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TableofContents

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TitlePage

Dedication

Epilogue

CAUGHTUP

HAVEN’T HAD

ENOUGH? CHECK OUT

THESE GREAT SERIES

FROMDAFINABOOKS!

CopyrightPage

Thisbookisdedicatedtoeveryyounggirlwhohas

everfoundherselfcaughtuplookingforloveand

excitementinallthewrongplacesandfaces.

Swaggerlicious. That’s theword that comes to mind todescribe this dark-skinnedcutie-pie standing in front ofmewiththegoldfrontsinhismouth, pierced ears, and anarm covered in intricately

designed tattoos trying togethis rap on. Swag plusdelicious equalsswaggerlicious. Not thatthat’s a real word found inWebster’s dictionary oranything. No. It’s found inthe hood. It oozes out of themusic. It jumpsoutatyou inthe videos. It’s splattered allover the pages of Vibe andXXL andeveryotherhiphopmagazine there is. It’sfloodedinthepagesofevery

urban fiction novel I’vecoveted over the last twoyears. It airs onLove & HipHop and BET. Okay, okay,maybe there’s moreratchetness thanswaggerlicousness on thoseTVshows.Still...it’sthere.Thathoodswag.Andit’smyguiltycraving.

It’smydirtysecret.Iwantit.Swag.I ache to know what it’s

like to be caught up in theexcitement of the fast-pacedstreet life found across theother side of town—rightsmack in the heart of thehood, where I am not everallowed to be. Where thestreets are hot and alive andfullofexcitement.God, my parents would

have a full-fledged heartattack if they knew I wassaying this, that I’mattractedto the hood life. Fascinated

andintriguedbyit.See. I’mfromthesuburbs.

Live in a gated community.And swagdoesn’t exist here.Not in my eyes. Not in myopinion.Anddefinitelynotintheway it lives and breathesinthehood.Orin theghetto,asmymomwouldcallit.But I personally don’t

think there’s anything ghettoaboutthehood.Ithinkghettoisastateofmindaswellasastate of being. And I

definitely don’t thinkeveryone who lives in thehoodisghetto.Butofcourse,my parents, particularly mymom, would beg to differ.Whatever.Anyway,back tomyquest

for swag. I attendanall-girlsprivate school.And trustme,swag definitely isn’t there,either.Nope. I’m surroundedby girls whose only focusesare cotillions, prom gowns,graduations, sleepovers,

shopping sprees, dating boyswithpromisingfutures,whilepreparingfortheSATs.Canyousayborrrrrriiiing.Mylifeisswagless!Don’t get me wrong. I

dress nice.Cute ismore likeit. Okay, maybe a littlepreppy. Still, I have nicethings. And I am alwaysnicely dressed nonetheless.However, sometimes I feellike a fashion loser—eventhough I know it’s all in my

head—whenIseeacliqueofgirls stylishly dressed in allthe hottest designer labels,strutting through the mall,yapping it up, catching theeyesofboyswithawholelotofhoodswag.That’sthegirlIwanttobe

—thegirlwith the sexy strutand a whole lot of sass. Notthat there’s anything wrongwithwho I amnow. It’s justthat...Imean.I’macutieandall. And I have a nice body,

fromwhat I’m told.And lotsofguystrytotalktome.Still. . . for themostpart, Iamareally basic girl. No lipstick.Noeyeliner.Notalotoffusswith my crinkly hair. Notmuch time spent in themirror. Basically, I’m whatmy mother calls “lowmaintenance.”Translation: Plain Jane.

Nothing special. Ordinarylooking.Yup, that’s me. Plain ole,

ordinary-looking Kennedy,withnothingspecialgoingoninherlife.Well,guesswhat?Schoolisout.It’sthestartofsummer. And if I have myway, a change is about tocome.Soon.“So, what’s good witchu,

ma?” Mr. Swag says,reachingoutandtouchingmyleft cheek. He’s about five-tenwith a slim butmuscularbuild.Hekindofremindsmeof a sprinter. Lean and trim.

“Yourealsexy,babe.”Ismile.“Thanks.”“You make me wanna do

somethangstoyou;realspit,ma.Whoyououtherewit’?Ibeen checkin’ for you for aminute.”I blush. Tell him I’m here

withmyfriendJordan.Thisislike the fourth time I’ve runintohimatthemall.Thefirsttime was a few weeks back.Hewaswith a crew of guysall dressed in different color

POLO sweat suits withmatching snapback hats andlimited-editi.on Nikes. Theywere all looking like theyshouldbeonthecoverofthelatest Hip Hop magazine.Andwhenhe calledmeovertohim,Ifeltmynervousnessgive way to excitement, likerightnow.“Ohword?That’swassup.

So how ’bout you ’n’me gogrababitetoeatrealquicksowe can get better acquainted

while ya peeps dowhat theydo?”I glance at my watch. “I

can’t.Ihavetofindmyfriendthen get ready to go.” It’s abold-faced lie. Truth is, Idon’tdatemuch.Imean,Ido.ButIonlydateguyswhoareparent-approved. And thisfine boy right here isdefinitely, unequivocally, notsomeone my parents wouldever allow me to go offanywherewith, letalonedate

—even if it is onlyup to thenext level of the mall to getsomethingtoeat.Notthatit’sa date. Not that he’s evenasking me out on one oranythinglikethat.AlthoughIwish like heck he would.Thenagain,maybeIdon’t.I eye the thick chain

hanging from his neck,wondering if it’s silver,stainless steel, or white goldand if the diamonds in thecross dangling from it are

real.My gaze shifts down tohis half-laced Timberlands,then back up. I swallow.Mymouth waters at the way hissagging jeans hang off hisnarrow hips, showing thewaistband of his POLOboxers. He has on a Guccibelt.Swaggerlicious. Hmmm.

Yes, that’s him. Theexpression used to describesomeone who has lots ofswagandloadsofconfidence.

It’s in the way someonewalks, and talks, and carrieshimself. And it’s a word Iwould never, ever, be caughtdead using in front of mybesties—or worse, myparents.They’ddie.Noscratchthat.They’dkill

mefirst.Thendie.How dare I want to use

suchstreetslang?HowdareIwant to toss away thousandsand thousands of dollars’

worth of my parents’ hard-earned money they’ve spenttosendmetothebestprivateschools inorder to shieldmefrom such atrocities. I’d bedamned to hell for eternity,roastingahundreddeaths,forshamingthem.Okay, okay. I’m being

facetious.I’m overexaggerating; just

alittle.Still . . . they’d probably

want to lock me away until

my twenty-first birthday ifthey even thought I wasstanding here contemplatingditching my bestie to go offwith this guy who I’ve onlybeen talking to for—I glanceat my watch—seventeenminutes and thirty-sixseconds. He could be astalker.Orworse.Ahoodlum.Athug.I want to laugh at the

absurdity.

Rule number one: Nohoodlums allowed. Rulenumber two: No profanity.Rulenumber three:Nostreetslang.And already I’m breaking

two of the three parent-enforced rules.Standingherecavorting with the likes of apotential hoodlum andallowing the wordswaggerlicious —gasp—toenter my mind. Oh, this isgroundsforalong,drawn-out

lecture on how irresponsibleit is to keep company withsomeonelikeMr.Swag.Andhow catastrophic using suchvernacularis.Howunfittingitis. How improper it is. Howunladylike it is. Blah, blah,blah.Well,guesswhat?Idon’tseeanythingwrong

with it. Swaggerlicious.Swaggerlicious. Swag. Ger.Licious.There.I’vesaidit.And this guy right here

reeks of it.Okay, alongwiththe marijuana I’m sure he’ssmoked right before cominginto the mall. I glance up athis ear and notice he has aBlack & Mild cigar tuckedbehind it. But that’s neitherherenorthere.Pointis,I’mtiredoffitting

into everyone else’s box ofexpectations. I’m tired ofbeing proper and polite—allthe time. Why must I useproper English all the time?

Why can’t I take a leave ofabsence from talking andsoundingwhite,justonce?I want a sabbatical from

my life, just for the summer.Is there anythingwrongwithwanting a change of pace?No.Idon’tthinkso.I’m sick of being

everything everyone elsewants,expects,metobe—allthe time. The sixteen-year-old, college-bound, soon-to-be junior who gets straight

A’sinschool;thehighschoolvarsity cheerleader whoexecutes every floor routinewith precision; the daughterwho always listens to herparentsandneverbreaksanyoftheirrules—nomatterhowridiculous I think most ofthemare; thelittlesisterwhohas had to constantly live inthe shadows of her threeoverprotective,overachieving, academicallyand athletically gifted

brothers.“Youhavesomesexy lips,

ma. I just wanna lean in ’n’kiss’em.”IblinkMr.Swagbackinto

view.Wait.DidhejustsaywhatIthink

hedid?Iaskhimtorepeathimself.

He does. “I wanna kiss you.Wordisbond.”“Youdon’t evenknowme

like that.” I try to stay cool

about it and act like havingsome random guy tellingmehe wants to kiss me is aneveryday occurrence whenit’s more like a once-in-a-lifetimeopportunitythatIamabouttoblow.“Yeah, but I can get to

knowyoulikethat.”Hestepsincloser.“Ifyouletme.”I am feeling light-headed.

And right now. Here’s mydilemma: I’ve never, evergoneagainstmyparents. I’m

the perfect daughter, theperfectfriend,andtheperfectlittleMissGoodyTwo-shoes.In a nutshell, my life is

predictable.Andboring.But,likeIsaidalready,the

schoolyear isofficiallyover.It’s the start of the summer.And I want to have fun. Iwant to do somethingexciting.Iwanttoliveontheedge a little. Be daring. Beadventurous.Instead of living

vicariously through thecharacters in some of thehood—oops,Imean,urban—booksIread,Iwanttobethegirl exploring the worldoutsideoftheonemyparentshavegivenme.Iwantalittletasteofthewildside.A little slice of the hood

pie.Justalittle.I glance overmy shoulder

quickly to see if anyone’slookingoveratus.Thenlook

upintohissmolderingbrowneyes, stepping closer intohim.One kiss won’t hurt. Will

“Ohmygod!”Jordanshriekstheminutewestepoutofthemallandwalk into thebrightsun toward the parking lotwhere her parents’ silver2013Mercedesisparked.Sheslides her Ray-Bans on,

shaking her head. “I knowyou.Were.Not.Abouttokissthat boy, were you? Please,please tell me I wasimaginingthings.”Uh, noooo! You weren’t

imagining anything. I wasabout to lock lips with himuntil you came along andruinedmychanceathavingaprivatetongue-dancemomentwithhim.I eye my bestie. Take in

her smooth mocha-colored

complexion. Her bouncy,shoulder-length hair is doneto perfection. Everythingabout Jordan is always,alwaysperrrrrfect.Shehasonashortwhitedenimskirtwitha yellow camisole and a pairof yellow MinnetonkaAshleys. Her hips swing asshewalks. She doesn’twalk.Shesways.“Girl,relax,”Isay,running

my hand through my hair.“Wewereonlytalking.”

She stops in her tracks.Peers over the rim of hershadesandsays,“Talking?Isthatwhat they’re calling thatthesedays?”As we approach her car,

she aims the remote in thecar’sdirection,disarming thealarm and unlocking thedoors.“Is that what they’re

calling what?” I feignignorance as I open the rearpassenger-side door, tossing

mybagsontheseat.“Oh,don’teventrytoplay

me. You know exactly whatI’m talking about. All thatgoogly-eyeballing the two ofyou were doing. Looked tome like there wasn’t muchtalking going on.Oh,wait. Iget it. It’s called mentaltelepathy. Was hetelepathicallytellingyouhowmuchhewanted toshovehistongue down into yourthroat?”

I laugh as she opens thetrunk and tosses her bagsinside.“Whatever.”“Whatever nothing.” She

slams the trunk shut, pullingout her ringing cell. Sheglances at the screen, thenrolls her eyes. “Ohmygod!Why does this boy keepcalling me? He’s such africkin’loser.”She’s referring to her

boyfriend . . . um, ex-boyfriend—for today, that is.

Howard. The very corny,very nerdy, six foot three,Harvard University–bound,aspiring neurosurgeon she’sbeen dating since eighthgrade. But lately, they’vebeen breaking up like everyother week overridiculousness. Their mostrecent break-up was overonionrings.Onionrings!Canyoubelieve that?He reachedover and ate the last of heronion rings off her plate and

it became a majorcatastrophic event. “He’s soselfish and inconsiderate.And I’m sick of it,” she’dsaidassheprattledonandonabout how she could neverspend her life with someonelike that. “I’m done withhim.”I roll my eyes at her,

opening the passenger door.“Uh-huh. Girl, who are youfooling? We both know youarefarfromdonewithMister

Howard.Youlovethatboy.”“Well . . .” She pops her

lips. “That’s beside thepoint.” She opens thedriver’s-side door and slidesbehindthewheel,thenfastensherseatbelt.“He’sdoingtoomuch. I mean, really. Heneeds togivemeachance tomisshim.”Ishakemyhead.“Andthis

isalloverwhatagain?”Iask,pretendingtohaveforgotten.She sticks thekey into the

ignition, then starts theengine. “It’s over his lack ofconsiderationformyfeelings,Kennedy. Geesh. How manytimes do I have to tell youthis? I thought you of allpeoplewouldunderstandthat.Ican’tdateanyonewhocan’tbesensitivetomyneeds.”I blink. “Ohhhhkay. So

becauseheatethelastofyouronion rings that makes himinconsiderate andinsensitive?”

“Yes.”Shebacksoutoftheparking space and drivesaway. “And thoughtless.Wait. I thought you didn’tremember why we’d brokeup.”“Oh,howI’vetried,”Isay

sarcastically.“Whatever. I know you

think it’s silly. But it’s theprinciple. He had no righteating food off of my platewithoutaskingmefirst.Howdid he know I was finished?

Hedidn’task.”“Well,wereyoufinished?”She gives me an

incredulous look as if I’veaskedatrickquestion.“Yeah.Buthedidn’tknowthat.”Igiveherablankstare.“Oh,saveit.Don’tgiveme

that look. Today’s it’s onionrings. Tomorrow it’s himtelling me what I can andcannot wear, going throughmy cell phone, and deletingmy Twitter and Facebook

accounts. Iwill not havemyboundaries violated by anyboy.NotevenoneI’mmadlyinlovewith.”Iwaveheron,shakingmy

head. “Girl, please. Thatmakes that boy greedy. Notthoughtless or insensitive.Maybe you’re being just alittle toohardonhim. Ifyouask me, I think you’reblowing thiswhole thing outofproportion.”She shoots me an

incredulous look as weapproach a red light.“Ohmygod! Whose side areyouonhere?”“Yours, of course. When

you’re right, that is. Rightnow, however, I think youmight be overexaggeratingthings, just a tad. I know Itease you about him being acornball. But underneath allofhisdoofinessIkindoflikehim for you. He’s a reallyniceguy,Jordan.”

She smiles, driving off.“Andhe’sreallycute,too.”Yeah,Iguess.Ifyougofor

guys with the light skin andgreen eyes. Howard sort ofremindsmeofaCorbinBleulook-alikewithout the browneyes, just taller and moremuscled. Me, personally, Iprefer guys with some colorto them. Rich mahoganybrown. Dark chocolate.Mmmhmmm...delicious.“And he’s really nice,” I

repeat, ignoring her “he’sreallycute,too”comment.“Well, that’s true too. He

has his moments. But thisisn’t about Howard. Or me.Oranyofhisannoyingwaysthat get under my skin. Thisis about you, so don’t eventhink I’ve forgotten howyouwere practically ready to getlost in a lip lock with somerandomhoodlum.”Irollmyeyes.“He’snota

hoodlum.”

“Coulda fooled me. Thatboy reeked ofmarijuana androachspray.”I crack up laughing.

“Ohmygod.He did not. Thatis so not nice. Just becausehe’s from the hood, thatdoesn’t automatically makehimahoodlum.He’sactuallyaniceguy.”“Mmmph.Andhowdoyou

knowthat?”“Well,Idon’t.Notreally.I

mean. He seemed nice. And

he didn’t come off like ahoodlum,asyousay.”“Well, he looked like one

to me. And you know whatthey say, if he walks like athug and talks like a thug,then...”I shakemyhead.Anyboy

who wears Timberlands,hoodies, ado-rag,or saggingpants and isn’t in a pair ofkhakis and a polo shirt, ordoesn’t play lacrosse, is herdefinitionofahoodlum.

“I know you’re familiarwith the expression ‘youshouldn’t judgeabookbyitscover,’ right? Maybe youshouldfreeyourmindandtryit.”She takes her eyes off the

road, glancing over at me.“My mind is free. And I’mnot judging him. I’mmerelystatinganobservation.”“Yeah, an observation

basedonopinion.Notfact.”“Oh, whatever. He

probably sells drugs, too. Iwouldn’t put it past him.Nojudgment.”I shakemyhead. “Wow. I

can’ttell.”IloveJordanlikeasister.I

swear I do. But sometimesshe can be so judgmental.And . . . well, disturbinglynarrow-mindedattimes.Still,I wouldn’t trade her for theworld. She always has myback. And I’ll always havehers.

Even though I know whatherresponseisgoingtobe,Idecide to ask anyway. “Hey,you want to take a road tripover to Irvington tohangoutwithmycousins?”Icallitaroadtrip,because

although Irvington is onlylike twenty-five minutesawayfromwherewelive,it’slikeworldsapartfromthelifesheandIlive.Wherewehaveestatesandcirculardrivewaysand tree-lined streets, they

have dilapidated buildings,abandonedhouses,and trash-litteredstreets.Andtheyhavemore murders and robberiesthan any other town in thearea.Still,Ienjoygoingthereto visit my twin cousinsShaniqua and Kaniqua.They’re my uncle Kent’s—my father’s brother’s—daugh-ters, and they’rehilarious.Theylivewiththeirmother,Tiny.Well,Tinyisn’treally all that little. She’s

more like whopper size. Mybrothers used to call herAuntie BigWhopper. Not toherface,though.Jordan’s car almost

swerves over into the otherlaneasshesnapsherneck inmy direction. “Irvington?Thugville? In my parents’Benz? Oh, I don’t think so.SoIcanberobbed?Orworse. . . raped? Girl, you havereallylostyourmind.”I roll my eyes at her

theatrics. “Ohmygod, stop!Noone isgoing to rapeyou,girl. Besides, you know mycousinslookoutforus.”She sucks her teeth. “Girl,

please.Theylookoutforyou.You know your cousinsBoomquisha and Boomquitado not even likeme. They’dsave them roaches they keepforpetsfromgettingstompedout before they’d ever lookoutforme.”I laugh. “Oooh, you’re so

wrongforthat.AndI’mdeadwrongforlaughingatit.”Butshe’sright.Theydon’t

like her. They want to fighther. And she’s never doneanything to either of them.Well,maybetheymighthavecaughtherrollinghereyesupinherheadwhenshethoughtone of them wasn’t looking,or theycaughthergivingmeone of her looks when theysaid or did something thatwasmaybe a little bit on the

ridiculousside.Like the timethey both had on matchingpinkbodysuits,apairofthoseglass-looking stripper heels,and bright fuchsia china dollwigs. I didn’t want to admitit, but theydid look like twocircus acts. Most times theydo.Still . . . thosearemyfirst

cousinsandtheyliketopartyand have a good time. Andthey don’t care who doesn’tlike it, or them. They do

whatever they want.Whenevertheywant.“Don’tyou sometimes just

want to live on the edge alittle?” I ask, shifting in myseat. “Don’t you ever getbored following the rules, orcoloringwithinthelines?”Jordan gives me a blank

look.Thenbatsherlashes.“Ido live on the edge. I’m onthe edge of my seat everytime I’m out with you,wondering what craziness

you’regoingtogetintonext,likekissingriffraff.”“WhatifIdidwanttokiss

him? What’s so wrong withthat?Hehadnicelips.Andhewascute.”“Doyouevenknowhim?”

She letsoutadisgustedsigh.“Never mind. Nice lips ornot. That’s nasty. I mean.Aside fromprobably suckingdown pig’s guts and chickenclaws, do you even knowwhere that boy’s mouth’s

been?”Iswear.Jordancanbesuch

a joy-kill sometimes. Okay,most of the time. She’llyammeronandonabout thisfor most of the ride to herhouse if I don’t quicklyredirecttheconversation.“You’reright.Idon’tknow

whatIwasthinking.”“That’sjustit.Youweren’t

thinking.”“I’m sorry, mom,” I say

sarcastically. “I won’t let it

happenagain.”Shelaughs.“Yeah,right.”“Soooo, did you end up

buyingthatcuteskirtyousawinNordstrom?”She shakes her head. “Oh,

no.We’re not even about tochange subjects. Not thistime. I want to know whereyouknowthatboyfrom.”ItellherIdon’tknowhim.

ThatI’veonlyseenhimafewtimes in the mall. That he’stried to talk to me several

times, but he’s always withhisfriends.She shoots me a look,

rolling her eyes. “So what’shisname?”“B-U,”Itellher,shiftingin

myseat.Shebrakesatthestopsign.

“B-U? What kind of crazyname is that?” I tell her it’sshortforBorn-Universe.She frowns, pulling off.

“Born-Universe?See.WhatItell you? Strike one right

there. Who in the worldnamestheirchildthat?”I shrug. “I seriously doubt

that’shisrealname.AtleastIhopeitisn’t.”She grunts. “Does this

BornU. . .B-U,orwhoeverheis,evenhaveahighschooldiploma?”I shrug. “I didn’t ask. It’s

not like I was conducting aninterview.”“Well, you should have

been.”

“Jordan, ohmygod! Youreally need to learn how torelaxabit.Ithinkyouneedtolay off the CSI episodes.They’re causing you tooverreact.”She reaches over and

touches my forehead.“Kennedy, girl, either youmust be coming down withsomething or you’re animposter. Because theKennedyIknowwouldnever,ever,becaughtdeadtryingto

kiss some strange boy in themiddle of a half-packedmall.”Iswatherhandaway.“No,

I’m not coming down withanything.Andno,I’mnotanimposter. Tell the truth. Youdidn’tthinkhewascutewhenyousawhim?”“Ummm, nooo. I thought

hewasratchet.”I crack up laughing. She

soundedsofunnysayingthat.“Jordan,girl.Stop.Therewas

nothing ratchet about him.Do you even know whatratchetis?”“Yeah, I know what it is.

Him. Jeans sagging.Underwear showing. I betyouhedoesn’tevenknowtherealmeaning behindwearinghis pants sagging like that.Advertisinghisbutt like that.If he only knew all he wasdoing was giving bootybandits something to droolabout. I bet if he were in

prison walking around likethat he’d break his necktryingtofindabeltorropetokeep his pants up over hisbehind. Or he’d end upwearingKool-Aidpaintedonhis lips and being calledBubblicious, while BigBubba and his sweet toothcrewhumpeduponhim.”Iplayfullyswatatherarm.

“Ohmygod, that’s sodisgusting!”“Mmmph.He’sdisgusting.

His neck and arm inked up.And what were thoseteardrops on his face for.Ugh! Then top it off with amouthfullofgold.Andthereyouhaveit.Ratchet.Histeethare probably all rotted outbehindallthatmetal.”“Ohmygod, stop!” I bite

the inside of my lip to keepfromlaughing.“No. You need to stop

being so naïve. Kennedy,those kinds of boys will do

nothing but use you up, thenbreak your heart. Youremember Nyla’s cousinSheema,right?”Inod.“Well,she hooked up with somethug from Newark, and nowshe’s a druggie andpregnant.”“Adruggie?”“Yes. All she does is

smokemarijuanaallday.”“That doesn’t make her a

druggie.”“Well, itmakesherstupid;

that’s for sure. And threemonthspregnant.”“And you blame that on

herboyfriend?”“Correction. Her thug.

And,yes,Ido.Heisandwasherdemise.Nowbacktoyou.Since when you start vyingfortheattentionofthugs?”I don’t tell her that I’ve

secretly lusted for bad boyssince like forever. I’mnot inthe mood for a long, drawn-outlecturefromher.Orbeing

underherjudgmentalscrutinyforhavingadeepaffinity forthestreetlife.Ishrug.“I’mnotvyingfor

their attention. I’m simplytrying to have a little fun.You know. Do somethingdifferent.”She narrows her eyes. “So

whatisthis,somesortofteenlife crisis? You want to dosomething different, gosnowboarding. Goparagliding.Go shopping for

a pair of red hooker heels.But you don’t go riflingthrough the trash for aboyfriend.”I wave her on as she

navigates traffic, my handabsently tracing the thickleather piping of my purse.“You’resuchahater.”“I ammost certainly not,”

she says, feigning insult. “Isimplyhateseeingmydearestbestie inthemidstofmakingthemosttragicmistakeofher

life. I thought Iwasgoing tocollapse right there in themiddleofthefloorseeingthetwoofyouallcoziedup likethat.”I laugh. “Then I guess he

and those sexy lips of hiswould have been the ones toresuscitate you. It wouldserve you right for how rudeyouweretohim.”“Ewww. Not! Leave me

dead on the ground. Pleaseand thank you! I wouldn’t

want that boy’s hood cootiesanywhere near me, or mymouth.”I laugh and playfully suck

my teeth. I decide to notmention that he thought shewas stuck-up. It wouldn’tmatter to her, anyway, whathethoughtofher.Sheknowsshe’s a snob. Well, as shesays it, “I know I havesnobbishways.”Shesnorts.“Iwasnotrude.

I just wasn’t interested in

beingnice.”“Same difference, girly.

Samedifference.”

“I mean, like, seriously,Kennedy.What do you evensee in them hoodlums? Theyareso...”Fine.“They’reso . . .howcanI

delicately say this? They are

so...”Sexy.“Beneath you,” she says

pointedly, shooting a glanceover in my direction as shepulls around her circulardriveway.“Ohmygod, Jordan!” I

exclaim, shaking my head. Ican’t believe she thinks that.That because a guy doesn’tliveinagatedcommunity,orattend a private school, ordrive a luxury car gifted to

him by his parents (orgrandparents) that he isn’tworthyofdating,orfallinginlovewith.“Youaresooutofcontrol right now. What aclassistthingtosay.”She rollshereyes,parking

her car in front of thecobblestone walkway thatleads to her front door. “No.You’retheoneoutofcontrol,Kennedy.Practicallyreadytokiss some derelict, and inpublic no less.” She shakes

her head, turning off theengine. “Is this somekindofcrazy phase you’re goingthrough?Imean.We’vebeenbest friendsfor, like, forever,so you can tell me if it is.Because it seems to me likeyoumightbe strugglingwithsomesortofteenlifecrisisorsomething.”I sigh, opening the car

door. “Noooo, it’s not aphase.AndtheonlythingI’mstrugglingwithatthemoment

isyou.”She opens her door,

popping the trunk open.“Strugglingwithme?AllI’mdoingisstatingtheobvious.”I raise abrowather. “Oh,

really?Whatexactlyisthat?”She grabs her bags,

slamming the trunk shut.“That theonly thinganyboyfromtheghetto,hood,slums,orwhatever they’recalling itthesedayscaneverdo isuseand abuse you, Kennedy.

They’ll break your heart.Then toss you out like lastnight’strashwhiletheylieinwait for their nextunsuspecting suburbanvictim.”I frown. “Ohmygod! That

is so not true. Having myheart broken has nothing todo with someone’s socio-economic status, wherethey’re brought up, or whatrace they are. Heartbreakersand users come from all

walksoflife.”“Well, that might be true.

But they’rebeingbred in theghetto,” she saysdismissively. “Kennedy, Ican’tbelieveyou’rebeing sonaïverightnow.”“Well, that makes the two

of us,” I say defensively. “Ican’tbelieveyou’rebeing sodangbiased.”“I’m not biased. Face it,

Kennedy. Most of those so-called thug boys you’re so

fascinated with are high-school dropouts, use drugs,sell drugs, are in gangs, andinandoutofjuvy.”“That is sonot true.There

areplentywhograduatehighschool and even go off tocollege.”She laughs, shaking her

head while sliding her keyintoherdoor.“Plenty?Yeah,right. Wishful thinking. Tryplentyofprison-boundlosers.I don’t know what TBS

special you’ve beenwatching. But you need toeither change stations, orremove those rose-coloredlenses you’re lookingthrough. There are plenty ofdropouts. There are plentyhangingonstreetcorners.”I sigh. It’s time I face the

blaring truth, I think,following behind Jordan assheletsherselfintoherhousereplete with shopping bagsgalore.There’snothing I can

ever say that will make anounce of sense to her aboutmy affinity toward boys fromthehood.Sothere’snosenseinwastingmybreathtryingtoexplainit.Shedropsherbagsontothe

marble floor of her foyer. Iwalkbehindherassheheadstoward the kitchen. No oneelse’s here. Her parentsoftentimes work long hours.They are both corporateattorneys who work out of a

MadisonAvenue law firm inNew York City. Like me,Jordan is the youngest. Butinsteadofhaving threeolder,overprotective brothers, shehas three older sisters whospoilherrotten.Isoenvyherforthat.IwishIhadsisters.Imean. Having older brothersis kind of cool.But they canbe annoying. And bossy;especially when they’retryingtobemyfathers.Anyway, like my siblings

—who are all in the armedforces (my nineteen-year-oldbrother,Kent,isinhissecondyear as a cadet at the NavalAcademy; my twenty-one-year-old brother, Keith, justgraduated from West Point;andmytwenty-three-year-oldbrother, Kenneth, is acommissioned officer in theAir Force)—her sisters allliveoutontheirown.So,forthemostpart,shehasthisbiggigantic house all to herself,

to do whatever she wantslong before her parents’commute home comes to anendforthenight.“You want anything to

eat?” she asks as she’sgrabbing two bottles of Fijiwater and a large bowl ofstrawberries from the fridge.“I can heat up some chickenstripsifyouwant.”I shakemy head, reaching

for the latest issue ofSeventeenmagazine lying on

the aisle counter. “No. I’mfine.”Iflipthroughthepages.IrollmyeyeswhenIstumbleonan articleonMileyCyrusand her newest love interest.Jordan tellsme tograb somenapkins from the marbletable. I shut the magazine,grab a handful of napkins,thenfollowherupstairstoherroom.I love Jordan’s room. In

addition to having a hugeking-size bed and fifty-inch

flat-screen TV, she has amassive walk-in closet, ahugebathroomwithaJacuzzitubandseparateshowerstall,andabalcony.Mybedroomisn’tanything

tosneezeat,butit’sdefinitelynothing like hers. I’d kill tohave my own privatebathroominmyroom.I open my water, take a

few sips, then place the capback on, and set it down onthe floor beside her bed. I

kick off my shoes and flopback against the big, fluffypillows on her bed, flippingthrough the magazine I’vebeenholdinginmyhand.“So, what time is Hope

gettinghere?”She steps out of her

bathroom, completelychangedintoapairofredboyshortsandablacksportsbra.“She should have been hereby now. You know she’salmostalwaysneveron time.

Thatgirlwillprobablybelatetoherownembalming.”Ishakemyhead,laughing.

“You’restupid.”The doorbell chimes three

times as Jordan picks up herbuzzingiPhone.“Speaking of the Miss

Late,that’shernow.”She scurries out of the

room and rushes down thestairs to get the ringingdoorbell.Afewsecondslater,she returns with Hope

followingbehindher.“Ooh, you nasty heathen,”

she says pointedly as shedrops her Burberry tote onJordan’sdresser.“Iheardyouwere going to let some thugkissyourightoutintheopenatthemall.Pleasetellmeit’salllies.”She looks cute. She’s

wearing all white, a pair ofwhite capris with a whiteblousethatcrisscrossesinthefront. I glance down at her

white Marc Jacobs leatherwedgedsneakers.“Those are cute,” I say,

pointing at her feet. Myfeeble attempt to deflect thequestion. “Where’d you getthose?”“Nordstrom.”“Girl, later for them

shoes,”Jordansnorts,flickingher wrists. “They are cute,though. But that’s irrelevantatthismoment.”Hope’s eyes widen. “Says

who?”“Says me,” Jordan

counters.“Nowlet’sgetbacktoKennedyandSirKiss’EmontheLips.”I rollmyeyesather.“No.

Let’snot.”“TellHopewhat his name

is.B-U,right?”“B-U?What kind of name

isthat?”I groan. “It’s short for

Born-Universe.”Hope blinks. “Dear God.

Howexotic.”Jordan snickers. “And

original,right?”Hope rolls her eyes. “Oh,

definitely. Creativity anduniquenessatitsbest.”I suck my teeth. “Okay,

okay;enoughaboutmydayatthe mall.” I shoot my gazeover at Jordan. “How aboutwe talk about you and yourbreak-up with Howie for theumpteenthtimethismonth?”Hopegasps.“Again?What

theheckiswrongwithy’all?What, this is like break-upnumber six in the last fourweeks?”Sheshakesherhead.“Y’allneedtherapy.”Ilaugh.Jordan rolls her eyes. “We

don’t need therapy.Whatweneed is a permanent breakfromeachother.”I give her a “yeah right”

look.“No. I’m serious,” Jordan

insists.“I thinkwespendtoo

muchtimetogether.Andnowweactmore likebrother andsister than we do boyfriendandgirlfriend.”Hope shakes her head.

“Uh, no. Y’all needrelationship counseling, hun.Ihatetobethebearerofbadnews. But both of you seemto have problems withcommunicating. You doknow communication is keytoanysuccessfulrelationship,right?”

I chuckle. “Ohmygod, youarestartingtosoundlikeyourmom.”Shegiggles.“Iknow,right.

It’s getting scary. She keepssaying I’m going to end upbecomingatherapistlikeher.Butshe’swrong.I’mgoingtopracticelaw.”Jordan huffs. “I’m too

young for relationshipcounseling. That counselingstuff’s for old folks who areabouttogetdivorced.”

“Wrong,” Hope corrects.“Counseling is for anyonewith problems or issues theycan’tsolveontheirown.Andyou, girly, I don’t mean torain on your parade. Or pulltherugfromunderyourfeet.But you have some seriousrelationship issues.Mymomsays it’s not healthy forcouples to constantly keepbreaking up. She says it’s asign that there are biggerproblemsintherelationship.”

Oh, Lord! Here we go.Hope’s about to get on hersoapboxagain.Oh,goodie. Ifake a yawn. Sitting herelistening to this is enough toputmetosleep.Jordan plops down on her

bed. “Okay,LifeCoach, I’veheard enough. Next topic,please.”Hope shrugs. “Well, don’t

say I didn’t try towarn you,hun.” She pulls out heriPhoneandsnapsapictureof

the three of us, then posts itonherInstagrampage.“Hey,y’all want to go shopping inthecitytomorrow,thencatchamovie?”“Soundslikeaplantome,”

Jordan says enthusiastically.“Then we can go uptown tomy favorite bakery so I canbuy a dozen of my favoriteredvelvetcupcakes.”“Ohmygod!” Hope

exclaims. “You and thatbakery.”

“Sorry. I can’t go,” I say,bitingintoastrawberry.Juicesquirtsfrommymouth.Ilickmy lips. “I have to worktomorrow.”“Well, what time do you

get off?” I tell her seveno’clock.“Intheevening?”“Uh,yeah.Igoinatone.”Hope sighs. “Andwhy are

you working again? It’s notlike your parents have fallenonhardtimes.Soit’snotlikeyou need the money. Right?

Don’t they still give you anallowance?”“Yeah, I still get my

allowance.” I tell her I likeworking. That it makes mefeelresponsibleandthatIlikeearningmyownmoney.ButIleaveoutthatthebestpartofgoing towork is that Iget toseeallthecuteboysfromthehood that I wouldn’t be ableto see otherwise if I weren’tworkinginthemall.“Oh, okay. If you say so,”

shesays,halfinterestedinmyreasoning. Aside fromvolunteeringatthehospitalasCandy Stripers on theweekends during the schoolyear, JordanandHopepreferto live off of their parents’money. And as long as theymaintainstraightA’stheycandoexactlythat.Icanaswell.Butchoosenotto.“So what’s going on with

that trampy girl at the jobwhoisalwayseyeballingyou

and rolling her eyes at youeverytimeyouwalkby?Shesoundsscary.”I roll my eyes around in

myhead.“Oh,you’retalkingabout Sasha. Psst. I don’tknow what her problem is.I’vebeennothingbutnice toher.Allshedoes isstareandtalk about me behind myback, but she says it loudenough so I can hear hertalking about me. I’ve neverdoneanythingtoher.”Ishake

myhead.“It’s likeshewantstostartsomethingwithme.”Jordan and Hope give me

sympatheticlooks.“Poor thing,” Hope says,

shaking her head. “Shesounds like she has issues.Didn’t you say, like, she’srealghettoandtrashy.”“Yeah.Sheis.”“Ugh. And she talks that

stupid, annoying Ebonics,too,” Jordan chimes in.“Now, that’s who needs

counseling.”Hope shudders. “Ugh.

That’ssonotcute.”“Yeah.Tellmeaboutit,”I

say,glancingatmywatch.Jordan reaches over and

grabsmyhand.“Maybeshe’sjustjealousofyou.”I groan. “I don’t know

what that girl’s problem is.She has no reason to bejealous of me. She’s reallypretty. And has a really niceshape.And a lot of the guys

whocomeintoorderseemtoalways either know her orwanttogettoknowher.SoIdon’t think it’s that. All Iknow is, I try to be nice toher, most times. But, she’salwayssonasty.SonowItryto avoid having anyinteraction with her as muchasIcanhelpit.”Hope gives me a pitiful

look.“WellIdon’tknowwhyyou’reworkingthereanyway.Being around those bad

elements isn’t good for you.All those low-budget hoodroaches.” She shakes,feigningachill.“Whatifyoucatch something from one ofthem,thenwhat?You’llhaveto be quarantined for thewholesummer.”Irollmyeyes.“Ohmygod,

Hope!Stop!”She shrugs. “You never

know.”Jordansays,“Anyway,you

be careful. That ghetto girl

sounds like major trouble.”She reaches for her buzzingphone. She raises her browsand huffs when she seeswho’s calling her. “Shesounds like she’s cuckoo-crazy.”“O-M-G!” Hope exclaims,

looking from Jordan to me.“You think she might bedangerous? You know themghettogirlsarealwaysgettingarrested for fighting andstabbing each other.” Her

browneyeswidenwithalarm.I smirk. Hope can be so

over-the-top with hertheatrics. She’s moremelodramatic than Jordan. “Iseriously doubt she’sdangerous,” I protest. “Orthatkindofcrazy.Ijustthinkshe’sanangrygirl.”Hope purses her lips.

“Well, angry or not. I thinkyou should report her tomanagement the next timeshe says something to you.

And get yourself a securityteam and a can of Mace incase she calls for backupfromherghettofriends.”I shake my head. “Let’s

hope it never has to come tothat.”

“Sohowwasyourdaywiththegirls?”mymomwants toknow, leaning up against thedoorframe of my bedroom.Shewatchesme as I removemy purchases from Forever21 and Uniqlo from the

shoppingbagsandhangtheminmycloset.It’s a little after seven

o’clockintheevening.“Itwasokay.”“I see you bought some

really cute things,” she says,eying my purchases. “Howmuchdidyouspend?”Ishrug.Tellhernotmuch,

like three hundred dollars.She asks for her Amex cardback. Iwalk over tomy bagand pull it from my wallet,

handingittoher.“Nowthatsummerishere,

you should probably gothrough some of the clothesand shoes you haven’t wornin awhile and put them in apile so that I can take themdown to theSalvationArmy,along with some of all yourbrothers’things.”“I will. I need to make

room for all of thenew stuffI’ll be getting over the nextfew weeks anyway. Daddy

promised me a shoppingspree if I got all A’s on myfinals.”Shechuckles.“Yourfather

knew that wouldn’t be achallenge for you. He wasgoing to buy you whateveryouwanted,regardless.”I stick my head out from

myclosetandsmile.“Yeah,Iknow.You,too.”“Shameful, I’ll admit.

We’ve spoiled you rotten,”she says playfully. She steps

into my room. “You’re ouronly daughter. You’ve nevergivenus anyproblems, soofcourse we’ll give youwhatever you want.” I grin,stepping out of my closet.“Within reason,” she quicklyadds.“Well, just begrateful I’m

not like Jordan and Hope,who want S-series Benzesand expensive trinkets fromTiffanyandCompany.”She chuckles. “Yeah, I

guess you’ve got a point.Those two are going to runtheirparentscrazy.”Ilaugh.“Your father wants you

andmetoflyovertoDubaitospend the month of Augustwith him. Won’t that beexciting?”Daddy works in

intelligence as a NationalSecurityofficerandhasbeenworkingoverinDubaiforthelasteightmonths.Beforethat,

heworkedinAfghanistanforeighteen months. Althoughover the last two years he’sspentmoretimeintheMiddleEast than home, he usuallycomeshomefortheholidays,and typically stays fromanywhere from twoweeks toamonth,depending.Last summer—before I

wasinterestedinhavingalifeofmyown—Daddymetmomand me in Morocco, wherewe spent three weeks

vacationing in Casablanca.That was a lot of fun:learning about Moroccanculture, sailing theMediterranean Sea, evenhiking the Moroccanmountains was quiteinteresting. Still, during theday,itwasviciouslyhotandIthought I would die in thesizzlingheat.But this summer I have

plans that do not includetravel abroad or being

scorchedunderablazingsun.I love Daddy, but I’d ratherwait until he comes home tospend time with him thangive up practically a wholechunk of what couldpotentially be one of thegreatestsummersofmylife...ever!Istareather.Isshekidding

me? I can’t spend a wholemonth away. Stuck up underherandDaddy.Whatkindoffunisthat?

“Mom,” I whine. “I can’tgo to Dubai for a wholemonth. What about work? Ican’t leave them short-handed.”“I’msure they’llmanage,”

she says indifferently.“Besides,you’llbequittingaweekor sobefore the schoolyearstartsanyway,right?”I blink. Tell her that I

hadn’t planned on it. That Ihad hoped to stay on duringtheschoolyearandwork the

weekends. She smiles at me.“Sweetheart, I think that’sgreat you want to work andgainasenseofindependence,but we already agreed thatyou’d only work for thesummer.Theonly thingyourfather and I want you toconcentrate on is yourstudies;that’sit.”Ipokemylipout.“Iknow.

But I can do both. It’s notgoing to interfere with mygrades.Ipromise.Ireallylike

it there.” Umm, no, what Ireallywanttosayis,“Ireallylike seeing all the sexy boyswho come through the mallwiththeirpantssagging.”“We’ll see,” she says

brusquely. Code for end ofdiscussion. I take the hint,moving about my bedroom.“You know I ran into CraigandhismotheratShortHillsmall this afternoon.” Shegaugesmy reaction. There isnone. “He asked about you.

Andhismothertoldmetotellyouhello.”“Oh. That’s nice,” I say

nonchalantly.I’mstillkindofputoffthatsheexpectsmetostop working and wants towhiskme off to some desertcountry in the blazing heat.Anything to try and ruin mysummerplans.Sowhatifshedoesn’t know about them?That’s the whole point. Forhernottoknow.Iwalkbackintomycloset.

“Next time you see Mrs.Johnston,tellherIsaidhi.”“You should call her. I

knowshe’dlovetohearfromyou.”Craig Johnston is my

mother’s idea of the perfectguy forme.Andyes,hewasone of my parent-approvedboyfriendslastyear.Thingis,heisareally,reallyniceguy.And he’s cute, too. But Ididn’t like him like that. Imean.Itriedtolikehim.But,

after our first kiss and thereweren’t any fireworks goingoffinmyheadafterhepulledback, I knew he wasn’t theone for me. Still wetalked/dated for almost threemonths after that, mostlybecause he was fun to bearound and I really did likehiscompany.I just didn’t likehim for a

boyfriend.Stilldon’t.“He’s such a fine young

man,”mymomcontinues. “Ican’t get over how tall he’sgotten since the last time Isawhim.”“I bet.” I close my closet

door, then walk over to mybedandplopdownonit.“I always wondered

whateverhappenedtothetwoofyou.Icantellhestilllikesyou,Kennedy.”I roll my eyes up in my

head. “There’s not much totell.Itdidn’tworkout,Mom.

It’snottheendoftheworld.”Shesitsontheedgeofmy

bed.“Iknow,sweetheart.I’mnotsayingitis.It’sjustthat...Ican tellhe really likedyou.Hestilldoes.”“I liked him, too, Mom.

Justnotlikethat.”“Well, what was wrong

withhim?”Umm,let’ssee.Honorstudent,check.Starathlete,check.Respectful,check.

Boy Scout—no, EagleScout... excuse me, check.How could I have forgotten?It was one of the things heconstantly talked about inbetween his incessant chatteraboutthedebateteamandhisvolunteer work with theSPCA.Umm,whatelse?Tall,check.Goodlooking,check.Parents loved him, check-

check.

I shrug, sighing. “He justwasn’tforme.”“He comes from such a

nice family. And he seemslikeareallygoodkid.”I shrug dismissively,

gettingupfromthebed.“I’msurehe is.Good, that is.Buteven good kids haveproblems,Mom.”She gives me a quizzical

look. Ican tell shewantsmeto elaborate, to gossip. Truthis, there’s no chinwag to tell

whenitpertainstoCraig.Yawn.Booooooring!“I’m sure he’s given his

parentsaboutasmuchtroubleas you’ve given your fatherand me. All I’m saying is,maybeyoushouldgivehimacallandinvitehimover.”I stop flitting about my

room, turn to face her. “Callhim? And invite him over?Areyouserious?WhywouldIwanttodothat?”I plop back on my bed,

scooting back then sittingIndian-style. Aside from hisdad and my dad beingfraternity brothers and mymother and hismother beingsorority sisters, Craig and Ihavenothingincommon.Wedon’t even have the sametaste in music. He likesclassical,pop,jazz,androck.Whereas I love hip-hop and(believe it or not) somecountrymusic.I decide to tell her, “I just

wasn’tthatintohim.”Shepushes.“Why?”“Mom...”Isaywearily.“What? I’m simply asking

a question. I really want toknow why the two of youdidn’tworkout.”Well, for starters, because

youanddadlikedhim.I sigh. “Mom, I see what

you’re trying to do, but itisn’tgoingtowork.”“What am I trying to do?”

sheasks,feigningconfusion.

“All I’msuggesting is thatyou giveCraig a call. That’sall.”Iguffaw. “Uh-huh.You’re

trying to play matchmakeragain.”Shereachesoverandgrabs

one of my pillows andplayfullyhitsmewithit.“I’mtryingtodonosuchthing.”I give her a “yeah right”

look.She smiles. “Well,

sweetheart, you can’t knock

me for trying. You’ve doneeverything your father and Ihaveaskedofyouduring theschool year, so there’snothing wrong with mewantingtoseeyouhavesomefun over the summer withsomeone from a good familybackground.”Oh no! I don’t think so. I

am not about to spend mysummer looking into the sillyface of some boring boy. Idon’tcarehowcuteheis.

“I’m glad youwantme tohave fun,” I say excitedly.“That’s exactly what I want.Lots and lots of summerexcitement.”“Ooh, do tell,” she says,

smiling.“Whatkindofgirlishmischief are you girlsplanning to get into thistime?”We have nothing planned.

I, on the other hand, plan toexplore the world on theothersideoftown.

Buthow?HopeandJordanareout.“Well, um,” I say,

cautiously. “I was kind ofhoping I could stay a weekwiththetwins.”Mom blinks. “Your uncle

Kent’stwins?”“Yeah,Mom.Whoelse’s?”Shelookssurprised.“Now,

why in theworldwould youwanttostayoverthere?”Ishrug.“Idon’tknow.It’d

befun.Besides,Idon’tgetto

spend a lot of time with thetwins.”“Sweetheart, I know

Shaniqua and Kaniqua areyour favorite cousins—onlyGod knows why—but youknow how your father and Ifeel about you spending toomuchtimewiththem.”I sigh. “I know, I know.

YouandDaddythinkthey’rebad influences. But that’s soutterly ridiculous. I have amindofmyown.”

“I know you do,sweetheart.It’sjustthat—”“What, they live in the

hood?Isthatit?”She frowns. “I wasn’t

goingtosaythat.”Imakea face that says, “I

don’tbelieveyou.”“There’s no supervision.

Orverylittleofitoverthere.”“Iknowtheycanbealittle

wild...”Sheraisesanarchedbrow.

“Alittle?Youthink?”

“Okay, okay. They can’tinfluencemetodoanythingIdon’t want to do,” I add. “Iwish you and Daddy wouldtrustme,justonce.”“YourfatherandIdotrust

you. We just don’t trustthem.”“Same difference. You’re

still saying you don’t trustme. Don’t you think I knowrightfromwrong?”“Ofcoursewedo.“That’s so unfair. They’re

mycousins.”“Yes.Theyare.Butthey’re

also rude, disrespectful, andout of control, just like theirmother.You can go visit fortheday.ButIdon’twantyouover there unless there’ssupervision.ThatmeansyouruncleKentmustbeoverthereand your aunt Tiny must besober.”“Ohmygod! You know

UncleKentisnotgoingtogoover there just so that I can

visitwiththetwins.”UncleKentmovedouttwo

years ago, and divorced thetwins’momlikethreemonthsagobecauseallshewantedtodowas hang out in the bars.From what I’ve overheardfrom my parents talking,Uncle Kent had had enoughofAuntTiny’sroguishways.“Then I guess you can’t

go,”Momsays triumphantly.“Besides, I don’t like thecompany Tiny keeps. Ever

since your uncle moved outshe keeps a lot of riff-raffcominginandoutofthere.”“How do you know that?

Youdon’teventalktoher.”“You’reright,Idon’t.That

still doesn’t mean I don’tknow what’s going on overthere. Tiny wouldn’t be halfbad if she stayed out of thebars and stopped all thatdrinking.”“Dang,Mom.Youmakeit

sound like she’s a drunk or

something.”She shakes her head. “I’m

not saying that. All I’msaying is, your uncle’s ex-wife isabit too liberalwhenit comes to the twins. Andshe’s a bit too loose for myliking.”Translation: She lets them

dowhatevertheywant.Well,almostwhatever.They’renotallowed to smoke in thehouse. And boys aren’tallowedtostayoverpastone

A.M.“Itellyouwhat.Whydon’t

youcallthemandinvitethemhere for a weekend. Youcouldhaveaslumberparty...”With no boys allowed

unless he’s a nerd?With notbeing allowed to hang outanywhere,exceptatthemall?No,thankyou!“Why can’t I stay over

there?”Iwhine.She gets up from the bed,

her forehead creasing withfrustration. “Kennedy, you’renot staying a week inIrvington with your cousins.Soyoumightaswell let thatcrazy little dream go. If youreally want to spend timewith them, then you caninvitethemhereforaweek.”“Well, what about for a

weekend? You or DaddycoulddropmeoffonFriday,then pick me up Sundaymorning,ifyouwant.”

“Ihave abetter idea.Howabout theycomehere for theweekend?”Iblink.“Anddowhat?”“Oh I don’t know. What

did you plan on doing if Iagreedtoletyoustaythere?”“Hangoutandchill.”Isay

this as if it’s an obviousanswer.Shesmiles.“Thenyoucan

hangoutandchillhere.”“It’snotthesame,”Iargue.

“It’sboringhere.”

She tilts her head. “Andwhy is that? Because there’llbe supervision? Because youwon’t be able to crawlyourself up in here all hoursofthedayandnight,likeyourcousinsdo?”I huff. It’s obvious this

conversation is goingnowhere. She’s not going toever let me stay any morethananhourover there.So Imightaswellletitgo.Youcanalwayssneakover

therewhilethey’reatwork.Yeah, that’s true. They’d

neverknow.Yeah, right. Aunt Tiny

wouldlovenothingmorethantohavesomethingtosmearinMom’sface.I sigh, deflated and

defeated.UntilIcandeviseaplan to get out of this castleof boredom, I’ll simply haveto grin and bear it. For now,anyway.“Never mind,” I say,

folding my arms. “Forget Ievenasked.”

“Next customer, please,” Iquickly say, scanning thecrowdedareatheminuteIamlogged in tomy register. It’sFridaynight.And themall isalways packed on Fridaynights, especially since the

food court is where most ofthe kids from the area hangout, along with the fact thatit’s right across from theentrance to the AMC movietheater. So it’s extra busy upin here. And my feet arekillingme.I sigh, taking the next

customer’s order, then thenext.“Uh,SpecialK, youmight

wanna help get this linemovin’ a li’l faster,” thisgirl

Sasha Green says, poppingher chewing gum as shebreezes byme. She callsmeSpecial K because “you’rereal special,” she’d said tome, smirking as she lookedmeupanddownmyfirstdayhere, after I’d held out myhand and introduced myselftoher.“Hi,I’mKennedy.”She stared at my

outstretchedhand,turninghernoseupas if Ihaddogpoopcaked up beneath my

fingernails. “And I’m notinterested.” She turned herhead, shifting her body. Herrudeness was not expected,nor was it warranted. ButafteramonthofworkinghereI realize that’swhoandwhatsheis.Rude.She tosses her hips real

hard and nasty-like to makeher booty shake and bounceas she walks. Rumor aroundhere is, shedoesn’twearanyunderwear.Yuck.Hownasty

is that? Coming to workwithout underwear on. She’sthe shift tramp. The bossy,messy, always-trying-to-be-someone’s-supervisor, whoneverhasanythingnicetosayaboutanyoneexceptherself.Sasha’s a little older than

me, like eighteen. But sheacts like she’s a grownwoman in her twenties. Andshe always has somethingsnidetosaytome.Still...Idon’tletanythingshesaysor

doesbotherme.Notreally.“Next in line, please,” I

say,tryingnottorollmyeyesat her. I hold my breath,lookingoveratanobnoxiousgroup of guys standing oneline over, all wearing whitetees, True Religions, fittedhats,andthenewLebronsontheirfeet.They’reloud,rude,and... disgustingly vulgar.Well...notallofthem.“Yo, suck on dis sac,

mofo,” the dark skinned guy

witha thicknecksaystooneof the guys with him whilegrabbing the front of hisbaggyjeans.His boys laugh at him.

