True Story (9 page)

“Would you lower your voice?” Khya said, tight-lipped, as she pointed to the closed double doors that led to the locker room.

“Would you stop volunteering me to do things?”

“Look, I need you to do this for me.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don't, I'ma have to dump him.”

“What?”

“And I don't want to dump him. He's so cute. And so sweet. But I need his recognition to be kicked up a notch, 'cause he's not as well-known as I need him to be. That lil rap-battle stunt he pulled was not a good look. Did you see how they dissed him in the school paper? I didn't think I'd be able to get out of bed for days.”

“Khya—”

“Not that I'm a groupie or anything. And love means more than fame. And, umm”—she snapped her fingers—“yeah, all of that. But if he doesn't become more of a university name, like Josiah, and surpass that last dis, where they called him ‘the basketball rap star struggling to make a three pointer and spit a rhyme,' me and Bling will officially be black history.”

“Khya—”

“So I need you to save my relationship.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Well . . . there was this one time that I thought I might've been a little tetched. It was after I caught Chakalacka and Jamil doing the bust-bust in the bathroom, in high school, and I concocted a spell to make 'em both disappear. And, umm, about a week later, my mama called a family meeting and said my granddaddy and his new bride had vanished into thin air. That was two years ago and nobody's seen 'em since.”

Pause. What? And no, I'm not scared. I'm scurred.
I gasped. “Did you take those people out?”

Khya looked at me completely puzzled. “Take 'em out where? I don't do that. If you go out with me, either you're treating or we're going Dutch. So no, I didn't take 'em anywhere. It was my big ma. She told my mama that she put her foot in that gris and that Paw-Paw and his twenty-three-year-old skeezer bride would be gone for a long time.”

“And what happened after that?”

“Nothing really. My mama started to cry and Grandmama told her to be quiet. That Paw-Paw wasn't her real daddy anyway. It was his brother, Uncle John. So it wasn't a big deal. Needless to say I found out I wasn't crazy, but Big Ma on the other hand . . . let's just say her middle name is Cray-Cray.”

No words . . .

Khya carried on. “Now come on, Seven. I need you to do this for me. I promised Bling. And he's so sweet. And so cute. And I need you to hook this up for me. He had his uniform pressed for this. And he got a new grill.”

“Khya—”

“Seven, please,” she begged, and I wanted to choke her. The last thing I wanted to do was go into the locker room and interview an athlete. And not just any athlete, but a basketball player. Because I knew that Josiah would be somewhere around, watching me. And I'd had enough drama with him creeping up on me that I didn't need to be entering his domain.

Yet here I was. Following my roomie and going along with her master plan to have a star athlete as her man. Ugh! Besties! “You owe me.”

“I got you, girl,” she squealed, hugging me. “I got you.”

R
ihanna's “Birthday Cake,” which I'd downloaded as Zaire's special ringtone, blared from my phone, three times in a row, as I lay in bed and watched the phone ring. Go to voice mail. And ring all over again.

Don't look now. Why? 'Cause I couldn't stop cheesin'.

I knew he wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer. Especially since it was now three days, two hours, and twenty-two seconds that I hadn't spoken to him.

Now I'll give him two days to hold out and not talk to me. But three? Please. He would die first.

I snuggled deeper into my pillow, smiled, and closed my eyes.

“I tell you what!” Courtney stormed into my room and flicked the lights on. “If you don't answer that freakin' phone the next time it rings, I'ma two-snap and you won't see another birthday!”

“What?”
I couldn't believe this. I sat up and I didn't know what shocked me more: that he flung my door open—without knocking or me inviting him in—or that he was dressed in a furry pink robe and matching do-rag.

WTH!

His rant continued. “Look-a-here, I'm on Skype with Slowreeka, trying to get my romance on, and every time my lips make it an inch toward the screen and Slowreeka calls me go-daddy, your phone starts ringing and singing, ‘
Cake,'
she starts looking for something to eat. Slowreeka can't have too many distractions—she can only focus on one thing at a time! Now answer that freakin' phone!”

This mofo had tripped and bumped his dang head! “You need to mind your business!” I said.

