Boyfriend Season by Kelli London Page A

sneakers that she’d never seen anyone around her way wear, so she knew they were the real deal. Then she glanced down at her own tangerine, aqua, white, and yellow halter top, orange booty shorts, and fluorescent green jelly shoes, and remembered the ragged purple scarf tied on her head. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t know you. Plus, I have to go home and study semantics, morphology, and etymology,” she said, turning away from him. She loved his accent, look, the way he called her miss, but she was from the projects, and project girls knew better than to go off with strangers, because most times you never came back.
    â€œLil gal, if your crazy auntie don’t let you back in today or she beat you, you come back here tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do for you,” Mr. Curtis called out from behind the counter.
    Tomorrow? I could be dead by then . Dynasty pushed open the door, then slid her way back out into the broiling heat. Her feet slapped against the broken blacktop as she made her way through the parking lot and down the block. She had to figure out something to tell Aunt Maybelline, or risk sleeping on the front steps again.
    â€œShuckey duckey, quack, quack. Unlucky, hungry-looking, and burnt black. What’s going on Die Nasty?” Rufus teased, bounding his hundreds of pounds toward the store, with sweat pouring from his pores, streaking down his forehead, and gathering in the dark folds of his neck.
    Dynasty stopped, put her hands on her nonexistent hips, and looked him square in the eyes. “Not today, Dufus! Oops, I mean, Rufus!” She waited for him to reach her, then walked by him. With the nonsense she had to go home to, she didn’t have time for Rufus’s buffoonery.
    Rufus pivoted, then began walking behind her. “You know what, Die Nasty Young? You too skinny, and you think you too smart and good for people. I only came to help you carry your beer and cigarettes . . . since you thirteen . With your lying self, telling your crazy auntie that.”
    Her eyes widened. Rufus could’ve only gotten that information from one person. “And you know what, troglodyte? You look like you stink. Go somewhere.”
    â€œAnd you look like you’re about five minutes from being homeless! That’s what your dear Aunt Maybelline’s outside telling everybody—if you don’t have her beer and cigarettes . . . and I don’t see no Bud or Newports.”
    Dynasty swallowed the unkind remark she had for Rufus and kept walking. She couldn’t believe Aunt Maybelline was outside telling everyone what Rufus just told her. But, then again, she could. It wasn’t as if this was the first time Aunt Maybelline was putting their business on the street. Every time she’d forgotten or refused to take her medication, she’d put on a show, and Dynasty would be the laughing stock of the projects. She wished her mother would get off drugs and her brother would come home from jail, but she knew the likelihood of either wasn’t high.
    â€œWhatchu thinking about, Dynasty? Lipstick and King? Well, your aunt said King ain’t coming home from prison this week like you lied and said. So maybe Lipstick will swirl your way and save you.” He laughed a big fat jolly laugh.
    Dynasty looked back, cut her eyes at Rufus, and snatched Aunt Maybelline’s bright green jelly shoe off her foot in one swoop. It left her small hand, spinning like a torpedo, and bounced off of Rufus’s forehead.
    â€œDon’t talk about my momma, Rufus. And you can listen to Aunt Maybelline about King if you want. I told you he’s coming home this week, didn’t I? So when he comes for you, you better be ready.” The wind gusted, blowing specks of dirt in her face. She dabbed her tearing eyes.
    â€œOuch. That’s why your brother’s named after a dog. Aunt Maybelline said that too. I had a dog named King once. A pit