No Boyz Allowed Page 4

  “I got one even better.” He popped the invisible collar of his red Young Money T-shirt and slid his right hand in the side pocket of his True Religion jeans. “Follow me,” he said like his name should’ve been Cat Daddy.

  I stood back and watched Man-Man get his serious pimp stroll on: leaning slightly to the right while one shoulder dipped in front of the other. He stopped for a moment and looked back at me. “Come on.”

  I followed him, reluctantly, because judging from the way the groupies he glided toward continued to stare at me, it was about to go down. Seriously.

  The closer we got to the desperate-in-the-city clique, the madder Coca-Cola and her crew looked. They each placed their hands on their hips, their necks seemed frozen in a twisted to the left position, and their bottom lips hung like a horse’s.

  They each rolled their eyes at me in slow motion and I gave them a look that invited them to bring it; that’s when I noticed that Man-Man had stretched his arms forward and parted their circle. “Coming through.” He pimped his way through the bird’s nest and over to a group of dudes standing behind them.

  Stop the press . . . He. Did. Not. Just play them like that. “That was so rude,” I mumbled and either Man-Man didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me because instead of responding, he gave the guys he’d walked over to pounds, and never once looked back.

  But I looked back and for a moment I found myself staring at Coca-Cola. She looked familiar and I knew I’d seen her before, I just didn’t know where . . .

  “And why is she eye-slicing you?” one of Coca-Cola’s friends spat, snapping me out of my gaze. Now, had I been on the street I would’ve straight stepped to ’em, but since none of this was really my problem and tonight’s mission was to have a good time, I turned away from them. My intention was to keep it movin’—but then one of Coca-Cola’s friends lost her mind and said, “Who’s this ho?” Which halted my mission and required my immediate attention.

  I spun around and Coca-Cola looked me dead in my eyes and said, “Yeah, that’s what I wanna know. Who’s the ho?”

  Breathe . . . Breathe . . . now check ’em. I shot this clique a fake Barbie smile. “Clearly you can see that he doesn’t do hoes, because he left you standing there.” I pointed my hands like guns and pulled the triggers. “Click, click, boom!”

  “I know you not gon’ take that!” one of Coca-Cola’s friends said to her. “I know you’re not going to let her punk you!”

  Before Coca-Cola could respond, I said, “Maybe you’re not that stupid after all. ’Cause that’s exactly what she’s going to do! And you too!”

  “Whoa, you don’t need to be arguing over me.” Man-Man slid in between us. “Kamani, relax,” he said to Coca-Cola’s friend.

  I snapped at Man-Man and pointed over his shoulder. “You better get ’em, ’cause they don’t want it over here.”

  “Chill,” he said to me as if he was about to choke on laughter. He turned toward Coca-Cola and said with a smooth edge to his voice, “No need to be jealous.”

  “Jealous!” Coca-Cola snaked her neck, paused, then snaked her neck again.

  “Oh, he got you twisted,” Kamani said to Coca-Cola as her eyes taxied over me, which was cool, because one thing I wasn’t was scared. Ever.

  “You’re welcome to bring it,” I said to Kamani and I stepped to the side of Man-Man. “The only thing separating us is air and opportunity! As a matter of fact, let me do you a favor and warn you. If you step to me you gon’ need to bring King Kong with you.” I turned to Man-Man, whose cheeks were stuck on blushed. “You think this is cool? Really? You better get these birds before I clip their wings.”

  “Pop,” Man-Man shook his head. “Kamani, Janay chill. This is my lil sister.”

  Coca-Cola blinked her extended lashes as if they were battery operated. Once her batteries died, she stopped blinking and her eyes popped open. “You must think I’m stupid.”

  “Duh,” Kamani butted in. “It’s obvious he thinks you’re stupid. ’Cause he expects you to believe that two weeks ago he had two sisters and now suddenly it’s three!”

  “Exactly,” Man-Man said as if this type of thing happened every day.

  “Exactly, what?” Coca-Cola asked. “You think I’m stupid?”

  “No!” Man-Man waved his hands. “I meant exactly I had two sisters two weeks ago and now I have three.”

