Uptown Dreams (9 page)

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Authors: Kelli London

BOOK: Uptown Dreams
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13
LA-LA
S
he wrung her hands together, trying to twist the nervous sweat from her palms. If only she could wring them out like a sponge, her day would move faster. Her heart palpitated, beating off rhythm, and she was sure her date was over before it started due to her being the youngest stroke victim ever.
“What's up, La-La?” Ziggy greeted, walking up to her.
La-La's heart raced and butterflies flew in her chest, and she knew she wasn't going to have a stroke. She was just fine. And so was Ziggy, she noticed, watching how soft his lips looked today. “Hey!” She slammed shut her locker, held her books up to her flat chest to cover it. Hopefully, if he didn't see it, he'd forget that she didn't have any ta-tas to speak of.
Ziggy cocked his head to the side. “You stealing my manhood already?” he asked, taking the books from her. “What kind of man would I be if I didn't carry your books?”
She swallowed so hard she was sure he could hear it. Then she somehow lifted her eyes to look at him. He was fine. “Man ... ?”
Yes, a F. I. N. E. man. Maybe my man.
“Of course, I'm a man. If I wasn't, you wouldn't let me take you out this weekend. Or kiss you.”
Kiss? Did he say kiss?
Any self-confidence she had died with only four letters. She began to panic, then tried to calm herself. She couldn't spaz in front of Ziggy. She just couldn't. But how could she stop herself knowing she hadn't ever lip-locked before?
“Oh, you with her?” Nakeeda's irritating voice sliced La-La's thoughts. “Hunh, Ziggy?”
Ziggy looked from Nakeeda to La-La. He shook his head. “Why? You been with everyone else. I mean
every
body. So why can't I be with whoever I want?”
La-La stopped and took it all in. So Ziggy and Nakeeda had had something? She couldn't be sure, but it definitely seemed like it.
Nakeeda walked up to them, popping gum and smiling wickedly as if the devil were pulling up the corners of her lips. She put her hand on her hip, and looked La-La up and down. She cut her eyes at Ziggy, running her hand up and down her side, emphasizing her curves. “You know she can't give you what I can. How are you going to pass up all of this for
that
?”
La-La just shook her head. She wasn't going to play in to Nakeeda's shenanigans.
“Go somewhere, Nakeeda,” Ziggy said, taking La-La by the hand and walking around Nakeeda.
“Maybe I'll
go
to the hospital to check on baldilocks.” Nakeeda snickered.
La-La's head almost snapped off, she turned it so fast.
“What?” Ziggy asked. “Who?”
La-La pulled away from his hold, then walked over to Nakeeda. For the first time in her life, she was face-to-face with trouble, and she wasn't scared. “Let me tell you something, Luci. The next time you mention my sister—”
Ziggy pulled La-La away. “That's what she wants.”
Nakeeda laughed. “Luci? Who's Luci? You so shook, you don't know what you're saying.”
La-La looked over her shoulder, and stared Nakeeda in her eyes. She didn't blink. “Oh, I know what I'm saying.
You're
Luci—short for Lucifer, the devil. And for your information, I have plenty to give Ziggy. Maybe not your physical curves, but”—she pointed to her head—“these curves. My cerebral ones. You know, like cerebellum? It's called a brain.” She huffed, scared out of her wits, but not of Nakeeda. She was afraid of the upcoming kiss. She needed to find Cyd and Rikki, they had a lot to accomplish in fifth period.
 
“Okay, here's how you do it. Pay close attention,” Rikki instructed from where she sat on the floor of an empty classroom, holding half of a pitted peach.
La-La watched her closely. Rikki tilted her head, and closed her eyes as she pressed her parted lips against the fruit's circular opening, then kissed it.
“You see, La-La?” She sighed with a playful smirk, pulling the peach from her mouth. “It's easy. Just pucker, open slightly, and voila. The key to it is your lips. You've gotta open your mouth just right.”
“We couldn't see how you moved your tongue,” said Cyd. Her head was tilted, looking like she was anticipating more.
La-La shook her head. “I couldn't see your tongue. How do you know how to move your tongue?”
“Girl, please! Don't worry about that. It's just a dance. Follow Ziggy's lead, and you'll be fine. Trust me, that's how I learned—not from Ziggy, though. My boyfriend taught me, and he didn't even know it. I just did what he did.” She batted her almond-shaped eyes that were enhanced by her stunning caramel complexion and long curls. “A dance?”
“Yes, silly. Tongue dancing. There's a rhythm to it, you know, just like doing
it
... well, just like dancing.” She giggled infectiously.
La-La joined Rikki in her laughter. Then Cyd followed, crossing her eyes at La-La. Neither of them knew anything about the rhythm of
it
—meaning sex—but they'd read about it in
Cosmo
and other women's magazines. While Cyd had kissed before, and swore she'd almost mastered it, she admitted that she didn't know how to do it correctly—with her mouth open—the way that Rikki did.
