True Story (5 page)

T
rinidad James's “All Gold Everything” blasted from an iPod that sat in an old-skool-esque jukebox dock, as I stepped through the caf's—or better yet, Stiles U's crunked eatery club's—double doors.

The caf was always live with music, cliques, Greeks, some folks just kicking it, and others grabbing their grub and hurrying to go. It was a place where mostly everybody met in between classes to catch up with their crew, get the latest gossip, or just to have something to do.

It was designed like a 1950s mom-and-pop diner. In the center of the room were rows of red-and-white booths. Along the right wall was an L-shaped counter outlined by red leather bar stools. And to the left was a buffet station, filled with everything from dirty rice and shrimp po'boys to loaded nachos.

The walls were painted crisp white, and hanging on them were mahogany-framed black-and-white posters of accomplished African-Americans.

There were three cashiers, all women, who each popped gum way too much and called out food totals like auctioneers with an attitude. They were posted in the back of the room, behind their cash registers, giving the stank eye to everyone who came through their line or walked by.

I refused to pay them any mind as I walked over to the buffet station, fixed me a plate of loaded nachos, paid for my food, and took a seat in a booth next to a table of Gammas, who were dressed in all pink and inspected me harder than the DMV.

Dang!

Instead of showing them a face that revealed my thoughts, I shot them a quick wave and a Barbie-doll smile. Yet, instead of returning my wave or smile, they each played me and turned around.

Whatever.

I took out my iPhone and just as I was prepared to text Shae, “Hey, boo,” poured from behind me.

I turned to see Shae and Khya walking toward me. They slid into the booth. Shae sat next to me and Khya sat across the table from us.

“Whew!” Shae sighed as she flung her urban statistics textbook across the table, like it was a creature she wanted away from her.

Khya curled her glossy lips as she tucked her backpack underneath the table. “Excuse you, Rudeness, you couldn't call us back last night?” Khya reached for a nacho.

“I'm sorry, y'all. I meant to call you back, but I got caught up with your boy Courtney.”

“Gurl,” Shae said, exhausted. “Why did he waltz up into our apartment this morning saying that he'd just hit the bricks and you'd just picked him up from doing a stint? And that you told him he could stay with us as long as he needed?”

I shook my head, causing my hair to dance over my shoulders. “Something. Is. Wrong. With. Him. He called me this morning, spazzing.” I told them the entire story, from Courtney whispering my name on the phone to him practically cussing Zaire out for not turning around and beating somebody down for his Pink Friday perfume and CD.

Shae and Khya howled with laughter and after a few seconds of them cracking up, I caught the giggles too. “He is a fool.”

“But that's our boy,” Shae said. “We have to let him stay.”

“I guess,” Khya said with her mouth full. “But he'd better stay on my good side or I'ma make a chicken-dust fix that, let's just say, will have er'body calling him Drooly Lips.”

“Ill,” Shae said.

Khya nodded. “Spit. Everywhere.”

I was simply speechless.

Khya reached for another nacho. “Either that. Or Gary Coleman reincarnated.”

“There's something wrong with you too.” I laughed.

Khya shook her head. “There's nothing wrong with me. I just want folks to know how to act, and if they don't, then Khya figures out a way to teach 'em. It's called tight-enin' 'em up real quick.”

“Speaking of tightening up,” Shae said, “heard you had to stop the press last night, Seven. What happened between Josiah and Zaire?”

“I told you that already.” Khya looked at her, surprised.

“No, you didn't. All you told me was that Seven had that goodness.”

Khya's face lit up and she slapped me a high five. “Yup. That bomb ish. Shae, our girl had them fools trippin' Wild-Wild-West style, bey'be! Shoot 'em up. Bang-bang! Whaaaaat!”

“That's still not telling me what happened,” Shae said.

Khya sighed. “Look, Shae, I'ma tell you this one last time, 'cause I can't keep repeating this. Last night in the Dip-Threw, Zaire walked up on Josiah like
what
. And Josiah walked up on him like
what
. And Seven was in the middle of them and I was like
whoa
. And the crowd was standing around like
pow
. And, bey'be, er'body was about to throw down. Ya heardz me?