  “Whatever.” Kamani carried on, “I keep telling you, you need to check him.”

  It was obvious that Coca-Cola was mad, but her friend was hyping her up so much that I just had to step back in. So I said, “Why don’t you mind your business! Or are you too jealous to do that?” I looked at their other homegirl who hadn’t opened her mouth and said, “You better get this chick and tell her to fall in line.”

  Homegirl didn’t say a word.

  “G!” Coca-Cola screamed. “Why are you trying to play me crazy! Don’t try me, G. ’Cause I will turn this whole party out!”

  “Pop,” he softly cupped her chin. “I’m touched that you would wreck shop over me, but I can’t let you tear up the spot.”

  “You know what, Pop,” Kamani snapped. “You can deal with him in a minute, but first you need to handle this trick.” She turned to me.

  I retorted, “Well since you’re all in the business, why don’t you do it!”

  Kamani sucked her teeth. “What you better do—!”

  “All I better do,” I said, “is stay cute. Anything else is my choice!”

  “You got me messed up!”

  “ ’Cause that’s what you are, a mess!”

  “Kamani,” Man-Man butted in. “Chill, I told you this is really my sister. She’s been my sister for about two weeks!”

  “Wait a minute,” Coca-Cola said and squinted at me. “Don’t I know you?”

  “You don’t know me,” I snapped. “But you can.” I took a step forward.

  “No, for real,” she said, changing her tone from ready to leap across the room to calm.

  Yeah, hella crazy.

  Coca-Cola looked as if she searched my face for an answer. “Is your name Gem? Gem Scott?”

  Pause... what? Before I could say anything, she continued.

  “That’s your name, right?” she asked as if she really needed me to say yes.

  “Oh, you know this chick?!” Kamani said. “That’s even worse!”

  I shook my head. “Look, I don’t know what the heck is really going on here. But I don’t do drama or crazy. I just came to chill. Now this is my brother—take it or leave it. But I don’t want him like that. He’s all yours, boo-boo.” I looked at Man-Man and rolled my eyes. “Now I need a drink.”

  I stepped away and left them all behind me. I’d made up my mind that when we got home I would be taking Man-Man and chopping him dead in his throat. By the time I reached the bar, Coca-Cola was in my face again. “Seriously. For real,” she said. “No beef. But can you please tell me if your name is Gem Scott?”

  I was straight aggravated and I didn’t know if I was aggravated more because this girl knew my name or that she wouldn’t step off.

  “Do you have a little brother named Malik?” she continued to pry.

  How does she know that?

  “Do you?” she asked for confirmation.

  “Why are you all in my business?”

  “Because you look just like my best friend.”

  “Okay, and, clearly you can see that I’m not your bestie.”

  “But you could be. I haven’t seen her since I was like twelve. We lost contact and she looked exactly like you. Her name was Gem and she and her little brother, Malik, used to live with my grandmother. She was their foster mother. But when she died they moved and I don’t know what happened to them.” Tears glimmered in her eyes. “And for a minute I thought maybe you were her.”

  I didn’t say anything, mostly because I didn’t know what to say. Especially since I now knew exactly who she was: Cameron “Popcorn” Hunter. Everybody called her Popcorn because that’s
all she ever wanted to eat.

  Her grandmother, Ms. Betty, was my foster mother and Popcorn used to come over her house every day. That’s how we became best friends.

  We went to school together, were in the same class, and swore we were the only two girls in the world who could step—I mean really bring it.

  When Popcorn had her first boyfriend in sixth grade and I didn’t have one, we created a club with only the two of us and called it the Rich Girlz. Why? ’Cause that’s what we both wanted to be—rich. And our club had only one rule: No boyz were allowed to come between our friendship. So when her boo got jealous, she dumped him.

  We thought we had it all figured out—but then her grandmother died—and we didn’t know how to resolve that. So in the blink of an eye our lives changed.

  Malik and I returned to being gypsies and Popcorn and I lost contact.

  “Okay,” she swallowed and dapped at the corner of her right eye. “It’s cool, I guess I was mistaken.” She turned to walk away.

  “It’s me,” I said dryly, not knowing exactly how to react.