“La-La's never kissed anybody—not even with her mouth closed,” Cyd snitched.
Rikki cleared her throat. “First time for everything,” she said, handing the other half of the fruit to La-La. “Go ahead.”
La-La squirmed. It was her turn to tongue dance with her half of the peach. She tried to mimic Rikki's demonstration, but got too much into character. She'd mistaken the peach's mouth for Ziggy's, became more artsy and passionate with her performance, and squeezed the fruit too hard. The juices outlined her lips and dribbled down her chin. She couldn't help it; it was as succulent as she was sure Ziggy's mouth was.
All three doubled over in laughter.
“You're going to require more work than I thought,” Rikki teased.
La-La wiped juice from her chin. “I'll never get it right.”
“Well, you better, because here comes your dance partner,” she said, nodding toward the door where Ziggy was peering inside the small rectangular window in the door.
“Hey, La-La, you wanna go to a pool party this weekend at my cousin's in Brooklyn? It's a cookout too.”
She smiled and nodded.
After he left she said, “Oh gawd. Now what am I going to do? I can't go to a pool party with a case of the flats. I got a flat chest, flat butt, and I flat-out don't know how to kiss yet.”
Rikki winked, then waved away La-La's concern. “Just go out, concentrate on letting him show you how to kiss, and, as far as the pool party—I got'chu. But you won't be wearing a bathing suit. I know what'll accentuate your positives.”
14
REESE
S
erious?
Reese grimaced. One too many thought-piercing crunches interrupting her thinking. She looked sideways at Wheez, watched as she devoured a third apple in a row. Her teeth tore through the fruit as if it was the last meal she'd have, and she was enjoying it like Thanksgiving. Reese looked over to her snack of choice, a tray of delicious cupcakes she couldn't get enough of.
Crunch.
Wheez tore into the apple again, sending juice flying through the air, landing on Reese's face. Reese wiped away juice with the back of her arm. “Wheez, please! Enough with the apple already, Eve!
Jeez.
It's like the Garden of Eden around here with all these apples.” She laughed, grabbed a cupcake, then Wheez's miniature binoculars they used to watch fights and other interesting happenings that took place on One hundred twenty-fifth Street below. She walked over to Wheez's bedroom window, and moved back the curtains for the umpteenth time.
“How'd you skate around punishment again? I'm still not sure how you got over here. I was sure you'd be grounded forever.”
“My mom knocked back out before I got in, and I convinced her she'd dreamed it all,” Reese explained, binoculars on her face like an extension of her eyes. She shivered. How close she'd come to what she was sure would have been permanent lockdown still made her uncomfortable, but then she remembered something else from that night: hanging out with Broke-Up. A smile spread. She did let him see her home, though she'd been too scared to give him her number or take his. She hadn't even hinted at them working together, or digging deeper to find out if he really produced too. She shrugged.
“What's out there that's so interesting, all of a sudden? Sandman out there on his soapbox preaching, singing, and selling stuff again?” Wheez asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Reese shook her head. She couldn't tell anyone what had her attention—better yet,
who
had her attention. Nope, not even Wheez, and they shared everything. She would never admit to something she could hardly believe herself. She had a secret. A deep, delicious never-tell-a-soul secret that'd kept her fingers glued to the miniature binoculars she had pressed against her face. Inhaling a second chocolate-buttercream cupcake, she zoomed in on her target. Greedily watched and consumed pleasure with her eyes. Licking frosting from her lips, she tried to back away from the window. Wanted to chuck the binoculars onto Wheez's unmade bed so they could get ready for Julliard's classical concert being held in Central Park. But she couldn't move. Wasn't able to free her hand of the prized magnifiers. She needed one more look. Had to have another moment to mentally savor the flavor of the school year she'd craved since running into him again. The forbidden taste of
ooh
-
la
-
la
she could only imagine. And she couldn't stop her stomach from fluttering whenever she saw or thought about him.
Butterflies
.
“Drop two tears in a bucket and mutha'funk it,” Reese accidentally muttered her and Wheez's favorite cry-and-get-over-it truism. Pulling herself from the window, she collapsed onto the unmade bed, letting the binoculars fall wherever. Instinctively, her fingers moved to her hair, fanned out, raked across her scalp in aggravation. Who was she to think she'd ever be good enough to work with him? Bold enough to make a move on the guy she couldn't stop watching from Wheez's window?
“I'm Reese. I
am
a hot producer, and the best thing walking,” she whispered the mantra Wheez had suggested, then reached over and picked up the gift Wheez had given her for a past birthday. A well-worn book Russell Simmons had written on accomplishment. The book that told her her faith in herself, good deeds, and talent was enough to get her to her destination.
“So you think you just gonna lay there and not tell?” Wheez hovered over her with raised eyebrows. “Well, I'm waiting.” She crossed her arms, still holding an apple.
