Chasing Butterflies (3 page)

B
y the time the bell rings to end third period, everyone in the school is talking about Naomi Pitts. And the rumors are swirling around the halls like a bad case of the bird flu. No one seems immune to getting sucked feverishly into the gossip.

Crazy thing is, she has a boyfriend.

Super jock Connor Greene, who plays on the varsity wrestling and football teams.

Annnnd
. . .

Drum roll, please.

Is rumored to have given the disease to Naomi
first
, which she supposedly passed on to three other boys.

Yuck.

How disgusting is that?

And they’re supposedly
still
together.

They cheat—excuse me,
allegedly
—on each other, then act like they can’t be without the other.

Makes no sense to me.

However, I’m smart enough not to engage in any dialogue with anyone—except Crystal, about Naomi—or anyone else, for that matter.

Nia Daniels’s middle name is Switzerland.

I stay neutral.

Still, Naomi is a straight-A honor student and member of the National Honor Society, so you’d think she’d be smarter than that to let a bunch of boys have their way with her without using protection.

I guess not.

Apparently, intellect has no bearing on one’s level of common sense and overactive hormones.

But, if the rumors are in fact true, why wouldn’t she get treated?

Aren’t there symptoms for chlamydia, as with any other STD?

There have to be, right?

And why the heck would she purposefully give it to someone else?

None of it makes any sense.

Oh, well.

Anyway, thank God for Daddy, and his openness and his relentless conversations with
me
about safe sex and making healthy decisions.

He always says, “I’d hope that you’d wait until you’re married to have sex. But I know I can’t stop you from having it if that’s what
you
choose to do—when you’re ready. But I can arm you with a box of condoms and information. And, hopefully, instill in you that your body is your temple. If you don’t respect it, no one else will.”

That
, my body being my temple, is stamped in my head.

Forever.

And ever.

Amen.

That, along with having common sense, keeps me focused on more important things than sex, let alone having unprotected sex.

No, thank you.

No boy is worth risking my life, or my health.

Ever.

Sorry.

I blink when I see Naomi and Connor coming out of class across the hall together, hugged up. He has his arm draped around her shoulders, kissing her on the neck.

“Hey, Nia,” she says, waving a hand at me; her signature oversize handbag is hanging in the crook of her right arm.

The three of us pause in the hallway as students scurry past in all directions.

She’s wearing a short, expensive-looking crimson red dress—designer, of course—and a pair of multicolored Christian Louboutin sandals. And, um, for the record, the red soles of her heels are the
only
reason why I know which designer shoe she has on. Otherwise, I never have a clue.

Naomi has an incredibly vast wardrobe of extremely expensive clothing. She’s always a little too flashy and overdressed for me, but that’s her.

Always stylishly dressed, and runway ready.

For some odd reason, seeing her in all this red makes me think of that book,
The Scarlet Letter
. I so loved reading that classic tale. Like the character Hester who was publicly shunned for her infidelity, I suspect Naomi will be ostracized for her own sin.

They are both guilty of infidelity.

The only difference is, Hester had a baby by her lover.

Naomi has chlamydia from hers.

I zero in on the big LV logo on the front clasp of her red bag, then flutter my gaze up to meet hers.

“Oh, hey, Naomi,” I say, doing my best to sound casual, as if I hadn’t just heard all the scandalous little details of her behind-closed-doors proclivities.

I hear Nana saying,
“Just look at her. Poor child. She’s hotter than a bowl of habañero chili peppers. Letting all them boys plow through her field. She should be ashamed of herself. Ole nasty heifer.”

I stifle a giggle.
Get out of my head, Nana
.

Connor gives me a head nod. “What’s up, Nia.”

“Hey, Connor.”

“Girl, cute boots,” Naomi says, tilting her head as she speaks. “You always look so cute in pink.”

I do? That’s news to me.

Subconsciously, I glance down at my feet. My Ugg boots. Then back up at her. “Um. Thanks.”

Connor pulls her in closer to him. “C’mon, bae. We’re gonna be late.”

She gives me a two-finger wave. “See you, Nia.”

“Bye,” I say as the two lovebirds stroll off down the hall. Truthfully, I’ve always liked Naomi. She and I were in a few accelerated classes together sophomore year. And she always seemed nice. She still does, although everyone says she’s stuck up and materialistic.

Not my problem.

But, um, this latest news right here has me looking at her sideways.

“Ohh
.
Emm
.
Geee,”
Crystal gushes, rushing up to me breathlessly. “Did you see those two nasty horndogs, practically licking and pawing each other down the hall?”

