No Boyz Allowed Page 3

  “You can stop trying to whisper, Malik,” I said.

  “If I stop whispering then she’ll know all your secrets.” He squinted. “And I know you don’t want anybody to know how good you used to be before you transferred from school to school. And how you used to be the starting point guard and how you’d won a trophy—that we lost somewhere along the way. And I know you don’t want her to find out that when you grow up you want to play in the WNBA.”

  “No, Malik,” I said sarcastically. “That’s our secret.”

  “Exactly.” He shot me a quick smile and then looked at Ms. Grier. “See, I told you Gem would like the basketball.” He turned back to me and said tight-lipped, “Just roll with it. Baby Tot-Tot got you.”

  “I see,” I said sarcastically.

  He shot me a quick smile and then looked at Ms. Grier. “See, I told you Gem would like the ball.” He turned back to me and said tight-lipped, “Now tell her you like it.”

  But I couldn’t tell her that, because honestly, I was done with balling and I was doing my best to shake any and all urges that I got to play again. That part of my life was dead. I was over it. Mostly because I’d had enough of making a name for myself on a team and then as soon as I got settled in, I’d have to move from one foster home to the next, and the next, and be transferred from one high school to another... and another. So in order to keep my feelings in check, I quit. Never mind that playing ball was the only escape I had. The only worry-free zone in my life... I had to skip all of that and fast-forward to my reality—which had no room for three-point plays.

  “Tell her you like it, Gem.” Malik repeated, like he was holding his breath until I said yes.

  I hesitated. Just say it. “Yeah, I like it, it’s cool.”

  “Great,” Ms. Grier said. “And maybe when school starts you’ll try out for the team.”

  I wish she would step off.

  Ms. Grier paused for a moment and the room grew silent. “Now all we need is a thank you, and we can be on our way,” she said, breaking the monotony.

  She was really pushing it. “Thank you,” I said dryly.

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled as if she’d just struck it rich. “Now, come on Khalil. ’Cause now I need to go to the grocery store.”

  “The grocery store? Wait for me!” Malik ran after them, leaving me sitting quietly in a sea of department store shopping bags and a basketball.

  I told myself that this wasn’t a big deal—that it meant absolutely nothing.

  Problem was: it felt like a big deal.

  And it felt like it meant something...

  I shook off my thoughts and peeked into each shopping bag. There were at least eight or nine pairs of jeans, leggings, sweatpants, hoodies, skirts, the cutest T-shirts, blouses, and accessories. Even cute bras and underwear. A heated wave of happiness—that I hadn’t felt in a long time—washed over me.

  I ran my fingers over the basketball’s ridges and through the grooves. A smile forced its way on my face.

  I twirled the ball around on the tip of my index finger.

  Maybe I don’t have anything to lose...

  And maybe I do...

  Chance it.

  I eased off the bed, ball in hand, and walked down the hall toward Man-Man’s room.

  I bit the corner of my lip and sucked in a deep breath. I swallowed and knocked softly on the door.

  “Ma,” Man-Man said. “I’m cleaning up my room now. And no, I don’t need your help because all you gon’ do is stand in the middle of the floor and tell me how this don’t make no sense.”

  I knocked again. “Man-Man,” I called.

  He hesitated and then I heard him walk toward the door. From the sound of things he unlocked about three deadbolts and knocked off a security chain before he cracked open the door. He pressed his face into the slit and said, “No guns allowed.”

  “Funny.” I twisted my lips to the side. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Whatever you heard, it’s not true,” he said. “This house is filled with haters and they stay lying on me.”

  This dude is nuts. “I only wanted to ask you to play ball.”

  He opened his door wide. “Play ball with who?” He looked down one end of the hallway and then turned his head and looked down the other end.

  I placed one hand on my hip. “With me.”

  “Play ball with you?” He frowned.

  “What, you don’t play with girls?”

  “Nah, I don’t. And I especially don’t roll with pink balls.”

  “What, your skills shaky?”

