and two, I'm many things, but thirsty ain't ever gonna be one'a them, so sweatin' a boy is a no-no.

Boys sweat
me.

“Oh, a'ight. That's wassup.”

“Oooh, you have a sexy phone voice,” I say, sliding my tongue over my teeth.

I'm lying on my stomach with my feet in the air, flipping through a magazine while posted up on Facebook going through friend requests. So far I've accepted seventy-five outta ninety-three. I smirk when I see that Cease has sent me another request. This is like friend request number five or six. Why he's so pressed to be up on my page is beyond me. But, like all the other times, I don't accept him for any other reason than not wanting him up on my page.

Brent laughs. “Oh, for real? Thanks. You have a nice voice, too. I always wondered what you sounded like.”

“Well, now you do. So what I sound like?”

“Sexy.”

“Of course I do, boo. Sexy's my middle name. I thought you knew.”

“I do, I do.”

“Uh-huh. Glad you do.”

“True, true. I'm sayin' though . . . what's up with you?”

I shut my magazine 'n' toss it over onto the floor. “Nothin'. What's good in your world, boo?”

“Chillin'. Hopin' I didn't catch you at a bad time.”

“No, not hardly.” I glance over at the clock. It's a little after nine
P.M.
Leona dropped me off home around six thirty after an afternoon of pampering then an early dinner at a nearby restaurant. So here I am. Home alone 'n' practically bored outta my skull, knowing dang well I should probably be doing homework instead of wondering what kinda underwear he wears. Boxers? Or boxer briefs? Omigod, if he wears those lil tighty-whitey punk panties, I'ma drop to the floor 'n' die.

“So what you gonna be doing later on tonight, like in an hour?”

Hopefully ripping your clothes off, boo.
I smack my lips together. “Nothing. Why, you wanna come over 'n' keep me company?”

“You want me to?”

“I want you to do
what
ever you want,
Brrrent
.” I lower my voice. “Tell Fiona want you want, lil daddy, 'n' tonight just might become ya lucky night.”

“Oh, word? It's like that?”

“I'm a grown woman, boo. Trust. It's like however I want it to be.”

“Daaayum. You talkin' that talk.”

“And I can walk that walk too, lil daddy. Trust. Fiona don't play no games, boo. Come through 'n' you gonna learn tonight.”

I can hear the excitement ringing in his voice; the sweet promise of a hot, sweaty night, as he tells me he's been wanting to get with me for a minute. Ooh, this lil boo-daddy has no idea what kinda delicious, dirty trouble he's about to get into messing with me.

I roll over on my back, crossing my right leg over my left knee. “So why you wanna chill with me, huh? You wanna know if the rumors are true? That Fiona's a beast in the sheets?” I don't give him a chance to answer before I say, “Trust. They ain't no rumors, boo. So before you even try'n step up in the furnace, you better be ready to handle the heat.”

He starts breathing kinda heavy in my ear. I laugh to myself at the thought of him on the other end of the phone, drooling while tryna ease the excitement creeping up in his lap. I start talking all low 'n' freaky in his ear, teasing him.

“
Daaaaayum
. You don't even know what you done started. I need that like ASAP.”

I start grinning. “You know where I live?”

“Over on Wilkerson, right?”

“Yeah.” I give him the address. Tell him to come through in about thirty minutes.

“A'ight, bet. I'ma hit you when I'm on my way.”

“And you better not even come up over here with no musty balls or wearin' no Spider-Man or SpongeBob drawz, either.”

He cracks up laughing. “Nah, nah. Wrong dude. I stay clean. And my boxers always on point.”

“Mmph. We'll see.”

“You already know.”

We talk a few minutes more before disconnecting. I toss my phone over on the bed, then scramble around my room, pulling out a black lace cami set 'n' my scented candles. Yes,
hunni
, trust. It's gonna be a Durex night he'll never forget.