Put Your Diamonds Up! (20 page)

2 a.m.

 

I
will not be played.

Or ignored.

And especially by some broke side-jawn.

Never!

I don't care if he is six feet and hey-hey-hollah-back-lil-daddy fine.

Or how much I scribble, doodle, and marry my first name to his last name.

He will never be allowed to come at me crazy.

Not Rich Gabrielle Montgomery.

Not this blue-blooded, caramel—thick in the hips, small in the waist, and fly in the face—bust 'em down princess.

Psst.

Puhlease.

Swerve!

And yeah, once upon a time everything was Care Bear sweet: rainbows, unicorns, and fairy tales. He was feeling me and I was kind enough to let him think we'd be happily ever after.

But. Suddenly.

He turned on me.

Real sucker move.

And so what if I keyed up his car.

Tossed a brick through his windshield.

Kicked a dent in his driver's side door.

Made a scene at his apartment building and his nosy neighbor called the police on me.

Still...

Who did he think he was? Did he forget he was some gutter-rat East Coast transplant?

He better stay in his freakin' lane.

I've been good to him!

I replaced the windshield and had all the brick particles swept from the parking lot.

The next day, I topped myself and replaced the entire car with a brand-new black Maserati with a red bow on top.

The ungrateful slore sent the car back. Bow still intact.

I've done it all.

And how does he repay me?

With dead silence.

I don't think so.

I'm not some ratchet ho.

I don't have to take that!

And if I have to sit here in my gleaming silver Spider, in this dusty Manhattan Beach apartment complex, and wait another three hours for Justice to get home, I will.

 

4 a.m.

 

I should leave.

Go home.

Call my boyfriend, Knox.

And forget Justice.

If he can't appreciate a mature, sixteen-year-old woman like me, then screw him.

No. I can't leave.

I have to make this right.

No I don't.

Yes. I do.

 

5 a.m.

 

Where is he?

 

6 a.m.

 

There he is.

But where is he coming from?

Was he with some chick?

My eyes followed a black Honda Accord with a dimpled driver's door as it pulled into the half-empty parking lot and parked in the spot marked 203.

The red sun eased its way into the sky as I took three deep breaths, doing all I could to stop the butterflies from racing through my stomach.

I should go home. Right now.

After all, he is not my man.

My man is at his college dorm, thinking about me.

I chewed on the corner of my bottom lip. Swallowed. My eyes moved from the brick, two-story, U-shaped, garden-style complex Justice lived in to the small beach across the street where an overdressed homeless woman leaned over the wooden barrier and stared at the surfers riding the rough waves.

“What the hell? Are you stalking me?”

I sucked in a breath and held it.

Justice.

I oozed air out the side of my mouth and turned to look out my window. There he was: ice-grilling me. Top lip curled up, brown gaze narrowed and burning through me.

Say something! Do something!

“Can I, umm . . . talk to you?” I opened my door and stepped out. “For a minute? Please.” I pulled in the left corner of my bottom lip and bit into it.

“Nah. You can't say ish to me, son. What you can do, though, is stop stalkin' me 'n' go get you some help. Thirsty. Loony bird. If I didn't call you, it was for a reason. Deal wit' it. Now get back in ya whip 'n' peel off.”

Oh. No. He. Didn't! This scrub is outta control!

“For real? Slow down, low-down. When did you become the president? You don't dismiss me. This is a public lot. I ain't leavin'. And you will listen to me. Now, I have
not
been waiting here for seven hours for you to come out the side of your neck and call me a freakin' stalker. You don't get to disrespect me. And loony bird? Really? Seems you've taken your vocabulary to new heights; now maybe we can work on your losin' career. And yeah, maybe I've been waiting here all night. But the last thing I am is some
loony
bird.”

Justice arched a brow.

“Or thirsty.”

“Whatever.” He tossed two fingers in the air, turned his back to me, and walked away.

Unwanted tears beat against the backs of my eyes. But I refused to cry. “Know what, I'm not about to sweat you!” I shouted, my trembling voice echoing through the early morning breeze. “I'm out here trying to talk to you. Trying to apologize to you. Trying to tell you that I miss you! That all I do is think about you! But instead of you being understanding, you're tryna do me!”

Justice continued walking. Just as he reached the stairs, I ran behind him. Grabbed his hand. “Why are you doing this?”

He snatched his hand away, spun around, and mushed me in the center of my forehead. “I'm sick of your ish, ma. Word is bond. You don't come runnin' up on me.” He took three steps closer to me. And we stood chest to chest, my lips to the base of his neck.

“Justice—!”

“Shut up!” His eyes dropped eight inches.

I need to go.
I took a step back and turned to walk away. He reached for my hand and quickly turned me back toward him. Pulled me into his chest.

The scent of his Obsession cologne made love to my nose and I wanted to melt beneath his large hands, which rested on my hips.

He tsked. “Yo, you selfish, you know that, right?” He lifted my chin, taking a soft bite out of it. “Word is bond. What's really good witchu?” He tilted his head and gazed at me. “Just when I start to treat you like no one else matters, you turn around 'n' play me. Leavin' me Yeah Boo letters 'n' money on the nightstand, like I'm some clown mofo. I don't have time for that. And then you get mad 'n' eff up my ride, like that ish is cute. You lucky I ain't knockin' you out for that, for-real-for-real. Yo, you a real savage for that.”

I sucked my teeth, feeling the light ocean breeze kiss my face. “I was pissed off!”

He released his hold on my hips. “Oh word? So every time you get pissed you gon' jump off the cliff? Is that it? Yo, you crazy if you think I'ma put up wit' that.” He paused and shook his head in disbelief. “Yo, I gotta go. I'm outta here.” He took a step to the side.

“Wait, don't go!” I stepped into his path. “Justice, please!”

