Caught Up (19 page)

“H
i. Are you looking for me?” I say guardedly, walking to the door. The brown-skinned girl at the door, with the clenched jaws and menacing scowl on her face, is unfamiliar to me. Her hair is pulled back into half a teeny ponytail. There isn't much hair gathered up into her red scrunchie sitting up on top of her head. Still, she wears it proudly with bangs slicked down over her forehead. A weave-piece, I think. She has one hand up on her hip. The other hangs to her side, balled up into a tight fist.

“You Kennedy, right?”

I nod. “Yes. That's me.”

She narrows her eyes. “Then yeah,
bish
, I'm lookin' for
you
!”

For a split second, I think I hear someone in back of me giggle. But I can't be for certain. Yet I am not willing to take my eyes off the girl in front of me to see who's behind me.

“W-why?” I stammer, holding on tightly to the screen door handle.

“You know Sha?”

“Who?”

“Don't even front. You know who
Sha
is.
Shaheed.
The boy you were upstairs at dat party trickin' wit', then lied 'n' said he tried to rape you.”

I blink. “I-I . . .”

My mind quickly scrambles back to that night. The only two people who I told were Malik and Sasha. I try to remember if I'd ever used the word
rape
. I don't remember.

My heart starts pounding.

“I never said he tried to rape me.”

“
Bish
, yes you did! Don't lie; you dirty cockteaser!”

I blink. And then it comes back to me. What I'd said to Malik that night.

“I-I didn't mean that,” I say quickly. I can't believe how much my voice cracks. “It's just that he wouldn't stop grabbing on me when I told him to stop.”

“Yeah right, trick. And you wanted it.”

I shake my head. “No, I didn't. I didn't even know him.”

She scoffs. “You dumb
bish
! Then why you even go upstairs wit' him if you didn't know him, huh? Don't even try to act like you didn't know what time it was.”

“I swear. I didn't know. I thought he only wanted to talk.”

“Well, he didn't. And you know it. Then you gonna lie 'n' get him jumped.”

“I didn't do that. I swear.”

“Yes you did. And now you 'bout to see how it feels. So you need'a step outside so we can handle dis woman-to-woman.”

I swallow.

I can't lie. I am desperately afraid. And I don't know why. I mean, I do know why. There's a tall, thick girl with big hands standing on the other side of the door sneering at me.

I haven't done anything to anyone, and especially not to her or the four other girls standing in back of her. But clearly, judging by her hostility toward me, she seems hell-bent on thinking that I have wronged her in some way.

And I can tell just by the way she's glaring at me that she isn't interested in hearing anything I have to say. And neither do any of her friends. They're not here to talk. She's here to kick my butt.

All of a sudden my eyes get watery.

And the only thing that stands between me and what I'm beginning to think,
feel,
is going to become my worst nightmare is flimsy mesh in a metal frame. I hold the door handle even tighter.

“Trick, I said come outside!”

I swallow.

She's now up on the tiny porch, one hand up on her hip; the other pointing at me through the screen like it's a gun. Her face is so close to the screen, I can feel her hot breath through the torn mesh.

I try not to look at her. Instead I focus on the scary black snake she has tattooed on the side of her neck.

And I feel like crying.

“Goddammit, Mercedes!” I hear Malik's mom yell in back of me. “Who is at my front door wit' all dat noise? You know I ain't for no ratchetness early in da day!”

“Dats some chicks from around da way for Malik's li'l girlfriend,” she says. She sounds amused. “Looks like she done got caught up in some drama.”

“Say what? I know one thang, li'l Miss Uppity betta go on 'n' take dat mess away from my goddamn door. Tell her I said to go outside wit' dat mess! I don't know why Malik left her here anyway, like we some babysittin' service.”

I cringe. And the next thing I know, I am stumbling out the door as it swings open and hits Snake Neck. I've been pushed from behind. I am caught totally off guard. So is Snake Neck. Before I can break away, or even scream for help, she lunges at me.

“Bish!
I'ma kill you!
”

She grabs me by the shirt and punches me in the jaw. I am no street fighter. Heck, I'm not any kind of fighter. But this girl is. And she is out for blood.