“This became my business the moment you interfered with me and my love life. And from the moment Khya walked in here and swore me to secrecy.”

“Secrecy?”

“Yes. Khya said you made her promise she wouldn't tell Shae, but that my name never came up. So she told me how you rocked Zaire to sleep. And how you had a flower bomb in your panties. Straight killah!”

Oh. My. God!
“Where is Khya?”

“With Bling, making diamonds. And Shae is with Country making sandwiches.”

My phone was ringing again.

“Now answer that phone because if you interrupt me and my cyber freak again,
babeeeeee
, you gon' have a fruit-loopin', mothersuckin' situation on your hands!”

“Get. Out!”

He pointed from his eyes to mine, and back again. “Don't try me.” He squinted and slammed my door as he walked out backward.

“Fool!”

I looked at my ringing cell phone.

“Hello?”

Zaire took a deep breath and I could tell by the way he called my name, “Seven!” that he was pissed. “Yo, how long you gon' play this game?”

I swear the only time I hated the word
play
was when it poured from Zaire's lips. “Whatchu mean, play? I'm not playing! That's your problem—you always think I have a game going on!”

“Because you do. And lower your voice.”

“You don't tell me what to do! You're not my father! You're my boyfriend! And that is not a dual role and I'm tired of you acting like it is!”

“Boyfriend? Oh, really, I still hold that title? Word? So this is what girlfriends do? Roll out when you're sleeping—”

“You're always sleeping! You're always tired. You're always—”

“I work. I don't have time to play!”

“If I'm playing anything it's an old maid, effen with you! And I'm tired of that! Sick. Of. It! I don't want to be in the house with you, all day. Every. Day. Like everything is cool. Like looking out the window and watching you parade around in a UPS uniform is the move. Like I've waited all my life to watch you fall asleep! For real, for real, that is so . . . so . . . played! UGH!”

“Oh, really? Me having a job is played? But I betchu when I was runnin' the streets and sliding you money and buying you things, you were straight then, right? That wasn't played. But now that I want to work and do things the right way, that's a problem for you!”

“I never said that!”

“You didn't have to say it!”

“Look—”

“No, you look and make this the last time I tell you this. I don't know what you expect from me, but every day that I have to work, that's what I'm gon' do. Now you're either riding with me or you're staying on the curb with your whack friends. 'Cause I have to hustle and do me. I don't have time to write blogs and tweet stars and ish. That ain't for me. I don't have a mother or a father that I can lie to and they still give me everything. My parents are lost at sea somedamnwhere!”

I felt like I'd just been sliced across the throat, which is exactly why I spat out all of this in practically one breath. “You can't be serious, talking to me crazy? Oh word? Really? Let me slide this to you real quick. Don't ever try and read me, 'cause going off on me will never be one of your options! And since you keep missing the point, let me help you. I don't do smothering rides and I don't do curbs. You were the one who used to sling, so the curb is for you and your whack crew. That's yo spot. And another thing, 'cause it seems you forgot, when you were out in the street gettin' your hustle on, you never told me that. And how did I find out? By me and one of my whack friends getting arrested with you, player. So stop trying to be Mr. Self-righteous. And maybe if you had a blog and tweeted some stars, you'd act like you were nineteen instead of ninety. And as far as lying to my mother to be with you, trust me, it was pointless, 'cause she still doesn't like you!” I hesitated. That was something I never wanted to flat out admit to him. But I did. And then I went further. “Oh, and as far as your parents being lost at sea, my name isn't Katrina, so you can't rap that ish to me. What you can do is either join them or shut the eff up about it!”

Pause.

Silence.

Dead silence.

Everything I'd just said replayed in my head and caught me in the throat like an iron fist. “Baby, I didn't . . .” I swallowed.
God, why did I go that far? I knew I was going too far when I said it.
“Zaire, I'm sorry.”

Silence.

“Zaire?”

“Yo, I'ma let you go.”

Let me go?
“What does that mean? You gon' hang up? Don't. Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

“It's cool.” He paused.

“No, it's not.”

“Maybe we should just . . . you know—”

I couldn't let him finish that. “Zaire, listen to me. I know I shouldn't have left you asleep the way I did the other night. I know that. But I'm just starting to feel closed in.”