“Yo, this cat right here,” thebrownskinnedguywithlong,shoulder-length dreadlockssays, shakinghis head. “Youstay tryna get someone tosuck up on sumthin’.Letmefindoutyouafreak.”“Yeah, I’m freakin’ ya

moms,son.”Hestartsrapidly

thrusting his pelvis. “Bam,bam, bam. I stays knockin’datdown.I’myanewdaddy,muhfuckka.”Helaughs.“Yeah, a’ight, yo,” Locks

says. “Don’t get ya chinchecked,fam.Idonetol’you’bout dat dumb ish, yo.” Hemushes Thick Neck on thesideofthehead,causinghimto go into a boxing stance,throwing playful jabs atLocks.Please don’t even bother

comingoverinmyline.“Next in line,” I repeat,

holdingmybreath.I’mnotinthe mood for any of thesestupidboysclowning.No,nottoday. All I want to do isfinish up the next twentyminutes of my shift stressfree. Change out of thisuniform, which smells likeFrench fries and grease, andtake a long, hot shower. Noluck, though. I take a deepbreath as the tallest of the

three steps over to myregister. He’s muscular withbronze-coloredskin. I trynottonoticehisfreshedgeup,orthe way his cornrows neatlyzigzag around his perfectlyround head, or the way histrimmedmustacheandgoateeframe his thick, full lips. Orhow perfectly straight andwhitehisteethare.I swallow. “Can I help

you?”He licks his lips, eyeing

me. His hazel gaze slowlydrops down to my name tagthen onto my breasts beforeflickering up to the menuoverhead, then back at me.The air around me heats up,causing me to feel flush.“Yeah,Kennedy,letmegetatripleWhopper,aSprite.Anda side order of you; you realsexy,Kennedy.”The way he’s said my

namealmostcausesmykneestobuckle.

Hesmirks.I quickly recover without

allowingmyselftogetcaughtup in his little flirt game.“Wouldyouliketotryoneofour mocha or caramelfrappés?”He licks his lips again.

“Nah. I’d like to try you,Kennedy...”I swallow. “Anything

else?”“Yeah, let me get ya

number.”

“I’mnotonthemenu.Andyou’reholdingupmyline.”“I’m sayin’,ma, I’d rather

be holdin’ you. But youfrontin’.”Sasha pops her hips back

over to me. All eyes are onher momentarily. And I’mglad. This guy standing infront of me is making medizzywithallofhisfineness.Sashaplantsahanduponherhip and wants to know whymy line isn’t moving. I give

her a blank stare, tell hermaybe she should help out,then go back to doing whatI’mdoing.“Willthatbeall?”Hazel Eyes glances at

Sasha, then back at me. Hegrins, sliding his hand downinto his pocket then pullingout a wad of money. “Yeah,I’mgood,fornow.ButI’dbeeven better if you’d let metake you out to dinner ’n’ amovie, then”—he licks hisbeautiful lips again—“if you

actright,wecancheckintoatelly ’n’ I can give you dabusiness.”Telly?It takes me a minute to

realizewhathe’sreferringto.Amotelroom.Ugh!I frown. “Thanks, but no

thanks,”Isay.Thick Neck laughs. “Yo,

you wildin’, fam. You gotthatli’lgirlscared.”I ring his order up. Tell

him his total. Then wait for

himtopay.Hehandsme a fifty.Then

tells me to keep the changewhen I try to hand it to himalongwith his receipt.Whenherefusesthemoney,Ilayitonthecounter.“Nextinline,please.”“She clownin’ you, yo,”

ThickNeckinstigates.“No lie, son,” Locks says,

cutting in front of ThickNeck,glancingoveratHazelEyes.“Shebad,yo.I’dliketo

beat that thing-thing up, too.But, eff her, my nig. Sheprollycan’thandlenone’adaD.Sheain’treadyforit,fam.You can look at ’er ’n’ tell.She a youngin’, yo. Youknow dem li’l girls ain’treadyfornorealwork,fam.”Iblink.Hazel eyes winks at me.

“Nah,sheagoodgirlIwannaturn bad. She ready. Ain’tyou, ma? I see it all in youreyes.”

Isuckmyteeth.“Yo,letmegettwoclassic

chicken sandwiches,” Lockscontinues nonchalantly.“Cheese and ketchup only.And a thing of onion rings.”He looksoveratThickNeckand asks himwhat hewants.“And let me get two doublestacker combos for mymanz.”“Anything else?” I ask,

irritationrisinginmytone.He eyes me. “Hold da

attitude,ma.Youtooprettytobe actin’ all stank; feel me?All I’m trynado is ordermymeal. And all my peeps wastryna do is holla at you, yo.But you wanna be all stuckup’n’shit.YouluckyIdon’tsmackyouinyafrontz.”Iblink.“Yo,dawg,chilldaeffout,

for real.”Hazel Eyes elbowshim in the side. “That ain’tcool,yo.”“Nah, eff dis stupid

beyaatch.”I frown. This is the first

timeaboyhasevercalledmetheBwordtomyface.AndIfeel like I’ve just beensucker-punchedinthegut.Before I can say anything,

HazelEyescheckshim.Tellshim he shouldn’t disrespectfemales like that. Thenpushes him out of the way.“Yo, my bad,” Hazel Eyessays apologetically. “Thatmofo ain’t always playin’

wit’afulldeckwhenheain’tonhismeds.”Iraiseabrow.He’sstaring

at me with puppy dog eyesholding his heart, feigninghurt. “But I’m sayin’, babe.You got me feelin’ somekinda way. Let me get demdigits so you canmake it uptome.”I roll my eyes. “Your

orders will be upmomentarily.” I shoo himover, making room for the

next customer. Hazel Eyeskeeps his stare onme, whileThick Neck walks off toharasstwofemalessittingatanearby table with hisflirty.ways.HazelEyeswinksat me, again, then glides thetipofhisreddishtongueoverhisbottomlip.Andforsomereason this whole encounterhas my insides shaking.“Nextinline,”Icallout.Andall I can keep thinking as Itake my next customer’s

order, trying to keep myattention on the task at handwhile slyly cutting my eyeoveratHazelEyesasheandhis two disrespectful friendsfinally walk out with theirfood is,Dang, I should havegivenhimmynumber.IfIseehimagain,Iwill.

SoIgotwhatIwanted.Ididsee him again. Hazel Eyes,that is. Twoweeks later, butit happened.And I gave himmyphonenumber.Rightaftermy shift, he caught mewalking through the food

court toward the escalatorsheading down to the secondlevel.“Yo, ma? Wait up,” he

called out, jogging overtoward me carrying threeMacy’s shopping bags. Helooked so good. I tried tokeep myself from smiling ashe approached me. “So,what’s good?Where you offto?”“Home,”Itoldhim.“Word? Home already?

Yo, it’s mad early, ma. Andyoutoofinetobegoin’homealone. You want somecompany?” He licked hissucculent lips. And Isuddenly felt my kneesgettingweak.My mother would have

fainted on the spot if I’dwalkedthroughthedoorwithhim in tow. “I can’t havecompanylikethat.”“Oh, a’ight. It’s all good.

Youfeellikechillin’,though?

Youcancomethrough’n’wecanchillatmyspot.”ItwasalmostnineP.M.And

as tempting as it sounded, Iwashotandtired.AndknewIwouldn’tbeable togooff tochill with him. Not unless Ilied to my parents aboutwhere Iwas going.And thatwasn’t something I’d everdone.Telling themone thingjust so I could go over tosome guy’s house,particularly one I’d onlymet

standing inmy line, orderinghisfood.Besides, I wasn’t allowed

over to any boy’s housewithout my parents havingalreadyspoken tohisparentsfirst.Anddefinitelywouldn’tbeatthistimeofnight.No.IfI were going to be allowedoverataboy’shouseithadtobe during the day, with aparent or another responsibleadult—one my parentsdeemed suitable—home to

supervise us.Andwe’d havetobesittinginanopenarea.“Ican’t.Ihavetogohome

andtakeashower.”He grinned. “Nah, you

good, babe. You can showerat my crib. I got my ownbathroominmyroom.”I blinked, shaking my

head.“Yo, come on, Blaze!”

Thick Neck yelled out,spreading his arms outholding up a bunch of

shoppingbags.“Leavedatli’lgirlalone.Wetrynarollout.”Hazel Eyes sucked his

teeth, waving him on. “Yo,relax, fam. I’ll be dere in aminute.”“Youbettergobeforethey

leaveyou,”Isaid,pullingoutmycellasitvibrated.Itwasatext from my mother tellingme she was outside waitingforme.“Nah, we good, yo. Them

ninjas ain’t goin’ nowhere.

I’mdaonewit’dakeys; feelme?Andit’smywhipsodeymove when I move. I’msayin’ though. I been sittin’out here waitin’ for you toclock out, ma. So what’sgood?You gonna letme getdemdigits?Orareyougonnakeep stylin’ like you don’twant me to have ’em whenwebothknowyoudo?”I felt myself heating from

theinsideoutjustlisteningtothe way he spoke while

watching him lick his lips inbetween each sentence. “Iwasn’t styling,” I saiddefensively. “I was at workandyouandyourgoonswerebeing loudandembarrassing.Besides,Iknowyouprobablyhave a bunch of girls’numbers in your phonealready so it’s not like nothaving mine is going to betheendoftheworldforyou.”“Nah, it’s sumthin’ light. I

ain’t even on it like dat, feel

me? I’m checkin’ for you;period,pointblank.Sowhat’sit gonna be?” He pulled outhis shinynew iPhone. “Blessa ninja wit’ dem numbers,yo.”My mother sent another

text.Withoutmuchthought,Isent her one back. Lied andtoldherIwasfinishingupmyshiftandwaspunchingoutinfivemoreminutes. I felt badforlying,butwhateverguiltyfeelings I might have had

were quickly dismissed as Iwatched Hazel Eyes type inmynumber,thencallme.“A’ght, bet. You can’t get

away now.Youmine now. Igot you on lock, Kennedy.”He smirked. “Yeah, youthought I forgot ya name,huh?AndIain’tevenhavetalookdownatyanametag.”Ilaughed.“Yeah,right.”“Yo, check it. Since you

ain’t trynachill tonight, I’maget ready to bounce. I’ll hit

youuplatertonight,a’ight?”I nodded. “Okay. If you

want.”“A’ight,bet.”Ieyedhimas

heturnedtowalkoff.“Wait. I don’t even know

yourname.”“It’sBlaze,babe.”I tilted my head. “Blaze?

Whytheycallyouthat?”He winked. “Why you

think? ’Cause I’m hot likefire’n’Igetsitinlikedat.”

“So you gonna let me getup in dat, right?” Blaze asksin between large bites of hisgrilled turkey sub fromCharley’s. We’re atBridgewaterCommonsuponthethirdlevelsittingatoneofthetableseating.We’vebeentalking on the phone for thelast three nights, and this islike...adate,Iguess.ButIhadtotellmymoma

small fib last night just so Icouldbewithhim.ItoldherI

was riding to Connecticutwith Jordanandher father topick up her sister, Amina,from Yale.Well, it wasn’t acomplete lie. Jordan and herfather are picking up hersisterfromcollegetoday.I’mjustnotridingwiththem.After three nights of

texting,Skype,andtalkingonthephone,Iwasreadytogetmysummer rolling.Sowhenhe texted me last night andsaidhewantedtospendsome

timewithme today, I had tosee him. The tricky partwastrying to figure out how Icouldgetoutofthehousefortheday.SoIlied.And now... here I sit on a

Saturday at two in theafternoon staring at this boywith greasy, oil-slicked lipsand a mouthful of food,chompingaway.I furrow my brows. Give

himaconfusedlook.“Huh?”He tilts his head. “Yo,

c’mon,ma.Don’t front.Youknow what it is, yo.” Hereaches for a napkin andwipeshismouth.“I’msayin’.We gonna hit up dis movierealquick,then.. .”Herubshis hands together. “Wegonnagobacktomyspot’n’makeitdowhatitdo.”Ittakesafewsecondsforit

to register. Get. Up. In that.Ohhhh. Get up in that. Hewants to crawl up on top ofmeandhavesex.

I roll my eyes. Disgusted.Now, wait. I’ll admit, I amboycrazy,likemostgirlsmyage. And, yes, you alreadyknow I am highly infatuatedwith guys from the hood.Okay, okay, thugs. But I’mnot fast like that. I’m still avirgin. The most I’ve everdone is kiss a boy. Okay,okay, and let him feel up onmy booty and play with myboobs a little. But that’s it.And that was with only one

guy. My ex-boyfriend JakeLester who cheated on me,like five months ago, withthis blonde-haired, blue-eyedBeckywhodidn’tmindgoingall the way with him.Anyway,who cares?Hewascornyanyway.Okay, wait. That’s not

completely true. Jake wasn’treally corny.Hewas really anice guy. And smart. Andathletic. And he was reallyhorny, like most boys. Still,

hewasn’tforme.Butwhathewas is corny for cheating onmeinsteadofjustbreakingupwithme first.Hedidn’thavetocheat.Ihatecheaters!But, whatever. He’s going

off to Morehouse in a fewweeks on a full academicscholarship to play tennis,major in journalism, andpledge Kappa like hisgrandfather, father, and histhreeolderbrothers.Goodfor

him.I’moverhim.But this boy right here.

Mmmph. I don’t know whatkind of girl he thinks I am.Buthehasmeconfused.Iamnoteasy.Therefore,Ihavenointerest in letting him oranyone else getting up inanythingoverhere.I knew this was a terrible

mistake! I should have nevercome out to meet this nastydog!

“Apologies. But I’m notthat kind of girl,” I tell him,shiftinginmyseat.“Ifsexiswhat you want, you’ve gotthewrongone.”He raises his brow. “Nah,

it’s not all about da sex.ButI’msayin’ . . .youlickin’dadome,though,right?’CauseIain’twit’wastin’mytimeonnobroadwhoain’ttrynatreata muhfuckka right. I gotneeds, yo. And I need dissnakedrained,nahmean?”

Iblink.Ihearthequestion,but I don’t answer.Not rightaway, anyway. I am toostunned, like he’d just slungsnot on me. I know lots ofgirls at my private schoolwho sleep around withdifferent boys, or who willsleep with a boy just so hecan spend time with her,thinking that’s going to gethim to like her more. That’snotme.I know I’m from the

suburbs and all, but thatdoesn’tmakemesomedizzy,dumb girl either.My parentsmay have some silly rulesthat half the timemake verylittlesensetome.ButtheonerulethatIwon’teverquestionis saving myself for thatspecial someone. Althoughthe waiting until I’m overtwenty-one and finishedwithcollegepart is debatable.Butthat’s neither here nor there,because this boy is real

specialifhethinksI’mgivingitup.“No, I don’t know what

you mean.” I set my forkdown on my tray. And waitfor his explanation. I glanceat the big-faced designerwatchonhiswrist,thenbackup at him as he chews hisfood,swallowing.“I’m sayin’ . . . I’m tryna

see what’s really good wit’you.”I’ve suddenly lost my

appetite.“Youalreadyknowwhatit

is, sodon’t front.Youstrokemine,I’mastrokeyours.”Ileanin,mindfulsothatno

one else around us can hearme. “So, let me understandthis. Are you saying that theonlyreasonwe’reouttodayisbecause you’re looking forsex?”“Nah, ma, dat’s not what

I’m sayin’.” I eye him as helifts his drink, places the

straw between his lips, thentakesthreelongsips.I tiltmy head, tuckingmy

hair behind my ears. “Thenwhatareyousaying?Becausethat’swhat it sounded like tome.”He belches. Doesn’t even

excusehimself.Ifrown.“Oh,my bad. But, I’m sayin’. Iain’t gonna front on dapanties,ma.Iwannagetupin’em’cause,yeah,youlookin’right.Soyeah,Iwannastroke

youup.But I ain’t on it likedat. Its whateva, whateva.But, I’m sayin’, youcan stillletme seewhat dem lips ’n’dat mouth is all about, nahmean.”NowI’mreadytogo.I push my chair back,

pulling out my phone. Butthen I remember I can’t callanyone. I’m supposed to bewith Jordan and her dad andquickly toss it back into mybag.Now,I’mstuckwiththis

boy. And I’m annoyed atmyselfforlyingtomymotherjust so I could spend timewithhim.Inarrowmyeyes.“Listen,

Blaze. I don’t know whatimpression I gave you, orwhat you think you knowabout me. And I definitelydon’t know how other girlsare when they’re with you.ButI’mnotawhore.AndI’mdefinitely not playing headnurse to you or anyone else.

So if that’s what you’rehoping for, thenyou’re sadlymistaken and you havedefinitely wasted your time,andyourmoney.”I dig down inmy bag and

pull out my wallet. I snatchout a twenty, tossing it athim,thenstandup.He starts grinning. “Yo,

whyyoutrippin’?What’sdisfor?”“I’m not tripping. It’s for

your timeand formyhalfof

lunch, plus the tip.” I slingmybagupovermy shoulderpreparedtowalkoff.“Yo, hol’ up. Where you

goin’?”“Tofindmeawayhome.”He quickly stands and

reaches for me. “Nah, nah.Chill,ma.Youain’tgottarollout likedat. Iwasonlyeffenwit’you.”Ifoldmyarms,givinghim

a“yeahright”look.He puts his hands up in

mock surrender. “You gon’break my heart, yo, if youbounce.” He picks up themoney, handing it to me.“Yo, take dis back. I don’tneedyapaper,yo.”Istareathishand.“C’mon, relax. Real spit,

I’m not on it like dat. I wasonlytestin’you.Here,takeyamoney, ma. I don’t need yapaper.Igotdis.”Iraisemybrow.“I’msayin’.Idigyou.”

I tsk him. “Boy, please. Itseems like you’re morefocused on trying to digsomething else instead. So ifyou are, then we need toleavenow.”“Nah, we good, babe. I

mean. Yeah, I wanna get upindat.Iain’tgonnafront.I’mtryna cuddle up ’n’ boo youup. But I’m not gonna pressyou for da panties. I respecthowyougetdown.”I know just seconds ago I

wasreadytoboltforthedoor,but now I suddenly have achange of heart. I keep fromsmiling at the thought ofcuddling up with him. Eventhough I know he’s ahorndog, there’s stillsomething about him I like.Still, I let him know, again,that I am not easy. And thatI’mnotgoingtoallowhimtotreatmelikeIam.Heapologizes.Givesmea

sad puppy-dog face. “I got

you.My bad, a’ight. Let memakeituptoyou.”“How?”He grins. “I’ll figure

sumthin’out,a’ight?”I shrug, reluctantly pulling

out my chair and taking aseat.“Well,let’sseeifwecangetthroughthemoviefirst.He grins. “Oh, we will.

Believe dat.” He lifts hisdrink, taking long deep pullsas he glances at his watch.“C’mon,let’sroll.”

Themoviewasgood.HazelEyes was a gentlemanthroughmost of themovie. Imean,yes.Hedidputhisarmaroundme.And a few timeshis hand did accidentallywanderalittletoohighupon

mythigh.Butotherthanthat,Ireallyenjoyedmyself.It’salittleaftersixo’clock

in the evening and now weareheadingbacktohisplace.I’m nervous. And, okay, Iknow I shouldn’t be goingover tohishouse.ButIwantto.Truth is, I’mnot ready togo home. Well, I can’t gohome...notyet.IsentJordanatexttoseeif

she and her dad were backfrom Connecticut. They’re

not.Sothat’sthat.During therideover tohis

place,AugustAlsina’sCD isplaying.August issosexy tome. And I love his voice. Iclose my eyes, bobbing myhead as “I Luv This Shit”starts playing. In my head,August is singing to me. Isnapmyfingerstothebeat.Blaze laughs. “Yo, what

youknowaboutdis?”I open my eyes and look

overathim.“What,youthink

I don’t listen to this kind ofmusic? I love August. Andhis music is dope. I’m notgonna lie. At first, when Ifirst heard this song on theradio,I thoughthewasChrisBrownsinging.”“Yeah, he do sound kinda

like Chris Breezy. Dude isdefdoin’histhing.ButIain’ttryna talk about him.” Heturns the volume down.“What’sgoodwit’you?Yousureyouwannachill?”

Inod.“Yeah.I’msure.”“Soyougonnaletmepush

dem panties to da side?” Hegrins, moving his eyebrowsup and down. I give him theevileyeandhelaughs.“Chill,chill. I’m only effen wit’you.”Irollmyeyes,suckingmy

teeth. “Yeah, right. Pleasedon’t have meMace you.” Ishift my body in my seat,folding my arms across mychest.

“Yo, real spit, ma. I gotyou. Trust. You in goodhands.”I give him a “yeah right”

look.“Wordisbond.Igotyou.”“Yeah, we’ll see,” I

mumble, reaching over andturning up the volume to theradio.Future’ssong“Honest”isplaying. I leanback inmyseat,bouncingmyheadtothebeat, pretending like I knowwhat the heck he’s sing-

rapping. Truth is, I don’tunderstand his countrygrammar, but I like the beat.I’mjustbeinghonest.Whenwefinallypullupin

front of a yellow house withgreen shutters and a big baywindow on a quiet street, Ilook over at Hazel Eyes,confused.“Ithoughtweweregoingtoyourplace.”He looks over at me,

shuttingoff theengine.“Thisis my spot.” He frowns.

“What, you think e’eryonewholivesindahoodislivin’indaprojectsorsumthin’?”Busted.Iwon’tlie.Ididkindof think,expect,

thatmaybehedid.SuddenlyIfeel guilty for thinking likethat.ButthenIknowit’spartoutof ignoranceandpartoutoffascinationthatIhopedhedidliveintheprojects.I look over at him

sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure;

that’sall.”“Yeah, a’ight. And just so

youknow.Mymomsisn’tondrugs. My crib isn’t dirty.And I don’t have roaches.And we ain’t on sectioneight.” He opens his door.“C’mon.Let’sgoin.”I immediately feel asinine

forthinking—okay,hoping—he did. I unfasten my seatbelt, then open the door andslowly ease myself out,shuttingitbehindme.

He walks over and takesmy hand. Surprisingly, Idon’tpullaway.Itfeelsgood,myhandinhis.“You smoke?” he asks,

grabbing a shoebox fromoutofhiscloset,thenpullingouta plastic baggie stuffed withwhat looks like oregano.ButIknowbetter. It’smarijuana.We’re up in his room. Hisroom is small but nice. Hehas a full-size bed that’s

actually made up. The wallsarepaintedlightblue.Andhehas large framed posters ofbasketballplayersonthem.Agigantic picture of a half-naked girl with an enormousbutt is hanging over his bed.She looksSpanish.There’s astereosystemuponadresserandahugeflat-screenTVupon his wall. His closet ispacked with clothes. Andalong the rightwall thereareboxes of sneakers neatly

stackedup.He shuts his closet door,

then comes and sits on theside of the bed, next to hisnightstand. I stare at hisprofile and it’s reallyhard tothink straight, let alone talk.His skin is smoothandclear,the kind of skin girls at myschool pay hundreds, maybeeven thousands, of dollars inskincare products and spasfor.I shake my head. I’ve

neversmokedanythinginmylife. And, although I’ve hadfleeting thoughts of curiosityas to what it’d be like, I’mnot sure if I’m ready to findout. I tell himno as he pullsout a cigar. He glances overat me, his lips curl into acrookedgrin.“Yeah,youoneofdemgoodgirls.Ilikedat.”Fascination dances in my

eyes as I watch him sliceopen a cigar, remove thetobacco, then pack it with

marijuana. I eye him withexcitement as he places itbetweenhislipsandslideshistongue over it, just so. Thenhe takes it between histhumbs, index fingers andmiddle fingers and slowlyrollsittoperfection.“So why do you like the

fact that I’m a good girl?” Ifinally ask, pulling my gazeaway from the thick bluntBlaze places on thenightstand before he starts

slicing open another cigar,then packing it withmarijuana.“Becauseyouain’tallhard

’n’ gutter like a lotta thesebirds cluckin’ ’round here.You got ya head on straight.Andyouain’tgotnorepindastreets. You def wifeymaterial.”“Iam?Whyyousaythat?”“WhyIsaywhat?”“That I’m wifey material.

Whatdoesthatmean?”

His lighter flicks, and theair around me immediatelyfills with the strong scent ofweed.Iblinkandswallowashe takes deep, long pulls.Aside from seeing it inmoviesandvideos,thisisthefirst time I’ve actually seenanyone actually roll a blunt,let alone smoke it, live anddirect. I can’t lie. I findmyself becoming enchantedwith how the thick smokerolls around his tongue then

floatsoutofhismouthandupthroughhisnose.The more he smokes, the

more odorous his roombecomes. Scary thing is, I’mnot even bothered by thepungentsmell.“It means what it means.”

He exhales a mouthful ofsmoke, getting up, holdinghissaggingpantsupwithonehand as hewalks over to thewindow and opens it. Hisblunt dangles from his lips.

“Youagoodgirl.”“But what if I don’t want

tobethat,agoodgirl?”He comes back over and

sits beside me, then leansbackonhisforearm.Hetakesanother pull from the blunt.“You ain’t ready for dat life,ma.”He blows smoke inmyface. I cougha little.Andhelaughs.“Youdrink?”Ishakemyhead.“You puttin’ in dat neck

work?” I blink. He looks

down at his lap. “Don’t actlikeyoudon’tknowwhatI’mtalkin’ ’bout. Givin’ up datdome.Head.”I frown. I thought we

already went through this.Thought I alreadyputhim inhis place. Boys. They onlyhearwhattheywanttohear.Ishakemyhead.“I know what you meant.

No,I’mnotdoingthat.”I refrain from telling him

howgrossI thinkoralsexis.

Still,Isometimesfindmyselfwondering why girls enjoydoingitandwhyeveryboyIknowgoescrazyoverit.ThefirsttimeIheardthetermoralsex used Iwas like eleven. Iwas on the school bus enroute home when this whitegirl in back of me, KatieLivingston, started talkingabout how she performed iton her brother’s friend intheir garage. Hewas in highschool.Ninthgrade.Wewere

in sixth grade. I rememberhow Katie described thewhite stuff that filled hermouth and how he hadwantedhertoswallowit.Icouldn’twaittogethome

to ask my mother all aboutwhatI’dheard.WhenIaskedher what oral sex was, sheexplained what it was, thenadded,“Itisn’tladylike.Fast,nasty girls are the only onesoutthereputtingtheirmouthsonaboy’spenis.”

WhenIaskedherwhatthewhite stuff was Katie wastalking about, she said,“Make sure you don’t everdrink or eat anything fromthat little nasty girl. It’ssemen. And swallowing itwill give you throat cancerand make your tonsils fallout.”Ibelievedher.The ideaof

getting cancer or having mytonsils fall out scared me todeath. And even though I

knowbetternow,Istill thinkputtingmymouthonaboy’sthing is gross. And it’sdefinitely something I’m notinterestedineverdoing.“And you ain’t lettin’

anyone smash so dat makesyounun-like.Youpure.”“Ohmygod! Is that your

nice way of calling mecorny?”He laughs again. “Nah,

nah. You a good girl, that’sall. Don’t let anyone change

dat. On some real ish, yainnocenceismadsexy,yo.”I smile. He reaches down

into his nightstand drawerand pulls out a bottle ofHennessey and two plasticcups.“Youwantsome?”Ishakemyhead.Helaughs

again, opening the bottle,thenfillinghiscuphalfway.“What’s so funny?” I ask,

feeling myself becomingslightlyannoyed.I’mnotsureifhe’slaughingatmeornot.

AllIknowisIdon’tlikeit.He smirks. “Like I said,

youagoodgirl.”Feeling curious about the

drink, almost dared if youwill—even if it’s only myimagination—I reach forBlaze’s cup and take onesmall sip. As soon as it hitsmy tongue, my face twistsinto a grimace and my eyeswater. Just the small drop ofbrown liquid sends a trail offiredownmy throat and into

my belly. For a moment, IthinkI’mgoingtodie.Blaze laughs. “See. You

ain’tready.”I roll my watering eyes,

determinednottobedeterredfrom taking another sip. Iplace the cup up to my lipsagain, and this time I take abiggersip.Iswallow.Andthewet heat instantly sweepsthroughmybody,causingmeto feel an unexpected tingleall over that rushes to my

head.IhandBlazebackhiscup.

He grins, then takes a largegulpofhisdrink.Hetakesthebottleandpourshimselfsomemore.“Are you sure you should

be drinking?” I ask him,trying to maintain mycomposure. Trying not to letthe simmering heat andpleasurecoursingthroughmyveinsovercomeme.“Imean,you still need to take me

home.”“Oh, I’m good. I got you.

I’m not tryna get twisted,babe. I drink and driveresponsibly.”He drinks and drives

responsibly?Ifrown.Howinthe heck is that beingresponsible?He isn’t twenty-one, so I guess he failed toget the memo on underagedrinking. I decide againstreminding him of thatimportantdetail.

“I’m sure you do. I justwould like you to be evenmore responsible before youget behind thewheel. Iwantto get home in one piece.” Iglance at my watch. It’sseven fifteen. I reach formybuzzing phone. It’s a textfrom my mother wanting toknow how things are goingandaroundwhat timeI thinkwe’llbehome.I text her back. Tell her

what Jordan told me. WE

SHLDBHOMEBY 10.WE’RESTOPPING TO GETSOMETHINGTOEATOk, sweetheart. See you

then.Besafe&enjoyI swallow, slipping my

phone down into my frontpocket.“Yo, you pretty,” Blaze

says, reaching over andstrokingmycheek.“Youmadsexy,youknowthat?”I blush, shrugging. “Not

really.Imean.IknowI’mnot

butt-ugly.”Hechuckles.“Nah,youdef

notdat.Youprettyindaface,smallindawaist’n’demhipsmad thick, yo. I’m feelin’you,realspit,ma.”My nerves start to get the

bestofme. I start to second-guessmyselfforcomingoverhere, thinking maybe I’vemade a mistake. But then alittle voice in my head tellsmetorelax.Remindsmethatit’s the summer. School is

out.Tohavealittlefun.Andthat’swhatIwanttodo.I take a deep breath.

“Umm, I like you, too.” Ithink.“That’swassup.”Hestands

up and removes his shirt.Then his wife-beater comesoff. I look away. “Yougood?” he wants to know,trying to hold his saggingpantsupwithonehandwhileholding his blunt up to hislipswiththeother.

Inodmyhead.“Yeah,I’mgood.” The words come outsoundingmeek.Unbelieving.But I am. Strangely, I amenjoying myself. There’ssomething about him l reallylike. And I want to knowmoreabouthim.ButIamscared.He pulls the blinds down,

dimming the light in theroom. Then turns on hisstereo. Trey Songz startspouring out of his speakers

reallowandsexy.NextthingIknowwearekissing.HazelEyeshasalongtongue.Icansmell and taste the mix ofalcohol and weed on hisbreath and tongue. My headstarts to spin. And I don’tknow if it’s fromhiskiss,orfrom the sip of his drink.Orif it’s from the faint scent ofhis cologne tickling mysenses,orfromhiswanderinghands that seem tobeslowlymelting everything inside of

me.He’sagood—no,great—kisser.His body is hot against

mine,causingadeepburningwave of heat to coursethroughme.AllIknowis,allof this deep kissing is goingto lead somewhere waybeyond our parted lips anddancingtonguesifIdon’tgetaholdofmysensesandmovehis hands from up under myshirt,fromoffmybreasts.Thisisn’tthefirsttimeI’m

kissingaguy.Anditisn’tthefirst time anyone’s touchedmy breasts, but it is the firsttime I feel like I’m riding awaterslide.I’mwet,likeawaterfall.

“Ohmygod, Kennedy!”Hope exclaims, covering hermouth in shock. Hereyebrows shoot up. “Youlittle tramp! I can’t believeyouliedtoyourmother,thenwent to thatboy’shouse and

madeoutwithhim.”“Iwenttothemoviesfirst,

beforemakingoutwithhim,”Isayjokingly.“Well,howwasit?”“What,themovie?”“No, silly.” She playfully

swatsahandatme.“Makingoutwithhim?”“See, if I tell you, Imight

have to kill you,” I say,laughing.She rolls her eyes. “Okay,

then.Belikethat.Selfish.”

Ilaugh.I close my eyes, reliving

the whole night. How hekissed me on my neck.Dipped his tongue into mymouth.AndhowIhad to tryto keep up with him, losingmybreathinhiswarmkisses.“Dag,itwaslikethat?”she

asks,laughing.Inod.“Itwasheaven.”She shakes her head. “I

can’tbelieveyou.”I feign ignorance. “What?

Whatcan’tyoubelieve?”“This new you; sneaking

overtosomeboy’shouseandlying toyourmother. Ineverknewyouhaditinyou.”“It’s not that serious. It’s

not like I went out andcommitted a crime orsomething.All I did ismakeoutwithaboy.”“Yeah. A boy who you

know your parents woulddisapprove of if they everfoundout.”

I grin. “And that’s whatmakes it so much moreexciting. Knowing myparentswouldhaveafit.”She shakes her head. “I

don’tknow,Kennedy.Seemsso not worth all the troubleyou could get in if you evergot caught. I mean, lying toyourmom.That’ssonotcool.What if she found out youwerelyingtoher?”I shrug. “She won’t.” She

wants to know if I’ve lied

beforetomymominordertosneakoffwithaboy.Itellherno. Tell her that I’ve neverhadanyreasontobecauseI’dalways done what is expetedofmebymyparents.“Sowhythechangenow?”“Idon’tknow.It’snotlike

Iintentionallysetouttolietoher. I was on the phonetalking to him and he wastalking all low and sexy,telling me how much hewantedtohangoutwithme.I

gotcaughtupinthemoment.Anyway,Iwantedtoseehim,too.”“You know, Kennedy.

Nothing good is going tocome out of you beingdeceitful. One day it’s allgoing to come out, thenwhat?”I look at her, confused.

“Whatdoyoumean?”Shegivesmeafunnylook.

“Why do you like boys likethat?”

“Likewhat?”She huffs. “You know,

ruffians.Thugs.”“I don’t know. They’re

interestingandexciting.”“They’re nothing but

trouble.”Ifurrowmybrows.“That’s

sonot true,Hope.All that isis a negative stereotype. Allguyswhowearsaggingpantsand from urban areas aren’tbad news. A lot of them aresimplymisunderstood.”

She rolls her eyes,wavingmeon.“Oh,please,Kennedy.All they do is run arounddrinking and smoking andhaving wild, nasty sex andgetting a bunch of girlspregnant and spreadingarounddiseases.”I blink. “Ohmygod, Hope!

You have got to be kiddingme.Ican’tbelievewhat’sjustcomeoutofyourmouth.Youcannotpossiblybelievewhatyou’vesaid.”

She makes a face. “Well,it’strue.Sobeforeyougetonyour soapbox, spare me thesong and dance about theplight andmisfortunes of theboys in the hood. Theirapathy and disregard for theworldaroundthemisnothingbut anexcuse for them togoout and sell drugs and teardown their communities,killing and robbing eachother, instead of staying inschool, getting an education,

anddoingsomethingpositiveand constructive with theirlives.”“It’s not always that cut

and dried,” I say, feeling aheadache pushing its way tothecenterofmyforehead.She snorts. “I don’t see

whyit’snot.Youeitherwantto do right, or youdon’t.Noone forces them to do whatthey do. It’s a choice. Sowhatever negative light isbeing shone on them is by

theirowndoing.”“That’s so not fair. How

can you say that? You don’tknowwhatit’sliketowalkintheirshoes.Manywholiveinthehoodwantout.Theywantto dowhat’s right, but whentheyaren’tgiven the toolsorallowed access to resourcesthatcanhelp them, then theystart to feel hopeless andhelpless.”She sucks her teeth. “So

thatmakesitright?”

Ishakemyhead.“No.Thatmakes it real.Youknow likeI do that the system isdesigned to see people fail,especially young black men.Soyoushouldn’tbesoquicktojudge.”“Okay, so maybe I

shouldn’t judge. And maybeyou’reright.ButI’llsaythis,then I’m going to let it go.They’re all damaged if youask me. And before long, ifyou choose to keep chasing

behind boys like that, you’llendupdamaged,too.”Iamstunned,speechless.

“So why do they call youBlaze?”IaskHazelEyestwodays later. We’ve been onSkype for the last twentyminutes. There’s somethingabout him I like. I know, Iknow. At first I thought it

wasn’tgoingtoworkout.Butafter our movie date andspendingtimewithhimaloneat his house, he’s really notall that bad. And, besides,he’sreally,reallynicetolookat.Eye candy. Yeah, that’s

whattheycallguyswholooklikehim.He lightshis secondblunt,

taking two deep pulls thenholdingitinhislungs.“Don’t you think that

maybe you smoke toomuch?”Hecoughs.“Nah,notlikeI

usedto.Icutback.”“You cut back?” I ask,

surprised.“Really?”“Yeah. I used to burn like

nine,tenbluntsaday.”I stare at him through the

screen incredulously. “Areyouforreal?Evenduringtheschoolyear?”“No doubt. Weed helped

me concentrate better. I got

most of my A’s when I washigh, yo. Word is bond. I’dsmoke a blunt before school,then another one for lunch.Then soon as two forty-fivehit and dat bell rang, I’d beout da door sparking upwit’my boyz until itwas time totakeitdown.”“So, is that why they call

youBlaze?Becauseofallthemarijuanayousmoke?”Heshiftshiseyesfrommy

inquiring gaze. “Yeah,

sumthin’ like dat. So youwanna catch another movietomorrownight?”Ichuckle.“Hey-hey,notso

fast.Don’teventrytochangethesubject.Notuntilyoutellmewhat‘somethinglikethat’means.”Hebringshis faceclose to

his computer screen, andblowssmokeatme.“See.IfItell you, I’mahave takidnapyou.” He laughs and coughsatthesametime.

I tsk him. “Just tell me,please.”He sighs. “Yo, you really

wannaknow?”I nod. “I wouldn’t have

askedifIdidn’t.”He sighs again. “When I

was like eight I found myolderbrother’sstash...”“Oh, you have an older

brother?Howoldishe?Whatkindofstash?”Heshakeshishead.“Chill,

chill.Youwantmetotellyou

dastoryornot?”Inod.“A’ight then. My brother,

Brent, is twenty-three.Anyway, I foundhisstashofweed in a Timberland boxunder his bed. I rememberwatching him roll up andseein’ him smoke and Ithought it was cool. So disone night when he was outdoin’ him, I snuck in hisroomwit’ twoofmy friendzat da time. He had like six

blunts already rolled ’n’ready to burn so I took one’n’ lit it. Me ’n’ my boyzstarted smokin’ it like weknewwhatwewasdoin’butweain’tknowjack;feelme?”I nod. “So what

happened?”Blaze looks off for a split

second, then lands his gazeback on me. “We heardsomeone comin’ ’n’ gotspooked.Itossedalldablunts’n’ da lighter back into the

box ’n’pushed it backunderhis bed, then me ’n’ myfriendzdippedouttahisroombefore we got caught. Mymomswouldabeatme if shecaught me smokin’.” Heshakes his head. “Later datnight, Iwent tobed, then thenext thing I knowmymomsisbargin’inmyroomshakin’me ’n’ screamin’ for me togetup’causethere’safire.”I gasp. “Ohmygod! Did

yourhouseburndown?”

He shakes his head. “Nah.It was just a lotta smoke. Imean,itdidburnthroughthebox’n’mybrother’smattressgot scorched, but we ain’tlose e’erything. My momswas just happy no one gothurt ’n’ dat our crib didn’tburndowntodaground.”“Y’all were real lucky,” I

saysincerely.“True.”“Sodidtheyknowhowhis

bedcaughtfire?”

“Notatfirst.Butthendemfire marshall cats came ’n’tol’mymomswhatcausedit.She blacked on my brotherfor havin’ dat stuff in herhouse.”“Didsheputhimout?”“Nah. She just made him

give her money for dadamages. And startedchargin’himrent to livewit’us. Soon as she spun off, hestarted spazzin’ on me ’n’yoked me up for goin’ into

hisish.Heknewdaonlywayda fire coulda popped off daway itdid is if someonewasin his roommessin’ wit’ hisstash.Man,dudetriedtobeatdacrapouttame.Afterdathegot a lock on his door, thenstartedcallin’meBlaze.”“Wow.”He licks his lips. “Now,

whataboutdatmovie?”I grin. “Tell me your real

name,andit’sayes.”He shakes his head. “See,

why you gotta know all dat?It’sBlaze.”“Yeah, okay. And my

name’sTinkerbellfromOnceUponaTime.”“Hahahaha. Well, once

upon a time, there was disdude named Blaze who hadanother name. Nice to meetyou, Tinker. Now come ringmybell.”I join in his laughter.

“You’resosilly.”Although he doesn’t tell

me his real name, he doesshare with me that hismother’s a singlemom.Thathisdadwaskilledincarcrashwhen he was six. And hisbrother’s in prison for threeyearsforsellingdrugs.Ialsolearnthathe’sgoing

intohissenioryear.Andthathe plays basketball for hishigh school. That he’s theirstarpointguard.Andheplanstogoawaytocollege.I’mimpressed.

“Where do plan onattending?” I ask, genuinelyinterested.“I don’t know. NYU,

Georgetown, and Dukeuniversities want me realbad.”Oh,wow,”Isay,excitedly.

“That’sgreat!Whichonewillyouchoose?”He shrugs. “I don’t know.

Mymomwantsme togogetout of Jersey. But I ain’treally tryna leave her, feel

me?”“Yeah. But where would

you like to go if you had achoice?”He thinks for a moment

thensays,“Onsomereal,I’dlike to go to either Howard,Hampton, Fisk, or NorthCarolinaA&TUniversity.”Igivehimaquizzicallook.

“Really? Wow. Why thoseschools? I mean, I knowthey’re historically blackuniversities and all, but why

them when Georgetown,NYU,andDukealreadyhavetheir eyes on you—whywouldn’t you go to one ofthem? They’re really goodschools.”Hegivesmea funny look.

“Why not those schools?They’re just as good asGeorgetown, Duke, NYU,Princeton, Harvard, Yale, orany other prestigious IvyLeague school, feel me?Besides,they’relistedamong

Forbes’s top colleges anduniversitiestoattend.”“Forbes?”Isay.“Whatyou

knowaboutForbes?”“See,”hesays,smirking.“I

know more than you think,yo. Don’t sleep on ya futureman,yo.”I laugh. “Oh, is that what

you’regoingtobe,myman?”“Yeah.Oneday.”I raise a brow. “Oh,

really?”“Yeah.Whenyoureadyfor

me.”“Ohmygod!Youaresofull

of yourself.WhatmakesyouthinkI’mnotreadyforyou?”“Don’tworryaboutalldat.

Icantell.”Itsk.“Annnnyway,moving

on. Sounds like you have apromising future ahead ofyou.”“True indeed. Every black

boy from da hood ain’t adropout,oroutslingin’packs,yo. Yeah, I dress hood ’n’ I

talk dat talk, but I ain’t aderelict or destined for aprisoncell.”Ismileathim.“Iknownot

tojudgeabookbyitscover.”“Exactly. Most of us got

dreams,feelme?”Inod.“I bet you thought I was

just some hood nucca wit’nothin’ goin’ for himself,didn’tyou?”“No.Ididn’tthinkthat.”He laughs. “C’mon. Don’t

front.Yes,youdid.”“Honestly.Ididn’t.”Hegivesmea“yeahright”

look.“Ohmygod! I’m serious. I

really didn’t know what tothinkwhenIfirstsawyou.”“Yeah, right. You know

you thought I looked good,yo. I saw you eyein’ myswag.”I feign insult. “O-M-G! I

wasnoteyeingyourswag.”Ibust out laughing. “Okay,

okay. Maybe I was; just alittle.”“Hahaha.Yeah,that’swhat

I thought.” He pauses,moving his face up into hiscomputerscreen.“I’msayin’,though.Iwannaseeyou,yo.”Ismile.“Iwanttoseeyou,

too.”Hepulls in his bottom lip.

“A’ight then. So what’sgood?”I glance at the time in the

upper right corner of my

MacBook. It’s almost one inthemorning.Alreadywaaaaypast my curfew. “I can’t,” Isay.“Mymomwillkillme.”“Oh, a’ight, it’s cool,” he

says without even trying toconvincemetocomeout.I won’t pretend that I’m

not a little taken aback forsome reason that he isn’tpressing me to sneak out tosee him. I guess I kind ofwanted him to. So, okay,okay,I’mdisappointed.

“Well,alrightthen.IguessI’llgotosleep.”He laughs. “What, you

wantme to tell you to sneakoutta ya crib to come chillwit’me?”“No,”Ilie.Hekeeps laughing. “Yeah,

a’ight.Whateveryousay,ma.Butdon’tget it twisted,yo.Iwanna def chill wit’ youagain. But I ain’t tryna haveyou do nothin’ you don’talready do. Good girls don’t

sneakouttadeyparents’crib.Badgirlsdo.”

“Hey, y’all want to gocheck out that new moviewith Jennifer Hudson?”Jordanasks, tossingherTeenPeoplemagazineoveronherbed.No, I’d rather go riding

around, I think. My minddrifts back to the other nightwithHazelEyes. I snuckoutofmyhousetohangoutwithhim.Andguesswhat?Idon’teven feel bad about doing it.Apartofmeknows I shouldfeelhorriblefordoingwhatIdid, climbing out of mybedroom window like that.But I don’t. In fact, it wasdaringandexciting.Yes, I was really nervous

about getting caught, but the

risk was worth it. Not thatBlaze asked me to do it. Orexpectedmeto.Buthisgoodgirl commentmademewanttonotonlyprovetohimthatIcouldbeabadgirl,too,buttoseewhatitwasliketobreakarule.Tosneakout.AndIgotcaughtup in the

thrillofitall.It was fun. It was out of

character.Itwasspontaneous.Itwassooonotme.Iclimbedout ofmy bedroomwindow,

grabbed onto the ledge, thenshimmied my way down.ThenIwalked-ranoutsidethegatesofmydevelopmentandmet Blaze at the WaWa’sthree blocks down from mystreet. We didn’t really domuch except ride around,then park in some secludedareaandkissandmakeout.Ialmost smoked somemarijuana with him, too.Well, I wanted to. But hewouldn’tletme.

Helaughedandcoughedashe smoked. “Yo, why youcallitmarijuana?Thatsoundsmadwhite,yo.”“Well, that’s what it is,” I

said, playfully swatting hisarm. “Well, actually it’scalled cannabis because itcomes from the cannabisplant.”He smirked, blowing

smoke out of the side of hismouth. “Yeah, a’ight. Call itwhat you want, good girl.

And I’ma call it what it is:Weed.Bud.Chronic.Loud. Idon’t know nuthin’ ’bout nocannabis. All I know is, dissomegoodish,yo.”“CanI trysome?”Iasked,

surprisingmyself.He looked atme, gaveme

afunnystare.“Nah.Youain’treadyfordis,yo.Iain’ttrynacorruptyou.”Ismirk.“Whatever.”He took a few more deep

pulls, then put it out. But he

didn’t dare indulge mycuriosity. And I’m kind ofglad he didn’t. Still, I don’tlikewhenhesaysI’magoodgirl. For some reason, itsounds like being good isreallyabadthing.Anyway, next thing I

knew,Blaze’shandswereallover me. And mine were alloverhim.AndbeforeIknewit,wewereinthebackseatofhis car getting all hot andbothered. But when he went

for my panties, surprisingly,hedidn’tmakeabigdealoutofitwhenIstoppedhimfrompulling them down, orstickinghishandinthem.Wejust grinded and kissed, thenhe finally said, “I better getyou home, good girl. Beforeya parents find out youmissing.”“I’m not missing. I’m out

withyou.”“Yeah, true-true. You

knowwhatImean.”Weboth

fixedourselves,thengotbackin the front seats. He startedhis engine then drove meright back where he droppedmeoffat.“You think I’m corny,

don’tyou?”He turned to look at me,

then knitted his browstogether.“Nah,notatall.”I shifted my body toward

him. “Yeah, right,” I saidsarcastically, sucking myteeth. “Then why you keep

callingmeagoodgirl?”“Because that’s what you

are. It’s acompliment.Don’teverchange.”I frowned. “Then why

doesn’t it feel like onewhenyousayit?”Heshrugged.“Youtellme,

ma. I mean it no other way;realspit.”I eyed him unconvinced.

“So you really don’t thinkI’macornball?”He grinned. “Nah.” He

leanedoverandkissedmeonthe lips then. “I think you’remadsexy.Realsweet.”I’m not going to lie. He

made me blush. And therewassomethingaboutthewayhe stared into my eyes thatmade me excited. I mean,really, really excited. Like Iwantedtomakeoutwithhimright there in the parking lotofWaWa’s.“I really like you, yo,” he

said,kissingmeonelasttime

before I climbed out of hiscar and made my way backhome—atalmosttwothirtyinthemorning.Even thoughhewanted to drive me all theway tomyhouse, Iwouldn’tlethim.Ididn’t—anddon’t—want him or anyone else toknowwhereIlive.Evenifhedoes know that the area isreally nice. He still doesn’tknow exactly how nice. It’snot something he needs toknow.

Iclimbedbackup the sideofthehouseandslippedbackintomybedroom,breaking anailintheprocess.Butitwaswellworthit.WillIdoitagain?Ummm.Maybe not.We’ll

see. Okay, okay... probably.Butonlyif there’ssomethinggoingonthatIreallywanttobeapartof.Then,yes.IthinkIwill.Okay,okay...IknowIwill.Fingers crossed, I don’t

evergetcaught.“Ummm,nothanks,”Hope

says, pulling me from mythoughts.Ilookoveratherasshe’s shaking her head. “Shewon’tbegettingmymoney.”“Who won’t be getting

yourmoney?”Iask.Hope sighs. “Jennifer

Hudson. Weren’t youlistening?IwastellingJordanthat I’ll sit this one out. I’mnotinterestedinseeingherC-listactinginanymovie.”

“Ohmygod,Hope,that’ssonotnice,”Isay,grabbingoneofthepillowsoffthebedandplayfullyhittingherwithit.She shrugs. “Don’t getme

wrong.IlikeJenniferandall,but she really needs to stickto singing. I’d ratherput thatthirteen dollars, plus anotherfifteendollars for snacksanddrinks, toward a cute pair ofsandals.”Jordan gives a dismissive

“Well, what about you,Kennedy?Youwanttogo?”“Huh?Whataboutme?”Jordan repeats the

question. I shake my head.“No.I’llpass.”She huffs. “Well, dang.

Both of you sure know howtobepartyduds. I thought itwouldbekindoffuntoseeamovie.”“Please. I’d rather watch

Netflix,” Hope saysdismissively,“beforegoingto

seeaJenniferHudsonmovie.ShehasanOscarforChrist’ssake.Andthis is thebestshecan do?” She shakes herhead. “Tragic. Just realtragic.” She scrolls throughher phone. “But what aboutseeing that movie with IdrisAlba?He’sso...mmph.”“Ewwww. Old,” Jordan

retorts, twisting her face up.“Andthat’ssonasty!”I laugh. “Well, he’s

distinguished.”

“Anddirtold,”Jordansaysagain.“But he’s still cute for an

old guy,” Hope saysdefensively.“Oldguyscanbecute,too.”Jordan rolls her eyes.

“Yuck.Notwhen they’reoldenoughtobeyourfather.”Hope waves Jordan on,

dismissinghercomment.“Sodoy’allwanttoseethemovieornot?”Ishrug.“Iguess.”

Jordan says, “Okay, Iguess.I’mgame.Letmetextmy mother to let her knowwe’regoingtothemovies.”Not that this is my ideal

way of spending a Fridaynight.Imean,really?It’srealniceout.Now that the sun isdown, it’s not as hot andhumidout like itwas earlier.It’s like eighty degrees outnow. And I know the streetsin thehoodare jumpingwithexcitement. Maybe I’ll be

able to convince Jordan to atleast roll up all the windowsreal tight, lock all the doors,andspeedthroughthehoodtosee who’s out. Yeah, right.Not!“Yo, what’s good wit’ ya

peeps?” this brown-skinnedguy with box-braids asks.He’dreachedoutandtouchedmy hand, stopping me whenHope and Jordan and Iwalked by him at the

concessionstand.HespoketoJordan and Hope, but theyboth looked him up anddown, like he was acommoner, then told methey’d wait for me by thetheaterdoors.He’swearingapair of baggy cargo shortsthat hang off his waist,showing thewaistbandofhisAmerican Eagle underwearwith a blackwife beater. Hehas a thick chain hangingfromhisneckwithabulldog

pendant dangling from it.He’snot as tall as I like, buthe’s still acutie-pie.Hekindof reminds me of a youngerand very much shorter,stockier version of thatbasketball player DwyaneWade.“Why they actin’ all

stank?” he wants to know,eyeing Hope and Jordan asthey walk off. Well,correction . . . practicallystompoff.

Because they’re snobs. Ishrug. “Don’t mind them.They’re in love with theirboyfriends and don’t believeinspeakingtootherguys.”Ofcourse, it’s a lie. But I can’tflat-outtellhimthattheyjustturned their noses up at himbecause of the way he’sdressed. That he looks like athug.“Oh,word?Well, Iwasn’t

checkin’ for either of ’em,anyway. But, I’m sayin’, yo.

What’s good wit’ you, ma?Yougottaman?”Ishakemyhead.“No.”“Whynot?”Ishrug.“Idon’tknow.”“Youwantone?”I smile. “I don’t know.

Depends.”He licks his lips. “Well,

how ’bout you let me knowya name, love? You gotFacebook?”“It’s—”“C’mon,Kennedy,”Jordan

calls out, stomping her foot.“Dang.Themovie’sabout tostart.”Hesmirks.“Kennedy,huh?

Ilikethat.”“What’syourname?”“Oh, my bad, love. It’s

Rocky.”“Whytheycallyouthat?”He grins. “ ’Cause I go

hard, like Sylvester Stallonein them old Rocky Balboaflicks.” He starts shadowboxing. “My knuckle game

realright.”Ilaugh.“Nah.I’mdeadserious.So

anybody eff wit’ you, youcomehollaatme,a’ight?”I nod, smiling. “Okay. If

yousayso.”We chat a few seconds

more before he wants me totext himmy number. I don’thavethehearttotellhimI’mnot that interested in him.Still... I take his phone andtypeinmynumber.

Hopefully,hewon’tcall.“A’ight,bet.”Hewrapshis

arm loosely around myshoulder andwhispers inmyear as he walks me overtoward Hope and Jordan.“You real pretty, love. Iwannachillwit’you.Imightevenwannawifeyouup.”Igiggle.“IfIletyou.”Hope and Jordan are both

gaping atmewith their jawsdropped open. Jordan looksmortified. Hope looks

confused.And Iwant to laughat the

twoofthem.“I’macallyou,a’ight?”“Okay,” I say softly,

eyeinghimashewalksoff.“Dear Jesus!” Jordanhuffs

the minute he’s out ofearshot. “You’re like amagnetfortheriffraff.”Irollmyeyes.“Oh,shush.