I scream.

Her friends circle us, cheering her on.

“Beat her face in!” someone yells out.

Next thing I know I feel Snake Neck's razor-sharp fingernails clawing into my face, like she's trying to peel my skin off.

Instinct and desperation set in and my arms and hands take on a life of their own. I start swinging wildly. I windmill her up. My fingers clawing at her hair, my nails digging into her skin: there is no one here to help me and I am fighting for my life.

I hear people yelling, “Fight! Fight!”

But I am not sure who or where it's coming from.

I can't believe this is happening to me. All because of some boy who tried to have sex with me. All because Malik had him beat up. All because Sasha had to go off and leave me alone at some party I had no business being at.

Someone knees me.

Someone else punches me in the back of the head.

Ohmygod!

I am being jumped.

Someone else's hand wraps around my hair.

I am being yanked and punched and kicked.

I feel the tears burning my eyes and rolling down my face as I try to fight these girls off me. I struggle to hang on to Snake Neck's hair, struggle to not hit the ground, knowing that it will be over for me if I do.

I bite Snake Neck's arm. She yelps. Hits me upside the head. But I don't let go. I tighten my grip and try to rip a chunk of her arm out. Now she is screaming. And her friends are punching and kicking, harder and faster.

Snake Neck and I both hit the ground. I am on top of her. Her crew is now stomping and kicking me. My stomach and side and chest hurt.

“Yo, what da
fuqq
!” I hear someone yelling. “Get da
fuqq
up offa her!” Then I feel someone yanking bodies off of me.

It's Malik.

“I've been holding back from saying this,” Jordan says, slipping out of her leather open-toed Giuseppe sandals, the ones her mom bought her at the beginning of summer from Barney's New York. “Because I don't want this to turn into an ugly argument.”

I reach for the new Ni-Ni Simone book my mom bought me and left up on my dresser for me. I guess it's her way of trying to make up with me. For the last week we've been fighting constantly, especially after I came home over a week ago beat up and bruised up from when those girls jumped me.

She was pissed.

“I want you to tell me who those girls were. Then we're going down to file assault charges on them.”

I wouldn't cooperate. I refused to tell her anything. And I didn't want her to press charges. Truth is, there wasn't anything to tell. I didn't know much of anything where any of those girls were concerned. No names. No addresses. Nothing.

Anyway, back to this book. My mom knows how much I love all of Ni-Ni Simone's books. I have her whole collection. But, as I sit here flipping through the pages, it feels like forever since I've picked up a book—
any
book—and read it.

Fact is, the last book I read was two weeks before the school semester ended, over a month and a half ago. Seems like so much has changed since then.

I look over at Jordan, closing the book. “You don't want
what
to turn into an argument?”

She lifts her feet up onto my bed. “How I feel about what you've been doing over the summer so far.”

I frown. “What do you mean,
what
I've been doing so far?”

“You know, hanging out all the time, smoking, drinking. . .”

“Ohmygod! I only drank once.”

“Yeah, and you got really drunk. I'm still really bothered by that. You could have died from alcohol poisoning or something.”

I roll my eyes, sucking my teeth. “But I didn't. It wasn't that serious. So next.”

“Well, it could have been,” she says back. “How do you even know someone didn't put something in your cup?”

“Jordan, stop! You really need to lay off the
CSI
episodes. No one put anything in my drink . . .”
I hope no one did. No, of course not! Sasha wouldn't have done anything like that. She's not like that.

“How do you know that? Did you see them make it in front of you?”

I raise my brow. “Well, no. But Sasha got it for me.”

She gives me a blank stare.

“Look. Forget it. I don't want to rehash that. Yeah, I drank, got drunk, and threw up everywhere . . .”
And practically took all your clothes off.
“It happened once. And I haven't touched alcohol since. I'm never drinking again. I learned my lesson.”

“I'm glad you did. But what if someone would have taken advantage of you? Anything could have happened to you.”

That boy Shaheed's face pops into my head, his hands groping all over me. I shake the thought. “But no one's taken advantage of me. So stop saying that. And I don't appreciate you bringing all this up way after the fact. So moving on. What else?”