  “Gurl, who you think you talking to?” He squared his shoulders and pointed to his chest. “This is G-Bread, the pimp formerly known as Man-Man. I got skills. Mad skills. I just don’t ball with chicks.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You must be scared.”

  “Never.”

  “Well then prove it. ’Cause I got twenty bills that says I can play better than you.”

  “Twenty bills?” His eyes opened wide and he stroked his goatee.

  I knew that would get his attention.

  “You got twenty dollars?” he asked, raising one brow and dipping the other.

  Puhlease. I’m broker than an old ho with no stroll. “Is that a yes?” I asked. “Or you procrastinating?”

  Man-Man cleared his throat. “G-Bread never procrastinates.”

  “Then bring it.”

  “Brought. Just make sure you have some tissue,” he said as he walked out of his room and I followed him out the front door.

  “Tissue for what?” I asked as we stepped over toward the basketball hoop.

  “For when I spank dat, you’ll have something to wipe your tears.”

  “Boy, please.” I flicked my hand and dribbled the ball. “First of twenty.”

  “Nah, first of ten. You need to pay me two dollars for each shot.”

  “Oh, you’re real cocky.”

  “I’m not cocky, baby. Confident.”

  “Whatever.” I chuckled as I bounced the ball to him. “Check.”

  7

  “Yo, that lil raggedy pink ball wrecked my flow,” Man-Man insisted as he sucked in and shoved out two deep breaths while he rested his hands on his knees.

  I bucked my eyes at him and shot him a look that clearly said, “You buggin’.” “There was no flow. And with all those playground jump shots you tried, you probably wrecked my ball.”

  “A grown man shouldn’t be playing with a pink ball anyway.”

  A grown man . . .?

  He carried on, “Got me looking all thirsty and everything.”

  “Thirsty?”

  “Yeah, thirsty.” He stood up straight and placed his hands over his eyes like a sun visor. “And I hope the neighbors aren’t watching me. This better not end up on YouTube.”

  Is he fa’ real? “YouTube?” I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You better recognize. Just like er’body wanna Doughie, well er’body want a piece of G-Bread.”

  What?

  “It’s my curse,” he said proudly. “Every time I turn around, it’s a chick sweatin’ me ’cause she can’t get enough of me. I keep telling ’em it’s only one of me, and on my days off she gon’ have to kick it with her boyfriend.”

  He is really feeling himself.

  “That’s why I had to change my name from Man-Man to G-Bread.”

  “And what does the G stand for?”

  “It stands for Girls can’t get enough of genuine fine.” He broke out into the end-zone dance and I knew at this moment he was definitely related to Cousin Shake. “And the crowd went wild!” he carried on.

  “Umm . . .” I hesitated, completely lost for words.

  “Got you speechless, huh? Playa-playa, baby. That’s how I do it.”

  I blinked not once, but three times. “Oh . . . kay, so let’s just stick to the money you owe me.”

  Man-Man looked at me and frowned—his laugh lines sank like parentheses around his mouth. “Everything
is about money with you too, huh. You just like Toi. I thought having two sisters was hard, and now I got three of ’em. I feel like somebody’s trying to kill me.”

  I paused for a moment.

  Did he just call me his sister? And the word foster wasn’t in front of it?

  “Besides, I’m kind of glad you won,” Man-Man continued.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No, I am. Because now you can spot me some cash when we head out to this party tonight.”

  “Spot you?”

  He draped his left arm over my shoulders. “Check it, lil sister—”

  There it was again . . .

  “Picture it,” he pointed to the sky. “Tonight, me and you, at the hottest end-of-the summer-and-back-to-school-jammy-jam ever! Courtesy of tore-up-in-the-face-but-brickhouse-n-the-waist Shaquita and her twin sister, anybody-can-get-up-in-them-jeans Bownita.”

  “Sounds like a strip club.”

  “Nah, these are respectable church-going girls. Both of ’em sing in the choir. Now, just stay with me. The music is bumpin’, and then I walk up in the spot with you. Yo, you know how much play that’s gon’ get me with the honeys?”

  “No.”

