The Girl of His Dreams (7 page)

“Y
o, son, what's goodie?” Luke asks the minute I answer my cell.

“
De nada
, yo. Just gettin' in from this shorty's crib.”

“Oh, word? You hit?” He starts laughin'. “Never mind. I already know.”

“Then why you ask, fool? You know how I do. Player for life, ninja.”

“I heard that, yo. So wassup for the rest of the night? I got some Peach Ciroc 'n' a bag of sour. Let's get lit, yo.”

I crack up laughin'. This mofo is really tryna see if you can overdose on smokin' weed. He's been tryin' it all summer long and it still ain't happened yet. But his dumb butt's determined.

“Yo, where ya parents at?” He tells me his pops is on a business trip. He's like some kinda pharmaceutical rep and travels mad places e'ery month. He says his moms went back to Atlanta again to help wit' his sister's babies. I shake my head. I thought my pops stayed gone, but geesh . . . his parents ain't hardly ever home. I can understand why his pops be out, but his moms . . . yo, she be actin' like she straight-up ain't beat to spend time wit' him. Seems like all she care 'bout is his sister and them twin babies. He ain't ever say nothin' to me 'bout it. But sometimes I can hear it in his voice, that he's feelin' some kinda way 'bout it. “Man, it's a school night. I ain't smokin' or drinkin' tonight. And you shouldn't either, yo. You know we startin' preseason trainin' next week.”

“Yeah, I know. That's why I'ma smoke the rest of this bag up tonight. But I'm sayin'...you ain't gotta smoke, just come through. I got these two honeys from Bayonne comin' over to chill. And you know they gonna wanna get it in after we pop this bottle.”

I laugh. Ask him what two chicks he's talkin' 'bout. He tells me Rosa and Carmela. I tell him I don't know who them broads are.

“Yeah you do, yo. They the two Spanish chicks we got at over the summer. We peeped 'em at the beach, then snatched 'em up 'n' chilled the whole day. . . .”

I grin, rememberin'. One was dark complexioned, and looked more Dominican than Puerto Rican. The other was fair skinned. Although one had more booty than the other, they were both mad sexy 'n' had bangin' bodies. I bagged the darker one 'cause she had the extra junk in the trunk and knew how'ta shake it. But, by the end of the night, me 'n' Luke ended up takin' turns wit' both of 'em. “Oh, right-right. I don't know how I forgot 'bout them two freaks. But, nah, yo. I ain't effen wit' them broads tonight.”

“Say what?
You
turnin' down some easy play, son? Yo, you a'ight?”

“Yeah, I'm good, yo. Just kinda beat. I'ma take a shower, kick back 'n' watch
Dance Flick
on DVD, then hit the sheets, yo.”

He tells me to stop through in the mornin' to scoop him up 'cause his pops took the keys to his whip 'n' took the plates off 'cause he got two speeding tickets that he didn't pay, or tell them about.

“Damn, that's cold, yo. How long ya pops got you on foot?”

“Prolly 'til my feet blister. Who knows, yo? He stays doin' dumb shit to make my life miserable. He let Maurice 'n' Amber do whatever they wanted when they were home. But now I'm tryna live 'n' do me and he won't let me. It sucks, man. He can take his whip 'n' shove it, though. I ain't beat.”

I shake my head. This dude got parents who got mad cheddar. They give 'im anything he wants. Let 'im practically do whatever he wants. And the mofo complainin' like he's stuck on death row or somethin'. I sigh. “Man, go 'head wit' that dumbness. Nobody told you to be doin' sixty in a school zone, yo. So chill wit' all that. You did this to ya'self, bruh.”

“Man, let me bounce. I ain't tryna hear that. Make sure you come through in the mornin', yo.”

I laugh. “Yeah, a'ight. Whatever, yo. Go take ya blockhead on.” We BS a few secs more, then disconnect. Five minutes later, my cell rings, again. It's Pops hittin' me up to check in. He wants to know what's good on this end. I tell 'im what it is, then ask him where he is. He tells me he's down in Norfolk, Virginia, 'til tomorrow night.

“Oh, a'ight. Be safe, man.”

“No doubt. You good?”

“No doubt.”

“Cool. That's what I wanna hear. Listen. I'ma be home for a few days in between runs and I was thinkin' we could do somethin', just the two of us.”