Let’sgoin.”She doesn’t let it go. Not

that I expected her to. “I

mean, like really, Kennedy.Can’t we take you anywherewithout you picking upstrays?”“Ohmygod!” I shriek,

playfully pushing her. “Thatissomessedup.You’resuchahater.”“Yeah, you’re right,” she

saysoverhershoulderasshewalks into the darkenedtheater, “I hate to see youmaking a fool out ofyourself.”

HopepushesJordanfartherintothetheater.“Jordan,chillout. Kennedy wasn’t makingafoolofherself.Shewasjustbeingnice.That’spartofhercommunity service. Beingnice.Youknowthatboyisn’tevenhertype.”I laugh, following behind

the two of them. “You gotthat right.” He’s too short.“Thanks, Hope. At leastsomebodyknowsme.”Jordan sucks her teeth.

“Whatever. I know you, too.And I know I missed all themovie previews because ofyou.YouknowIliketocatchall the upcoming movieattractions.”Ohjoy!

“HeySpecialK,”theSashagirl says in a tone friendlierthan usual, walking over tome as I’m closing out myregister. I silently roll myeyes up in my head,wondering what she could

possibly want now. All thisweek,she’sbeenworkingmynerves to the point that I amstarting tonot likecoming infor work if I know she’sworking. It’s as if she wantsme to quit. And, honestly, Idon’t know how much moreof her rudeness I can take.Yesterday, I heard hermumble, “This Oreo,” whenshe walked by and saw myline was backed up. Thentoday when I almost ran

smack into her as she wascoming out of the bathroomandIwasgoingin,sheactedlike she was ready to fightme.I apologized for almost

hittingherwiththedoor.Sherolled eyes. “Why don’t youwatch da fuqq where yougoin’!”shesnapped,brushingbyme.“Stupidbish!”And now here she is

standing beside me with thisphony-like grin plastered on

her face like she’s up tosomething.“Yeah?” I say cautiously,

refusing to give her eyecontact.“Crissy wants to know if

youwantOTtonight?”“Not interested,” I say

nastily.“Oh, okay.” She doesn’t

move. I feel her eyes onme.Canpracticallyfeelherbreathonmyneck.That’showcloseshe’suponme.

Ifrown.“Anythingelse?”“Meeeeeeeeeoooooow,”

shecaterwauls.“Putdaclawsin.Noneedtowannascratchmy eyes out. I come inpeace.”Ifinallylookather,giving

her a blank stare. “Oh,really?” I snap, finallydeciding it’s time to saywhat’s been on my mind.Inside, I’m a nervous wreck,hoping like heck that shedoesn’t try to slap me or

punchmeout.ButIdon’tletmy fear stopme fromsayingwhat Ihave tosay.“That’saswitch.Seemslikeallyou’vebeen tome since I’ve startedworking here is nasty anddisrespectful. And I’ve donenothing but try to be nice toyou.”“That’s because you came

up in here with dis uppityattitude ’n’ Iwasn’t checkin’fordat.”I give her an incredulous

look. “You know what youare?Abully.”“Pop, pop. Shots fired,”

she says, steppingback. “Putda gun down, boo. No needforallda’tude.”I slam my register shut.

“No. I have every right tohaveanattitude.There’sbeenno need for you being rudeand nasty to me, but youhave. If you don’t like me,fine. But that doesn’t meanyou have the right to say

nasty things to me or aboutme under your breath whenyou don’t even know me.And quite frankly, I’ve hadabout enough of yourinsolence.”Sheblinks.“Mywhat?”Ihuff.“Yourrudeness.”She rolls her eyes and

twistsupherlips.“Ooh,lookatSpecialKtryna—”“Andstopcallingme that;

mynameisKennedy.”She smirks. “Oh, okay,

Kennedy.Iguessyouuuutoldme,huh?Lookslikeli’lMissUppity got a li’l heart afterall.”Ifrown,stormingoff.Ican

hear her laughing in back ofme, but I don’t care. Screwthat girl, I think, headingtoward the time clock topunchout.I’vehadenoughofherforoneday.Myparentshaveraisedme

totreatpeoplethewayIwantto be treated. And if I don’t

have anything nice to sayabout someone, then to keepmy mouth shut. Obviously,she hasn’t been afforded thesamemindset.I don’t need this crap!

Jordan is right. It’snot like Ineed the money. So whyshould I put up with thatgirl’s stankness. Maybe Ishouldjustquit!“Next customer, please.”

My breath immediately

catches in the back of mythroat as I look up from myregister and this dream boysteps up to the counter toplacehisorder.He’slikesix-three, at least, with deliciousdark chocolate skin andmuscles bulging everywhere.Hehasonacrispwhitewife-beater tank top that fits himoh so perfect, showing theripples in his abs. An eight-pack,Imuse,tryinglikehecknot to stare. But I can’t help

it.Ijustwanttoreachoutandtouchhim.He looks to be like

eighteen, or nineteen. He’sdefinitelygrown.All I keep thinking is,

swaggerlicious.“Hi,would you like to try

oneofourmochaorcaramelfrappés?”“Nah, I’m good,” he says,

grinning. “Let me get anumber three. Hold thelettuceandpickle.”

“Okay.Anythingelse?”“Nah,” he says, looking

overmy shoulder.He does ahead nod to whoever is inbackofme.For some reason I am not

surprised when Sasha comesout from the back and startsprancing back and forth. Heogles her every move, hiseyeslockingonherbooty.I roll my eyes up in my

head.It’s been two days since

that incidentwith her and sofarshehasn’tbeenasbrusquetowardme. In fact she spoketo me today when I firststarted my shift and walkedby, averting my eyes fromhers.She smirked. “Well, hello

toyou,too.”“Oh,hi,”Isaid,surprised.“What time you get off?”

sheasked,slidingahandoverherbangs.“Six.”

“Oh, okay.Make sure yousee me before you leave.”She walked off, sayingnothingmore.And that’s thelastthingshe’ssaidtomeallday.Now she’s convenientlystanding here at my registerwhile I’m finishing up SexyChocolate’s order, instead ofworking her station in theback.“That’ll be eight-dollars

and thirty-seven cents,” I tellhim, eyeing him gawking at

Sasha. There’s noway I cancompete with a girl whoseboobsarepracticallyburstingoutofheruniformtop.He digs into his front

pocket, pulling out a wad ofmoney and handing me atwenty.“Ooh, you fine,” she says

tohim,fullyawarethatshe’scaughthisattention.“What’s gucci, yo?” he

saystoher,grinning.What’sgucci?

“Chillin’,boo.Trynamakethesecoins.What’sgoodwit’you?”Oh,that’swhatthatmeans.He licks his lips. “Right,

right.”Ihandhimhisreceipt.Tell

himhisorderwillbeupsoon,then call for the nextcustomer.Hestepstothesideandwaits.“Hey, girl,” Sasha says.

“Youwannarollwit’metoapartydisweekend?”

I can’t believe what I amhearing.Igiveheraconfusedlook, not sure if I’ve heardherright.“Huh?”Shesnapsherfingersinmy

face. “Umm, hello? Party.Finger pop. Fine boys. Wit’me.Youdoknowhowtopopdem hips ’n’ drop it like it’shot,don’tyou?”Heck no.Well, only in the

mirror,inprivate.Alone.I don’t feel comfortable

tellingherthat.

Ohmygod! I can’t believeshe’s standing here askingme if Iwant togo toapartywithher.Me!“Um, I don’t know.When

isit?”“ThisSaturday.”I eye her curiously,

wonderingwhyshe’sinvitingme to hang out with her,whenshehasn’thadonekindthing to say to me since Istarted here. Now all of asudden she wants to party

withme.IcanhearJordan’svoicein

my head saying, “Unh-uh.Don’tdoit.Thatgirl’sratchetand crazy! It’s probably asetup,girl.Don’t.Do.It.”Girl,getoverit.Thiscould

be the start of the excitingsummer you’ve been lookingfor.I decide it really doesn’t

matter why she’s asked me.Point is, I’m ready to havesome fun. And it’s not like

anyone else is bangingdownmy door to let me in on thehappenings.SoIneedtotakewhomeverIcanget.“Okay,sure.Iguess,”Isay

tentatively.“Good. I’ll give you my

address so you can comethroughearly.”Iraiseabrow.“Why?”“Girl, have you looked in

the mirror lately? For amakeover,boo.”I swallow. “A makeover?

There’s nothing wrong withthe way I dress,” I say,offended.“Yeah, okay. That preppy

look might work where youfrom. But you can’t even betrynarolloutwit’melookin’allchurch-girl.No,wegonnahave ta put a li’l beat on yaface’n’stepyafashiongameup.”Putali’lbeatonmyface?“Youmeanmakeup?”“Yeah. Just a li’l to make

yaeyespop’n’yamouthrealjuicy.”“Oh.”“Soyoudown?”“Iguess.”“Good.”She smirks. “And

you better not flake out onme, either. Or I’ma come toworkonMonday’n’bustyouinyahead.”Ifrown.She laughs. “Girl, relax.

I’m only playing wit’ you.I’mnotworkin’tomorrowso

make sure you come see mebeforeyougetoff sowecanexchange info. I’ma ’bout tobreak you in real right,MissGoodie-Goodie. So beready.”I nod, bringing my

attentiontothenextcustomeras shewalks off. “Hi,wouldyou like to try one of ourmochaorcaramelfrappés?”

Saturdayafternoon,atalittleafter two P.M., I arrive atSasha’s apartment buildingafter having my mom dropmeoffat themallas if Ihadto go towork, then calling acabtobringmeoverhere.

“So, you ready for yourmakeover?” Sasha saysexcitedly. “Out with that olepreppywhite girl look ’n’ inwit’thebossladyswag.”Ishrug.“Iguess.”Sheplantsahanduponher

hip. “You guess? Girl, bye!Miss me wit’ that. Alreadytol’ you, if you gonna rollwit’me,thenyougonnaneedtostepyadressgameup,boo.’Causewhatyoustayrockin’ain’tit.”

I frown, glancing down atmy Century 21 pink cami,Adiktd Mystery jeans, andexpensive sandals. “What’swrongwithwhatIhaveon?”Sasha gives me a blank

look. Then rapidly bats herlashes. “Well, nothing, Isuppose. If you tryna go forsuburban white girl, thenyou’reasmashhit.Butifyouwannarisetothetop’n’beafly girl then I’ma need foryou to sit back ’n’ let me

workmymagic. I can’t haveyou rollin’ in the hood wit’me lookin’ all wack ’n’whatnot. Not gonna happen,honey boo-boo. If we gonnaroll then you gonna have torepresent for thebosschicks.I promise you. When I’mfinished you’ll have all thecutie-boos checkin’ for you.I’ma’bouttoturnyoufromaplain chick into bein’ a realproblem.Watch’n’see.”“Andwhat’saproblem?”I

askwithraisedeyebrows.She runsherhandsupand

down her body. “All’a this,boo. I’m problem numberone. And now I’ma ’bout tomake you problem numbertwo.Thoughtyouknew.”I blink. No offense, but

Sashadresseskindof...um,well, let’s see. What’s theright word I’m looking for?Skanky. Yeah, that’s it.Everything she wears isalways so tight. Even her

uniforms fit snugly, causingthe seams to stretch over hercurvybody.It’slikeshefeelsthe need to put on displayeverythingshe’sblessedwith.It’s like she thinks less is

sexiness.“Well, okay. I guess I can

go alongwith themakeover.But I don’t want to wearanything that screams boy-hungryhooker.”She waves me on. “Ain’t

nothing wrong wit’ showin’

off a whole lotta thigh. Justbeclassywit’it.”I take in her teensy-weeny

black boy shorts and skimpywhite off-the-shoulder see-through blouse. She’s sittingup on her dresser with herlegs gaping wide open,showing all of her goodies.I’m almost certain shedoesn’t have on any panties.Thethoughtmakesmegag.“Iguess,”Isay,shiftingon

her bed. “It all depends on

howyoudefineclassy.”“Okay,MissLady.Howdo

youdefineit?”Ishrug.“Idon’tknow.For

me, it’s about the way youcarry yourself. Being a lady.Polite. Knowing how to sitandwalkand talk.Notbeingall loud and crude. Knowinghow to act in public.Someone with impressivecharacter. Elegantly stylish.Highquality.”“Wow.”

“Wow, what?” I askinnocently. She’s looking atme as if I’ve said somethingcrazy. “Whyare you lookingatmelikethat?”“Like what?” She tilts her

head.“Likeyou’recrazy?”“Yeah.”“Because you are,” she

snaps, jumping off herdresser.Iblink,takenabackathow

quicklyshe’sflippedonme.“Howtheeffyougonnasit

up here in my face ’n’ try’ncall me ghetto, huh? Wherethey teaching that at? The’burbs? Because, honey, yougottherightone.”She starts removing her

earrings.I blink again. Shift in my

seat. “That’s not what Imeant,” I quickly say, tryingto defuse the situation. Thelast thing I want is a fightwithher.“IapologizeifIsaidsomething thatoffendedyou.

That wasn’t my intention. Ithought we were speakingfreely. You asked me todefine a word. And I gaveyoumybestdefinition.”“Tsk. Definition my ass.

Sounded like youwere trynathrowshadetome.”Shetsksme again. “You uppity hoeskillme,turnin’yanosesupatus hood chicks. Bish, beclear. Ain’t nothin’ ghetto’bout me. I’ma hood classychick.Believethat.”

Hood classy? Wow, okay.That’sanewone.“Sasha, I really apologize

ifIgaveyoutheimpressionIwas implying that youweren’t classy. I definitelywasn’t trying to disrespectyou.”“Oh, I’ma let it slide this

time, boo-boo. But the nexttime I’ma take it straight toyaface.”Iblink.She stares me down, then

cracks up laughing. “Psych!Gotcha!”Idon’tseeanythingfunny.“Girl, you shoulda seen

your face. It was priceless! Ihadyougoing.Hahahaha.”I let out a slight sigh of

relief.AlthoughIfinallyrelaxa little, in the back of mymind, I’m thinking,This girlisaloosecannon.“Yeah, you definitely got

me.” I let out a nervouschuckle. “I thoughtyouwere

gettingreadytoattackme.”She waves me on

dismissively. “Girl, please.Unless you cross me, you’llneverhavetoworryaboutmedoin’youdirty.”“Oh, you won’t have to

worry about that,” I saytruthfully. “I’d never doanythingtocrossyou.”“Then I’ll always have

yourback.”She walks over to her

closet and flings open the

mirrored door. My mouthdrops open. Her closet ispacked tight to the seamswith designer clothes, shoes,and handbags,many of themstillwithtagsonthem.Ihavea lotofclothes,but

nothing compared to this.Then again, I have awalk-incloset and all of my thingsaren’tallcrampedupintoonespace. “Wow. Your mommust really work around theclock tomake sure you have

allthisnicestuff.”“Pfft. My moms? Girl,

stop. Iwish.Thatstingybishain’t hardly comin’ up off’ano paper for me. If I wannakeepniceclothesonmyback,then I gotta get out there ’n’get it the best way I knowhow. I been doin’ me eversince.”I cringe at her calling her

own mother the B-word. Iwouldnever.Mymomwouldhave my head if I even

thought it. “Oh, wow.” Idon’t knowwhat else to say.MyparentsbuymeanythingIwantwithinreason.NotthatIeveraskformuch.Now, I’m looking at her

and kind of feeling sorry forher, understanding a little bitbetterwhyshe’s thewaysheis.Mean-spirited.Sasha keeps talking as she

pulls clothes from off therack. “Soon as I turnedsixteen that trick told me I

was grown ’n’ needed tofinance my own needs. If Iwanna eat, I gotta buy myowngroceries.”Iblink.“Andthatolegreedyheifer

wasstillgettin’EBTbenefitsformeupuntillastyear.”She sees the confusion on

myface.She lets out an annoyed

sigh. “Food stamps. Girl,keepup.”“Oh. Okay. What about

yourdad?”She screws her face up at

me. “My dad? Why youaskin’ ’bout him?What, youasocialworkernow?”Iapologizeforasking.But

then I turn around and I askherhowsheaffordsallofthisstuff on her paycheck if herparents don’t buy them forher.She bucks her eyes, then

scrunches up her face. “See.Nowyoustilldoin’toomuch.

But since you asked, I’m onthe ballers ’n’ boostersprogram.”Igiveheraconfusedlook.She sucks her teeth. “You

don’t know much ofanything, do you?” Sheshakes her head. “Yousuburban hoes got a lot tolearn. I forget y’all kindaslow.”“Not knowing what

something is doesn’t makeme slow,” I say, feeling

insultedbyher.“Yeah, okay. Whatever. I

only rock wit’ ballers whocanfinancemywears.Andifthey not tryna come up offthemdollars,thenIrollupontheboosters’n’putmyorderin. They can get whateveryou want. From the knock-offs to the official ish.” Shepulls what I’m sure shebelieves is an official LouisVuittonbag fromoffahook,holding it up. “I’m serious

’bout mine. This bag costsalmost fifteen hunnid in thestore, but, thanks to myconnect over in theBricks, Igotitforonlythreehunnid.”Although I don’t

personally carry the covetedluxury bags, my mom does.And I’ve been inside enoughLouis Vuitton stores in mylifetime to know what’s realandwhat’snot.Thispoorbagshe’s holding up, braggingabout,isn’tlegit.

“That’snice,”I lie.Idon’thave theheart to tellher thatshe’s been scammed.Bamboozled.Thenagain, it’snot my business and I don’twanttobe“doin’toomuch,”asshesaid.She tries to give it to me.

“Here,youcanrock it today,if you want. I’m goin’ toserve’emmyGuccisatchel.”I shake my head. Decline

the offer. Although it’s areallygoodreplicaofthereal

thing, I wouldn’t be caughtdead carrying it. “Oh, nothanks.Iappreciatetheoffer,though.” I point over to mylipstick (that’s the name ofcolor) Tumi crossbody bag.“Butmylittleolebagwilldojustfine.”She makes a face, tossing

the bag back into hercrammed closet. “Suityaself.” She shuts the door,then walks over to her bedand tosses an armful of

clothes onto the center of it.“Pick through these outfits’n’seewhichoneyouwannarock.I’llberightback.”She heads for the door,

leaving me wondering whatI’m getting myself into bybefriendingher.Reluctantly,Isift through the pile ofdesigner clothes on her bed.Everythingshe’spulledoutisskimpy.ButIwon’tlie.Alotof it is very nice. Still. Theidea of having all of my

business out doesn’t sit rightwithme.ButIdidsayIwantedtobe

adventurous this summer,didn’tI?Five minutes later, Sasha

comes back into the roomcarrying a bottle ofHennessey and two shotglasses. “I brought us someHen dog to get the partyjuices flowin’.” I eye her asshe pours herself the firstshot. I quickly say no thanks

whenshe’sabout topourmeaglass.She looks at me and

shrugs. “Whatever. More forme.”Shesnapsherheadbackand swallows the dark elixirin one gulp. She refills hershot glass and tosses it back.“Aaah.” She shakes hershoulders and shakes out herhands as if she’s having aseizure.“Whew!Thedevil isa lie. Henny does the bodyright. We need some music

upinhere.”Iwatch her as she scuttles

over toward her SonyBluetoothspeaker,holdingupher phone. A few secondslater, Trinidad James’s “AllGold Everything” startsplaying.“Woo-oooh!” She snaps

her fingers. “This ish rightheregoeshard.”Ishrug.She dances over to where

she’sleftthedrinksandpours

another shot, then tosses itback. “And please don’t tellmeyouwearin’somebigolenasty granny pantiesunderneath them jeans.Please, don’t. I’m goin’ tohop in the shower. Don’t begoin’ thru my ish, either,bish.” She laughs. “Let mestop effen wit’ you. I’ll bebackinasec.”She shakes her butt out of

theroom.Severalminutesgobyand

her Samsung rings over onthedresser.Shequicklystalksback into the bedroom withonly her purple thong on.“Ooh, I thought I heard myphone. It’s about time thisninjahitmeback.”Her naked breasts sway. I

quickly avert my eyes,reachingoverandpickingupthe latest issue of Ebony. Iflip through the pages,pretending to be interested.But, honestly, my mind is

starting to race about thisparty we’re going to. Likewho’s going to be there?Whattypesofguysaregoingtobethere?Stufflikethat.“Hello?Yeah...uh-uh...

whereyou...?Oh,okay...We gettin’ dressed now . . .Yeah,yeah,blah,blah,blah...Iknow...”I feign interest in some

article about the woes of themusicindustryuntilIstumbleonanarticleabouthowmost

New Yorkers don’t usecondomsduringsex.Icringe.“Ohmygod,that’ssonasty,”Imumble, readingon. It statesthat only one out of threeadults in New York used acondomthelasttimetheyhadsex. I read on, wonderingwhyanyonewouldjeopardizetheirhealthlikethat,knowingtherisksinvolved.IshakemyheadasIfinishreading.“Yeah, she’s here . . .” I

look up from the magazine,

glancingoveratSashaassheprancesaroundtheroomhalf-naked.“Yeah . . . thechickIwastellin’you’bout...hol’on...”“Here,” she says, shoving

her cell into my face. “Myboywantstohollaatyou.”I frown, staring at her

hand.“Whoishe?”“Someone who’s gonna

changeyourlife;that’swho.”I shake my head, pushing

herhandawayfromme.

“Girl, don’t play. I beentalkin’youuptohim’n’he’strynagetatyou.Soyoubetteractlikeyouknow’n’getwit’the program. I’m trynaupgradeyou,boo.”Upgrademe?“You can thank me later.

Now here.” She shoves thephone back in my face.“Hello,” I say in a lowwhisper.“Yo, wat’s good, ma?” I

hear the smoothvoiceon the

otherendofthelinesay.I’mnot going to lie. He has areallynicevoice. “I’vehearda lot ’bout you from mypeoples.”IshootalookoveratSasha

as sheheadsoutof thedoor,telling me over her shoulderthat she’s going to take hershower.“Oh,” Isay, fidgetingwith

the diamond Tiffany crossaroundmyneck.Agift frommygrandparentsgiven tome

on my thirteenth birthday.“Whoisthis?”“Malik. But cats in the

streetscallmeMoney.”“Oh,”Isayagain.Notsure

what I’m supposed to sayafterthat.“Sowhat’sgood?Yougot

aman?”Ishakemyhead.No,butI

want one. Hazel Eyes comesto mind. But I immediatelyshake any thoughts of himbeingmyboofrommyhead.

“No.”“That’s what it is. You

gonna be at my people’sparty,right?”“Yeah.”“True. I’ma holla at you

then,a’ight?”“Okay.”“True. Tell Sash I’ma get

upwit’herali’llater.”Wedisconnect.Iwalkover

and set Sasha’s phone downon her dresser, then go backthroughthepileofclothesshe

hasonherbed.ThistimeIgothrough each outfit with arenewed purpose—to lookfly.

“Maybe I shouldn’t haveworn this,” I say, feelinguncomfortableasIstepoutofher car and my heeled foothitsthecurb.“Ifeelnaked.”“Girl, stop. You got that

fire, boo. And you thick ’n’

curvy in all the right places.You better stop playin’ ’n’work what ya momma gaveyou.” She slaps my butt. Ijump. “Ooh,youhave anicebouncy booty, too. I don’tevenknowwhyyoubehidin’it in all them corny clothes.Show some boob crack!Show some booty crack!Ninjas are visual. They needto see what they think theymight be gettin’ even if youain’t really tryna give ’em

nothin’. They’re like dogs.You gotta know how todangleaboneinfrontof’emlong enough to get whateveritisyouwantouta’em.Thenallyougottadoisgivehimali’ltreatforhisgenerosity.”I shake my head. “Oh, I

don’t need a guy to buy methings.AllIhavetodoisaskmy parents or one of mybrothersandthey’lljustgetitforme.”She rolls her eyes. “Well,

excuuuuse me, Miss Uppity.We all don’t have Mommyand Daddy’s wit’ endlessbank.”“I’m not uppity,” I say

defensively, shutting her cardoor. “Andmy parentsworkhard.We’renotrich.”“Mmph. Whatever.

Everyonedoesn’thaveit likeyou, Miss I Get Whatever IWant. Some of us startedfrom the bottom ’n’ had toschemeourwayupontop.”

Shestops,digsinherpurseand pulls out a compactmirror. She checks herself init. Glides a coat of lipglossover her lips then blowsherself a kiss before finallysnapping her compact shutandtossingitbackdownintoherbag.“C’mon,let’sgo.”We walk up to the house.

There’s like six guys on theside of the two-story housethatlookslikeit’sseenbetter

days, shooting dice andsmoking.AndIwantnothingmore than to go over andwatch and listen and learn.ButSashaisn’ttryingtohearit.“Girl, please. Leave them

dustbustersalone.Theyain’tpushing no real paper. Youneed a baller in ya life. Notsomelightweight.”Begrudgingly, I follow

behindhertryingtomaskmydisappointment. There’s a

group of ten guys eitherstanding or sitting on theporch in wife-beaters andsagging jeans with sparklingchains dangling from theirnecks, blinged-out watcheson their wrists—a few havehuge diamonds in theirearlobes—drinking andsmoking weed. One by one,Sasha introducesme toallofthethugged-outguys.I smile, feeling like I’ve

just died and gone to thug

heaven.Theyallsay,“What’sgood

...”I eye them, taking in their

bulging muscles. Most ofthemlookas if they’vespentmostoftheirtimeinthegymliftingweights,sculptingtheirbodies.A few look like theywill shoot first and askquestionslater.Ifeelatinglysensation creep down myspine at their hoodness astheyalldrinkmeinwiththeir

wanderingeyes.“Ma, you fine,” a tall,

dark-skinned guy with half-sleeve tattoos on both of hisarms says, licking his lips.“Where you been hidin’ allmylife?”“Away from you,” Sasha

jumps in, playfully pushinghim out of the way. “Nowbackupoffmygirl.”I glance at her; surprised

she’s called me her girl. Imean,justafewweeksagoI

wascornyandIthoughtIwascute.Today, I’mupgraded togirl status. I’m notcomplaining, though. Still, Iwonderforabriefmoment ifshemeansitorifit’ssimplyafigureofspeech.Tall, Dark, and Tatted

mushes her in the head.“Sash, go ’head wit’ thatslickness, yo. ’Fore I take itto ya skull. Ain’t nobodytalkin’toyou.”Hebringshisattentiontome.“What’sgood

wit’you,ma?Whoyaman?”Iopenmymouthtospeak,

butSashacutsinbeforeIcangetawordout.“Don’t worry about all

dat,”Sashasnaps.“She gotta phatty,” I hear

someonesayinbackofme.Iglance over my shoulderstraight into the face of areddish-brown skinned guywith cornrows and juicy redlips that he licks as he gazesatmybutt.“Yo,Ineeddatin

my life; word to mother. Ineeddat.”“Slick, fall back, boo.

Malik’s already got dibs ondat.”Malik?Gotdibsonthat? I

haven’t even met him yet.What if I don’t like him? Imean,yeah.Wespokeonthephone.Andhesoundedokay.Butthatdidn’tmeanI’dwanthim to have dibs on me. Ikeepfromfrowning.Thewayshe said on that makes me

feel like I’m a piece offurnitureorsomething.Truthis,IkindalikeHazel

Eyes. And I know he likesme. I’ve only gone out withhimonce.AndIhaven’tbeenback over to his house sincethat one time. Butwe Skypealmost every night and wetext each other every day.And, okay... I snuck out toseehimonce.“Oh a’ight, a’ight. That’s

what it is.” Hewinks atme.

“Yo, you mad sexy, though.That ninja don’t treat youright,comehollaatyaboy.Igot a pet snake that wouldlove to crawlup inda sheetswit’you;yaheard?”Everyone in earshot

laughs.“Someone else says,

“Word is bond. I’d tap thatup.She’sfreshmeat,son;realfresh,justlikehowIlikeit.”I blink, hoping like heck

my nervousness and shyness

isn’ttooobvious.“Girl,c’moninthehouse,”

Sashasays,pullingmebythearm and guiding me throughthe cloud of smoke. “Don’tpaythemfoolsnomind.Theyallabunchofhornyhounds.”“Sowhere’sthisMalikguy

you’vebeenbraggingabout?”Iaskoncewe’vemadeitintothe house and through thethrongofbodiesandthickfogof weed smoke. A few girlseither shoot me the evil eye

or kind of roll their eyes atme as I pass by, but I don’treally mind. I know I’mlooking cute in my shortwhite tennis skirt and haltertop.Andmyred-painted toeslook real cute in the strappysandalsSashaletmeborrow.“Braggin’about?”shesays

with attitude. “Oh, no, boo.Never that. I don’t need tobrag,hun.Itiswhatitis.Thatmofo’sfine.Butdon’tworry,girl. He’ll be here. Trust.

Then you can see for yaself.Inthemeantime,let’sgetyouloose. You’re a li’l too tightforme.”“Iamnot.I’mloose.”She laughs. “Yeah, okay.

Not.You’re’boutaslooseasavirgininachastitybelt,butI’mabreakyouinrealright.”I shrug, not really sure

exactlywhatitisshemeans.Ilet it go over my head,followingbehindher into thekitchen. As I walk past a

group of girls, I hear somegirl say as Sasha walks by,“Yeah, there goes that grimybish. She gave my brotherchlamydia.”“Well,Loquita,that’swhat

he gets for goin’ in raw. Heshoulda strapped itupbeforehetappeditup.”“Biatch, please. What you

tryna say? That it’s his faultthat that bish is nasty? Girl,bye!Sheshouldn’tbeservin’upeffencooties.Ishouldrun

uponher’n’punchherindabackofthehead.”I blink, quickly glancing

over at them. They are bothcute girls. One is brown-skinned. She has shoulder-length hair dyed pink andgreen-colored eyes.Contacts,Imuse.Her lip ispierced,asis her nose and eyebrow. Idon’t get a real good look atthedark-skinnedgirlwiththebright red hair standing nextto her because Pink Hair

blastsme.“Trick, why you all over

here? Snap ya neck backaround ’n’ keep it movin’beforeyoufindyafaceonthefloor.”Her friend laughs, shaking

her head. “Nosy hoes, I tellyou.”I look away real quick.

Don’t say aword. Justwalk.Fast.When I walk up to where

Sashais,sheintroducesmeto

this string-bean-thingirlwithhumongousboobs.She’skindofokaylooking,Iguess.Shehas a little too much purpleeye shadow going on, butthen again . . . what do Iknow?I’mnotamakeupkindofgirl.“Kennedy, this is my girl

Shayneetha. Shay, this isKennedy.”“Hi,” I say, extending my

handouttoher.She dismisses my

outstretched hand. “That’snice.”Taken aback by her

rudeness, I quickly drop myhanddowntomyside.“Ooh, Shay-Shay, play

nice.”Sashalooksoveratme.“Girl,don’tpayhernomind.She’s shady like that wit’everyone. I’ma go grab us acoupleofdrinks.”Inodmyhead.“Okay.”Now I’m standing here

next to this girl, feeling

insecure.IcanfeelhersizingmeupandIdon’tevenknowwhy.It’snotlikeI’vedoneorsaidanythingtooffendher.Ithink Imight have heard hermumble This corny bish,under her breath, but thensome brown-skinned guywith dreads walks over andwhispers something in herear, but he’s looking over atme.She shrugs. Says

somethingback tohiminhis

ear. He grins. Then licks hislips and winks at me beforewalking off. I cringe inside,thinking thatmaybe thiswasa bad idea for me to comehere. I feel so out of place.Like I’m theweakest link orsomething. I know it’s all inmy head, but I feel likeeveryone in the room ispointing fingers over at me,laughing.I’mfeelingaloneinaroom

fullofstrangers.

Iamtemptedtorunoutthedoor.But then Sasha is backfrom wherever shedisappeared to, carrying twoplasticcupsinherhands;oneredandoneblue.Jay-Z’s“HolyGrail”starts

playing.“Girl,” thegirlShayneetha

says, cutting her eyes at me,“I’ma go find that fineSnoopy ’n’ getmypopon. Isawhimearlierpinneduponsomebubblehead.”

“Doyou,boo,”Sashasays,handingmetheredcupinherhand.“What’sthis?”She smirks. “Something to

help get your mind right.ThugPassion,boo.”“Oh, okay. Thanks.” I

reluctantly take it, lookinginside the cup. I smell it. I’dnever had it before, but Iknewwhat itwas:Amixtureof Alizé and champagne. Ialso knew it was the title of

one Tupac’s songs wherehe’d referenced the drink inhis song. I only knew thisbecause I’d read it in aVibemagazine article they’dwritten about the late, greatrapper. “Isn’t this drink kindof old school? I mean. Ididn’t think kids my agedrankthis.”“Oh, it’s all ’bout the

Ciroc,boo.ButIfiguredyouneeded you some ThugPassion in ya life since you

tryna be down. But this onehasawholelotofthugandalittlelesspassioninit.”Igiveheraconfusedlook,

not knowingwhat shemeantby that. She notices the lookonmy face. “Girl, stop trynaanalyzeeverythingIsay.Stayinthemomentanddrinkup.”She taps her cup to mine.“Here’stothatthuglife.”“Mmmm. I like the sound

of that.” I take a slow sip ofmy drink. Make a face as it

slides down the back of mythroat. I feel a slow heatcoursethroughmychest.Andby the time I’monmy third,or maybe it’s my fifth sip,I’m melting all over myselffrom the flames.By the timethe cup is empty, I ampracticallyfloating.By my second cup, I’m

soaring. And everythingaroundme is moving in slo-mo.My skin is tingling.Mysense of smell and sound

seemsmagnified.NextthingIknow,anAugustAlsinasongisplaying,“NobodyKnows,”and I’m in themiddle of thefloor dancing. Alone.Swirlingandtwirling.One arm is up over my

head. I rock my hips in bigcircles.Ihikeupmytinyskirtand start doing nasty thingsI’d never done before. It’slike I’ve become possessed.The beat hypnotizes me. Islowlytwirlaround.Myeyes

close. I sway left to right.Then throw my head back.Run my hands through myhair. I lose myself to themusic. Become everythingI’veeverwatchedinBeyoncéandCiaravideos.ItfeelslikeI’mslippingin

andoutofconsciousness.Dang,thatdrinkreallyhas

myheadspinning.Ifeelmybodyoverheating.Oooh,it’ssohotinhere.I try to stop myself from

untying my halter, but it’slike my hands, my fingers,myarms,haveamindoftheirown.What’shappeningtome?I’m in the spotlight. And

somehow I am feeling likeI’ve just become the life oftheparty.And everyone’s

entertainment...

I will a bleary eye open.Then wince. My head isspinning. “Oooh, you kept itreal classy, li’l Miss PartyGirl,” Sasha says, smirking.“Mmph.Youturnedthepartyout. I didn’t thinkyouhad it

in you, Miss Suburbs. Butyou turnt it up—all the wayup—lastnight.”I groan, trying to lift my

headup from thepillow.Myhead is pounding. Regrettingever trying to move, I plopmy head back onto thepillow, pulling the coversover my head then lowerthemenoughtopeerovertheedge. My stomach sloshes.And I feel like I’m ready tovomitatanymoment.

Please God. Let me getthroughthisandIpromisetonever, ever drink anotherThug Passion drink oranything with the word thugattachedtoit,foraslongasIlive.Pleaseandthankyou...I don’t remembermuch of

anything after Sasha handedme my second drink. Iremember taking slow sips.Then I started swaying.Everything else is one bigblur. And I’m afraid to even

ask what happened. I’m notsureifIwanthertofillintheblanks,either.“Girl, I couldn’t get you

offthedancefloor.YougaveBeyoncéarunforhermoneylast night, boo.” She laughs,falling back on her bed.“Ohmygod!Youshouldhaveseenyou.Ahotsluttymess!”She tells me how I was

booty popping and hipthrusting it, dropping downonmykneesandcrawlingon

the floor, swinging my hairaround. “Yasss, MissPeaches!Youshowedout.”“MissPeaches?”Shecracksuplaughing.“Yesss! That’s what you

had dem ninjas callin’ youlast night after you took offya top ’n’ started flashin’e’eryone. You shoulda seendey faces, starin’ at dem bigjuicyboobsofyours.”I am mortified. All I can

see in my mind’s eye is my

slumped, drunk body beingtossedaroundlikeadirtyragdoll. “Oh, God!” I grumble.“Please don’t tell me.” Myface heats withembarrassment.Thisistragic!HowcouldI

besostupid?!I try to replay the events

that took place before thebooze and my lapse injudgmentkickedin.Butkeepcomingupblank.Ohmgod!Whatwasinthat

drink?I’m never drinking that

messagain!Ever!“Girl, relax.Youwere just

doin’ you. Lettin’ ya hairdown’n’havin’agoodtime.Shiiiiit,Iwastwisted.Butnotlike you.” She laughs,reaching for a can of RedBull on her nightstand. “Ithought I was gonna have tabeat the brakes off some’athem ninjas. They kept trynatake you upstairs to get that

trainride.”Myeyespopopen.She senses my fear.

Assures me that nothinghappened. This time. “But,girl, you owe me. I couldamade a killin’ off you lastnight. Had I let them hornyninjasgetatyouIwouldahadme enough for a downpaymentonacuteli’lBMW,or somethin’. And you freshmeat,too.Mmph.”I blink. I can’t believe

she’s talking as if she wasconsidering pimping me outfor the night.Although she’slaughing,thelookinhereyestells me if there were a wayshe could have gotten awaywith it, that’s exactly whatshewouldhavedone.Rentedmeouttothewholeparty.“YouluckyMalikgotthere

whenhedid andwas able tokeep them fools in check’causedeywasn’t even trynahear me after a while. You

had them horny ninjas goin’throughit.”I swallow, wincing. My

throat is dry. Sore.“Ohmygod! He was there,too?” My voice is hoarse,feels raw. Like I’d beenscreaming at the top of mylungs all night. Or as ifsomeone scrubbed the backof my throat with sandpaperthenrubbedsaltoverit.“Girrrl,washe!Lookingso

fine.Andtrust.Drunkornot,

I could tell he likede’verything about you.” Shemade a popping sound withhermouth.My eyes become

unnaturally wide as sherecounts the events from thenight before. Tells me Idanced eight songs straight.ThatIhikedmyskirtupovermy hips and showed thewhole party my bareessentials.DearGod!

She chuckles. “Next time,though, I’ma need you tohandleyaliquorali’lbetter.”I cover my face. Shame

coursesthrougheveryinchofmybody.Panicrisesinsideofme, making me feel sweatyandcoldallatthesametime.This can’t be happening! Ithastobeaterriblemistake!“Whattimeisit?”Ifinally

croak out, feeling sick tomystomach.“It’salmostteno’clock.”

Ijoltupinthebed,causingmy mushy brain to swisharound in my head. “Teno’clock? In the morning?Ohgodohgod! I am sooodead!” My feet hit the dirtybeige carpet and scatter overto my bag, franticallysearching from my phone.“Ohgod! My parents aregoingtokillme.”“Girl, relax. It’s not like

they’re gonna kill you overbeing late once in your li’l

perfect life. It’s not like youbreakyourcurfewallthetimeandstayoutallnight.”“No, I don’t. But still...

ohgod! I’m so done. I’llprobablygetgroundedforthenexttwoweeks.”I close my eyes. My

eyeballsthrobbehindmylids.Iletoutaloudgroan.“You’reoverreactin’ifyou

askme.Ibetallyourparentsare gonna do is put you intimeout, then takeawayyour

allowance for the next weekorso.”I keep my eyes shut,

slowly shaking my head.“No. They are going to belivid.Trustme;especiallymymother.”“Notifyoucomeupwitha

good lie,” she offers matter-of-factly.I frown. “Are you kidding

me? I’ve been out all night.And I didn’t even call hometo let anyone know I was

okay.WhatkindofliecouldIpossibly say thatwouldkeepmymotherfromwringingmyneck? She’s going to killme.”“Poor thing,” she says

nonchalantly,takingaswigofher Red Bull. She offers mesome. “Here. This’ll helpgiveyouaboostofenergy.”I shake my head. Tell her

thanks, but no thanks. I’vehad enough of her handingme drinks for one lifetime.

She shrugs. “More for me.”She pulls out a little baggiefromoutofhernightstandtopdrawer. It’s packed withmarijuana.Iwatchwithwide-eyed amazement as sheemptiesthetobaccoofabluntoutonhernightstandandfillsitwiththeweed,sealingitbylickingandpushingtheseamstogether. Next she lights itandtakesa longpullfromit.She starts coughing instantlyas if shewerecoughingupa

lung.She clutches her chest.

“Ooh, yesss! This that goodishrighthere.”Shelaughsinbetween coughs, a puff ofthicksmokecurlingoutofhermouth.Ifrown.She holds her blunt out to

me. “You sure you don’twantsomeofthis?I’mtellin’you, it’ll help you wit’ thathangover.“I shake my head. “No. I

don’tdodrugs.”Shebuckshereyes. “Bish,

what you tryna say? I knowyou not even tryna call meout.Idon’tdodrugseither.Imean, yeah. E’ery now andthen I might do a li’l mollywit’ my girl Shay-Shay. Butthat’s it. I don’t eff wit’none’athathardish.Sodon’teven get it twisted. I’m nodruggie,trick.”Icringe.“I’mnotatrick,”I

say evenly. “So please don’t

callmeone.”She grunts. “Mmmph. I

can’t tell. From what I sawlast night looked to me likeyou was trickin’ forsomethin’ ’n’ it sure wasn’tfordollars,boo.”“I got drunk,” I retort

defensively.Shetakesanotherpullfrom

her blunt, then blows smokein my direction. “Yeah,whatever.Blameitondaa-a-a-alcohol. Chile, please. I

maynotbeda sharpest knifein the drawer, but I’m noidiot, boo. You a real livefreak and a half. I bet if Ihadn’tbeentheretosaveyou,youwoulda let ’em all get ataste of ya goodies. So youcan front if you want. But Iknowyakind.”I blink. “My kind? What

kindisthat?”Shetakesanotherlongpull

from her blunt, eyeing me.“Pssst.Likeyoudon’tknow.

An undercover freak; dat’swhatkind.”Seeing the smug look on

her face makes me angry. Isquirm. Not wanting aconfrontation,Idecidetotakethe high road and treadlightly. “Well, I’m not afreak.And Iwasn’t trying tocall you a druggie oranything. I was just saying Idon’t do any drugs; that’sall.”She frowns. “Girl, you

silly.Weedain’tnodrug.It’sfrom da earth. There’snothing wrong wit’ smokin’weed. It does da body good.Trust.” She takes two pulls,holds the smoke inher lungsandcoughs.“Well, it’s against the

law,” I counter. “And I’drathernotindulgeinanythingillegal.”Sherollshereyes,blowing

circlesupatthewater-stainedceiling. “Girl, miss me wit’

dat moral code ish. So isunderage drinkin’, but youdidn’t have a problem doin’dat,didyou?”Shegivesmeahardstare,thenrollshereyes.“Like I said, weed comesfrom the Mother Earth. It’sone of God’s greatestwonders.Soifhedidn’twantus to smoke it, he wouldn’thave created it. Now wouldhe?”I have no comeback for

her. It’s clear she has all the

answers.I give her a blank stare,

decidingit’stimetoslipbackintotheclothesI’dcomeherewearingbeforemyworldgotturnedupsidedown,andheadhometofacemyfate.

“Kennedy,wherehaveyoubeen?!”mymothersnaps theminute I step through thedouble doors. Hand on hip,nose flaring, eyes drawn tonarrowslits.She’sfuming.“I-I-I,” I stammer

nervously.I’veneverseenhersomad.“Iwas...”“Before you open your

mouthwitha lie, thinkaboutwhat you are going to say tome.BecauseIknow,andyouknow, that you weren’t withHope or Jordan because I’vespokentobothofthem.Nowwherewereyou?”“Ohmygod. I can’t believe

you’d call me a liar. Have Ieverliedtoyou?”“I’mnotcallingyoua liar.

I’m warning you to not letanyliesfallfromyourlipsincaseyouwantedto.”I stand here silently,

racking my brain as to whatI’ll tell her. She has mecornered. I’ve never been inthissituationsoIdon’tknowwhat to do to get out of it.Finally, I hangmyhead.Mylasheswetwithtears.“I-I-I’m sorry. It won’t

happenagain.”“Oh, no, young lady.

You’re not getting off thehook that easy. I want toknow where you were andwhy your phone is off? I’vebeen calling it all night.Andallmorning.”That’s strange. I don’t

remember turning my phoneoff.I reach inmy bag, pulling

it out.Yup . . . it’s off. “Mybattery died,” I lie. “And Ididn’thaveawayofchargingit.”

“And no one else had aphoneyoucoulduse.”“No. There wasn’t any

service.”“Excuseyou?Whatdoyou

mean, there wasn’t anyservice? Well, where wereyou that you couldn’t makecalls or get your butt homebeforeyourcurfew?”“Atafriend’shouse.”She tilts her head. “Don’t

try my patience, Kennedy.What friend’s house? And

who are this friend’sparents?”“It’sjustherandhermom.

Her dad died.” That’s a lie.But I don’t think she’d likehearing that Sasha’s father isin prison for armed robbery.AndIthinkshetoldmedrugcharges,too.Ormaybeitwasa gun charge. I can’tremember.AllIknowis,thisinformation is on a need-to-knowbasis.She eyes me. “That’s not

telling me what I want toknow,Kennedy.”I’m starting to feel light-

headed.“Mom, please. Not right

now.Idon’tfeelwell.”She huffs. “Who do you

think you’re telling not rightnow,huh?LikeI’mbotheringyou.Youdon’tgettostrutupin here twelve hours afteryour curfew without onephone call and tell me notright now. I will smack the

piss, thesnot,andeverythingelse out of you. Do youunderstandme?”I clutch my churning

stomach. Ohgodohgod! I’mgoingtothrowup!I don’t answer. I take off

running toward the powderroomacross from the sunkengreat room. She’s hot onmyheels.“Don’t you dare run off

frommewhileI’mtalkingtoyou. Kennedy! I want to

know where you’ve been!I’ve been up all night,worried sick about you! I’vecalled all over town lookingfor you! And you have thegall to stroll up in here likeeverythingisfine!Thisisnotacceptable,Kennedy!”“Notnow,mom,please!”I

slamthebathroomdoorinherface. Flip up the toilet seatand grip the cool porcelain,throwingmy guts up. I clingto the coolness with all my

might. Tears spurting frommy eyes as I empty theremaining contents of mycrampedstomachout.Istayinthisposition—face

inside the bowl, handssqueezing the sides, until Iam coughing and dryheaving. And then I do theunthinkable.Ipooponmyself.

Four P.M., my mom is at

the foot of my bed, shaking

me. “Wake up! Rise andshine!”I groan as she walks over

and flips on my nightstandlamp.Idon’trememberhowIgot intobed.Orwhen I tookoff my clothes and slippedinto my pajamas. ButsomehowIdid.Mymindisblank.Completelygone.Mom starts shaking my

bed again. “Let’s go,Kennedy! It’s time togetup.

Youshouldhavegottenyoursleepwhereveryouwere lastnight.Sleeptimeisover.”Ohmygod, nooo! I can’t

believethis!I groan again. Everything

around me is still spinningfrom the night before. I’vespent most of the morningthrowing up. I’m exhausted.And now all I want to do issleep.Sleep.Sleep!But it doesn’t look like

that’s going to happen with

mymombreathingdownmyneck doing everything shecantokillmysleepmode.I close my eyes. Snatches

of last night flitter throughmyhead.I’minthemiddleofthe floor dancing. Alone.Swirling and twirling. Guysare pressed up against me,grindingandgropingme.Myboobs are exposed. Theteenie-tiny skirt I waswearing is hiked up overmyhips. Someone tries to slide

his hands in my panties. Iremember, now, telling himno.Ipushedhishandaway.Ohgod!I think I seeSashaover in

the corner with her friends,laughing at me. But whywould she do that when shecursed those boys out fortrying to humpme all up onthedancefloor?“Mom,please. I don’t feel

well,” I grumble, pulling thecoversupovermyhead.

“That’s not my problem.That’s yours.” She snatchesthe covers offme. “Now getupoutofthisbed.”“Why can’t I sleep?” I

whine. “We can talk latertonight,ortomorrow.”“Oh, no, little Miss Party

Girl.Youdon’tgettochoosewhenwetalk.WetalkwhenIsay we talk. So get up. Youare sadly mistaken if youthink you’re going to lie inthisbedand sleep the restof

the day away. I was niceenough to let you sleep offwhatever it is you drank orsmoked last night. Now it’stimeforyouandmetohavealittlechat.”She shakes the bed again.

MystomachchurnsandIfeellike screaming at the top ofmy lungs. I take two deepbreaths, then roll and stretch.I rubmy burning eyes. Theycanbarelyopen.It takes a few minutes for

my eyes to finally adjust tothe brightness in the room.There she is. My mom.Standing at the foot of mybed with her arms folded,scowling. She’s pissed. Verypissed.AndIknowI’minbigtrouble.And IknowIhavenoone

to blame except myself. Ishould have never had allthose drinks. But I only hadthree,Ithink.Orwasitfour?I remember the first drink.

Andthesecondoneafterthat.Ohgod!All I know is,my

head feels like someone isstompingaroundonmybrainwith cement boots. It evenhurtsbehindmyeyeballs.If this is what drinking

does to you, then I want nofurther part of it. None.Never.Ever.“I’m waiting, Kennedy,”

Mom says through clenchedteeth.“YouandIaregoingtohave a serious conversation,

startingwithwhereyouwereall night. And who droppedyouoff thismorningwithallthat loudmusic playing, likethisissomeghettoyarddrop-stop.”I cringe as my ears pop.

Although she isn’t reallyyelling,itfeelsasifshehasabullhorn up to her lips andshe’sscreamingintomyear.“Okay,okay.I’mup.CanI

atleasttakeashowerandputsomeclothesonbeforeIhave

to face my inquisition,please?”She narrows her eyes at

me. I can tell she’s ready togo off. She takes a deepbreath. Then finally says,“You have tenminutes. Andnot a second over.” Sheglances at her watch.“Startingnow.”

“I’m very disappointed inyou, Kennedy,” Mom says,eyeing me. We are siting atthe kitchen table. A cup ofgreen tea with honey is infrontofme.Momshakesherhead.“Iraisedyoubetterthan

this. No young respectablegirl comes dragging herselfinto the house way past thecrack of dawn, reeking ofalcohol and marijuanasmoke.”“I wasn’t smoking

marijuana, Mom.” I say thisas if it’s going to make thatbig of a difference. As if itwilllessentheconsequences.Sheeyesmeincredulously.

“So you think underagedrinking makes it better?”

She tilts her head. “Is thatsupposed to make me feelbetter knowing that mysixteen-year-olddaughterwasonly out God knows wheredrinking instead of usingillicit drugs? Is that whatyou’retellingme,Kennedy?”“Noma’am.”“Sohowwasit?”I blink. Give her a

confused look. “How waswhat?”“The party you were at?

You know, the one youthought it was okay not tocomehomefrom.”I lower my eyes from her

burning stare. I fidget withthe spoon in my hand, thendip it back intomy steamingmug,stirringthoughtlessly.Mom’s fingers tap against

thetabletopimpatiently.“I’mwaiting for an answer,Kennedy.”“I’msorry,”Isaysoftly.“No. Don’t be sorry. I

didn’t ask for an apology. Iwantanswers.”I think to tell her some

elaborate tale, but I can’trememberexactlywhatItoldher when I walked throughthedoorthismorning.Idon’twant to tell a lie thatdoesn’tmatch whatever I’ve alreadytold her. I am relievedwhenmy mom unknowingly letsmeoff thehook fromhavingto remember exactly what Itold her when she asks me

who this friend is I was outwithlastnight.“HernameisSasha.”She tilts her head. “And

how doyouknow thisSashagirl?”“From work.” I blow into

mycup, then takea slowsipofmytea.She purses her lips.

“Mmm. Where does shelive?”“Across town,” I offer,

hoping that’ll be enough to

satisfy her inquiry. It isn’t.She wants to know exactlywhereacross town she lives.ItellhernottoofarfromtheFlatlands, a subsidizedhousingdevelopment.She purses her lips and

keeps silent. I can tell she’sthinking. “I see,” she finallysayscalmly. Ican tellby thelook inhereyesshe isn’t toohappy aboutme being in thehood,but shedoesn’t sayso.“And how old is she?” I tell

her eighteen. “And youthought it was okay to stayout over this Sasha’s housewithoutmeknowinganythingabout her or her family, isthatright?”I shake my head. “No. I

know it wasn’t okay. I waswrong for not coming home,orcallingyoutoletyouknowwhere I was or that I wasokay.IknowIknowbetter.Ithought I’d be home beforecurfew,Ireallydid.”

“So, let me get thisstraight. My sixteen-year-olddaughter stayed the nightover at some eighteen-year-old girl’s house where herparent allowed underagedrinking?”“Hermomdidn’tknowwe

weredrinking.”“So the two of you snuck

alcohol into her parents’house, is that what you’retellingme?”“No. She kind of already

hadthealcoholinthehouse.”Okay,Iknowit’salie.“I see. And were there

boysatthislittleparty?”“It wasn’t a party.” Okay,

it’s another lie. And I feelhorribleforlookingmymomin the eye telling her this. Ishift in my seat. “Thereweren’t any boys there, justSasha and a few of hergirlfriends.”“Kennedy, you know the

rules. No sleepovers over

anyone’s house unlesswe’vemettheparents.Nodrinking.No smoking. No drugs. Anddefinitelynosex.”“Ionlydrank.”“But there was marijuana

there...atthisparty,right?”“It wasn’t a party. And

there wasn’t any marijuanathere.”Shegivesmeablankstare.

“Look, Kennedy. Do I looklike I need to be in a clownsuitorsomethingtoyou?”

I shake my head. “No,ma’am.”“Thenwhy are you sitting

here trying to insult myintelligence? I was your ageonce. You stumbled up inhere reeking of alcohol,whichyouadmit todrinking,and smelling like you wererolling around in a cloud ofmarijuanasmoke.”“But I didn’t smokeany. I

swear.”She lets out a frustrated

sigh.“Butyouwerearoundit.Kennedy, I raised you betterthanthat.Whywouldyoubearound someone smokingmarijuana,huh?”I shrug. “I didn’t know

there was going to bemarijuanathere.”“Andwhatifsomeonehad

called thecopsandendedupraiding the place, thenwhat?You would have beenarrested,too.”Ilowermyhead.“Iwasn’t

thinking.AllIwantedwastohave some fun, that’s all. Ididn’t plan on getting drunkorstayingoutpastcurfew,orcoming home hung over. IfeelhorribleforwhatIdid.”“And so you should.” She

eyes me, then reaches overand places her hand overmine. “I’m angry andextremelyupsetwithyou.ButI’mrelievedthatyou’reokay.That still doesn’t mean youaren’tpunished.”

