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Authors: Ni-Ni Simone

BOOK: No Boyz Allowed
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“I don’t want people hating me.”
“Then you need to chill and act sixteen and not like that miserable sixty-year-old lady who lives on my street. ’Cause, newsflash, just ’cause she’s old doesn’t mean anybody likes her. I can’t stand her. And in order for her to be a nasty-face-frowned-Polident problem at sixty, means she was giving people the business at sixteen. Feel me?”
“Yeah, I feel you.” I shook my head. “But Pop, you have to understand that being sixteen to me—means moving from place to place, having to fight for everything. Having nobody but me and wondering if the people I live with will like me from one day to the next. Or will I be waking up one morning with them telling me it’s time to roll.”
“Dang, girl. That ain’t being sixteen, that’s a hot mess.”
“Exactly. My life.”
“Look, you got it twisted. Maybe that was your life before you came here, but these people are different. And I’m not just saying that because I need you to become my sister-in-law and keep an eye on G for me. I mean, I need that, too, but still. I’m saying this because when I told G that you left school and he didn’t know where you were, he looked so worried. And he was so sensitive at that moment that we almost got back together and everything right then, but then I remembered what he did and put him on pause. And after he begged me to reconsider and I didn’t, do you know what he told me?”
“What?”
“That he loved having you as his little sister. And he loved Malik, too. He said his mother and stepfather wanted to be here for you, but that you had so much attitude that you couldn’t even see it. G said the day that Cousin Shake dragged you down the stairs and tossed you into the kitchen that he knew you were in like Flynn. So I’m telling you pay attention, ’cause they love you. Just chill and ride the wave. Stop thinking about tomorrow, ’cause at sixteen all I think about is today. Tomorrow is a whole other problem. Feel me?”
“I guess,” I nodded. “A little.”
“You need to feel me all the way, ’cause all you need to be thinking about is boo-lovin’ and ballin.”
I chuckled. “That’s what’s most important?”
“Fa’sho. Now stop buggin’ and just roll wit it.”
“Is it really that easy?”
“It’s as easy as Janay after a football game.”
Pop and I cracked up laughing. We laughed so hard that we fell back on my bed in tears—happy tears. And I thought,
maybe . . . maybe . . . Pop was right
.
Or maybe she was wrong . . . which one I really didn’t know. All I knew is that me being upset and uptight all the time didn’t do anything more than work people’s nerves and cause me to stay steppin’ to folks.
I was tired of that.
And I was tired of a bunch of thoughts about my mother, my life, and where I was going to lay my head at night crowding my mind all the time. I just wanted to think about silly and simple, like boos, and parties, and clothes, and shoes, and Twitter, and Facebook, and make-up, and maybe ballin’. Things that meant nothing, but meant everything all at the same time. I didn’t want to worry another day—about being kicked out of another foster home. Like Pop said I just wanted to be sixteen—her version of sixteen. “Just boys and ballin’, huh,” I said.
“Yep, that’s it.”
“So maybe I should chill, a little bit.”
“You need to chill a whole lot,” she smiled.
“So maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. My cuteness allows me to know these things. So just trust your bestie, okay?”
I paused. I felt second thoughts creeping up on me, but I shook them off, because I felt like...like I had to do something different, at least I had to try it. “A’ight. I’m game.”
“All right now!” Pop hugged me tightly. “We ’bout to make it pop, boo-boo!” She hopped up off the bed. “’Bout to do it, whaaaat!”
I fell out laughing.
“And from this moment on, all that other stuff, that ain’t even relevant,” she said. “You know what’s relevant?”
“What?”
“This is.” She walked over to my radio and turned the volume up. “ ’Cause this ‘Cupid Shuffle’ throwback. Is. My. Jam!”
“Pop, that song is fifty years old.”
“I don’t care! ’Cause this is my song!” She kicked her legs and broke out into the full fledge Cupid Shuffle.
Pop was so into it there was no way I could sit here and watch her kill the dance by herself. Nah, we both had to put it to sleep. So, I hopped up and together we broke it down. “
Now walk it by yourself
. . .” we chanted.
This was the perfect ending to the worst day ever; and just when the song changed and we were set to break down the Ole’ folk, Man-Man swung my door open—and no, he didn’t knock—he just stepped inside, stroked his goatee and said, “So this is how we doin’ it? Huh? What part of the game is this? The remix?”
“What are you talking about?” I looked at him strangely.
“Here I been downstairs, repenting and praying to God to just make me a preacher so that Mommy and Khalil didn’t kill me, ’cause I let you jump off a bridge.”