I grin. “That's wassup, yo. No doubt.”

“A'ight. We'll figure somethin' out when I get back. Make sure you handle ya business while I'm gone.”

“I got you, Pops.”

“If you need money, you know where it is.”

“True that.”

“A'ight. Let me go. Ya old man's gettin' ready to go handle this lil thing-thing I got down here. And she gotta daughter I'ma put you on to. She's sexy just like 'er momma. I already tol' 'er you a smooth cat, just like ya pops.”

“Oh, word? That's wassup. How old is she?”

“Twenty, and she hotter than a furnace. She need some'a that Lopez lovin' to hose her flames out.”

I laugh. “Yo, Pops, you shot out, for real for real. That's wassup, though. If she mad sexy like that, tell 'er to hit me up on the Book 'n' we can take it from there.”

He tells me he's on it. I end the call, toss my cell on my bed, then head for the shower, shakin' my head. One time I asked Pops if he was gonna ever slow down from all the women 'n' he said, “Yeah. When I'm dead. Until then, I'ma keep plowin' the fields 'n' plantin' these seeds.”

I stop for a sec to grab some clean boxers and a T-shirt outta my dresser, then walk into the bathroom, and turn on the shower. I hop in 'n' handle my handle, thinkin' maybe I should go on over to Luke's 'n' get at them freaks. Thinkin' 'bout what we could be doin' starts gettin' me all excited 'n' I start tryna convince myself that I need'a go on 'n' get me a taste of them goodies, but then outta nowhere I lose my excitement. The shower's still hot, but I'm all cold. I lean against the wet tiles as the water cascades over me, tryna blink back memories—what lil I have—of my moms. Most of who she is or was to me is a big blur. I don't know if it's 'cause I've blocked that part'a my life out, or if the memories have faded away. All I know is, I hate when bits 'n' pieces of her flash in my head. I blink. I can't see 'er face, but I can hear 'er voice 'n' I can feel her hugs. How she'd kiss me e'ery night before tuckin' me in 'n' tell me she loved me, then read to me 'til I fell asleep. I 'member one time wakin' up from a bad dream—monsters wit' fangs were chasin' me 'n' tryna eat me—'n' she came into my room, climbed into the bed wit' me and said, “Everything's gonna be okay. Mommy's not goin' anywhere, my handsome little prince. Your mommy's gonna keep her sweet pumpkin safe.” And I 'member her holdin' me real tight 'n' she was cryin'. When I asked her why she was cryin' she said, “Because I love you so much. You're my whole world. Please, don't ever forget how much I love you. How much I will always love you . . .”

Two days later, she was gone. Who does that? Just bounces on their kid like that? I hate havin' to remember, then havin' to try 'n' forget, how she effen left me. I hate rememberin' how it felt, knowin' she wasn't comin' back. How I cried 'n' couldn't eat or sleep. How I sat up, lookin' outta the front window e'eryday for a week waitin' for her to come back. But she never did!

Three months later, we were movin' up outta our crib in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, to Jersey City. Pops thought we both needed change. To move on 'n' get on wit' our lives wit' out her. He told me real men don't cry over a woman, they go out 'n' find themselves two more to help 'em get over the one they lost. Still, it hurt. But I couldn't show it 'cause Pops said I had'a get over it, like he did. And he wasn't tryna hear nothin' else 'bout it. But I couldn't just let it go. It was hard. I missed her. And loved her. And wanted her to come back. I waited for her. Watched for her. I prayed and prayed, waitin' 'n' hopin', but nothin'. She was ghost. I was eight years old when I finally accepted—after gettin' into mad fights at school 'n' suspensions 'n' havin' to go to counselin'—that Pops was right. She was never comin' back. That she effed up my life. So I did e'erything I could to block 'er outta my mind...and heart. Wit' each passin' day, it got a lil easier, and the memories of 'er slowly started to fade 'til they were long gone, like her. Real rap, I don't know what hurt most, her leavin' or her lyin'. All I know, she did both!