“But when Zaire got fed up, he left Seven standing there like
I need you to handle this thang here
. And the next thing I knew, she was gettin' her marathon on and was chasing him through the party—”

“No, I wasn't.”

“Seven, don't lie. It's so anti-cute. You know you were trippin' all outcha shoes.”

I laughed. “No. I wasn't trippin'. Josiah was trippin'. Yesterday
and
today.”

“Today?” Shae looked at me suspiciously. “You saw Josiah today? When?”

“He's in my world lit class and let me tell you this . . .” I recapped what had just happened in class, starting with my professor, who thought he was an elderly Kevin Hart, and ending with Josiah acting stupid. “Drama.” I shook my head. “It's like I got a magnet for the ish.”

“Since high school.” Shae giggled and we each reached for more nachos.

“Shut up.” I crunched.

“Look, I'm not gon' preach,” Shae said. “I'ma just put it out there this one time and then I'ma leave it alone. The best revenge for a scorned ex is to get it right and get it tight with a new boo.”

“Amen,” Khya signified.

“So don't let Josiah be the cause of you and Zaire breaking up. Especially since Big Country told me that Josiah's still not over you.”

I can't even lie. To hear Big Country say, by way of Shae, that Josiah wasn't over me, made me smile on the inside. Nothing was better than knowing he suffered from the bet-you-wish-you-had-me blues. But still . . . Shae had lost her mind if she thought I would ever let Josiah come between me and my baby. “Psst, please. You can miss me with that one, Shae. 'Cause for real, for real, Josiah can have several seats. I wouldn't let him come between me and a ran-over shoe, let alone my boo. Do I look crazy to you? Like really, where they do that at? This ain't
Twilight
.”

“Don't get mad at me. I'm on your side,” Shae said defensively. “And I'm not sayin', but I'm just sayin' that if anybody knows,
I know
how much you
loved
Josiah. And as your bestie, it's my job to keep you on your toes. Don't let this fool sneak up on you and get in between you and Zaire.”

“And if he does, then you come to me for advice.” Khya smacked her lips. “ 'Cause I know how to slay him right. Not unless you wanna run two boos, 'cause I can show you how to handle that too.”

Shae snapped, “Khya! She doesn't need to do that.”

“Shae, you need to release the freak in you. Get you a lil side boo,” Khya insisted.

“I don't cheat.”

“That's not cheating. That's called keeping your options poppin'.”

“I don't need my options poppin'. I'm already with the man of my dreams.” Shae softly rolled her eyes.

Khya gave Shae a sly smile. “Suppressed freak. Tragic thing to be.”

We all laughed and in between chuckles, I said, “Shae used to be a freak.”

“When?” Shae and Khya said simultaneously. Except Shae was in shock and Khya was in amazement.

“In second grade when you kissed my boyfriend.”

“Shae,” Khya hissed. “Scandalous.”

Shae smirked. “Excuse you, Seven. He kissed me and you know it. Plus, I put the smackdown on him afterward.”

“Correction. We smacked him down together,” I said.

“And my daddy put the smackdown on me when the teacher called and said I was fighting in school.”

“I told you not to clothesline him.”

“That was a reflex.”

We laughed so hard that tears slipped from our eyes. “A clothesline is not a reflex.”

Khya agreed. “Exactly. A reflex is sprinkling a lil gris in his path and making his feet swell up like elephants. That's a reflex.”

Freeze.

Shae and I stopped and stared at Khya. Hard. Then, as if someone had taken us off of pause, Shae said, “Seven, I just want you to get my point. Keep Josiah in his place.”

“I will, Shae. So can you drop it now?”

“I'm just telling you the truth.”

“And that's why we love you, Shae.” Khya said, “ 'Cause you gon' tell er'body the truth and you never, ever, ever shut up about it, whether they want to hear it or not. But we wouldn't have you any other way, boo.”

“How sweet.” Shae smiled and looked at her watch. “So anyway, let's head over to the rec center. Country's at band practice. And I need to shoot some pool so I don't miss him too much.”

“A'ight, I'm game,” I said.

“Well, you two have enough fun for the three of us,” Khya said. “I can't go.”

“Why?”

“I have to meet up with the band real quick. Remember, I'm a flag twirler. But afterward I'll come.”