He flicked his right hand, as if he were flinging water from his fingertips. “Leave.”

I ran back into his path, practically tripping over my feet. “Would you listen to me?” Tears poured down my cheeks. “Dang, I'm sorry! What else do you want me to do?”

“Nothing.”

I threw my hands up in defeat. “I keep calling you and calling you! And calling you!”

“And stalkin' me. Playin' ya'self. Comin' over here bangin' on my door like you crazy, then keyin' up my whip. What kinda ish you on, yo?”

I felt like somebody had taken a blade to my throat.

Play myself?

Never.

He had me confused. “I don't deserve—”

“You deserve exactly what ya greasy hand called for. You really tried to play me, yo. You got the game jacked, yo. I ain't no soft dude, real talk. I will take it to ya face.” He paused and looked me over. “
Then
you had ya dude roll up on me and sneak me? Word? Are you serious? That ish got me real hot, yo.” He paused again. “I shoulda burned a bullet in his chest for that punk move.” His dark eyes narrowed. “You lucky I ain't knock ya teeth out.”

Was I having an out-of-body experience? No boy had ever spoken to me like this. Ever. I was stunned. Shocked. Confused. Desperate. Scared...

I didn't know if I was quiet because I couldn't think of anything to say or because I felt a tinge of fear that told me I needed to shut up. The bottom of my stomach felt like it had fallen to my feet. I watched him take three steps toward me and I wondered if this was the end.

He yanked my right arm. “Let me tell you somethin'. I don't know what you standin' there thinkin' 'bout or what's 'bout to come outta ya mouth, but it better not be nothin' slick.” He paused and I swallowed. “Otherwise, you gon' be pickin' ya'self up from this concrete. Or better yet, the evenin' news will be 'bout you floatin' facedown in the ocean.”

“I-I-I-I,” I stuttered, doing all I could to collect my thoughts. “If you would just listen to me! I didn't have anybody sneak you. I didn't do that!”

His eyes peered into mine. “Well, somebody hit me from behind. Now who was it?
Who?
”

Without a second thought. Without concern. Without regard or a moment of hesitation, I answered, “London!”

That's right. London.

That crazy ho.

My ex-bestie.

Another one who turned on me. Tried to take hate to new heights by inviting me out to Club Tantrum and attacking me. For no rhyme or reason.

“London?” Justice repeated in disbelief. I could tell by the look he gave me that he was taken aback. He frowned. “Are you serious? London?”

“Yes, London! She's the real thirsty loony bird. Real crazy! She even jumped me the other night! I know you had to see the blogs.”

“What the . . .” He quickly caught himself. “Do I
look
like the type of dude checkin' blogs?” He pushed his index finger into my right temple, forcing my neck to the left. “Now say somethin' else, stupid.”

My kneecaps knocked, my heart pounded, and my throat tightened.

I should leave.
This was a bad idea. Apparently, he can't appreciate me standing here, trying to woman up and handle our situation.

“
Do you hear me talkin' to you, yo?
” he screamed in my face. “I
said
, what you mean, it was London?”

I hesitated. “She just came from nowhere. You and I were standing there talking and the next thing I knew you hit the ground and there was London hovering over you with nunchucks in her hand!”

I searched his eyes to see if he believed me. The truth was it wasn't London. It was Spencer, my real, loyal, ride-or-die bestie. She'd snuck him. Hit him in the back of his head. And when he didn't move, Spencer and I got scared, took off, and left him for dead.

But none of that was the point. London deserved to wear this one. Especially since I was done with her. “I'm telling you it was London! She came from nowhere. You hit the ground and she was there with a bat in her hand!”

“London?” he repeated, shaking his head. “I thought she was over in Italy somewhere.”

“Lies! She was never in Milan. That lunatic was home all along, curled up in the bed! And I just knew she killed you! I just knew it!” Timely tears poured down my cheeks. “I'm sorry that I left you. I am. I was
sooooo
scared. You should've seen the look in London's eyes. That girl's crazy! I didn't know what to do. I called the hospitals! I called the morgues. I was even willing to pay for your funeral. I'm just so sorry. And when you were on that ground, motionless, I tried to shake you and you wouldn't move. London took off! I heard sirens. I got scared and I just ran!”

I boldly took a step toward him and pressed my wet cheeks into his chest. “You gotta believe me, Justice. I just knew you were dead. I really did and I didn't know what to do. I thought the police were coming. And I didn't want them to think it was me who killed you so I ran too! It was stupid.” I stammered, “I-I-I left my car. Everything.” I wept into his chest and he wrapped his arms around me and squeezed.

I batted my wet lashes. “Baby, did you do something to that girl?” I asked.

“Oh, so now I'm ya baby?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes, Justice. Yes. Of course you're my baby.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But why does London hate you so much? Did the two of you used to be a couple or something? I thought you were only friends.”

“Yeah, we used to be friends. All that's dead now.” He wiped my wet cheeks with his thumbs. “Now, back to you.” He lifted my chin and placed a finger against my lips. “The next time you come outta pocket, tryna slick-talk me, I'ma slap ya mouth up.” He tapped my lips lightly and I kissed his fingers. He snatched his finger away. “Nah, I don't think so. You still in the doghouse wit' me. Now what you gonna do to get outta it?”

“What do you want me to do?” I whined. “I'll do whatever.”

“What you
think
I want you to do?”

I slid my arms around his thick neck and whispered against his chin, “I can show you better than I can tell you. Can I come inside?”

“Yeah.” He ran his hands over the outline of my body. “Right after you call ya man.” He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. “And dead it.”

My heart dropped. “
Whaaaaaat?
Clutching pearls!” My eyes popped open and I felt my breath being snatched.

“Ya heard me. Call that punk now.” He pushed the phone toward me.