You see what happens when you let a woman into your heart? She hurts you.
I take a deep breath.
Screw this crap! Pops is right. She ain't ever love me! If you can't trust ya own moms to love you, then who can you trust?
Twenty minutes later, I turn off the shower, dry off 'n' throw on my boxers, then head down the stairs into the kitchen. Real ish, I wanna roll a phatty 'n' get lifted, but I know that ain't what I need'a be doin'. I open the fridge. There's leftover spaghetti from two nights ago 'n' three slices of pizza. I ain't beat for the spaghetti so I pull out the slices 'n' nuke 'em in the microwave for a few secs. I take a handful of Cheez-It crackers outta their box, then chomp on 'em, pourin' myself a glass of apple juice. When the microwave dings, I pull out my slices and tear into 'em, washin' 'em down wit' two glasses of juice. I wash my dishes, then head back upstairs, decidin' to stick to my original plan 'n' stay home.
I'll get at them freaks some other time
, I think, poppin' in my DVD, then lyin' 'cross my bed. I'm not sure when I dozed off, but when I wake up, it's five o'clock in the mornin'.

“H
ey there. Welcome to McPherson. I've been meaning to introduce myself to you, but kept getting sidetracked with other things. You're the new girl from New York, right?”

What the heck? I've been at this school for over two weeks and now someone wants to roll out the welcome mat. Puhleeze! I take my slow sweet time before I actually peer around the door of my locker to see whom the sweet, sappy voice belongs to. I blink. Standing here is this light-bright chick with a blond ring of curls and sparkling green eyes, staring at me with a wide smile. Her face looks like it should be on the cover of one of those teen magazines, like
J-14
or
Teen Vogue
. Now, I'ma just put it out there. I'm not the kinda female who makes nicey-nice with a buncha chicks. Outside of my girls back home, chicks are not to be trusted. Every now and then, I stumble up on a cool chick—outside of my clique—who I
think
might be worthy of my time until she crosses me.

I look chickie up and down, taking in her wears.
Oh, she's serving it up lovely in white
. She has on a pair of white stretch jeans and white linen blouse with a white Gucci belt pinched around her ultra-small waist. I glance down at her footwork. A banging pair of gladiator sandals are on her feet.
Oooh, cute!

“And
you
are?” I ask, shutting my locker door, then tossing my sleek wrap. It's full of bounce and shine and hangs to my shoulders.

“I'm Fiona.” She extends her manicured hand to me. I eye it. She eases it back down. After how some'a these chicks came at me yesterday, I'm simply not taking any chances. So,
yes
, I'm guarded and on high alert.

“Well, all righty then,” she says, raising a brow. “I see you're not too friendly. If you wanna be a snot, be one. I just wanted to say hi and welcome you to the school.”

Now any other day I would give her the business, then spin off, but I don't know. My mom always says you can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar. So, I'ma drip outta little sweet-goo and see what it do. “Hey, wait. Thanks for the welcome. I didn't mean to come off rude....”

Her green eyes become narrow slits, then relax. “Girl, please. Yes, you did.” She starts laughing. And I can't help but laugh too because it's true.

“My bad,” I say, deciding to try to play nice with at least one of these chicks here. And since she's the only one who's actually introduced herself to me instead of tryna come at me sideways, the least I can do is “color within the lines,” as my granny would say. God how I miss her. She died last spring from a stroke.

“Don't sweat it,” she says, shouldering her black Gucci knapsack. “Which way are you headed?” This school is so dang huge. It has four floors and four sets of wings. The seniors' lockers and most of their classes are all up on the fourth floor. I tell her I'm going to the west wing for homeroom. “Okay. I'll walk with you, if that's okay.” She smirks.

“No, it's cool.”

“By the way, what's your name?”

“It's Miesha.”

“Oh, nice. Pretty name.” She eyes me. “Do you model?” I tell her no. “Well, you should. You look like you could work a runway. You're so graceful when you walk.” She giggles. “No, sashay. Yeah, that's what you do.”

I laugh. Tell her that I do know how to work a runway, but that that's not my interest.

“Oh. Well, you should give it some thought. Sooo, what school were you going to before you got here?” she asks as we move through the crowded hall. And, yeah, I'm kinda looking at this chick sideways, tryna figure out why she's tryna be so chummy. If she thinks I'ma be fallin' for the okey-doke, she got another think coming. She won't be setting me up for a beatdown. Oh, no, sweetie. These hoes here ain't gonna catch me slippin'.