  She turned back around and her eyes lit up. “For real—for real? Or for real just so I won’t think I’m crazy, have an emotional breakdown, go home and eat all the popcorn I can get my hands on.”

  I tried not to smile, but I couldn’t help it. “Nacho cheese with hot sauce.”

  “And a little bit of salt, pepper—”

  “And globs of butter.” I cracked up. “The only kind you would eat when you were mad.”

  “My edible boyfriend.” She smiled like a kid who’d been given free candy. “So it’s really you, Gem?”

  “The one and only!”

  “I can’t believe this!” she squealed, and we embraced. For a moment I wasn’t certain if this was weird or simply perfect. But one thing I knew for sure, I felt like I was hugging the best part of my life.

  “The original Rich Girlz are back together again! We can’t lose touch, ever!” she said. Her voice was high-pitched, squeaky, and she spoke a mile a minute—the same way she did when we were twelve.

  “We won’t,” I said.

  “I can’t believe this!” She smiled. “Girl, I’m surprised you didn’t remember me when G was calling me Pop.”

  “Well, I thought he was calling you Pop because . . . well he said . . .” I hesitated. I started to sell Man-Man out, considering the havoc he caused, but then I changed my mind. “I guess I just didn’t put two and two together. And plus he never called you Popcorn.”

  “Yeah, as I got older the nickname became shorter.” She smiled and playfully pushed me on my shoulder. “I just can’t believe—”

  “All right listen,” Man-Man’s voice boomed as he found his way from across the room and into our conversation. “All of this arguing has to end. I thought y’all were over here hugging it out, but now I see you’re about box over me again.” He stood in between us and draped an arm over each of our shoulders. “I’m a playboy not a firefighter. And Pop this is really my sister. So I need you to calm down. You know it’s a G-world girl and you’re the only bird I want in my tree.”

  “Boy, please.” Pop pushed Man-Man’s arm off of her shoulder. “I didn’t forget how you just tried to play me.”

  “Don’t be like that, Pop.” He turned toward me. “Tell her, Gem.”

  “It’s a G-world, you handle it,” I said.

  Pop looked at me and smiled. “Come on, girlie, let’s go get our dance on!”

  “Yeah, let’s,” I said as we walked away holding hands, our stilettos making drum beats behind us.

  “Pop!” Man-Man screamed. “I was just playing, and why y’all holding hands?”

  We didn’t answer we just kept it movin’.

  Man-Man continued, “Gem, Pop, please don’t tell me y’all ordering fish-filet. I didn’t mean to hurt you that bad!”

  “He is out of control,” I said.

  “Yeah, he is.” Pop blushed and squealed, bumping against my arm. “But he’s soooo freakin’ cute.”

  9

  “Girrrlzzzz, drop it to the flooooor . . .!” Waka Flocka Flame’s “No Hands” blasted through the D.J.’s speakers, as he mixed in the toughest bass beat I’d ever heard. The music alone took this party to a whole other level—transmitting everyone to another zone. Hands were in the air and everybody bounced, rocked, and shouted in unison, “Look, ma, no hands . . .!”

  I was so caught up and lost in the moment that for the first time ever since I’d been on my own I didn’t think about my mother never getting herself together or where I’d lay my head next. The only thing on my mind was having a good time.

  “Look, ma, no hands...!” The crowd shouted and bounced as if we were in a stepper’s dance.

  “The twins know their parties be crazy!” Pop fanned her face as the D.J. slowed the music down to Beyoncé’s “Rather Die Young” and mostly everyone on the floor coupled up. Unless of course, you were solo, a third wheel, or came with your friends—then you stepped to the side or headed to the bar.

  Me and Pop chose the bar.

  We ordered two Shirley Temples and nodded our heads to the mellow beat. “We have so much to catch up on,” Pop said, as she played with the tip of her stirrer. “Like, I need to tell you about all my boos since sixth grade. And how out of all of them I thought G was going to be the one, but I’m so done with him.”

  I twisted my lips so far to the left that the right side of my mouth sank. “You need to stop,” I said, not believing a word she’d said. Especially since Man-Man stared at her and she couldn’t sip her drink for smiling at him.

