Crazy Love (10 page)

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Authors: Amir Abrams

BOOK: Crazy Love
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She laughs. “Miyah, that boy's big on you
and
he's fine.”
I laugh with her. “I know, right? But, oops . . . been there, done that!”
“Next,” we both say, snapping our fingers.
When we get to the gym, Ameerah and Brittani are already posted up on the top bleacher, scanning the boys and the bodies. “Heeeeeey,” they call out, waving as Zahara and I climb up to where they're sitting. We sit in the bleachers in front of them.
“Mmmph, look at all them hard-bodied boys,” Zahara says, leaning into my ear as I pull out my cell, “in them sexy little jumpers.”
“Girl, I'm not thinking about these hounds,” I say, reading a text from Sincere. He wants to know what time I'm gonna be home. I text him back and tell him I'll be home by eight.
Y SO LATE?
I HAVE DANCE
O. I FORGOT. WAT U DOIN NOW?
CHILLIN' WIT' MY GIRLS
“Ohh, no . . . pause, boo,” Zahara starts up. “I know you not gonna sit up here with your girls, texting ya man. That is so not cute, okay?”
“And it's rude,” Ameerah adds, sucking her teeth.
“Okay, okay. . . chill. Just let me text him this one last thing, then I'm done.”
Zahara pops her lips. “Mmmhmmm. Make it quick.”
I text Sincere and tell him that I'm going to call him on my way to the dance studio, then toss my phone back into my bag. “Happy?” I ask sarcastically.
“Very,” she says, rubbing my back. “You have all night to talk and text ya boo-thang. Right now, this is our time. So act like you know.”
I give her the finger. And for the next forty minutes we start clowning so hard, until the coach yells at us and tells us we gotta bounce. I hang around the school with my girls for another thirty minutes or so, until it's time for me to go. We all walk out together, making plans to hang out at the mall on Thursday after school.
Ameerah and Zahara catch a ride with Brittani and her sister, Briana. I watch as they all pile up in her Volvo. They wait for me to get into my car, then drive off when I pull out of my parking space. I press the phone icon on the steering wheel to call Sincere.
“Wassup, baby?” he says the minute he answers. His sexy voice fills the inside of my car and warms me.
I smile. “You.”
“Oh, word? That's wassup. How was your day?”
“It was good,” I say, making a right onto South Orange Avenue. “But hearing your voice has made it a whole lot better. And seeing you last night brought me good luck.”
“Oh, word. How?”
“I'm off punishment.”
“It's about time,” he says, sounding hyped. “What changed your mom's mind?”
I laugh. “She had to go out of town on business and she knew my dad would let me do whatever I wanted while she was gone. But, trust me. I could tell she didn't want to take me off.”
“Well, I'm glad she did.”
I can tell he's smiling. “I wanna see you tonight.”
“I wanna see you, too. What time do you have to be in the house?”
“Ten o'clock, 'cause it's a school night.” I think about trying to sneak out in the middle of the night, but dismiss the idea 'cause a) it wouldn't be cool, and b) Daddy sleeps with both eyes open, so sneaking out is definitely a no-no. “He might let me stay out a half hour later if I ask.”
“A'ight, so how 'bout you come through on your way home from dance? My parents are out until late tonight, so I have the whole house to myself for a few hours.”
My smile widens. “I can't wait. I'll see you then.”
“I'll be here waiting.”
“You better be,” I say, pulling into the parking lot of the dance studio. We talk a few minutes more, then disconnect.
12
D
ressed in white tights and a pink leotard, I slip in my Adele
19
CD, and press track twelve. I take my position. Arms extended, wrists arched over my head. Feet in fifth position, I wait. The intro to “Hometown Glory” starts playing and I begin. Dancing
en pointe
—on my toes—has become my life for the last four years. Something most ballerinas aspire to.
Instinctively, I breathe in the music, going into full
pointe,
then
battement
—a fluttering movement of the foot—then half
pointe
. I allow myself to float along with the music. Everything in me comes alive.
Plié
,
plié
,
pirouette
, then into a double
pirouette
.
And another double turn.
And another.
I am floating. Twirling and bending, fluttering like a butterfly, feeling free. In ballet, I am not Daddy's little princess. I am not my mother's enemy. I am grown and sexy. Graceful and sophisticated. I am a ballerina. I close my eyes, whipping into another double turn. My steps are light.