“Well, you don't have to get all snippy. I'm only sharing how I feel.”

“I'm not getting snippy. I just don't feel like hearing shoulda, coulda, wouldas today. But whatever. What else you wanna get off your mind?”

“Honestly, Kennedy, I think you're getting in way too deep with this new crowd you're hanging with. I don't like that you sneak out and you're having sex with that boy. I feel like you're moving too quick. You don't even really know him.”

“Ohmygod, Jordan! You say that like he's some random guy. He's
my
boyfriend.”

“Yeah, one you have to keep secret from you parents. What kind of boyfriend is that?”

“See, I knew I should have never told you about any of that.”

“That's what friends do. Confide in each other.”

“Yeah. But they don't turn around and throw it back in your face, either.”

“I'm not throwing it in your face. I'm simply stating how I feel. That's also what friends do when they care about each other. They share how they feel. I mean, I am allowed to feel how I feel, aren't I?”

I shrug. “You can feel however you want. I can't tell you how you should feel.”

“Exactly. And, right now, I feel like your loyalty to Hope and me has changed.”

“How do you mean, my loyalty's changed? I'm always loyal to both of you.”

She gives me a look of disbelief. “Oh, really?”

“Wait. Is this about me ditching going to the mall to hang out with Sasha?”

“Well, yes. No. I mean, every since you started hanging out with that trashy Sasha girl and sneaking around with that drug slinger you've been acting real different,” Jordan says softly.

“Ohmygod, I can't believe you'd say that.”

“Well, it's how I feel.”

“Well, first off, his name is Malik,” I correct with attitude. “Secondly, he's not a
drug
slinger. And third of all, Sasha isn't trashy. So don't say anything negative about her 'cause you don't know her. All you ever do is judge.”

“Ohmygod, Kennedy! I'm not judging anyone. Are you that dumb and blind? That boy is a drug dealer and you know it. So stopping lying to yourself.”

“I'm not lying to myself.”

“And that's a lie right there. That's all you've been doing is lying. Lying to your parents. Lying to Hope and me. Lying, lying, lying. But you go ahead and believe it. Maybe one day it might all become true. But for now, I don't care what lies come out of your mouth. Your little thug boy is a drug dealer and—”

“He is not! So stop saying that about him.”

“Oh really? Then
what
is he then, huh, Kennedy? Because I know and
you
know he
isn't
a trust fund baby. And he
isn't
the owner of some Fortune Five Hundred company and he isn't working on Wall Street. And we
both
know he
isn't
a doctor or a lawyer. So if your high school dropout boyfriend isn't a drug dealer, then what is he? How does he afford that Range Rover and all that jewelry and all those fancy clothes he's been buying you, huh?”

“From his lawsuit,” I blurt out.

Jordan gives a fake, restrained laugh. “And you believed that? Hahahaha! How special. What lawsuit, Kennedy?”

“That's none of your business!” I snap. “And I don't appreciate you trying to be all up in my man's business. Or mine!”

“Wellllll,
excuuuuuse
the heck out of me,” she says defensively. “You want me out of your business. Fine. I'm out of it. But don't you dare pick up the phone and come crying to me when your man and your new bestie both drag you down into the gutters with them.”

She's gone too far. I can tell I've hurt her feelings. But oh well. She's hurt mine as well.

I take a deep breath. Collect my thoughts. Check my emotions. Then say, “Listen, Jordan. I don't need this crap from you. I don't want to fight with you, okay?”

“Well, I don't want to fight with you either. But I don't like what that boy is doing to you. He's changing you. He's no good for you. And the only thing he's going to do is bring you down, Kennedy. You are worth so much more than what you're becoming.”

I huff. “And
what
is it you actually
think
I'm becoming, Jordan?”

“I've already said it. Ghetto.”

I blink. “Why? Because I don't wanna always talk proper. Because every now and then I wanna use slang words? That's not me trying to be anything.”

“Yes, it is,” she counters, giving me an incredulous look.

“That's you trying to be”—she makes quotation marks with her fingers—“down. The way you're now dressing, the way you're talking, and even the way you're sitting here now with your lips all twisted up. You're trying to be something you're not.”

