Caught Up (20 page)

“K
ennedy, where have you been?” My mom wants to know the second I step through the double doors. She greets me at the door with a dagger-like glare. Her face painted into a tight scowl.

“Out,” I tell her, briskly walking through the foyer, tossing my house keys up on the round foyer table centered in the middle of the entryway.

“I know you were
out! Out where?!”
she snaps, hot on my heels. “You've been gone for almost twenty-four hours. How many times do we have to keep going through this, you leaving up out of this house and going missing for two and three days? And who was that you were sitting out in our driveway with in that Range Rover?”

It was Malik. But that's none of her business. He'd dropped me off before heading into the city to take care of something. Lately, it seems like that's all he does is
take care of something
in the city. But I try not to question him because he doesn't like it. He thinks it's disrespectful for a girl to question her man. I would never do that. And I don't ever want him to think I'm being disrespectful to him.

“You're to look pretty and be seen, yo. Not heard,” he told me when I asked him the other day why he had to go into New York all the time. “I ain't effen wit' no broad who's gonna give me grief e'erytime I gotta make a move, ya heard? I dig you, real spit, baby. But you gotta stay in ya lane. Word to da mother. You need'a fall back or I'ma have to replace you, feel me?”

I blinked, caught totally off guard. My heart dropped. I couldn't believe he'd break up with me for asking him one simple question. I wasn't trying to be nosy, or get all up in his business. I truly just wanted to know. But to Malik my asking was “out of line,” as he called it. So this time I kept my mouth shut when he mentioned where he was going. I didn't want to upset him. And I didn't want to ever be replaced.

Anyway, before letting me go inside, he'd reached over and given me a long passionate kiss, then told me how much he already missed me.

I couldn't help but blush.

I felt special.

He always makes me feel special. Like I'm his everything.

I know he's mine.

Still... I wish he didn't insist on me coming back here. To this house. With
her
. But ever since those girls came over to his house to fight me he says he doesn't want me left there alone. And he doesn't want me hanging with Sasha, either.

So I'm stuck here. And now I have to hear her mouth.

I don't know why he just couldn't take me with him!
“Kennedy, do you hear me talking to you?”

I ignore her, walking into the kitchen to grab a glass of cranberry-pomegranate juice. I fill my glass, then drink it down in four big gulps. I pour another glass.

So what if I've been gone since yesterday. I was out with Malik. We spent the whole day down at Six Flags, then went to grab something to eat at the Cheesecake Factory. Afterward, Malik brought me back to his place—well, his mom's apartment—and we smoked and cuddled. And kissed. And well, you probably already know what happened next.

“Do you hear me talking to you, young lady? I asked you a question. I'm getting tired of you thinking you can do whatever you like around here!”

I take a deep breath. “I heard you the first time. Dang. Get off my back.”

“Then answer me, dammit. And don't you dare use that language or that tone in this house at me.”

I shoot her a nasty look. “Oh, but it's okay for you to use it at me. I don't think so.” I gulp down the last of my drink, then set my empty glass into the sink.

Mom slams a hand up on her hip. Her nose flares. “Don't you question me, young lady! I'm the parent! I'm the adult! Not you!”

I let out a disgusted grunt. “You're such a hypocrite.”

“
Whaaat?!
Oh you have really lost your mind!”

“I haven't lost anything,” I snap. “I'm finally standing up for myself. I'm living my own life.”

“Kennedy, what has gotten into you, huh?! You've never spoken to me like this. You leave up out of here and half the time don't let me know where you're going. Or you tell me you're going to be one place and then I find out you weren't even there. Your brothers never pulled half the stunts you're pulling.”

“Well, get over it,” I snap. “I'm not the perfect little goody two-shoes that my brothers were. It's not my fault they were a bunch of nerdy pricks! How about this: I don't wanna be the perfect daughter. I don't wanna follow your stupid house rules. I don't wanna be stuck in this prison camp. I wanna go out and have fun. I'm sixteen years old. I shouldn't have to have some dumb curfew or have you tryna control my every move. I'm sick of you!”

My mom's jaw drops. Then in one swift motion she is in my face, the palm of her hand slicing into my cheek.