“I didn’t jump off a bridge.” I twisted my lips.
“How was I ’spose to know that? All I knew is that you cut school right after homeroom. Like you had a problem that school took up most of your day or somethin’.”
“That wasn’t it—”
“I don’t care what it was. All I know is that I was worried about you and I don’t do wrinkles in my forehead.”
“Awwl, you were worried about me.” I held my arms out and walked toward him to give him a hug.
“Back up,” Man-Man said as I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. “Back-up,” he repeated, breaking up our hug. “We ain’t ’bout to hug this out. I’ve been struggling to hide out from the homework police. Do you know how hard it is to hide from them? And based on my grades last year, I’m a wanted man right now. I’m hot and they all on my trail.”
“Well—”
“Well nothin’. ’Cause I don’t believe that all this time you been upstairs throwin’ back a throwback and poppin’ it to the floor? Well, G-Bread got a lil bit of a problem with that, homie.”
“My fault,” I said, genuinely feeling bad.
Man-Man never acknowledged my apology; he just turned and started in on Pop. “And yo, this how we droppin’ it, Pop?”
“Yop.” She smacked her lips and popped her hips. “And I don’t have a hug for you, ’cause yop this how we droppin’ it, fa’sho. Boom! All on the ground and splattered around.”
What the...
“So what you sayin’, Pop?” Man-Man walked closer to her. “That you don’t love me anymore? That we’re over for good?”
Pop smacked her lips. “I didn’t say that. Don’t be putting words in my mouth.”
“So then wassup?” Man-Man said. “Just call it what it is then, ’cause I wanna get back together again, now. Right now. Being without you has killed me.”
“Really?” she whined, sweetly. “Being without me has you dead now, G?”
He placed his hands over his eyes like a sun-visor. “I’m so dead, I think I see Moses.”
“Awwl.” She cupped his face between her palms. “Word?”
“Word.” He nodded. “I’m straight trippin’ without you.”
“Dang, boo.” She stroked his face and then took a step back. “Thing is, you gon’ have to trip for at least three more days, fifteen hours, twenty-five minutes, and a few seconds, ’cause I’m not feelin’ nor appreciatin’ what you did.” She placed her hands on her hips.
“What?” Man-Man said shocked. “So we’re not getting back together today? Right now, at this moment?”
“Hell to the fourth power of no.” She batted her lashes. “You’ve got Cameron “Popcorn” Hunter messed up. Like I told you earlier today, I didn’t like what you did. And you gon’ pay for that. How you just gon’ change your status to
‘It’s Complicated
’? You gon’ play me, G? Awl hell nawl!”
“Baby, I love you.”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. ’Cause I have standards. Now what you can do is check my Facebook status in three more days, fifteen hours, twenty-five minutes, and a few seconds, and if it reads
‘Booed Up’
then we’re back together again.” Pop swung around and looked at me. “Remember what I told you, Poo.”
“I will,” I said.
“Pop—” Man-Man called her but she ignored him and instead said to me, “See you tomorrow, meet you at my locker.”
“Bye, Pop.”
“Bye.”
“Pop,” Man-Man said, still getting his royal beg on. “Don’t do this, Pop. Let me hollah at you for a minute.”
Pop clicked her heels out of the room and Man-Man followed behind her. “Don’t be like that, Pop,” he said as they walked down the stairs. “Pop!” he called her as the front door slammed.
All I could do was shake my head and just as I was convinced that they were the most insane couple on Earth, Man-Man appeared in my doorway wearing an extra-large grin on his face; and I realized that my thoughts were wrong—they were even crazier. Hella strange.
I looked at Man-Man and for a moment I was convinced he was an alien. “What. Are. You. Grinning. About?” I asked him.
“ ’Cause I can bounce in peace and don’t have to worry about Pop calling my phone half the night and cussing me out.” He revved invisible handlebars.
“Huh?” I blinked in disbelief. “Maybe it’s just me but I could’ve sworn that you just begged her to get back together and then you topped it off by stalking her down the stairs, and practically out the door.”
“I had to do that.”
“Huh?”
“Look, Pop is my baby and breaking up and getting back together is how we do our thang. Which means that I know Pop well enough to know that if I didn’t beg her back she would’ve stayed here extra long and tortured me with all kind of questions. ‘
Why you do this G? Why you do that?
’ I’m allergic to questions like that.”
“And what does that have to do with you begging for forgiveness?”