I giggle. “Um, Crystal. I don’t think girls can be horndogs, silly.”

She snorts. “Well, then she’s a horn puss. And they’re both nasty. I need a Pepsi and a cigarette just looking at those two. And I don’t even smoke.”

I laugh. “You’re so silly.”

“No. I’m serious. I feel dizzy.”

“Come on, bestie.” I shoulder my backpack, then loop my arm through hers. “Let’s get to next period before you have a meltdown.”

“W
hy is it boys and girls can’t have platonic relationships?” Cameron wants to know, lifting two French fries from off of Crystal’s plate.

The three of us are hanging out downtown at one of the local hot spots. Today it’s Arcadia, a really neat hangout for teens that has lots of vintage, coin-operated video and pinball arcade games, like Pac-Man, Asteroids, Defender; games none of us ever knew about until coming here; well, except for Pac-Man.

Everyone knows, or has heard of that game before.

Anyway...

There are also several pool tables in the back area, along with a huge flat-screen TV and one of the latest gaming systems. And what’s really cool about this place is the thick glass floor that houses a ginormous aquarium of tropical fish and other sea life.

I really love coming here.

For selfish reasons, truthfully speaking.

Daddy’s architecture firm designed this place. So it makes it that more special to me.

Yup.

Daddy’s an architect. A well-sought-out one, I might add. Daddy designs mostly commercial buildings. But his firm has designed most of the elaborate homes in Naples, Belmont Shore, and Spinnaker Bay, all exclusive sections of Long Beach.

Anyway...

Crystal smacks Cameron’s hand. “Hands off my fries,” she warns, pointing a finger at him.

“Ow,” he yelps.

“Next time it’ll be your face,” she warns, pointing her fork at him.

He laughs. “Slap me, boo. I like it when you talk dirty.”

Crystal grunts. “Oh, brother. Someone come put this lecherous boy out of his misery. Please. Before I stab him with my fork.”

“Go ahead. I dare you.” He takes a sip of his Mountain Dew. “I bet you’ll look real chic in shackles and a Lynwood jumper,” he teases, referring to the Lynwood Jail for women.

She sucks her teeth. “First of all, I’d probably get off on a technicality.”

“Yeah, because you’re
technically
crazy,” he says. “Your next point?”

She rolls her eyes. “And, secondly, Dumbo, I’m not old enough to go there.”

Cameron furrows his brows. “Are you serious? Dang, Crystal.” He shakes his head, giving her a pitiful look. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?”

“
What?
Excuse you?” she says, indignation rising in her tone. “Have
you
?”

“Yup. Every day. And I love what I see. But you . . .” He pauses, shaking his head again. “Sorry, babe, you look
old,
like Social Security, pension-collecting old.”

Crystal feigns a yawn. “That was so lame.”

These two are ridiculous, I think.

Swallowing a sip of my iced vanilla latte, I slide a look over at Cameron. “To answer your question . . .”

He gives me a puzzled look. “What question was that... ?”

I sigh. “Jeez. Why boys can’t be friends with girls.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Yeah, what’s the deal with that?”

“Oh, I can tell you the deal with that,” Crystal offers, pushing her plate back, and wiping her mouth with her napkin. “Because instead of just being BFFs, boys are always trying to be FWBs. They’d rather have the perks of a
boo
without the title. They’ll say she’s just a friend, but we know what that really means.” She narrows her eyes at Cameron, who steals another French fry. “They’re such douchebags.”

Cameron ignores her, gazing at me with those amazingly cute eyes of his. “Feel free to chime in, Nia-pooh.”

“All boys aren’t jerks,” I say, eyeing Crystal, who’s sitting across from me with her arms folded over her chest and staring at me with her puppy-dog eyes. “Some are actually really nice, if you just give them a chance.” I gesture with my eyes from Crystal to Cameron.

She frowns. “Oh, puh-lease. Try nice
and
horny.”

Cameron rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “You know this angry black girl syndrome you’re struggling with has to stop. You sound real bitter.”

“I’m not
bitter
.”

“Okay, then. Try sour. You’re real tart, Crystal. You need Jesus. And you still need a breath mint.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Crystal, ignore his silly butt.” I bring my attention to Cameron. “I agree with you, though. Most boys are guided by their hormones, but not all of them act on them. There are some who know how to exercise restraint.”

I am simply regurgitating what Daddy once told me during one of our many
talks.
And I believe him. And I trust him.

Because he said I could.

Because he promised to always give me the best advice he possibly could.