A few boys holla at her, then whistle as we walk by. She shakes her head. “Let me tell you. Most of the boys here are a buncha horny man-tramps.” She starts pointing them out. “See that one right there . . . ?” She points to a medium built, brown-skinned guy with dreds flowing down his back. “That's Keyshawn. Stay far away from him. Don't even let that boy breathe on you. He has three baby mommas and two other tricks over at Synder High knocked up. . . .”

I frown. “Ugh! How old is he?”

“Seventeen, girl. And that one over there . . .” She points to a tall, jet-black boy with cornrows and a neck full of gold. He flashes her a bright white smile as we walk by. She waves at him. “That's Marcellus. He keeps a nasty drip, girl.”

“Yuck.”

“Exactly. The boy spends more time down at the clinic than he does in school. He doesn't know what a condom looks like. Probably can't even spell it.”

“Yo, Fiona,” this cocoa-brown guy rocking a low-fade says as we walk by. “When we gonna chill, girl?”

“When you stop being all busted and broke and get a car and a job,” she says, shaking her head.

He laughs. “Ouch, that hurt. You killin' me, baby.”

“Drop dead, boo.” She glances over at me. “That's Christian. Resident bum. He likes to sleep with girls for money. Like really? Who'd pay for that broke-down boy? Some of these girls have, especially them real fat ones with the double chins. But whatever. Jabberjaws can yabba-dabba-do him all they want.”

I can't help but laugh at this chick, shaking my head. She gives me the run-down on almost everyone she sees in the halls. I watch her outta the side of my eyes. I can already tell she's real messy. And definitely not someone I'd wanna chill with 'cause she stay running her mouth.

“Yo, Fiona, who's that you with?” this cute white boy rocking cornrows, sagging jeans, and Timbs says. He kinda reminds me of that actor Channing Tatum, but thicker. “She's mad sexy, yo. Let me holla at 'er for a sec.”

“Boy, beat it,” she tells him. “She don't want ya confused butt. . . . That's Pauley. Everyone calls him P-Money. But if you ask me, someone needs to call that boy a shrink. He really thinks he's Black. Mmmph. And he loves him some black booty, girl. He's hanging heavy, too. I had to shake a few rounds off that vanilla stick to see for myself, girl.”

I frown. I don't respond.

“Yo, Fiona. What's good, ma?” another guy calls out, slamming his locker shut. He's wearing a muscle shirt that shows off a chiseled chest and bulging biceps. “When we gonna link up, girl?”

“I'll call you,” she says, holding her hand up to her ear as if she's making a call.

“Yeah, a'ight, yo. You stay frontin' with ya ugly-azz.”

“Middle finger up,” she says back, throwing her left arm and middle finger up. He laughs. “That's David. He used to be on the baseball team until he got kicked off the squad for punching his ex out in the lunchroom last year. Anyway, he's into all kinda kinky stuff, too. Like putting dog collars around chicks' necks and making them crawl around on their knees blindfolded. I had blisters on my knees for weeks behind that.”

“Oooh, wait. Girrrrrrl, I heard you done already got into it with Quanda and Samantha.” She shakes her head. “They love trouble, boo. Both of them whores are bullies. Don't let them punk you, girl.” She looks over at me. I nod. But I keep my lips sealed. Not. A. Word. Okay? I learned a long time ago to never, ever, share what your real thoughts or intentions are, especially to a messy chick like this. We round the corner of the fourth floor toward my wing and there are three guys hanging out in the hallway, laughing and joking. One of them is Crispy Critter from my algebra class.

I frown.

“Yo, Fiona, what's goodie, baby?” he says, walking up and giving her a hug. He eyes me, smirking. I roll my eyes as she hugs him back.

“Boy, where's my money at?”

“I got you, yo. You know I'm good for it.”

“Yeah, you good all right. A good dang lie.”

He laughs. “Yo, I'ma hit you wit' that later on tonight. You still coming through, right?”

“You better. And, yeah, I'll be there around eight.”

“A'ight, bet.”

As soon as we get outta earshot, she says, “That's Travis Richardson. One of my ex-boos. . .”
Ill, she messed with him? Yuck! This chick's standards are way down in the basement.
“He has a nice body, but”—she sticks out her pinky finger—“he's
all
body and no beef, girl. If you know what I mean.”

When we get to Room 418, I let out a sigh of relief to finally get away from this messy chatterbox. “Here's my homeroom,” I say. “Thanks for the newsfeed update. It was quite . . . interesting.”