Before Shae or I could respond to Khya, my phone rang. Instantly, butterflies filled my stomach and a smile ran across my face. It was my baby. “Hey, sweetie.”

“Hey, baby. Wassup?” he said.

“Nothing. I miss you.”

“You just left him,” Khya whispered loudly.

I snickered and placed my index finger up to my lips.

“What's funny?” Zaire asked.

“Nothing. Khya just being Khya.”

“Silly as usual,” he said, his comment sounding more like an insult than an affirmation.

I was slightly taken aback, but I didn't respond to his comment. Instead I said, “What are you doing?”

“Missing you.”

“Come have lunch with me.”

“Aww, Sev, I can't really—”

“Can't you take two minutes out? You gotta eat.”

He hesitated. “Yeah. I gotta eat. And plus I have a few minutes for lunch.”

“Cool! Meet me in the courtyard. Love you.”

“Love you back.”

I pressed the phone to my chest, looked up toward the ceiling, and exhaled.

“Heifer.” Shae snatched me out of my daydream. “Didn't you just make plans with me?”

Slowly I brought my head down, looked at Shae, and rolled my eyes, knowing that Shae would dump me in two hot minutes for Big Country. “Stop hatin'.”

“So you just kicked Shae to the curb?” Khya asked.

I shook my head. “Not for long. After I have lunch with my man, I'll pick her up from the curb.” I smiled and Shae gave me the stank eye.

“Later, boo. I'ma head over to the buffet to pack my man some lunch. Catch you on the rebound.” I bumped Shae's hips with mine and she scooted over and let me out of the booth.

T
he afternoon sun was sweltering as I sat in the crowded courtyard, beneath the sweeping branches of a weeping willow tree. There were people everywhere and this was the only place I could sit solo, get my sexy-fly-cute on, and watch my man step onto the scene.

Zaire walked toward me and I quickly glossed my lips, popped 'em, and sat back, looking photo-shoot fresh. Legs crossed, Indian-style. Hair draped over my shoulders, painted-on True Religion jeans, and a white tee with sparkling pink lips decorating it.

Hella sexy.

I watched my baby walk past the barking Ques and the cane-twirling Kappas, then dip in between the drum majors. Then he stopped. Placed his hands like a visor over his eyes and looked from left to right. I peeked from beneath the tree and waved at him.

He didn't see me.

Instead, he took out his cell phone and a millisecond later, my phone rang.

I answered, “Hey, baby, I'm under the weeping willow tree, the one right in front of you.”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby?”
My mother's pissed-off voice boomed from the receiver.

“Under the tree?” she yelled. “Under the tree doing
what
?”

Why didn't I look at the caller ID?
“Ma—”

“Do you have clothes on?”

“Yeah, Ma! What kind of question is that?”

“Did you just raise your voice at me?”

“No, but—”

“I can't believe this! Is this the nonsense they're doing in the Big Easy, turning you into the Big Easy? I got your
hey baby, I'm under a tree
! If I were next to you . . . gurrrrrl! Do I need to make you come back to Jersey immediately? Don't turn into your cousin lil Bootsy. 'Cause I'm not his mama, Ms. Minnie!”

“Ma, obviously you're not married to Cousin Shake. I know you're not Ms. Minnie and I am definitely not lil Bootsy. Nobody told him to go home for the summer and get some girl pregnant. With twins. And have a bunch of little kids running around. I don't even like kids.”

“Oh, really? Well, you're sure doing an awful lot to make 'em!”

“Let us not forget the stunt you pulled this summer,” she carried on. “Lying about an internship and come to find out you were laid up under Zaire all dang summer!”

My mother growled, “Oh, I can't stand him! Had you doing everything that was anti-mama's rules and upbringing!”

“And here I've been wondering, worrying, and waiting for you to call me since yesterday when you arrived in New Orleans, or should I say Ho Leans—”

“Ma! Are you calling me a ho?”

“Don't raise your voice at me! And no, I'm not calling you a ho. I didn't give birth to a ho. But something tells me that New Orleans is the town that turns little girls out. I should've kept you right here in Newark with your twin sister, Toi!”

“Ma—”

“Don't call my name again. And don't ever go somewhere and not check in with me to let me know you arrived safely. I don't care if you're eighteen or eighty-eight. Understand?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Now why are you under a tree and do you have clothes on?”

