Gettin' Hooked (4 page)

“Just headed home,” I lied, unwilling to confess how whack I'd been to listen in on the ending to her conversation.

“It's nasty outside. Let me give you a ride.” She looked at me again, then quickly back at the pot on the stove. But not so quickly that I didn't see the shimmer of guilt in eyes the same shade of blue as Kayla's.

I shifted my backpack from one shoulder, sliding in the second arm. “I'll just walk.” And then I was across the room and out the slider door, the blast of wind and rain stinging my face. The relief intense.

Damn near running by the time I hit the street, I was hella trippin' over what had happened in there. First Maurice sitting all up on me, then putting his number in my phone, then my auntie talking on the phone.

Shit, it coulda been
anyone
on the other end of the line. Coulda been
about
anyone. But I couldn't help the twisting of my gut, the nagging suspicion that it wasn't just anyone, it was my mom.

Ten
days ago all anyone talked about was MySpace. Who they were talking to, who they'd met, who was fine, who was leavin' crazy-ass comments on whose page. Ten days ago, I spent whack hours updating my profile, changing the songs and videos, uploading silly pictures from my digital camera.

Ten days ago, I've got to admit, MySpace was the shit. But that was before GettinHooked.com blew up our zip code.

Now MySpace was hardly mentioned at all, and I heard nothing but buzz over our Web site and the whole prom date hook-up thang. My girls were all over this, hyped on the chance to check out the dudes at Creekside.

And I was hearing 'bout it every chance they got, between classes, during lunch, after school, texts on my cell. It was gravity, though, because I was straight digging the attention. Cool with being the one all the Howard fellas went to when they wanted to know about my cousin and her friends.

GettinHooked.com was bubbling and Kayla and I were in the middle of it.

The talk about our hook-up system was constant. Even now, during my American Government class library time, I could hear some girls whispering a few tables over. Their voices carried in the hushed quiet of study.

Not my friends really, but a couple of beezies who gave up their goodies way too easy. Not that I really had a problem with these girls. Nah, we were cool. I just don't get down to the nasty the way they do.

Creekside boys were going to be thankin' me, I thought, biting my bottom lip to keep from laughing. Yanking up my hoodie, I focused on the book spread-eagle on the table in front of me. But even in the bright overhead lighting, the words mingled and fuzzed, my thoughts drifting ahead toward prom, and wondering if GettinHooked would work out the way I'd planned it to.

Like everyone else, I was obsessed with the Web site.

“Dayum,” one girl said, her voice squealing as she drew out the
m.
“Did you peep the new guys' profiles?”

There was some muffled laughter. “Hella fine.”

I wasn't really listening, but I could still hear most of their hushed words. Knew exactly what they were talking about.

“I'ma get me some of that one boy.”

“Who?”

Yeah, who? I wondered, adjusting my hoodie so I could angle my eyes toward Chelsea and Brie, the two girls talking, though I wasn't sure which of them had commented on wanting one of the Creekside hotties.

But right as I looked over, Brie glanced my way and caught my eye. And smiled, kind of faulty, but whatever. I've known Brie since second grade when we ended up in the same class. Chelsea moved here a couple years back, from L. A., and brought some Southern Cali snob attitude with her, up here near The Bay.

Though we were cool, we weren't exactly friends, either, as we never hung at the same places, and I know these chicks wouldn't have given a damn about me if it weren't for my Web site.

Brie broke eye contact first, glancing to Chelsea and whispering something. A few seconds later, they were gathering their stuff and grabbing their backpacks to move over to the table where I was sitting.

“Hey girl, that shit you hooked up is hella clean,” Brie said, sliding into the plastic chair next to mine.

Chelsea snapped her fingers before jabbing her hands to her popped-out hip. “Off the heezy.”

“Thanks.”

“You know all those dudes?”

I shook my head. “The Creekside guys?” After they both nodded, I went on. “Nah, only some of 'em. They're mostly Kayla's peeps.”

“Fo sheedo?” Chelsea mumbled.

There was some sarcasm in her tone and I straight wanted to call her on it, but decided it best to let it go. Narrowing my eyes, I glared at her for sec, until the beotch backed down and plopped her ass into another chair.

For real? Like I was holding some info back. Totally wasn't feeling her attitude. If I'd known all those fellas the way I wanted to know one, they'd never even be asking. I'd have found another way to be with my boo.

“You know some, though, right?” Brie must have been the one who'd been wanting to get her some of. She was crazy insistent.

