The Girl of His Dreams (4 page)

“Of course,” I say, utterly disgusted.

“Do you think she's going to take him back? I mean, I know that's your dad and all, but I swear I hope she doesn't. I don't want you to have to move.”

I know Mariah means well, but I'm honestly not beat to do this with her. Not today, not ever. Talking about my parents makes me nauseous to my stomach. I swear. It's like a never-ending roller-coaster ride with the two of them.

Nonstop dumbness if you ask me. Fact is, my dad's been cheating on my mom for as long as I can remember, and she continues to put up with it. I hate to say this, but I have no respect for my mother, either. Not when it comes to my father. He's such a dog! And she keeps letting him crap all over her. I sigh, looking over at Mariah. “It'll be no surprise if she does.”

She shakes her head, knowingly. She's been through what I've been through, so she understands what it is I am going through. And what it is I'm feeling since she's felt it too. Pissed. Hurt. Confused. Torn. I love my father, but I hate him, too.

A part of me feels like I really shouldn't be mad at him for doing what
she
keeps allowing him to do. But I am. Because the truth of the matter is, he needs to learn to keep his thing in his pants, and stop sleeping around with a buncha women, disrespecting my mom like that. And she needs to stop letting him. Or they both need to let each other go and be done with it. I swear. I don't ever wanna end up like my mom—weak.

“C
ome on, ma . . . stop playin',” I whisper in Chantel's ear. “You know you want it.”

We're both breathing hot 'n' heavy. “Please,” she says in between kisses. “You're making me crazy.”

“Then let me make you feel crazy good,” I say, kissin' her neck, her shoulders, as my hands roam her body.

“It's ... gonna ... hurt.”

“I'll be gentle,” I say, kissin' her lips again, as I start inchin' my hands back over her hips, to the band of her underwear. She grabs my hand.

Mad frustrated, I roll off her, climb outta bed. I walk over to my window and snatch open the curtains, floodin' my bedroom with light. “Yo, get up and get out,” I say, walkin' back over toward the bed, pickin' up her bra from off the floor and tossin' it at her.

She gives me a shocked look as it hits her in the face. “W-w-what, you're putting me
out?
”

“Yeah,” I say, slippin' back into my boxers. “Bounce. I ain't wit' these games, yo.”

“I'm not playing games. I wanna be here with you. I said I'd give you oral again.”

I frown. “Yo, what I look like? I can get topped off anytime I want. I want more than that. You already know what it is. You got me mad excited.” I step back so she can get a good look at my nakedness. “You see all this? You did this, ma. But you wanna be on some ol' other bull. So step.”

I walk over and swing open my bedroom door. She's lucky I ain't the type of dude to straight-up dis her and toss her out in just her drawers.

“Oh my god! I can't believe you're gonna throw me out because I don't wanna go all the way with you.”

“Believe it, yo.”

She gets outta bed and starts throwin' on her clothes. “This is so messed up.”

“Nah, what's messed up is you wastin' my time wit' these silly games, lil girl.”

She sucks her teeth. “Whatever, Tone. I knew I shoulda listened to LuAnna and not come over here.”

I laugh. “Yo, you straight-up dizzy for runnin' ya trap in the first place. That broad had no business knowin' what we were gonna be gettin' into. But let me tell you somethin' 'bout ya girl LuAnna. She wanna get up on this, too. And you know what? If I woulda known you was nothin' but a trick-tease I woulda got wit' her instead of wastin' my time wit' you.”

“You're such a dog!”

“Yo, stop wit' all the talk, get dressed, and bounce before I throw you up outta here in ya drawers.”

I walk over to my dresser and scoop up my phone, scroll through my history 'til I get to Shania's number. I hit the call button, then wait for her to pick up.

“Hey, boo,” she answers. “I see you ain't front.”

“Nah, ma. I already told you what it was. So, wassup?”

“You,” she coos into the phone.

I cut my eye over at Chantel. She got the nerve to be ice-grillin' me like she wanna pop off. I stare her down.

“Yo, that's wassup. You feel like chillin' tonight?”

“It's been mad long so you already know, boy. Just let me know when.”