“Don't you ever—and I do mean ever—talk to me like that as long as you live. I brought you into this world, little girl. And I will snatch you out of it! I keep warning you! I will
not
have that talk in my house!” She yanks me by the arm. “Do you
understand
me?! You will not disrespect me! I am your mother. Not one of those skanky little girls you're trying so hard to be like! I will not tolerate it!
This
is
not
you, Kennedy!”

“You don't know
who
or
what
I am,” I shoot back, yanking my arm from her. In all of my sixteen years of life, she's never hit me. I've never even experienced a spanking as a child. Time-outs and loss of privileges are the only forms of punishment ever dished out in our house. Until this very second.

She gives me a pained look. Then shakes her head in frustration. “You're right. I don't know you. Not anymore. All I know is, the girl that's standing in front of me wearing that godawful hoochie-momma outfit and hooker heels is not the daughter I've raised. And I will
not
allow this kind of dress in this house. Your breasts are practically popping out of that blouse and that little skirt you have on is barely covering your behind. It's not acceptable.”

I know I should apologize, or even run out of the kitchen and simply slam my bedroom door, but I don't. The stinging in my cheek won't let me. The voice inside my head won't let me. They both tell me otherwise. Tell me to rebel.

And I do.

“You know what?” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “Screw you! I'm sick of you trying to ruin my life! You don't own me! I don't have to listen to you! I can wear what I want. I'm sixteen! And grown! I can do what the heck I want, when I—”

“Oh no you can't! And you won't!”
Slap!
Her palm slams into the side of my face causing my ears to ring. And this time tears spring from my eyes as I grab hold of my face, stunned that I've been hit again. She glares at me. “
You
are
not
grown! Not here in my house! Not at sixteen! Not as long as your father and I take care of you, you're not! Now I don't know where you're getting your information from, but you've been sadly misinformed. At sixteen, young lady, you are nowhere near grown. You may
think
you are. But I am still responsible for you. You will do as you are told! Now get your smart-mouth behind upstairs, take off those street clothes and go wash your face! You're grounded!”

“I hate you!” I scream, stomping up the stairs.

“S
crew her!” I mutter to myself, snatching open my dresser drawers and tossing everything into my designer duffle bag. “I don't have to take this crap from her. I'm outta here!” I rush into my walk-in closet and start yanking clothes off hangers and stuffing them into my bag. “Putting her hands on me like that! I hate her!”

I grab my phone and text Sasha, giving her the 4-1-1 and asking her to come get me. Five minutes after I send the text, my cell rings. It's her.

“She did what?”

“She slapped me,” I repeat, walking over to my wall mirror and looking at the bruise she's left on the side of my face.

“For what?”

“Because she's such an evil witch,” I say, pacing my floor. “All because I didn't come home.”

“You ain't come home one night 'n' she's spazzin' on you like dat? Girl, you need to handle her. You prolly should call the police on her.”

“No. I can't do that. She's still my mom.”

She grunts. “Mmph. Whatever. Do you, boo. All I know is, your momz be buggin'.”

“I know. All she wants to do is try to ruin my life. She acts like I'm out in the streets committing crimes or something. All I'm tryna do is have some fun before it's time to go back to school.”

“Girl, you betta get yo' life! Ain't nobody got time for dat! You need to pack your ish ‘n' get up outta dere! Mmph. I wish my momz would. I know you effed her up real good for dat, right?”

I blink.
Is this girl serious? First she says I should call the police on her. Now she's asking me if I hit her.

Fighting my mom isn't something I've ever considered. I mean, talking back is one thing, but to fight her. No. That's going way too far. I don't care how pissed I get at her, I don't think I can ever hit her.

She starts laughing. “Oops. I forgot who I was talkin' to. Li'l Miss Scaredy-Cat. You know you an undercover Oreo. So you betta do what dem white girls do 'n' stomp her lights out.”

I blink.

She keeps laughing. But I don't see anything funny. “You know dem rich white girlz you roll wit' down at dat fancy school you go to be whippin' da hot dog piss outta dey mommas. Then again, you prolly wouldn't. I know you ain't got it in you to go wit' da hands.”