“Check it, if I beg her forgiveness, she’ll think she has the upper hand, and that I’m over here losing it. Never in a million years would she think she was hitting me off with some peace.”
“So you just played my girl? I don’t appreciate that.”
“Nah,” Man-Man shook his head. “I love my boo, I just had wild oats to attend to and I didn’t want her steppin’ on my neck. Now look, my man, Ny’eem, is having a pickup game and I’m ’bout to get to it. You know a party ain’t a party til G-Bread slide through. Now you wanna roll or tryna stay here and be in the lineup with Malik and the homework police?”
“I can’t be with them alone. Oh, no.”
“Thought so.”
“But wait,” I paused. “Did you say Ny’eem’s game? Like the Ny’eem we know or another one.”
“I only know one Ny’eem and yeah, he’s having a pickup game. Now wassup, ’cause I’m ’bout to be out.”
My heart thundered in my chest. I took a deep breath, and raced over to my full-length mirror. “Do I look okay?”
“Oh, here we go with that again.” Man-Man shook his head. “Didn’t I tell you to watch
Jersey Shore
if you looking for support? But I mean, you look a’ight. Just change those heels and put on some kicks.”
“For what, it’s his game not mine.”
“’Cause heels in the park at a basketball game makes you look all desperate. Like a watered-down stripper ready to bust out.”
“That sounds crazy.”
“A’ight, chance if you want to, but don’t get mad when dudes start calling you Candy-freak.”
I hesitated and wondered for a moment if he was right. I didn’t know, but something told me not to risk it. The last thing I wanted to look like was a watered-down stripper ready to make it happen.
I stood silent for a moment and then it hit me: it’s eighty-five degrees outside and the perfect time for me to rock a pair of denim shorts, a hot pink spaghetti strap tee, and my Coach sneakers.
“I know you ain’t about to change your clothes?” Man-Man complained as I flew past him and ran into the bathroom. “Dang!”
But I didn’t care if he had an attitude, I had to get my cute on. So, a half hour later my clothes were changed and my make-up was perfect.
“Can we roll now?” Man-Man asked, exhausted.
Before I answered I took one more peek in the mirror and confirmed my flyness. “Yep,” I popped my glossy lips, “let’s roll.”
14
T
he evening sun sparkled like an amber diamond in the orange sky, as it hovered over the basketball court and set the mood for the illest basketball game I’d ever been to. And judging from all the cuties, the hotties, and the in-betweens, everybody knew this was the place to be.
Why?
’Cause the atmosphere was sick.
Dope.
And the basketball pounding against the black tarred court and swishing through the netted hoop with force was the music that everybody grooved to.
And the music was crazy.
There were two street teams made up of brown cuties—six feet tall and taller—and they were so fly that having all this fineness in one space was surreal. Unnatural. And all I wondered was: where have these ballers been all of my life?
I walked behind Man-Man and we eased onto the bottom bleacher and sat down. I nervously crossed one leg over the other as I watched Ny’eem dribble from the far end of the court, toward the basket. He spun around his guard, quickly flew through the air and slammed a layup!
Damn, he could ball.
And not only did I think so, the crowd did, too, because almost everybody in here lost it and cheered like crazy—except me.
I couldn’t. I didn’t want him looking my way and see my mouth gaped open. Suppose I had food on my teeth that I didn’t know was there? How anti-fly would that be? Nah, I had to remain closed-mouth-glossy-lips-sexy. So I smiled...at least until I felt sweat bubbling on my forehead. Then, I almost fainted.
“Man-Man,” I whispered.
“It’s G-Bread.”
Whatever.
“Look, am I sweatin’?” I turned to face him and he frowned as he looked me over.
He shook his head and said, “Please, don’t tell me you didn’t put on any deodorant. Oh, this ’bout to be some bull.” He sniffed. “Is that . . .” He sniffed again. “Is that you? Ahh damn.” He held his index finger over his nostrils. “What the—!”
“Don’t play me,” I growled, smacking his hand down. “Be serious.”
“I am serious.” He looked me over. “Is that you?”
“O.M.G. No!”
“Oh,” he said relieved. “’Cause I was bout to say—!”
“Whatever. Just answer the question.”
“Nah, you’re cool. You ain’t sweatin’, but I am.” He looked across the court, at a group of girls huddled in the corner. “I’m sweatin’ like a pig in heat, ’cause those Nicki Minaj triplets got me feeling dirty.” He fanned his face and shook his head. “Whew. ’Cuse me. I need to dip over there real quick.” Without hesitation or any consideration for me, he strutted around the edges of the court, and left me sitting there solo.