Rolling over onto her side, Reese grabbed a third cupcake from the nightstand, and sank her teeth into it. Enjoyed the sumptuous sweetness of the smooth chocolate as it soothed her irritation. She didn't want to attend the concert or meet the orchestra maestro.
Ever
. Had no desire to be her mom's puppet she could dress up and push to the music elite like some new must-have prescription drug. No, Reese didn't want to be phony and superficial, but she couldn't help herself. Not only did she have no choice in the matter, her mother had baited her with an offer too sweet not to bite. If Reese accompanied Mrs. Allen to the concert she'd promised to buy Reese new software for her music. Mrs. Allen just had no idea that she would be buying Pro Tools, a must-have for any serious producer. She slid the book under the pillow, and her eyes zoomed in on the sleeveless blood-red outfit hanging on the closet door, then lit. She'd loved the getup from first sight, and had used it against her mother as a dangler.
If you pay for the so ftware
and
buy me that outfit ...
Wheez was in her face now. “So ... ?”
Reese just blinked, and shrugged her shoulders. “Fair exchange.”
No robbery
. She shook away any negativity she had, and rolled off the bed, still ignoring Wheez, who was almost hyperventilating from nosiness. The concert, no matter how dull, would be great. For her. She convinced herself. Grabbing the outfit, she held it in front of her, practiced the perfect smile she'd worked on all week. She posed.
“Look Wheez, I'm saucy!” she exclaimed, praising herself. Carefully, she laid the stunning outfit across the bed and admired it again. She imagined what it'd look like tonight under the lights her mother would no doubt find a way to drag her under.
“La La Land,” Wheez muttered, biting her apple. “Wake up, Reese. Wake up and tell me what's up. Or else”—she snatched the outfit from the bed, ran the few feet to the window, and pushed the outfit through it—“this is going to fly five stories.”
Reese rolled her eyes, then puckered her lips and blew air kisses to no one. “
O
kay,
o
kay already. But if you tell a soul, I'm going to kill you, bring you back to life, then kill you again.” She stuck out her hand. “Give first, then I'll give.”
Wheez took the barter, and handed Reese the outfit. She plopped back onto the unmade bed, and crossed her arms and legs at the same time.
“There's this dude—”
Wheez jumped up like she was on fire, fanning herself. Reese rolled and crossed her eyes, waiting for Wheez to catch ablaze in any second. That, or start whirring like a siren. “Who? 'Cause ‘this dude' definitely doesn't sound like B, Blaze, or any other nickname you have for him.”
“Wheez, please? Listen.”
“Okay. Okay. I'm hearing and listening, not exactly the same things. Ya know?”
Reese walked over to the window again, parted the curtains, and consumed her crush with her eyes. Finally, she turned back to Wheez. “No judging, Wheez. None.”
Wheez nodded.
“It's the guy out there. The one in the middle of the block on the other side of the street. The vending table selling purses and music.”
In a flash, Wheez had gotten up, snatched up the pair of binoculars, and almost thrust her whole upper half out of the window. “Oooh. Mmm,” she moaned. “I see. Him.”
Reese pulled her back inside. “Don't, Wheez. Me and you can't be digging on the same dude.”
“Well, I can't help it if I'm attracted to rough-around-the-edges boys in fitteds—”
Reese tilted her head. “No, Wheez. He doesn't have on a hat ...”
Wheez stuck her head back out the window, binoculars pressed against her face. “Well, who then? I know not the one
behind
the table. Not him.
Broke-Up
? Really?”
Reese had her best friend by the shoulders before she knew it. “You know him? Know him, know him?”
“Yeah. Like know him, know him enough to hook you up. I can't believe you don't know who he is ... his brother goes—”
“I can't believe you didn't tell me about him,” Reese said, interrupting Wheez.
Wheez picked up her cell. “He's in my contacts, I buy purses from him. Just say the word, and I'll text or call.”
Reese looked at Wheez, biting her lips in thought. She didn't have anyone to produce with. Was totally single now that she'd set Blaze out with the trash. She shrugged. She really had nothing to lose and everything to gain. “The word. But tell him I want to work on some tracks with him. I'll do the rest.” She smiled. Her day was turning out better than she thought.
Wheez pressed SEND on her phone. “Done. Now we just wait. Wait and get dressed.”
Reese nodded, barely able to contain herself. The orchestra idea may've belonged to Mrs. Allen, but the night was hers. She felt like the star of the concert, and they weren't even there yet. The hottest and flyest chick to grace Central Park. Yes, she could picture it now, her and Broke-Up making history together—music and the A-list couple of the decade. Everything would be perfect, her new, self-confident ego told her. Then her eyes trailed to the vibrating phone in Wheez's hand, and her heart pounded.
Wheez handed the phone to Reese. “Your medicine. Not mine. Don't know if it's good or bad.”
Reese selected the text, then opened it. The biggest smile she'd ever grinned stretched her face until she thought it'd split. He'd texted his number, said he'd love to work with her, and wanted them to come to the table. Now.

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