Caught Up (10 page)

“That's what it is. You gonna be at my people's party, right?”

“Yeah.”

“True. I'ma holla at you then, a'ight?”

“Okay.”

“True. Tell Sash I'ma get up wit' her a li'l later.”

We disconnect. I walk over and set Sasha's phone down on her dresser, then go back through the pile of clothes she has on her bed. This time I go through each outfit with a renewed purpose—to look fly.

“M
aybe I shouldn't have worn this,” I say, feeling uncomfortable as I step out of her car and my heeled foot hits the curb. “I feel naked.”

“Girl, stop. You got that fire, boo. And you thick 'n' curvy in all the right places. You better stop playin' 'n' work what ya momma gave you.” She slaps my butt. I jump. “Ooh, you have a nice bouncy booty, too. I don't even know why you be hidin' it in all them corny clothes. Show some boob crack! Show some booty crack! Ninjas are visual. They need to
see
what they
think
they
might
be gettin' even if you ain't really tryna give 'em nothin'. They're like dogs. You gotta know how to dangle a bone in front of 'em long enough to get whatever it is you want outa 'em. Then all you gotta do is give him a li'l treat for his generosity.”

I shake my head. “Oh, I don't need a guy to buy me things. All I have to do is ask my parents or one of my brothers and they'll just get it for me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, ex
cuuuuse
me, Miss Uppity. We all don't have Mommy and Daddy's wit' endless bank.”

“I'm not uppity,” I say defensively, shutting her car door. “And my parents work hard. We're not rich.”

“Mmph. Whatever. Everyone doesn't have it like you, Miss I Get Whatever I Want. Some of us started from the bottom 'n' had to scheme our way up on top.”

She stops, digs in her purse and pulls out a compact mirror. She checks herself in it. Glides a coat of lipgloss over her lips then blows herself a kiss before finally snapping her compact shut and tossing it back down into her bag.

“C'mon, let's go.”

We walk up to the house. There's like six guys on the side of the two-story house that looks like it's seen better days, shooting dice and smoking. And I want nothing more than to go over and watch and listen and learn. But Sasha isn't trying to hear it.

“Girl, please. Leave them dust busters alone. They ain't pushing no real paper. You need a baller in ya life. Not some lightweight.”

Begrudgingly, I follow behind her trying to mask my disappointment. There's a group of ten guys either standing or sitting on the porch in wife-beaters and sagging jeans with sparkling chains dangling from their necks, blinged-out watches on their wrists—a few have huge diamonds in their earlobes—drinking and smoking weed. One by one, Sasha introduces me to all of the thugged-out guys.

I smile, feeling like I've just died and gone to thug heaven.

They all say, “What's good . . .”

I eye them, taking in their bulging muscles. Most of them look as if they've spent most of their time in the gym lifting weights, sculpting their bodies. A few look like they will shoot first and ask questions later. I feel a tingly sensation creep down my spine at their hoodness as they all drink me in with their wandering eyes.

“Ma, you fine,” a tall, dark-skinned guy with half-sleeve tattoos on both of his arms says, licking his lips. “Where you been hidin' all my life?”

“Away from you,” Sasha jumps in, playfully pushing him out of the way. “Now back up off my girl.”

I glance at her; surprised she's called me her
girl
. I mean, just a few weeks ago I was
corny
and I
thought
I was cute. Today, I'm upgraded to
girl
status. I'm not complaining, though. Still, I wonder for a brief moment if she means it or if it's simply a figure of speech.

Tall, Dark, and Tatted mushes her in the head. “Sash, go 'head wit' that slickness, yo. 'Fore I take it to ya skull. Ain't nobody talkin' to you.” He brings his attention to me. “What's good wit' you, ma? Who ya man?”

I open my mouth to speak, but Sasha cuts in before I can get a word out.

“Don't worry about all dat,” Sasha snaps.

“She gotta phatty,” I hear someone say in back of me. I glance over my shoulder straight into the face of a reddish-brown skinned guy with cornrows and juicy red lips that he licks as he gazes at my butt. “Yo, I need dat in my life; word to mother. I need dat.”

“Slick, fall back, boo. Malik's already got dibs on dat.”

Malik? Got dibs on that?
I haven't even met him yet. What if I don't like him? I mean, yeah. We spoke on the phone. And he sounded okay. But that didn't mean I'd
want
him to have dibs on me. I keep from frowning. The way she said
on that
makes me feel like I'm a piece of furniture or something.

Truth is, I kinda like Hazel Eyes. And I know he likes me. I've only gone out with him once. And I haven't been back over to his house since that one time. But we Skype almost every night and we text each other every day. And, okay... I snuck out to see him once.