“I know I am. It won’thappenagain.Ipromise.”“Let’shope,foryoursake,

itdoesn’t.”Momslidesherchairback

from the table, then stands.“Look, sweetheart. I knowwhat it’s like to be sixteenand wanting to beadventurous. You’ve alwaysbeen inquisitive.And a goodkid. And I don’t wantanything to change that.There can be a lot of peer

pressure to sometimes dowhat’s not right. I just don’twant to see you gettingcaught up in peer pressure.YourfatherandIhavetaughtyou to make your owndecisions,haven’twe?”I nod. “Yes. But I wasn’t

being pressured to doanything.”She eyesme. “You should

not be drinking. First of all,you’re not old enough todrink. And secondly,

anything could havehappened to you out therebeing intoxicated. Youngwomen get taken advantageofallthetime.”“I know, Mom,” I say

sheepishly.“AndI’msorry.Itwon’t happen again.” Notgettingdrunk,thatis.She stares at me, then

squeezes my hand. “Listen,sweetheart. I know my littlebabygirl isgrowingup.AndIknowyourfatherandIhave

to trust you to do the rightthings. But all I’m asking isthatyounotgrowuptoofast.You have a bright futureaheadofyou.”“Iknow,Mom,”Isay.She stares at me. Then

narrows her eyes. “Are yousureyou’renotusingdrugs?”ItellherI’msure.Shewantsto know if I’ve ever triedthem. Again, I answer no.Sheeyesmeasifshe’stryingto decide whether or not she

should believe me.Technically, she shouldn’t. Iknow it. Thankfully, shedoesn’t.I runmy hands acrossmy

eyes and over the crown ofmyhead.I’mfeelingqueasy.“I’mnotnaïve,Kennedy.I

know what goes on at teenparties.The last thing Iwantis for you to get yourselfcaught up in something youcan’tgetoutof.”“Mom,Iwon’t.”

“You have one more yearleft, sweetheart, then you areofftoHarvardorYale.”I swallow.“Canweplease

not talk about that rightnow?”She sighs. “How long has

thisdrinkingbeengoingon?”“Lastnightwas the first—

andmy last—time.” I groan.“Ifeelawful.Idon’tlikeit.”She smiles. “Then I guess

what you’re going throughshould be punishment

enough.”“Are you going to tell

Daddy?”“No.You’regoingtogeta

pass,thistime.Butdon’tletithappenagain.”“Ipromise.Iwon’t.”

The next day I’m on my

thirty-minute lunch breaksitting at a table in the foodcourt filling Sasha in on allthedramawithmymom.“That lady better get her

life,” she says, tilting herhead, causing her brightfuchsia bangs to swing overher left eye. I’ve finishedtelling her that my momwantstomeether.Andshe’snottheleastbitpleasedaboutit. “I know dat’s yourmomz’n’ all, butwhere dey do datat?Iain’teven’bouttocometo ya house ’n’ let yamomzscrutinize me like I’m somebackyard trash. I be donecussed her out, okay? She

bet’ not even try it. I’m toogrown for da mom games,boo.”Iblink.“She’snottryingit.

Orplayinggames.She’sonlyinterested in seeing who I’mhangingoutwith.”She snorts. “She better go

have several seats at daGarden.”Igiveherablankstare.“I know how dem uppity

broadzlikeyourmomzmove.They think their precious

daughters are too good forchickslikeme.”“That’s so not true,” I say

defensively.“Yeah, right. Lies. Rich

broadz like your momz staylookin’downatgirlsfromdahoodlikewelepersorlikewehaveabadcaseofherpes.Noma’am. Dat ain’t gonnahappen. Not today. Not anyotherday.”“That’snotherintention—

to scrutinize you,” I say

softly. “She just wants seewho I’m hanging out with;that’sall.”She huffs. “Yeah, right.

More liesyou tell.What,shewanna make sure I’m goodenough forherprecious littleprincess to hang out wit’?”Sherollshereyes.“Girl,bye.Miss me wit’ dat. Ain’t nomomz I know checkin’ fordey kidz’ friends. Ya momzis buggin’ for real, girl. Shedoin’waytoomuch.”

Ishrug.“Yeah,Iguess.”“Mmmph.Well, guess dat

ish somewhere else ’causeain’t nobody got time to bemeetin’ her.” She waves meon dismissively. “Movin’ on.Soyou trynahitdispartyupwit’ me dis weekend orwhat?”“I don’t know,” I say. “I

kind of promisedmymom Iwouldn’t get into anymoretrouble.”She frowns. “Girl, bye!

Youbettagetya life!Alldatgoodgirlishgonnagetyouisa buncha borin’ nights athome. I knowyouain’t even’bout to let her ruin yasummerfun,boo.”She’sright!IsaidIwanted

topartyandhavefun.Sowhyshould I stop now when thefunisjustgettingstarted?“Whattimearewegoing?”She grins. “Bish, dat’s

what I’m talkin’ ’bout. It’sgonnabelive.Trust.”

“Sowhat’s good, yo?”ThevoiceblaresintomyearoverBusta’s“ThankYou”playingloudly out of the three largespeakers situated around thebasement. I’m at a houseparty in East Orange with

Sasha. Somewhere Ishouldn’t be, of course. Buttheenergy is live.Themusicisallthat.Andthere’sapackof thug cuties here. Onceagain, I lied. Told my momthatIwasstayingthenightatHope’s. That I’d be hometomorrowaroundoneortwo.Luckily forme, she believedme.I keep my gaze low and

avoid making eye contactwith most of the kids here,

mostlybecausetheboyswhoareoglingmearemakingmeuncomfortable. And the firsttimeIdolookupandscantheroom,I’mbeinggreetedwithgirlseyeballingmenastily.“Iseeyoualloverhereby

yaself,” he says, looking meup and down, slowlydragging the pink-colored tipof his tongue over his darkbrown lips. I remember himfrom the last party Sashabroughtmeto.Hewasoneof

the guys standing out on theporchsmokingablunt.He’sabrown-skinned guy withslanted, bloodshot eyes.Probably from drinking andsmoking.He’s about six feetwith a muscular build. He’swearingawhiteT-shirtandapair of baggy jeans. TrueReligions,Ithink.I sweep my eyes around

the party and notice guysgrinding up on girls. Andgirls doing strip club moves

onthedancefloor.Afewarepressedupincornersmakingout.Orsmokingweed.Without thought, Ibobmy

headfromsidetoside.“You wanna dance?” he

asks, taking me in with hisgaze. I look up at him, thenglancearound the space.Thefloorispackedwithhoochie-type girls grinding theirbooties up on crotches,twerking and bouncing realhard to a Jay-Z song now

playing.I shake my head. “No,

thanks.”It’s so packed that bodies

are practically pressing intoeach other just to walk by.And there’s a thick fog ofsmoke hovering in the air. Ifeel myself getting light-headed from all of themarijuanasmoke.Heleansintomyear.“Oh,

a’ight.” He grins, then lickshislips.

“Why are you looking atmelikethat?”“Likewhat?”I shrug. “I don’t know.

Like you’re trying to figuremeoutorsomething.”He laughs. “Oh, nah-nah.

You lookin’ mad sexy,though.”“Thank you,” I say over

themusic,tryingtoavoidthenarrowed eyes glaring at mefrom across the room. Thereare like four girls standing

over on the other side of thedance floor giving me nastylooks.Idon’tevenknowanyof them. But because theydon’t like Sasha—forwhateverreasons—theydon’tlike me. So whateverproblems she has with girlsI’ve inherited. Guilty byassociation.Speaking of Sasha, she

disappearedupthestairswithsome boy with dreads,leaving me holding up the

wall, likethelonewallflowerthatIam.Iglanceatmywatch.Ohmygod, I can’t believe

she’s been missing in actionforalmosthalfanhour.“Yo, you too pretty to be

standing here looking like abored statue,” he says,reaching for my hand. “Letmehollaatyouforaminute.”Ipullmyhandback.Helaughs.“Oh,word?It’s

like dat? I ain’t gonna bite,

ma; not unless you want meto. I just wanna get awayfromall’adisloudmusic;feelme?”I nod. “Yeah, it is kind of

loud.”He gestures his head

toward the stairs. “Let’s goupstairsforasec.”I glance over at the group

ofgirlsacrosstheroom.Oneofthemgrabshercrotch,thenflips me off with her middlefinger. I cringe. Another girl

takes her finger and slides itacross her throat. The threatclear:“I’mgoingtosliceyourthroat.”Iswallow.Helooksoverat thegroup

ofgirls.“Yo,don’tpay thembirds no mind. They hatin’,that’sall.”“But why?” I ask

innocently.He scrunches his face.

“Why?Youfreshmeat,babe.E’erydudeinherewannaget

atyou.Andthemhatersknowit.”I blink. Then glance over

toward the staircase when Isee a guy and a girl comingdownthestairs.IhopetoseeSasha. But I’m disappointedwhenit’snother.“Yo,youcan standhere if

you want, but Sasha’supstairs doin’ her, so youmightaswelldoyou.”Iguesshe’sright.Anything

is better than standing here

feelingstupid.MaybeI’llfindSasha upstairs, and she’ll bereadytogo.“I was told to never walk

offwithstrangers,”Ijoke.“I’mnotastranger,baby.”“Uh, um, if I don’t know

yournameyouare.”Hesmirks.“Yo,Idigyou.

It’sShaheed.ButmypeoplescallmeSha.”“Nice to meet you,

Shaheed,”Isay,tryingtoflirtwithout seeming flirty. I

mean,Idon’twanttogiveoffany mixed messages. I onlywanttohavesomefun.It’s a party for Christ’s

sake.And Sasha is nowhere to

beseen.WhatelseamIsupposedto

do? Stand here and look lostandsilly?Idon’tthinkso.Shaheed lightly grabs me

by the elbow and leads theway.Ifollowhimthroughthe

throngofpartygoers, thenupthe dark stairs. There’s a slitof lightcomingfromunderadoor.Thebathroom,Ithink.Wewalkpastanotherdoor

whichisslightlyopen,asliceof light creeping out frombeneath it. Save from theslivers of light and the glowofanightlightstuckinawalloutlet, the whole upstairs isdimlylit.We walk a short ways

down the hall. I count six

doors, including the two Iassumeare thebathroomanda bedroom, in my head.Music is playing up here aswell, so it’s hard to hearanything being said behindanyofthedoors.Shaheed turns the knob to

the third door on the left,pushing it open. It’s abedroom.There’satwinbed,adresser, anightstand,andabig flat-screen televisionmounted up on the wall

across from the bed. Anightlight is plugged into anoutletnearthedoor.I step inside and Shaheed

shuts thedoorbehindus.Myeyes have to adjust to thedarkness. I blink severaltimes.“So,I’msayin’ . . .what’s

good? When you gonna letme show you my longstroke?”I raise abrow. “Your long

stroke? What, you swim? I

used to belong to the swimteamatmyschool.”He laughs. “Yeah. I swim

a’ight.Upindemguts.”I blink, caught off guard.

“Whatdidyousay?”“Nah, I’m sayin’. I gotta

longstroke,butitain’tfordapool,feelme.”“Wait. You want to have

sexwithme?”He grins. “You already

know what it is, ma. Yeah Iwanna hit dat.” He steps in,

pullingmeintohim.Hereeksofweedandalcohol.Helickshis lips. “I ain’t even gonnafront, yo. I’ve been eyein’you all night, ma. From damoment you stepped throughdadoorIstartedschemin’ondat phatty, yo. I’m tryna seewhat’s really good wit’ all’adat.”Hegrabsatthefrontofhis

jeans. “You got my ish onrock,yo.”He is groping me in the

dark, pressing himself intome.Iwrestlemywayoutofhis

grasp.Tellhimtopleasekeephishandstohimself.ThatI’mnoteasylikethat.He laughs. “C’mon, yo.

Don’t front. You ripe ’n’ready for da D, yo. I cansmell it. You stay comin’around lookin’ all good, likeyou want mofos tryna get atyou. Don’t think I haven’tpeepedyoueyein’me.”

I shake my head. “That’snot true. I mean. Yeah, I’veglancedat you the few timesI’ve seen you. But thatdoesn’tmeanIlikeyou.”He frowns. “Oh, so you

sayin’youain’tfeelin’me?Isthatit?”“Yes.Imean.No.”“Which is it? You feelin’

meoryounot?”“I-I-I don’t even know

you,”Isaywearily.“Soyouateasethen,huh?

You one’a dem hoes wholikes to go ’round teasin’mofos, huh? Get all up in amofo’s head ’n’ play mindgames.Isthatit?”“N-n-no,” I stammer,

trying to back away fromhim.“That’s not what I was

doing. I swear to you. Ithought you were just beingnice when you asked me tocomeuphere.Ireallythoughtyouwantedtotalk.”

“Yeah,Iwantedtotalkyououttadempanties.That’sit.”“But I don’t like you like

that.”“Yeah, but I’m tryna

change all’a dat. But youwannafront.”Heleansinandtriestokiss

meonthelips.Ijerkmyheadback just as his lips hit thesideofmyneck.Icanseethedrool sliding out of thecorners of his mouth as hislustygazedrinksmybodyin.

“Ma, you mad sexy. Yougotmyheadgoin’ ’n’ I ain’teven hit dat yet. I bet youmadjuicy,too.”Ishakemyhead.“No.I’m

not juicy. I mean, I’m nottrying to let you hit that, Imean,this.”“Yo,letmebedajudgeof

dat.Letmefeelit.”Iblinkashegrabsmeandpullsmeintohim,slidinghisbighandoverthecurveofmyhip,thenontomybutt.

I pushhis handoff ofme.Tell him no thanks.But he’snottryingtohearit.“Nah, baby. You in my

space. I’m trynaget it in.Sodon’t front. You know whattimeitis.”“This is all wrong,” I say,

steppingback.“Nah, shorty, this is all

right.” He licks his alreadywet lips with the tip of histongue. “And I’ma ’bout tomake you feel right in a

minuteifyoustopfrontin’’n’getwit’daprogram.”“I don’t want to have sex

with you,” I stutter, hopinghe’ll see the pleading in myeyes.Ohmygod! What have I

gotten myself into? Pleasedon’tletthisboyrapeme.Sasha, where the heck are

you?!“Please,”Istammer.“Ijust

want to go find my friend,thenleave.”

He grunts. “Who, Sasha?Yo, dat broad’s somewheregettin’ twisted ’n’ her backblownout.”Idon’treallyknowwhathe

means by ‘she’s gettingtwisted.’But Iknewwhathemeantaboutherback.“Yo, ya girl ain’t ’bout to

bounce no time soon, realspit. She’s ’bout to take datride on da express train. Soyoumightaswellrelax,ma.Iain’tgonnahurtyou.”

Expresstrain?What in the heck is he

talkingabout?“Yo, don’t act like you

don’t knowwhat time it is.”He starts making trainsounds. “Choo-choo. Allaboard,” he says, deepeninghis voice. “Come get up ondishardstick.”Igasp.Ohmygod!Sasha is

somewherelettingabunchofguys take turnsonher. I feelqueasynow.ItellhimIcan’t

do this. That I didn’t knowthisiswhathewanted.“Then what you come up

here for if you ain’t knowwhattimeitwas,huh,trick?”“I-I-I thought you wanted

to talk,” I say, fighting backanavalancheoftears.He snorts. “Talk? Is you

effen retarded, yo. I broughtyou up here to beat that boxup. I ain’t tryna talk. I’mtrynastroke.”Hegrabsmeagain.

“Please, stop!” I plead,trying to break free from hisgrip. However, to no avail.He’smuch stronger thanme.Hekeepspawingatme.“Getoffme! I don’twant to havesexwithyou.”My pleas fall on deaf ears

ashetriestoforcehimselfonme. I start screaming at thetop of my lungs, hopingsomewherewillhearmeovertheloudmusic.Theydon’t.

Shaheed’s hand is up myskirt now and he’s trying topullatmyunderwear.Ipressmy thighs together.Myheartisjumpinginmychestamileaminute. I’mkickingmyselfforwearingthisshortskirt.IknewIshouldhaveworn

jeans like I wanted to in thefirstplace.Ohmygod!Thisisn’thowI

want to losemyvirginity!Bysome drunk boy I don’t evenknoworlike!

Shaheed’salloverme.AndI can’t take it anymore. IscreamasloudasIcan.“Yo, shut da eff up, you

effentrick-tease!”He slamsme down on the

bed. I am screaming andkicking. Scared to death. Ashetriestoclimbontopofme,Ikneehiminthegroin,hard,then hit him in his face,causinghimtodoubleoverinpain.Irunforthedoor,swinging

it open, banging on all thedoors, screaming out forSashauntilonefinallyopens.It’sthesecondonetotheleft.A tall, thin guy with long

box braids and a bunch oftattooscoveringhischestandarms opens the door—butt-naked.He doesn’t even havethedecencytocoverhimself.OhmyGod...“IsSashainhere?Sasha?!”I glance around the large

bedroomandnotice thereare

four other guys in the room.Naked.“Yo, Slim,” a voice calls

out,“youtrynagetnext?”“Yeah, man, hol’up. We

gotcompany.”I croak out a scream as I

look over and see Sasha onherkneesinthemiddleofthebed with some guy humpingher like a mad man. I backout of the room and fleetowardthestairslikethere’safire.Ihavetogetoutofhere,

now.IrunsmackintoSasha’sfriend,Malik,ashe’scomingupthestairs.“Yo,wat’sgud,ma?”Mylipsquiver.He frowns. “Yo, ma, you

a’ight?”I collapse in his arms and

burstintotears.

“Yo, run dat ish by meagain,” Malik says, staringdeep into my eyes. Hisintense gaze makes meuncomfortable. But not in afrightening, creepy kind ofway. When I fell into his

armsashewascomingupthestairs, he sawhowdistraughtI was and wrapped an armaround me, and walked meoutside for some air. We’restanding next to his parkedtruck and he’s intentlylistening as I repeat whatalmost happened to meupstairs.Henarrowshiseyes.“Datmuhfuggahdidwhat?”The edge in his tone is so

sharp it slices into the airaroundme.Hisvoiceisdeep

and hypnotizing. I fight tokeep from closing my eyesand falling under his spell.Slowly, I am melting underhis heated gaze. I am sonervous. But, for somestrange reason, I feel safewithhim.Crazy,right?“H-h-he tried to rapeme,”

Irepeat,wipingmytearswiththe handful of napkins he’dgrabbedfrominsidethepartybeforewalkingmeout tohis

RangeRover.“What dis niqqa look like,

yo?”I tell him. He frowns.

“Hol’up. What you say hisnamewas?”“S-s-shaheed.”Hescowlsasherepeatshis

name. “Shaheed? Oh word?Dat’showhedoin’it.A’ight.He must really wanna starthis summer off wit’ a blackeye’n’brokennose.”Iwatchhim slide his hand into his

front pocket and pull out hiscell.“Yo,whereyouat,son?You here? Oh, a’ight. Cool-cool. Word. Yeah, I’m outfronthollerin’atmypeoples...”His peoples? He’s talking

likehe’sknownmeforalongtime.Istareathimthroughtear-

filled eyes, swiping tears astheyfall.Ifeelsohumiliated.Maybe if I had had a fewdrinks, like before, and was

too inebriated to know whatwas going on around me, itwouldn’tfeelsobad.Malik opens the driver’s

sidedoor,thenreachesinsideand pulls out some morenapkins,handingthemtome.He takes the balled up onesI’ve used to blow my noseandwipemyeyesfromme.Ithankhimwithafaintsmile.“...Nah,nah...Ijustgot

here. Man, eff dem dumbhoes, yo. I ain’t checkin’ for

none’a dat right now. I needyou togetatdatcatShaheedforme.He somewhere up inthere. He tried to do somefoul ish to my peoples ’n’ Iain’t feelin’ dat, feel me?Yeah, yeah. Get at him. Saywat? Break his shit, yo.That’swat.”Iblink.Ohmygod! He’s going to

havehisboysdosomethingtohim.Maybe I shouldn’t have

toldhim.Nooo, maybe he shouldn’t

havetriedtoforcehimselfonme.Hegetswhathegets.Iswallow,glanceoverata

black Acura that is parallelparkingacrossthestreet.Thegirl behind the wheel isstruggling to get the car intothe tight space. Someonehops out of the frontpassenger side and startstryingtodirecther.

“Ohmygod, Meeka,whoever gave you ya licenseneedstobedrop-kickedinthethroat.”“Eatme,” the driver snaps

back. “All I asked is for youtomake sure I don’t hit thatstupid car in back of me.Ain’t nobody ask you for noextras.”“Well,ifyouknewhowto

parkIwouldn’thavetabeoutheretrynaplaytrafficcop.I’dalready be inside the party

gettin’mydrop’n’popon.”I eye her as she does a

booty shake right in themiddleofthestreet.Herhipsshake wildly as the rearpassengerwindowrollsdownand another girl sticks herheadoutthewindowcheeringher on. “Don’t stop! Get it!Get it! Do dat ole nasty ish,Kee-Kee. Air dat ole stankcoochieout.”The girl and the driver

burst into laughter, causing

her to back into the parkedcar behind her. The futurestripper gives her friends thefinger.Tells them tokissherbutt.Well,hera-double-s.I blow my nose, feeling

lessshaken.Ipulloutmycelland check my messages. Ihave two missed calls fromHope. And a text messagefrom Blaze saying: WATZGUD? HAD U ON DA BRAINJUS WANTED TO C HOW UDOIN.HITMEBACK

“Party or no party,” I hearMalik say into his phone,bringingmyattentionbacktohim. “He tried to violatemypeoples,yo.Handlehim.Andifdamofoleaps,youalreadyknowwatitis.”Thecallendsandhe slides his phone backdownintohispocket.“It’shandled,yo.”I blink, once, twice. “It’s

handled...how?”He furrows his brow.

“Don’t worry ’bout dat. All

you need’a know is, datclown ain’t gonna ever stepouta pocket wit’ you again.Wordisbond,yo.”“Whatareyougoingtodo

tohim?”His jaw clenches. “I

already tol’ you don’t worry’boutdat,yo.Youletmedealwit’ dat, a’ight?” I nod.“Cool.Nowwhoyououtherewit’, anyway? I know youain’toutheresolo.”Ishakemyhead.TellhimI

came with Sasha. “Butsomehow she went missingwith some guy,” I add,purposefully leaving out thefact that I’dseenherupstairshavinganorgy.“Sasha?” He frowns,

shakinghishead.“See.Dat’sdat bullshit, for real for real.Howy’allgethere?”“She drove,” I say,

glancing over at the girlsgetting out of the Acura.They’re all wearing short

hairdos and extra-short skirtswith extra-high heels thattheycanbarelywalkin.All that just togetnoticed.

Mmmph. I shake my head,glancing down at my ownattire. Like I have room totalk.“She ain’t even hit me up

to let me know you wasgonna be here.” I knit mybrows together. “Oh, youain’tknowIwascheckin’foryou?Sashaain’ttellyou?”

I shake my head. “No.Why would she need to dothat?Idon’tevenknowyou.”“Not yet you don’t. But

you’bouttorealsoon.”Igivehim a confused look. “Yo,c’mon,ma.Don’t front.Youreallyain’tknow?”I shakemyhead. “No,not

really.”“Well,Iam.”Hetellsme how he’s had his eye onme since he first spotted meatwork.ThatheaskedSashawhoIwas,butsheactedlike

shedidn’twanthim toknowat first. But he kept pressingher.“Oh,”Isay.“Yeah.But it’s all good. I

got at you now. So relax,baby.Inaminute,I’ma’bouttobedabestthingthat’severhappenedtoyou.”Ifrown.Hestarts laughing.“Relax,

yo. I’m only effen wit’ you.But I’m ’bout you gettin’ toknowme.Howyoufeel’bout

dat?”I shrug. Honestly, I don’t

knowwhat to feel.My brainis still fogged from whatalmost happened earlier, andfrom what I witnessedupstairs. But I’ll admit I’mrelieved that I ran into himwhen I did. I don’t knowwhat I would have done,beingwayouthere.“Well, check it. We ain’t

gonna talk ’bout none’a datright now. I gottamake sure

yougethomebe—”“Yo, wat’s poppin’,

Money?” a light-skinned guywith slanted eyes andcornrows says, walking overandgivingMalikapound.Heglancesoveratmeandnods.“What’sgood,ma?”“Nothing,”Isay,tryingnot

to stare at him. He’s really,really tall. Like at least sixfour,sixfive.Andhe’sreally,reallycute.“Ain’t nuthin’, yo,” Malik

says to him. “Just out herekickin’itwit’mypeoples.”“Oh, a’ight, a’ight.” He

glances back over at me. “Isee you, son. She mad sexy,fam.”I catch Malik, grinning.

“True indeed, yo. But, dig.I’ma holla at you in a bit,a’ight?”“Yo, true, true. Fo’ sho’.

I’ma ’bout to go inside ’n’seewatitlookin’like.”Theygive each other one of those

brotherly hugs with thehandshakethingytheyalldo.I think they call it dap, orsomethinglikethat.Malik stands in front of

me, leaning up against thedoor of his truck. He keepsstaring at me; his eyesroaming all over me. And Iamfeelinghotunderhisgaze.I shift my weight from oneheeledfoottotheother.Nervously, I tuck a strand

of hair behind my ear. Then

fidget with the hem of myskirt.All Ican thinkabout isgettinghomeandtakingahotshower to scrub Shaheed’sgrimyhandsoffofme.“Yo, you got some pretty

legs,” Malik says, finallyslicing through the awkwardsilence between us. “I seewhy you got these fools outherebuggin’.”“It’snot intentional,” Isay

defensively.ThewayhesaysthatmakesmefeellikeIneed

to defend the way I’mdressed.AndIshouldn’thaveto.“Nah, I ain’t sayin’ it is.

You old enough to dresshowever youwanna.All I’msayin’ is, li’l boys can’talwayshandleasexywomanshowin’ ‘em a lotta skin;especially some dumb mofowit’afewdrinksordatotherishinhissystem.”Wow,hethinksI’msexy!“I’m not grown,” I say.

“I’monlysixteen.”“Is dat right?” he smirks,

amusement dancing in hiseyes. “Sixteen, huh? Well,check it. You might be onlysixteen. But you got a bodylike a grownwoman. See. Ifyouhadamaninya lifeyouwouldn’thavetoworryaboutno punk busta tryna violateyou.”I tilt my head. “And who

says I don’t have aboyfriend?”

“See. Who said anything’bout a boyfriend. I said aman.Bigdifference.Li’lgirlshave boyfriends. Baby, youneed a realman to keep yousafe, ya heard? Like I said,theseli’lboyzain’treadyforyou,ma.”“Heyyy, Maaaaalik,” a

voice coos in back of me. Iglance overmy shoulder andsee a mocha-brown girlwearing a platinum blondeweave—ormaybe it’s awig,

I don’t know—and a whitefishnetbodysuitwithawhitethong.Ohmygod! She has on

pastiesoverhernipples.Howgross!“Yo, what’s good,

Melody?” Malik says,looking over my head tospeaktoher.“Nothin’much,boo.Please

tell me it’s not busted up inthere.” Fishnet is nowstanding a few inches away

fromus.Iquicklytakeinheroutfit, glancing down at herfeet. She has on a pair ofseven-inch platform heels. Isay hello and she doesn’tbother to speakbackor evenlookmyway.Howrude?“I don’t know. I’ve been

outherechillin’.”“Oh,allright.Well,letme

getupinheretoseewhat—orwho—Icanturnouttonight.”Malik laughs.“Godoyou,

baby. I already know howyoudoit.”As soon as Fishnet walks

off, here come two moregirls, walking over toMalik.Theyarebothdarkchocolatewith extremely long, glitterylash extensions. One iswearing a short white dresswith a scoop neck and cut-out-back with black heels.Theotheriswearingthesameexact outfit; except her dressis black and she’s wearing

white heels. Both of theirdresses barely cover theirbutts.“Heyyy,Malik,” they both

sayinunison.Hegrins.“Yo,watitdo?”“You wat it do, boo,”

White Dress says, flashingherbrightwhitesmile.“Oh, word? Dat’s

wasssup.”“Boy,whenyougonnacall

me?” Black Dress asks,battinghereyesathim.

They both glance over atme,lookingmeupanddown.Then bring their attentionback to Malik like I’minvisible.“Oh,mybad.Kia’n’Mia,

dis my peoples, Kennedy.KennedydisKia’n’Mia.”I open my mouth to ask

them if they are twins, eventhough theydon’t look alike,butIamimmediatelystunnedinto silence when peoplefrom the party come running

outofthefrontdoor.Girlsarescreaming and scatteringaroundfranticallyassomeonegets thrownout thedoor andonto the sidewalk. Thenpounced on by five guys,punchingandstompinghim.Iblink.Ittakesafewsecondsforit

toregisterinmybrain,formeto realize who it is beingbeatenalmosttodeath.My eyes pop open in

horror.

It’sthatboyShaheed.

A few days later, I’m atSasha’s house.We’re lockedup in her bedroom with thewindow wide open. It’sswelteringinherroom,likeasauna. It’s bad enough thatit’s humid outside. But it’s

torturous to be insidesweating. I try not to thinkabout it. But I can’t helpwondering how anyone canlive like this,without centralair. But Sasha doesn’t seemfazedbytheheatsteamingupher room. There are twooscillatingfansover ineithercorneroftheroom.“Ooh,I’msomadImissed

dat party last weekend,”Sasha’s friend Shay-Shaysaysasshesplitsopenacigar

with her long fingernails. Ieyeherassheletsthetobaccofall out into the trash can.“Dat ish wit’ Sha wouldn’tevenhadgonedownlikedat,either.”Sheshootsmeadirtylook. I look away from her.“Mmph. Silly tricks stayfrontin’ondaD.Thenwannacryrape.”Iblink.“Girl, stop,” Sasha says,

shaking her head. “Youwasn’teventheresodon’tgo

poppin’ off ’cause you don’tknow what happened up indat room. Ain’t dat right,girl?” She looks over at me.“Tell her to eat da inside ofyacrack.”“I’d really rather not talk

aboutit,”Isay,shiftinginmyseat. “I mean. I have noreasontolieonanyone.”Shay-Shay grunts, pulling

outaplasticbagstuffedwithdarkgreen leavesandevenlysprinkling some out onto the

guttedcigarskin.“Girl, no judgment over

here,” Sasha says. “I knowhownuccasdowhentheygetallliquoredup.Trust.Nuccasdon’tknowhowtatakenoforananswer.”“Whatever, Sasha. You

know Sha ain’t hardly try’nrapeher.Sheprollywantedit,thengotmadwhenheturnedherdown.”Ifrown.“I’mnotatease.”She glares at me. “Oh,

don’t get it effed up. Youbetterhaveaseat’foreItakeit to ya face.” She licks androlls the cigar, then pulls outa lighter and runs the flamealong the sides of the cigar.“Youhadnobidnessgoin’upto dat room if you ain’twanna get that thangstretchedout.”“Bish,” Sasha snaps. “She

shouldbeabletogowherevershe wants. He ain’t have nobusinesstrynaforceher.You

know dat nucca is a panty-hound so stop.You justmad’cause da mofo ain’t trynabreak you off none’a datlollipop.” She cracks uplaughing. “Oh, Miss GoodyTwo-shoeshadalldemninjastryna get up in dem drawz.Seems like I can’t takePeachesnowhere.”Shecracksuplaughing.“That’ssonottrue,”Isay.Shay-Shay frowns as she

lights her blunt, then inhales

deeply. “Peaches?” Sheblows a big curl of whitesmoke from her lips. Shetakes three more pulls thenpassesittoSasha.“Inside joke, girl,” Sasha

says, taking the blunt fromher. She takes a pull thenstartstellingherhowIcarriedon the first timeshe tookmetoaparty.“Girl,youshouldaseen Miss Strip Tease,flashin’ her boobs ’n’ gettin’allfreakywit’it.”

I cringe at the memory ofbeing intoxicated and notremembering half of what Isupposedly did. The Shay-Shay girl glares at me asSasha reaches over and triestopassmetheblunt.I shake my head. “No.

That’sokay.I’mgood.”Shay-Shay rolls her eyes.

“Mmph. And da bish thinksshe’s toogood tosmokewit’us.Whysheevenhere?”“ ’Cause I invited her,”

Sasha snaps. “So you need’achilldafuqqout.”Shaywavesheroff.“Trick,

pass me da blunt ’n’ stophoggin’ it like you tryna eatit.”“Whatever.” She takes

another pull, then hands itback over to Shay-Shay. Sheblows smoke up at theceiling. “But she right,though, girly. You need’acome up off’a all dat goodytwo-shoes ish ’n’ kick back

wit’us.Itain’tlikeweaskin’you to do coke or pop anE-pill. All it is is weed. Datain’tgonnakillyou.”“Yeah,Iknow.Ineversaid

itwould.”“Then,girl,watyouscared

of?”I start coughing from the

thick cloud of smoke that’sblowingmyway.Theroomisgetting thick with it, makingitfeel tentimeshotter thanitalreadyisinhere.

Shay-Shaysucksher teeth.“Girl, bye. Don’t beg her tosmoke wit’ us. I ain’t reallycheckin’ for her liked datanyway.”Sasharollshereyes.“Here,

girl.” She takes two longpulls from the blunt, thenhandsittome.“Iknowyouanewbie so I’mabreak you inrealeasybreezy.Here.”Reluctantly, I take the

blunt from her, looking at itwith both excitement and

nervousness. I’d wanted tosmoke with Hazel Eyes buthewouldn’t.Andnowhereismy opportunity to see whatit’slike.Iputittomylips.“Allyougottadoispullon

it until you feel a light burn,then hold da smoke in yachest for like a few seconds,thenblowitout.”I do as she instructs and

immediately my throattightens and I start coughing

andchokingasifI’mabouttohave an asthma attack. Myeyes start watering and mychest feels like it’s on fire.Shay-ShayandSasha lookateach other and burst outlaughing. And now I amlaughingwiththem,coughingand wiping tears from myeyes.I’mfloating.I roll my head back and

look up at the ceiling as wepassthebluntbackandforth.

Iseeabunchofcracksinthepaint and start to wonder ifthose cracks have alwaysbeen there or if I was justseeing things from smokingtheblunt.We smoke the blunt down

until Icanbarelygrip itwithmyfingers.Shay-Shaycallsita roach, then pulls out somekind of clipper thing andkeepsonsmoking itdown toalmostnothing.Wow,she’srealgreedy.

I peel my eyes from thecracks in the ceiling andglance over at Shay-Shay,who’srollinganotherblunt.She puts it up to her lips

andlightsitup.Dang, she has some big,

fluffylips.Istartgiggling.By the time we finish the

second blunt. I can’t stoplooking at Shay-Shay’s lips.Theylooklikethey’vegottenbigger than they already

were.Shesucksherteeth.“What

you doin’ all dat stupidlaughin’for?What’ssoeffenfunny?”“Bwaaahahahaaahaha. I

can’t stop laughing at yourlips,” I say without anythought.Sasha starts laughing.

“Ooh, she callin’ youHorselips,boo.Girl,youdeadwrongfordat.”“Hahahaha. I know, right.

Herlipssobigtheylooklikethey’ll suck a boy’s wholeface off if he tries to kissher.”I’mlaughingsohardthatI

don’t notice that Shay-Shayisn’t laughing. I don’t noticethe evil look she gives me,either. In fact, I don’t evenrealizethatSashaisnolongerlaughing with me because Iamsocaughtupinlaughter.Out of nowhere, Shay-

Shay lunges at me, pulling

out a knife and flipping itopen. She grabs me by myshirt collar, slamming meback onto the bed andcatching me completely offguard. “Bish, I will slice yaeffen throat!No.Thenagain,I’ll slash up ya face ’n’ cutoff ya gawtdamn lips, don’tcome for me unless I callyou!”Myheartdrops.“I-I-Iwasonlyplaying.”“We ain’t cool like dat! I

will bust you in yo’ face!”She starts digging her nailsintomyneck,tryingtochokeme with one hand. “Laughnow!”I start scratching and

clawingatherhand trying togetheroffofme.Sasha hops up from the

floor. “Sheeeit! See youheifers effen wit’ my high.C’mon Shay, you know disgirlcan’tevenhandleyou.Solethergo.”

“No!Shewannalaugh.ButIdon’t seeher laughin’now.Is you? Huh, bish!” Sheswingsafistupsidemyhead.And I hearmyself scream inmyhead. “I should stab ya!”Shemushesme, then lets goand starts pacing the floorlikeawildwoman.I gasp and gulp in air,

tryingtocatchmybreath.“Ohmygod!”Irubmyneck

and shake my head. “I can’tbelieveyoutriedtokillme!”

“Believe it! You don’tknow me! I will bring it yahead!You lucky Idon’tbustya mouff open right now. Iknow I got big lips, I don’tneed you tryna make fun of’em.”I try to apologize but she

isn’tinterested.She clenches her teeth,

pounding her fist into thepalmofherhand.“Youain’t’boutdis life, soyouneed tostop tryna be ’n’ get back to

da’burbswhereyoubelong.”The wild look in her eyes

tellsmeshe’s twostepsfromcrazy.Shechargesatmeandpunches me in my jaw,causing my head to snapback.Blood gushes frommymouth.I scream, glancing over at

Sasha.She shrugs. “Next time

watchwhatyousay.”

Three days later, I am outspending thedaywithMalik.I was surprised when hecalled and said he wanted totake me shopping. No guyhas ever offered to take meout to buy me whatever I

want. But Malik did. Now,after four hours of mall andoutlet hopping, Maliksuggests we go grab a quickbite to eat. He asks what Ihave a taste for. I tell himwhatever he wants is finewith me. Truth is, I don’treally have much of anappetite. For some reason,I’m starting to feel... I don’tknow. Like, um, maybe Ireally shouldn’t have let himspendsomuchmoneyonme.

Apartofmeisalsofeelingbad about lying to my momagain. Butwhat other choicedid I have? I wanted to seehim. And I know if I’d toldher the truth shewould haveforbiddenit.I shrugoff theguilt that is

slowly stirring in the pit ofmy stomach as I settle intothe plush leather seat. I leanmyheadbackontheheadrestand stare out the window,wonderinghow in theheck I

amgoingtosneakalloftheseshoppingbags intomyhousewithoutmymotheraskingmeamillionquestions.“Yo, you a’ight over

there?” Malik asks, lookingoveratme.Inod,soaking inallofhis

fineness. My milk-chocolatedreamboat. Malik. Six feettall, rippled abs, chiseledbiceps, and sweet, juicy lips.He is so fine. He melts meinto a puddle of sweet

nothings every time he looksinto my soul with hisbeautiful,deep,piercing,darkbrown eyes with the thicklashes.He’sperfect.The wayMalik gazes into

my eyes is intoxicating.Intense. It’sas ifhewants toseeeverything there is to seein me. It makes me feelspecial. I’ve never had anyboy look at me the way hedoes. And I think that’s one

of the reasons why I wantedto seehim today.Had to seehim.I can almost see myself

becoming addicted to Malikin the way that I am toReese’sPeanutButterCups.Iknow that I’m allergic tochocolate, yet still indulgemyself.It’sstartingtofeelthesamewaywithMalik.Iknowtoomuchofhimmightnotbegood for me, but for somereason I can’t seem to get

enough of him. And thatkinda frightens and excitesmeatthesametime.“Yo, real spit, babe. You

’bout to have me catch acharge;forrealforreal.I’makidnap ya for the weekend,then have my way wit’ you;youknowthatright?”Aslowgrincreepsoverhislips.I shift in my seat, feeling

heatspreadthroughmybody.I don’t know what to say tothat. I pushout a chuckle. “I

wish. My parents wouldgroundmeindefinitelyiftheyever found out I was offsomewhere spending theweekend with some guy, iftheydidn’tkillmefirst.”“Nah, you sixteen. You

grown, baby.” He reachesoverand lightlysqueezesmyknee, thenglideshishandupmy leg. “You can dowhatever you want, babe.And, legally, there’s nothingthey can do to stop you.

Besides, who said they’dhavetoknow;nah’mean?”Ismileathim,notknowing

what else to say. I mean, Iknowwhattheageofconsentis: sixteen. But does thatmean that legally there isn’tanythingmyparentscoulddoif I went and spent theweekendwithhim?Ohmygod, why am I even

thinkingaboutanyofthis?He’sonlykidding.Relax.Fifteen minutes later,

Malik parks his SUV, thengetsout andwalks around tomy side and opens the door,helping me out. “You sexy,babe.”I smile, feeling like the

luckiest girl alive. Malik iseverythingIhaveeverwishedfor in a guy. He’s so sweet.No, he’s a whole lot morethan just sweet. He’s . . .perfect!I’vehadtopinchmyselfat

least four times tomakesure

it’s real. Because to behonest,itallfeelstoogoodtobetrue.Iknownineteenisn’treally

thatold.Butformeitis.He’stheoldestguyI’veeverspentany time with. Compared tothe other guys I’ve dated orliked,Malikisn’taboy.He’sagrownman.And he seemswaaaay too

oldforme.ButIknowageisnothing but a number. It’show someone treats you and

makes you feel that reallymatters,right?Ibreathe inhis cologne as

he takesmeby thehand andleadsme toward theentranceofApplebee’s,wherewe areseated within minutes. I’mgladtherewasn’talongwait,like usual on a Saturdaynight.We sit at a table near the

bar. “You know what youwannaget?”heasks,pickingup his menu and flipping

throughit.Iwant to tellhimthat I’ve

never eaten here before. Butdecide it isn’t important.Beingwithhimis.I flip throughmymenu as

well, trying to decide. “No,notyet,”Isay,glancingupathim as he pulls out hisSamsungandstartstexting.A few minutes later our

waiter comes to the table totake our orders. I order thethree-cheese chicken penne.

Hegetsanappetizersampler,andthehoneypepperchickenand shrimp. We both orderpomegranatelemonades.Malik waits for the waiter

to walk off, then rests hisarmson the table, leaning in.Justasheopenshismouthtospeak,he’sinterruptedbythisbrown-skinnedgirlwearingashort blonde pixie hairstylewith streaks of orange in herbangs and bright yellow,purple,andgoldhighlightsin

eachspikeofherhair.She looks like she stuck

her head into a bowl ofmeltedSkittles.“Oh, no, this mofo ain’t

sittin’ up here with someotherchick.Malik?!”Helooksupandoverinthe

direction of the ruckus.Skittles stomps over towardour table with three othergirls in tow, all looking likethey’d slice, shoot, andstomp, then ask questions

later. Her multicoloredfingernails are at least fourinches long. Both of herwrists are wrapped in goldbangles.Andshehasabunchof rings on almost everyfinger.“Sodiswhyyouain’tbeen

pickin’ up ya phone all day.You was s’posed to comethrough dis mornin’ ’n’insteadyououttrickin’upmybaby’s milk ’n’ Pampers ondisli’luppity,yellowthot.”

Iblink.I don’t know why, but

suddenly this trashy girlmakesme think of old rerunshows of Martin. Now Iknowwhosheremindsmeof.ThecharacterSheneneh.Andthe three girls with her alllookjustascolorfulandcrazyas she does. If I wasn’t soscared of what’s about tounfoldinhere,I’dlaugh.She snarls at me. “Trick,

what you doin’ out wit’ my

man, coo-cooin’ all up inhisfacelikeyouinlove,huh?”Iblink.Skittles looks mean and

gooddangcrazy.“Yo, go ’head with that

dumbshit,Henney.”Henney? Ohmygod, what

kindofnameisthat?She slams a hand on her

narrow hip. She has a realsmall waist, itty-bitty breaststhat look like they couldeasilybemistakenforplums,

and a gigantic booty thatlooks like it’s been attachedtothewrongbody.Itrynottogawkather.“Don’t ‘Henney’ me, you

sneaky black sonofabitch! Ibeencallin’yaallday,nucca.Why ain’t you been throughtoseeaboutyason,huh?”“Yogo’headwit’dat.You

alreadyknowwhatitis.Howmany times we gonna keepgoin’throughdis?”I swallow. Ohmygod! I

can’t believe Malik has ababywiththiscrazygirl.“What you lookin’ at,

trick?”“N-n-othing,” I stutter,

shifting my eyes around therestaurant. Several tablesaround us have alreadystartedtakinginthespectacleunfolding. And all I keepthinking is, please don’t lettheseghettogirls jumpme inhere.Truth is, aside from the

fightsI’vehadwithmythreeolder brothers, I’d never hada real fight inmy entire lifewith a girl, or with anyone,for that matter until that girlShay-Shay attacked me. Noteven an argument. Well, notone where there are cursewords and yelling andthreatening going back andforth.I know I said that I’m

fascinatedwiththefast,grittystreets of the hood. But that

doesn’t mean I want toexperience a firsthand fightwithanyof thesegirls,eyingme real nasty-like. They alllook like they know how tospitrazorsoutandsliceafacewithoutblinkinganeye.Ishiftinmyseat.“Yo, what you want,

Hennessey? Don’t you seeI’mtrynaeat?Whyyougottabe on effen ten all da effentime,huh?”“I ain’t on ten, yet, ninja.

But I’ma ’bout to be realquick if you don’t tell mewhat you doin’ out herewit’her.”My eyes pop open. I

swallow. “My name’sKennedy,”Isaymeekly.She glances over at her

three friends, who are allsmirking.“Oh,y’allheardat.Her name’sKennnnedy,” shesays, mockingly. Her friendslaugh. “Soundin’ all tighty-whitey. Trick, please. Take

dat Cracker Jack ish back toda ’burbs where you belong.I’llcallyouwhatIwannacallyou.Andwhat?”I shift back in my seat,

cuttingmyeyeoveratMalik.“I don’t know what you

lookin’ over dere at him for,like he gonna save you orsumthin’. What, you needdaddy to save you? I ain’toverhereforyouanyway,li’lgirl. So don’t go pissin’ yapanties up. But trust. If I

wanted tobring it toyaface,there wouldn’t be all distalkin’goin’on.”Herfriendslaugh.Malik’s jaw tightens. “Yo,

Hennessey, for real. You’bouttohavemetakeitthere.Wordisbond,yo.Youbetterstep,a’ight?”“Nucca, I ain’t better do

ish. I know you don’t evenwanna see me turn up up inhere sodon’teven try’nplayme.”

Malik grits his teeth.“BeforeIsplityashit,yo,I’mwarnin’you.”She ignores him, shooting

a dirty look over at me. Herglare is hot enough to meltsteel. “How long you beenneck-bobbin’ him, huh, li’lgirl? What, you deaf? Youhearmetalkin’toyou.”“Yo, what da—” Malik

hops up from the table andsnaps on her, goes fromniceto nasty in a flash. And it

startlesme for a second. I’mnotaccustomedtothiskindofstuff; especially not out inpublic. I see a thick veinpump in his forehead assnatches her by the arm andstarts roughing her up.“Didn’tItellyoutotakeyatostop, huh? But you wannakeeppoppin’yajaws,right?”Shepusheshimoffofher.

“I’mnottrynahearyou.Youthink you can come through’n’ hit dis good stuff

whenever you effen want,thenturnaround’n’playme.I don’t think so. I’m not daone.” She lunges toward thetable, causing me to jump.“Beeyotch,heain’tevagonnabeyourssoyoumightaswellcashoutnowbeforeyoufindyaself stomped out. Thatninjaain’evalettin’goofdiswet-wetovahere,boo.Trust.Youjustasidepiece.”Malikyanksherbythearm

again. Tells her to shut her

mouth. The whole scenestarts to turn ugly as shefights him off of her, callinghim all types of dirty, cruelnames. She’s a real guttermouth.Next thing I know, her

three friends all jump onMalik, snatching plates offnearby tables and smashingthemupsidehishead.HeletsSkittles go and tries tomanhandle her friends. Iwatch in horror as Malik

tosses them around therestaurant and they jump onhis back until they’ve finallygottenhimdownonthefloor,stomping and kicking andpunchinghim.IamsoscaredI’vepeedon

myself.“And since you wanna

choosedatstuck-upslutoverall’adishoodgoodness,Igotsumthin’ for you if I evercatch her alone! You watch,punk!”

“Where have you been,younglady?”mymomwantsto know, swinging open mybedroom door and steppingintomyroom.Icantellshe’spissedbythesternnessinhervoice.

“Iwas outwith... outwithSasha,”Iblurtout.“Sasha?” She raises her

brow.“Ohreally?AndwherewereyouwiththisSasha?”“Hanging out at her

house.”She blinks. “And where

doesthisSashalive,again?”I never told you! Besides,

it’snoneofyourbusiness!“Across town,” I offer,

moving around my room,trying to avoid her roving

eyes. She’s studying myeverymove.And it’smakingme uncomfortable. Lyingisn’t my greatest asset. Butit’s something I’m slowlybecoming better at.Concealingthetruthfromheris a whole lot easier thantelling her that I was withMalik; that he had tomanhandle an ex-girlfriendand I witnessed him gettingjumpedinarestaurantbyherandherghettosquad.Telling

her this will only send herthrough the roof.Mom leansup against my dresser, herarmsfoldedandheadtilted.“Across townwhere? And

wereherparentshome?”I suck my teeth. “Mom,

she’s eighteen. She doesn’tneed supervision. And, yes,her mother was there.” Ipurposefully don’t mentionwhere she lives, or that hermom was passed out on thesofa drunkwith a half bottle

of Jack Daniels between herlegs.She grunts. “Don’t you

suck your teeth at me. It’spast your curfew. You doknowthat,right?”“I’m only a few minutes

late. What’s the big deal?You’ve never had anyproblembefore.”“Well, before you would

call to let me know whereyou were and what time toexpect you. Anything can

happenoutthere.”I huff. “Dang, mom. I’m

notalittlegirl.Fallback.I’monly thirty minutes late.Okay,Igetit.Ididn’tcall.Itwon’t happen again, okay?Geesh.Relax.It’snot...”“Relax? Fall back?” she

shrieks, glaring at me as ifI’ve gone completely insane.Maybe I have. I have neverspoken to her in thismannerbefore.Never.“Haveyou lostyourmind,

Kennedy, huh? Have you?You don’t tell me to relax.Sincewhendoyou think it’sokaytospeaktomelikethat,huh?Sincewhendidyoustarttalking like that? I tell youwhen. When you startedassociating with that Sashagirl. I don’t like her. She’s alittle too fast to my liking.And she’s obviouslybecoming a bad influence onyou if you think you candisrespect me in my own

homeandtellmetofallbackandrelax.”“I wasn’t saying it to be

disrespectful. It’s a figure ofspeech.”Sheplantsahanduponher

hip.“Figureofspeechornot,it’s disrespectful. I am yourmother, not one of your newlittle homegirls you’ve takenup with. I don’t want youhanging with that Sasha girlanymore. You understandme?”

“Ohmygod! That’s sounfair! Why? What has shedonetoyou?”“She’sabadinfluence.”“Youdon’tevenknowher.

She’snot a bad influence onme,”Iprotest,soundinglikeawhinybrat.“I don’t need to know her

toknowthatshe’strouble.”“It’s allmy fault. I should

have called you, but I gotcaught up and lost track oftime. I apologize. You don’t

havetoactlikeit’stheendoftheworld.”“It’s not the end of the

world, Kennedy. But it willbe the endof your outings ifyoucan’tgetinthishouseontime. Do I make myselfclear?”Isilentlyrollmyeyesupin

myhead.“Yeah.”“Yeah?Girl,youhadbetter

regroupandrememberwhomyou are speaking to. Am Iclear?”

“Yes.”“Yes? Girl, I’m warning

you. You had better put ahandle on it before you findyourself grounded for thenexttwoweeks.”I bite into my lip to keep

fromscreaming.I pull in a deep breath.

Blow it out slowly. “Yes,Mom.”“Good. You’re grounded

fortherestoftheweekend.”“But—”

“ ‘But’ nothing. I don’twant to hear another wordaboutit.Grounded.”Iopenmymouthtospeak,

but she puts a hand up andshuts me down. “I said, notanotherword.”Iquicklyshutmymouth.“Now go shower and get

yourself ready for bed. Yousmell like marijuana smoke.Andyoubetternoteventhinkaboutsmokingthatmess.”“I’mnot.”

Sheeyesmerealhard,thenspins on her heel and walksout,leavingmestandingherein the middle of my room,feeling like my whole worldis about to end being onpunishment for the next twodays.“She spazzed out on you

likedat?”Sashasays,shakingherhead.We’resittinginthefood court on our thirty-minute break and I just

finished filling her in on thedrama that happened lastnight.“Yeah, she was pretty

pissed.”“Girl, couldn’t beme.My

momz tried dat punishmentishonme’n’Itol’hertokissmyjuicy.. .”Sheleansoveron one butt cheek thenreaches in back of her andsmacks it. “And I tol’ her tokiss it real good. Ain’tnobodygottimefordat.”

“Ohmygod!What’dshedoafterthat?”“Girl, please. What you

think she did? Not a thang.The only thing she could dowassitthere’n’dealwit’it.Iwas sixteen ’n’ grown. Shecouldn’t do a thang but getwit’daprogram’n’letmedome.”“Well, my parents,

especially my mom, wouldneverjustletmedome.”She grunts. “Mmmph. I

don’t know why not. Aren’tyoualmostseventeen?”“Yeah.”“Well, then you grown,

girl. You better get ya life,boo.Itssummertime’n’ain’tnobodytrynabecoopedupinsomeboxallweekend.”I nod, taking in what she

says.“True.But—”“ ’But’ nothin’, girl. You

need to be ready to hit dispartywit’metomorrownight’n’ stop frontin’. It’s gonna

befire.Trust.”My heart skips at the

thought of going out, beingsweptupinthemusicandallthe cuties that I know aregoing to be there. Thenreality sets in. And myexcitement deflates. “Ooh, Iwish I could go. There’s noway I’ll be able to get outwithout my mom catchingme, then grounding me fortherestofthesummer.”“Umm, helllloooo.” She

snapsher fingers inmy face.“EarthtoKennedy.Whosaysshehastoknow?Sneakout.”Sneakout?Ohmygod!She

can’t be serious. My momwould kill me. Then again,it’snot like Ihaven’tdone itbefore.Ishakemyhead.“Well...

maybe. I just don’t want togetcaught.”Shegivesmeapitifullook.