I couldn’t believe this. I felt like I was straight up on Broadway.
I should’ve called Pop and had her meet me here.
I let out an exhausted sigh.
Just chill and watch the game.
I watched the ball get passed around, snatched, and slung in the basket. Every time one of the players scored, the crowd screamed and chanted.
“Do, do, do ya thing! Ah work it out! Ah work it out!”
I loved every moment of it and just as my nerves took a rest and the ever-ready butterflies in my stomach had fallen asleep, Ny’eem turned to make a layup and spotted me.
My heart dropped to my stomach.
And although Ny’eem only stared at me for a millisecond it felt like forever and ever...
I gave him a small wave and he returned a soft wink. Don’t ask me why, really don’t, but suddenly I felt sooo silly that I giggled. Uncontrollably. Out of nowhere I burst into a low SpongeBob type laugh, like WTH was that?
Incredibly whack.
I did my best to collect myself. The girls, who sat next to me, took side glances at me, like they were waiting for me to freak out and really go crazy.
But I didn’t. I pulled my shoulders back and resumed watching Mr. Wonderful work it out on the court.
Swish!
The ball sailed through the basket. Ny’eem retrieved it. He dribbled with his left hand then switched to his right. “Am I in this alone?” he spat, talking smack. “Or did somebody else come to play with me? ’Cause if not, I can go home.” He passed the ball to his teammate.
Ny’eem’s teammate took a shot and made it. “There it is, baby!” Ny’eem shouted. “I see you came to play!”
Swish!
Ny’eem raced beneath the basket and grabbed the ball.
His guard reached in to take the ball and I yelled, “Reaching! Fall back! Not!” And when the ref didn’t at least warn the player, I sucked my teeth and said, “This is some bull!”
“Eww,” the girl sitting next to me said, “First SpongeBob and now you’re an Angry Bird. Like really? Seriously? Could you please quiet down?” She rolled her eyes, turned to her friend who sat on the opposite side of her, and said, “Hood buggers.”
My neck whipped toward them so fast that I almost caught whiplash. “Hood bugger?” I curled my lip. “Oh, you got me all the way messed up. Let me—”
“Foul!” The ref yelled and I completely lost the roll of words I was prepared to sting this wrecked-chicken with. “Pause,” I said to her and held one finger up. Then I quickly returned my attention back to the game.
“Foul?!” I said to no one in particular, looking over the court. “Who fouled?” That’s when I saw Ny’eem walk over to the foul line and prepare to take a shot. He looked so fine standing there; problem was his position was off. I wanted to yell, “Bend your knees!” But I didn’t. Instead I watched him miss two free throws.
I should’ve said something.
The game was back in motion. “I see you,” Ny’eem’s guard spat, mad.
“Instead of seeing me, you need to be guarding me!” Ny’eem said.
And I shouted, “That’s right, baby!” Realizing that I’d lost my mind, again. I didn’t even look around, especially since I could feel at least ten pairs of eyes on me. But whatever, basketball was an emotional sport, and I was all in. Plus the cutie that I was diggin’ was playing his heart out.
Ny’eem’s guard slyly grabbed the ball and shot it down the other end of the court. The enemy scored but that was okay, things happen—but never fear ’cause my boo was near. He worked his way through center court, took the ball, and murdered a three-pointer.
“Yes!” I yelled, turned to the girl sitting next to me and held my hand up for a high-five. Then it clicked, that I wasn’t clicking with this chick, so what the heck was I doing? I turned away from her with the quickness and resumed getting my basketball-boo-lovin’ on.
The game was down to a minute left.
The score was tied.
Ny’eem had the ball. He dribbled it, stopped, and squatted to make a shot.
Don’t do it,
I thought as I stood up. My heart pounded in my stomach.
It’s too risky.
I sucked in a breath. I was sweatin’ for sure now. I knew this could go one of two ways. If Ny’eem cared more about being a superstar than he cared about the game then he would take the shot.
But
if he cared more about the game then he would pass the ball off to his teammate who was closest to the basket.
I didn’t know which one he would choose. All I knew was that I was getting anxious with each passing second.
The crowd cheered.
I bit into my bottom lip.
Ny’eem hesitated.
Ugg.
He passed the ball.
Yes!
His teammate caught it and slammed it through the basket!
Everybody screamed! Some people even jumped from their seats and raided the court. This was the best game I’d ever been to! ’Cept my own of course.