“I said yes, Ma.”

“And who are you waiting for? And don't lie.”

“I'm in the courtyard. And I'm waiting for Zaire.”

I could feel her rolling her eyes as she said, “Seven, you know how I feel about that boy.”

“I know, Ma, but you have to give him a chance.”

“I gave him a chance this summer when he kidnapped you and convinced you to lie to me.”

“He didn't kidnap me and convince me of anything.”

“You know I don't believe that, right? Because you know that if I did, I'd have you by the throat... again.”

“There you are.” Zaire smiled and crouched beneath the tree, taking a seat next to me. He kissed me on my forehead. “You a'ight?” He looked put off.

I nodded.

“Don't get quiet on me,” my mother spat. “I just heard his voice.”

“Ma—”

“Listen, you know my feelings and my expectations. Your sister is already a teenage mother and has a baby with a no-good street thug and I will not let you go down that road!”

“It's not like that.”

“Umm-hmm.”

Silence.

“Anyhoo”—this was my mother's attempt to move on with the conversation—“I put some money in your account this morning. Did you check it?”

“No.”

“Do you like your apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Did you unpack all of your things?”

“No.”

“How's your blog going? I have all the teens in my church youth group and youth choir reading it.”

“Nice.”

“You know what, Miss Seven McKnight. If you think you're going to hold a one-word conversation with me, you're wrong. So I tell you what. I'ma give you a few hours to get your mind right and then I'ma call you back.”
Click.

I looked at Zaire, who was visibly concerned, and said, “That was my mother.”

“Is she a'ight?”

“Nope. She's pissed.”

“Why?”

I rolled my eyes and frowned. “ 'Cause I didn't call her last night. And she thinks I'm eight and not eighteen. I get so tired of her sweatin' me, like I'm not grown. Be thankful you're on your own.” I paused.

Zaire lost practically his whole family, including his parents, in Hurricane Katrina. “I'm sooo sorry, baby. I didn't mean anything by that.”

Zaire kissed me softly. “It's cool. I know you didn't. And you should've called your mother.”

“I'll call her back later. Now back to what's important at the moment. You. I missed you.”

“How much?”

“This much.” I moved in close to Zaire for a passionate kiss that only ended after he lifted the hem of my T-shirt. “Zaire, we're outside.”

He paused, opened his eyes, and looked around at the buzzing crowd. “That's right.” We laughed as I fixed my clothes, sat up, and reached for his lunch.

“Nachos?” Zaire made a screw face at the clear plastic container. “Dang, baby, can a brother get a sandwich? Is this what you're going to cook for me when we get married? Nachos?”

“Umm, no,” I said sweetly. “Of course not. I'll be making you reservations, 'cause I don't cook.”

Zaire shook his head. “You mean you can't? No sweat, I'll teach you.”

I shook my head. “Umm, no, I
don't
cook. And besides, you can cook. 'Cause I'll be writing my blog. And, anyway, by then I'll be on the BET Awards platform like,
Hey, yes, I am Seven. Creator of
Ni-Ni Girlz
. And I'd like to thank everyone for this honor
.”

He smiled. “You plan to
still
be working on that blog?”

“Why'd you say
still
like that? Like it's a problem. Is my blog a situation to you?”

“Chill, Seven. And, no, it's not a situation. I'm just saying—”

“Saying what?”

“That as long as you have a job while you're perfecting that blog, it's all good.”

“Excuse you. My blog has like a hundred thousand followers. Maybe you missed that press release. You know, the one that confirmed I should be poppin' my collar, 'cause I tweeted Rihanna and asked her to read my blog. She did. She tweeted about it. And it's been on and hot for
Ni-Ni Girlz
ever since. So don't hate, boo. I'll let you be my husband and my secretary.”

“Funny. And you know I support you in everything you do. I'm just saying that when you graduate from school, you'll have to be a little more practical and get a job. Blogs rarely pay the bills.”

Bills?
“Zaire. I'm only eighteen. I'm not thinking about bills.”

“I thought you said you were grown.”

Is he trying to start an argument? Or is this a failed attempt at a joke?
“I am grown,” I snapped.

“It was a joke, love.”