“A'ight, bet. I'ma swing through as soon as I toss out this trash.”

Chantel slams a hand up on her wide hip. “Boy, I know you not even standin' here tryna call
me
trash when that's all you'll ever be. You ain't . . .”

“Who's that in the background?” Shania asks.

“Nobody important,” I say, eyein' Chantel as she sits on the edge of my bed and puts on her shoes.

Shania grunts. “Sounds like a buncha drama to me.”

“Nah, ain't nothin' major. I'ma hit you up when I'm 'bout to head out.”

“Okay—” I disconnect before she finishes her sentence.

“You real foul, Tone, for real. But it's all good. I'm not ever gonna be pressed for no boy, especially one like you.”

I laugh. “Yeah, right. You mad thirsty, yo. Front if you want. You been eyein' me from the rip. You been wantin' a taste of all'a this.”

“Screw you, Tone!” she yells, snatchin' her bag and stormin' outta my room. I follow behind her as she stomps down the steps, talkin' mad reckless. “You lucky I don't get my uncles to beat you down.”

I keep laughin', openin' the front door. “Yo, get the eff outta here wit' that. And what you want me to tell 'em when they come through? That their niece is mad freaky wit' the lip work?”

She gives me the finger, then slams the front door behind 'er. I shake my head. Real rap, yo. I'm glad my pops is on the road this week and wasn't posted up here seein' or hearin' all'a this craziness. He's already warned me mad times 'bout bringin' drama to up in here. If he had walked up in here and peeped this, he'd be snappin' for sure, especially after what popped off last summer when he let one of my lil thing-things from last summer in the house and didn't know I was already up in my room gettin' it in wit' another chick. Stupid me forgot to lock my bedroom door so she walked in on us rockin' the springs. She flipped her lid, snatchin' the girl off of me by her hair, then swingin' her 'round my room. They tore my bedroom up. Broke my laptop, cracked my flat-screen, and even put a hole in my wall. Yo, tryna break up two broads goin' at it extra hard was mad hectic, especially while bein' naked. And it def wasn't a good look when Pops had to see it.

Then to top it off, that nutty broad came back later that night and smeared dog poop on my Pops's whip, then threw a brick through our living room window. Pops was heated, yo. He had me on shutdown for weeks after that. And I had to work the rest of the summer wit' him
wit' out
gettin' paid. He said that was how I was gonna pay for all the damages. Havin' to spend the rest of my summer on the road wit' no paper in my pockets sucked!

I shake my head, sighin' as I take the stairs two at a time, goin' up to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash up. I smell Chantel's perfume on me and decide to hit the shower real quick. Ain't no sense in goin' over to a shorty's crib smellin' like another broad. I head back into my bedroom and slip on a pair of black sweats and a red long-sleeved Hollister tee. I grab my cell and my keys, then bounce.

As I'm walkin' outta the crib, my phone rings. I pull it outta my pocket and glance at the screen. It's Pops. “Wass-sup, man?” I say, gettin' in my whip, then crankin' the engine.

“Chillin', son. Makin' that money. You know how ya old man does it. And how you'd better do it.”

I smile. Pops may not always be home, but he's always held it down. And I ain't ever hafta rock hand-me-downs or some kicks leanin' to the side. Nah, Pops always made sure I stayed laced. And we've always had a nice spot to rest at. “Yeah, no doubt,” I say, backin' outta the driveway, then peelin' off. “You good?”

“Yeah. You?”

“No doubt. I'm good.”

“Listen. I'm gonna be out on the road for the next three days so make sure you handle your business right.” Code for:
Don't let me come home and find the crib wrecked
.

“I got you, Pops. Where you off to?” He tells me Boston, then Rhode Island. “How was your first day at school?”

I make a right onto Central Avenue, then stop at the light. “It was a'ight. You know. Same crap, different year.”

He chuckles. “And how them lil honeys lookin'?”

“Man, slim pickin's so far. But a lil thing-thing did catch my eye. Man, she's stacked in the back real right.” He laughs. Tells me to make sure I keep it strapped up. Reminds me that he's not beat for grandkids. “Don't worry, Pops. I keeps it wrapped. You already know.”