  “Check it, they gon’ look at me and be like ‘Look at G.’” Man-Man kicked his voice up at least three octaves. “ ‘G is so hot and understanding. He brought his lil sister out the house and to the club. He’s so sweet and sensitive. I love him.’”

  “Oh, so, this is only for your benefit?”

  His voice returned to normal. “Nah, we gon’ both have fun. Lots of it.”

  “Well, all of that would be nice if I really had some money, but I don’t.” I walked toward the front door and by the time I reached the doorway, I noticed Man-Man wasn’t behind me. I turned around and don’t you know this clown had the nerve to look shocked.

  He stuttered, “What you, what you, what you mean you don’t have any money? What happened to it? How you gon’ make a bet and don’t have any money?”

  “Excuse you?”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “Believe it.” I walked into the foyer and toward the stairs.

  “Hold up.” He jogged behind me. I stopped and stood on the bottom step. “A’ight,” he paused. “A’ight, let’s regroup.” He tapped his left index finger against his temple. “It’s coming to me.” He snapped his fingers. “It’s coming to me. . . . A’ight, boom, this is what we gon’ do. You gon’ hit up Mommy for some money and her car. ’Cause I don’t have any gas in mine.”

  Rewind . . . “What?!”

  “She’ll give it to you,” he said reassuringly as he patted me on my right shoulder.

  “First of all, I can’t drive.”

  “I can. Got a license and everything.”

  “Then why can’t you ask?”

  “Because Toi murdered my reputation around here. I need to lay back in the cut for a minute. Feel me? But I know exactly what you could say.”

  “I can’t ask Ms. Grier for money. And I’m definitely not asking for the car. Boy, please.” Was he crazy?

  “Whatcha mean you can’t ask?” His eyes popped out. “So you gon’ do me dirty like that?”

  “This isn’t about you. I’m just not doing it.”

  “A’ight,” he turned to walk away, but quickly turned back around. “A’ight,” he said and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s cool. So, umm, I guess we’ll have to stay home and watch Cousin Shake chase Ms. Minnie around the house.”

  “Keep my name outcha mouth!” Cousin Shake spat as he walked past us wearing the tightest and the nastiest pair of red and blue Superman underwear I’d ever seen. And to top it off, he had on taxi-cab yellow knee pads and a clear plastic cape tied around his neck!

  Gagging...

  Immediately, I leaned against the wall because I knew that at any moment I would have a flashback of seeing Cousin Shake practically naked and die.

  Jesus take the wheel...

  “Told you.” Man-Man looked me over. “Can’t breathe, can you? Now, the choice is yours. So, what you gon’ do?”

  I cleared my throat and stood up as straight as I could.

  “So how exactly should I ask her?”

  8

  I’ve never been into fashion.

  Never been stuck up.

  A diva wannabe.

  Never thought that I was the flyest chick who’d ever lived...

  But tonight was different.

  Because when I walked up in the spot, I straight shut it down.

  Freeze!

  Pow!

  Ka-boom!

  Gem has stepped in the room.

  I felt like I was sashaying on clouds—or better, the red carpet. All eyes were on me like the paparazzi and for the first time in my life I loved the attention.

  Why?

  Because I didn’t have to cuss, fight, scream, or demand anything to get it. All I had to be was me: a cute mocha brown chick with thick size ten hips, a sexy shoulder length ponytail, and a swoop bang dipped low over my right eyebrow. I rocked a black camisole, a black bandage miniskirt, four-inch hot pink stilettos, hoop earrings, and sparkling bangles adorned my right arm.

  Hotness.com described me perfectly.

  “Dang, girl,” Man-Man shot me a sly grin as we stood near the doorway. “The whole place just dropped the mic.”

  “I know, right.” I laughed a little as my eyes skipped around the dimly lit and extra-large living and dining room combination. The place was packed with girls and hotties who lined the walls and filled the floor, some dancing and others kicking it.