“Oh a'ight, a'ight. That's what it is.” He winks at me. “Yo, you mad sexy, though. That ninja don't treat you right, come holla at ya boy. I got a pet snake that would love to crawl up in da sheets wit' you; ya heard?”

Everyone in earshot laughs.

“Someone else says, “Word is bond. I'd tap that up. She's fresh meat, son; real fresh, just like how I like it.”

I blink, hoping like heck my nervousness and shyness isn't too obvious.

“Girl, c'mon in the house,” Sasha says, pulling me by the arm and guiding me through the cloud of smoke. “Don't pay them fools no mind. They all a bunch of horny hounds.”

“So where's this Malik guy you've been bragging about?” I ask once we've made it into the house and through the throng of bodies and thick fog of weed smoke. A few girls either shoot me the evil eye or kind of roll their eyes at me as I pass by, but I don't really mind. I know I'm looking cute in my short white tennis skirt and halter top. And my red-painted toes look real cute in the strappy sandals Sasha let me borrow.

“
Braggin'
about?” she says with attitude. “Oh, no, boo. Never that. I don't need to brag, hun. It is what it is. That mofo's fine. But don't worry, girl. He'll be here. Trust. Then you can see for yaself. In the meantime, let's get you loose. You're a li'l too tight for me.”

“I am not. I'm loose.”

She laughs. “Yeah, okay. Not. You're 'bout as loose as a virgin in a chastity belt, but I'ma break you in real right.”

I shrug, not really sure exactly what it is she means. I let it go over my head, following behind her into the kitchen. As I walk past a group of girls, I hear some girl say as Sasha walks by, “Yeah, there goes that grimy
bish
. She gave my brother chlamydia.”

“Well, Loquita, that's what he gets for goin' in raw. He shoulda strapped it up before he tapped it up.”

“
Biatch
, please. What you tryna say? That it's his fault that that
bish
is nasty? Girl, bye! She shouldn't be servin' up effen cooties. I should run up on her 'n' punch her in da back of the head.”

I blink, quickly glancing over at them. They are both cute girls. One is brown-skinned. She has shoulder-length hair dyed pink and green-colored eyes. Contacts, I muse. Her lip is pierced, as is her nose and eyebrow. I don't get a real good look at the dark-skinned girl with the bright red hair standing next to her because Pink Hair blasts me.

“Trick, why you all over here? Snap ya neck back around 'n' keep it movin' before you find ya face on the floor.”

Her friend laughs, shaking her head. “Nosy hoes, I tell you.”

I look away real quick. Don't say a word. Just walk. Fast.

When I walk up to where Sasha is, she introduces me to this string-bean-thin girl with humongous boobs. She's kind of okay looking, I guess. She has a little too much purple eye shadow going on, but then again . . . what do I know? I'm not a makeup kind of girl.

“Kennedy, this is my girl Shayneetha. Shay, this is Kennedy.”

“Hi,” I say, extending my hand out to her.

She dismisses my outstretched hand. “That's nice.”

Taken aback by her rudeness, I quickly drop my hand down to my side.

“Ooh, Shay-Shay, play nice.” Sasha looks over at me. “Girl, don't pay her no mind. She's shady like that wit' everyone. I'ma go grab us a couple of drinks.”

I nod my head. “Okay.”

Now I'm standing here next to this girl, feeling insecure. I can feel her sizing me up and I don't even know why. It's not like I've done or said anything to offend her. I think I might have heard her mumble
This corny bish
, under her breath, but then some brown-skinned guy with dreads walks over and whispers something in her ear, but he's looking over at me.

She shrugs. Says something back to him in his ear. He grins. Then licks his lips and winks at me before walking off. I cringe inside, thinking that maybe this was a bad idea for me to come here. I feel so out of place. Like I'm the weakest link or something. I know it's all in my head, but I feel like everyone in the room is pointing fingers over at me, laughing.

I'm feeling alone in a room full of strangers.

I am tempted to run out the door. But then Sasha is back from wherever she disappeared to, carrying two plastic cups in her hands; one red and one blue.

Jay-Z's “Holy Grail” starts playing.

“Girl,” the girl Shayneetha says, cutting her eyes at me, “I'ma go find that fine Snoopy 'n' get my pop on. I saw him earlier pinned up on some bubble head.”

“Do you, boo,” Sasha says, handing me the red cup in her hand.

“What's this?”

She smirks. “Something to help get your mind right. Thug Passion, boo.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” I reluctantly take it, looking inside the cup. I smell it. I'd never had it before, but I knew what it was: A mixture of Alizé and champagne. I also knew it was the title of one Tupac's songs where he'd referenced the drink in his song. I only knew this because I'd read it in a
Vibe
magazine article they'd written about the late, great rapper. “Isn't this drink kind of old school? I mean. I didn't think kids my age drank this.”