“Yeah, I know how it is. But some'a them fast-behind girls out there will try'ta trap you if you don't keep your mind right.”

“I got you, Pops. I'm definitely not tryna have kids, man. I'm still tryna have fun.”

“Yeah, well, you just make sure you keep all that fun of yours in a condom.”

I shake my head. Pops be buggin' hard 'bout me gettin' some chick knocked. He should know that ain't how I get down. No matter how many times I tell 'im I've never even had sex wit' out a condom, he still ain't tryna hear it. “By the way,” he continues as I head toward Shania's crib. “You not still messin' wit' that lil loudmouthed hoodrat, are you?” He's talkin' 'bout Quanda. “I don't want her up in that house, you hear me?”

“I got you, Pops. Nah. I deaded that a minute ago. I thought I told you. But, man, she's still sweatin' the kid, hard, yo. She was all up in school today startin', then was out sittin' on the hood of my whip waitin' for me this afternoon.”

I can almost see him shakin' his head at me, lookin' at me like I'm mad stupid for not listenin' to 'im in the first place. But Pops ain't gonna ever say it, even if he is thinkin' it. “You just make sure you don't let her up in that house,” he warns. “I don't wanna repeat of what happened last summer. You hear me?”

“I got you, Pops,” I say, pullin' up to Shania's. She's out on her porch wit' her thick, chocolate hips stuffed in a pair of skimpy lil short-shorts. She's rockin' this low-cut tee that has her boobs practically bustin' out. She grins, eyein' me as I hop outta my whip. Pops and I kick it for a few extra seconds, then I tell 'im I gotta bounce.

“Yo, wassup, cutie?” I say, walkin' up on the porch.

She stands up. And the way she's lookin' me up 'n' down lets me know what's really poppin'. She's ready to get that back cracked. “What you think's up, boy?” she replies, grabbin' me by the hand, then pullin' me toward the door. She tells me her moms won't be home 'til after ten and her sister's at work so she has the spot all to herself. “So you know what that means, right?”

I smirk, followin' her into her bedroom. “Nah. What it mean, yo?”

She shuts her door, pulls her shirt off, then walks up on me. “It means you got work to do. And I hope you ready to deliver.”

“Yo, I stay ready,” I say, pullin' her into my arms.

A
s horrible as yesterday was being at this dumb school, I only hoped today wouldn't be as miserable. But, considering how the morning popped off, I was doubtful the rest of the day, let alone the rest of the week, would be any better. Last night, when Mariah and I returned from the mall, my mom came into my room, trying to convince me to be more open to “having a fresh, new start,” as she called it. And yeah, I rolled my eyes at her. Because the only thing I wanted to know was who was this
fresh, new start
really for?

“For both of us,” she had the nerve to say, sitting at the foot of my bed.

“No,” I huffed. “This is what's best for
you,
definitely not me. Not once did you ask me what I wanted. And yeah...I know you're the parent. But this is my life, too, and I shoulda had a say in where we moved.”

She reached for my hand, but I pulled away. “Listen, sweetheart. I know you miss Brooklyn. I miss it, too. It was our home. And I know we've left behind a lot of memories by moving out here to Jersey. But one day I hope you'll understand that this was the best thing for us.”

“I will never understand so don't hold your breath waiting on a miracle. What you did was selfish.”

She huffed. “
Selfish?
Oh, you've got to be kidding me. I've done nothing but put
you
and your father's needs before my own. Now it's time I start looking out for my own. Starting with this move.”

“Oh, please. It's
always
been about you. Anytime you've left Daddy or put him out, it was about
you
. And if it wasn't about you, then you sure picked a fine time to wanna start thinking about
you
now. What about
me,
huh? How and when did you ever put me before your needs? Please refresh my memory on that 'cause I musta missed it. The only thing you've ever cared about is keeping track of a man who spent more time in the streets than he did at home with his family.”

She yanked me by the arm. “I'm warning you, Miesha. Don't you dare talk about your father like that, or use that tone with
me
.”

