Deal With It by Monica McKayhan Page B

make the room smell fresh and clean. After vacuuming the family room, I collapsed onto the leather sofa, placed my feet on top of the coffee table. That was a no-no when my parents were home—feet on the furniture was absolutely out of the question. But what my parents didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. They were way too involved in my decision making, anyway; my dad was, at least. Especially when it came to my college choice. I knew what I wanted and was mature enough to make my own decisions, but trying to get him to see that was like pulling teeth.
    When my phone vibrated, I jumped. Looked at the screen. Jaylen.
    “What up, fool?” I answered.
    “We going to the mall?” he asked.
    “For sho.”
    “You picking me up?” he asked.
    “Um, I’ll think about it,” I teased.
    “I’ll be ready when you get here,” he said and hung up before I could object.
    Jaylen was my best friend. We played ball together and hung out most other times. We’d been tighter than glue since the first grade. The girls loved his six-foot frame, light brown skin and good hair. He was broke most of the time, though, and borrowed lunch money from me on a regular basis. That was what kept him from keeping a regular girlfriend. Girls expected you to take them to a movie or to McDonald’s once in a while. You couldn’t do that if you were always broke.
    I put the cleaning products away and then rushed upstairs to take a shower. I was hungry but decided I’d grab something at the food court at the mall. I listened to SportsCenter as I sat on the edge of the bed and tied my green-and-white Nike sneakers. I decided on my Southpole jeans and my green-and-white Southpole shirt. I brushed my hair until the waves appeared, and got upset when I saw a pimple growing on my light brown forehead. It was all I needed.
    The minute that Jaylen hopped into my car, he took over my stereo.
    “You gotta hear this track that we put down last night,” he declared.
    Music was his life. It was all he thought about. He had a makeshift studio in his basement, where we spent hours recording and putting lyrics to beats. Sometimes on the weekends, we recorded until the wee hours of the morning. We had enough music to drop a demo. We were good, both of us could flow, but the problem was getting someone to listen. That was why I hoped for a chance meeting with Tameka’s father. He had a lot of pull in the music industry, and I knew that if he ever heard our stuff, he would be impressed.
    As the music filled the car, I smiled. It sounded good.
    “Where’d you get that beat?” I asked.
    “You’ll never believe it.” He grinned. “You know Terrence Hill from the basketball team, right? Well, his little brother, Trey…I think he’s, like, ten years old or something…He creates beats….”
    “Come on, man. A ten-year-old created this beat?” I asked.
    I wanted to meet this musical genius. I didn’t know Terrence that well, but he seemed cool. I guessed he would be our go-to man from now on, whenever we needed a hot track.
    “I kid you not,” Jaylen said. “Get it? Kid you not.”
    Jaylen had the corniest sense of humor of anybody that I knew. He wasn’t the most popular dude at school, but he was cool. He was more like family to me, because we’d known each other for so long. We’d grown up on the playground of our elementary school together, skinned our knees together, and both of us had lost our two front teeth in the same week.
    The beat was hot, the lyrics were hot, and we bounced our heads to the music all the way down I-287.

seven
    Tameka
    The relaxer was cold against my scalp, and it didn’t take long for it to begin to sting. I bit my bottom lip in order to ease the pain. It was no secret, I was tender headed. Cynthia knew it, and she usually took extra care in making my beauty-shop experience as painless as possible.
    “You burning, sweetie?” she asked as she slapped the rat-tailed comb against my scalp.
    “A little bit.” I