“I get that, Seven. And I'm not trying to hold you back. So whatever you wanna do is cool. I love you, Seven. I do. And I don't wanna lose you, but—”

“I don't want to lose you either. I just want you to loosen up. A little.”

“I can't promise you that, love. You're not coming from where I'm coming from. I have to do what I have to do. And that's going to school full-time and working full-time. Helping my grandmother out, and trying to take care of me is busting my azz. All I need you to do is hang in there with me. It won't be like this always. I promise. But for right now, this is what I have to do. Because if I go back to slingin' and hangin' out in the streets, I'ma either go to prison or get killed. So I don't have but one choice.”

“I don't want you to do that.”

“So then whatchu want? Tell me. And if you want me to step off, I'll do that. But I need you to say that to me straight up.”

I took a deep breath and did all I could to hold back the tears I felt sneaking into my eyes. This was crazy. Insane. I loved Zaire. And being with him was like heaven, but heaven felt like it had fallen from the sky.

I knew I didn't want him to leave me. But I also knew I didn't exactly wanna stay. I was tired. And I was bored. And I couldn't stop thinking about Josiah at all the wrong times. Something had to give. There was no way I could keep feeling conflicted and confused . . . and stupid . . . all at the same time.

It was on the tip of my tongue and the forefront of my mind to tell Zaire we needed space. But as soon as I felt like I could say it, my heart took it back.

This was so dumb.

Who breaks up with their boyfriend over boredom? And who thinks about their ex with lingering thoughts of
Is he the one?

I'm not that chick who doesn't get it. Who doesn't understand that you don't go backward. You go forward. Once a cheater, always a cheater. No second chances.

“Just say it, love,” Zaire whispered. “I'ma love you anyway.”

Tears poured from my eyes. “I need to see you,” I said, biting the corner of my lip.

“Then come outside. I've been waiting here for you this whole time.” I ran over to my bedroom window, looked out into the street, and there was my baby waiting for me.

I threw on a pair of jeans and one of Zaire's T-shirts that his cologne lingered on. Slipped on a pair of sneakers, rushed past Courtney kissing the computer screen, down the stairs, and there was my man, leaning against the passenger-side door of his black F-150.

I walked toward him and he met me halfway. “You came all this way, this time of the night, to tell me you're leaving me?”

He locked his arms around my waist.

I slid my arms around his neck.

“Never. I came down here to tell you I love you.”

Zaire pressed his lips against mine, and just as my tongue welcomed his, he said, “We gon' get through this, love.”

And he was right. We would get through it. I just didn't know where we would end up.

 

“G
ood morning, class,” Doctor Richardson said as he slid onto the edge of his desk and looked from one side of the lecture hall to the other. “We'll be starting today's class with a discussion of Toni Morrison's classic
Sula
. Please take out your novels.”

“Yo, I need you to step outside real quick,” Josiah leaned in and whispered.

I ignored him.

And what did he do? He clenched his jaw, raised an eyebrow, and kicked his voice up an octave. “I'm serious. I need to hollah at you. Right now.”

Excuse me? Perhaps I missed the S on homie's chest, so I looked at him and did my best to telepathically deliver this message:
Boy, please.
And then I turned back around.

Which only caused this freak-o to lean in closer and straight invade every ounce of my personal space.

He said through clenched teeth, “Yo, you think I'm playing with you? I said right. Now! Seven!”

The whole class paused, including Doctor Richardson, who looked more amused than shocked.

“All righty now.” Doctor Richardson stood up straight and placed
Sula
on the edge of his desk. “I'm not trying to be in anyone's business, but it looks to me like we have lil Rihanna and Chris Breezy in the hizzouse.”

I swear I hated him.

Of course the old heads fell out laughing while everyone else looked at us like we were crazy.

Clearly Josiah suffered from a case of mistaken identity, 'cause my name was Seven and not Eleven. I started to tell him that, but figured I'd save my breath and say something a little more significant. “I suggest you take that down, 'cause you are sending all kinds of signals to my fool-on-the-loose radar.”