After being Ny’eem’s sideline cheerleader and practically cussing out the broad sitting next to me, I now sat quietly in the stands and watched the court quickly turn from housing a hot game to housing a hot party. Some dude had an old school boom box, as big as a dorm room refrigerator. He amped it up and within an instant J. Cole’s “Cole World” had this place on and crackin’.
Ny’eem stood on the court and there was a small cheering crowd standing around him, all giving him his props on a fierce game.
My stomach twisted in knots as I made up my mind to be bold, rise from my seat, and walk close to where he stood. I didn’t want to mingle in with the crowd, mostly because I was nervous enough, I didn’t need other people witnessing it.
Nyeem looked my way and his eyes smiled. “A’ight, yo,” Ny’eem said to the crowd that surrounded him, “I’ll get up.” He exchanged a few more pounds and then he turned away and walked over to me.
Deep breath in . . . deep breath out . . .
I smiled and without my permission my hand gave him this hardy wave—which completely went south, because the wave should’ve only been a small and cute wave. Not one that looked as if I was fanning out a flame.
Shoot me.
Ny’eem gave me a crooked grin, which sank only one of his dimples. He softly flicked my chin and said, “So wassup?” His voice was oh soooo sexy. It took everything in me not to overheat.
“Nothing. The sky I guess.”
Did I say that? Really? Now was not the time to say something soooo dumb! I wouldn’t be surprised if he walked away. Matter of fact, I’ll just count the seconds until he bolts outta here... one . . . two . . .
“I’m not talking about the sky,” he said and instead of doing the expected two-step, he continued, “I’m talking about you—”
I know.
“Oh, you’re talking about me?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Now tell me what’s good with you? I gave you my number a minute ago. And I called you like two days in a row and you never called me back. I mean, it’s cool, but you could’ve told me straight up if you didn’t want to be bothered.”
“It’s not that,” I said without thinking.
“Then wassup?”
Wassup is that every time I picked up the phone to call you, I froze and forgot the conversation that I’d practiced in my head.
But I didn’t say any of that, instead I said, “Has it really been that long? Oh my.” I placed my hand on my chest and clutched invisible pearls.
Ny’eem looked at me like I was as crazy as I felt and said, “A’ight. I see you playin’ and since I just finished a game, I’ma catch you later.” He hit me with a two-finger peace sign and walked away. Leaving me to wonder if my knees would withstand the embarrassment.
O.M.G. Am I dreaming?
I pinched myself. I wasn’t dreaming—I was screwing up my reality.
I watched Ny’eem walk past a few people, including Man-Man, give them dap, and then walk out of the court.
Follow him.
He already thinks I’m nuts, I don’t need him thinking I’m a stalker.
Just chance it...
The soles of my sneakers skated like sandpaper across the court and down the tree-lined path, as I did my best to catch up with Ny’eem. Once I was a few inches away from him, I stopped and called his name: “Ny’eem!”
He kept walking.
And just when I was torn on whether to call him again or leave it alone and walk away, he turned around and faced me. “What?”
Just say it.
“Can you come here for a minute?” I asked him.
“No,” he said. “I’m not chasing you anymore. You wanna talk, you come to me.” He continued walking, but he did slow down a little.
I swallowed as I caught up to Ny’eem and started walking alongside of him. I fiddled with my index finger, swallowed, and said, “Look, I had a long day. Fa’ real. Nothing went as planned, including this moment. And it’s not that I didn’t want to call you or talk to you.” I paused.
Spit it out.
“I just didn’t know what to say to you.”
“You could’ve started with ‘hey wassup.’”
“True.” I hunched my shoulders. “But I guess I didn’t think about that.”
“Maybe you think too much.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Maybe you just need to chill.”
“Wow,” I said. “Twice in one day.”
“Huh? What happened twice in one day?” Ny’eem stopped for a moment and turned to me. “Somebody else told you to chill?”
I kicked bits of brittle branches and litter with my feet. “Yeah, my bff.”
“Maybe you should listen?” We started slowly walking down the tree-lined path again.
“Maybe.” I shrugged.
“Enough with the maybes and just do it.”
I stopped and looked Ny’eem in the eyes. “It’s not that easy for me. My life is different.”
“Different how?” He turned to me.
I swallowed. “Look,” I said with a little more attitude than I should’ve. “I’m not from the burbs, or this la-la side of Brick City. I’m from across town, where all the daddies are made of thin air, the mamas get high, and all the kids go to foster care. And the family I live with, psst, please, they aren’t related to me. They’re my foster family. I just met them a few weeks ago. And every time I thought about calling you I didn’t know how to tell you that...or if I wanted to tell you that.”

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