“Oh, it's all 'bout the Ciroc, boo. But I figured you needed you some Thug Passion in ya life since you tryna be down. But this one has a whole lot of thug and a little less passion in it.”

I give her a confused look, not knowing what she meant by that. She notices the look on my face. “Girl, stop tryna analyze everything I say. Stay in the moment and drink up.” She taps her cup to mine. “Here's to that thug life.”

“Mmmm. I like the sound of that.” I take a slow sip of my drink. Make a face as it slides down the back of my throat. I feel a slow heat course through my chest. And by the time I'm on my third, or maybe it's my fifth sip, I'm melting all over myself from the flames. By the time the cup is empty, I am practically floating.

By my second cup, I'm soaring. And everything around me is moving in slo-mo. My skin is tingling. My sense of smell and sound seems magnified. Next thing I know, an August Alsina song is playing, “Nobody Knows,” and I'm in the middle of the floor dancing. Alone. Swirling and twirling.

One arm is up over my head. I rock my hips in big circles. I hike up my tiny skirt and start doing nasty things I'd never done before. It's like I've become possessed. The beat hypnotizes me. I slowly twirl around. My eyes close. I sway left to right. Then throw my head back. Run my hands through my hair. I lose myself to the music. Become everything I've ever watched in Beyoncé and Ciara videos.

It feels like I'm slipping in and out of consciousness.

I feel my body overheating.

I try to stop myself from untying my halter, but it's like my hands, my fingers, my arms, have a mind of their own.

I'm in the spotlight. And somehow I am feeling like I've just become the life of the party.

And everyone's entertainment...

I
will a bleary eye open. Then wince. My head is spinning. “Oooh, you kept it real
classy,
li'l Miss Party Girl,” Sasha says, smirking. “Mmph. You turned the party out. I didn't think you had it in you, Miss Suburbs. But you turnt it up—all the way up—last night.”

I groan, trying to lift my head up from the pillow. My head is pounding. Regretting ever trying to move, I plop my head back onto the pillow, pulling the covers over my head then lower them enough to peer over the edge. My stomach sloshes. And I feel like I'm ready to vomit at any moment.

Please God. Let me get through this and I promise to never, ever drink another Thug Passion drink or anything with the word
thug
attached to it, for as long as I live. Please and thank you . . .

I don't remember much of anything after Sasha handed me my second drink. I remember taking slow sips. Then I started swaying. Everything else is one big blur. And I'm afraid to even ask what happened. I'm not sure if I want her to fill in the blanks, either.

“Girl, I couldn't get you off the dance floor. You gave Beyoncé a run for her money last night, boo.” She laughs, falling back on her bed. “Ohmygod! You should have seen you. A hot slutty mess!”

She tells me how I was booty popping and hip thrusting it, dropping down on my knees and crawling on the floor, swinging my hair around. “
Yasss
, Miss Peaches! You showed out.”

“
Miss Peaches?”

She cracks up laughing.

“Yesss! That's what you had dem ninjas callin' you last night after you took off ya top 'n' started flashin' e'eryone. You shoulda seen dey faces, starin' at dem big juicy boobs of yours.”

I am mortified. All I can see in my mind's eye is my slumped, drunk body being tossed around like a dirty rag doll. “Oh, God!” I grumble. “Please don't tell me.” My face heats with embarrassment.

I try to replay the events that took place before the booze and my lapse in judgment kicked in. But keep coming up blank.

“Girl, relax. You were just doin' you. Lettin' ya hair down 'n' havin' a good time. Shiiiiit, I was twisted. But not like you.” She laughs, reaching for a can of Red Bull on her nightstand. “I thought I was gonna have ta beat the brakes off some'a them ninjas. They kept tryna take you upstairs to get that train ride.”

My eyes pop open.

She senses my fear. Assures me that nothing happened. This
time
. “But, girl, you owe me. I coulda made a killin' off you last night. Had I let them horny ninjas get at you I woulda had me enough for a down payment on a cute li'l BMW, or somethin'. And you fresh meat, too. Mmph.”

I blink. I can't believe she's talking as if she was considering pimping me out for the night. Although she's laughing, the look in her eyes tells me if there were a way she could have gotten away with it, that's exactly what she would have done. Rented me out to the whole party.

“You lucky Malik got there when he did and was able to keep them fools in check 'cause dey wasn't even tryna hear me after a while. You had them horny ninjas goin' through it.”

I swallow, wincing. My throat is dry. Sore. “Ohmygod! He was there, too?” My voice is hoarse, feels raw. Like I'd been screaming at the top of my lungs all night. Or as if someone scrubbed the back of my throat with sandpaper then rubbed salt over it.

“Girrrl, was he! Looking so fine. And trust. Drunk or not, I could tell he liked
e'very
thing about you.” She made a popping sound with her mouth.