“Well, it's the truth!” I shouted. “And all you wanna do is act like it's not. So then why'd you—no excuse me,
we
—leave him,
this
time?”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “
I'm
the parent here. Not you. What your father and I go through is not your concern.”

I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh really? And you still haven't answered the question. Well, newsflash,
mommy
dear”—she hates when I call her that—“it
is
my concern! You made it my business
and
my concern when
you
dragged me into it!”

“Oh, Miesha, stop. Now you're being melodramatic. I did—”

I cut her off. “I am not
being
dramatic. I'm being real.”

“I said you were being
melo
dramatic. . . .”

I huff. “Same difference. The point is—”

“You keep cutting me off. And yelling at me. Now if you'd just shut your mouth and stop trying to talk over me maybe you'd . . .”

I threw my hands up over my ears. “I'm not hearing you!” Her lips were still moving, but I kept yelling over and over, “I'm not hearing you! I'm not hearing you . . . !” Finally she got the hint and walked outta my room.

Then this morning while I was getting ready for school, Mariah's mom came in my room tryna check me for coming at my mother sideways the night before. “Miesha,” she started, leaning up against the frame of my door as I stood at the mirror and combed out my wrap. “I heard you yelling at your mother last night.”

I glanced over at her and gave her an
Okay, and?
look, then went back to staring at my reflection in the mirror. I have my mother's doe-shaped eyes framed by long, thick lashes and her narrow nose and pouty lips. But I have my father's forehead, his caramel complexion and his bright smile. As much as I don't like her and can't stand him—okay, okay, I'm lying...I love him. But, whatever! I am both of them—neatly wrapped into one big ball of mess.

“I know this move is hard for you,” she continued as she eyed me. “But no matter how you feel about being here, that doesn't give you the right to be disrespectful to your mother.”

I frowned. I hated when adults—who didn't know jack about what
I
was going through or had been through—felt it was their right to tell
me
what I had to do. Sorry, boo-boo . . . respect isn't given! You either earn it or you take it. My mother has done neither. I remember asking my father two years ago—after she caught him in another motel room—why he kept cheating on her. I was crying and pissed and all emotional because they were going through it,
again
. And you wanna know what he said to me? He said, “Because ya mom keeps lettin' me. I don't mean to hurt her. I love her. But I don't think I love her enough to stop doin' what I do. And as long as she keeps allowin' me to do it, I ain't gonna ever have a reason to wanna try 'n' stop.”

Ouch! As effed up as that was for him to say, to
me
—his daughter, I had to respect it because it was real. So, no. I'm not gonna respect her until
she
starts respecting herself. And instead of telling my aunt Linda this, I let her beat me in the head. But I was lookin' at her kinda sideways, too, since she really isn't no different from my mom when it comes to men. But I knew enough to stay in my lane. See. If I brought it to Aunt Linda like that, she'd jump up on my back and stomp me down. So, nope, I didn't say a word. But I thought it. Then I walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Aunt Linda, I appreciate you letting me and my mom stay here, but this is
not
where I wanna be, period.”

Yeah, she has a nice four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bathroom spot in the Jersey City heights section of Jersey City. And yeah, it's extra close to the city and all. But it's still not
my
home. And it's
still
not Brooklyn! I slipped into my heels, and grabbed my bag. “Aunt Linda, I won't yell at her again in your home, okay? But I am
not
going to respect her. I'm not respecting a woman who lets a man walk all over her.”

“Sweetie, you got a lot to learn about life and love. But I'ma let you figure it all out on your own since you seem to already have all the answers. That's the problem with you young girls—you think you know everything.” This time, I gave her a hug, told her I loved her, then walked out.

 

“Umm, why don't you watch where you're goin', trick!” someone snaps, banging her shoulder into me, shaking me outta my thoughts.

I blink. I know I wasn't that caught up in my head that I wasn't aware of where I was walking. And I know for certain I didn't walk into this chick. No. Judging by the smirk on her face, she purposefully bumped into me. And that's a no-no, boo!

“Uh, no, hun,” I snap back. “Why don't
you
watch where the hell
you're
going? You bumped into
me
, you buffalo. Get it right.”