She waves me on. “It's nothing, girl. I'm always happy to help a fellow fly girl out. By the way, I'm loving them shoes, boo. I meant to tell you that earlier. I'ma shoe whore myself.”

Girl, boom! That ain't the only thing you whoring for
. I smile. “Thanks.”

“Hey, if you want, come sit at my table during lunch period. I sit with the cheerleaders. I can introduce you to my girls, and finish giving you the lowdown on the rest of these boys here.”

“Oh, thanks. But I can't. I have to go out to my car and make some phone calls today.” Of course it's a lie, but I'm not interested. I've had enough of her for one day. “Maybe some other time.”

She shrugs. “Okay. But if you change your mind, you'll know where to find me. Toodles.” And with that said, she spins off on her heels, shaking her hips down the hall. And I step through the door of my homeroom just as the bell rings.

 

“Soooooo, a group of us are going out to the mall after school today. You wanna chill with us? I personally don't really care for Newport Mall 'cause they don't have any of the high-end stores I like. But whatever. I go to hang out.”

I roll my eyes up in my head, shutting my locker door.
Oh my god, not this messy broad, again!
Of all the chicks this broad can cling to, why-oh-why is she tryna cling on to me? “No. I can't,” I lie. Truth is, I
don't
want to. But I don't really have the heart to come outta my face and tell her this. “Maybe some other time. I have a lot of homework to do. And a test I have to study for.”

She pops her eyes open. “Study? Aren't you a senior? Girl, who does that? You study the first three years of high school, boo. I have two study halls and all easy classes. Senior year is supposed to be fun. Not full of stress.”

I eye her. “Says who? I don't know about you, but I'm tryna get into college. And failing classes or tests in my last year isn't what I do.”

“Well, come out to the mall with us for a few hours, bug out, then go home and study. All work and no play makes for a very boring life.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I'll pass.”

“Oh, c'mon. It'll be fun. I know you gotta be bored outta your mind just sitting up in your house all by yourself. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

I sigh. “Look, hun. Keep it real. Why are you so pressed to be friends with me, huh?”

She shrugs. “Well, for starters, you seem like a cool girl. And since no one else seems to like you—from what the other girls say about you—”

I blink. “Listen. These hookers here can think what they like about me. I'm not pressed. Trust.”

“Girl, don't worry about it. They're just haters; that's all. They used to hate on me, too, until I sliced this girl in her face with a razor in seventh grade. I mean, yeah. I got locked up and had to go to juvie behind it. And I was kicked outta school for the rest of the year, but so what? I did her face real dirty and she left me alone after that. And I won't even tell you about the girl I stabbed in the forehead with a fork because she kept trying me. Anyway, the point is, these chicks think I'm a little crazy so they don't screw with me, unless I screw one of their boyfriends.” She laughs.

A little crazy? You think?
I blink. She talks a mile a minute as we walk through the fourth floor halls down toward the stairwell.

“Anyway, girl, I'm not one to gossip. And you didn't hear this from me. But Samantha's mother's a drunk and her father is locked up for drugs and robbery or something like that. That's why she's so miserable. And, Quanda”—she shakes her head—“is just plain ol' stuck on boy crazy. And I do mean
craaaazeeeee
. She stalks all her boyfriends. Her latest stalker-fixation is Antonio Lopez.”

“Really? Why?”

“Girl, have you seen him? Of course you have. He puts the f-i-n-e in
fine
, girl. And since I don't believe in spreadin' gossip, I'm not even gonna tell you just how many girls' beds he's been in. Too many. But they all stay talking about
it
and him. My advice: Stay far away from him unless you're ready to battle it out.”

“Well, she can have him. I don't know him and don't wanna know him. So I'm not interested. And I'm definitely not about to fight some girl over a boy. That's not what I do.”

As we turn the corner, walking past the multi-purpose area, I see that boy Justin coming down the hall. He's heading in our direction, wearing a pair of blue shorts and a white cut-off with the words M
C
P
HERSON
H
IGH
across his chest. He's all sweaty, like he's been working out or something. “Oooh, and this one here,” she says, lowering her voice. “He can get it, girl. He's such a stud muffin. Gobble, gobble. Ooh, I just wanna eat him up.”