“Poor thing.” She plucks aFrench fry from her plate,

dips it into her little cup ofketchup then takes a bite.“Well, good luck with that.Annnyway, movin’ on.What’s up wit’ you ’n’ myboy Malik? You feelin’ himorwhat?”I shrug. “He’s nice. I

guess.”She gives me an

incredulouslook.“He’snice?You guess? Girl, bye. Missme wit’ dat. Didn’t y’all goout?”

Inod.“Yeah.Wedid.Andthenhisbabymothershowedup and started making ascene?”Shemakes a face. “Which

babymuhver?”Itellher.Sherolls her eyes. “Henney ain’tnothin’ but a buncha mouth.It prolly ain’t his babyanyway.”“Really?”“Girl, please. She gave it

up to da whole block onetime.Shenastylikedat.”

Iblink.Shehasawholelotof nerve calling someonenasty when I caught hernaked with a room full ofhalf-naked guys, letting themhavetheirwaywithher.I keep my thought to

myself.“But back to Malik,” she

says, plucking another fryfromherplate,thenstuffingitinto her mouth. “What youmeanyouguess?”Shechews,then swallows. “Girl, bye.

There’snothin’ toguess.Datnucca’s mad fly. His swag’ssick’n’hestaysonone.Girl,please.He’se’erything.”I’ve heard the phrase “on

one”usedbeforemany timesin rap lyrics and fromSasha,but I still don’t quiteunderstand what it means.Embarrassed, I ask Sasha toexplainittome.She gives me a strange

look,shakingherhead.“Girl,you really don’t know much

of nothin’, do you?” shelaughs. “See. Dat’s wathappenswhenyouain’tfromda hood. You stay lost.Anyway, let me bring youintodalight.Itmeansdatyoueither high or drunk. But inMalik’scaseitmeanshedoeshim ’n’ he don’t give a effwhat mofos out in da streetsgottasayorthinkaboutit.”“Oh,”Isay,nodding.She takes a sip of her

MountainDew. “Now out in

Cali if you hear ’em say datdenitmeanstheyhighoffdatcrystalmeth.Well, dat’swatmy girl Lisa says since all’aher fam from out dat way.Methheadjunkies.”Sheshakesherhead.“Isn’t that what you use

sometimes?” I ask,immediatelyregrettingiteverfallingfrommylips.She shoots me a nasty

look. Oh God! “What,meth?” Islowlynod,bracing

myself for what’s to come.“Bish,don’tyoueverdisme.I ain’t never used no effenmeth.Maybeali’lmollyhere’n’ dere, but dat’s it. And Ionly use dat when I reallywanna let my hair down ’n’justdome.”“Oh,”Isay,apologetically.

“Ididn’tknow.Ithoughttheywerethesamething.”“Trick,doyourhomework,

first, before you go trynalabel someone.No, dey ain’t

da same thang. You uppityhoes stay tryna lookdownatchicks from the hood whenyou bishes do more whorin’’n’druggin’thananyofus.”“Sasha,” I say calmly.

“Pleasedon’t callmenames.It’sdisrespectful.”Sheslamsahanduponher

hip,zigzaggingherneckfromonesidetotheother.“Tramp,bye. Miss me wit’ dat. I’llcall you what I want,especially when you come

outyafacetrynadisme.Youtry’n call me out, then I’macall you out, too. Trust. Idon’tknowwhatkindagamesyoutrynaplay.ButIain’tdaone, boo-boo. So don’t dome.”Iblink.“Look, Sasha. I’m not

exactlysurewhatIsaidtosetyouoff.ButIwasn’ttryingtodo you. Or label you. I onlyaskedasimplequestion.”“Girl, bye. It was

disrespectful.”Honestly, I am not seeing

what was so disrespectfulabout what I asked her. Butforsomereason, thefact thatI’ve asked seems to be aproblem for her. So in hopestorestorepeacebetweenus Isay, “I apologize. Really. Ididn’tthinkaskingaquestionwouldupsetyou.”“Well, it sounded like

judgmenttome.”“Ohmygod! Judgment?

Sasha, that’s the last thing Ido to anyone. I swear. Iaccept people for who theyare and for what they do,evenifit’snotwhatI’minto.Ireallydidn’tknowitwasn’tthesamething.”“Wellnowyoudo.”“Iapologize.Ididn’tmean

tooffendyou.”She clucks her tongue.

“Well, it sounded datway tome, like you better than me.Dat’s da problem wit’ you

uppity suburban bishes, youall think you better than ushood bishes, but you staytryna come todahood to effourmen.”I give her an incredulous

look.“That’ssonottrue.”“Girl, bye. Miss me wit’

dat.”She gets up and snatches

her tray from off the table,stormingoff.Iamleftsittingatthetable,

looking around like, “What

just happened here?” whilefeeling completelyflabbergasted.

Three days later, I’m atJordan’s house with Hope.We’ve just gotten back fromthe salon getting manicuresand pedicures, along withcucumber and mint facials.And now we’re up in her

bedroom listening to SevynStreeter’s album Call MeCrazy,But...YoIwannacuIt’s a text from Malik.

We’ve spoken a few timessince that incident at therestaurant. And althoughseeing thosecrazygirls jumphimmademe real nervous, Istill like him. Maybe I’mcrazy. I don’t know. All Iknow is, there’s somethingabout Malik I really, really

like.I smile. It’s been a few

dayssinceI’veseenhim.Butnow that I am offpunishment, I am so lookingforward to spending timewithhim.Iwannacu2“Hey,youwanttogotothe

malltoday?”Jordanasked.“Which one?”Hopewants

toknow,lookingupfromheriPhoneoveratJordan.“GardenState.”

Hope shakes her head.“Oh, no thank you. I’m notup for that drive to Paramustoday.”“What? Are you serious?

It’s less than thirty minutes.Sowhatdoyoumeanyou’renot up for driving toParamus? You’re acting likeit’s an hour drive orsomething.”Hope sighs. “I have to go

to some Jack and Jill thingwith my mother at three.

Then I have ballet at five.Raincheck?”“Oh,” Jordan says,

sounding disappointed.“What about you, Kennedy?Yougame?”“Ican’t,”Isay,lookingup

from my phone. “I have towork.”Jordan huffs. “Ohmygod!

Thisisridiculous.Allyoudoiswork.”Ugottawork?NO,Itextback.

“Huh?”I lookupfrommyphone. “Are you talking tome?”She sucks her teeth.

“Yessss. I’m talking to you.Who are you texting andgrinningover,anyway?”“Afriend,”Isaycasually.“Uh-huh. And does this

friend have a name?” Hopeinquires.I’mnotreadytosharewith

themhisnamejustyet.“Yup.None-ya.”

“Let me guess,” Jordanretorts, twisting her lips up.“He’soneof them thugboysyou’resofascinatedwith.”Irollmyeyes.“Whatever.”Imakidnapu,yo.Igrin.Jordan sighs. “That’s so

rude.”I roll my eyes. “Girl, bye.

Don’thate.Likeyoudon’tdoit too. Let it be Howard.Mmph. You stay with yourface stuck to your screen.”

Malik sends another text,saying he’ll be free aroundeight.“I saaaaid, all you do is

work. It’s like you’d ratherspend timeat that ratchet jobthan spend time with yourbestfriends.”Itexthimback,OKI set my phone beside me

on the bed. “That is so nottrue, Jordan.” I look over atHope.“Hope,doyoufeelthatway,too?”

She puts her hands up.“Don’t put me in this. MynameisSwitzerland.AndI’mstayingneutral.”My cell chimes, alerting

me I have a new textmessage. I reach for it,glancing at the screen. It’sanothertextfromMalik. IMASCOOPUUP@9.UGONNABREADY4ME?Yes.“Really,Kennedy?”Jordan

says, frowning. “You’re

goingtokeeptextinglikethatand not tell us who you’retexting?Sincewhenyoustartkeepingsecrets?”“I’m not keeping any

secrets,” I lie. “Iwas textingmymanagertoletherknowIwassick.Sowecanhangoutatthemall.”“Goody,” she says,

clapping. Hope gets up fromthe bed, shouldering heroversized D&G bag. “Well,kiddies. I gotta go. My

mom’soutsidealready.”She air-kisses me, then

Jordan,thenisoutthedoor.“Well,” Jordan says,

lookingover atme. “It’s justyou andme.” She glances atmy phone in my hand. “Oh,andyourcell.”“Girl, stop. Let’s go to

NewportMall.”Her eyes pop out of her

head.“Whaaat?Whyareyoutryingtodragmetothathoodmall?YouknowI’mallergic

to those type of malls.There’snoGucci!NoPrada!No Bloomingdale’s! NoNeimanMarcus!”“Okay, okay... I get it.

You’realabeljunkie.”She sucks her teeth. “And

you’reahoodjunkie.”“C’mon.It’llbefun.”“Yeah, okay,” she says

relunctantly, getting up fromherchaise.“We’llsee.LetmegoputonmyKevlar.”Icrackuplaughing.

“A www, shiiiiiiiiit. Lookahere, looka here. Dere goesdat dirty trick right dere,” Ihear someone say, pointingoverinmydirection.Oh,godnoo!I stop dead in my tracks.

My knees buckle. It’s thatHennessey girl wobbling inour direction with two othergirlsoneithersideofher.Jordanwhispers out of the

sideofhermouth,“Ooh,lookat them ugly girls walkingtoward us.And the onewiththat orange yarn goingthrough her hair looks likeshe’s the queen of theghetto.”“Jordan,notnow,”Isayin

ahushedtone.“She’scrazy.”

Hennessey says, “Trick,it’s on now. I knew I wasgonna run into you again,soonerorlater.”I grab Jordan’s hand and

takeoffrunningwiththetwogirlswithherchasingbehindus. Jordan and I run throughthe food court zigzaggingthrough the crowd, trying togettosafetybeforetheycatchus.“Get her, Quanda!” I hear

someone scream. I think it’s

that Hennessey girl. But Ican’t be for certain. “Yeah,youbettarun,youeffenthot!StayawayfromMalik!”“Wait! Wait! Ohmygod,

Kennedy! What ishappening? Why are webeing chased by these wildgirls?”I can hear the two girls

chasing behind us, calling usnames and laughing at thesametime.“You betta hope I don’t

ever catch upwit’ you,bish!You can run but you can’thide!” I hear oneof thegirlsyelling in back of us as wezigzag through the mall,toward the escalators. “Iknowwhatyoulooklike!”My heart is pounding in

mychestsohardthatIthinkIam on the verge of having aheartattack. Jordanand Iarebothoutofbreathasweduckinto Carol’s Daughter, askincare store, on the second

level.I have never been more

frightenedinmylife.ThelastthingIwant is tobeattackedby that Hennessey girl andher friends; especially notafter seeing how they alljumpedonMalikthatnightattherestaurant.“Ohmygod! Who were

those girls?” Jordanwants toknow, breathing heavily. Shebendsover,placingherhandson her knees, trying to catch

herbreath.“Idon’tknowthem,”Isay,

clutching my chest. I takeslow, steady breaths to calmmynervessome.Hereyespopopen.“What?

You don’t know them?Thenwhy in the heck are theychasingus?”“Thegirlwhohadtheyarn

in her head is this girlHennessey...”Jordan’s eyes buck.

“Ghettotrash.Goon.”

I sigh. “She kind of gotmadwhensheranintoMalikat Applebee’s and saw mesittingtherewithhim.”“Wait.”Sheputsahandup

tostopme.“Waitoneminute.WhotheheckisMalik?”“Oh, he’s this guy I met

through Sashawho I kind oflike.”She frowns. “Wait a

second. The girl you workwith who hates you? ThatSasha?”

“She doesn’t hate me,really.Butyeah.Her.”“Thatgirlistrouble.”“Howcanyousay that?”I

ask, walking over to theentrance leading out into themallandpeekingouttoseeifthose girls are anywhere insight. “Youdon’t evenknowher.”She snorts, placing a hand

uponherhip.“Oh.Andnowyoudo?”Iturntofaceher.“Ididn’t

say that. But that doesn’tmean it’sokay to sayunkindthingsabouther.”“Hello,” a saleswoman

says, walking over to us.“CanIhelpyouyoungladiesfindanythinginparticular?”Jordan looks over at her.

“Yes, please. The nearestpolicestation.”ThesalesladygivesJordan

a confused look, glancingfrom her, then over to me.“Excuseme?Iseverythingall

right?”“Oh,don’tmindher,”Icut

in. “She’s a littlemelodramatic. We’rebrowsing,thanks.”“More like hiding out,”

Jordansays,irritated.“We’vejust been chased through themall by a pack of hoodhyenas.” She looks down ather four-inchwedgeheels.“Ican’tbelieve Ihad to run formylifeintheseshoes.Icouldhavebrokenmyanklesbeing

draggedlikearagdoll.”I apologize. Tell her I’ll

treathertoapedicure.She rolls her eyes. “That’s

the least you can do afterdragging me out to thistrifling mall. And cohortingwiththatSashatrash.”“That’s not nice, Jordan.

She really isn’t bad. She’sactuallyalotoffun.”Jordan blinks. “Mmph.

Isn’t that something. Nowyou’re taking up for the girl.

Howclassic.”Iraisemybrow.“Whatdo

youmeanbythat?”She rolls her eyes, picking

upabodylotionsamplerandsniffingit.“It’ssoundingrealStockholmishtome.”I suck my teeth.

“Ohmygod,Jordan.Youcan’tcomparemy getting to knowSasha to Stockholmsyndrome. One, because shehasn’t kidnapped me, and,two,Iwasn’therhostage.”

She waves me ondismissively, then sets thelotion back on the table.“Yeah, you were only thevictim of her abuse at thatlittle job of yours. Butwhatever. Glad you couldfind it in your heart to be soforgiving,sosoon.”Ishakemyhead,thenwalk

over towhereshe’sstanding.“Therewasn’treallyanythingtoforgive.”“Mmph. I guess not. So

when did you and the crazygirlbecomenewbestfriends?And why am I just nowhearingaboutit?”“Jordan,relax.It’snotthat

serious.”Shegrunts. “Oh, okay. I’ll

be sure to remember that thenext time I’m being chasedthroughamallbyabunchofknife-wieldingthuggettes.”I shake my head, walking

toward the mall entrance.“Come on. Let’s get out of

here.”“With pleasure,” she says,

stompingoffaheadofme.“Ican’t wait to call Hope andtellherallaboutthisdrama.”“Can you please not?” I

quicklysay.She shoots me a look.

“Andwhynot?”“Iwanttobetheonetotell

her.”She rolls her eyes.

“Alright. If that’s how youwanttoplayit,I’llkeepyour

little secret. For now.” Herlast words to me beforespeedwalking toward theparking garage and leavingmebehindare, “Somuch forfun.”

The voice inside my headtellsmenottodoit,but...Ican’thelpmyself.Maybe

I can. Okay, okay... I don’twant to.Can youblameme?There’s somethingabouthimthat I can’t shake.Evenafter

thatwholemall incidentoveraweekago,it’slikeI’mmoredrawn to him than everbefore. I don’t knowwhat itis that has me wanting toknowmore about him. But Ido.Badly.MaybebecauseIknowI’ll

belivingontheedge.Maybe because I know he

comeswithalotofdrama.Andexcitement.Andmysteriousness.I closemyeyes, asAriana

Grande’s “Tattooed Heart”plays low in thebackground.Without thought, I starthummingsoftly.“Yo, wat’s dat you

hummin’?” Malik wants toknow. We’d been textingpractically all day duringmywork shift and now—although I’m on punishmentand can’t leave the house—we’vegonefromtextingbackand forth to talking on thephone. I tell him who the

artistis.“Oh,word?Iain’tuponher.Singmesomethin’.”Ilaugh.“Nah, real ish, baby. Let

mehearyouspitsomethin’.”“Ican’tsing.”Helaughs.“So.It’llbeour

secret,a’ight?”I giggle. “Ooh, I like that.

Ourlittlesecret.”“You already know. So

wat’s good? You gonna letmehearitorwat?”“Ohgod.Areyouserious?I

soundhorrible.”“C’mon. What, you want

me to beg? I knowyou ain’ttrynamakemebegforit,areyou? But I will if dats watyouwant.”Thewayhesaysit...that

he’ll beg for it . . . if Iwanthim to,makesme feelwarmallover.Mmmm.Do I want him to

begforit?“Soyouwantme tobeg?”

hesaysinalow,huskyvoice.

Itsoundsasifhe’ssmoking.“No. You don’t have to

beg,” I say in almost awhisper.He blows out a breath.

“Oh, word? A’ight then. Letmegetdat then.Letmeheardat sexy voice sing in myear.”I blush. Then take a deep

breath,andsingaverse.Thenend itwith,“All Ineed isallyourloving...”“Oh, word? Dat’s all you

need?”I swallow. “It’s from the

song. I wasn’t speaking ofme,perse.”“Yeah, I know. But I’m

sayin’...whoyougivin’allyalovin’to?”“Noone.”“Oh, word? So when’s da

last timeyou let someonehitdat?”I blink. “Ohmygod!

Never!”“What,youstillavirgin?”

Myeyespopopen.Andforsome reason I amembarrassedtotellhimthatIam. Silence. I am relievedwhenhedoesn’tpressmefortheanswer.“I bet you mad tight ’n’

realjuicy,likefreshfruit.”The way he says that

makesmefloodwithheatandexcitement. And I know Ishould probably not let thisgoanyfurther thanitalreadyhas. That I should probably

change the subject nowbefore things get way out ofcontrol and I end up gettingintosomethingI’mnot readyfor.ButIdon’t.“Youthinkyoureadytolet

amanmakeyouawoman?”“WhosaysI’mnotalready

a woman?” I say coyly. Iknow I’m flirting withdanger,still...“Nah, you still a woman-

in-trainin’, yo.But hangwit’me’n’I’mamakeyouafull-

fledge,card-carryin’one.”Hepauses. “Dat’s if you thinkyouready.”“Boy,Iwasbornready.”He cracks up laughing.

“Oh, I see you like to talk agood one, huh? But I’maman,baby. I ain’tone’ademli’l boyz you ’n’ ya li’lfriendz chase ’round daplayground.Yousteppin’intomanterritorynow,babe.Igotsomethin’foryoutoplayon,butitain’tnoswing.”

“Mmmhmm,” I purrwithout thinking. I’msurprised at how flirtatious Iam being. I feel sexy. “Iknowthat.”“Word? So wat’s good?

You thinkyoucanhandlealldisgoodlovin’?”I blink. Press my thighs

together.“Idon’tknow.”“I’msayin’...thenthere’s

onlyonewaytofindout.”My heart skips two extra

beats.

“Yo,Iwannaseeyou,ma,”Maliksaysreallowandsexy-like into the phone, causingevery bit of my sensibilitiestogooutthewindow.“Iwant to seeyou, too.” I

glanceoverattheclock.It’salittle after eleven o’clock atnight. We’ve been on thephone for almost twentyminutes. Malik isn’t really aphone type of guy. He’drather text. But the fact thathecalledmeandisn’trushing

off the phone tells me hemust really be interested inme. The thought makes mesmile.“Iknowhowyoudon’tliketalkingonthephone,butI’mgladyoucalledme.”“True, true. But you an

exception, babe. I’m feelin’you,yo.”My smile widens. “I’m

feelingyou,too,Malik.”Heblowsabreath into the

phone, causing me to closemy eyes. I imagine his lips

movingashespeaks.Hetellsme hewants to takeme intothe city to go shopping thenout to dinner this comingSaturday.Thathe thenwantsme to spend the night withhim.My heart flutters. And

everythinginsideofmestartstovibrate.“Dis ish is killin’me,ma.

You got me goin’ thru it.Hearin’ ya sweet, sexy voicegot my man all excited. I

wanna tastedempretty lips.”He lets out another breath.“Yo, you sure there ain’t nowayyoucangetout?Justforanhourorso.”I glance over at the clock

again.I pull in a deep breath.

“Come get me. I’ll bestanding at the cornerwaiting.”“Aah, dat’s what I’m

talkin’ ’bout, baby.” I canhear the smile in his voice.

“You know I’ma ’bout tomakeyoumine,right?”Iwonder if he can seeme

smiling from ear to ear rightnow. Or if he can hear howfast my heart is beating thisverymoment. I feel like I’mfloating.I give him the address to

where theWaWa is.He tellsme he’ll meet me there intwenty minutes before wedisconnect.Hurriedly, I swing the

sheetoffofmeandhopoutofbed, excited. I race aroundmy bedroom trying to findsomething cute to wear,mindful not to make toomuch noise. I go into thebathroom,washmyface,andpull my hair back into aponytail.Tenminutes later, Iamglidingonacoatofcherrylipgloss then climbing out ofmywindowinapairoffittedjeansandablackT-shirtwiththe words LOVE ME printed

acrossmychest.I shimmy my way down

the side of the house, thenmake my way in the still ofthe night down the winding,lamplit streets, through thegates,thendownthestreettomeetMalik.Malik’s struck a match.

And now I’m playing withfire. The only question is,how far am I willing to go?And just how badly am Iwillingtogetburnt?

“Kennedy! What are youdoing sneaking into thishouse,huh?Doyouseewhattimeitis?”Ohnooo,busted.Unfortunately, I was left

with no other choice but to

usethesparekeyhiddeninasmall black key box tuckeddown in one of theflowerbeds. When I crawledbackuptomywindowtogetinto my room, the windowwasshutandlocked.Locked!I couldn’t believe it. I waslocked out of the house. I’dbeencaught.“Have you lost your

mind?”mymotherquestions,flippingonthefoyerlightasIslip into the house and

attempt to tiptoe my way uptomybedroomataquartertothree in the morning.“Sneakingbackinhereatthistimeofthenight.Wherehaveyoubeen?”“I w-w-was only gone for

anhourorso.”She tilts her head. “Don’t

youdarestandthereandlietome,Kennedy.Iwenttocheckonyouover three hours ago.And you were not in yourroom. So where were you?

Andwhowereyouwith?”“I-I was with Jordan,” I

say. The lie rolls out of mymouthwithoutmuchthought.“She was really upset. Andshe needed someone to talkto.”Sheglaresatme.“Andthe

twoofyoucouldn’ttalkoverthephone?”“No. I mean, yes. But I

neededtobetherewithher.”She eyes me suspiciously.

“Well,whydidn’tJordanjust

comeoverhere,huh?”“I thought you said I

couldn’thavecompany.”“No. I told you that you

werenotallowedtoleavethishouse. And you did anyway.You defied me. Somethingyou’veneverdonebefore.Soit must have been reallyimportant for you to sneakout of this house. So wherewere you? And don’t youdarelietome,Kennedy!”“I’mnotlying,”Iwhine.“I

was with Jordan. Hope gotinto a big fight with herparents. Then she ran awayand said she was going tohurtherself.”Mom raises her brow,

looksatmeas ifshe’s tryingtodecidewhether she shouldbelieve me or not. Shenarrows her eyes. “You justsaid you were with Jordan.That she was upset. Nowyou’re saying youwere withHope.” She taps her slipper-

clad foot, crossing her arms.“Whichisit,Kennedy?Wereyou with Hope or was itJordan?”I swallow. “Both. They

werebothupset. First Jordancalled me. Then she did athree-way call to Hope. Shewas crying hysterical.Talking real crazy, like shedidn’twanttoliveanymore.Igotscared.AndaskedJordanifshecouldpickmeupsowecould be with Hope. I had

Jordanmeetmedownby thegates, thenwe drove over towhereHopewas.”Mom eyes me. “If Hope

was in such a state of crisiswhydidn’tyou letmeknow,huh?Whydidn’tyouaskmeifitwasokayforyoutoleaveout of this house to go seeabouther,huh?”I lower my eyes. Glance

around thefoyer.FidgetwiththehemofmyT-shirt. Iwillmy knees from shaking. “I

thought you would tell me Icouldn’t go. And I reallywanted to be there for her,Mom.IknowIwaswrongforsneaking out, but this wasimportant.”She stares at me, studying

me.Icantellshe’sstilltryingtodecide ifshebuys thebullcrap I’ve just offered her asmy reason for defying her.“Yeah,itmust’vebeenreallyurgentforyoutoclimboutofyourwindowlikethat.”

“I’m sorry,Mom. Itwon’thappenagain.”“That’s the second time

you’ve had to say that,” shesays, looking me up anddown.“First,youstayoutallnight and come homeintoxicated. And now this.These behaviors are startingto look like a pattern. And Ido not like it one bit. Do Ineedtocallyourfather?”I shake my head. “No,

please. Don’t call Daddy.

There’snoneedtoworryhimaboutnothing.Ipromiseyou,itwon’thappenagain.”“I hope not. And you’re

certainyouaretellingmetheabsolute truth? You werewith Hope and Jordan? AndnotthatSashagirl?”Inod.“Yes.I’mtellingthe

truth.Ipromiseyou,Iwasn’twith Sasha.” Sadly, this factistheonlytruthtomynight.Mom’s stare drops to my

shirt. She frowns. “Why is

yourshirtonbackwards?”Iblink.Pullattheneckand

see that the tag is in front.“Iwas in such a rush to get toJordan, Imusthaveput itonwithoutlooking.”Sheopenshermouthtosay

something,thenstopsherself.I take that as my cue to saymore, to fuel the lie evenmore. “I’d never heardHopetalklikethatbefore,Mom.”Ishake my head for effect.“Shesoundedsobroken.And

it scaredme. I’d never thinkshe’drunawayfromhomeinamillionyears.Butshedid.”My mom’s face softens.

The ice in her eyes slowlystartstomelt.“ThatseemssounlikeHope.”“Iknow.That’swhy Ihad

to sneak out,Mom.And I’msorry. But I couldn’t chancenot being there for her andsomething bad happened toher.” I lookaway.“I’dneverbeabletoforgivemyself.”

“Well,whereisshe?Issheokaynow?”“Yes. She’s okay.At least

she seemed to be. She’sstaying at her grandparents’housefornow.Shepromisedus she wouldn’t do anythingtohurtherself.”“Go up to your room. It’s

late. And I have to be up inless than two hours forwork.”“Good night,” I say,

quickly turning for the

staircase.“Kennedy?”I stop in my tracks. Keep

mybacktoher.“Yes?”“I’veneverhadanyreason

to doubt you. Please don’tgivemeareasontonow.”I’m not,” I offer, silently

relievedthatI’mgoingtogetaway with sneaking back in.For the second time. I say alittle prayer, holding back aslygrin.“For your sake,” Mom

says,“Ihopenot.”

“Hope, I need a big favorfromyou.”“Okay.Whatisit?”“Ifmymomsaysanything

to you about being glad thatyou’re back home with yourparents,Ineedyoutojustgo

alongwithit,okay?”Hope raises a brow. “Why

wouldshesaysomethinglikethat?”“Well...Ikindoftoldher

that youhad a big fightwithyourparentsandranaway.”She shoots me an

incredulous look. “You didwhaat?”“Sssh. Keep your voice

down. If I wanted a livebroadcast I would have justshouteditout.”

“Areyoukiddingme rightnow?YoutoldyourmomthatI ranaway fromhome?Whyon earth would you tell hersomethinglikethat?”“I’m sorry,” I say

apologetically. “I know Ishouldn’thaveputyouinthemiddle of it. But it was thefirst thing that came out ofmymouth.”“Well, why would you

needtogotothatextreme?”“Well, uh, I kind of, sort

of,snuckoutofthehouseandgotcaught.”Her eyes pop open. “You

didwhaat?”“Willyoukeepyourvoice

down,”Isay,puttingafingeruptomylips.“AllIneedforyoutodoisgoalongwiththewholefightwithyourparentsand running away thing. Shemight not say anything, butjustincaseshedoes.Canyoudothatforme?Please.”She narrows her eyes.

“And what exactly am Isupposed to say to her?Youknow I’m not good withfabricatingstories.”I suck my teeth. “I’m not

asking you to invent a full-fledged news report. All youhavetodo,ifsheasks,issayyou feel horrible about whathappened and that you’reglad you’re home to workthings out. That’s it. End ofstory.”She shakes her head in

disbelief. “I don’t believethis.”“Will you do this for me,

please?”“Yeah, I guess. But don’t

thinkIlikeitonebiteither.”Ireachoverandgivehera

bighug.“You’realifesaver.Ioweyouone.”She narrows her eyes at

me. “Oh, believe me. Yes,youdo.Bigtime.”“Oh, and one more thing.

Can you please not say

anythingtoJordanaboutthis?I’d rather you keep thisbetweenus.”She blinks. “Why? I

thought we didn’t keepsecretsfromeachother.”I shrug. “Well, we don’t.

Notalways.”She tilts her head. “No.

You mean, you don’t, notalways. I share everythingwithyouandJordan.”“Iknowyoudo.AndIdo,

too.Butjustnotthis;notright

now.”She givesme a long stare.

“Oh, like how you didn’twant Jordan to tellme aboutthose wild banshee girlschasingy’allthroughthemallwithbutcherknives theotherday?”“Ohmygod!Ipromiseyou.

That is sooo not whathappened.”She shrugs. “Doesn’t

matter. Jordan told me youdidn’t want her to say

anything to me about it sowhat do I care what reallyhappened?”Icantellherfeelingswere

hurt by it. And now I feelbad. “It’s not that I didn’twant you to know. I justdidn’t want Jordan to be theonetotellyousinceithadtodo with me. I wanted to bethe one to tell you when allthreeofusweretogether.”Sherollshereyesupinher

head. “Uh-huh. If you say

so.”“I’msorry,Hope.”“No, no. Don’t apologize.

It’s fine. So, who were yououtwith?”“Malik,” I say casually as

if he’s someone I’ve knownforever, and she’s just asfamiliarwithhim.Shefrowns.“Malik?Malik

who?Waitaminute!Ishethesame guy those girls weretrying to kill you and Jordanover?ThatMalik?”

I frown. “They weren’ttrying to kill us. Besides, itwasn’tJordantheywereafter.Theywantedme.”Sheblinks.“Why?”“Because this girl

Hennessey, who supposedlyhasababywithhim...”“Hennessey?What kind of

hot trash name is that? AndJordan did say she waslookingrealhottrash,too.Allofthem.”“Yeah. And she has a

really nasty attitude. Maliksays she’s real jealous andcrazy.”“Ohmygod,Kennedy!Why

would you want to bebothered with a boy whowentoutwithsomething likethat? What is wrong withyou?”I tell her nothing’s wrong

withme.Thatheneverreallydated her. They just fooledaround—as in had sexmultiple times, that is. She

wantstoknowwhereMalik’sfrom and how I met him. Igive her a recap of how wemet, leaving out certaindetails like the night he hadthat guy who tried to forcehimselfonmebeatup.“I guess you must really

like this boy if he has yousneakingoutofthehouselikethat.”Ihuff.“Hedidn’thaveme

sneakout.Isnuckoutonmyown.”

Shegivesmeablanklook.“Okay,ifyousayso.Sowhaty’alldo?”I shrug. “Nothing really;

we just drove around in histruck.”Well, of course that’s not

so.ButIcan’ttellherthatweended up parked on a one-way street in front of anabandoned house. She’d loseit.AndIknowforsureshe’dcollapse if she knew I’vesmokedweed,too.

I was surprised when heofferedmesomeassoonasIgot in the smoke-filled carandstrappedmyseatbelton.He handed it to me. “Here,”he said, eyeing me. “I’mahelp you get yamind right.”Hestartedlaughing.“Nah,letmestopeffenwit’you.”I took the blunt from him,

remembering how I’dwatchedBlazeandSashaandher friend smoke it. I took apull. I’m not going to lie. I

was real nervous being withMalik,buthappyandexcitedat thesametime.Afteraboutthe fourth pull, I felt realrelaxed.Like I could takeontheworld.“Mygod, Kennedy, what

has gotten into you?” Jordansays,shakingherhead.“AndIstillcan’tbelievehowcouldyou lie to your mother likethat.Andsneakingoutof thehouse like that to be withsome boy you barely even

know. Have you no shame?Anything could havehappenedtoyou.Whatifthatboy would have kidnappedyouandheldyouforransom?Or worse, raped and killedyou?”“Ohmygod, Hope! You’re

starting to sound like Jordan.Both of you need to stopwatching all those NCISepisodes.”“Well, it’s true.” She

shakesherhead. “Butwhat I

want to know is, how longhave you been sneaking outofyourhouse?”I shrug. “I’ve only done it

twicebefore.”“What?Really?Tobewith

thatMalikboy?”Itellherno.Not the first time. Tell herabout Hazel Eyes. She givesme a blank stare. “HazelEyes?What kind of name isthat?”I shakemy head. “It’s not

hisrealname.It’swhatIcall

him.”“What’shisnamethen?”“Blaze.”She raises her eyebrows.

“Like that’s any better.” Sheshakes her head. “All theseboys with them ridiculousnames. Geesh. You sureknowhowtopick’em,don’tyou?”Shedoesn’t givemeachancetorespond.“AndhowdidyoumeetthisHazelBlazeboy,anyway?”“It’s Hazel Eyes. And I

methimonedayat themall.Hecame tomy jobwith twoofhisfriends.”“Let me guess. And he’s

oneofthosethugboys,too?”She quickly puts a hand up.“On second thought. Youdon’t even have to say it. Ialreadyknow.”Ifrown.Her phone buzzes and she

pulls it out of her bag,glancing at the screen. “Oh,my mom just text saying

she’s outside,” she says,textingback.“Oh, okay. Remember

what I said,keepwhat I toldyoubetweenus.”She sighs. “Okay, I will.

Thistime.”“Thanks.”“Just do me a favor,” she

says, getting up and slippingherfeetintohersandals.Itakeadeepbreathglance

at theclock, thenstandupaswell.“Yeah,what’sthat?”

She walks over and givesmeabighug.“Becareful.”I bite my bottom lip. The

way she says it sends a chilldownmyspine.I shudder, laughing

nervously. “Girl, you saidthat likeDracula’s out to getme,orsomething.”Sheshrugs.“Hemightbe.”Iwaveheron,walkingher

out of my room. “You’reoverreacting.” She followsmedownthestairs.

She turns her lips up andshakesherhead.“Maybe.”I open the front door,

waving out at Mrs. Taylor.Sheseesme,andwavesback.“For real,Kennedy,”Hope

says,placingherhandonthedoorknob. “Be careful. Iknowyou thinkyou like thatMalikboy.Buthesoundslikehe has a lot of drama goingon around him. Watchyourself.Okay?”Iopenmymouthtotellher

okay, but I end up noddinginstead.“I’m serious, Kennedy. I

don’t think you know whatyou’regettingyourselfinto.”I give her a half smile.

“Don’t worry. I’m not goingtogetmyselfintoanytrouble.I’monlyhavingalittlefun.”“I sure hope you know

whatyou’redoing,”shesays,shakingherheadasshewalksout thedoor. I shut it behindher, more excited than ever

before to know everythingthere is to know about thesexy, dark chocolate boonamedMalik.

Givingmyselftohimislikemagic...“You mine, Kennedy,”

Malik says in between thesoft kisses he is plantingalong my neck, then on mycollarbone. I feel myself

heating up in ways I neverthoughtpossible.Myheart isbeating so fast I think I’mgoing to faint. I feel myselfgetting caught up in thewayhis lips glide alongmy skin;every so often he flicks histongue againstmy flesh.Thewarm wetness causes tinglysensations to shoot throughmybody.I have never wanted to be

with anyone . . . like this. InMalik’s arms, his body

grindingagainstmineasTreySongz’s sexy voice floatsaround the room from theiPoddockingstation.Heslipshisarmsaroundmywaist.“Youmine,yaheard?”Iswallow.Lookupintohis

face. I want to be his. Onlyhis.Iamhis.AndnowIwanthimtohavetheonethingI’veproudly held on to. The onething I’ve waited to sharewithsomeonelikehim.ButIhave to be sure first. I know

what’sinmyheart.Love.Butanaggingvoice in the

backofmyheadkeepstellingme that I should wait. ThatMalik isn’t the one. That allthe drama from the last fewdays is only going to getworse.Buthishands,hislips,the way his eyes roam allover me mixed with what Ialready feel in my heart forhimisallthereasonIneedtodismiss the nagging voice in

myhead.I look up and gaze deep

intoMalik’s beautiful browneyes.“AmIreallyallyours?”He presses his lips against

mine, then lightly nips mybottom lip. “You mine,baby.”“But are you mine,

Malik?”He leans his head in and

kisses me again. “No doubt.I’mallyours,babe.”The way he says “I’m all

yours, babe” causes me tomeltinside.Iwanthim.AndIwant him to want me, too.Only me. I don’t want toshare him, or have his crazyexes and psycho babymommas trying to fight meevery time they see me;especially that Hennesseychick. She seems like she’sthecraziestofthemall.“What about your baby

mother,Hennessey?”He eyes me, raising a

brow. “What about ’er?Thatbird was a bad mistake. Aone-night stand I can’t erase.Allsheisisthemotherofmyseed. That’s it. I’m not beatforher.Wordisbond.”Iwanttobelievehim.“But . . .” Are you still

sleepingwithher?“She doesn’t matter,

a’ight?” His mouth coversmine, not allowing me tofinish.WekissuntilIlosemytrain of thought, then he

slowlypullsback.“Nobuts... this is me ’n’ you, babe.This is our night. So don’tmakeit’boutthatnuttybroador nobody else. It’s me ’n’you,a’ight?”Inod.His lips curl into a sexy

grin.“AmIyaman?”“Li’ltrick,puhleeze.You’ll

never be enuff for Malik.He’ll always keep creepin’overforall’adisthickness...”

Iswallow.“Tell her how you came

overlastnight,Malik.Letdisli’l uppity heifer know howyou hit it raw... let her knowhow ya head stay south fordissweettreat...”I feel the tears coming. I

trytoblinkbacktheburning.I try to shake the tauntingvoice.“He ain’t ever gonna be

yours,boo-boo,soyoumightas well take ya li’l siddity,

high-yella self back up to da’burbswhereyoubelong...”“I want you to be,” I say

breathlessly as his handsglide effortlessly over mycurves.“Thenletme,ma.”Hekissesmeagain.I pull back. “But what

aboutallthosegirlswhokeepthreateningme?”Malik speaks against my

lips. “I tol’ you, babe. Thembirds ain’t ’bout nuthin’. I

ain’tcheckin’fornone’ademlikedat,wordisbond,yo.Sostop sweatin’ dat dumbness,a’ight?”I blink back the faces of

the girls chasing me throughthe mall. I swallow backeverybitofmysensesfeelingMalik’s excitement pressingup against me. He wasn’t aboy.Hewasagrownman.Withhisowncar.Hisownmoney.Andakid.

Andbabymother.And a bunch of ex-

girlfriends.And lots and lots of

experience being with girlssexually.And probablymore drama

than what I’ve alreadyexperienced.Still...Ilikehim.Iwanthim.“He’snothingbuttrouble.

“Ugh, you need to leavethatboyalone,Kennedy...”“He’spoison,Kennedy.”Malik is kissing all over

myneck again.Cloudingmyheadwith heat and need andwant.Myheartispoundingamileaminutewitheachkiss.Then his lips are on mineagain.Our tongues are doinga romantic dance to thesmooth soundofTreySongzbelting out his latest lovesong, crooning the words to

what I am feeling right nowas Malik lifts my shirt upover my head, then unsnapsmy bra, releasingmy desiresandinhibitions.I take a deep breath.

“Malik, don’t hurt me.” Mylipsquiver.“Ifyouaregoingtobewithothergirls, tellmenow.”I feel myself on the brink

oftears.“Nah, I tol’ you. You da

only one I’m checkin’ for,

babe.It’sallyou.”Alonetearslidesdownmy

face.“I got you,ma.”He stares

intomy eyes. “C’mon, babe.Don’t cry. It’s me ’n’ you.Wordtomother.”Nootherwordsarespoken

as he lays me on his bed,removes the rest of myclothes,andthentakesoffhisown. I drink his body in.Swallow,hard.Heclimbsintohisbedwith

me.“Yousure’boutdis?”Inod.He smiles, pullingme into

hisarms.“AmIyaman?”Ilookupintohiseyes.See

the only guy who has evermade me feel like this. Andfor me, nothing else evenmatters.NottheroachesIseecrawling along the wall andknow are probablyscramblingaroundmyclothestryingtofindawayinsideofmy pockets for a trip home

with me, or the pile of dirtyclothes he has piled high inthe right corner of hisbedroom.Notthefactthathehas a kid with some crazygirl. Not the fact that he hasex-girlfriends who still callhim and stalk him andthreaten me and want himback. No. None of thosethings matter. Nothing elsemeansmoretomethanbeinghere,inMalik’sarms,whereIwanttobe.

“Yes,” I finally whisperagainst his lips. “You’re myman.”

“Wherehaveyoubeen forthelast threedays,Kennedy?Do you have any idea howworried I’ve been? I’ve beencalling all around town foryou.Andwhyhasyourphonebeen turned off, huh?” My

mom looks frazzled. And Ifeelbadforhavingherworryabout me. But it couldn’t behelped.Well,that’snottrue.Icouldhavecomehome.ButIdidn’t want to. Malik didn’twantme to, either.Wewerehavingtoomuchfuntogether.“So you couldn’t locate

me,”Isaysnidely.Itwasonlysupposedtobe

for a few hours. Our drivedown toAtlanticCity.Malikwanted to walk the

boardwalk,dosomeshoppingat the outlets and The PierShops at Caesar’s, then grabsomethingtoeatatoneoftherestaurants on the strip. Iwanted to go to Buddakan,one of my favorite Asianrestaurants. I’d only been totheoneinthecity,butwantedtotrytheoneinACalso.Malik protested at first,

saying itwasn’t realChinesefood unless it was at a localChinese spot or an all-you-

can-eatbuffet.Ilaughedatthatbecausehe

was so serious when he saidit. But after several minutesof prodding, he acquiesced.Andsowewent.For appetizers, I ordered

the chicken and gingerdumplings with sesamedipping sauce. And Maliktried the king crab tempurawith sweet and sour ponzusauce. Then for the maincourse, I had the Alaskan

king salmon with misomustardandasesamespinachsalad. Malik said he didn’twant anything. He was justgoingtositandwatchmeeat.Helaughed.“Mybabymad

greedy. You tryna run mywallet real hard tonight,huh?”I smiled. “Is that a

problem?”“Nah, baby. It’s all good.”

He slowly licked his lips.“It’s gonna cost you later,

though.”Iwiggledmyeyebrowsup

anddown.“Ooh,forreal?”He looked around the

dimly lit restaurant, thenleaned forward in his seat,restinghisforearmsuponthetable.“Nodoubt.”BythetimedessertcameI

couldbarelygetaspoonfulofmy almond bread puddinginto my mouth. I was sostuffed.AndsowasMalik.“Yo, let’s get a room ’n’

chill abit beforewe takedatlong ride back up daparkway.”“Okay,” I said, excited by

the thought of lying inMalik’s arms, cuddling.Catching a quick nap. Thendrivingbackhome.The plan was that simple.

AndIwouldhavebeenhomerightbeforemycurfew.Withmy mom being none thewiser had things not goneawry.

MalikhadgottenusaroomattheDaysInn.Anditwasn’tlong before we were bothbutt-naked and hewas doingthings to my body I neverimagined humanly possible.Weendedupdozingoff.Buta few hours turned into thenext morning. Then one dayturnedintotwo,thenthree.Surprisingly, not once did

Malik suggest I call home.Not that it was his place to.But out of courtesy, I called

heranyway.Thesecondday.ItoldherthatIwasokayandthatIwasoutoftown.“Out of town where,

Kennedy?Withwho?”I hung up on her and shut

offmyphonebefore shehadachance to callbackand trytospoilmyfun.Thenrealitysetin.IknewI

had to come back homeeventually.ThatIwouldhaveto answer to her. And, morethan likely be grounded until

mytwenty-firstbirthday.ButatleastIcalledher.She blinks.Her eyes roam

over me from head to toe,taking in the True Religionteardrop-print skinny jeansand the beaded tank. Sheblinksagain.Glancesdownatthe six-hundred-and-fifty-dollar dollar six-inch Guccisandalsonmy feet.Thenhereyes land on the LouisVuitton bag dangling fromthecrookofmyarm.

“Where did you get thoseclothes and that expensivepocketbookfrom?”I toss my hair. “Relax,

Mom. I didn’t steal them, ifthat’swhatyou’regettingat.”Her nose flares. A hand

goes up on her hip. “Relax?You must want me to slapyouintonextweek,talkingtomelikethat.“And don’t you dare tell

me another one of your liesthat youwere outwithHope

and Jordan because I’vespoken to both of theirparents. Now you had bettertell me what’s really goingon.Now!”“I was with Sasha,” I say

nonchalantly.“WithSasha,where?”Ihuff.“Out.”“Outwhere,Kennedy?”“It’s no big deal,” I say,

rollingmyeyes.“What do you mean ‘it’s

no big deal’? It’s a big deal

when you’ve been gone forthree days! And it’s totallyunacceptable!”I suck my teeth.

“Nowhere.”“You must think you’re

realgrown,don’tyou?”“I’malmostgrown,”Isay,

realsassy.Mom gives me an

incredulous look. “Oh, noyou’re not! And almostdoesn’t count. Not in thishouse!”

“Fine!” I yell back at her.“I’llgostaysomewhereelse!Idon’thavetolivehere!”TherestoftheweekIstay

lockedinmyroom,outofmymother’s sight. She’s notsayingmuch tome.And I’mnot sayingmuch of anythingto her, either. For what? I’mgrounded. Well, so shethinks. I’m still sneaking outofthehouse.Noteverynight,though.Still...everychanceI

getI’mwithMalik.This time, instead of

climbing out ofmy bedroomwindow, I’m sneaking outthrough the wine cellar doordown in our basement. AndI’m back in the house waybeforethreeA.M.She really thinks she can

keep me chained in thishouse. Stuck and bored. Idon’tthinkso.

I moan as Malik’s tongueslowly slips into my mouth.His hand glides down thesmall of my back, then restson my butt. He squeezes it,and I feel myself melting athousand times over.No boy

has ever made me feel thewayMalikhas.Hemakesmefeel...alive.Wanted.Special.Loved.Sexy.He presses his body into

mineandwemeldintoone.Ican feel his excitement. Andhe can feel mine. I am sohungry for him.He’s hungryfor me. I don’t know howmuch more of this tongue-

dance I can takebefore I amgoingoutofmymind.His kiss becomes more

intense. His tongue swirlsagainst mine. Once, twice,againandagain,hekissesmeuntil I am feeling light-headedanddizzy.Whoever thought a person

couldfeel tell somuchaboutanother person from just akiss. But this isn’t just anykiss.No. I’m being kissed by a

boy...Imean,aman.I love his expressive face

whenhe’sindeepinthought,or when he’s laughing orangryor,likenow,lookingatme like I’m the mostimportantpersoninhisworld.Ilovehisbadboypersona.

Lovehisstreetgrit.Histake-chargecommandoways.Malikmakesmefeellikea

woman. I feel grown. Andlike I’m ready to takeon theworld.

Ilovethewayhewrapshisarmsaroundmeandholdsmetight. I feel so, so safewhenhe holds me. I love how heputs his almond-shaped eyeson mine, and smiles at me.Love thewayhis heart beatsagainst mine. And how hetellsmeeachbeat ishis loveforme.Ilovethatabouthim.Ilove...Him.All of him; every drop of

bad boy blood that runs

throughhisveins.Malikismydrug.I’mhookedonhim.Heknowsit.Iknowit.Ilovehim.Ilovehim.Ilovehim.Threeweeks!AndIaminlove!Howdidithappensofast?I keep asking myself that

question over and over. Yet,no matter howmany times I

mull it around inmy head, Ican’t seem to come up withanexactmomentthatit(love)happened. It just did.Unexpectedly.And boy, oh boy, I’m

happythatitdid.MalikistheonlyguyIcan

everseemyselfbeingwith.Hehasagoodheart.He’s thoughtful.Generous.

Caring.He’smyeverything.“I want you so bad,” he

murmursagainstmylipsasifhe’sreadingmymind.“I want you, too,” I say

back.Hekissesmeagain.Butjust as things start to gethotter and steamier than theyalready are, one of his threecellphonesstartringing.He groans, pulling away.

He tries to fix himself in hissweats. “See what you did?”Heshakeshisheadandgrinsasheretrieveshisringingcellfromoffthedresser.

I swallow, touching thebare space his lips have nowleftonmyown.“Yo,” he says into the

phone.I walk over to his bed,

stepping over an ashtrayoverflowing with half-smoked blunts. I reach forlast month’s edition of XXLmagazine lying on the floorbesidethebedandsit.“Nah,Chillin’wit’mygirl,

son. Yeah, yeah. You know

how I do it, fam. Say what?Word?Yo, get the fu—”Hecutshimselfoff.“Yo,babe...”I look up from the

magazine.“I’ma’bouttostepoutand

finishupdiscall,a’ight?”“Okay.”He walks over to the bed,

leansinandseizesmymouthwith another kiss. A quickpeck, but it is one that holdspromise of what’s to come

when he returns from hisphone call. One I can’t waittocollecton.I idly flip through the

pagesofthemagazinebeforedeciding I’m really notinterestedinreadinganythingaboutKanye’sparanoidrants.I like his music. But I thinkhe’sreallycrazy.Likemaybehehearsvoicesor somethingkind of crazy. I toss themagazine over onto the bed,get up and pull my iPhone

from out of my messengerbagtocheckmymessages.Ihavefourtextmessages.ThefirsttextisfromHope:

UM,HELLO?CALLME.The second message is

fromSasha:THERE’SAPOOLPARTY2MORROWIN UNION.UDOWN?The third text is from

Mom: I’M TAKING YOURAUNT LISA OUT FOR HERBIRTHDAY.TRYTOBEHOMEBYSIX.TTYL.

ThelasttextisfromBlaze:YOOOOO WATZ GUD? WENWELINKINUP?This is like his third or

fourth text over the last fewdayswantingtolinkup,ashecalls it. But I’ve beenavoiding him. Now withMalikinmylife,Idon’thaveany room for any other guysinmy life, especially since IpromisedMaliklastnightthatIwouldcutoffanyboyswhoI knew likedme, that I used

to date, or have gone outwith. He said it wasdisrespectful. And all they’dbe is a distraction fromwhatwehave.AndIbelievedhim.Not that I have a lot of guysI’vedated.Still, Idon’twantanydistractions.And I don’t want to ever

disrespectMalik.I quickly text Blaze back.

HI.WE CAN’T. I HAVE A BFNOW.Lessthanaminutelater,he

sendsatextback.OHWORD?AIGHTDEN.GOODLUCKWITDAT.I delete his text messages,

thenstartcleaningupMalik’smessy room. I start with thefiftypairsofsneakersthatarescattered all over the floor,putting them back into theirdesignatedboxes.Iemptyouthisashtray,thengatheralltheemptyHeinekenbeerbottles.Sixteen.Ohmygod! How can

anyonesleepinthisslop?“Girl, you real stoopid,”

someone says inbackofme,startling me. I jump, turningin the direction of the voice.“You prolly da dumbest hohe’sbeenwit’sofar.”I blink. It’s his sister,

Mercedes, sneering at me.I’mnotsurewhytheycallherMercedes since nothingseems exclusive about hercurrentsituation.“Pleasedon’tcallmethat,”

Isaycalmly.“Don’t call you what?

Dumb?Orho?”“Both.”She tsks. “Well, you are

dumb.Andbyda timeMalikfinishes runnin’allup inyoulikehedoesdarestof’em,adumbho is exactlywhat yougonnabe.”“Well, I can’t speak for

anyone else, but I know I’mnotgoingtobeanyone’sho.”She chortles. “Yeah, that’s

what dey all say ’til he gets’emstrungoutondaD.”Igiveheraconfusedlook.She huffs. “Da dingdong.

Da wood. Oh, excuse me. Imean.Dapenis.”Iblink.She’ssocrude.She snorts. “Li’l girl, you

don’t know nuthin’ ’boutnuthin’. All you are is someyoung, fresh piece of tail formybrother.”I take a deep breath,

willing my heart to slow itsrapidpace.Idon’tknowwhy,but Malik’s sister unnervedme. From the first day Imether I’ve tried to be nothingbut nice to her, but myattempts are only met withglares and snide, nastycomments.“Malik isn’t going to do

me like he’s done any ofthose other girls. Yourbrotherlovesme.”She cracks up laughing.

“Yourbrother lovesme,” shemocks. “He ain’t ever gonnado me like he’s done demother hoes. Hahahaha.” Sheshakes her head. “Just like Isaid,dumb.”I blink. And now I

immediately feel stupid forlettingthat lastpartslipfrommy lips. “Love? My brotherloves you?You think?Girly,bye. My brother lovesanythingwit’abigbooty ’n’a smile. Why you think he

hasfourbabymuhvers?”Iblink.Four baby mothers?! I

thoughtheonlyhadonebabymother. Four? No, she’slying.Shehastobe.She must see the stunned

lookonmyface.“What, you ain’t know?

Oops.”Shecovershermouth.“Looks like the cat’s out thebag.”“I already knew about his

babymothers,”Ilie.

Sheshiftsherweight fromoneswollenfoottotheother,staringatmeasifshedoesn’tbelieveawordI’vesaid.“Oh,really? Well, isn’t thatspecial. Then I guess youknowrawpunnanyisdaonlything my brother is gonnaever love. He doesn’t knowhowta love anything otherthanwhat’sbetweenyo’legs,li’l girl. But you keepbelievin’ whatever lies hetells you. You’ll learn soon

enough.That’smybrotha’n’Ilovehim.Andtrust.I’llbeatabish down if she ever triestoplayhim.ButIcantellyounotreally’boutdislifesoyouneed to stop pretendin’ ’n’head on back ’cross townwhere you belong. But Iknow you ain’t. So I’ma tellyou dis to save you someheartache.Getoutnowbeforeit’s too late.Allmy brotha’sgonnado isdogyouout,sexyouout,thentossyououtlike

ausedtampon.Justwatch.”Iswallow.“Yo, Mercedes,” Malik

says, brushing by her as hefinally walks back into theroom,“whatyapickleheadinheretalkin’tomygirl’bout?”I breathe a sigh of relief

that he’s comeback inwhenhe has. I don’t know howmuch more of his sister’ssneeringIcouldhavetaken.Thankstoher,mymoodis

ruined.

