Get Ready for War (23 page)

I
pursed my gloss-coated lips as I approached my locker and saw Miss Rich standing there, waiting with a hand up on her hip. I flipped my hair. “Mmmph, funny seeing you here. I thought you were off somewhere playing hand games with your girl, SlowKeeta.”

Rich tucked her hair behind her ears. “Oh, London, please. Spencer can't help herself for being stupid. She was born with that gene. That's just a part of her handicap. But once you're able to get over her being stupid and dumb and a whore, stealing everybody's boyfriends and being in everybody's business, she's really not that bad to stomach. I actually like her as long as she stays up off her knees. And you would, too, if . . .”

“I did crack,” I said snidely as I opened my locker.

Rich balled over in laughter. “Bwaaaaaahhaaa, oh, you so wrong for calling her a crack whore. Bwaaaaaaaahhaaa.”

“Yeah, a dumb crack whore at that.”

“Yeah, Crackalicia, with her dizzy behind. Crack-crack-crack-crack it up!” Rich snapped her fingers, then dropped down and booty-popped-it up. She shimmied it, then hip bumped me. “Let's crack-crack-crack it up.”

I couldn't help but laugh. Rich was a mess, but she was my girl. Two-faced or not, I was glad to see she had come to her senses and realized who her true friend was. Not that nasty knee-dropping, man-guzzling trick, Spencer. As long as Rich was dogging her out, I knew we were back on track being bestie-boos.

“Girl, you are comical,” I said, getting caught up in the moment. I was feeling good; despite Justice being MIA, I had my girl back. This was phase one of
My Boo Returns
.

I did like Rich, really. But Rich was two-faced. And I still couldn't get over how she had turned on me, dissing me for Spencer. That really hurt my feelings. But at the end of the day, I knew that Rich wasn't loyal to anyone except herself. She was selfish. And I also knew that if the tables were turned, she'd do the same thing to me. So there was no room for feeling bad about doing her first.

I smiled as I finger popped with her and did a two-step. Yes, we were back on track. “Crack, crack, crack is whack . . .”

“Aaaaaah,” Rich snapped, jumping up and popping her booty. “Do it, boo! Work it, girl. Loosen up.”

“I am loose. Crack, crack, crack is whack,” I repeated as I shimmied my shoulders.

Rich started chanting and dancing. “There's some whores in this house, there's some whores in this house. Work that mofo . . . the roof is on fiiiiiiire . . . we don't need no whores, let 'em all burn . . . crack kills . . . burn, mofos, burn . . .”

She pulled me by the hands and started two-stepping with me, drawing attention over to us. Cameras clicked, as usual. And kids started finger popping and head bobbing to our impromptu moves.

Someone started making catcalls, and someone else started making human beat-box sounds. Then out of nowhere, Spencer appeared and dropped her diamond-encrusted Birkin bag and started pumping her pelvis up into Rich, doing some kind of giddy-up two-step, like a horse and cowgirl dance. She was practically riding Rich's back. She started singing and making gestures with her hand as if she were whipping a horse. “Eeeeehaaaaw, giddy-up, giddy-up, giddy-up . . . move them buffalo hips . . . when I hit the dance floor, I be doin' the Stanky Leg. Aaaaah Eeeeehaaaaw . . . get it, get it . . . It's time to make it twerk up in this mofo...I said it's time for the percolator”—she clapped her hands—“Giddy-up, goshdang it . . . booty-booty . . . cootie pop it . . . let me see you make it drop . . . to the left, to the left . . .” Spencer dropped it low then started winding it back up, then dropped down again, then bounced and rolled with it. “Now, shake ya Laffy Taffy . . .”

Rich started jumping up and down, “Wait, wait... I got some throwback hotness for you pimps 'n' pimpettes and hoes...” She reached into her bag and pulled out her iPhone, then pressed a button. Then “Cupid Shuffle” started playing “... C'mon my bottom beeeeyotch,” she said as she pulled Spencer over to her. “Let's boom, bop, drop it . . . to the right, to the right, to the left, to the left . . . right kick, right kick . . .”