Crystal grunts. “
Mmph
. When? Where? And who? Because I haven’t met one boy yet who isn’t trying to hump and grind up on something.”

Cameron waves his hand as if he’s trying to get her attention. “Umm, hello. I’m right here.”

She scowls. “Yeah, okay. And you’re still ugly as ever.”

Cameron rolls his eyes up in his head, flicking a thumb over at Crystal. “See.
Angry
.” Yeah, she should be, I think. Angry with herself for not seeing what a great catch Cameron is.

I sigh inwardly. “Crystal’s entitled to her opinion,” I offer, glancing over at her. “That doesn’t mean she’s right. Or I’m right. Or you’re right. It simply means we all have differences of opinion.”

“Exactly,” Crystal says, shifting in her seat. “Didn’t you read that book,
Boys Are Martians, and Girls Are
—”

“It’s
Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus
,” Cameron says, cutting her off. “She’s such a bubblehead. And, by the way, good book.”

“And I saw the movie,” Crystal retorts.

Cameron laughs. “No you didn’t. That isn’t even a movie. See. I keep telling you to work on your lies.”

She snorts. “Boy, I did see it. So now. I saw it with Nia. Isn’t that right, Nia?”

Wrong. “That was
He’s Just Not That into You
with Scarlett Johansson.” I tilt my head at her. “
You
wanted to see it, remember?”

She shrugs. “Oops. As you were saying?”

I wave her on dismissively.

“Yeah, Nia,” Cameron repeats. “As you were saying. Please and thank you.”

“Well, I was getting ready to say that girls just think differently than boys,” I reason, spearing a cherry tomato from my salad with a fork.

Cameron takes a bite of his sandwich. “True. But that doesn’t mean he can’t have boundaries. Take me for instance. I’m friends with two of the”—he looks over at Crystal and frowns—“on second thought.
One
of the prettiest girls,
and
one of the ugliest . . .”

I chuckle to myself.

Cameron loves instigating Crystal.

She hits him. “Boy, whatever. The only ugly one in the room is
you.
”

“Yeah, okay. But you don’t see me trying to hammer either of you. Do you?” He glances over at Crystal. “Well, I’d have to put a bag over your face to even consider it. Sorry.”

“Ohmygod, Cameron. Stop!” I say, trying to hold back a laugh. “That’s so not nice. I told you to play nice.”

“I
am
playing nice,” he insists, grinning sheepishly. “Being ugly and having bad breath is a bad combination.” He places a hand over Crystal’s. “My heart goes out to you, Dragon Girl.”

Crystal sucks her teeth, snatching her hand from beneath his. “Forget you, boy. I can’t stand you.”

“Stop lying,” he says.

I sigh, shaking my head. “Cam, you wouldn’t try anything with Crystal or me because you were taught to respect females. And you respect us.”

He nods his head. “True.” He grins. “That doesn’t mean I don’t fantasize.”

I ball up a napkin and throw it at him. “Ugh. TMI.”

He swats the napkin away. “Hey, what’s the problem? I’m being honest here. Even ugly girls with bad breath need love.”

Crystal rolls her eyes. “Boy, you couldn’t hammer me if you tried.”

Cameron shakes his head. “I’m not that interested, Box-troll. Try again.” He looks at me. “But . . .”

I arch a brow. Tilt my head. “But what?”

I hold my breath, waiting.

You never know what’ll come out of Cameron’s mouth. The boy has very little filter.

“We’ve been friends since fourth—”

“
Fifth
grade, idiot,” Crystal snarls.

“Right, right. I stand corrected. Since fifth grade.” He smiles thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize our friendships.”

“Aww,” I say, reaching over the table and squeezing his hand. “I love you, too.”

“Can I get a kiss then?” He wiggles his brows up and down. “I won’t tell anyone.” He puckers up his lips, then makes a loud kissy noise.

I snatch my hand back. “
Ill
. Nooo.” I laugh. “You’re pathetic.”

“Marry me, boo.”

Crystal tilts her head, giving me a look. “See. Horny.”

I wave her dismissively. “I don’t pay Cameron any mind. You know he’s a play fiend.”

She gives me an incredulous look. “No. Just
fiend
. That’s what he is.”

Cameron smirks. “Says the girl with the dragon breath.” He reaches for her plate and grabs more food. “Dang. All this foreplay has me starving.”

Crystal pulls her straw from her glass and playfully flicks water on him.

“Do it again. I like it wet,” he mock-groans, before shoveling French fries into his mouth.

Crystal gives me a look. “
See
. He’s a freak for all things vulgar.”