Iamsooo ready togetoutofhere.She narrows her eyes at

me,thenlooksoveratMalik.“Oh,wewas justhavin’usali’l girl talk.” She startslaughing, shaking her head.Sheturnstoleave, thenturnsback. “Oh, you got yaselfarealwinnerrightthere.Ican’twaitforBigSexytomeetdisone.”“Yo, go ’head wit’ dat,

Mercedes,” Malik says,

grabbing her by the arm andpushingherbackfromoutofhis door so he can shut it.“Getdaeffupouttaherewit’da dumb ish.” He slams thedoor.I can hear her laughing as

shewalksoff.I glance over to my right

and notice three roachesscurryingalongthewall.Malik kicks off his

sneakers,removeshisT-shirt,thenstepsoutofhisjeans.He

stretches out in the center ofhisbedinonlyhisboxersandsweat socks. He grabs andpulls at his privates until hegetshimselfexcited.“Yo, take dem clothes off

’n’ c’mon over here ’n’ giveyamansomelovin’.”Hepatsthe space on the bed besidehim. “Ya man needs somespecialattention.”I swallow. “Who’s Big

Sexy?”Malik frowned. “Yo,don’t

startaskin’meabunchasillyquestions, yo. She ain’tnobody, a’ight.” He keepsgrabbing himself. “So chill,a’ight?”Inod.“Okay.”Hegrins.“Me’n’bigman

need you to come handle us,now.”Reluctantly, I remove my

clothes, leaving on my braand panties. Then slowly Imake my way over to him.Eachstepcausesthevoicein

myheadtogetlouder.“...Allmybrotha’sgonna

do is dog you out, sex youout,thentossyouout...Justwatch.”“. . . Get out now before

it’stoolate...”I climb into bed beside

Malik.It’salreadytoolate,Ithink

as I close my eyes, lettingMalik’s lips and handswanderalloverme.I losemyself in his touch,

hisscent,hissweetkisses.Hehasbecomeeverythingtome.It doesn’t matter whatMercedesoranyoneelsesaysaboutMalik.Ilovehim.

“Keepitahunnidwit’me.Why you wit’ him?” HazelEyeswants to know, lookingup from his tray. I agreed tomeet him at the mall . . . totalk. And now he’s sittinghere across from me at the

food court, questioning,drilling me about myrelationshipwithMalik.EventhoughIhadalreadytoldhimthat I didn’t thinkwe shouldhangoutanymore,heinsistedon knowing why. So I toldhim about Malik and me.And,honestly, it feltgood tobe able to talk openly aboutMalik,foronce,tosomeone.Hazel Eyes unwraps his

grilled chicken cheese steak,then chomps into his

sandwich, the smell of greenpeppers and onionsminglingwithmeat andmelted cheeseswirlingaroundmynostrils.ItakeaslowsipofmyDr.

Pepper, eyeing him as heslaughtershissubinbigbites,causinggreaseandketchuptocoathislips.“Why am I with who?” I

finally ask, feigningignorance.He looksup fromhis food

andwithamouthfullofsub.

His brows crease. “C’mon,Kennedy.Don’tplayme,yo.You know who I’m talkin’’bout.Why youwit’ dude? Imean, what’s he got dat Idon’t,huh?”“He’sdifferent.”“Differenthow?”“Ohmygod! What is this,

aninquisition?”“Nah. I thought you was

feelin’ me; dat’s all. I kindathought we was buildin’ onsomethin’.Butit’sallgood.”

“I am . . . I mean, Iwas,feeling you. But then I metMalik. And I don’t know.Thingsjustclickedwithus.”“Oh,word?Likehow?”he

says, stuffing fries into hismouth.I shrug. “I just like him

more,that’sall.”Hetakesanotherbigbiteof

his sandwich. Talking, thenchewing, then swallowing,before rinsing it all downwithtwolongswigsofSprite.

Finally he says, “What youlike’bouthim,huh?”Ishiftinmyseat.Shiftmy

eyes fromhisgaze, taking inwhat’s going on aroundus. Ikeep an eye out for JordansinceI’moutherewithher.Imeethisgazeagain.“Idon’tknow.Imean.It’s

hardtoexplain.”Hetwistshislipsandnods,

glancingathisInvictawatch.“Iain’tgotnowheretobe,sotry.” He takes a sip of his

drink. Then belches. “Mybad.”Ishakemyhead.“Soyougonna give up all

dis”—hesitsbackinhisseat,spreading open his armswhilemaking themuscles inhis chest bounce—“for datdude?”I nod. And although I am

certainofmydecision, I feelhorrible. But I’m not surewhy.Yes,Ido.It’sbecauseIwas really starting to like

him, too.ButMalikwonmeovermore.Andnowmyheartisallwrappedupinhim.“IthinkIlovehim,Blaze,”

Iadmitsoftly.“Didn’t you just up and

meetdude?”“So,” I say defensively.

“Time is all relative. I knowhim enough to know how Ifeelabouthim.”Hefrowns.“Butyoudon’t

even know dude. Riddle medis, then I’ma leave it alone:

Yousmokin’wit’him?”“Yeah,afewtimes.Why?”He nods his head. “How

many times he got yousneakin’outtadahouse?”“I beg your pardon.”

Indignationrisesinmyvoice.“Malik doesn’t have medoing anything I don’t wanttodo.”“Yeah,butIbethedoesn’t

tellyounotto,either.”“No.Hedoesn’t.Still, that

doesn’t make him a bad

influenceeither.”“DidIsaythat?”I roll my eyes at him.

“Well, no. But you impliedit.”“Nah, I simply asked a

question.”“Boy, bye! Fall back with

thatdumbish,”Isaywithoutthinking.Ishockmyself.Hegrins and then runshis

tongueacrosshislips.“What? Why are you

lookingatmelikethat?”

He folds his arms acrosshis chest and cocks his headsideways, taking me all in.“Youchangin’,yo.”Igivehimashockedlook.

“No I’m not. I’m still thesamegirl.”He shakes his head. “Nah,

you different, ma.” Henarrowshiseyes.“What,youlethimhitdat?”Iswallow.Shiftinmyseat.

“Why would you ask mesomethinglikethat?”

“You just have dat look,yo.Datsall.”“What look?” I ask

curiously.“Ifyouain’tlettin’himhit

it, then it don’t matter, doesit?”“No, but I still want to

know what you mean bythat.”“Hehitdatyet?”I frown, feeling

uncomfortable. “That’s noneofyourbusiness.”

He stares at me, grinning.“Yeah,youright.”I watch him finish up the

rest of his fries, trying likeheck tokeepmygazeoffhislips.Isuddenlyfeelas ifI’mcheating onMalik by havingthoughts of how good HazelEyes’ lips felt on me. ThosearenotthoughtsIshouldstillbe having, right? Imean,weonlyfooledaroundtwice.HislipsarethelastthingIshouldbedaydreamingabout,right?

Ohmygod! What in theheck am I doing here withthisboy?WhatwasIthinkingagreeing to meet him herebehindMalik’sback?Iglanceatmywatch.It’sa

quarter to four. I push backmy chair and stand. “Hey, Igottagetgoing.I’msupposedto meet my friend Jordan atfouro’clockdowninfrontofSephora.”“Oh, a’ight,” he says,

scratching his chin and

lookingupatme.“Okay, then. I’ll see you

around,Iguess.”“Nodoubt.Beeasy.”Iturn

to leave, but he sayssomething that stops me inmy tracks. “That dude ain’trightforyou,Kennedy.Iain’t’bout kickin’ no one’s backin, feel me? But dude ain’tgonna do nothin’ but bringyoudown,yo.”I blink. “Why would you

saythat?”

“I’m just sayin’ . . . becareful, babe.” He tears hisgaze away from mine andchompsheartilyonthelastbitofhissandwich.Iwalkawaywithoutsaying

aword.

For the next three weeks,Malik and I becomeinseparable. I spend everydaywithhim,sneakingoffto

bewithhim,some—no,most—nights not even botheringtogohome.I’veevenquitmyjob just so I can have moretimewithhim.Well,actually,to be perfectly honest,MaliksuggestedIquit.SoIdid.Hesaidhedidn’twanttohavetoshare me with a job. Thathe’d give me whatever Imade every two weeks, plusanextrafewhundreddollars.My boo wants me all to

himself.

Still... so much hashappened in such a shortperiodoftime.MymomandI,allwedois

fight now, almost every day.Blaze no longer calls me.And it’s really for the best,anyway. Then there’s mystrained relationship withHopeandJordan.EverysinceI told them in confidenceabout Malik they’ve beenagainst us being together.Well, moreso Jordan than

Hope.Still,theybothseemtohave something snide to sayabout it. So I don’t spend asmuch time with themanymore. Mostly because Iget tired of them bashingMalik, who they don’t evenknow. And bad-mouthingSasha—who they’ve nevermet—likethey’resoperfect.Ifeel like I shouldn’t have toconstantly defend myboyfriend,orwhomIwanttohangoutwith,tothem.Orto

anyone,forthatmatter.With Hope and Jordan, I

feel like I am constantlyunder a microscope withthem dissecting every littlething I say. It’s become tooexhaustingtryingtoget themtorespectmychoices.SoI’veslowlydistancedmyselffromthem.Besides,Malikfeelsit’sfor

thebest.AndIagreewithhim.“Yo, I know they ya girlz

’n’all,but if theyain’t trynahave anything good to say,then you need’a cut ’em off.Deyneedtostophatin’onyaman,yo.Alldatnegativityisforthebirds,yo.”“You’re right,” I said,

deciding right then and thereto deal with them on a verylimited basis. And I havebeen.Malik stands behind me,

hugging me. I can’t lie. Iwon’t lie. Malik’s arms feel

sogoodwrapped aroundme.I feelsowanted,soneeded...sospecial.“Icanholdyouinmyarms

forever, baby,” he says,kissing the back ofmyneck.Then pauses. “Yo what youthinkin’’bout,huh?”Ismile,glancingupathim

overmyshoulder.“You.”He grins. “Dats watz up,

baby.”Hiscellstartsringing.Hepluckshisphonefromoffhis hip, glancing at the

screen. “Yo waddup? Oh,word?When?Oh,a’ight,bet.No doubt, no doubt... I gotyou.A’ight,bet.”Heendsthecall, thenbringshis attentionbacktome.“Checkit,baby.Igotta make a quick runtonight.”My mood immediately

turns sour. He promised totakemeouttodinnertonight.I look at him. My bodystiffens.“Arunwhere?”He frowns. “Yo,wat I tell

you ’bout questionin’ me,huh?”“I’monlyasking.Ithought

weweregoing togo into thecity tonight; that’s all. I wasreallylookingforwardtoit.”“We was, but somethin’

cameupIgottahandle.”“Oh,” I say, disappointed.

“Well,whatamIsupposedtodowhileyou’regone?”He looks at me as if I’ve

askedthedumbestquestioninthe world. “Wait for me.

Whatelse?”Ifrown.Trytobreakoutof

hisembrace,butheisholdingon tight.He turnsmearoundtofacehim.“What,youmadnow?”“Nope.” I turn away from

him, walking toward thedoor.He grabsme. “Where you

goin’?”“Home,”Isay,pouting.He smirks. “Oh, word?

Andhowyougettin’there?”

Oops. I hadn’t thoughtaboutthat.I shrug. “I don’t know.

Walk.”He chuckles. But I don’t

see anything amusing. “Yo,stop. You ain’t walkin’nowhere. And you ain’tleavin’.”I suck my teeth and cross

myarms.“Iwannagohome.”He smiles, looking me up

anddown.“Nah, not tonight. You

lookin’ ’n’ smellin’ toogoodtogohome.”Hepullsmeintohis arms, then kisses me onmy forehead, then the tip ofmy nose, then lightly on mylips. He presses himself intome.Then starts grinding realslowandnasty-likeintome.Ican feel his excitementgrowing. “I need you.” Heglancesathiswatch.“C’mon.Let’slaydownrealquick.”“Are you going to see

some other girl?” I ask,

feeling insecurity creep intomy heart. I can’t help butrememberwhathis sisterhassaidabouthim.EventhoughIknow she was only sayingthose things tobemessyandI’ve never told Malikeverything she’s said abouthim, her words linger in thebackofmymind.“Ain’tnoothergirl,yo.It’s

me’n’you,yaheard?”Inod.“Itbetterbe.”Malikgentlygrabsmychin

and turns my face towardhim. “Da only girl I’mcheckin’ for, Kennedy, isyou, baby. You know dat,right?”Ilookintohiseyesforany

signs of deceit. There arenone.Mydispositionsoftens.Inod.“Yes.”Hegrins.And then there’s

the sound of his pants beingunzipped. “You myeverything,baby;yaheard?”Iswallowandnod.“Yes.”

The last thing I rememberbefore removing all of myclothes and getting swept upin the heat of his hands andkisses is him saying, “Let’smakeababy...”

“Girl, my period late,” Ihear Mercedes tellingsomeoneonhercellasIwalkinto the kitchen to getsomething to drink. She’sleaningover the sink, staringout of the window into the

backyard.She looks over her

shoulderatmewhensheseesme going to the refrigerator.She sucks her teeth,straightening her body. “Idon’t need to take no test. Ialready know I am. Myperiodisneverlateunless...uh-huh. Girl, who knows.”She laughs. “I tol’ dat nuccato pull out... girl, please. Iwaslitdatnight’n’besidesitwasfeelin’toogood.”

Shelaughsagain.I pour myself some apple

juice in a glass, trying to actlike I’m not listening in onherconversation.Itakeafewslowsips.Mercedes glances over at

me, rolling her eyes. “Can Igetsomeprivacy?Unh-uh...Malik’s li’l girlfriend hekeeps leavin’ over here.Mmph...don’tevengetmestarted.” She shoots anotherlookatme,thenrollshereyes

upinherhead.I press my lips tight,

blinking my eyes real hard.Whyisshesodanghateful?I quickly drink the rest of

my juice, thenwash and drythecupout, put it back, thengo back into Malik’sbedroom. As soon as I getready to turn on the TV andlieacrossthebed,Maliktextsmeand sayshe’sonhiswayhome. He wants me to heatuphisfoodintherefrigerator.

Now I have to go back intothe kitchen. I suckmy teeth,going to the bathroom, first,towashmyhands, thenbackout into the kitchen, hopingMercedesisnowhereinsight.Sheis.Itakeadeepbreath.Brace

myself.Icanfeelhereyesonmeas

I flit around the kitchen,pullingdownaplatefromoutof the cabinet, then rinsing itoffbeforeplacinghistakeout

from Munchies—a Jamaicanrestaurant inSouthOrange—ontohisplateandputtingitinthetoasteroven.I turn to walk out, catch

Mercedesstaringatme.“You really think you got

damagictouch,don’tyou?”“Huh?” I ask, confused.

“Whatdoyoumeanbythat?”She twists her lips up. “It

means, you really thinkMalik’s all into you, don’tyou?”

Ishrug.“Hesaysheis.”She laughs. “Nuccas say

anything to anyone stupidenoughtobelieve’em.”I blink. “I don’t think I’m

stupid.”She laughs again. “You’se

a lie. But dat’s a matter ofopinion.”“How many months are

you?” Iask, trying tochangethe subject. And Iimmediately regret havingeversaidawordtoher.

“Why?”shesaysnastily.I shrug. “I was only

asking.”“No, you were just bein’

nosy. Tryna be all up in mybusiness. You really thinkyou betta than me don’tyou?”“No.Of coursenot,” I say

incredulously. “I don’t thinkthataboutanyone.”“Yes you do!” she snaps.

“But you ain’t. Just becauseyoucomefromalittlechange

dat don’t make you betterthanme.”“Iknowitdoesn’t.”Sherollshereyes.“Mmph,

it sure doesn’t. But keepactin’likeitdoes’n’seewhathappens.”Iblink.Then, without thinking

aboutwhetherornotIshouldsayit,withouteditingitinmymind first, I ask, “Do youknow who the baby’s fatheris?”

Her eyes darken. Her facehardens into an ugly stare.“Bish, yeah, I knowwhomybaby fahver is. See.Diswhydon’tnobody’roundherelikeyou. You too nosy ’n’ staytrynatalkslick.”I think to tell her I didn’t

meanitlikethat.ButbeforeIcan openmymouth to pleadmy case, her mother walksinto the kitchen and says,“Mercedes, I know you ain’teven pregnant, again? Is

you?”Mercedes shoots a dirty

look over at me, then sucksherteeth.“Yousee,thot.You’n’yabigmouth.”“I asked you a question,”

her mother says, glaring ather. “Is you knocked upagain?”Mercedes looks at her

motherandnods.Hermother rolls her eyes,

shaking her head. “See, dishere don’t make no sense.

You just had a baby threemonths ago ’n’ ya knockedup, again. Mmph. What yougonna dowit’ four babies? Iknow you ain’t even trynahaveit,isyou?”Mercedes shrugs. “I don’t

knowyet.”“Wat you mean you don’t

know yet, huh? You bettahope DYFS takes dis one,too,’causeIain’twatchin’nokids.”I blink. Three babies?

She’s only twenty-one!Ohmygod!Ithoughtsheonlyhadthelittlegirl.“I said I don’t know,” she

snaps back at her mother.“Now get off my case aboutit.I’ll letyouknowwatI’mado when I know wat I’mado.”I quietly ease out of the

kitchen, leaving the two ofthemtheretoargue.Iwantnopart of any of their familysquabble.

Ten minutes later, I goback out to the kitchen tocheck on Malik’s plate.Mercedes comes back intothe kitchen wearing a smirkon her smug face.“Someone’sheretoseeyou.”Igiveheraconfusedlook.

“Someone’shere to seewho,me?”She twists her lips up.

“Umm, did I stutter? Whoelse do you see in da room?Yeah,you.”

“Whoisit?”Sheshootsmeadirtylook.

“Do I look like ya butler?You’llseewhenyougettodadoor.”I turn the oven off, then

removethefood.“Okay,wellletmewrapupMalik’splate,first.”Ipulloutthealuminumfoilfromunderneaththesink,wrap his plate up, place itbackintotheoven,thenwalkoutintothelivingroom.I think I see her lips curl

intoaslysmirk.

“Hi. Are you looking forme?” I say guardedly,walking to the door. Thebrown-skinned girl at thedoor,with the clenched jawsand menacing scowl on herface,isunfamiliartome.Her

hairispulledbackintohalfateeny ponytail. There isn’tmuch hair gathered up intoher red scrunchie sitting upon top of her head. Still, shewears it proudly with bangsslicked down over herforehead. A weave-piece, Ithink.Shehasonehanduponher hip. The other hangs toherside,balledupintoatightfist.“YouKennedy,right?”Inod.“Yes.That’sme.”

She narrows her eyes.“Thenyeah,bish,I’mlookin’foryou!”Forasplitsecond,IthinkI

hear someone in back of megiggle. But I can’t be forcertain.Yet I am notwillingtotakemyeyesoffthegirlinfront of me to see who’sbehindme.“W-why?” I stammer,

holding on tightly to thescreendoorhandle.“YouknowSha?”

“Who?”“Don’t even front. You

know who Sha is. Shaheed.Theboyyouwereupstairsatdat party trickin’ wit’, thenlied ’n’ said he tried to rapeyou.”Iblink.“I-I...”My mind quickly

scrambles back to that night.The only two people who ItoldwereMalik andSasha. Itry to remember if I’d everused the word rape. I don’t

remember.Myheartstartspounding.“I never said he tried to

rapeme.”“Bish, yes you did! Don’t

lie;youdirtycockteaser!”I blink.And then it comes

back tome.What I’d said toMalikthatnight.“H-h-hetriedtorapeme..

.”Ohgod!“I-I didn’t mean that,” I

say quickly. I can’t believe

how much my voice cracks.“It’s just that he wouldn’tstop grabbing on me when Itoldhimtostop.”“Yeahright,trick.Andyou

wantedit.”I shake my head. “No, I

didn’t. I didn’t even knowhim.”She scoffs. “You dumb

bish!Thenwhyyou even goupstairswit’himifyoudidn’tknow him, huh? Don’t eventry to act like you didn’t

knowwhattimeitwas.”“I swear. I didn’t know. I

thought he only wanted totalk.”“Well, he didn’t. And you

know it. Then you gonna lie’n’gethimjumped.”“Ididn’tdothat.Iswear.”“Yes you did. And now

you’bouttoseehowitfeels.Soyouneed’astepoutsidesowecanhandlediswoman-to-woman.”Iswallow.

Ican’tlie.Iamdesperatelyafraid. And I don’t knowwhy.Imean,Idoknowwhy.There’s a tall, thick girlwithbig hands standing on theother side of the doorsneeringatme.I haven’t done anything to

anyone, andespeciallynot toher or the four other girlsstanding in back of her. Butclearly, judging by herhostility toward me, sheseems hell-bent on thinking

that I have wronged her insomeway.And I can tell just by the

way she’s glaring at me thatsheisn’tinterestedinhearinganything I have to say. Andneitherdoanyofherfriends.They’re not here to talk.She’sheretokickmybutt.All of a sudden my eyes

getwatery.And the only thing that

stands betweenme andwhatI’m beginning to think, feel,

isgoing tobecomemyworstnightmareisflimsymeshinametal frame. I hold the doorhandleeventighter.“Trick, I said come

outside!”Iswallow.She’s now up on the tiny

porch, one hand up on herhip; the other pointing atmethrough the screen like it’s agun. Her face is so close tothe screen, I can feel her hotbreaththroughthetornmesh.

I try not to look at her.Instead I focus on the scaryblack snake she has tattooedonthesideofherneck.AndIfeellikecrying.“Goddammit,Mercedes!”I

hear Malik’s mom yell inback of me. “Who is at myfront doorwit’ all dat noise?You know I ain’t for noratchetnessearlyindaday!”“Dats some chicks from

arounddawayforMalik’sli’lgirlfriend,” she says. She

sounds amused. “Looks likeshe done got caught up insomedrama.”“Say what? I know one

thang, li’l Miss Uppity bettagoon’n’takedatmessawayfrommygoddamndoor.Tellher I said to go outside wit’dat mess! I don’t know whyMalik left her here anyway,like we some babysittin’service.”Icringe.Andthenextthing

I know, I am stumbling out

the door as it swings openand hits Snake Neck. I’vebeen pushed from behind. Iam caught totally off guard.So is Snake Neck. Before Ican break away, or evenscreamforhelp,shelungesatme.“Bish!I’makillyou!”She grabs me by the shirt

andpunchesme in the jaw. Iam no street fighter. Heck,I’m not any kind of fighter.Butthisgirlis.Andsheisout

forblood.Iscream.Her friends circle us,

cheeringheron.“Beat her face in!”

someoneyellsout.Next thing I know I feel

Snake Neck’s razor-sharpfingernails clawing into myface, like she’s trying topeelmyskinoff.Instinctanddesperationset

in and my arms and handstake on a life of their own. I

start swinging wildly. Iwindmill her up. My fingersclawing at her hair,my nailsdiggingintoherskin:thereisnoonehere tohelpmeandIamfightingformylife.I hear people yelling,

“Fight!Fight!”But I am not sure who or

whereit’scomingfrom.I can’t believe this is

happeningtome.Allbecauseof some boy who tried tohave sex with me. All

because Malik had him beatup.All becauseSashahad togooff and leaveme alone atsomeparty Ihadnobusinessbeingat.Someonekneesme.Someone else punches me

inthebackofthehead.Ohmygod!Iambeingjumped.Someoneelse’shandwraps

aroundmyhair.I am being yanked and

punchedandkicked.

I feel the tearsburningmyeyes and rolling down myface as I try to fight thesegirls off me. I struggle tohangontoSnakeNeck’shair,struggletonothittheground,knowing that it will be overformeifIdo.I bite Snake Neck’s arm.

Sheyelps.Hitsmeupsidethehead. But I don’t let go. Itightenmygripandtrytoripachunkofherarmout.Nowshe is screaming. And her

friends are punching andkicking,harderandfaster.SnakeNeck and I both hit

the ground. I am on top ofher. Her crew is nowstompingandkickingme.Mystomach and side and chesthurt.“Yo,whatda fuqq!”Ihear

someone yelling. “Get dafuqqupoffaher!”ThenIfeelsomeone yanking bodies offofme.It’sMalik.

Speak now or forever holdyoupeace...“I’ve been holding back

from saying this,” Jordansays, slipping out of herleather open-toed Giuseppesandals, the ones her mom

boughtheratthebeginningofsummer from Barney’s NewYork. “Because I don’twantthis to turn into an uglyargument.”I reach for the new Ni-Ni

Simone book my momboughtmeandleftuponmydresserforme.Iguessit’sherway of trying to make upwith me. For the last weekwe’ve been fightingconstantly, especially after Icame home over aweek ago

beat up and bruised up fromwhenthosegirlsjumpedme.Shewaspissed.“Iwantyoutotellmewho

those girls were. Thenwe’regoing down to file assaultchargesonthem.”I wouldn’t cooperate. I

refused to tell her anything.AndIdidn’twanthertopresscharges. Truth is, therewasn’t anything to tell. Ididn’t know much ofanything where any of those

girls were concerned. Nonames. No addresses.Nothing.Anyway,backtothisbook.

MymomknowshowmuchIlove all of Ni-Ni Simone’sbooks. I have her wholecollection. But, as I sit hereflipping through thepages, itfeels like forever since I’vepicked up a book—anybook—andreadit.Factis,thelastbookIread

was two weeks before the

schoolsemesterended,overamonthandahalfago.Seemslike so much has changedsincethen.I look over at Jordan,

closing thebook.“Youdon’twant what to turn into anargument?”She lifts her feet up onto

my bed. “How I feel aboutwhatyou’vebeendoingoverthesummersofar.”I frown. “What do you

mean,what I’ve been doing

sofar?”“You know, hanging out

all the time, smoking,drinking...”“Ohmygod! I only drank

once.”“Yeah, and you got really

drunk. I’m still reallybothered by that. You couldhave died from alcoholpoisoningorsomething.”Irollmyeyes,suckingmy

teeth.“But Ididn’t. Itwasn’tthatserious.Sonext.”

“Well,itcouldhavebeen,”she says back. “How do youeven know someone didn’tputsomethinginyourcup?”“Jordan, stop! You really

need to lay off the CSIepisodes. No one putanything inmy drink . . .” Ihope no one did. No, ofcourse not! Sasha wouldn’thavedoneanything like that.She’snotlikethat.“How do you know that?

Did you see themmake it in

frontofyou?”Iraisemybrow.“Well,no.

ButSashagotitforme.”Shegivesmeablankstare.“Look. Forget it. I don’t

want to rehash that. Yeah, Idrank, got drunk, and threwup everywhere . . .” Andpractically took all yourclothes off. “It happenedonce. And I haven’t touchedalcohol since. I’m neverdrinking again. I learned mylesson.”

“I’m glad you did. Butwhat if someonewould havetaken advantage of you?Anything could havehappenedtoyou.”That boy Shaheed’s face

popsintomyhead,hishandsgroping all over me. I shakethe thought. “But no one’staken advantage of me. Sostop saying that.And I don’tappreciate you bringing allthisupwayafter thefact.Somovingon.Whatelse?”

“Well, you don’t have toget all snippy. I’m onlysharinghowIfeel.”“I’m not getting snippy. I

just don’t feel like hearingshoulda, coulda, wouldastoday. But whatever. Whatelse you wanna get off yourmind?”“Honestly, Kennedy, I

think you’re getting in waytoodeepwiththisnewcrowdyou’re hanging with. I don’tlike that you sneak out and

you’re having sex with thatboy.Ifeellikeyou’removingtoo quick. You don’t evenreallyknowhim.”“Ohmygod, Jordan! You

say that like he’s somerandom guy. He’s myboyfriend.”“Yeah, one you have to

keepsecretfromyouparents.What kind of boyfriend isthat?”“See,IknewIshouldhave

never told you about any of

that.”“That’s what friends do.

Confideineachother.”“Yeah.But theydon’t turn

around and throw it back inyourface,either.”“I’m not throwing it in

your face. I’m simply statinghow I feel. That’s also whatfriends do when they careabout each other. They sharehow they feel. I mean, I amallowed to feel how I feel,aren’tI?”

I shrug. “You can feelhoweveryouwant.Ican’ttellyouhowyoushouldfeel.”“Exactly.And,rightnow,I

feellikeyourloyaltytoHopeandmehaschanged.”“How do you mean, my

loyalty’s changed? I’malwaysloyaltobothofyou.”She gives me a look of

disbelief.“Oh,really?”“Wait. Is this about me

ditching going to themall tohangoutwithSasha?”

“Well, yes. No. I mean,every since you startedhanging out with that trashySasha girl and sneakingaroundwith thatdrug slingeryou’ve been acting realdifferent,”Jordansayssoftly.“Ohmygod, I can’t believe

you’dsaythat.”“Well,it’showIfeel.”“Well,firstoff,hisnameis

Malik,” I correct withattitude.“Secondly,he’snotadrugslinger.Andthirdofall,

Sasha isn’t trashy. So don’tsay anything negative abouther ’cause you don’t knowher. All you ever do isjudge.”“Ohmygod, Kennedy! I’m

not judging anyone.Are youthat dumb and blind? Thatboy is a drugdealer andyouknowit.Sostoppinglyingtoyourself.”“I’mnotlyingtomyself.”“And that’s a lie right

there. That’s all you’ve been

doing is lying.Lying toyourparents. Lying to Hope andme. Lying, lying, lying. Butyou go ahead and believe it.Maybe one day it might allbecome true. But for now, Idon’tcarewhatliescomeoutof your mouth. Your littlethugboyisadrugdealerand—”“He isnot!So stop saying

thatabouthim.”“Oh really? Then what is

he then, huh, Kennedy?

Because I know and youknow he isn’t a trust fundbaby.Andhe isn’t theownerof some Fortune FiveHundred company and heisn’tworkingonWallStreet.Andwebothknowhe isn’tadoctororalawyer.Soifyourhigh school dropoutboyfriend isn’t adrugdealer,thenwhatishe?Howdoesheafford that Range Rover andall that jewelry and all thosefancy clothes he’s been

buyingyou,huh?”“Fromhis lawsuit,” I blurt

out.Jordan gives a fake,

restrained laugh. “And youbelieved that? Hahahaha!How special. What lawsuit,Kennedy?”“That’s none of your

business!” I snap. “And Idon’tappreciateyoutryingtobe all up in my man’sbusiness.Ormine!”“Wellllll, excuuuuuse the

heck out of me,” she saysdefensively. “You want meout of your business. Fine.I’m out of it. But don’t youdare pick up the phone andcomecryingtomewhenyourmanandyournewbestiebothdrag you down into thegutterswiththem.”She’s gone too far. I can

tellI’vehurtherfeelings.Butoh well. She’s hurt mine aswell.I take a deep breath.

Collect my thoughts. Checkmy emotions. Then say,“Listen, Jordan. I don’t needthis crap from you. I don’twant to fight with you,okay?”“Well,Idon’twanttofight

with you either. But I don’tlikewhatthatboyisdoingtoyou.He’schangingyou.He’sno good for you. And theonlythinghe’sgoingtodoisbring you down, Kennedy.Youareworthsomuchmore

thanwhatyou’rebecoming.”Ihuff.“Andwhat isityou

actually think I’m becoming,Jordan?”“I’ve already said it.

Ghetto.”I blink. “Why? Because I

don’t wanna always talkproper. Because every nowand then I wanna use slangwords? That’s not me tryingtobeanything.”“Yes, it is,” she counters,

giving me an incredulous

look.“That’syoutryingtobe”—

she makes quotation markswithherfingers—“down.Thewayyou’renowdressing,thewayyou’re talking, andeventhe way you’re sitting herenowwithyourlipsalltwistedup. You’re trying to besomethingyou’renot.”“That is so not true,” I

retort indignantly. “Whydon’tyou just stophatingonme?”

She grunts. “Hating onyou? Is thatwhat you call it,mebeingconcernedaboutmyfriend hanging with thewrongcrowdandgoingdownthewrongpath?That’shatingto you? Really, Kennedy?Howpriceless.You’re takingupfor thesamegirlwho justafewweeksbackbulliedyouand treated you like crap.Now all of a sudden she’syour hero.” She rolls hereyes.“Mmmph.Howepic.”

Jordan sounds jealous tome. Maybe she is. Or am Ibeingparanoid?“I mean, I’ve been trying

to be sympathetic to yourobsessive need to frolic withthat kind of element.” Sheshakes her head. “But, it’sgetting increasingly moredisturbing. Hope and I weretalkingaboutitlastnightandsheagrees.”I blink. Somehow I feel

betrayed. Hurt. That the two

of them have been talkingaboutmebehindmybacklikethis. I thought theyweremyfriends.“Ohmygod!” I shriek.

“Bish, bye! Are you effenserious? I can’t believe youandHopehavebeendoggingmeoutbehindmyback.”“Wehaven’tbeendogging

you. We’ve been discussingour concerns; that’s all. It’slikeyou’rechanging.”Jordanpauses for a second, then

adds, “And you’re evenactingrealghettonow.”Iamtakenaback.Literally

floored that she would saysomething like this to me.That I’mactingghetto.Whattheheckisactingghetto?“I’mactingghetto,how?”“Listen to yourself. You

sound just like one of thosesection-eight girls.Acting allghetto-fabulous.”“Are you effen kidding

me?Ohmygod,Jordan!Have

several seats! And go findyour life! I can’t believeyoujust said that. How am Iacting ghetto-fabulous?Pleaseexplain.”She plants a hand on her

hip, jerking her neck fromside to side. “You’re actingghet-to . . . right now.Cursing and telling me tohaveseveralseats.That’sthatgutter-trashtalk.”There’s no need for her to

be getting all snip-snappy

withme.Shoot,she’sluckyIstillwanttohangoutwithherlame butt. But if she can’trespect my boo and myfriendship with Sasha, thenI’m going to have to cut heroff.I eye Jordan as she eases

up from off my bed, thenhooks the straps of herhandbagintothecrookofherarm.“I miss my best friend,”

shesays.“Ican’tdothiswith

you,Kennedy.”I tilt my head. Give her a

quizzicallook.“Youcan’tdowhatwithme,Jordan?”“This. Watching you

become this stranger. I can’tsit back and silently watchyouruinyourlife.”I frown. “I’m not ruining

my life. I’m having fun.Something you should tryhaving instead of alwaysbeing so uptight and stuck-up.”

She blinks. “Is that howyou see me? Uptight andstuck-up?”“It’s the truth, Jordan.

That’s what you are. A joy-killer.Mygod,nowondernoonelikesyou.”Hereyesfillwithhurt.Her

bottomlipquivers.Iquicklyregreteversaying

thosewords.Butit’stoolate.It’soutnow.AndIcan’ttakethem back. “I-I’m sorry. Ididn’tmeanitlikethat.”

“Wow.Don’tapologizeforhow you feel. You meantexactlywhatyousaid.That’sprobably the only honestthing you’ve said allsummer.”“Jordan,I—”She puts a hand up. Stops

me from finishing mysentence. “The truth hurts.But I’ll get over it. Just likeI’ll get over you and ourfriendship.” I eye her as sheremoves her friendship

bracelet. “This girl you’vebecomeisn’tthegirlIwanttoassociate with any longer.Call me stuck-up. Call meuptight. Call me a joy-killer.Callmewhateveryouwant.”She pauses. I can tell she’sholdingbacktears.“Theonlyperson I’ve ever cared aboutlikingmeisyou.”IfeellikeI’mgoingtocry

myself. I knowwhere this isgoing. I can feel it in mybones. An aching. My chest

tightens.We’vehadplentyoffights. But none that haveever felt like this one.Absolute.Final.Like there isnocomingbackfromit.I stand up, reach over and

gently placemy hand on hershoulder.We’d been friends,besties, sisters, for likeforever.But,inasnap,wordshavesuddenlychangedthat.Ifeel likeIamabout to loseapieceofmyself.“I’msosorry.”

A tear slides out fromJordan’s eye as she stares atmy hand. Neither of us saysanything for a long, painedmoment. She removes myhandfromhershoulder.Laysher bracelet down acrossmynightstand before finallybreaking the heavy silencebetweenus.Herlipquivers.“SoamI,”

shesayssomberly,andwalksoutthedoor.

“Kennedy,wherehaveyoubeen?” My mom wants toknow the second I stepthroughthedoubledoors.Shegreetsme at the door with adagger-like glare. Her facepaintedintoatightscowl.

“Out,” I tell her, brisklywalking through the foyer,tossingmyhousekeysupontheroundfoyertablecenteredinthemiddleoftheentryway.“Iknowyouwereout!Out

where?!” she snaps, hot onmyheels.“You’vebeengoneforalmost twenty-fourhours.Howmanytimesdowehaveto keep going through this,you leaving up out of thishouse and going missing fortwoandthreedays?Andwho

was thatyouwere sittingoutin our driveway with in thatRangeRover?”It was Malik. But that’s

none of her business. He’ddropped me off beforeheading into the city to takecare of something. Lately, itseems like that’s all he doesis take care of something inthe city. But I try not toquestion him because hedoesn’t like it.He thinks it’sdisrespectful for a girl to

question her man. I wouldnever do that. And I don’tever want him to think I’mbeingdisrespectfultohim.“You’re to lookprettyand

be seen, yo. Not heard,” hetoldmewhenIaskedhimtheother day why he had to gointoNewYorkallthetime.“Iain’t effen wit’ no broadwho’s gonna give me griefe’erytime I gotta make amove, ya heard? I dig you,realspit,baby.Butyougotta

stay in ya lane. Word to damother.Youneed’afallbackor I’ma have to replace you,feelme?”Iblinked,caughttotallyoff

guard. My heart dropped. Icouldn’t believe he’d breakup with me for asking himonesimplequestion.Iwasn’ttryingtobenosy,orgetallupin his business. I truly justwantedtoknow.ButtoMalikmy askingwas “out of line,”ashecalled it.So this time I

keptmymouthshutwhenhementioned where he wasgoing. I didn’twant to upsethim. And I didn’t want toeverbereplaced.Anyway,before lettingme

go inside, he’d reached overand given me a longpassionate kiss, then toldmehowmuchhealreadymissedme.Icouldn’thelpbutblush.Ifeltspecial.He always makes me feel

special. Like I’m hiseverything.Iknowhe’smine.Still... I wish he didn’t

insist on me coming backhere.Tothishouse.Withher.But ever since those girlscame over to his house tofight me he says he doesn’twantmelefttherealone.Andhe doesn’t want me hangingwithSasha,either.So I’m stuck here. And

nowIhavetohearhermouth.

I don’t know why he justcouldn’t take me with him!“Kennedy, do you hear metalkingtoyou?”I ignore her, walking into

thekitchen tograbaglassofcranberry-pomegranate juice.I fill my glass, then drink itdowninfourbiggulps.Ipouranotherglass.Sowhat if I’ve been gone

since yesterday. I was outwith Malik. We spent thewholedaydownatSixFlags,

then went to grab somethingto eat at the CheesecakeFactory. Afterward, Malikbroughtmeback tohisplace—well, hismom’s apartment—and we smoked andcuddled. And kissed. Andwell, you probably alreadyknowwhathappenednext.“Doyouhearmetalkingto

you,younglady?Iaskedyoua question. I’m getting tiredof you thinking you can dowhatever you like around

here!”I take a deep breath. “I

heard you the first time.Dang.Getoffmyback.”“Thenanswerme,dammit.

And don’t you dare use thatlanguage or that tone in thishouseatme.”I shoot her a nasty look.

“Oh,but it’sokay foryou touseitatme.Idon’tthinkso.”I gulp down the last of mydrink, then set my emptyglassintothesink.

Mom slams a hand up onher hip. Her nose flares.“Don’t you question me,young lady! I’m the parent!I’mtheadult!Notyou!”I let out a disgusted grunt.

“You’resuchahypocrite.”“Whaaat?! Oh you have

reallylostyourmind!”“Ihaven’t lostanything,”I

snap.“I’mfinallystandingupfor myself. I’m living myownlife.”“Kennedy,whathasgotten

intoyou,huh?!You’veneverspoken to me like this. Youleaveupoutofhereandhalfthe time don’t let me knowwhere you’re going. Or youtellmeyou’regoingtobeoneplaceand thenI findoutyouweren’t even there. Yourbrothersneverpulledhalfthestuntsyou’repulling.”“Well,getover it,” I snap.

“I’m not the perfect littlegoody two-shoes that mybrothers were. It’s not my

fault they were a bunch ofnerdypricks!Howaboutthis:I don’t wanna be the perfectdaughter. I don’t wannafollow your stupid houserules. Idon’twannabe stuckin this prison camp. Iwannago out and have fun. I’msixteenyears old. I shouldn’thave to have some dumbcurfew or have you trynacontrol my every move. I’msickofyou!”My mom’s jaw drops.

Theninoneswiftmotionsheisinmyface,thepalmofherhandslicingintomycheek.Slap!“Don’tyouever—andIdo

mean ever—talk to me likethat as long as you live. Ibrought you into this world,little girl. And I will snatchyououtof it! Ikeepwarningyou! Iwillnot have that talkinmyhouse!”Sheyanksmeby the arm. “Do youunderstandme?!Youwillnot

disrespect me! I am yourmother. Not one of thoseskanky little girls you’retrying so hard to be like! Iwillnottolerateit!Thisisnotyou,Kennedy!”“You don’t know who or

what I am,” I shoot back,yankingmyarmfromher.Inallofmysixteenyearsoflife,she’sneverhitme.I’venevereven experienced a spankingasachild.Time-outsandlossof privileges are the only

forms of punishment everdishedoutinourhouse.Untilthisverysecond.She gives me a pained

look.Thenshakesherheadinfrustration. “You’re right. Idon’t know you. Notanymore. All I know is, thegirlthat’sstandinginfrontofme wearing that godawfulhoochie-momma outfit andhooker heels is not thedaughter I’ve raised. And Iwill not allow this kind of

dress in this house. Yourbreasts are practicallypopping out of that blouseand that little skirt you haveon is barely covering yourbehind.It’snotacceptable.”IknowIshouldapologize,

orevenrunoutofthekitchenandsimplyslammybedroomdoor,butIdon’t.Thestingingin my cheek won’t let me.The voice inside my headwon’t let me. They both tellme otherwise. Tell me to

rebel.AndIdo.“You know what?” I say,

puttingmyhandsonmyhips.“Screwyou! I’m sick of youtrying to ruin my life! Youdon’townme!Idon’thavetolistentoyou!IcanwearwhatI want. I’m sixteen! Andgrown! I can do what theheckIwant,whenI—”Slap!“Ohnoyoucan’t!Andyou

won’t!”Slap!Herpalmslams

into the side of my facecausingmyears to ring.Andthistimetearsspringfrommyeyes as I grab hold of myface, stunned that I’ve beenhit again. She glares at me.“Youarenotgrown!Nothereinmy house!Not at sixteen!NotaslongasyourfatherandItakecareofyou,you’renot!Now I don’t know whereyou’re getting yourinformation from,butyou’vebeen sadly misinformed. At

sixteen, young lady, you arenowhere near grown. Youmay think you are. But I amstill responsible foryou.Youwilldoasyouare told!Nowget your smart-mouth behindupstairs, take off those streetclothes and go wash yourface!You’regrounded!”“I hate you!” I scream,

stompingupthestairs.

“Screw her!” I mutter tomyself, snatching open mydresser drawers and tossingeverything into my designerduffle bag. “I don’t have totake this crap from her. I’moutta here!” I rush into my

walk-in closet and startyanking clothes off hangersand stuffing them into mybag. “Putting her hands onmelikethat!Ihateher!”I grab my phone and text

Sasha, giving her the 4-1-1and asking her to come getme.FiveminutesafterIsendthe text, my cell rings. It’sher.“Shedidwhat?”“Sheslappedme,”Irepeat,

walking over to my wall

mirror and looking at thebruiseshe’sleftonthesideofmyface.“Forwhat?”“Because she’s such an

evilwitch,” I say,pacingmyfloor. “All because I didn’tcomehome.”“Youain’tcomehomeone

night ’n’ she’s spazzin’ onyou like dat? Girl, you needto handle her. You prollyshouldcallthepoliceonher.”“No. I can’t do that.She’s

stillmymom.”She grunts. “Mmph.

Whatever.Doyou,boo.AllIknow is, your momz bebuggin’.”“I know. All she wants to

do is try to ruinmy life.SheactslikeI’moutinthestreetscommitting crimes orsomething. All I’m tryna dois have some fun before it’stimetogobacktoschool.”“Girl, you betta get yo’

life! Ain’t nobody got time

for dat! You need to packyourish‘n’getupouttadere!Mmph. I wish my momzwould. I know you effed heruprealgoodfordat,right?”Iblink.Isthisgirlserious?

First she says I should callthe police on her.Now she’saskingmeifIhither.Fighting my mom isn’t

something I’ve everconsidered. I mean, talkingbackisonething,buttofighther.No.That’sgoingwaytoo

far.Idon’tcarehowpissedIgetather, Idon’t thinkIcaneverhither.Shestartslaughing.“Oops.

IforgotwhoIwastalkin’ to.Li’l Miss Scaredy-Cat. Youknow you an undercoverOreo. So you betta do whatdemwhitegirlsdo’n’stompherlightsout.”Iblink.She keeps laughing. But I

don’t see anything funny.“You know dem rich white

girlzyourollwit’downatdatfancy school you go to bewhippin’ da hot dog pissoutta dey mommas. Thenagain, you prollywouldn’t. Iknow you ain’t got it in youtogowit’dahands.”“She’s my mom,” I say

defensively.“Ican’thither.”“Oh, but it’s okay for her

to put her hands on you,right?Girl,bye.Missmewit’dat.”“I disrespected her,” I

counter. “I shouldn’t havespokentoherlikethat.”She sucks her teeth. “And

she disrespected you.Smacking you up. Sheshoulda kept her hands toherself. Girl, bye. Miss mewit’ dat dumbness.Momz ornot, she crossed da lineputtin’herhandsonyou,boo.But whatever. She’s yourheadache.Notmine.Sowhatyougonnadonow?”“I don’t know. I was

hopin’ you could come getme.”“When?Now?”“Yeah.Ifyoudon’tmind.”“Girl, I do mind. I’m

gettin’ ready to get my boxbeatup.”“Oh.”“Where’sMalik?”“Hewentintothecity.And

probablywon’tgetbackuntillate.Igottagetoutofhere.”“Well,didyoucallhim?”I

tell her no. Tell her she was

the first person I called.“Well, I think you shouldholla at yaman ’n’ seewhathesays.”I swallow. “Yeah. I guess

you’reright.”“Hit me later,” she says

justbeforethelinegoesdead.Ipullmycellfrommyear

and stare at it.How rude! Itrings again, startlingme.MystomachlurchesasIglanceatthescreen.OhGod!

I answer the call on thefourthring.“Hello.”“Kennedy?”“Yes,Daddy.It’sme.”“I just got off the phone

with your mother,” he sayscalmly. “She’s extremelyupset. She says you’ve beensneaking out and becomingextremely disrespectful. Isthistrue?”“D-daddy,I-I...”“Answer the question,

Kennedy.It’sayesorno.”

I fall silent as tears rolldown my face. Daddy hasnever raised his voice tome,andwhenever I’ve had to bedisciplinedhe’salwaysleft ittomymom.“Kennedy?”“Yes.I’mhere.”“Then say something. I

need for you to tellmewhatintheheckisgoingonthere.Because what I’ve heard sofar,Iamnotliking.”“Idon’tcare,”Iblurtout.

“Excuse me? Young lady,whatdidyousaytome?”“I said I don’t care. I’m

sickofbeingtoldwhattodo.I want to live my own life.I’m old enough to make myowndecisions.”“Kennedy, sweetheart,”

Daddy says calmly. “Whathas gotten into you? This isnot you. Your mother saysyou’ve been drinking andhanging out with a wrongcrowd.”

“Ohmygod! She’s such atraitor. She promisedme shewouldn’t tell you about thedrinking. It was only onetime. I got drunk. And Ididn’t like it. It was no bigdeal.”“It is a big dealwhen you

don’t come home,” he says,raising his voice. “Yourmother is worried sick aboutyou.”“Well,shecanstop.Idon’t

need herworrying aboutme.

Icantakecareofmyself.”“Wait a minute. Where is

all this hostility anddisrespectcomingfrom?”“I’mnotbeinghostile.I’m

justsickofMomnot trustingme. I’m old enough tomakemyowndecisions.”“Listen, sweetheart, you’re

right. You can make somedecisions for yourself. AndyourmomandIbothneedtobe able to trust you to dowhat’sright.Iknowthatyou

may thinkyou’reoldenoughto knowwhat’s best for you,Kennedy.Butrightnow,yourdrastic change in behaviorsays otherwise. I’m flyinghome Friday evening. I’ll behome early Saturdaymorning.We’lltalkaboutthisthen.Understand?”Isigh.“Yes.”“Good.Nowdomeafavor

and go apologize to yourmother, thenpromisemeyouwon’tdo...”

The line goes dead. Idisconnect the call. I didn’twanttohearanythingelsehehad to say. I’m notapologizingtomymom.AndIwasn’tgoingtopromisehimanything. Malik promised totakeme to thisbigparty thisweekend.Andnothing,ornoone,isgoingtostopmefromgoing.My cell rings back. It’s

Daddycallingagain.I let thecall roll into voice mail.

When he calls back a thirdtime, I hit IGNORE. There’snothing else to talk about.I’vemade upmymind.Andhe’smadeuphis.I call Malik. “Yo,

whaddup?”“Igot intoabigfightwith

my mom,” I tell him. “Sheslappedme.Andnow I havetogetoutofhere.What timeare you coming back toJersey?”“Whoa, whoa . . . slow

down.Rundatbymeagain.”Irepeatmyself.“Whyshegoofflikedat?”I shake my head as if he

can see me through thephone. “She’s crazy. All Iknow is I have to get awayfromher.”“A’ight. Did you call

Sasha?”“Yeah,Idid.Butshedidn’t

sound likeshewas interestedincomingtogetme.Shetoldmetocallyou.”

“Oh, a’ight. I gotta gouptown real quick, thenshould be headin’ back datway ina few.You thinkyoucan stay put until I can getthere?”I nod. “Yeah. I’ll just stay

inmyroom.”“A’ight,bet. I’ma textyou

when I’m on my way,a’ight?”“Yes.”“You ain’t gotta put up

wit’ dat ish, ya heard? I’ma

getusaspotnextweek.Indameantimeyoucanstayatmymomz’scrib.”Iswallow.“Areyousure?I

don’tthinkshelikesme.”“Yo, she ain’t gotta like

you.Butsheknowsshebettarespectyou.Ipaydabillsupindere,soshe’sgonnadowatIsay.”“Whataboutyoursister?”“Idonealreadyputmyfoot

down for what went on wit’dem broadz comin’ through

to get at you. So she ain’tgonnagiveyounogrief.Sheain’t trynahaveme take it toher neck again. Don’t worry’bout packin’ nothin’. I’matakeyoushoppin’tomorrow.”“Okay.”Three hours later, Malik

finally texts back to say he’stwentyminutesaway.Iknowif he comes to the housethere’s a chance—no, it’s adefinite—that my mom willcallthepoliceonhim.Idon’t

want that. I tell him tomeetme at the WaWa down thestreet.I won’t be needing this, I

think, tossingmypackedbaginto my closet. As I preparetocreepdownthestairs,Iamgreeted by mom with,“Kennedy,whatisthis?”I blink. My mom is

standing in front of meholdingupthetwobluntsI’dhidden in the inside panel ofmypocketbook.“Iknowyou

didnotbringdrugsupinthishouse! Have you lost yourmind,huh,Kennedy?Answerme!”I blink again. I can’t

believe shewent throughmystuff!“Don’t stand there looking

atmecrazy!Youbetteropenyour mouth and tell mesomething,girl!Now!”I can’t help but roll my

eyes.She scowls. “Is there

something wrong with youreyes? Because I know youdidn’t just roll them at me.NowIaskedyouaquestion?What.Is.This?”“I don’t believe you!” I

yell.“Idon’thavetotellyounothing! You have no rightgoing through my personalthings!Do Igo throughyourstuff?No!”“Excuuuse you?! I have

every right”—she stomps afoot—“to go through your

things when your behaviorwarrants it. And, lately, I donot like what I am seeing.And now I see why. Howlong have you been smokingthismess,huh?”“That’s none of your

business,”Isnap.“Whycan’tyou stop being a joy-killerand just stay the heck out ofmylife?”“Everything you do is my

business, littlegirl!Youhaveno life unless I say you do!

And for the rest of thesummer the only joy you’llseewillbepunishment!”“Youcan’tdothis tome!”

Iscreamather.“Oh, I most certainly can.

Now get your ass backupstairs! I don’t know whothis new crowd is you’rehanging with, but it stopstoday. Do you understandme?”“Youcan’t tellmewhat to

do!” I try tobrushbyher. “I

don’thavetolistentoyou!”She snatches my arm.

“Girl, you had better watchyourtonewithme!Youhaveno business bringing drugsintothishouse!AndIwillnotstandforit!”“Ohmygod!” I shriek,

snatchingmyarmback.“Geta grip! It’s only marijuana!You’re acting like it’s somehard-coredrugor something!It was hidden inside of mypocketbook. Not out in the

open. So what’s the bigdeal?!”“The big deal is, it’s

illegal! And you brought itinto this house! I don’t carewhere you had it hidden. Ifthe police found this”—sheshakes the plastic baggie inmy face—“on you you’d bearrested! Is that what youwant? To be carted off tojail?”Tearsspewfrommyeyes.“No, I want you to stay

outta my life! You’re gonnahave to let go and stop trynaruinmylife!”She raises her hand to

strike me, but quickly stopsherself. “I’m warning you,Kennedy!SohelpmeGod!Iwill smack the piss out ofyou!Youwillnotspeaktomethatway!Iamyourmother!Iwill never let go of trying toguide you in the rightdirection.Andrightnow,I’mtrying to stop you from

making some horriblemistakes. The last thing Iwantisseeingyouhookedupwith thewrong crowd.All ittakesisonetimebeingatthewrong place at the wrongtime with the wrong crowdand you could end up a jailcell,orworse.”“I’m already in jail!” I

screamather.“Soitcan’tgetany worse than it already is.Anyplace would be betterthanbeingherewithyou!”

I brush by her, practicallyknocking her over. I rundown the stairs and out thefront door, cursing andhollering at the top of mylungs,withoutlookingback.I hear my mom running

behindme,callingoutforme.“Kennedy! Kennedy! Getbackhere!Doyouhearme?!You get back in this house,right now, or I’m calling thepolice!”Ikeeprunningandrunning

untilmy chest aches andmylungsburn.Mymindismadeup.I’mnevergoingbackthere

again!