“And? What you gonna do about it? Trick,
you
a buffalo.”

I take a deep breath. Size this dark chocolate chick up. She's a thick, ham-hock-and-biscuit-eating ho with humongous boobs and extra-big hands, which means I would have to punch her in her neck real hard to drop 'er. She has on a pair of ripped blue jeans and her double-D watermelons are stuffed into a pink tee with the words
DON'T HATE
stretched across the front of them in silver glitter.
This broad is delusional
, I think, frowning,
if she thinks someone is gonna be hating on her.
She has the nerve to have extra-long lashes on and pink lipstick painted over her big lips. She's a cosmetologist's nightmare!

I blink.
Oh my god... this broad looks like that chick from Barney. Baby Bop!

“I should punch you in your face,” she growls. She's about two, three, inches taller than my five-foot-six frame. Luckily for these six-inch heels on my feet, I'm hovering slightly over her as she stands here in her crispy white Nikes with the pink
swoosh
on the side.

I swear I'm really not in the mood for this ish! Two days of hoes comin' at me all slick is really more than I can take. I feel myself about to snap. Outta the corner of my eye, I see the queen of ghetto standing by the girls' bathroom with her arms folded, taking it all in. I'm sure some kinda way her hatin' azz is behind this zoo creature being all up in my grill.

I hear Mariah's voice in my head saying, “I'm telling you, girl. You're gonna have to drag one of them hoes real good for them to know you ain't the one.” I sigh. It's too early in the morning for this craziness. The only thing I wanna do is get to homeroom.

I tilt my head. Keep my voice calm and steady 'cause unlike this half-man, half dinosaur, who's loud-talking and going with the hands in my face, I'm not interested in a show. And I'm not about to hook off on her first. No, ma'am. I want this beast to swing first so I can claim self-defense when I take it to her gut. I keep my eyes on her hands.

“You know what, buffalo? I see why you're miserable. You're ugly, boo. You know it. I know it. And the world knows it. And if I had to wake up every morning looking like you, I'd be miserable too. Everything about you is dead wrong. From them whiskers around your face to them big-azz hands of yours, you're a tragic waste. But I tell you what. Press me if you want. I'ma help put you outta your misery.”

She blinks. I can tell she's kinda shocked I brought it to her like that. And embarrassed since a few heads in back of her start snickering and saying stuff like, “Oh snap ... she went in on her beard. . . . Dang, she callin' Samantha out. . . . Hahaha, she called her a buffalo. . . .” Of course, the comments get her all amped and she starts yelling and cursing, but hasn't swung off yet so I already know what it is with this one, too. She's another loudmouth broad who's all talk and no action. But I'm done.

Just as I'm about to step outta my heels, a golden-brown cutie steps in between us. “Yo, Sammie, baby,” he says, wrapping his arm around her/it, but eyeing me. “Why you effen wit' the newbie? Let her live, ma.”

I twist my lips up.
Sammie?
Hmmph. Whatever.

She shifts her glare from me and goes all starry-eyed looking up at Mr. Fine, like she's snagged the jackpot. “You know what, Cease, you right, boo. I'ma let the trick live.”

I laugh. “
Trick?
Sweetie,
boom!
I'm everything you'll never be. Fly. Fabulous. Flawless. So before you bring it to me, go shed a hundred pounds, shave them whiskers and that mustache, get those hands and feet right, then come check for me. 'Cause the
next
time you do, Sam the Man with the big hands, I'ma set it off on your face!”

She tries to lunge at me, but Mr. Fine holds her back.

I'm tired of talking. I wanna fight! “Bring it, baby. Punch me, ho.”

Everyone starts scattering when security comes down the hall, telling everyone to clear the halls and get to their homerooms. Mr. Cutie pulls Baby Bop down the hall in the opposite direction. I peep that Quanda broad—with her ugly, trifling self—dipping into the bathroom solo. My first thought is to creep up on her while she's in the stall and do her face in lovely. But, then I decide against it.

I strut off down the hall, my mind made up. The next ho who steps to me outta pocket is gonna get her sockets rocked—period, point blank!