Hustlin' Divas by De'nesha Diamond Page B

rarely returned home. The times she did, she reeked of marijuana, sex, and alcohol.
    I hated to admit it, but I was actually embarrassed by my sister’s behavior. She was like a bull in a china shop, determined to break every dish that stood in her way. There were many days I wished she would just go back to the group home so the Douglases and I could go back to being happy, living our quiet suburban life. It was a horrible thing to wish for, but night after night I watched the Douglases pace and fret over LeShelle’s whereabouts. Soon my wish became a prayer. Then one night, God answered my prayer….
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    It was late. LeShelle was dead set on proving that Reggie Douglas was no different than any other nigga and that he was just lying in bed with his perfect little wife but was dreaming that he was fucking one of us. LeShelle claimed that she caught him watching her switching her ass around the house. I didn’t believe it, so my sister set out to seduce him—to prove me wrong.
    I tried to talk her out of it—tried to convince her that Reggie wasn’t like our other foster fathers and uncles, but LeShelle wanted to prove that the Douglases weren’t worthy of my love and blind devotion. She preached that I needed to get my head out of the clouds and get back into the real world, where street smarts were all that a bitch needed to get by.
    LeShelle took a hot shower, oiled her body down, and then split her inky black hair into two ponytails. “Men love the idea of fucking lil girls. That’s why they always asking, ‘Who’s your daddy?’”
    I frowned. I wasn’t aware of that tidbit.
    â€œWatch and learn,” LeShelle said with a smug smile, and then headed downstairs wearing nothing but a pink towel wrapped around her incredibly grown-up curves.
    Reggie had fallen asleep watching ESPN in his favorite chair in the living room. I was scared—that my sister was right—and that I was wrong. If Reggie failed the test, would this set off a pattern of him creeping to our bedrooms? If he passed, would he be so angry that he would kick us both out? At first, I just paced around in my room, but then my curiosity started getting the best of me, and I crept toward the stairs so that I could at least hear what was going on. I didn’t need to bother, because when Reggie Douglas woke up, what I heard—what the entire neighborhood heard—was an explosion.
    â€œWHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. PUT SOME FUCKIN’ CLOTHES ON! TRACEE!!”
    I had just barely made it back to my room when Tracee fumbled out of the master bedroom and raced toward the stairs. “REGGIE? WHAT’S WRONG, REGGIE?”
    My heart pounded everywhere: my head, my throat, my chest, my stomach. This was it. LeShelle had fucked it up for the both of us. Hot tears burned the backs of my eyes as hatred started boiling in my veins.
    â€œTHAT’S IT! SHE HAS TO GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE! DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!”
    LeShelle raced back into our bedroom; her entire face was purple with anger and embarrassment. “Get your shit. We’re getting the fuck out of here!” She pulled out the torn duffel bag she had from the girls’ group home and started shoving clothes in it.
    I didn’t move.
    LeShelle crammed on a pair of panties and tight jeans. “Didn’t you hear me? I said get your shit!”
    â€œI’m not going,” I hissed through my gritted teeth.
    LeShelle froze as her homicidal gaze leveled on me. “What the fuck did you just say?”
    â€œI said I’m not going anywhere,” I repeated, my hands balled into fists at my sides. “I told you not to go down there.”
    â€œDon’t you fuckin’ start with me,” LeShelle said, determined to assert control. “I ain’t got time for your bullshit. Get your shit!”
    â€œI’m not going.”
    â€œYES