Pointe
, leap, balance. There's something so beautiful in the way Adele sings this song.
Piqué
turns
en dedans, pas de bourrée
. Each leap is faster than the one before. I jump and turn, leaping into another perfect
plié
in
arabesque
—balancing on the supporting leg, extending the free leg behind. I go into full
pointe
, then half, stopping in a
penché
. My leg extended behind me. Head and neck lifted.
The music stops.
And then it is over.
Miss Johvonna claps. Her smile is wide; she's clearly pleased with my solo. She's been my ballet master since I was twelve. Classically trained, she danced professionally overseas for ten years before returning to the States and opening her own studio, then starting her own production company. She has no children and no husband because she chose to marry ballet.
“That was beautiful,” she says, smiling. “You are as swift as a gazelle and as graceful as a swan. But you must remember, Kamiyah. There are no small details in ballet. If you wish to be the best, you must do the best. In your steps, in each movement, you must tell a story from your heart. You must pull from your soul. Be as cunning as a kitten and as sly as a fox. Never let them see you coming. Be swift. Be sharp. Be precise. Do you understand?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Good. You rest now.”
I curtsy, then zip past the staring eyes of the others. Jealous hoes, hating on
me.
Pulling a white towel out of my oversize bag, I pat my face, the back of my neck, then the center of my chest. I sit on the mat with my back against the wall, and remove my
pointe
shoes. I am exhausted and exhilarated. My feet ache.
Miss Johvonna claps her hands twice. The rest of the dancers come to life. She instructs them to take their spots at the barre, in first position. And then she begins snapping out combinations. Making them all start from the top when everyone's form isn't to her liking. Miss Johvonna demands nothing but the best out of her students. And she demands that her students want nothing but the best from themselves. She pushes you, and expects you to push back beyond your limits.
I pull out my cell and text Sincere, smiling. CAN U MASSAGE MY FEET 4 ME?
It takes him ten minutes and thirty-two seconds to finally text me back. I know because I watched and waited to see how long it would take him.
LOL, K I GUESS . . . WHEN U COMIN?
NOW
K
I quickly gather my things, jump in the shower, change, then quietly slip out into the night air, with thoughts of Sincere racing through my head. As I get into my car, I wonder why it took him so long to text me back.
Girl, you know how these boys do. Sneaky dogs!
But Sincere's different.
He's still a boy. And boys can't always be trusted around other girls.
My cell rings, disrupting my thoughts. It's Erika. I answer, pressing the phone icon on the steering wheel. “Hey.”
“Hey, you,” she says. “How's that new car riding?”
I smile, stopping at a light. “Like a dream come true. I love it.”
“I heard you were on punishment for a few days. I know that must have been a bummer.”
I sigh. “Ugh, don't remind me. Who told you?”
“Daddy mentioned it the other day when I was talking to him.”
“Yeah, the Wick—” I catch myself from calling her by her nickname. “Mom really tried to do me in. But it didn't last long. She took me off before she could really torture me.”
She laughs. “She must be out of town.”
“Yup.”
“I remember those days all too well. Some things never change, I see.”
I sigh. “Oh, trust me. It's worse.
She's
worse. I can't wait to get away from her.”
Erika keeps laughing. “Girl, Mom can't be that bad.”
“Mmmph. You're no longer living with her. You have no idea. She nuts up over every little thing. She's always looking for a fight about something. I can't stand it.”
“If I survived, so can you. And I was the child from hell.”
I laugh. “Yeah, true. Still . . .”
“Listen, Mom means well.”
I huff. “Yeah, right. The only thing she means to do is ruin my life every chance she gets.”
She's still laughing. “Well, hey. Look on the bright side. You have one more year to go, then you'll be off to school.”
“Yes! Thank you, Jesus! And I can finally be away from her, even if it is only across the river.”
“Speaking of which,” she says, “how's school going?”
I make a left onto South Orange Avenue. “Good. You know I'm doing well in my honor classes.”
“That's because I have a very smart sister.”
“And don't forget talented.”
“That too.”
“And fly,” I add.
“And spoiled rotten.”
I laugh with her. “Yeah, that too. How are things with you and Winston?”
“We're good. We've finally set a date, which is why I called you first.”