Malik makes me feel safe.Simpleas that.Hemakesmefeel special. And wanted.And,witheverythingthathashappenedover the lastweek,Malik is all Ineed togetby,to survive. I haven’t spoken

to(orheardfrom)mymothersince our fight. And I don’twantto.I don’t evenknow if she’s

tried reachingmeonmycellbecause I threw it in a fit ofangerandbrokeit.Malikhadtopurchasemeanewphone.Now I don’t have anyofmycontacts.And I haven’t beenon Facebook to see if she’slookingforme.Knowingher,sheis.A part ofme feels so bad.

And knows that I amprobablyindeeptrouble.Then there’s theotherpart

of me that just doesn’t care.Notrightnow,anyway.Sasha was right when she

said I needed to getmy life.Well, guess what? That’sexactlywhatI’vebeendoing.Getting. My. Life. I havebeen having nothing but fun.Going to parties. Going toclubs. Shopping. Andspending every waking

momentwithMalik.He’s been so supportive.

He even got us an efficiencyroomtwotownsoverbecausehe said we needed our ownspace. Truth is, I overheardhis mother telling him whenhe cameback at twoo’clockinthemorningtopickmeupthat she didn’t want mestaying in her apartment.“Shetooyoung’n’toohotinthe tail. And she ain’t gonnabe nothin’ but trouble. You

need’agityousomebodyyo’own age. And leave dat li’lgirlalone.”“Ma,youneedtogo’head

wit’ dat dumb ish,” I heardMaliktellher.“Kennedyain’tgonna bringmeno heat.Hermomz threw her out ’n’ Iain’ttrynaseemygirloutondastreets.”His mother grunted.

“Mmph. You need to callDYFS ’n’ let dem deal wit’’er.”

“Chill, ma. Ain’t nobodycallin’DYFSonnobody. It’sall good. We outta here,a’ight? I already got us aspot.”“What? What you mean,

yougoty’allaspot?Youstillgonnapay this rent ’n’makesure me ’n’ Mercedes gotmoneytoliveoffof?”Iheardhim tell her that he hadeverything covered, then thelastthingIheardhersayis,“Ican’t believe you gonna turn

yabackonyaownfamilyforthatli’luppitygirl.”“Yo, sexy, what you over

there thinkin’ ’bout?” Maliknudges me, taking his eyesoff the road ahead of him.“Youa’ight?”Inod,lookingoverathim.

“Yeah.I’mokay.”“Oh, a’ight. Just checkin’

on my baby. You seem likeyoukindalostinthought.”I shakemyhead. “No,not

really.”

Truthis,mymindhasbeenreeling back and forthbetweenmyfightwithJordanand the haunting words ofMercedes. Last night, asusual, I was left alone atMalik’s mother’s while hewentouttomake“arun”intothe city with two of hisfriends.And, once again, hissister with her ole messy,mean self felt the need tocorner me in the kitchenwhen I’d come out to grab

somethingtodrinkoutof thefridge.“I keep telling you, silly

girl,allmybrotha’sgonnadoisuseyouup.Screwyouup.And have you somewhererockin’inacornertrynasliceyawrists.”I blinked, then scrunched

my face up at her. “Why areyou telling me this? Malik’syourbrother.”Shesnapped,“Iknowwho

da fuqq he is. Do I look

stupidtoyou?”“No, not at all.” But you

sound crazy, I thought as Istood there staring at her.“I’mjustwonderingwhyyouwouldsaymean thingsabouthim;that’sall.”She scowled. “Say mean

things’bouthim?Girl,bye.Iain’t saidnothin’mean ’boutmybrotha.ButyoutoostuckondumbtoseedatI’mtrynaschoolya.”She rubbed her swollen

belly, then pulled a chair outfrom the table and sat.“Sweetie, all you ever gonnabe toMalik is a youngpieceuntilhefinishesrunnin’allupinyou’n’guttin’youout.”Icringed.“Mercedes!” her mother

yelled from the living room.“Leavedatgirlalone!”She snorted. “I ain’t

botherin’ her. I’m trynaschoolher.”“Well, don’t school her!

Leaveherbe!Idon’tfeellikehearin’Malik’smouff ’causeyoueffenwit’datgirlofhis.Ifshewannabedrunkinloveover him, let her. She gonnahavetafindoutdahardway,like the rest of ’em; that’sall.”Like the rest of them, I

thought,wonderingwhat shemeant by that.When I askedMercedes what her motherhad meant, she simplysmirked and said, “You’ll

findoutsoonenough.”I’m not sure what I’m

supposed to find out, butwhat I do know is, I need toknowthis:“Umm,howmanykids do you have?” I finallyask Malik, shifting my bodytofacehim.He takes his eyes off the

roadforasplitsecondtolookoveratme.“Imean,Iknowyouhavea

baby with that girlHennessey.”

“Datain’tmybaby,yo.”I raiseabrow.“Saywhat?

I thought you said she wasyourbabymother.”“Nah, I never tol’ you no

ishlikedat.”Iblink.Iamcertainthathe

told me that that night sheshowedupattherestaurant.Icould have sworn he did.Okay,maybehedidn’t.“But I keep hearing you

have other kids with othergirls,too.”

Malik’sfaceturnsupintoascowl.“Whotol’youdis?”“Yoursister.”“Dis thot,” he mutters,

shakin’ his head. “Listen. Igot two kids, a’ight. A four-year-old and three-year-old.They both down south wit’deymomz.”Igivehimaconfusedlook.

“So Hennessy’s baby isn’tyours,butyouhave twokidswithsomeoneelse?”“Yeah.BothmyBM’slive

inAtlanta.”BothmyBM’s?“But what about

Hennessey’sbaby?”Hereachesintotheashtray

and retrieves a half-smokedblunt, slipping it betweenhislips. He presses the lighter,thenafewsecondslaterlightsthe weed-stuffed cigar.Smoke quickly fills theinteriorofhistruck.“Ialready tol’you. It ain’t

mine.Shekeeptrynaputiton

me, but I ain’t beat. I knowwattimeitis.Shetrynagetacomeup,butitain’tgonnabeonmy dime. Imean, yeah, Ismashed, but it wasn’t ’boutnothin’. Dat broad’s a freak.She let all my manz ’n’ deyboyzrunallupinher.”Hesaysthisasifwhathe’s

tellingmeisnotthatserious.HissisterMercedes’svoice

hauntsme.“...Youprollydadumbesthohe’sbeenwit’sofar . . . raw punnany is da

only thing my brother isgonna ever love. He doesn’tknow howta love anythingother than what’s betweenyo’legs,li’lgirl...”I cringe at the idea of

knowing that he’s hadunprotected sex with her,knowing she was sleepingaroundwithotherguys.“Andyou’resureherbaby

isn’tyours?”He shoots me a look.

“What I just say. Let it go.

We got it in, a’ight. I ain’tstrapup.Itiswhatitis.”Iraisemyeyebrow.“Look.

Just forget I even asked,” Isay,foldingmyarms.“A’ightthen.Stopstressin’

over dumb ish, yo.” Heshakeshishead. “Youyoungbroadz real wet behind daears,yo.”I shift uncomfortably,

blinking. “Well, maybe youshould get with someonewhoseearsaren’tsowetthen

since you feel like that. Iwon’taskyouanythingelse.”I turnmybody and stare outthewindow.I hear Malik sigh. He

reachesoverandlightlygrabsmyknee.“Yo,c’mon,baby.Ididn’t mean it like dat.” Hisvoicesoftens.“It’sjustdatdapast is in da past ’n’ I don’twant us to have to live in it,a’ight. Henney’s baby ain’tmine. But I give her a fewdollarshere’n’there‘causeI

feelkindabadforher.Butdatdon’t mean I’m tryna claimherbabyasmyseed,yo.”Idon’tsayanything.Ikeep

my gaze locked out into thedarkness watching thebuildingsastheypassby.He gently squeezes my

knee.“I’mwhereIwannabewit’whoIwannabewit’.”I turn my head to look at

him, thengoback to lookingout the window. Thinking.Wondering. Hoping.

Desperately wanting tobelieve that Iam—that Iwillalwaysbe—enoughforhim.Silence fills the space

betweenus.What if Blaze was right?

What if Malik really isn’tright for me? Then what? Ifeel like I have given up somuch of myself to be withhimthatIcan’timaginebeingwithout him. And I can’timagineitnotbeingright.The truck stops at a

stoplight.Malik lights another blunt,

takes a pull from it, thenhandsittome.“Here.”Hepullsoffwhenthelight

turnsgreen.Itakeadeeppullfromthebluntandreleasethesmokethroughmynose,thenhanditbacktohim.Itdoesn’ttake longbefore Iamfeelingtheeffectsofthemarijuana.Iam feeling much morerelaxed.Isettlebackintomyseat, laying my head back

againsttheheadrest.Malik reaches over and

grabs my hand. “Yo, wegood,baby?”I glance over at him

through half-slits and nod.Then lean over and kiss himwhenwestopatanotherlight.He laughs. “Yo, my baby

lit,huh?”Inod,grinning.Acarinbackofhimhonks

its horn. Malik speeds off.Then reaches over and takes

my hand again. He brings itup to his lips and kisses it. Iclosemy eyes, leanmyheadback against the headrestagain and smile once I feelwarmth and wetness ofMalik’s mouth as he suckseachofmyfingers.“Mmm...youtasteso...

sweet.”Ismile.And for the next three

weeks, Malik and I becomeinseparable.

Saturdaynight.Theplaceispacked.Themusicisloud.Marijuana smoke fills the

air as guys walk aroundholding bottles of Ciroc andHennesseyinonehandwhile

holdingbluntsuptotheirlipswiththeirotherhand.There’sagroupofgirlspassingbluntsbetween them, while othersare grinding up on guys onthedancefloor.The inside of my stomach

trembles. And I don’t knowwhy. Something doesn’t feelright. But I can’t put myfingeronit.“Yo, Malik, my nucca,

wutz good, yo?” someoneyellsoverthemusic.Ilookto

therightofmeandspotatall,brown-skinned guy sittingbetween two cute girls withreally big boobs wearingskimpyoutfits.Hestandsup,spreadinghisarmsopen.He’swearing a neck full ofjewelry.He’s real tall. TallerthanMalik.Andreally,reallycute. He kind of puts me inthemind of Kendrick Lamaralittle,butacuterversionofhim.“Yo, whaddup, Que.” He

rushes over and the twoembrace in a brotherly hug,givingeachotherthatpound-handshake-thingytheyalldo.“Long time no see. Whereyoubeen,yo?”“Layin’ low, my nucca.

Watz good wit’ you.” Heglances sideways at me, andgrins. “I see you still pullin’dahoneys,yo.Yousharin’?”Malik laughs. “Nah. Not

thisone,mydude.Itain’tdattype’aparty.”

Ishiftmyweightfromonefoot to the other, feelingslightly uncomfortable withthe way Malik’s friend islookingatme.Malik turns to me.

“Kennedy, this my manz,Que. Que, this my girlKennedy.”“Yo, word?” He smiles.

“Watz good, ma? You got atwin?”I give him a half smile,

shaking my head. “Sorry. I

don’t.”Malik wraps his arm

aroundme,kissingmeontheside of my head. “Nah, mybaby’soneofakind,yo.”“I can dig it.” He glances

overhisshoulder.“Yo,letmeget back to these twobroadzbefore they start gettin’restless.”“No doubt, playa,” Malik

says, giving him another oneof those fist and shoulderbumps.

“Yo, you need’a comehollaatmeali’llater,a’ight?I got some bidnesss Iwannahollaatyou’bout.”“A’ight, No doubt. I got

you.”Ieyehis friendon thesly,

thenaskhimwhohe is.Andhow he knows him. Malikshoots me a look. Thencatches himself from sayingsomething when a dark-skinned girlwearing her hairpulled back into a tight

ponytailthathangsdownpastherbuttswishesherhipsovertoward us. She’s wearing apairofwhitebootyshortsandasilverglittery,low-cutbra.Iglance down at her feet andwonderhowintheheckshe’sable to walk in those super-highplatformheels.“Heeeeey, Malik,” she

coosoverthemusic,ignoringthe fact that Malik has hisarmdrapedaroundme.“Yo, watz good, Tasha.

Howyou?”She bats her fake lashes.

“I’m good. Real good.” Shelicks her lips, then smirks.“Butyoualreadyknowdat.”Mybodystiffens.“Yo,dismygirl,Kennedy.

Kennedy,disTasha.”Shecutshereyeatmeand

gives me the once-over. Iopenmymouth to speakandshe rudely twists her lips upand turnshergazebackovertoMalik.“Iain’tseenyouin

aminute,boo.Whatyoubeenupto?HowmygirlMercedesdoin’?”“Crazy,” Malik says,

laughingasheglancesaroundtheparty.“But,yo,letmegetmovin’.I’llholla.”“Yeah, you do dat.” She

shoots me a dirty look, thensays,“Iknowyoustillgotmynumber. Use it.” She walksoff.Herhips sway full speedas she moves through thecrowd.

Jay-Z’s “Open Letter”startsplayingandMalikbobshis head from side to side.“Yo, let’s dance.” Before Ican object, he’s pulling meonto the dance floor withhim. Several songs later weare passing a fat blunt backand forth. And whatevernervous energy I had earlieris now gone. I’m feelinggood.Beyoncé’s “Drunk In

Love” starts playing and I

pull Malik onto the dancefloor.WhateverhehadinthatmarijuanahasmefeelinglikeI can fly. I turn my back toMalikandhewrapshisarmsaroundme.Iliftmyhandsupovermyhead,closemyeyes,andgetlostinthemusicashegrindsonme.Out of the corner of my

eye, I see a tall, stocky guywith shoulder-length dreadsand half-sleeve tattoosstalkingoverinourdirection,

but I don’t give it anythought. I keep dancing,blocking everything out untilthe guy jumps up inMalik’sface.Wordsareexchanged.Malikpushesmeoutofthe

way.Then all I see are punches

beingthrown.I look on at the scene in

fear, confused, as other guysstart rushing to the dancefloorfighting.

I get knocked to the floor,andscream.

Pandemonium.That’s the only way to

explain what is unfoldingrightbeforemyveryeyes.Gunshots!Loud.Peoplearescreamingatthe

topoftheirlungs,scramblingfor safety. Ducking bullets.Dropping to the floor androllingforcover.Weareallterrified.“Ohmygod, Malik!” I

shriek. “What’s happening?”He snatches me by the handand is practically draggingme.IknowIsaidIwantedtohave a thrilling summer. Butthis goes way beyond mydefinition of excitement.Thecrowdstampedesouttheback

andsideemergencyexits.Weall pour out of the building,scattering.Malik and I run up two

blocks, then finally slowdown. I try catching mybreath.“W-w-what is going on?

Whath-happenedinthere?”“Listen, babe. Not now,

a’ight.Ineedyoutofocus.”“Focus?!” I scream

hysterically,yankingmyarmfrom him. “Are you kidding

me?Abunchofgunfirebrokeout in the middle of a club.And I barely made it outalive! We could have beenkilled.How—”“Yo!”hesnaps,pullingout

his keys and disarming hisalarm. “Chill wit’ daquestions, a’ight? I need’athink!”Iswallow.He opens the driver’s side

door, tellsme to get in, thenhandsmethekeytohistruck.

“Stay here. You hear me?Andifanythingstartslookingcrazy be ready to peel off.Youhearme?”“Y-y-yes.Butw-whereare

yougoing?”“Backtohandle...”Malik

stops in midsentence andglancesoverhisshoulderjustas a black Suburban withtinted windows rolledhalfway down with itsheadlightsoutapproachesus.The first things I seeare two

blackgunsbeingheldoutthefront and rear windows,aimeddirectlyatus.“Yo,getdown!”But it’s too late. I duck

down and scream as thegunmen open fire, shootingupthesideofthetruck.Ohmygod! Ohmygod!

Ohhhhmyyygod! I’mgoing togetkilled!Iheartiresscreeching,then

more gunshots being fired.Fearfully, I peek to see

what’s happening. I am ashakenmess.Through tears, I witness

Malikpullingagun fromhiswaistband, aiming at thespeeding SUV and firingshots. He takes off runningbehind the truck. I’ve neverseen him, or anyone—exceptRaynardPrice,aguywhorantrackandwenttoschoolwithmybrotherKent—runsofast.Hehitsthebackofthetruck,causingittoswervethenslam

intoaparkedcar.Myheartisbeatingrapidly.

This is all a terriblenightmare.Just when I think it can’t,

won’t, get any worse, thereare more gunshots beingfired.AtMalik!Andthen...Hehitstheground.“Nooooo!” I scream,

swinging open the door andhopping out of the truck,leavingthedoorwideopen.I

runtowhereheis.Irundownthestreet.“Malik!Malik!”Thereisbloodeverywhere.He’sbeenshot.Ohmygodohymygodohmygod!“Ohmygod! Malik! Are

youokay?”Sirensblareinthedistance.“I’m fine. Aaah, shiiiiit!

Punks clipped me in the leg’n’shoulder,dat’sall.”“Ohmygod! I have to get

youtoahospital.”“Kennedy! I need you to

focus!Uhhh!There’snotimefor that!”He starts breathingheavy. “I need you to takethis gun, and go back to thetruck and get a black bookbag from outta the backseat.It’sonthefloor.”“Okay.” I am crying

uncontrollably.Sirens squeal louder as

theygetclosertothescene.“Uhhh . . . I need you to

getdatbag’n’getouttahere.Don’t look inside. You hear

me? Call Sasha ’n’ give herdabag.“Butwhataboutyou?”“I’mcool.Justgo.”“I can’t leave you like

this!”“Look,baby,Igotdis.Get

outtahere,a’ight?Now!”He hands me the gun.

Without a thought, I take itand run back toward thetruck.Iamshakingviolently.I can see the flashing red

and blue lights. I open the

backseat door, find the bookbag and open it, stuffing thegun inside, thenstart runningin the opposite direction.Seconds after this, police areeverywhere. I don’t knowhowmany show up after thefirsteightsquadcarsIcount.A sea of blue uniforms hopsout of cruisers.Weapons aredrawn. Everything ishappeningsofast.“Police! Stop where you

are!”

Ohmygod!Aretheytalkingto me? I haven’t doneanythingwrong.“Police!”My knees shake. “What’s

goingon?”“Dropthebag!”Ohmygod, they are talking

tome!“Please. Don’t shoot. It’s

all a big misunderstanding.Someone started shooting atmyboyfriend.Thenhestartedchasing them. And then he

gotshot.Please.Youhavetocall an ambulance. Myboyfriend’s isbleedingprettybad.”“Ma’am. This is your last

warning! Put you handswhere we can see them.Now!”Idoastheysay.Nextthing

I know I am being swarmedbypolice.Thentackledtotheground.There’sakneeinmyback. Iambeinghandcuffed,thenviolentlyyankedup.

Ohmygod!Where’sMalik?I glance over to where I

lefthimlying.Heisn’tthere.“Youareunderarrest...”Oh,nooo!He’sgone!“You have the right to

remainsilent...”Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!

What have I gotten myselfinto?

IfIeverthoughttherewasn’tsuch a thing as a hell onearth, I was sadly mistaken.There isahellonearth!Andit’s this place! The Lorna P.Johnson Youth DetentionCenter.Metal doors clanking

open and closed. Nasty steelseatless toilets. Metal bedframes bolted to concretewalls.Thinmattresses.Cheapbedsheets that cut likesandpaper.Pigslopservedonthick,clunkyplastictrays.I have been fingerprinted.

Havehadmymugshottaken.And have basically beentreatedlikeacriminal.LikeIamguilty.I’mnotguilty!Ihaven’tdoneanything!

This isn’t whatmy life is.Or was supposed to be like.Fingerprints and face mugs.And charges of crimes Ididn’t commit.But somehowit’s what it’s become. Thisisn’t how I planned mysummer to turn out. Butsomehow, in the blink of aneye, this iswhat it has cometo.Andnowwhat’sleftofmysummerisruined!I’m locked up! I’m sitting

here in a drab navy blue

uniform with the wordsLORNA P. JOHNSON YDCstampedacrosstheleftsideofmy chest in small blockletters and a pair of slip-oncanvastypesneakersthathurtthebottomofmyfeet.I am surrounded by other

teens that hadapenchant formakingbadchoices.Someofthem were repeat offenders.Some of them were here onviolentcharges.Andsomeofthe girls here are scary.

Rough-looking.Disrespectful.Nasty.Trifling.Vicious. And crazy. And alltheywanttodoispickfightswith each other, includingwithme.It’scrazyhere!Being called filthy names.

Being threatened. Having toconstantly watch my back.It’salltoomuchtobear.I’mstartingtofeel likethe

wallsareclosing inonme. Ihavetogetoutofherebefore

Ilosemymind.I thought being arrested,

handcuffed, then shoved intothe backseat of a police carwas humiliating.But nothingpreparedmefor(orcomparedto) being in this hellhole.From getting processed atintake to getting strip-searched. I’d never felt soviolated in my whole entirelife, standing butt-naked andbeing told to bend over andpull open my butt cheeks

while some strange womanlookedon.I take a deep breath,

willingmyemotionsincheckwhile removing the receiverfrom the base of the phoneanddialing.Pleasepickup!Please!“Yo?”“Hey,” I say softly,

relieved and happy to finallyhear Malik’s voice. I hadbeen trying to reach him forthelastfourdaystonoavail.

I’devenleftseveralmessagesforhimwithSasha.Butevenshe’sactingfunnynow.“Look,Kennedy,”shesaid

nastilywhen I calledher lastnight. “You’re going to haveto chillwith all these calls. Igavehimyourmessages.”“And what’d he say?” I

askedanxiously.She sighed. “He said

a’ight.”“That’sit?”“Yeah,basically.”

“Isheinthehospital?”“No. Somebody he knows

is a nurse. She handledthings.”“Oh.” I was relieved to

hear he was okay. Butsaddened that she hadn’texpressed thathewasdeeplyhurtbymyarrest.“Didheatleast ask you how I wasdoing?”She huffed. “Look. Not

really.”Hurt washed over me. He

hadn’t even thought enoughaboutme to ask her if Iwasokay. I couldn’t believe it.And I couldn’t believe shewas acting like I wasinconveniencingher.“Well, look, girl. You can

write me if you want, but Idon’ttakecallsfromjailbirds,unless you my man. Noshade.”“Oh, okay. I understand.”

My feelingswere hurt.But Ikept it tomyself. I felt like I

had no one. “I’ll let you gothen.”“Cool. Keep ya head up,

girl.” And with that said, Iheardthedialtone.“Who dis?” Malik roars

into the phone, bringing meoutofmymindlessfog.Iblink.“It’sme.Kennedy.

Oh, wow. You’ve forgottenwho I am that fast?” I say,half joking. “Have I beenreplacedalready?”Iclutchthephonetightly.

Heletsoutachuckle.“Oh,nah-nah. Just didn’t thinkyou’d be callin’ me straightthrough; that’s all. I thoughtyourcallswerecollect.”“They are. But the social

workerletmecallyousinceIcan’t make collect calls tocell phones and I haven’tbeen able to reach you anyother way. Did you get myletter?”“Oh,a’ight.Yeah. Igot it.

Good lookin’ out, babe. I

beenmeanin’tohityouback.Butyouknowhowitis.”“No. I don’t know how it

is, out there anyway. I’m inherestressing,Malik.”“I feel you, babe. I’m

stressin’, too, yo.Shit’s beenmadhectic.Ijustgotouttadahospital.”Iblink.“When?”“Yesterday.”I frown. “Sasha told me

youdidn’tgo to thehospital.I thought some nurse you

know took care ofeverything.”“Oh, yeah. She did. But I

stillhadtogotothehospital.”I swallow. I can’t believe

I’m hearing all of this. Thathe was in the hospital, eventhoughSasha saidhewasn’t.That he’s too busy to take afewminutesoutofhistimetowrite me back. I’m the onelocked up for something thathe should be locked up for.AndthisisthethanksIget.I

thoughtIwassoimportanttohim.Somethingdoesn’taddup.Hisstory.I don’t know what to

believe.“You could at least write

me back, Malik.” I feelmyself getting teary-eyed. “Ifeel like I’m in this alone.” Istart crying. “I don’t evenhaveawayoftalkingtoyou.Didn’t Sasha give you mymessages?”

“Nah,” he says. “I ain’tseenherinaminute.”I frown. “She toldme she

gaveyoumymessages.”“Yo,effdatbroad,yo.She

staylyin’.”“Well, I don’t know if

she’slyingornot.Shehadnoreason to lie tome. She saidshe toldyou that Iwanted totalk to you.Now you sayingshe didn’t. Obviouslysomebody’slying.”“Oh,word? So you callin’

yamanaliar?Isdathowyoudoin’it,huh?”“I don’t know what I’m

calling you. All I know is,I’m not feeling like you’rehereforme.AndIdon’tfeellike you’re my man. I feelabandonedinhere.”“Yo, c’mon, Kennedy.

Chill. I got you, babe.Wordis bond. I’ma handle thatletter later tonight for you,a’ight? I’ma hit you wit’ afew dollas, too, a’ight? You

know you my heart, boo. Iain’t gonna leave youstranded,ma.Ever.”Isigh,reachingforatissue

on the social worker’s desk,then blowing my nose.“Moneyisn’tallowedinhere,Malik. I’m in a youthdetentioncenter,remember?”“Oh, right, right. My bad.

Soyougood?Youneedsomebooksorsumthin’?”My nose flares. “No, I’m

not good, Malik. I’m locked

up. I want to come home. Ihateithere.”Moretearsswellin my eyes, then rapidly fallunchecked. “I can’t do this,Malik. I think I’m goingcrazy. This place is horrible.The food is disgusting.” Iglance over at the socialworker.She’splayingagameof solitaire on her computer,pretendingtonotbelisteninginonmyconversation.“Ifeellike I’m going crazy,” Iwhisper into the phone.

“These girls in here aretrifling.Alwayslookingforafight.”“I feel you, babe. You

gotta keep ya head up,though. Stay focused, youfeelme?”I sniffle. Wipe my tears

with the arm of my sleeve.“I’m trying. But it’s hard. Ijustwanttogetoutofhere.”“When’syacourtdate?”I tell him it’s in two days.

Ask him if he can come to

court. My heart drops whenhe tellsme no. “Iwould if Icould, babe. You know that,right?”“Then why can’t you

come?”“Ihavewarrants,yo.Iain’t

’bout to chance havin’ demmofos run down on me if Icomethrough.”“I’mscared.” I feelmyself

starting to hyperventilate. “Ican’tdothis,Malik.”“Allyougottado,babe, is

play ya position, ya heard?Just sit tight and ride it out.This is your first time. Youdon’t have any priors. Andyou’re a minor. They’ll goeasyonyou.”“Are you frickin’ kidding

me! I shriek. “I don’t wantthemtogoeasyonme.Iwantthemtoreleaseme.Iwantoutofhere!Ididn’tdoanything!That gun wasn’t mine andneitherwerethosedrugs.Andyouknowit!”

“Whoa,whoa.Slowdown.Yousayin’toomuch.”“No I’m not. Obviously

I’m not saying enoughbecause I’m in here. Andyou’re out there. Living lavida loca.Youhave to cometo court and tell them whatreally happened. Please,Malik, you have to comegetme out of this place. Youcan’t let me sit in here androt.”“Oh, word? So now you

trynadry-snitchonyaman,isthat it? You tryna talk allreckless in front of themsocial workers, is dat howyou doin’ it, yo? You trynahemmeup,isdatit?”I frown. “I’m not dry-

snitching. Or trying to getyou hemmed up or whateverthat means. All I’m askingyou to do is tell the truth.That’sall.Ishouldn’thavetobe locked up for helpingyou.”

My plea is met with adeafeningsilence.“Hello? Malik? You still

there?”“Yeah,uh,I’mhere.Look,

I gotta go handle somethin’real quick. Let me hit youbackali’llater,a’ight?”Isheserious?Istareatthe

phone in disbelief. I blink.“You can’t hit me back,Malik.Idon’thavetheluxuryof making calls whenever Iwant. I’m locked up!

Remember?”“Oh,true.A’ight,well,see

if you can hit me up later. Igottagomakethisrun.Iloveyou,a’ight?”“Bye,Malik.”I hang up, glancing at the

timer. I’ve wasted eightminutes of my ten-minutephone call on nothing. I dialhome. The phone rings forwhat seems like foreverbefore someone finallyanswers. My heart skips a

beat.“Hello?”“Hello?Mom?”Iburstinto

tears. “I’m so sorry foreverything. You have to getmeoutofhere,please.”“Whoisthis?”I blink. What the heck is

wrong with everyone actinglike they don’t know myvoice?“It’sme.Kennedy,Mom.”“Andwhereareyoucalling

mefrom?”

Ichokebackascream.“In. . . in the d-d-detentioncenter.”“That’swhatIthought.No,

sweetie. This isn’t theKennedy I know. This issome imposter calling here.Because the Kennedy I gavebirth to wouldn’t be callingme from some detentioncenter. No. She’d be homewithherfamily.TheKennedyIknowwouldn’thavecursedmeout,orbeensneakingout

ofthehouse,or tellingmetostay out of her life. TheKennedy I gave birth towould have never run away,or brought drugs into thishouse.No,notmychild.”Tearssproutfrommyeyes.

“Mom, please. I know Iscrewedup.Canyouplease ...”“Oh, no. Don’t ‘mom,

please’me,MissI’mGrown.Remember, you chose thestreetsoveryourfamily.You

told me to stay out of yourlife, remember? Now youwant to call here, crying.Nowyouneedme,huh.Well,guesswhat,MissI’mGrown?You don’t get to pick andchoose when you want yourfamily in your life, orme asyourmother.”I scream and cry and can

barely breathe. I am cryinghysterically.Hearing thehurtand disappointment in hervoice is killing me. I wish I

could take everything I saidback.WishIcouldundowhatI’dalreadydone.But Ican’t.And I don’t know how tomakeitbetter.“I know, Mom. Pllllease.

Don’tsaythat.Iwaswrong.”“That’s too bad,” she says

evenly. Distant. “Now whatdoyouwant,Kennedy?”“Areyougoingtocometo

courtforme?”“No. Let the streets be

thereforyou.Youmadeyour

bed,nowlieinit.”Thelinegoesdead.AndI’mleftbeingliftedup

from the floor likea ragdollby two COs then draggedback to my cell. All Irememberhearingisthedoorclankingshut.AndIamalone.

My hands and feet inshackles, two guards—onemale, the other female—escortmeintotheelevatorupto the second floor wherejuvenilecourtproceedingsarehandled. It is my retention

hearing. Whatever thatmeans. My attorneyexplained it to me when hecamedowntotheholdingcellto speak with me. Buteverything he was sayingwentovermyhead.Thisisallconfusing tome.Aside fromwatching Court TV, I knownothing about a retentionhearing. Or being in a realcourtroom. And what’s mostfrightening is knowing thatrightat thisverymomentmy

entire fate is in the hands ofsomeone else. I feel sohelpless not knowing what’sgoingtohappentome.My stomach quakes with

anxiety as we enter thecourtroomandIamseatedata wooden table. My handsremain cuffed. Every fewseconds, I glance over myshouldertoseewhocomestocourtforme.AfewshortminuteslaterI

hear large wooden doors

behind me open. I glanceovermyshoulder.It’sDaddydressed in a navy blue suit.He looks so worn out. He’sflowninfromDubai,hashadto take a leave of absencefromwork,justtobehereformycourtdate.Ifeelsohorrible.Mymomisignoringme.My brothers are all pissed

atme.Jordan and Hope aren’t

speakingtome.

Sasha is all of suddenacting as if she can’t be sobotheredwithme.And the only thing Malik

seems to care about is mekeepingmymouthshut.Ihavenoone.Ihalfhoped,halfexpected,

to see my mom walking inbehind Daddy. I amdisappointed when shedoesn’t. I mean. I am happytoseeDaddy. Iam.Really. IamaDaddy’sgirl.Still...

“All rise!”Thebailiffsaysin a singsong voice, openingthe back courtroom door. Inwalksashort,brown-skinhedlady. She looks nothing likewhat everyone said. She’spretty. And seems niceenough. I try to gauge hermood. But I can’t. She’swearingnoexpressiononherface.The courtroom falls silent

asshebrisklymakesherwaytoward the bench, her black

judge’s robe swooshingbehind her as she climbs upthe stairs to the bench andsits.“Court is now in session!”

The bailiff barks. “TheHonorable Julia LeeAnderson presiding. Allelectronic devices are to beturned off now. Please beseated.”Judge Anderson glances

aroundthecourtroom.“Goodmorning.” She clears her

throat, placing her readingglasses on. “We are here onthe matter of the juvenileKennedy Simms. Docketnumber JV-dash-one-three-three-four-seven-two-thousand-and-thirteen.Thisisa retention hearing.” Shelooks up from her papers. “Isee we have representationfrom the state. And counselhere for the defendant.Counselors, please identifyyourselvesfortherecord.”

The prosecutor stands up.Awhitewoman.Blondehair,pulled back into a sleekponytail.Sparklingblueeyes.Milky white skin. Thin. Shelookslikesheshouldbeonarunway instead standing infront of a judge in acourtroom.She’sallbusinessas she says, “EmilySwansonforthestate,YourHonor.”Myattorneystands.“James

Fordforthedefendant.”The judge nods her head,

then scans my file, glancingupandpeeringatmeovertherim of her glasses. She isgivingmedirtylooks.Maybeit’s my imagination. Maybenot.She gets right down to

business.“You’vebeenchargedwith

the following: two countspossession of a weapon,specifically a .38-caliber teargaspenguncontainingariflebullet and a semi-automatic

pistol...”Ichokebackascream.Thoseweren’tmyguns!“. . . possession of the

narcotic painkilleroxycodone,possessionof theprescriptionanti-anxietydrugXanax, and possession ofcocaine.”Thoseweren’tmydrugs!The judge looks up atme.

“Do you understand thecrimesyouarebeingchargedwith,younglady?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I saymeekly. “But I didn’t doanything. They weren’tmine.”She tilts her head. Gives

meablankstare.“Weretheynot in your possession whenthepolicearrestedyou?”Iswallow.“Yes.But...”Shecutsmeoff.“Thenyou

did do something. And nowyou’vegottenyourselfcaughtup in the middle of a bigmess.”

I lowermyhead. I alreadyknow what she’s thinking.It’swhatmyattorneyalreadytold me down in the cage. Imean, holding cell. Like myattorneybasicallysaid:Itwasonmy person. Iwas the oneholding the backpack. I wasthe one with the guns anddrugsthatwereinside.Iamguiltyascharged.She lets out a grunt,

shaking her head. “I don’tknow what in the world is

wrong with you young girlstoday, wanting to be all fastand grown. Disrespectingyour parents. Choosing thestreetsoveryourfamily.”Thejudgeflipsthroughmyfolder,then looks up over her wire-rimmedglassesandslamsthefolder shut. She points awagging finger at me. “You,young lady, obviously comefroma goodhome;with twoparents who apparently loveyouandwantnothingbutthe

best for you. And they’veprobably spoiled you rotten,I’msure.“Butobviouslyyouwantto

squander everything they’vedoneforyou.Youwanttobein the streets. You want toplay hood wife to somehoodlum. Well, guess what,young lady? You can playBonnie if you want. Thestreets don’t give two centsand a wooden nickel aboutyou.AndneitherdoesClyde,

or Bobby, or Raheem, orMustafa. But since youwantto ride dirty for his cause,thenyou’llhave tosuffer theconsequences...”Please, God! Where are

youwhenIneedyou?“I’m going to order a

urinalysis and substanceabuse evaluation. I suspecther urine may come backpositive and I’d like to havethatinwritingifthatisinfactthecase.”

My heart stops. Oh, myGod. She’s going to crucifyme.Herglare is burning intomy flesh. All of a sudden, Ibreak out into a sweat. Andfeel myself start to shakefromtheinsideout.Sheeyesme.“Youwantto

be some gun-slinging thug-mami,don’tyou?”I shake my head. “No,

ma’am.”“Oh, yes you do.” She

glancesoveratthebailiff.He

shakes his head. “You’re abeautiful young lady. Butthose looks aren’t going toget you anywhere in lifeunless you learn to use yourbrain. Sadly, intelligencedoesn’t guarantee commonsense.Soifyouthinkforoneminute those looks are goingto get you out of this messyou’re currently in, you aresadlymistaken.“Judgingbythecrimesyou

are being accused of

committing, it’s apparent tothis court that you wouldrather be out in the streetswiththethugs,livingalifeofcrime, hanging with a bunchof fast hoochie-mommasinstead of being therespectable young lady yourparentshaveraisedyoutobe.Therearerulesputinplaceathome and in life for aparticular reason. Do youknow why there are rules,younglady?”

Inod.“You are to open your

mouth and speak when Ispeak to you. A head noddoes not suffice, do I makemyselfclear?”I swallow, hard. “Yes,

YourHonor.”“Good. Now answer the

question. Do you know whytherearerulesinplace?”“Yes.”“Why?”“So that there is order and

structure. And to help guideustodotherightthing.”The judge peers over her

wire-rimmed frames; shestudies me for what seemslikeforever,thennarrowshereyesatme.Herburningglarecauses me to squirm in myseat.“Do you know the

differencebetween ignoranceandstupidity,young lady?” Inod my head, and amimmediately scolded again.

“I’ve warned you once. Youopenyourmouthandspeak.Iwon’t tell you again. Do Imakemyselfclear?”“Yes, ma’am.” I speak.

Tellhermyunderstandingofthe difference betweenignoranceand stupidity.Thatignorance is not havinginformation, of not knowing.That stupidity is having theinformation, having anawareness of what’s neededto get something done, but

choosing to do nothing withit.“And did you not know

whatwasexpectedofyoubyyourparents?”“Yes,YourHonor.”“And do you not know

whatthelawexpectsofyou?”Inodmyhead.“Yes,Your

Honor,Ido.”She scowls at me. “Yet,

you chose to disobey bothyour parents and the law. Isthatcorrect?”

I swallow. “Yes, I mean,no,ma’am,”Isayalmostinawhisper.“What is it? Yes or no?

Did you or did you notdisobeyyourparents’rules?”“Yes.”“Anddidyounotdisregard

thelaw?”Iswallow.“Yes.”“And that makes you

what?”I swallow back the thick

lump in the back of my

throat.Stupid, stupid, stupid!I can’tbear to say it aloud. Iamsoscrewed.Thetruth,therealization, is too painful formetodealwithrightnow.My attorney stands to

address the court. “YourHonor.IfIcaninterjectforabriefminute...”Shelooksupfrommyfile.

“Makeitquick,counselor.”“My client is a straight-A

student with no priors. And,though she’s made some

foolishmistakes,she’sagoodkid. We ask that she beallowedhomeonhousearrestuntil her next court hearing.Mr. Simms, the juvenile’sfather, is here also on behalfof my client. And he’sprepared to take her hometoday.”The judge peers over the

rim of her glasses, again.“Mr.Simms,isthistrue?”Daddystands.Please,God!Ibegyou...

“That is correct, YourHonor. If the court isprepared to release mydaughter then we are morethan willing to have herhome, with conditions ofcourse. Perhaps under somesortofhousearrest...”Yes, please. House arrest.

You can keep me under lockand key until my eighteenthbirthday.Justletmegohome.I look over at Daddywith

pleadingeyes.Hegivesmea

pained look. Then asks thejudge if he can address thecourt again. I do not evenrealize that I’ve stoppedbreathinguntilIhearhimsay,“My wife and I are veryconcerned with ourdaughter’s recent behaviors.I’mnot surewhat has gottenintoher.Inamatterofweeks,between the drinking andlying and doing God knowswhat else, she’s turned intosomeone my wife and I

barelyrecognize.”Istartsobbing.“Save the tears,” the judge

snaps unsympathetically.“You’ll have plenty of timefor crying back at thedetention center, where youwill sit until your next courthearing.”“Ohgodnoooo!Whycan’tI

go home? I didn’t doanything.Iwanttogohome.”The judge scoffs. “Well,

guess what, young lady? It

doesn’t matter what youwant. And you’ve alreadyproven that it doesn’t matterwhat your parents want,because if it did, youwouldn’tbesittinghereinmycourtroom, taking up mytime.”Oh no, oh no . . . please

don’t...Thejudgelooksatmelong

andhard,causingmetobreakoutinasweat.Doomsday.

Thebeginningofmyend.“Disappointing.” She

shakes her head. “Just sad.It’sobviousyoucomefromagood home, young lady, butthat isn’t good enough foryou. It isn’t hoodenough foryou. And the fact that youhaveaclearunderstandingofright from wrong speaksvolumes, young lady.” Thejudgenarrowshereyesatme.“It says that you think youcan do whatever you want,

whenever you want with noregard to how your choiceswill affect other peoplearoundyou,particularlyyourparents...”No,no,no,no,nooooooo!Daddy, pleeeeeease say

something.“No I don’t,” I cry out. “I

wantmy life back! Iwant tobehomewithmyfamily!I’mgoing to go crazy in thathellhole! Daddy, pllllllease!Youcan’t let themdo this to

me!Don’tletthemkeepme!”JudgeAndersonbringsher

gavel down on the bench.“Order in the court! Younglady, your outburst will notbetoleratedinmycourtroom.AnotheroutburstlikethatandIwillhaveyouthrownoutofmy courtroom. Do I makemyselfclear?”Iglareatthejudgethrough

tear-filled eyes. My jaw istwitching. I feel like Iamonthevergeofhavinganervous

breakdown.After a few tense seconds,

the judge breaks our staredown, looking over at myattorney. “Counselor, I’dadviseyouto—”“Idon’tneedhimtoadvise

me! I want to go home!Pllleeeease! You can’t keepme locked up like this.” Iraise my shackled hands.“Likesomeanimal.”The judge slams her gavel

down, again. “Order in the

court!Sheriffs,getheroutofmy courtroom before I holdinherincontempt!Youhadahome, young lady. But youchose the streets over yourhome.Youwouldratherbeinthestreetswiththethugsandhoochie-mommas. Now yourhomefor thenext twoweekswill be in my house. TheLorna P. Johnson YouthDetention Center. I havefound sufficient evidence forprobablecauseinwhichcase,

juvenile to be remanded.Gether out of here,NOW! Nextcase...”I let out a blood-curdling

scream.Justlikethat.Itisoverforme.I am being dragged out of

the courtroom, yelling andcryingouthysterically.

“Stuckup,trick!”“Yo, word is bond,

Kreesha, you should take itstraighttoherface.”“Yeah,youright, Ishould.

Butshedon’twantnone’adisknuckleworkrighthere.”She

holds her fists up and startspunching and swinging upintotheair.I shift my weight on the

steel bench in the dayroom.Please,God . . . youhave toget me out of here. Thesegirls in here are crazy! Idon’t know how much moreofthisplaceIcantake.I keep my eyes locked on

the televisionmounteduponthewallasIsaymyprayerinmy head. Every so often I

glance over at the stainlesssteel table this Kreesha girland her groupies are sittingat.“That stank bish thinks

she’s better than us. Overthere sittin’ all up under daCOs like that’s gonna stopsumthin’.Pfft.Please.”“A’ight, Wilkens,” the

femaleCOsittingatthetablewithmesayssternly, lookingup from her crosswordpuzzle.“That’senoughoutof

you.”Kreesha sucks her teeth.

“Yeah, whatever. You can’tbabysitthatthotforever.”I press my lips tightly

together and tap my footdetermined to not let her gettome.Ikeepmyeyesonherin case she decides to sneakme. I’m learning fast here.Neversleep.Neverkeepyourbackfacingthedoor.Alwaysface forward so you can seeeverythingcomingandgoing

around you. I don’t want tofighther.Truthis,Ithinkherfriends will jump in if I do.Still, she keeps taunting me.And I’m getting tired of herandhercroniesbullyingme.“Mmph.Isn’tthatthesame

stink bish who was effen yacousin Hennessey’s babydaddy?”Hennessey.I cringe when I hear that

name. Now I knew why shelookedsofamiliartome.She

wasoneofthegirlswhowerewith that Hennessey girl atthe restaurant that day whenshe came in causing a bunchofcommotion.Ohmygod!Thisiscrazy!“Yeah,that’sher.Nowshe

in here ’n’ I bet you her so-called man is back atHenney’s house right nowknockin’itdown.”Her friends all high-five

eachother,laughing.The Kreesha girl asks one

of theCOs if she can get upto get a drink of water fromthe fountain. She gets upfromher seat, then heads forthe water fountain. On herway back to her seat shemakes a fast beeline over towhere I am, jumping in myface. “Bish, facts,” she saysthrough clenched teeth. “Ifyoueventhink’boutsnitchin’on my cousin’s man, I’mabashyaeyesocketsin...”Myheartdrops.Ilookover

inthedirectionoftheguards.They all seem preoccupiedplaying games on theirphones or texting or doingwhatever it is they aren’tsupposed to be doing whileontheclock.Ithinktowriteagrievance, but quicklydismiss the idea. The lastthingIneedisproblemswiththem,too.Noonelikesasnitch.Malik’s voice plays inmy

head.“Ineedyou to ridedis

one out for me, baby, yaheard?” That’s what he toldme last night when I calledhim from the socialworker’soffice.“Malik,Ican’t.I-I...”“Youloveme,right?”“Y-yes.But...”“AmIyaman?”Tears started falling from

my eyes. “I don’t know. Ihopeso.”“Yo, c’mon, don’t do that,

Kennedy. You know I’m ya

man, yo. It’s me ’n’ you.Don’t I always have yaback?”“Yes.”“Then a’ight. You already

knowwhat it is. I’ddo it foryou.”“Then getme out of here,

Malik! This place is drivingme crazy! This food! Thesenasty girls! I can’t standbeing caged in like someanimal.”“Babe, listen. Ihearyou. I

knowwhatit’slike,feelme?”“No, I’m not feeling you.

I’m not feeling anythingyou’resaying.TheonlythingI’m feeling, Malik, is alone.I’m feeling like you don’tcare what happens to me aslongasitisn’tyou.”“Hereyougoagainwit’dis

ish. You know I care ’boutwhathappenstoyou.Don’tIpickupe’erytimeyoucall?”“It’snotenough,Malik.”“Yo,checkit.Allyougotta

do iskeep tellin’ ’em it ain’tyours. They have no proof,yo.”“Yes, they do. I was the

one holding the bag. Yourbag.”“Yo, chill-chill. You doin’

toomuch.Youknowdatbagwasn’t mine. You was madtwisted dat night, babe.Remember how ish poppedoff? Dude threw his bagdown on da groundwhen heheard Five-oh comin’.

Remember? I tol’ you not totouchit,butyoudidanyway.You was on one dat night,babe.”I blinked. I couldn’t

believehewasreallytryingtomake me second-guess whatreally happened that night.Yeah, I had a few drinks.And, yeah, I smoked thatbluntwithhim,butIwasstillvery cognizant of what wasgoingonaroundme.Wasn’tI?

Yeah.Iwas.That was/is Malik’s bag.

And thosewerehis guns andhisdrugs.Notmine.Andnotanyoneelse’s.His.“I know what happened

that night, Malik,” Iwhispered into the phone.“And I know exactly whatyoutoldme.”“Oh, so now you wanna

snitchonyaman,isdatit?”“No,Malik. Iwant you to

telldatruth.”

“Yo, real spit, baby. Yougonna have ta chalk it up toda game. Da truth is, youwere da one holdin’ dat bag.Youwannarockwit’aballer,thenyouneed’aknowhowtobounce wit’ da ball. It’s onyou, baby. Now what yougonna do? ’Cause if youreally love me like you sayyoudo,thenain’tnowayyoutrynaseeyamangetbagged.”“Malik, please,” I begged.

“Don’tdothistome.Don’tI

meananythingtoyou?”“Yo, youmyworld, baby.

Butyougotmyheadalleffedup. I can’t believe you trynasnitch, yo. You my heart,Kennedy;dat’sone’erything.ButIain’trockin’wit’norat,yo.Youwannamove cheesethen do you. But you doknow what dey do tosnitches,right?”I swallowed, hard. My

heartpoundedinmychest.“They wake up wit’

stitches...”I scream when Kreesha’s

fistcrashesintomyface.

“CO?” I call out, raisingmy hand. It’s Wednesdaynight. And all of the SouthWing residents are in thedayroom,eitherwatchingTV,playingcardsorsomesortofboard game, reading a book,

or huddled at a table talkingaboutwhatever it is they talkabout.Things I amnot privyto. As usual, I am sittingawayfromtherestofthegirlsinhere.Alone.Evenafterthatgirljumped

me,theyallstillblamemeforhergettingputinlock-up.AdSeg. Or whatever it’s called.Thepointis,sheattackedme.Not the other way around.And, yet, I’m being treated

likethevillain.Whatever!“What is it, Simms?”

Officer Linden says. She’s abrown-skinned lady with bigbrowneyesandbigthicklipswith bad acne and a nastyattitude. She hates her job. Ionly know this because Ioverheardheroncetalkingtoanother CO saying how allthis was is a high-payingbabysitting job. How shehated coming to work and

having to deal with “thesedisrespectfulkids.”Ifeelsorryforher.Ifeelsorryforme.“Can I have a pencil and

four sheets of paper, please?Andthreeenvelopes?”She lets out a disgusted

sigh,gettingupfromthesteeltable she’s sitting at, the oneclosesttothedoor.Shewalksout into the hallway, then afew seconds later she returnswithanewnotepad.

Shegivesmepermissiontowalk over to her table. Shewrites my name down on asheetofpaper,thenhandsmea numbered pencil, severalsheets of paper, andenvelopes.Ithankher.Allshedoesisgrunt.Then

adds, “Don’t bother me fortherestofmyshift.”Iremindmyselftoprayfor

her tonight when I amprayingformyself.I turn to walk back to the

table I was sitting at andthere’s a boy sitting there. Iblink. It’s the same boywhoisalwayswinkingandlickinghislipsatme.Hasaan,Ithink.Boys and girls aren’t

allowed tosit togetherunlessthere’saCOsittingtherewiththem.Heknowsthis.Iglancearound the dayroom foranother vacant table. Therearenone.Hegrinsknowingly.

Lucky for me one of theCOs notices that he’smovedfrom his table to minewithout permission and yellsathim.“Banks,whotoldyouto move?! Get back overwhereyouweresitting!”HecursestheCOout,tells

him to suckhisprivates.Thenext thing I know, there areCOs hopping up from theirseats, tackling him down tothe floor, then dragging himoutofthedayroom.

And this becomes theexcitementforthenight.“Yo, dat’s effed up,”

someone says wheneverything finally settles. It’saguy’svoice. Idon’t turn tosee who it is. I don’t care.“Franklin ’n’ da rest of daCOs in here beon someBS,yo. They ain’t even have tadomyboydirtylikedat.”CO Linden barks, “Lewis,

shut your trap. Or you’ll benext.”

He sucks his teeth loudly.Then mutters somethingunderhisbreathbeforegoingbacktohiscardgame.“Ican’tstandthatstuck-up

bish,” I hear one of thefemaleresidentssay.Shesaysitloudenoughformetohearit. And I know she’s talkingabout me. They’re alwaystalking aboutme. “She staystrynagetsomeone in trouble.Dat’s why nobody likes hernow. Kreesha shoulda

knockedbothhereyesocketsout.”Herfriendslaugh.I take a seat at the table,

ignoringhercomments.Ihavetogetoutofhere.God, please get me out of

here.Ibegofyou!Istareattheblanksheetof

paper, take a deep breath,then pick up the pencil andstartwriting.

DearMom,How are

you? I hopeyou are doingOK. I knowyou are stillvery angrywith me. Iknow howupset anddisappointedyouare inme.I’m

disappointedinme. I knowI’ve hurt you.And I am sovery sorry forthat. I hopethat one dayyou canforgive me.You haven’tstopped lovingme, haveyou?I know I’vesaid and done

some badthings,disrespectfulthings. Butyou wouldn’treally disownme, wouldyou? Icouldn’thandle that ifyou did. IthinkI’ddie.I’m OK, I

guess. I mean,

Iguessitcouldbe worse. No.Itcan’tgetanyworse thanthis. This ishell for me,Mom. But Iam trying myhardest tomake the bestout of it byfollowing therules here.Something I

know I shouldhave beendoing while Iwas home. Ithought yourrules werestupid rules.But theyweren’t. Theserules here arecrazy. I takebackeverythingI’ve ever said

about yourrules beingstupid. Theonly thingstupid was menotlisteningtoyou. I’d giveanything tohave to followyou andDaddy’shouserulesagain.Mom, I

don’t know

what I wasthinking. Ionlywantedtohavesomefun.I wanted mysummer to bedifferent fromall the others.All I wantedwas someexcitement. Ididn’t thinkI’d get caughtup in a bunch

of drama.Youwere right,though. Andnow I wish Iwould havelistened toyou. But it’stoo late now.Thedamage isalreadydone.Iam here. Atthemercyof ajudge.Stuck.

Andscared.The girls

here arevicious. Theyall want tofight me.They’vethreatened toslice my faceopen.Andstabme in myneck. I amafraid to go tosleep at night,

even thoughthe COs haveput me in aroom bymyself. Atnight, it is thescariest here. Idon’t sleep. Ican’t sleep. Iam too afraidto. I don’tknow howmuch more ofthisIcantake.

Sometimes Ithink aboutdying.NotthatI want to hurtmyselfbecause Idon’t. It’s justthat I’malready dyinginside. ThelongerIstayinhere, the moreof me withersaway.I’velost

everything.ButIknowI

havenoonetoblame butmyself. I amthe one whoput myselfhere. It’s myfault. Andwhateverhappens tomein court or inhere I know Ibrought on

myself.I just

wanted towrite you andlet you knowhow much Imiss you.Andloveyou. Iamso sorry forbeingdisrespectfulto you and forbreakingcurfew and

sneaking outof the houseand bringingdrugs into ourhouse.Ishouldhave neverdone thosethings. Pleasegive meanotherchanceto make itright. I’d doanything to behome, in my

own bed.Beingherehasshownmehowmuch I’vetaken my life,my freedom,andmy familyfor granted.You neverreally knowjust how goodyou have ituntil it’s takenaway from

you. You andDaddy havealwayswantedwhat’sbestforme. I knowthat now. Iwas too stupidto see itbefore.I love you

so much,Mom. Please,please, pleasecome see ME.