  Tucked in the far left corner of the living room was a makeshift bar of soda, fruit punch (which, judging from the way everybody hovered over it, I’m sure was spiked), and Shirley Temples made to order for a dollar a cup. Next to the bar was the D.J., who from the moment I walked in had been fiyah. He mixed Rihanna and Chris Brown’s “Cake” and Big Sean’s “Dance” and bumped it through his mega speakers like crazy.

  For a split second a tizzy of nervousness invaded my stomach. In an attempt to shake it off, or at least play it off, I leaned from one foot to the next, while Man-Man looked as if he was a king admiring his court. “I knew they would drop the mic, though. They always do,” he said.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah, they can’t help it.”

  “And why not?”

  “’Cause girls love Genuine Fine.” He looked to his right, stroked his goatee, and pointed at a duo of chicks standing a few inches away from him. “I see you,” he said, and the girls turned fever red and broke out into stupid giggles.

  “Hey G,” the boldest one said as the other one gave him a shy wave while looking away.

  Man-Man looked at me and shook his head. “My entourage. They’re addicted to me.”

  Hang me.

  “I’ma start a G-world support group,” Man-Man carried on.

  This dude was super corny—but funny—but corny. And he was kind of cute in a brotherly sort of way: five eleven, brown sugar-colored skin, a close and cropped hair cut, and a wide smile that made all the girls think he was admiring them when he was really admiring how well his ridiculous lines worked on them.

  I snapped my fingers. “That’s right, it’s all about you. What was I thinking?” I twisted my lips and rolled my eyes. Puhlease.

  “It’s in the genes, girl. It’s in the genes.” He turned his head from side to side and then looked straight. “Now come on and beat your feet to the bar. ’Cause you need to be buying a drink right about now.”

  What? “Excuse you?” I looked at him like he was loco. “I’m not one of your groupies so you can’t order me to buy a drink. And besides, I don’t want a drink right now.”

  “What did I just tell you to do,” he mumbled.

  “Excuse you?!” I shot back. “I should know if I want a drink or not.”

  “Why can’t you just follow my lead?” he whispered.

  “Because I don’t have to.”

  “But I n
eed you to.”

  “Why?”

  “See those chicks over there?” He nodded across the room toward a clique of three girls who stared me down like I’d just robbed ’em on the playground.

  “Yeah, I see ’em. And?”

  “And the one in the middle is Coca-Cola curves, Cameron. Just look at her.” He squinted his eyes and bit into his bottom lip. “That body is poppin’ in all the right places. That’s her nickname, too. Pop-Pop.”

  Oh, my God . . .

  The conceit continued. “She likes me. Texts me all day. Always on my Facebook, tweets love songs to me. I’m always on her mind.”

  “Oh, wow, I betchu the day she met you is now a holiday.”

  He pointed from my eyes to his and back again. “Now you’re following me.”

  I shook my head. “You are really feeling yourself.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m humble on Saturday... or is that Sunday?”

  I paused. I didn’t even know what to say to that, so I simply moved on. “So, do you like her?”

  “Heck yeah. I’m diggin’ them curves, I mean her mind. I just love the way she thinks.”

  Yeah right. “So then stop ordering me around and go over there and make her buy a drink.”

  “What?” He looked at me like I’d just slapped him. “I’m not running up on no chick.” He frowned. “Not even close to how I get down.”

  “You just said you liked her.” I was clearly confused.

  “I do like her. As a matter of fact, I’ve made her my girl a few times. Which is exactly why I have to make her sweat even more than all the other girls around here lusting after me.”

  “Speechless.”

  “Now see, if you get a drink, she gon’ think we’re together, then she gon’ get all worked up—a little wrinkle will form on her nose and tears will glisten in her eyes—and that’s gon’ allow me to slide my arms around her waist and be like, this my new sister, girl. Chill.”

  “Something . . . is . . . really wrong with you . . .”

  Man-Man completely ignored me. Instead, he stared off in deep thought, flicked the toothpick from the right corner of his mouth to the left and as if a lightbulb had gone off, he said, “Know what, skip the drink. That was a whack idea.”

  “I’m glad we agree.”