“Ohmygod, for reeeal?” I say excitedly. Erika and Winston have been engaged like
forever
. “It's about time. Y'all were taking mad long.”
She laughs. “It hasn't been that long. Only a year and some change.”
“Well, that sounds like a long time to me.”
“Yeah, I guess. Well, we both wanted to wait until we were almost done with law school before we actually set a date. But the plans have changed a bit.”
“Oh, yeah? How?”
“Well . . . and don't you open your mouth to say anything.”
“I won't.”
“No. I mean it, Kamiyah. Not a word.”
“Okay, okay. I said I won't say anything. I promise. Geesh. You act like I can't keep a secret.”
“Oh, like you used to when I used to sneak in and out of the house?”
I laugh. “I only told on you when you stopped giving me money.”
“It was blackmail.”
“I was only eight,” I say, making a left onto Grove Road.
“And you still had a big mouth,” she says, laughing with me.
“Well, that was then. This is now. I'm older. And trust me. I
know
how to not say anything.”
“I mean it, Kamiyah. Don't even tell your little girlfriends, either.”
“Okay, I won't. Dang. Now will you tell me what it is,
please
?”
“I'm pregnant.”
I scream. “Ohmygod! I'm gonna be an aunt. That's great! How many months are you?”
“I'm about six weeks,” she says.
“Ohmygod. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“So when's the wedding?”
“May nineteenth. And I want you to be my maid of honor.”
“Oooh, I can't wait! When are you gonna tell Daddy and Mom?”
“We're going to make the announcement Thanksgiving Day. So you can't say anything.”
“I already promised you I won't,” I say, pulling up in front of Sincere's house. His parents' house is huge, like eight bedrooms, four bathrooms, and they have an in-ground swimming pool. “Oooooh, I know Daddy's gonna be real happy. He really likes Winston.”
“I know he does,” she says, sounding all proud and whatnot. Shoot, she should be. I'm proud for her. Like I told y'all before, Winston is one fine dish of hot, dark chocolate!
“What do you think Mom is gonna say?”
“Congratulations, I hope.”
I laugh. “Ha! Good luck with that. You know she's probably gonna have a whole lot more than that to say. Oooh, I can't wait to see the expression on her face when you tell her you're pregnant. She's gonna pass out.”
And I hope she bangs her head real hard on the way down.
“And you know she's gonna have a lot to say about you getting married, especially if she has to spend her money on it. Oh yeah, she's definitely gonna have something to say about all that.”
This is great news! Hopefully she'll be too wrapped up in Erika getting pregnant instead of getting a job first, to be all up on me. She'll finally stay up off my back for a while so I can do me.
“You're probably right. Well, lucky for me, I won't have to be concerned about it. Winston and I are going to pay for our own wedding.”
I frown. “Ohmygod, that's crazy. Why? After all she put you through growing up, that's the least she can do. I'm sorry. Take the money. Paying for your wedding is like retribution.”
She laughs. “Kamiyah, girl. You're so damn silly. Winston and I decided to pay for our own wedding because it's our special day. And I don't want his mother or ours telling us what to do or how to do it.”
“Oh, wait . . . that's a great idea. Shoot. What was I thinking? If Mom and Dad don't have to pay for your wedding, then that's more money for
me
.”
“Oh, hold on, princess,” she says, cracking up. “You're getting way ahead of yourself. I didn't say anything about not wanting to spend their money. I said I don't want them spending it on my wedding. I want that money for a down payment on a house. With the baby and all, we're going to need a bigger place.”
“Oh dang,” I say, sighing. “There goes my cha-ching, cha-ching. I was already pulling out the calculator in my head.”
“Yeah, I bet you were.”
“Well, let me put it away then.”
“Yeah, you do that. And do
not
say anything to Daddy, Kamiyah. I know you won't say anything to Mom, since she's your least favorite person. But I know how you do with Daddy.”
I suck my teeth. “Dang, Erika. How many times do I have to say it? I'm not gonna say anything.”
“Good. Now enough about me. Are you still seeing that guy you were telling me about? What's his name, again?”
“Sincere. And
yes
. I'm still seeing him. Actually, we go together now.”
“Dad says he seems like a nice guy.”
“Erika, he really is. And he's so fine. Every time I'm with him he makes me feel stuff I've never felt with any other guy.”
She laughs. “I know that feeling. Sounds like you're in love with him.”

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