meet
him
at Penn Station. You know that waiting area with all the chairs?”
“By the escalators?”
“Yup. I was sitting there for like a hour. I didn’t see him, so I just went back home.”
“Your mother didn’t say nothing when you came in so late?”
She sucks her teeth again. “She wasn’t even there when I got home. Braxton must’ve come for her.”
“Well, how do you know she didn’t check on you before she left?”
“She didn’t.”
“But how do you know? Couldn’t she have opened your bedroom door and seen that you weren’t there?”
“Did I get in trouble?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Well, I guess she didn’t check, huh?” She shakes her head and goes back to her story. “Like I was saying, when I got home, I logged on to IM, and he was waiting for me, talking ’bout how he got stuck in the library studying and lost track of the time.”
“Library?” I reach out and touch Cherise’s forehead to check for a fever. “You alright? It ain’t like you to go for the smart ones.”
“Shut up. He could be as smart as he wants. He looks good AND he got money.”
Now that’s the Cherise I know and love. But still … “Maybe I should go with you the next time you see him.”
The look on her face says it all. She’s right, though. There’s no way in hell I’d sneak out of my house in the middle of the night.
Cherise and I linger in the hallway before first period but see no sign of Greg. A few guys try to talk to me, but I’m getting pretty good at smiling and saying no thank you. When Cherise and I walk into class, Mr. Speight is in the middle of a tirade.
“Only four people passed,” he says with disgust, “and only two people got a perfect score.”
There are thirty-some-odd students in the class, so that’s an abysmal pass-to-fail ratio. As Mr. Speight makes mention of the perfect scores, all thirty-some students look over at me. It doesn’t help that Mr. Speight glances in my direction.Everyone knows I got the ten out of ten. Cherise is most likely the other since she copied all of my answers. I try to tell her to get at least one wrong so things won’t look suspicious. The girl never listens.
“I must be a bad teacher, because that quiz was really not that difficult. And question six, come on, people.”
During gym, we get stuck inside on the eighth floor. It’s overcast outside and the teacher doesn’t want to risk getting caught in a downpour. The rest of the girls are playing volleyball. I hate volleyball, so I convince Cherise to shoot hoops with me at the other end of the gym.
“Spread your fingertips out on the ball and leave a little space between the ball and the palm of your hand. Don’t forget to keep your elbow in.” I don’t even know why I’m wasting my breath, because Cherise uncorks a heave that would have made a shot-putter proud. I feel sorry for the backboard after her shot ricochets to the other side of the court. I chase the ball down, apologizing to the other girls for interrupting their stupid volleyball game, and show Cherise how it’s done.
Cherise is shaking her head after watching me hit jump shots from all over the court. “That’s just ridiculous, Teenie. No girl should be able to shoot like that.”
“And why the hell not?”
She thinks for a few seconds. “They just shouldn’t, that’s all.”
“Don’t hate, congratulate,” I say just as I flick up another jumper. It misses badly.
“That’s what you get for talking crap. I’m going to play volleyball.”
Cherise runs over to the other side of the gym and leaves me to work on my form. If there’s one benefit to having two older brothers, it’s learning how to shoot a basketball. Wazi and Kari had me shooting on a ten-foot rim when I was five years old. Basketball is a big deal in my house. Beresford is a big Knicks fan, and my brothers play on the basketball team at the University of Maryland.
With my jump shot, I’m more than good enough to be
him
at Penn Station. You know that waiting area with all the chairs?”
“By the escalators?”
“Yup. I was sitting there for like a hour. I didn’t see him, so I just went back home.”
“Your mother didn’t say nothing when you came in so late?”
She sucks her teeth again. “She wasn’t even there when I got home. Braxton must’ve come for her.”
“Well, how do you know she didn’t check on you before she left?”
“She didn’t.”
“But how do you know? Couldn’t she have opened your bedroom door and seen that you weren’t there?”
“Did I get in trouble?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Well, I guess she didn’t check, huh?” She shakes her head and goes back to her story. “Like I was saying, when I got home, I logged on to IM, and he was waiting for me, talking ’bout how he got stuck in the library studying and lost track of the time.”
“Library?” I reach out and touch Cherise’s forehead to check for a fever. “You alright? It ain’t like you to go for the smart ones.”
“Shut up. He could be as smart as he wants. He looks good AND he got money.”
Now that’s the Cherise I know and love. But still … “Maybe I should go with you the next time you see him.”
The look on her face says it all. She’s right, though. There’s no way in hell I’d sneak out of my house in the middle of the night.
Cherise and I linger in the hallway before first period but see no sign of Greg. A few guys try to talk to me, but I’m getting pretty good at smiling and saying no thank you. When Cherise and I walk into class, Mr. Speight is in the middle of a tirade.
“Only four people passed,” he says with disgust, “and only two people got a perfect score.”
There are thirty-some-odd students in the class, so that’s an abysmal pass-to-fail ratio. As Mr. Speight makes mention of the perfect scores, all thirty-some students look over at me. It doesn’t help that Mr. Speight glances in my direction.Everyone knows I got the ten out of ten. Cherise is most likely the other since she copied all of my answers. I try to tell her to get at least one wrong so things won’t look suspicious. The girl never listens.
“I must be a bad teacher, because that quiz was really not that difficult. And question six, come on, people.”
During gym, we get stuck inside on the eighth floor. It’s overcast outside and the teacher doesn’t want to risk getting caught in a downpour. The rest of the girls are playing volleyball. I hate volleyball, so I convince Cherise to shoot hoops with me at the other end of the gym.
“Spread your fingertips out on the ball and leave a little space between the ball and the palm of your hand. Don’t forget to keep your elbow in.” I don’t even know why I’m wasting my breath, because Cherise uncorks a heave that would have made a shot-putter proud. I feel sorry for the backboard after her shot ricochets to the other side of the court. I chase the ball down, apologizing to the other girls for interrupting their stupid volleyball game, and show Cherise how it’s done.
Cherise is shaking her head after watching me hit jump shots from all over the court. “That’s just ridiculous, Teenie. No girl should be able to shoot like that.”
“And why the hell not?”
She thinks for a few seconds. “They just shouldn’t, that’s all.”
“Don’t hate, congratulate,” I say just as I flick up another jumper. It misses badly.
“That’s what you get for talking crap. I’m going to play volleyball.”
Cherise runs over to the other side of the gym and leaves me to work on my form. If there’s one benefit to having two older brothers, it’s learning how to shoot a basketball. Wazi and Kari had me shooting on a ten-foot rim when I was five years old. Basketball is a big deal in my house. Beresford is a big Knicks fan, and my brothers play on the basketball team at the University of Maryland.
With my jump shot, I’m more than good enough to be
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