Hollywood High immediately went from a school for the elite to a performing arts school. What a mess! I didn't know what the hell they were doing, but they were doing it. And for a moment, I wanted to know how they did it. Let go. And I wondered how it must feel to be Rich and Spencer.

Free.

As the beat kept playing, I found myself bouncing my shoulders, still a tinge of jealously sweeping through me watching Spencer and Rich laugh and dance like they were the best of friends.
Oh, that trick has to go. And now!

I almost hit the floor, hard, when Rich bent over and grabbed her ankles and shook and bounced her rump-shaker up into Spencer. And I practically went into cardiac arrest when Spencer started smacking her on the booty.

Rich went straight skid row and started chanting, “Ride that horse, boo . . . smack it up, smack it up, smack it up . . .”

The boys went wild as Spencer started humping into Rich's behind. Ugh! I rolled my eyes in disgust and felt myself ready to throw up in the back of my mouth.

Rich turned to Spencer, then slid one leg in between hers, and they both threw their hands up over their heads and danced hip to hip. I was too through!

“All right, all right, break it up,” boomed through the crowd. “Let's clear these halls!” Mr. Westwick yelled. His face was beet red. “I'm appalled at all of you! What kind of school do you think we're running here? The school for the Hippity Hop Homeless? Jeezus! If the board of directors were here, they'd have us shut down. I'd be carted off out of here. You want to dance, get to ballroom class. This is unacceptable. Now get a move on.” He pulled out a hanky and started dabbing his wet forehead.

Kids started scattering and laughing.

“I'm not going back to the monastery,” he screamed, waving his arms theatrically in the air.

Spencer snatched up her handbag. “Hi, Mr. Wessssst-wick,” she said sweetly. “That London sure knows how to bring the ghetto out. Hoodlum City.” She tossed her hair and strutted off.

Slut!

“Lonnnnndon?!” Mr. Sharp, Mr. Westwick's assistant, screamed. “I know you were behind this. This reeks of New York madness. Ever since you got here, there's been nothing but trouble here. If this is how you bop it, or drop it, or pop it, or whatever youse say in New York, that's not how we represent ourselves here. This is Hollywood High! We will not tolerate these kinds of shenanigans from you.”

I blinked as Rich laughed, pulling me by the arm toward homeroom. “Girrrrrrl, that was fiiiiiiiiiyah! That's how we gonna drop it at this party we're about to go to.”

I frowned, looking at her like she was half-crazed. “We? What? Who's we?”

“Me and Christian and you and Louis, that's who.”

“Rich, please. What are you talking about?”

Rich clapped her hands in my face, then snapped her fingers. “Get with the program, London. Snap, snap! Me and Christian Louboutin. And you and Louis Vuitton. Who else? Don't tell me you've had a designer freeze. Geesh. Wake up! Now there's a party that my boo's fraternity is giving and we will be the belles of the ball.”

I batted my lashes. “Your boo? What boo?”

Rich let out an exaggerated sigh. “Get yo' mind right. Your thoughts in order. What is going on? Maybe you need to do crack 'cause you messing up my hookah high. And I don't do that. Who else would I be talking about?”

I shrugged. “Damon?”

Rich threw a hand up to her neck. “Clutching pearls!” she hissed. “That was a one-night-way-too-late-at-the-bar stand. You're tryna mess me up here. I told you about that in secret. You know that boy stalked me for a week. Had me hiding out in wigs. I had to be homeschooled for weeks behind him. Noooo, uh-uh. Don't bring him up. We don't talk about him. ”

“Then who are you talking about? Last I knew you were single. I thought you were home, moping and crying.”

“Whaaaaaat? Moping and crying? I don't do that. My middle name is Next. Next up! You got me confused, boo. That's something you and Spencer would do. But, me . . . Rich Gabrielle, I got it together. You don't see no mirror over here. I'm not your reflection. I don't do that. Get all worked up over no boys. Please. I'm too fly for that. Now, I'm not taking no for an answer. I see you don't have your head on straight. But we're going to my boo's party and that's that.”

“Well, who's your boo?”

“Knox. Didn't you hear a word I said? Don't get it confused. Always is, always will be. He can't live without me. One day you'll grow up and be like me. Love 'em and leave 'em and they chase you down, just to have you again. See you at lunch.” And with that said, she dipped into her homeroom, leaving me standing there looking at her like she was nuts.