“That is so not true,” I retort indignantly. “Why don't you just stop hating on me?”

She grunts.
“Hating
on
you
? Is that what you call it, me being concerned about my friend hanging with the wrong crowd and going down the wrong path? That's
hating
to you? Really, Kennedy? How priceless. You're taking up for the same girl who just a few weeks back bullied you and treated you like crap. Now all of a sudden she's your hero.” She rolls her eyes. “Mmmph. How epic.”

Jordan sounds jealous to me. Maybe she is. Or am I being paranoid?

“I mean, I've been trying to be sympathetic to your obsessive need to frolic with that kind of element.” She shakes her head. “But, it's getting increasingly more disturbing. Hope and I were talking about it last night and she agrees.”

I blink. Somehow I feel betrayed. Hurt. That the two of them have been talking about
me
behind my back like this. I thought they were my friends.

“
Ohmygod!”
I shriek.
“Bish
, bye! Are you effen serious? I can't believe you and Hope have been dogging me out behind my back.”

“We haven't been
dogging
you. We've been discussing our concerns; that's all. It's like you're changing.” Jordan pauses for a second, then adds, “And you're even acting real ghetto now.”

I am taken aback. Literally floored that she would say something like this to me. That I'm acting ghetto. What the heck is
acting
ghetto?

“I'm acting ghetto, how?”

“Listen to yourself. You sound just like one of those section-eight girls. Acting all ghetto-fabulous.”

“Are you effen kidding me? Ohmygod, Jordan! Have several seats! And go find your life! I can't believe you just said that. How am I acting ghetto-fabulous? Please explain.”

She plants a hand on her hip, jerking her neck from side to side. “You're acting
ghet-to
. . . right now. Cursing and telling me to have
several seats
. That's that gutter-trash talk.”

There's no need for her to be getting all snip-snappy with me. Shoot, she's lucky I still want to hang out with her lame butt. But if she can't respect my boo and my friendship with Sasha, then I'm going to have to cut her off.

I eye Jordan as she eases up from off my bed, then hooks the straps of her handbag into the crook of her arm.

“I miss my best friend,” she says. “I can't do this with you, Kennedy.”

I tilt my head. Give her a quizzical look. “You can't do what with me, Jordan?”

“This. Watching you become this stranger. I can't sit back and silently watch you ruin your life.”

I frown. “I'm not ruining my life. I'm having fun. Something you should try having instead of always being so uptight and stuck-up.”

She blinks. “Is that how you see me? Uptight and stuck-up?”

“It's the truth, Jordan. That's what you are. A joy-killer. My god, no wonder no one likes you.”

Her eyes fill with hurt. Her bottom lip quivers.

I quickly regret ever saying those words. But it's too late. It's out now. And I can't take them back. “I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

“Wow. Don't apologize for how you feel. You meant exactly what you said. That's probably the only honest thing you've said all summer.”

“Jordan, I—”

She puts a hand up. Stops me from finishing my sentence. “The truth hurts. But I'll get over it. Just like I'll get over
you
and our friendship.” I eye her as she removes her friendship bracelet. “This girl you've become isn't the girl I want to associate with any longer. Call me stuck-up. Call me uptight. Call me a joy-killer. Call me whatever you want.” She pauses. I can tell she's holding back tears. “The only person I've
ever
cared about liking me is you.”

I feel like I'm going to cry myself. I know where this is going. I can feel it in my bones. An aching. My chest tightens. We've had plenty of fights. But none that have ever felt like this one. Absolute. Final. Like there is no coming back from it.

I stand up, reach over and gently place my hand on her shoulder. We'd been friends, besties, sisters, for like forever. But, in a snap, words have suddenly changed that. I feel like I am about to lose a piece of myself.

“I'm so sorry.”

A tear slides out from Jordan's eye as she stares at my hand. Neither of us says anything for a long, pained moment. She removes my hand from her shoulder. Lays her bracelet down across my nightstand before finally breaking the heavy silence between us.

Her lip quivers. “So am I,” she says somberly, and walks out the door.