  “I’m serious,” she insisted and turned her head away from him. Pop pushed her hair behind her ears and her lime green feather earrings dangled on her shoulders. “I’ma just be by myself for a while and G can do what he wants to do. See who he wants to see, ’cause I’ma do me.”

  I sipped my drink. “Sure.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Umm, no.”

  “And why not?” She looked hurt.

  “For one you keep staring at him.”

  “My eyes can’t help it. I’m addicted to cuties.” She peeked over at Man-Man and the moment he looked up and over at her she turned back to me. “He is so fine.” Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling, she stared off into a daze, and then regained her focus. “But he is not the only fine fish in the sea. ’Cause this is not just G’s world, this is Popcorn’s world too, you feel me?”

  “I hear you.”

  “G is always trying to play me like I’m some jealous lunatic. Which, I’m not. I’m just passionate about my feelings.”

  “Okay.” I took another sip.

  “Girl,” she looked at her watch. “It’s 12:32 and by 12:37, I’ma be so over that boy it’ll be a shame.”

  “Wow, five minutes. That must be a record.”

  “It might be. But hmph, I’ma ballplayer, not a chaser.” She put up her hand for a high-five.

  “Okay!” I slapped my hand against hers.

  “Boom.” She turned back around and looked over at Man-Man. “You think I’m beat by that girl all . . . up . . . in . . . his face? Well, I’m not.”

  “Umm hmm.”

  Pop paused, squinted. “Hmph, it’s like she’s trying to swallow his breath they’re so close. She’s smacked and smashed all up in his grill.”

  “Dead in it.”

  She placed her hands over her eyes like a sun-visor. “Like she could eat him for breakfast, lunch, dinner—”

  “And a snack,” I added. “But you’re not beat for that.”

  “Not sweatin’ it one drop.” Pop squinted again. “But she really needs to back up. Wait, is that Janay?” Her eyes popped open. “Oh hold up, wait a minute. I’m ’bout to put some push up in it.” She snaked her neck, paused, and snaked it again. “Has she lost her mind?”

  “That’s the quiet chick you were with earlier, right?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe she was just looking f
or you.” I shrugged.

  “Well, I’m over here, boo.” She snapped her fingers. “You know, I’m like 5’ 7”, size twelve, you can’t miss me. She doesn’t need to be in G’s face looking for me. Plus I have to keep an eye on Janay anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause she’s quiet and my grandma always said you have to watch the quiet ones. Plus, when she smiles at G her grin is more than one eighth of an inch.”

  Now that caught me completely off guard. “More than one what?”

  “One eighth of an inch. That’s how wide her smile should be when she’s looking at G.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s a nice-and-friendly respectful you’remy-friend’s-boo-type-of smile. But Janay hits G with a smile so wide a truck could drive through it. And that’s a sneaky smile. A smile that clearly says when my friend’s back is turned, I’ll be trying to side bag her boo.”

  “Wow.”

  “And that’s against all the rules! Plus, I don’t play that.”

  “Maybe it’s nothing shady. Maybe she really was looking for you and didn’t see you. Pop, it is a lot of people in here.”

  “Well, if she didn’t see me, she’s about to. And if it looks shady and Janay got that side-bagging smile on her face, then this party is about to be a beat-down crime scene.” She marched toward Man-Man and I walked alongside of her. “I ain’t the one,” she announced.

  “Let’s just hear what she has to say first, and anyway didn’t you just say you were done with him?”

  “So what? I don’t need her cleaning up after me. Suppose I want seconds? And besides it’s not 12:37, it’s 12:36 and I still have a whole minute to lose it!” Pop stormed in between Man-Man and Janay. She turned toward Janay and said, “And what’s this about?”

  Janay’s smile was nervous but wide—straight deer caught in headlights.

  Before they could say anything, Pop stepped into Janay’s personal space. “I know you’re not trying to be a homewrecking-homie-hop?!”

  A what?

  “No, girl,” she said, as if they actually understood what a homewrecking-homie-hop was.

  “I was over here because Kamani sent me to look for you,” Janay said.