of girls look up to you. They may not have agreed with all of the things you did, but they love the fact that you represented the urban reality so well, and that you survived it. And they just want to see that representation on the big screen.â
âAnd you think I donât? Some things just take more time, Vanessa,â she argued.
My cousin had a point of course, but I was already on a roll. I said, âWhat about when Spike Lee was doing all his New York movies? I mean, if we need to leave starstruck Hollywood and go back to the streets to get it done, then thatâs what we need to do.â
I had put in overtime doing research on black films, while renting and watching them all. I had gotten gung-ho about the entire filming process.
Tracy said, âThat was a different time back then, Vanessa. Independent films were a lot easier to be picked up for distribution back then. But now we have a lot of those same films going straight to DVD instead. Is that what you want to happen to Flyy Girl ? I know I want a theatrical release myself, and not some underground rental sleeper. Whatâs the point in waiting all of this time to do that?â
She stopped me in my tracks with that one. I wanted to see Flyy Girl on the big screen, too, in a breakout blockbuster weekend, with teenaged girls lined up all across the country. I just felt that urban American girls deserved our own breakout film. We needed our own Boyz n the Hood and our own American Graffiti. Flyy Girl was it.
Before I could get out another word on the subject, Tracyâs cell phone went off. She looked down at the number before she stood up to answer it.
âHey,â she answered while walking toward the kitchen. Thatâs all I needed to know. It was her âfriend.â Thatâs all she called him, and she had been âfriendsâ with him for over a year. But she never let him stay over at the house. She even used me as her excuse to keep him at bay. I would have liked to have lived on UCLAâs campus, but Tracy had gotten used to having me around the house with her.
âWe were just sitting here talking about movies,â she told him as she strolled into the kitchen.
I smiled, realizing her game plan. She didnât feel like having her friend over for company that night. Thatâs why she said âwe.â Otherwise, she would have said that she was just sitting there watching television, as if I wasnât in the room with her. I knew all of my cousinâs M.O.s by then. She was an interesting case, thirtysomething and as free as she wanted to be, and with all of her own money to pay the bills.
I was still a virgin myself, and I was not even looking out for guys. They were all case studies to me. Maybe I read too much into things, but their conversations never added up.
âAre you doing any homework tonight?â a guy at school would ask me.
âYes, I am,â I would answer.
âYou need any help with it?â
âYou have media relations courses?â I would ask.
âNo. Iâm studying business.â
âSo, how can you help me with my homework?â
Thatâs when they would start to stumble.
âI mean, Iâm just saying if you would need any help with anything.â
âWell, why would you want to help me?â
âI mean . . . why not?â
Then I would ask them, âDonât you have homework of your own to do?â
âYeah, but itâs not that much?â
âSo, you would spend that extra time just to help me?â
âYeah.â
âBut what do you get out of that?â I would ask them.
Thatâs when they would look confused.
âWhat do I get out of it?â
Then I would break it all down. âTime is money, right? So why would you want to spend your money on me just to help me to do my homework?â
Thatâs when they would forget how to add.
âIâm saying, Iâm not even
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