Or write meback.Please!!!!

Love,Kennedy

When I am done, I rereadthe letter to my mom, thenfold it and seal it inside anenvelope.MynextletteristoJordan.

DearJordan,I know you

aremadatme.And there’s achance thatyou might noteven open thisletter or readit.ButIhadtowrite you

anyway. I hadtosayIamso,so, so sorry.You wereright! There’sso much Iwant to say toyou. All didwas use me.And now hewants me torot in jail andtake theblamefor something

that I hadnothing to dowith.Theonlytwo thingsI’mguilty of are:falling for aguy who wasnever anygood for me,anddissingmytwo bestfriends. Maliknever reallycared anything

about me. Iknow thatnow. AndSasha wasnever a realfriend. Shewas just a girlI hung outwith and wenttopartieswith.Shedidn’tcareabout me. Shewas jealous ofme. I feel so

stupid. Canyou pleasefind it in yourheart toforgive me? Iwas such afool! I’m sosorry forhurting you. Iwaswrong forputting Sashaand MalikbeforeyouandHope. I see

that now. Youwere so rightabouteverything. Ireally hope itisn’ttoolatetomake it rightbetween us. Imiss my bestfriend!!! Iamsoaloneinhere. And I’mscared,Jordan.Please write

me back. Ifyouchoosenotto, Iunderstand.

Friends

forever (Ihope),xoxoKennedyP.S. Next

week Iwill beon honorslevelandIwill

beabletohavevisits fromfriends. Twofriends canvisit. Thevisitingtimeison Saturdaysat10:30 in themorning.Please, please,please, pleasecomeseeme.

Ineatlyfoldherletter,thenslipit insideanenvelopeandseal it. I do not know whatwill become of either letteronce they are mailed. Theonly thing I can do now iswait.Andhope.Andpray.I feel all of my emotions

rushingoverme.Andthenthere’sanaching

inmyheart.Malik.Tears spring up from my

eyes, but I fight them back,unwilling to break down infront of everyone in thedayroom.I’dgivenhimeverypart of me. Did things withhim that I never thought I’deverdowithanyone.I gave up my virginity to

him.Because that’s what he

wanted.Because that’s what I

thoughtIwanted.BecauseIlovedhim.

Iputmyselfoutthere.Mademyselfvulnerable.BecauseIthoughtheloved

me.But it’s all a lie.

Everything. I was so stupid.His sister, Mercedes, wasright. His baby mother wasright. Hope and Jordan wereright. My mom was right.Everyone else knew, saw it,exceptforme.But I got caught up.

Caughtupinhis lies.Caught

up inhis touch, inhiskisses,in his promises. I got caughtupinwantingtobelievethatIwasthegirlofhisdreams.AndnowIamhere.Andheisoutthere.Free.DoingGodknowswhat.Perhaps ruining the next

girl’slife.Ilaymyheaddownonmy

folded arms resting on thetable. I am so helpless. Thefeeling that I am alone starts

tooverwhelmme.“Snitchesgetstitches...”“Don’tyouloveme...?”“I’maneedyou to ridedis

outforme...”“You gonna have ta chalk

ituptodagame,baby...”“You my heart, Kennedy;

dat’s on e’erything. But Iain’trockin’wit’norat,yo.”Therealization,thegravity

ofmysituation,weighsheavyonme. I can’t breathe. I feelmyself starting to

hyperventilate.“. . . He doesn’t know

howta love anything otherthanwhat’sbetweenyo’legs,li’lgirl...”Istartheaving.I think I am having an

anxietyattack.I clutch my chest. Then

withoutwarning,unmovedbythe stares on me, I cry myeyesout.

Anotherweekfliesby,andIam still here, rotting away.Confused. Torn. Hurt. Sad.Dejected. You name it, I’mfeelingit.I still haven’t heard back

fromJordan.Andmymomis

still refusing to talk to me.Mywholelifeisamess!Andtotopitalloff, Idon’tknowwhat is going on with mycase.Orwhenmynext courtdate is. I haven’t spoken tomy attorney since my lastcourt hearing. And I’ve lefthim several messages,begging him to please comeseeme.Mydadistheonlywhohas

come to see me since I’vebeenhere.AndashappyasI

am to see him, our visits arealways strained. He sitsacrossfrommelookingso,sohelpless. So conflicted. Thenwhen it’s time for visiting toend, he stands up and wrapshis arms around me tellingme how much he loves me.ThenIhavetositbackdownin a hard plastic chair andwatchhimwalkoutthedoor.Sometimes I’d rather he noteven bother coming here.Seeinghimleave—knowingI

can’t leave with him is sopainful.Iknowithurtshimaswell.And I have no one to

blamebutmyself.Forbeingsostupid!“Kennedy,youhavetotell

them whose guns and drugsthey were in that bookbag,”Daddy insisted last nightwhenhe’dcometoseeme.I turnedmygazefromhis,

castingmy eyes down tomyfeet.“Ican’t,”Iwhispered.

“What do you mean, youcan’t?Whynot?”“Daddy,Ican’tbeasnitch.

I justcan’t.Nobodywants tobeknownasarat.”Yeah, snitches get

stitches...He raised his brows. “So

you’remoreconcernedaboutwhat the streets are going tothink of you for doing whatyou need to in order to saveyourownbutt?”“Daddy, I have to be

loyal.”He gives me an

incredulouslook.“Towhom?The streets? A bunch ofreckless street thugs? Whatabout the loyalty to yourfamily?Totheoneswhohavealways been there for you,huh? You mean to tell meyou’re willing to throw yourwhole life away protectingsomethug?”“Daddy, he’s not a bad

person.”

“Thenwho is he?He sureisn’tallthatgood,either.Anyboy encouraging you todisrespectyourmother,breakcurfew, and run away isnothing but bad news in mybook.Iwanttoknowwhoheis so I canhavea fewwordswithhim.”I blinked back tears.

“Daddy, please. I can’t tellyouwhoheis.”“He’sacoward,that’swho

he is,” Daddy snarled,

narrowinghiseyes.“Apunk.A worthless piece of—” Hecatches himself, shaking hishead.“Yourbrothersallwanttocomehomeandhandlehimout in the woods like realmendo.Buttheyallhavetoomuchtolose.Wealldo.Andso do you. What has gottenintoyou,Kennedy,huh?Thisgirl you’ve become isn’t thedaughter your mother and Iraisedyoutobe.”I shifted in my seat,

lowering my head. He wasright.Thisisn’twhoIam.Orwho they raised me to be. Iwasn’t surprised at hisirritation, though. But seeingthehurtinhiseyeskilledme.Iknowthatit’sbeenbuildingup inside of him, this anger.And I’m sure he wanted toyell,scream,andthreatenmeas well. And under differentcircumstances, he probablywould, even though he’snever raised his voice at me

before.Daddy shook his head,

confused. “What has gottenintoyou,Kennedy?”“Ilovehim,Daddy.”He frowned. “Sweetheart,

what you think you feel forthat scum of the earth mayfeellikelovetoyou.Buttrustme.Anyonewhoiswillingtolet you take the fall for himisn’tworthloving.”Daddy’s words stung. He

wasright.AndeventhoughI

knoweverythinghe saidwastrue,there’sstillapartofmethat doesn’t want to believeit.IswipetearsawayasIdial

Malik’s number. One of theafternoon social workers isnice enough to allow me touse the office phone. And Iamthankful.Malik answers on the

fourth ring. “Yo.” His voicebooms through the phone.“Watzgucci,yo?”

“Malik.It’sme.Kennedy.”“Oh, a’ight,” he says

nonchalantly. “Watz good?Youa’ight?”I glance over at the social

worker sitting at her desk,writing in charts. I lowermyvoice. “No, I’mnot all right.I’mscared,Malik.”“Oh,word?Don’tbe.”“How can you say that?

That’s easier said than done.You’re not the one sittingherebeingchargedwithstuff

that isn’t yours. Why can’tyou write the judge a letterandtellthemthatit’syours?”“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!

Hol’ up . . . you talkin’madreckless right now. I don’tknow what you’re talkin’’bout,yo.”“Whaaat?!” I snap. “Are

youfreakin’kiddingme?”He sighs heavily. “Nah. I

ain’t ’bout to go down forsomeishdatain’tmine.Dat’sallyou,yo.”

“Whatdoyoumeanitisn’tyours? It was in your truckwhere you toldme to go getit!”“Nah, you buggin’. You

wanna be ’bout dat life, thenyouneed’awoman-up’n’eatdat,yo.”“Malik, I’ve given up

everythingforyou.”He lets out a sarcastic

laugh. “Ha! Yeah, right.Don’thitmewit’datish,yo.Youwanted tobeall fast ’n’

grownforyaself.Iain’thavejacktodowit’dat.Yougaveup ya life ’cause dat’s whatyouwanted to do. Now dealwit’it.”Myheartsinks.No,there’snowayIheard

him right. There has to be abad connection. Or I amhearingthings.“W-what did you just

say?” I ask, trying to makesure I heard him correctly. Iholdmybreath.Wait.

He repeatshimself. “I saidyougottaweardat,babe.”I can’t lie. My heart

literally drops tomy lap andexplodes into a thousandpieces.ThistimeIknowI’veheardhimcorrectly,butIstillwant to believe, hold on tothe possibility that somehowthere’samistake.Thereisnone.AndIamfloored!“How can you do this to

me?!” I scream. The social

worker taps her desk, givingmealooktolowermyvoice.“I’m sorry,” I say, coveringthe receiver, then loweringmyvoice.“Malik,I’minherebecauseofyou.”“What? Hol’ up, yo. You

inthatjoint’causeofyaself.”“No! I’m in here because

you gave me your gun andtold me to go back to yourtruck, get the bookbag in thebackseat, then put the guninside.Youtoldmeto—”

“Getdafuqqouttahere,yo.Youbuggin’,forrealforreal.Ain’tnobodyputaguntoyaheadtotellyatodowhatyoudid.”Tears flood my eyes.

“Ohmygod!Howcanyoudothistome?!”“Nah, love. Like I said,

youdidittoyaself.Nexttimeknowhowtamove.”I stare at the phone,

flabbergasted.“Malik,please...don’tdo

thistome,please... I thoughtyoulovedme!”“Look. I’ma holla atchu

later.You on some ole otherishrightnow.”Andbefore I canopenmy

mouth to get a word in,Daddy’swordscomeback tohauntmejustasthelinegoesdead.“Anyonewho iswilling to

let you take the fall for himisn’tworthloving...”A few seconds later, I am

being dragged out of thesocialworker’sofficebacktomy cell, kicking andscreaming hysterically. Ittakes three COs to get mebackintomycell.Theyplaceme on the bed, facedown.Tellmetostaystill,butIamtoo busy crying to listen toanythingtheyhavetosay.Iamdistraught.TheCOsarefinallyableto

retreat from my room,slammingthesteeldoorshut.

Ihopupfrommybed,pacingthe small space like awounded animal. I squeal.Yelp.Howl.“Ican’tbelieve thatmofo!

That . . . that . . . lowlife! Ishould have never letmyselfget involved with him!Aaaaaaah! Let me out ofhere!” I scream, banging onthedoor. Iamcaged in, like,like some savage. I startpounding and kicking thedoor. But it is no use. No

matter how hard I kick andbang on the door, the doorisn’tbudging.Itisn’tgoingtoopen.Allit’sdoingishurtingmyhand.“Simms, knock it off!” a

COshouts.I keep banging and

screaming.“Isaidstopmakingallthat

noise or I’m going to dropyour levels andplaceyouonIP.”“I don’t care about room

restriction,”Icryout.“Leaveme alone! I don’t have anyreason to stay on honorslevel! I want to gohoooooooome!Pleeeeeaaaase, let me out ofh-h-heeeeere...”I know I said I wanted a

little taste of thewild side, alittle slice of the hood pie.But Iwassowrong. I take itall back. I don’twant any ofit.Iwantmylifeback.I fall out onmy little thin

bed on its metal frame andcry and scream into mypillow until my throat burnsandmyeyesswellshut.

Three days after my phoneconversationwithMalik, andthenmyemotionalmeltdown,I am finally out ofmy room—I mean, cell. It doesn’tmean much, however. Beingout. I’m still here. I still feel

caged in. Still feel trapped.Still feel stuck. Still feel likeeverything around me ismoving in slow motion. Butit’snot.Everythingismovingfast. Except for this case.Except forme getting out ofthis hell that I’ve somehowgottenmyselfinto.One of the social workers

had the audacity to tell methat I needed to try to adapt.To stop fightingwhat I can’tchange. To accept that this,

being here—locked up—ismyreality...fortoday.Andyesterday.Andtomorrow.Andthedayafterthat.Well, guess what? I will

never adapt to this way ofbeing. I can’t, won’t, acceptbeing in this place. Ever. Idon’t belong here. I belonghome.I shouldhavenevergotten

involved with Malik! Iwouldn’t be in thismess if it

weren’tforhim.No, I wouldn’t be in this

messifitweren’tforme!I’msuchafool!“The prosecutor wants to

offer you a plea agreement,”myattorneysays,interruptingmy thoughts as he looks upfrom his legal-size notepad.He’s finally decided to cometo the detention center andshow his face. “To discussmy case,” he said when Iwalked into one of the spare

offices used as a conferenceroom. Whatever! Threewhole days before my courtdate!Really?It’sFriday.Ihavecourton

Monday.My life dependsonhim getting me out of here.And this is the best he cando? I give him a confusedlook. “A plea agreement forwhat? I haven’t doneanything. Why can’t theygive me bail so I can gohome?”

“Kennedy,” he says,calmly, “there’s no bail forjuveniles in the state ofNewJersey.”I huff, folding my arms

across my chest. “Figures.Thenwhywon’t they releasemeonmyownrecognizance?Can’ttheydothat?”He gives me a sad look.

“Kennedy, there’s no easywaytosaythis.Theballisticsreport came back. There’s abodyononeoftheguns...”

Myeyespopopen.Icovermy mouth.Ohgodohgodohgod...IthinkI’m going to be sick! I blinkseveral times. Try to steadymy rapidly beating heart. Ican’tbelievewhatI’veheard.Abody?“W-what do you mean,

there’s a body?”He tellsmethatoneofthegunswasusedtocommitamurder.Thattheprosecutor now wants toproceed with a hearing to

waive me up as an adult,which means I could befacing trial as an adult andsentenced to at least fifteenyears if I’m foundguiltyandconvicted.I can’t believe what I am

hearing.Thishas tobeabaddreamI’mhaving.IknowifIcan just open my eyeseverything will be back tonormal. I blink back tears,then blink again. The tearsstart falling and I wipe them

away with my hand asquicklyastheyfall.“Cantheyreallydothat?”Henods.I don’t know anything

about a body, or amurder. Isob,beggingandpleadingforhimtohelpmegetoutofthismess. “I didn’t shoot or killanyone.IswearIdidn’t.Youhave to believe me. I can’tspend my life in prison! Idon’t want be waived up!Please!Youhave tohelpme

getoutofthis!”“Kennedy, theonlyperson

who can help you get out ofthis now is you. Theprosecutorwantsaname,andyou can more than likelywalk out of here with twoyearsprobation;ifthat.”Snitchesgetstiches...“If you even think about

snitchin’onmycousin’sman,I’mabustyaeyesocketsout...”Ishudderinmyseat.

“I-I-Ican’t.”Istartwailingall over again. “I didn’t doanything!” He reaches intohis briefcase and hands mesome tissue, then givesme afew moments to pull myselftogether. Without looking athim, I ask, “Can’twe take itto trial? I know the jurywillbelieveme.”“Kennedy. I need you to

look at me.” I look up. Heshakes his head. “There’s nojury in juvenile court. If we

takethistotrial,alltestimonyis brought before the judgewho will then decide yourfate. And believe me. Ifyou’re found guilty, JudgeAndersonisgoingtomakeanexample out of you. She’llsentence you to themaximum.”Iswallow.“ButIdidn’tdoanything,”

Iplead.“In the court’s eyes, you

did.”

“This is BS! I thought Iwas innocent until provenguilty?”He sighs. “That is true.

However, you were inpossession of the backpackcontaining two guns anddrugs, that’s already beenestablished.”“But theyweren’tmine,” I

cry out. “Why won’t youbelieveme?”“It’s not a matter of

whetherornot Ibelieveyou.

Atthispoint,it’llbealluptothejudge.”Thatladyhatesme!Iknew

she was out to get me theminuteshelaideyesonme!I can’t think straight. I am

toonumbtothink.I need to talk to Malik

again.“You gonna have’ta chalk

ituptodagame,baby...”“Kennedy, I can’t tell you

what todo.Icanonlyadviseyou.Andasyourlawyer,I’m

tellingyou it’s timeyoustarttrying to save yourself. Sounless you want to beconsidered a suspect in amurder investigation, Isuggest you think long andhardonwhatyournextmoveisgoingtobe.”“Yougaveupyalife’cause

dat’swhatyouwanted todo.Nowdealwit’it.”“My advice, Kennedy.

Give ’em a name. And takethedeal.”

Iswallow.“Ic-can’t.”He stares at me, then

slowly shakes his head.“Whoeveritisyouaretryingto protect, I hope they’reworthyourfreedom.”Right at that moment, the

CO sticks his head into thetiny conference room andtellsusourtime’sup.Ididn’twant it tobeover. I stillhadmorequestions,likewhatwillhappen to Malik if I tell onhim?Whatwillhappentome

if theycan’tchargehimwithanything? If I give theprosecutor his name, will Ihave to do any jail time orwill I really just getprobation?Allofthesequestionsfloat

around in my head as myattorney gathers his thingsand heads out the door. TheCO walks me out of theroom.AsIambeingescortedback to the dayroom, all Ikeep hearing in my head is,

“Anyonewhoiswillingtoletyoutakethefallforhimisn’tworthloving.”

“The subscriber you aretrying to reach has a phonenumber that is no longer inservice...”Iblink.“Oh, no. This can’t be

right,” I mutter to myself,

hanging up and dialing thenumber again, this timepressingeachnumberslowly.Again, I get the samerecordedmessage.Ifeelmyheartsinkingfast.

Idialthenumberagain.Samething.“The subscriber you are

trying to reach has a phonenumber that is no longer inservice...”I choke back a scream,

clutching my chest. I try

Sasha’snumber.Sheanswersthe phone on the third ring.“Hello?”“Sasha.It’sme.Kennedy.”“Oh, hey,” she says, not

sounding too happy to hearfromme.“Whatcan Ido foryou?”I am taken aback by her

tone.I swallow. “I’m trying to

get in touchwithMalik. Butthere’ssomethingwrongwithhis number. I have court

Monday and it’s reallyimportantIspeakwithhim.”She grunts. “Good luck

wit’dat.”I steady my breathing.

“Huh?Whatdoyoumean?”She pops gum in my ear.

“Girl, look. I hate to be daone to serve you ya papers,but it’s like dis: Malik ain’tcheckin’ for you, boo. AndneitheramI.Hesaidyoutoosoft. I tol’ him from da ripyouwasbabysoftlikecotton,

butheain’twannalisten.Butnowheseeitforhimself.”Tearsrimmyeyes.“Isthat

whathetoldyou?”“Uh,duh...whoelseyou

think said it? All he reallywanted to do is hit dat,anyway.AndyouwassohardupforsomeofdathoodDdatyoulethim,too,didn’tyou?”She starts laughing. “You asucka, Special K. So yougonna need to make dis yalastcalltome.Gotit?”

“Ohmygod!Idon’tbelieveyou’resayingallthistome!Ithoughtwewerefriends.”Shelaughs.“Girl,missme

wit’dat.You thoughtwrong.We ain’t never been friends.You were just somethin’ todo, boo. You just some li’lspoiled rich girl whowantedsodesperatelytobedownfordahoodsoIwas trynabreakyou in;dat’s all. I tol’Malikwhenhe askedme ’boutyoudat you were a wanna-be

down chick. You was a bet,boo.”“A bet?” I say more to

myself in disbelief than toher. I swallow to keep myvoicefromsoundingshaky.Ittakes me a moment to openmy mouth and get thequestion out. But as painfulasitmightbe,Ihavetoknowwhatshe’stalkingabout.“W-whatkindofbet?”Shehesitatesforamoment,

thensays,“Dathecouldturn

youout.”My stomach tightens

involuntarily. I feel myselfgettingsick.“. . . Get out now before

it’s too late. All my brotha’sgonnado isdogyouout, sexyouout,thentossyououtlikeausedtampon.Justwatch.”Hot tears splashoutofmy

eyes.My stomach twists and

churns.Andthen...Ivomit.

All over the socialworker’s desk. All over thefloor. Thick puke shoots outofmymouthlikeaneruptingvolcano,angryandviolent.My only thought is, how

couldIhavebeensostupid?It’sMondaymorning. I’ve

waited three whole torturousdays; two hundred and fifty-nine thousand and twohundred seconds, fourthousand and three hundred

and twenty minutes, for thisdaytofinallycome.I would be lying if I said

I’mnotanervousmesstoseeJudgeAndersonagain.After my phone call to

Sasha last Friday, I felt likeI’d been stabbed a thousandtimes over. I spentmy entireweekendinmycell,balledupin a corner, rocking andstaringoff into space. I thinkIamlosingmymind.Really.

Ifeelsoempty.Drained.All I have been doing is

crying. And praying. That’sall I can do. And, honestly,the only thing that savedmefrom trying to hurtmyself isthatIfinallygottotalktomymomwhenIcalledthehouselastnight.She picked up. And as

soon as I heard her voice, Ibrokedown in tears,beggingfor her forgiveness.

“Mommy, I’m so s-s-s-sorryf-f-f-f-for e-e-veryt-t-thing Isaidtoyou.Is-s-shouldhaveneverdisrespectedyou.I’ms-s-s-sooosorry.Iwannacomehome.Inevermeanttosayallthose mean, nasty things toyou. I-I was wrong f-f-f-forlyingtoyouandsneakingoutof thehouse.Iknowy-y-youhate me, Mom! I hate me!I’ve been such a fool! D-didy-y-yougetmyletter?”I sobbed and cried and

carriedonsobadthattheCOthreatened to terminate mycall if I didn’t calm down.Theyaresofrickin’heartless!“Kennedy,” my mom said

calmly. “Yes. I got it. And Ichose not to write you back.Why? Because I will notbecome pen pals with mynowdelinquentdaughterwhochose to be disrespectful andto run the streets doing Godknowswhat.”Isniffle.

“Youaremychild.Icouldnever hate you. I love you.ButIamdeeplyhurtbyyourchoices. And I’m saddenedbytheoutcome.Butyouwillhave to stand by yourchoices. It’s your life. Notmine. It hurts me knowingthat my only daughter islockeduplikesomecriminal.But I have to remember thatyou are the one who putyourself there. Not me. Notyourfather.You.Iamalways

going to love you because Icarriedyou inmywombandbrought you into this world.But I will never, ever,entertain this mess you’vegotten yourself into. Yourfather will be there for you.But Iwill not. All I’ve doneis prayed on it. And I standbymywords.”Her words cut me deep.

Butshewasright.Ididthistomyself. I allowed myself toget caught up in something I

wasn’t ready for.And now Ihave to suffer theconsequences.“I-I-I-I have court

tomorrow.Willyoube there,please?”Sheblowsabreathintothe

phone.“Idon’tknow.”Two COs escort me in

through the side door of thecourtroom. I spot my dad.And mom. My heart leaps.She actually came. But herbody languagemakes it very

clear: “I don’t want to behere.”Iquicklycastmyeyesdownwardtoavoidherangry,hurtglare.Still... I am happy she’s

here.Iamonpinsandneedlesas

Itakemyseat.EverysooftenI glance overmy shoulder atmyparents.Dadlooksweary.Likehehasn’tsleptinweeks.Mom sits stone-still. Herexpression is cold and hard.Buthereyesare swollenand

red.She’sbeencrying.Ididthistothem.“All rise!” theofficercalls

out.As soon as the judge

sweeps in, her robe swishingin back of her, she takes thebench. Glances around thecourtroom then says, “I havea full calendar so let’s getright down to business, shallwe?” She looks over at myattorney. “Counselor for thedefendant, are you ready to

proceed?”Headjustshisnavybluetie

and stands. “Yes, YourHonor.”The judge shoots a

scathing look over at me.“Miss Simms, do youunderstand the severity ofyourcharges?”Inod.“Yes,YourHonor.”“And you understand the

purpose of today’s courtproceedings?”“Yes.”

“Then why has theprosecutor informed me thatyou are not willing tocooperate with a pleaagreement?” She peers overthe rim of her glasses.“Counselor, have you notadvised your client of thestate’s desire for a waiverhearingtoadultcourt?”“Yes, Your Honor. My

client’sbeenadvised.”Ihearmymom inbackof

me,sobbing.Iturntolookat

her.“Young lady, turn back

around. Face forward. Don’tworry aboutwhat’s goingonin back of you. What youneed to be focused on iswhat’s happening right infrontofyou.”The voices of Malik and

MercedesandJordanandmydad and my attorney startplaying over and over inmyhead.“...unlessyouwanttobe

considered a suspect in amurder investigation, Isuggest you think long andhardonwhatyournextmoveisgoingtobe.”“. . .Ihatetobedaoneto

serve you ya papers, but it’slikedis:Malikain’t checkin’foryou,boo.”“Understand this, young

lady,your stupidity iswhat’sgoing to get you a prisonsentence with double digitsbehind it, do you understand

what I am saying to you?Your atrocious disregard forthe law.And your ridiculousloyalty tosome low-life is . ..”“Whoever it is you are

trying to protect, I hopethey’reworthyourfreedom.”“Im’aneedyou toridedis

outforme...”“Anyone who is willing to

let you take the fall for himisn’tworthloving.”“You young girls are so

desperate and starved for thewrongkindofattention.Hereyou have two parents wholove you and provide youwith the best of everythingand that isn’t good enough.Yousillygirlswillsoonlearnthe hard way that the streetsdon’t give a hoot about you.And those boys hanging onthe block instead of in theclassroom with their pantshanging down off their buttsare nothing but trouble.

Whoever you are protectinghasdonenothingbutuseyou...”“Itwasabet...”“Andyou’resoblindedby

what you think is love thatyou’re willing to throw yourwhole life away for nothing.Girls likeyoucomeadimeadozen. And just like he’smanipulated you, he’llmanipulate thenext girl.Theonly difference is, he’s outthere. And you’re the one

willing to do prison time forhim...”Iswallow.Ican’tgetwaivedupasan

adult! I can’t do some longprison term. I’mnotbuilt forthat. Mercedes and Sashawereright.I’mnotaboutthatlife.Ineverwas.Ijustwanttogohome.Snitchesgetstiches...Idon’tcare!I lean over andwhisper in

mylawyer’sear.“I’lltakethe

plea. His name is Malik.MalikEvans.”

Epilogue

Amonthlater...

“Simms,” theCOcallsout,walkingintothedayroom.“Let’s go. You have a

visitor.”Ohmygod! They came!

JordanandHopereallycametoseeme!My heart skips with the

excitement of being able tofinally see my two bestiesaftersomanyweeks.I finally received two

letters from Jordan. Andwe’ve spoken on the phonetwice. I’ve apologizedprofusely.Andshesaysshe’sforgiven me for the error ofmy ways. I know she wasserious, but I couldn’t help

but laughat thewayshesaidit, all business-like. “I justhope you’ve learned yourlesson.Andknownottoeverput some boy or somehoochie before your realfriends.”“Yes, yes!” I said with

tears filling my eyes. “Ipromise you. I have. I’vebeensuchafool.”“Uh, yes, you have. But

who’skeepingtrack?”Ilaughed.“I’vemissedour

friendship so much. I’vemissedyou!”“Ditto,” she said, then

started askingme a thousandquestionsaboutwhatit’s likebeing here. I told her I’d tellherallaboutitinmylettertoher. Before we hung up, shepromised to come see meduring visits either today ortomorrow. She also told mehow badly I hurt herwhen Ichose Sasha, andMalik, andthe streets, over her and

Hope.“Butallisforgiven.”Ihopeso.Imissmyfriends.Imissmyfamily.Imissmylife.Imissmyfreedom.I’ve accepted a plea

agreement.Andpledguiltytolesser charges of possession.Under the terms of myagreement, my attorney ishoping the judge grants metwo years’ probation since

this is my first offense. Oh,and substance abusetreatment since my urinecame back positive formarijuana. I don’t need tosmoke that stuff anyway, soit’s fine. I told my attorneyandtheprosecutoreverythingabout that night of theshooting. Told them thenames of everyone I everremembered Malikassociating with. Even toldthemaboutwhathe’ddoneto

that boy Shaheed after hetriedtoforcehimselfonme.And, truthfully, I felt

relievednothavingtoholdallthat in any longer. Sadly, Iwould have taken theweightfor Malik. And what’s evenmore frightening is knowingthat had he not turned hisback on me, I would havekept protecting him. And hereallywouldhaveletme.Daddy was right. He’s a

coward.

Anyway, I heard theyraidedhismother’sapartmentand she and Mercedes wereboth arrested. And nowMalik’s on the run. But nowhe’stheprimesuspectforthatmurder. And when they findhim, he’ll get what he hascomingtohim.Hopefully.Igetupfromthesteelstool

I’ve been sitting on for thelast three hours, anxious toget inside the visiting area.

TheCOwaits for the officerbehind the thick Plexiglas inthecontrolcenter topushthebuttonforthedoor.There’saloudbuzzandthedoorfinallyclicksopen.Istepthroughthedoor, glancing around theroomforJordanandHope.Theyaren’there.Iamspeechless.It’sHazelEyes.He stands up, grinning. I

walkovertohim,shockedtoseehim.Alleyesareonhim.

He’s wearing a white GucciT-shirt with a pair of loose-fitting designer jeans thathang slightly off his narrowhips,butnotenough toshowhis underwear. A Gucci beltkeeps them from fallingdown.Helooksso...fine!He opens up his arms and

givesmeahug.Ifallintohisembrace, breathing him in.And I can’t deny it. It feelsgood having his armswrapped round me. A sense

ofcalmrushesoverme.Iamhappy to see him. And I tellhim so. He hugs me tighter.And we stand like this forlonger than we shouldbecausetheCOhasto tellustotakeourseats.I roll my eyes up in my

head, annoyed that ourmoment has been snatchedaway.“Sowhat’sgoodwit’chu?”

hewants to know, taking hisseat directly across fromme.

“Howyouholdin’up?”Iglancearoundthevisiting

area.I do not belong here. I

shouldnotbehere.Iwant to tell him that I’m

barelyholdingon.That thereare dayswhen I am ready tolet go of the proverbial rope.That there are times when Ireallyfeellikegivingup.I pull in a breath, then

slowlyexhale.“I’m holding on as best I

can.”He takes me in with his

sparklinghazeleyes.“Thisiscrazy, ma.” He shakes hishead.“Seein’youinherelikedis.”“So much for that whole

good girl theory,” I saylightly.Ihalfchuckle.“Nah,youstillagoodgirl.

Youjustdidsomebadthings.But dat ain’t you, Kennedy.You better than dis life.Alwayshavebeen.”

Ismile.“I’m sayin’, though, you

toofinetobeupinhere.Thisain’tagoodlookforyou.”“Iknow.”Ishrug.“There’s

nothing I can do about itnow.” Subconsciously, Ifidget with the hem of myshirt. The way he is sittinghere looking atme as if he’strying to see through memakes me I am suddenlyfeelingexposed.Naked.Hazel Eyes seems

different. In a way I wonderwhyIhadn’tnoticeditbeforenow.“Yo,Iknowyougonnado

watyoufeelyougottado,butyou can’t go out like dis. Iknowwhatever they say youdid,youdidn’tdoit.”I give him a strange look.

“And how do you knowthat?”He slowly shakeshis head

at me. “I already told you.’Cause you’re one’a da good

girls.”I huff. “Yeah, right. Look

atme.YoudoseewhereI’mat,right?”“Doesn’t matter. You still

gotta chance tomake it right’n’getbackontrack.”“Canwepleasechangethe

subject?Ireallydon’twanttotalkaboutthis.”“Oh,a’ight.Cool.”Hesits

back in his seat, folding hisarms across his chest andopening his legs. He shuts

them.Thenopensthemagain.We sit silently for a

moment.“What’syafavoritecolor?”“Huh?”Isay,givinghima

confusedlook.He smiles. “I’m changin’

dasubject,remember?”Inod.“So what’s ya favorite

color?”“Areyouserious?”“Yeah.”I shake my head at him.

Tellhimit’spink.He smiles. “Pink, huh?

Thatfigures.”“Why?”“Becauseit’sallgirly.”I pretend to be offended.

“Whatever,” I say, laughing.Something I haven’t done inlike . . . forever.And it feelsgood, really good. “I am agirl,silly.”“True, true. A real pretty

oneatthat.”Ishiftinmyseat.Swallow.

Butterflies start to flutter inmystomachandIdon’tknowwhy.“A’ight. So what’s ya

sign?”“Virgo.”“Oh, a’ight. You got any

pets?”I laugh. “Ohmygod. How

amIgoingtohavepetswhenI’mlockedup?”He shakes his head. “I

meant at home.Doyouhaveanypetsathome?”

“Areyoureallygoingtodothis,here?”He smirks. “Dowhat?Try

togettoknowyou?”“Oh. Is that what you’re

doing?Ithoughtyouwasjustchangingthesubject.”“Yeah, dat too. But, I’m

sayin’...wereallydidn’tgetdachance to reallybuild likeIwanted.”Ilookawayfromhim.“Yo, just because you

dumped me for ole boy, dat

doesn’t mean I still wasn’tfeelin’you.”“Ididn’tdumpyou,” Isay

softly. “We were never acouple.”“Yeah, but we coulda

been.”Maybe we should have

been and I wouldn’t becaughtupinallthismess.I see sadness in his eyes.

Oratleastthat’swhatIthinkIsee.Maybeit’swhatIwantto see. Who knows? All I

knowis,Iamsoaloneinthisplace.Andsad.Iwant to tellhimthis.But

Idon’t.He reaches over and grabs

my hand. Then squeezes itbefore theCO tellshim,“Notouching.”He quickly pulls his hand

back,andIfeelrobbedofhistouch.I swallow. Lean in, then

whisper,“I’mscared.”

He nods knowingly. “Iknow you are, ma. But youain’t gotta do dis alone,a’ight?”Iblinkbacktears,nodding.“Thanks, Blaze,” I finally

say,fightingbacktheurgetocry. He grins. “Nah, it’sKeyShaun. I’m no longerblazin’.”Igivehimasurprisedlook.

“Oh.Forreal?Why?”HazelEyes,ImeanBlaze.

..no,KeyShaun...givesme

an intense look. He gazes atmewitheyesfullofsincerityandsays,“Igotmyeyeondisli’l hottie from da ’burbs soI’m tryna change my ways.YouknowI’mgivin’updembadwaysfordagoodgirl.”Hewinksatme.I shift inmy seat. Sadness

washes over me. “I’m goingto be sentenced next week.There’sachanceImaynotbecominghome.”“Yo, it’sallgood. I’mabe

here for you. I’mawrite youe’ery week. And I’ma be uphere to see you e’eryweekend until you get out,a’ight?”Istarttofeeloverwhelmed

with emotions. I don’t knowifIcantrusthim.ButIdon’thaveanyreasonnot to.I justdon’twanttogetusedtohimbeing here for me, thenabandoning me, like Malikdid.He must sense my

skepticism. “Listen. I ain’tdude, a’ight? I’m not gonnahurt you. Or try’n play you.I’m gonna be here wit’ you.Wordtomother.Igotyou.”All I can do is smile, and

think, no matter whathappens,I’llbeokay.And for the first time in a

verylongtime,Ifeelhopeful.Finally,underdarkswollen

clouds, I am being led fromtheholdingcelluptoJuvenile

Court.Today is theday.Theday of reckoning. Judgmentday. It’s been two monthssince my last courtappearance.And today ismysentencing.I takeadeepbreathas the

correction officers lead meintothecourtroomforwhatIhope tobe the last time. I’vebeen praying like crazy,hoping for the best, butexpectingtheworse.Still...Iamscaredtodeath.

I seemyparents.Theyareboth sitting in the first rowdirectlyinbackofme.Daddyhashisarmdrapedaroundmymom.Shepullsinherbottomlip, blinking back tears.Daddy gives me a painedsmile.I smile back as I take my

seat at the wooden tablebeside my lawyer. I lookacross the room at theprosecutor, Ms. Swanson.Shehasherhairpartedonthe

side, and pulled back into achignonupdo.Sheisflippingthrough her notepad,scribblingnotes.Allaboutme,I’msure.I lowermyheadandsaya

prayer. My heart startspounding as soon as we’reinstructed to stand and thejudge whisks into thecourtroom and takes her seaton the bench. Shewastes notime.Sheglancesdownatherfolder, then looks up and

scowlsatme.The prosecutor and my

attorney go back and forthtalking language that onlylawyers and judgesunderstand.Istartzoningout.Nothing they are sayingmakes sense to me. At theendofeverything,allIhearismyname,“KennedySimms...”Please,God...I close my eyes and cross

my fingers as the judge

rambles on about how Iallowed my choices todestroy my life. And how Iallowedmyself to get caughtup with the wrong crowd.And caught up with a boywhomeantmenogood.Andthat she is going tomake anexampleoutofme.Iswallow.“Therefore, I hereby

sentenceyou...”My heart crashes against

mychest.

“To three years in ajuvenilecorrectionalfacility...”Mykneesbuckle.I scream.

“Noooooooooooooo!Pleeeeeeeeeease!!Nooooooo!”ThelastthingIhearbefore

everything fades to black ismy mother cry out as thejudgebangshergavel.AndIfaint.

AREADINGGROUPGUIDE

CAUGHTUP

AmirAbrams

ABOUTTHISGUIDE

Thefollowingquestionsare

intendedtoenhanceyourgroup’sreading

ofCAUGHTUP.

DiscussionQuestions1.)Kennedy is a “good girl”whoappearstohaveitall,but

sheseemswillingtoriskitallfor a good time in the hood.Like Kennedy, there are lotsof “good girls” fromsuburban areas who seem tohave a fascination with the“hood” life and with dating“bad boys.” Why do youthink this is so? Are youfascinated with “bad boys”?Ifso,why?2.) What do you think ofKennedy’s friends,HopeandJordan?Theybothhavevery

strong negative beliefs aboutboys from the hood. Do youfeel/think any of what theybelieveisvalid?3.) Why are so many youngdudes from the hood viewedas high school dropouts,disrespectful, weed-smoking,pants-sagging “thugs” whoeither end up in jail, strungout on drugs, or dead? Doyou believe/feel there is anytruth to these stereotypes?Whyorwhynot?

4.) Kennedy seems to haveproblems with her parents’rules. Do you think parentshavetherighttomonitorwhotheir children interactwith/date,orwheretheyhangout?Whyorwhynot?5.)Haveyoueverliedtoyourparentsaboutwhomyouwerewith, where you were, andwhat you were doing? If so,why? Have you ever snuckoutof thehouse? If so,wereyou ever caught?What were

the consequences for defyingyourparents’rules?6.) What are your thoughtsaboutMalikandBlaze?Theyare both from the hood andhave urban swagKennedy isattracted to, but they haveseemingly differentpersonalities. Why do youthink Kennedy chose MalikoverBlaze?7.)Kennedy seems to dislikebeing referred to as a “goodgirl” by Blaze and feels as

thoughit’sabadthing.Whatare your thoughts on thewhole good-girl /guy versusbad-girl/guy mentality? Areyou a good girl/boy who’sattracted to bad boys/girls orviceversa?8.)WhatareyourthoughtsonSasha? Do you think she setKennedyup?Couldshehavepossibly put something inKennedy’sdrinkthefirsttimethey partied together? Whydo you think Sasha

befriended Kennedy in thefirstplace?9.) They say love is blind,and it seems that Kennedywas extremely naïve and tootrusting. Do you know girlslike her?Howmanygirls doyou know who cut off theirfriends and disobey theirparents in order to bewith aboy and/or a new set offriends? Has this everhappened to you? What didyoudo?

10.) It’s obvious Malik’ssister,Mercedes, doesn’t likeKennedy, yet she felt it herplace to “school” her abouther brother. Why do youthink she does this? Do youthink she’s wrong for tellingKennedy those things abouthim? If so, why? Do youthinkMercedesisbehindthatgirl coming to the house andfightingKennedy?11.) After everything thathappens, Blaze still wants to

be with Kennedy and stillseesherasagoodgirl.Whatareyourthoughtsonthat?DoyouthinkKennedywill learnher lesson from everythingshe’s gone through?Why orwhynot?PrettylittleliesgoneviralhaveleftHollywoodHigh’selitePamperedPrincesses

reeling.Nowtheirsecretsarein24/7overdrive—andonlyonedivacanbevictoriousin.

HollywoodHighLights,Love&LipGloss

Iwillnotbeplayed.

Orignored.And especially by some

brokesidejawn.Never!I don’t care if he is six-

feet-and hey-hey-hollah-back-li’l-daddyfine.Or how much I scribble,

doodle, and marry my firstnametohislastname.Hewillneverbeallowedto

comeatmecrazy.Not Rich Gabrielle

Montgomery.

Not this blue-blooded,caramel—thick in the hips,small in thewaist, and fly inthe face—bust-’em-downprincess.Psst.Puhlease.Swerve!And yeah, once upon a

time everything was CareBear sweet: rainbows,unicorns, and fairy tales. Hewas feeling me and I waskind enough to let him to

think we’d be happily everafter.But.Suddenly.Heturnedonme.Realsuckermove.And sowhat if Ikeyedup

hiscar.Tossedabrick throughhis

windshield.Kicked a dent in his

driver’s-sidedoor.Made a scene at his

apartment building and hisnosy neighbor called the

policeonme.Still...Whodid he think hewas?

Did he forget he was somegutter-rat east coasttransplant?He better stay in his

freakin’lane.I’vebeengoodtohim!I replaced the windshield

andhadallthebrickparticlessweptfromtheparkinglot.The next day, I topped

myselfandreplacedtheentire

car with a brand new blackMaserati with a red bow ontop.Theungratefulthotsentthe

carback.Bowstillintact.I’vedoneitall.And how does he repay

me?Withdeadsilence.Idon’tthinkso.Idon’thavetotakethat!AndifIhavetositherein

mygleamingsilverSpider,inthis dusty Manhattan Beach

apartment complex, andwaitanother three hours forJusticetogethome,Iwill.4a.m.Ishouldleave.Gohome.Callmyboyfriend,Knox.AndforgetJustice.If he can’t appreciate a

mature, sixteen-year-oldwoman like me, then screwhim.

No.Ican’tleave.Ihavetomakethisright.NoIdon’t.Yes.Ido.

5a.m.Whereishe?

6a.m.Thereheis.But where is he coming

Washewithsomechick?My eyes followed a black

Honda Accord with adimpled driver’s door as itpulled into the half-emptyparking lotandparked in thespotmarked203.The red sun eased its way

intotheskyasIpulledinandpushed out three deepbreaths, doing all I could tostop the butterflies fromracingthroughmystomach.I should go home. Right

now.Afterall,heisnotmyman.My man is at his college

dorm,thinkingaboutme.I chewed on the corner of

my bottom lip. Swallowed.Andeyedfromthebricktwo-story and U-shaped garden-stylecomplexJusticelivedinto the small beachacross thestreet where an overdressedhomelesswoman leanedoverthewoodenbarrierandstaredatthesurfersridingtherough

waves.“Areyoustalkingme?”I sucked in a breath and

heldit.Justice.I oozed air out the side of

mymouthandturnedtolookout my window. There hewas: ice grillingme. Top lipcurled up, brown gazenarrowed and burningthroughme.Say something! Do

something!

“Can I umm . . . talk toyou?” I openedmydoor andstepped out. “For a minute?Please.” I pulled in the leftcorner of my bottom lip andbitintoit.“Nah.Youcan’tsayishto

me, son. What you can,though,isstopstalkin’me’n’go get you some help.Thirsty. Loony bird. If Ididn’t call you, it was for areason.Dealwit’ it.Nowgetbackinyawhip’n’peeloff.”

Oh. No. He. Didn’t! Thisscrubisouttacontrol!“For real? Slow down,

Low Down. When did youbecome the president? Youdon’t dismiss me. This is apubliclot.Iain’tleavin’.Andyouwill listen tome.Now,Ihave not been waiting herefor seven hours for you tocome out the side of yourneck and call me a freakin’stalker. You don’t get todisrespect me. And loony

bird? Really? Seems you’vetakenyourvocabularytonewheights; now maybe we canwork on your losin’ career.And yeah, maybe I’ve beenwaitinghereallnight.Butthelast thingIamissomeloonybird.”Justicearchedabrow.“Orthirsty.”“Whatever.”Hetossedtwo

fingers in the air, turned hisbacktome,andwalkedaway.Unwanted tears beat

againstthebacksofmyeyes.But I refused to cry. “Knowwhat, I’mnot about to sweatyou,”Ishouted,mytremblingvoice echoed through theearly morning breeze. “I’moutheretryingtotalktoyou.Trying to apologize to you.Trying to tellyou that Imissyou! That all I do is thinkaboutyou!Butinsteadofyoubeing understanding, you’rebeingajerk!”Justice continued walking.

Justashereachedthestairs,Iran behind him. Grabbed hishand. “Why are you doingthis?”He snatched his hand

away, spun around, andmushed me in the center ofmy forehead. “I’m sick ofyour ish, ma.Word is bond.You don’t come runnin’ upon me.” He took three stepscloser to me. And we stoodbreaststochest,mylipstothebaseofhisneck.

“Justice—!”“Shut up!” His eyes

droppedeightinches.I need to go. I took a step

back and turned to walkaway. He reached for myhand and quickly turned meback toward him. Pulled meintohischest.ThescentofhisObsession

cologne made love to mynose and I wanted to meltbeneath his large hands thatherestedonmyhips.

Hetsked.“Yo,youselfish,you know that, right?” Helifted my chin, taking a softbiteoutof it.“Wordisbond.What’s really good witchu?”He tilted his head and gazedat me. “Just when I start totreat you like no one elsematters, you turn around ’n’play me. Leavin’ me YeahBoo letters ’n’moneyon thenightstand, like I’m someclown mofo. I don’t havetime for that. And then you

get mad ’n’ eff up my ride,like that ish is cute. YouluckyIain’tknockin’yououtfor that, for real for real.Yo,youarealsavageforthat.”I sucked my teeth, feeling

thelightoceanbreezekissmyface.“Iwaspissedoff!”Hereleasedhisholdonmy

hips. “Oh word? So everytimeyougetpissedyougon’jumpoff the cliff? Is that it?Yo’, you crazy if you thinkI’ma put up wit’ that.” He

pausedandshookhisheadindisbelief.“Yo,Igottago.I’mouttahere.”Hetookasteptothesideofme.“Wait,don’tgo!”Istepped

into his path. “Justice,please!”He flicked his right hand,

as if he were flinging waterfromhisfingertips.“Leave.”I ran back into his path,

practically tripping over myfeet. “Would you listen tome?!”Tearspoureddownmy

cheeks. “Dang, I’m sorry!Whatelsedoyouwantmetodo?!”“Nothing.”I threw my hands up in

defeat. “I keep calling youand calling you! And callingyou!”“And stalkin’ me. Playin’

yaself. Comin’ over herebangin’ onmydoor like youcrazy, then keyin’ up mywhip.Whatkindaishyouon,yo?”

I felt like somebody hadtakenabladetomythroat.Playmyself?Never.He had me confused. “I

don’tdeserve—”“Youdeserveexactlywhat

ya greasy hand called for.You really tried to play me,yo.Yougotthegamejacked,yo. I ain’t no soft dude, realtalk.Iwilltakeittoyaface.”He paused and looked meover.“Thenyouhadyadude

rolluponmeandsneakme?Word?Areyouserious?Thatishgotme realhot,yo. ”Hepaused again. “I shouldaburned a bullet in his chestforthatpunkmove.”Hisdarkeyes narrowed. “You lucky Iain’tknockyateethout.”Was I having an out-of-

bodyexperience?Noboyhadever spoken to me like this.Ever.Iwasstunned.Shocked.Confused. Desperate.Scared...

Ididn’tknowifIwasquietbecause I couldn’t think ofanything to say or because Ifelt a tinge of fear that toldme I needed to shut up. Thebottom of my stomach feltlikeithadfallentomyfeet.Iwatched him take three stepstoward me and I wonderedwasthistheend.Heyankedmebymyright

arm. “Let me tell yousomethin’.Idon’tknowwhatyou standin’ there thinkin’

’boutorwhat’s’bouttocomeoutta ya mouth, but it betternot be nothin’ slick.” Hepaused and I swallowed.“Otherwise, you gon’ bepickin’ yaself up from thisconcrete. Or better yet, theevenin’ news will be ’boutyoufloatin’ facedownin theocean.”“I-I-I-I,” I stuttered, doing

all I could to collect mythoughts. “If you would justlisten to me! I didn’t have

anybody sneak you. I didn’tdothat!”Hiseyespeered intomine.

“Wellsomebodyhitmefrombehind! Now who was it?!Who?!”Without a second thought.

Without concern. Withoutregard or a moment ofhesitation I pushed out,“London!”That’sright.London.Thatcrazythot.Myex-bestie.

Anotheronewhoturnedonme.Triedtotakehatetonewheightsby invitingmeout toClub Tantrum and attackingme.Fornorhymeorreason.“London?”Justicerepeated

indisbelief.IcouldtellbythelookhegavemethatwhatI’dsaid took him aback. Hefrowned. “Are you serious?London?”“Yes, London! She’s the

real thirsty loony bird. Realcrazy!Sheevenjumpedmeat

the other night! I know youhadtoseetheblogs.”“Whatthe...”Hequickly

caught himself. “Do I looklikethetypeofdudecheckin’blogs?” He pushed his indexfinger into my right temple,forcing my neck to slant tothe left. “Now say somethin’else,stupid.”Mykneecapsknocked,my

heartpounded,andmythroattightened.I should leave. Thiswas a

badidea.Apparently,hecan’tappreciate me standing here,trying to woman up andhandleoursituation.“Doyouhearmetalkin’to

you,yo?!”hescreamedinmyface. “I said,what youmeanitwasLondon?”Ihesitated. “She just came

from nowhere. You and Iwere standing there talkingandthenextthingIknewyouhit the ground and therewasLondon hovered over you

withnunchuksinherhand!”Isearchedhiseyestoseeif

hebelievedme.Thetruthwasit wasn’t London. It wasSpencer,my real, loyal, ride-or-die bestie. She’d snuckhim. Hit him in the back ofhishead.Andwhenhedidn’tmove, Spencer and I gotscared, tookoff,and lefthimfordead.But none of that was the

point. London deserved towear this one. Especially

since I was done with her.“I’m telling you it wasLondon! She came fromnowhere.You hit the groundand shewas therewith a batinherhand!”“London?” he repeated,

shaking his head. “I thoughtshe was over in Italysomewhere.”“Lies! She was never in

Milan.Thatlunaticwashomeall along, curled up in thebed! And I just knew she

killed you! I just knew it!”Timelytearspoureddownmycheeks. “I’m sorry that I leftyou. I am. I was soooooscared.Ididn’tknowwhattodo. I called the hospitals! Icalled the morgues. I waseven willing to pay for yourfuneral. I’m just so sorry.And when you were on thatground,motionless, I tried toshake you and you wouldn’tmove. London took off! Iheardsirens.Igotscaredand

Ijustran!”Iboldlytookasteptoward

him and pressed my wetcheeks into his chest. “Yougotta believe me, Justice. Ijust knew you were dead. Ireally did and I didn’t knowwhat to do. I thought thepolice were coming. And Ididn’t want them to think itwas me who killed you so Iran too! It was stupid.” Istammered.“I-I-Ileftmycar.Everything! It was crazy! I

just got caught up in themoment! I thought youwerehurt. I thought you weredead! You weren’t moving!You should’ve seen the lookin her eyes! That girl’scrazy!”Iweptintohischestandhe

wrapped his arms aroundmeandsqueezed.I batted my wet lashes.

“Baby,didyoudosomethingtothatgirl?”Iasked.“Oh,sonowI’myababy?”

heaskedindisbelief.“Yes, Justice. Yes. Of

courseyou’remybaby.”“Really?”“Yes. But why does

London hate you so much?Didthetwoofyouusedtobea couple or something? Ithought you were onlyfriends.”“Yeah, we used to be

friends.Allthat’sdeadnow.”Hewipedmywetcheekswiththe backs of his thumbs.

“Now,backtoyou.”Heliftedmy chin and placed a fingeragainst my lips. “The nexttime you come outta pocket,trynaslick-talkme,I’maslapyamouthup.”He tappedmylips lightly and I kissed thebacks of his fingers. Hesnatched his finger away.“Nah, I don’t think so. Youstillinthedoghousewit’me.Now what you gonna do togetouttait?”“What do youwantme to

do?” I whined. “I’ll dowhatever.”“What you think I want

youtodo?”I slid my arms around his

thick neck and whisperedagainsthis chin. “I can showyoubetterthanIcantellyou.CanIcomeinside?”“Yeah.” He ran his hands

over the outline of body.“Rightafteryoucallyaman.”He pulled his cell phone outof his back pocket. “And

deadit.”My heart dropped.

“Whaaaaaat? Clutchingpearls!” My eyes poppedopen and I felt my breathbeingsnatched.“Ya, you heard me. Call

that punk now.” He pushedthephonetowardme.I took a step back and he

tookastepforward.“You said you’ll do

anything,right?Sodoit.YousaidI’myababy.Thenprove

it.’Cause,realish,yo...I’msecondtonone.”“Youbeingsecondtonone

and me breaking up withKnox, my soul mate, myfuture husband and futurebabydaddy,aretwodifferentthings. He has nothing to dowiththis.”“Ohword?”“Word. No. He. Does.

Not.” I shook my head andplaced a handuponmyhip.“You need to learn to play

your roll as a side piece’cause you are all out ofcontrol. Appreciate the timeI’m spending with youinstead of standing here andthinkingaboutmyman.Likereally?Whodoesthat?”Justice popped me on the

mouth, just enough for it tostingbutnotenough for it tohurt. “Let me be real clearwit’ you: You ain’t gettin’upstairs.Weain’tkickin’it.Iain’t effen witchu ’til you

dead it wit’ dude. Got it?Now poof. Outta here.” Heforcefully turned me around,practicallyyankedmebacktomy car, snatched open thedoor,andpushedmeinside.

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