“Let me try this again,” Josiah said sternly. “I said I need to speak to you right now. Now either we gon' do this here or we gon' do it outside.”

“Oh, I see. You're trying to pursue a career in acting. Because clearly you're trying to play a crazy black man. But ain't nobody got time for dat! So check it. You should probably try drama class.”

Doctor Richardson all but laughed as he said, “I agree, Umm-Yeah-It's-Seven. Drama class is probably where they do that.” He looked at the old heads and once again they cracked up like this dude was the comedic Jesus or something.

Sucker.

Josiah continued, “So we gon' do this here. Cool. Why you play me in your corny azz blog? What? You can't make it happen without mentioning me?”

“Corny!” Oh no, he didn't. “I can't make it happen? Psst, please. Self-flattery is so whack.”

“No, what's whack is you trying to do me. Don't try and jump-start your Internet hustle off my back!”

“You heard me. You're a lot of things, but deaf isn't one of 'em. And here's another thing: If you're in love with me, then you need to say that. Instead of dissing me in some weak article that should've been strictly about Bling! Talking about I better watch my back because Bling is coming for me. Really? Word? So how about this, since we comin' for each other: Keep my name outcha mouth because as soon as I run and tell your boyfriend how you're on my sack, you gon' wish you never called my game whack. Now if you don't want me to bust up your rebound, then don't ever in yo life come at me like that again!”

But I couldn't think of what to say. And, yeah, I was slick with words and my tongue stayed oiled up, but at this moment, with me being caught so off guard, with Josiah coming at me ultra crazy, and in class on top of that, I couldn't think of what to say. But I knew when all else failed that Josiah hated being dismissed. Hated. It. So I flicked my wrist, twisted my lips, and calmly said, “Whatever.”

“Yeah, it's always whatever, when you don't want to deal with something. But we gon' handle this!”

“You know what!” I snapped, as I felt all my efforts to stay calm flee the scene. “I don't have to take this. You wanna act ridiculous in class, then you do that. But leave me out of it!”

“And I would like to be left out of it too,” Doctor Richardson said, “because in a minute I'm either going to ask both of you to leave or I'm going to get campus police to do it. Choice is yours.”

I didn't even acknowledge that as I quickly tossed my backpack over my shoulder. I stormed out of class and as I rounded the corner, I heard Doctor Richardson singing, “ ‘What's love got ta do, got ta do with it'!”

I didn't know what I felt more: embarrassed or straight-up pissed. I rushed up the cobblestone path, into my building, and when I reached my apartment door and pushed it open, who stood in the living room? Josiah . . .
Dang, did he fly here?
And next to him was Courtney, with a zebra-print backpack slung over his shoulder, standing there grinning as he looked at me and said, “What y'all going through?”

I sucked my teeth and instead of responding, I pushed past Josiah and into my room.

Just as I went to slam the door, Josiah stuck his foot in the doorway and said, “Like I said, we gon' deal with this today.”

“What y'all gon' deal with?” Courtney smacked his gums.

“Yo, what's your problem?” I snapped, flinging my arms in the air. “Like seriously! So what? I dissed you? You go postal? Really? You never been dissed before? And after that last game you had, where you missed all your free throws, turned over the ball twice—”

“And fouled out,” Courtney added.

“And fouled out,” I continued. “I wasn't the only one who dissed you. ESPN played you. The school paper questioned what happened to you. And you wanna come for me? What you poppin'? Mollies?”

“Ah hell, nawl!” Courtney squealed. “Mollies? Next thing I know you'll be trying to eat my face off! Let me two-snap up outta here! You're on your own with this one, Seven.” And a few seconds later, the front door slammed behind him.

“So I had a bad game. And?” Josiah snapped. “That doesn't give you a reason to come for me!”

“A bad game? You had three bad games in a row!” I jabbed my index finger toward his face. “And, yeah, if you don't get your mind right, Bling—the next best player on the team—is coming for you. And another thing. What's with all this pretty-boy dunkin' and dribbling you've been doing? You tryna go to the NBA or stay on the playground? 'Cause clearly you're confused. And if you're not, then I am. And, yeah, I called you on it. So what? Get back on the court and play ball or go sit down!”