My eyes become unnaturally wide as she recounts the events from the night before. Tells me I danced eight songs straight. That I hiked my skirt up over my hips and showed the whole party my bare essentials.

She chuckles. “Next time, though, I'ma need you to handle ya liquor a li'l better.”

I cover my face. Shame courses through every inch of my body. Panic rises inside of me, making me feel sweaty and cold all at the same time.
This can't be happening! It has to be a terrible mistake!

“What time is it?” I finally croak out, feeling sick to my stomach.

“It's almost ten o'clock.”

I jolt up in the bed, causing my mushy brain to swish around in my head. “
Ten o'clock?
In the morning? Ohgodohgod! I am sooo dead!” My feet hit the dirty beige carpet and scatter over to my bag, frantically searching from my phone. “Ohgod! My parents are going to kill me.”

“Girl, relax. It's not like they're gonna kill you over being late once in your li'l perfect life. It's not like you break your curfew all the time and stay out all night.”

“No, I don't. But still... ohgod! I'm so done. I'll probably get grounded for the next two weeks.”

I close my eyes. My eyeballs throb behind my lids. I let out a loud groan.

“You're overreactin' if you ask me. I bet all your parents are gonna do is put you in timeout, then take away your allowance for the next week or so.”

I keep my eyes shut, slowly shaking my head. “No. They are going to be livid. Trust me; especially my mother.”

“Not if you come up with a good lie,” she offers matter-of-factly.

I frown. “Are you kidding me? I've been out
all
night. And I didn't even call home to let anyone know I was okay. What kind of lie could I possibly say that would keep my mother from wringing my neck? She's going to kill me.”

“Poor thing,” she says nonchalantly, taking a swig of her Red Bull. She offers me some. “Here. This'll help give you a boost of energy.”

I shake my head. Tell her thanks, but no thanks. I've had enough of her handing me drinks for one lifetime. She shrugs. “More for me.” She pulls out a little baggie from out of her nightstand top drawer. It's packed with marijuana. I watch with wide-eyed amazement as she empties the tobacco of a blunt out on her nightstand and fills it with the weed, sealing it by licking and pushing the seams together. Next she lights it and takes a long pull from it. She starts coughing instantly as if she were coughing up a lung.

She clutches her chest. “Ooh, yesss! This that good ish right here.” She laughs in between coughs, a puff of thick smoke curling out of her mouth.

I frown.

She holds her blunt out to me. “You sure you don't want some of this? I'm tellin' you, it'll help you wit' that hangover. “

I shake my head. “No. I don't do drugs.”

She bucks her eyes. “
Bish
, what you tryna say? I know you not even tryna call me out. I don't do drugs either. I mean, yeah. E'ery now and then I might do a li'l molly wit' my girl Shay-Shay. But that's it. I don't eff wit' none'a that hard ish. So don't even get it twisted. I'm no druggie, trick.”

I cringe. “I'm not a trick,” I say evenly. “So please don't call me one.”

She grunts. “Mmmph. I can't tell. From what I saw last night looked to me like you was trickin' for somethin' 'n' it sure wasn't for dollars, boo.”

“I got drunk,” I retort defensively.

She takes another pull from her blunt, then blows smoke in my direction. “Yeah, whatever. Blame it on da a-a-a-alcohol. Chile, please. I may not be da sharpest knife in the drawer, but I'm no idiot, boo. You a real live freak and a half. I bet if I hadn't been there to save you, you woulda let 'em all get a taste of ya goodies. So you can front if you want. But I know ya kind.”

I blink. “My
kind
? What kind is that?”

She takes another long pull from her blunt, eyeing me. “Pssst. Like you don't know. An undercover freak; dat's what kind.”

Seeing the smug look on her face makes me angry. I squirm. Not wanting a confrontation, I decide to take the high road and tread lightly. “Well, I'm not a freak. And I wasn't trying to call you a druggie or anything. I was just saying I don't do any drugs; that's all.”

She frowns. “Girl, you silly. Weed ain't no drug. It's from da earth. There's nothing wrong wit' smokin' weed. It does da body good. Trust.” She takes two pulls, holds the smoke in her lungs and coughs.

“Well, it's against the law,” I counter. “And I'd rather not indulge in anything illegal.”

She rolls her eyes, blowing circles up at the water-stained ceiling. “Girl, miss me wit' dat moral code ish. So is underage drinkin', but you didn't have a problem doin' dat, did you?” She gives me a hard stare, then rolls her eyes. “Like I said, weed comes from the Mother Earth. It's one of God's greatest wonders. So if he didn't want us to smoke it, he wouldn't have created it. Now would he?”

I have no comeback for her. It's clear she has all the answers.

I give her a blank stare, deciding it's time to slip back into the clothes I'd come here wearing before my world got turned upside down, and head home to face my fate.