“She's my mom,” I say defensively. “I can't hit her.”

“Oh, but it's okay for her to put her hands on you, right? Girl, bye. Miss me wit' dat.”

“I disrespected her,” I counter. “I shouldn't have spoken to her like that.”

She sucks her teeth. “And she disrespected
you.
Smacking you up. She shoulda kept her hands to herself. Girl, bye. Miss me wit' dat dumbness. Momz or not, she crossed da line puttin' her hands on you, boo. But whatever. She's your headache. Not mine. So what you gonna do now?”

“I don't know. I was hopin' you could come get me.”

“When? Now?”

“Yeah. If you don't mind.”

“Girl, I do mind. I'm gettin' ready to get my box beat up.”

“Oh.”

“Where's Malik?”

“He went into the city. And probably won't get back until late. I gotta get out of here.”

“Well, did you call him?” I tell her no. Tell her she was the first person I called. “Well, I think you should holla at ya man 'n' see what he says.”

I swallow. “Yeah. I guess you're right.”

“Hit me later,” she says just before the line goes dead.

I pull my cell from my ear and stare at it.
How rude!
It rings again, startling me. My stomach lurches as I glance at the screen.

I answer the call on the fourth ring. “Hello.”

“Kennedy?”

“Yes, Daddy. It's me.”

“I just got off the phone with your mother,” he says calmly. “She's extremely upset. She says you've been sneaking out and becoming extremely disrespectful. Is this true?”

“D-daddy, I-I . . .”

“Answer the question, Kennedy. It's a yes or no.”

I fall silent as tears roll down my face. Daddy has never raised his voice to me, and whenever I've had to be disciplined he's always left it to my mom.

“Kennedy?”

“Yes. I'm here.”

“Then say something. I need for you to tell me what in the heck is going on there. Because what I've heard so far, I am not liking.”

“I don't care,” I blurt out.

“Excuse me? Young lady, what did you say to me?”

“I said I don't care. I'm sick of being told what to do. I want to live my own life. I'm old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Kennedy, sweetheart,” Daddy says calmly. “What has gotten into you? This is not you. Your mother says you've been drinking and hanging out with a wrong crowd.”

“Ohmygod! She's such a traitor. She promised me she wouldn't tell you about the drinking. It was only one time. I got drunk. And I didn't like it. It was no big deal.”

“It is a big deal when you don't come home,” he says, raising his voice. “Your mother is worried sick about you.”

“Well, she can stop. I don't need her worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

“Wait a minute. Where is all this hostility and disrespect coming from?”

“I'm not being hostile. I'm just sick of Mom not trusting me. I'm old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Listen, sweetheart, you're right. You can make some decisions for yourself. And your mom and I both need to be able to trust you to do what's right. I know that you may think you're old enough to know what's best for you, Kennedy. But right now, your drastic change in behavior says otherwise. I'm flying home Friday evening. I'll be home early Saturday morning. We'll talk about this then. Understand?”

I sigh. “Yes.”

“Good. Now do me a favor and go apologize to your mother, then promise me you won't do . . .”

The line goes dead. I disconnect the call. I didn't want to hear anything else he had to say. I'm not apologizing to my mom. And I wasn't going to promise him anything. Malik promised to take me to this big party this weekend. And nothing, or no one, is going to stop me from going.

My cell rings back. It's Daddy calling again. I let the call roll into voice mail. When he calls back a third time, I hit
IGNORE
. There's nothing else to talk about. I've made up my mind. And he's made up his.

I call Malik. “Yo, whaddup?”

“I got into a big fight with my mom,” I tell him. “She slapped me. And now I have to get out of here. What time are you coming back to Jersey?”

“Whoa, whoa . . . slow down. Run dat by me again.” I repeat myself. “Why she go off like dat?”

I shake my head as if he can see me through the phone. “She's crazy. All I know is I have to get away from her.”

“A'ight. Did you call Sasha?”

“Yeah, I did. But she didn't sound like she was interested in coming to get me. She told me to call you.”

“Oh, a'ight. I gotta go uptown real quick, then should be headin' back dat way in a few. You think you can stay put until I can get there?”