“Why you sweatin' what I do on the court?”

“There you go! I'm not sweatin' you and I don't care what you do! All I know is that ever since we were seven all you talked about was playing ball and being a basketball player. That's all you've ever wanted. You worked hard for it. You prided yourself on being recruited by the top schools. You practiced every day. You are the best basketball player out there and you're turning over the ball? Where'd that come from? You're in the big leagues and it's a million dudes who can ball, and with the way you've been playing, it's gon' be one to come up from behind you. And that's gon' be it for you! So, yeah, I called you on your bull-ish, 'cause somebody had to!”

Josiah took a step toward me. He reached for my hand, but I snatched it away. “Go 'head, Josiah. Would you just leave?”

“I'm not leavin'. Not until you answer me. Why do you care?”

“I just told you I didn't.”

“No. What you just told me was a lie. Now I'ma ask you again. Why do you care? Why does it matter to you what I do?”

“This is the last time I'ma say this. I don't care what you do.”

“Stop frontin', Seven. Stop it. I know you care. And the way you loved me and the way I love you, it's no way to stop that.” He took a step toward me and I took a step back. And we continued our step forward and step back dance until the back of my head hit the wall and I couldn't go any farther. There was no space left between us. Josiah placed his hands flat on the wall and looked down at me. “You still in love with me?”

Silence.

“Because I'm still in love with you. And every day, every moment, I find myself thinking about you and thinking about how I effed up.”

“Josiah—”

“Let me finish. I'm sorry, Seven. I am. What I did was wrong. How I treated you was wrong. But you've never made a mistake . . . ever? You've never done something you prayed every night to be forgiven for? I'm sorry, baby. I'm so, so sorry. Please forgive me.” He whispered against my lips, “Please. I need you in my life again.”

I pushed Josiah in his chest and quickly moved out of his embrace. “Are you serious right now? I've loved you since I was ten and no matter what I do, it won't go away!” Tears stung my eyes. Ugh! “That's what's wrong with me! I keep praying, and hoping, and wishing, and waiting, and my heart won't let you go! I don't want to love you. You treated me like nothing. You didn't even fight for me!”

“Fight for you? You wouldn't even talk to me!”

“You hurt me!”

“I know! And I've said I was sorry a million times. But you, you get so hard and you won't let nobody in. I wanted to fight for you, but you ran off with ole dude. And can you honestly tell me that you weren't cheating on me, really?”

“
What?
Now you're trying to twist this around and put it on me. Get out!” I walked over to the door and pointed.

Josiah walked over to the door and closed it. “I ain't going nowhere, so you can stop asking me to leave. How long are you going to make me pay for one mistake? For the rest of my freakin' life? You don't love ole boy and you know it!”

“I do love him!”

“Not the same way that you love me!”

“Josiah, it doesn't matter!”

“It does matter.”

“Why?”

“Because I've loved you since I was ten and no matter what I do I can't get it to go away either. And I don't want it to go away. I want you back. I need you back. You're my best friend. I miss you.” Josiah walked over to me and pressed his forehead against mine. “I miss you,” he whispered, as tears glistened in his eyes. “And I don't know what to do, Seven. I don't. I feel lost. And confused. And sometimes we're in class and I just stare at you, wishing you would let me love you again. I can't stop thinking about you. I promise you I am effed up. I need you, baby. It's so much I wanna tell you, but you won't talk to me.”

“Josiah, just—”

“Listen.” He placed a soft kiss on my lips. “Just tell me what to do to stop loving you. Tell me and I swear I'll leave you alone. If you're really in love with Zaire, then I'll step off, but I need you to tell me something, so I can know if I should stay or figure out how to go.”

Silence.

“Tell me.” He kissed me softly. “Tell me. You want me to leave or are you still in love with me?” He pressed his lips against mine and let them linger there. “Because I love you so much. You're my air. I can't breathe without you. I can't. I can't stop thinking about you. You're in everything I do. Every game I play. And I've been messing up the last few games because I've been missing you like hell. And I can't front anymore.”

“Josiah . . .”

“Tell me, baby.” We began to kiss passionately. “Tell me . . .”

“I love you.”