Salty: A Ghetto Soap Opera (Drama In The Hood)

BOOK: Salty: A Ghetto Soap Opera (Drama In The Hood)
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Salty

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aleta L Williams

 

 

 

www.alanasbookline.org

 

Salty © Copyright 2012 Aleta L. Williams

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

Printed in the United States of America

 

ISBN
978-147506141

 

LCCN:
On File

 

Cover Design/Graphic:
SoSo Boston
http://www.facebook.com/sosographics

 

Cover Model:
Bryanna Alize (Brie Beautie)
http://www.facebook.com/brie.b.beautie

 

Editor:
LaMia Ashley

 

[email protected]

 

This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living, or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincident.

 

For wholesale orders, contact the author: Aleta L Williams via email
[email protected]
Mail Orders in the amount of $15.00 USD to Post Office Box 59087 Los Angeles, CA 90059

 

 

 

This book is dedicated to my three babies: Porshay, Anthony, and Miracle. It is because of you mommy stay on her grind. My mother Virginia Ann Thomas and Godmother Cherry, I love and miss you… Thanks for watching over me. To my dad, thanks for always being there. And to my readers….I appreciate you all so much; that’s why I dedicated this book to you

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Acknowledgments

 

First I’d like to give thanks to God who is the head of my life. To my pastor for helping me see that God is the reason and that he always has and always will be there for me. To my husband Taboo, I thank you for your continued support. I am so glad that “we” found a way to make it do what it do…the two of us “Chump Change Production and Alana’s Book Line” is going places…#Yup… straight to the top!!!! I thank you for my babies; without those three I may not be as determined. A special shot out to my Dub and Hub (Watts and Compton) Divas and Gents: Bridget Davis, Nikki Jay, Dorothy Jenkins, Sherika Nicole, Aja Unconditional Love, Shakeia Law, Kenyanda Reddy,

 

Alysas aka OSO, M&M, Gary, YoLanda, Khalilah Barber, my HG for life Faniki, my little big HG Pooh and, sooo many more…..Oh, and my girl Apryl Cox from Florida, Moniek Williams, and Shaunta Fisher… I love and appreciate you all! Shout out to those in the Industry that don’t mind supporting and helping a New Author Like Me………
Karen Williams, Urban Books author (you have too many to name

),
Cash, author of Trust No Man 1, 2&3 and Bonded by Blood
,
Kre, author of The Game Don’t Love Nobody
,
Sha Dow, author of Fyast Life, Gloria Lathen, author of E.M.O.T.I.O.N.S and Your Purpose Is Greater Than Your Pain, Katrina, author of The Balcony View, Nita Bee over at Steamy Trails, Renda Rose, author of God’s Grace and Mercy, Emmanuel Brown, author of I am Royalty and CEO of Seeinggrowth, Mz. Robinson, author of the Love, Lust, & Lies series, Aaron BeBo, author of Change For A Dollar.
#YouGuysRock!!!

 

 

 

To all my family, friends, and sisters and brothers in Christ thanks for being you. I love you dearly!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue- A Few Months Back

 

Locke High School, Watts, CA

 

Jazz sat in her 7th period, Advance class, aggravated by the jealous females who thought it was cool to get on her bad side. Despite the smirks and subliminal messages, she continued to keep her focus on

 

the teacher. No matter what she did out of school, hanging out with her older cousin, sometimes drinking and smoking, she refused to allow anything or anyone to stop her from getting an education.

 


Can anyone tell me four types of defense mechanisms?” The petite teacher asked. None of the students raised their hands. They went on talking about everything but what was important, which was learning all they could so they would have a shot at graduating, and a choice to get out the ghetto. The teacher looked at Jazz. She knew she could get the correct answers from her but the expression on Jazz’s face read, “why me?” And besides, why did Jazz always have to answer? Didn't the other kids learn anything?

 

"I know," one boy yelled out.

 

"What is it, Deonta?" asked the teacher.

 

"Slap the shit out of that bitch!"

 

Almost the entire class burst into laughter. The teacher went from a pale white to a blush red.

 

"Deonta, go to the office now." She demanded, pointing at the door.

 

The boy got up and walked out. Once the class settled down, the teacher repeated her question. This time she spoke with authority.

 


I need four of you to give me four types of defense mechanisms. If I don't get any volunteers then I will call on you. If the four that I call on do not answer correctly, then you all will have an essay to do; thirty pages.” She paused and looked at the students with pity. She couldn’t understand why the kids didn’t take their education seriously. She wanted to blame the parents for not instilling the importance of an education, but these students needed to take responsibility for their

 

own actions. After all they were high school students. “Now do I have any volunteers?”

 

Jazz didn't have time for extra work. Her weekends were for her to chill and have fun. In her opinion, 95% of the class was dumb. She wasn't about to allow those dummies to screw up her weekend. She knew they wouldn't have the correct answer to the question, so she raised her hand.