“A bad one. And how many times you gon' tell the same joke? 'Cause you sure said it last night when we were arguing, and just in case you missed the memo, I didn't think it was funny then either.”

He kissed me on my forehead. “Let last night go. I love you. Know that.”

“You love me, but you think I'm a kid.”

“Never.”

“Okay.” I shot him a look out the corner of my eye. “I'm just going by what you said. Twice.”

“Cut it out. And when you get all sensitive? I used to be able to say anything to you.”

“You can. Just not that.” I hesitated. “And don't talk about the nachos either.”

Zaire laughed, and as he leaned back against the tree, I nestled with my back to his chest. A few minutes into settling into Zaire's arms I said, “Let me ask you a question.”

“What's that?” He stroked my hair.

“Have you ever thought about pledging?”

“Pledge? Like a fraternity?”

“Yeah.” I turned and looked up at him. “You'd be a sexy Greek. I can see you steppin' already! Your line name could be Brothah Hot!” I popped my fingers.

He chuckled. “Nah. I'm cold on that.”

“Why?”

“Because . . . I think it's kind of . . . played . . .”

“And silly.”

“And I don't have time for that.”

“Besides, the last time I joined a group with a buncha dudes who worshipped colors and called themselves brothers, I was a Crip, and chasing behind them landed me six months in juvey, had me selling weed, and almost landed me back in prison. I'm good, baby.” He pointed toward the Ques and Kappas. “I'ma let them have that.”

“Being a Crip and being in a fraternity are two different things.”

“Maybe for you. But I'm not interested. And besides, the life of a square is hard work. Between working and going to school, and making time to spend with you, I have zero time for anything extra.”

He kissed me on my temple.

“Okay,” I said dryly.

Zaire looked down at me and squinted. “What? You feeling some kind of way about me not wanting to pledge?”

“No.”

“Then what's the shade about?”

“No shade. I'm fine.”

Zaire paused. “What? You wanna pledge?”

“Not really... I never really thought about it. I just think it upgrades a cutie to a hottie.” I let my eyes wander over to the drum majors in the distance. Big Country and a few others were banging out a beat on their basses and Khya was directly behind them, kickin' it with the other flag twirlers.

“You know if you wanna pledge, Seven, I'll support you.”

I didn't respond. Instead I changed the subject. “I was thinking . . .”

“About what?”

“About me and you hanging out with my friends. It's a party tonight.”

“Why'd you say it like that? All funny-style.”

“Another party, love? We just hit a party last night and now you wanna party tonight? Don't you need to study?”

“Study?” I gave him a crazy screw face. “What are you, god of the study hall? I got this. I know when to hold and when to fold. And tonight I can place studying on hold because at this moment there is nothing to study for. Like you said, classes just started.”

“Exactly. It's only the first day of classes and you're about to hit your second party. And on a Monday?”

I frowned. Last I checked, Zaire was my boyfriend and not my daddy. “Why are you nursing the days of the week? Don't do the daddy on me.”

“Don't play me, Seven.”

“I'm not playing you. I'm just saying you need to turn it up a notch. So what if it's a Monday? What difference does it make? We're in college. It's a party every day of the week.”

“Look, I don't doubt that you got this. And if you wanna go to the party, then cool. I'll chill with you on my day off. But I have classes tomorrow. And I work full-time. And your level of
I got this
and me gettin' it are two different things. I don't have a mother to go home to. Being a failure is not an option for me.”

“Are you saying I'ma be a failure?”

“You know me better than that. I would never say that about you. What I'm saying is that after this I don't have another chance. So I can't go to every party.”

I didn't say a word. I let my body language speak for me as I moved an inch out of his embrace.

He pulled me back in. “Oh, it's like that?”

Silence.

Zaire draped his arms over my shoulders and spoke against the side of my neck. “How about we chill at my place on my day off? We order pizza.” He ran a series of kisses along the side of my neck. “We watch some Netflix.” He ran his fingers up my back. “And just chill the rest of the night together.” He landed a soft peck on my lips.

I stared at Zaire. And for a moment it had crossed my mind to flat out say,
It's because of you and your never-ending ordering of pizza, that I hate it. I can't stand Netflix. And your idea of chilling sounds likes a night out at the nursing home
.