I blinked. Rich was everything I was not and everything I hoped never to be. But there were parts of her that I wished I could be. I didn't want to be a whore. I wanted to be a one-man woman. I didn't want to be inconsistent. I wanted to be consistent. The part of Rich that I wanted wholeheartedly was her freedom and her ability to move on. And if somewhere along the line she was faking the funk, I wanted that, too, because she was a good phony.

And for the next three periods, I couldn't shake myself. I hated it. I was miserable. All I could do was think about Justice. I was in my classes, but I wasn't there mentally. I didn't give a damn about these classes, or the fact that my grades were slipping. I just sat there, aimlessly—mind wandering, obsessing over Justice.

The sound of the bell jolted me out of my fog. And at that moment I made up my mind to try freedom on for size.
I'm going to try not to think about Justice. I'm going to focus on me and enjoy the rest of my day.

I grabbed my books and handbag, then headed out the door.

 

As I walked into the café my cell vibrated, alerting me that I had a text. I quickly fished out my phone.
Please let this be Justice
. I glanced at the screen. It was a text from an unknown number. I opened it.

If Justice was ur boyfriend, he wasn't last week

I blinked. Felt my heart drop into my stomach. I texted back: who is this?

Unknown texted back: Wouldn't you like to know. LMAO

justice is this u? stop torturing me. Just let me talk to u

Unknown replied: London, OMG, ur so stupid. This is your worst nightmare

if u don't leave me alone I'm gonna report u 2 the police

Unknown texted back: do it!!!!!! I dare u, make my day ho! hahahaha no wonder justice dumped ur pathetic azz! madame beg a lot!

My knees buckled.

Who was this harassing me? I didn't know who was playing these sick games, but I wasn't feeling it one bit. Someone knew that Justice and I were involved. But who?

I gasped.
Anderson!
He was the only sneaky, sick bastard that would do something like this. No wonder he was being so nice. He wanted to torture me in unsuspecting ways.

I scrolled for his number and quickly texted: U dirty piece of nothing! 4 one sick moment, I almost thought u were human. But now I see u r from the planet creep. Get a life! And stay the hell out of mine, u punk sissy beeeeeeeeeoyotch!

I tossed my phone back into my bag, storming over to the table where Rich and Spencer were once again making love at the lunch table, cackling and carrying on. I felt like banging Spencer right in the middle of her forehead.

I threw my handbag up on the table, rattling the dishes. “It's about time,” Rich huffed as she stuffed a sushi roll into her mouth. She talked as she chewed. “Oh no. Oh no. We don't do that. We don't do your attitude. And we don't do this last-year's handbag, either.”

“Last year's handbag?” I snapped. “You had better check your fashion log. There's nothing last-year about my handbag. Now don't worry about my bags, worry about you being a worldwide freak.”

“See. That's what I said,” Spencer interjected. “Rich, I told you. You've been around the world. You've been in Milan, Paris, Hong Kong... I'm surprised you haven't brought back some kind of tropical disease.”

“Whaaaat?!” Rich screeched. “Both of you better not be trying to bop it, drop it on me. Guzzle, guzzle, Spencer.”

Spencer batted her eyes and licked her lips. “Yup, and good to the last drop.” She licked her fingers and I almost threw up right there all over the table. Spencer was a whore and wore the title like a designer badge. She was proud and carefree. She continued, “At least I don't get pregnant. But how many does this make for you, Rich?”

“Don't you worry about my fallopian tubes. Worry about your tonsils. Now don't make us fall out, Spencer. We been doing good. But I will boom, bop it on you in a minute. Play with me if you want to.”

Spencer gasped. “Play with you? You done gone too far now; just because I danced up on your booty this morning and we tag-teamed Raheem together last summer after one of his games, and booty popped it up in Ace Hood's Hustle Hard video, that doesn't mean I'm trying to play with you and that ran-over snatch patch of yours. You nasty freak!”

Rich hopped out of her seat. I leaned up in excitement, ready for her to knock Spencer's lights out. This was exactly what I hoped for. The two of them falling out.