I nod. “Yeah. I'll just stay in my room.”

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

“Yes.”

“You ain't gotta put up wit' dat ish, ya heard? I'ma get us a spot next week. In da meantime you can stay at my momz's crib.”

I swallow. “Are you sure? I don't think she likes me.”

“Yo, she ain't gotta like you. But she knows she betta respect you. I pay da bills up in dere, so she's gonna do wat I say.”

“What about your sister?”

“I done already put my foot down for what went on wit' dem broadz comin' through to get at you. So she ain't gonna give you no grief. She ain't tryna have me take it to her neck again. Don't worry 'bout packin' nothin'. I'ma take you shoppin' tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Three hours later, Malik finally texts back to say he's twenty minutes away. I know if he comes to the house there's a chance—no, it's a definite—that my mom will call the police on him. I don't want that. I tell him to meet me at the WaWa down the street.

I won't be needing this
, I think, tossing my packed bag into my closet. As I prepare to creep down the stairs, I am greeted by mom with, “Kennedy, what is this?”

I blink. My mom is standing in front of me holding up the two blunts I'd hidden in the inside panel of my pocketbook. “I know you did
not
bring drugs up in this house! Have you lost your mind, huh, Kennedy? Answer me!”

I blink again. I can't believe she went through my stuff!

“Don't stand there looking at me crazy! You better open your mouth and tell me something, girl! Now!”

I can't help but roll my eyes.

She scowls. “Is there something wrong with your eyes? Because I know you didn't just roll them at me. Now I asked you a question? What. Is. This?”

“I don't believe you!” I yell. “I don't have to tell you nothing! You have no right going through my personal things! Do I go through your stuff? No!”

“
Excuuuse
you?! I have
every
right”—she stomps a foot—“to go through your things when your behavior warrants it. And, lately, I do not like what I am seeing. And now I see why. How long have you been smoking this mess, huh?”

“That's none of your business,” I snap. “Why can't you stop being a joy-killer and just stay the heck out of my life?”

“
Every
thing you do is my business, little girl!
You
have no life unless I say you do! And for the rest of the summer the
only
joy you'll see will be punishment!”

“You can't do this to me!” I scream at her.

“Oh, I most certainly can. Now get your ass back upstairs! I don't know who this new crowd is you're hanging with, but it stops today. Do you understand me?”

“You can't tell me what to do!” I try to brush by her. “I don't have to listen to you!”

She snatches my arm. “Girl, you had better watch your tone with me! You have no business bringing drugs into this house! And I will not stand for it!”

“
Ohmygod!”
I shriek, snatching my arm back. “Get a grip! It's only marijuana! You're acting like it's some hard-core drug or something! It was hidden inside of my pocketbook. Not out in the open. So what's the big deal?!”

“The big deal is, it's illegal! And you brought it into this house! I don't care where you had it hidden. If the police found this”—she shakes the plastic baggie in my face—“on
you
you'd be arrested! Is that what you want? To be carted off to jail?”

Tears spew from my eyes.

“No, I want you to stay outta my life! You're gonna have to let go and stop tryna ruin my life!”

She raises her hand to strike me, but quickly stops herself.
“
I'm warning you, Kennedy! So help me God! I will smack the piss out of you!
You
will
not
speak to me that way! I am your mother! I will never let go of trying to guide you in the right direction. And right now, I'm trying to stop
you
from making some horrible mistakes. The last thing I want is seeing you hooked up with the wrong crowd. All it takes is one time being at the
wrong
place at the
wrong
time with the
wrong
crowd and you could end up a jail cell, or worse.”

“I'm already in jail!” I scream at her. “So it can't get any worse than it already is. Anyplace would be better than being here with
you
!”

I brush by her, practically knocking her over. I run down the stairs and out the front door, cursing and hollering at the top of my lungs, without looking back.

I hear my mom running behind me, calling out for me. “Kennedy! Kennedy! Get back here! Do you hear me?! You get back in this house, right now, or I'm calling the police!”

I keep running and running until my chest aches and my lungs burn. My mind is made up.

I'm never going back there again!