 

Instead of using their vocals to answer the teacher’s question, students began coughing, whispering, and mumbling things she could barely understand.

 

Ughhh... I hate them.
She thought.
I can't wait until graduation. I'm out this piece. I can bet my last breath none of them are going to walk across the stage. Hell, they probably could care less. But that's their dumb ass problem.

 

"Fire away, Jazz.” The teacher said.

 


Four defense mechanisms are Pathological,
Denial
,
Suppression, and Passive Aggressive Behavior.”

 

The teacher smiled at Jazz; she then looked at the rest of the class,

 

"Because of Jazz you guys will have a stress-free weekend. Thank her."

 


Fuck her." One girl yelled out.

 

Just then, the bell rang and the students made their way out of class. As Jazz walked off the school campus, she pulled out her Sidekick from her Coach book bag and texted her cousin, Yay. She was letting her know that she would be at the burger stand on the corner by the school. When Yay-Yay felt like being bothered with Jazz, she would pick her up from school. They would either go shopping, compliments of

 

Jazz’s mother, or go hang out at one of Yay-Yay’s play date’s house. This particular Friday, Yay’s one and only best friend was out of town. And since Yay’s scandalous ways caused her to have very few associates, she allowed Jazz in her space. You would think the fact that they were first cousins, as their mothers are sisters and them only being three years part; Jazz is 17 and Yay is 20, they would be close. Jazz wished. Jazz would be lucky if Yay would even talk to her some days. And that would hurt her feelings. Jazz would never treat Yay badly, no matter how many times Yay would diss her and make her feel bad. She would brush it off and write it off as Yay being Yay-Yay. Everything Yay did, Jazz would make excuses for her. If she screwed one of her now ex-home girl’s men, Jazz would say, he must have come on to her, and/ or took advantage of her because she was drunk. If she refused to mess with a dude who couldn't give her money, Jazz would say she was about her hustle and nothing in the world is free. Nobody could talk about Yay-Yay to Jazz, not even her best friend, Laurie, because she would get defensive; that's why people often talked about her too. For her to take up for somebody like Yay, they thought she had to be just like her. And the fact that her mother was known to sleep around didn’t help. Although Jazz was far from Yay-Yay and nothing like her momma, people that didn't know her personally or just didn't like her because a lot of guys admired her pretty face, sassy attitude, and intelligence would say she was just as shady as her cousin and a hoe like her mother. Trust me when I say, that is far from true. Jazz never really tripped about what people said; she didn’t have to prove who she was to nobody. Her motto is, “Only God Can Judge Me,” but if she was in her “I'm not the one you wanna fuck with today” moods, she would check you quick. That didn't happen often; she tried to keep it ladylike at all times. Her grandmother always said, “You must carry yourself how you want to be viewed. If you respect yourself, so will others.” But sometimes you gotta throw that lady shit out the window, and show assholes that you are not the one.

 

Jazz walked into the gate of the burger stand and got in line. She already knew what she wanted; a cheese burger special. She pulled her Sidekick back out of her bag and texted Yay letting her know that she had arrived at the burger stand. She then went on the web to mess around on Facebook. Jazz’s attention was taken away from responding to one of her friends messages when she heard a guy behind her speak.

 

"What's up girl?" He said.

 

She turned around and smiled. It was Peter, the guy that used to stay next door to Yay-Yay when he lived in the projects. Peter is also one of many guys that had a crush on Yay-Yay.

 

"What's up Peter; what are you doing up here?” Jazz asked.

 

 
"Handling some business."

 

She should have known. Pete and his homeboy, Ken, serve that West Coast Fire: known to some as ecstasy! Most of the high school kids were on it.

 

"Oh. Ok!" She said. She then looked around. "Yay coming up here." She spoke with excitement.

 


So; what that mean? Is that your way of telling me that I can't give you a ride home?"

 

He looked her up and down seductively.

 

She blushed.

 

"I'm good. And why you wanna give me a ride; I thought you were checking my cousin?"

 


Never that! I wanna know what's up with you?" 

 

He lied, and half told the truth. Although the sexual attraction he held for Yay was still there, he wasn't about to push up on her and get dissed again. Besides that, Jazz had grown up to be a sexy little cutie.

 

I'll say.
Jazz thought. She couldn't even finish enjoying the thought because of a hater.

 

"If you ain't no pimp, then the hoe don't want cha." said a hating ass tramp.

 

It was the same bald head, ugly bitch from 7th period. Jazz looked and rolled her eyes.

 

Does she not know hating makes her look uglier than what she already is…?

 

"Bitch, roll 'em again and I'll black 'em." The girl said walking her way.

BOOK: Salty: A Ghetto Soap Opera (Drama In The Hood)
2.66Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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