“I guess.”

“There's a new guy. You know 'im?”

Shrugging, I thought over the guys who'd added last night. I'd gotten up late this morning, sleeping through my alarm until Gram had finally come in and shook my ass awake. That happens sometimes when I stay up till the
A. M.
s texting and marinatin'. And oversleeping had cost me a quick check of the site this morning.

GettinHooked.com now had more than two hundred users and profiles. And more adding all the damn time. No way was I going to know what boy she was talking 'bout.

“How new?” I asked, because at least that'd help narrow it down.

“This morning.”

Fricking figures.

Chelsea smacked Brie's upper arm. “He is
fiiinnne!
My girl wants him bad.”

We all laughed, attracting glances from other students in the library. Brie did seem a little desperate. He must be hexa sexi. Pulling my cell from my pocket right quick, I glanced at the time just to see how much longer until I could blow this joint and get online. Check out who they were talking about for myself.

About twenty minutes.
“I haven't looked at the new profiles yet. What's his name?”

“Maurice something. I can't remember brotha's last name.”

A loud pounding started behind my ears and it took me a minute to figure out that it was my pulse bumping like bass drums. Maurice.
My Maurice.
Doing everything I could to look like I was chill, I struggled to breathe, but my lungs were all seized up and burning.

If they meant
my
Maurice, not that he was really mine—yet—that'd mean that he'd gone ahead and set up his profile like he said he was going to. Or maybe I was tripping. Last I checked he didn't have a page yet, and there could be more than one Maurice at Creekside. Shit, as far as I know there could be a dozen.

“Simms?” My voice cracked. I could hear it, but hoped like mad neither Chelsea nor Brie noticed. And hoped like hell she said no.

Brie licked her lips. “Simms. Yeah, that him. Maurice Simms.” Fanning her face, she lounged back in her stiff plastic seat. “That boy smokin' enough to get some of my treats.”

Behind my eyes started to sting, and I knew that meant the possibility of tears. Blinking, I pushed the liquid away. Hell no, I wasn't crying over a boy.

Not even Maurice Simms.

When my I was little, I used to cry over not having a momma. Gram would hold me, my cheek pressed against her shoulder as she stroked my soft, kinky hair. “You can cry over your momma, Imani,” she'd whispered, “but don't never, ever cry 'bout a boy.” Gram's words rang loudly in my conscience now.

Swallowing twice, I tried to clear the lump in my dry throat, to shove away the nausea churning in my gut. I'd done this all for him; sold Kayla on the idea, spent enough homework hours building our site that my grades could suffer, dismissed checking out other boys. I'd done this all for the chance to have a prom night to remember.

For the chance to be with Maurice.

Now I could lose the chance because some trick offering up easily opened thighs was stalking his fine ass. Bopper, the girl was fo sho a bopper. Only a ho would be offering up sex before she'd even met the guy.

“…him a message. See if he wants to hook up.”

Getting my tripping behind together, I pulled my attention back to the conversation. I'd missed what Brie had been saying, only catching the tail end.

“Girl, shoot, if he don't want none of you, I'll take 'im,” Chelsea said, making a show of licking her lips.

Lawdy, I wanted out of here now. Away from the table, away from the leg-spreading bendas, out of the library. Done with the school day. I needed to check Maurice's profile, and I needed to straight get ahold of Kayla and find out…I paused and took a deep breath as reality seeped in.

Find out what from Kayla? She didn't even know I had it bad for the brotha who lived across the street. And even though he'd driven me home and put his number in my phone didn't mean anything more than he was a nice guy. Sure didn't mean he was into me.

I had no claim, so if he wanted to respond to the GettinHooked messages that were sure to flood his box, that was on him.

“Imani, did you hear Mikey Harper and that one Creekside girl, Shay Kline, hooked up already?” Chelsea asked.

“I knew they were messaging. Whatcha mean by hooked up?”

Brie giggled. “Doing the do.”

“How do you know?” I'd lost it, really. What was I doing sitting here gossiping with a couple of beezies? What I needed to do was get my American Government done right quick so I could spend the rest of the night matching up my profile to Maurice's, just on the slight chance he'd pass up the offer of easy booty for me.

“Saw 'em at Walgreens buying condoms.”

My eyes got all wide in surprise. “Really?” Dayum…I guess GettinHooked was no joke. I laughed, even as I shook my head. “Guess my site works.”

Through broken giggles, Brie said, “Fa' sheezy, girl.”

“How come you don't have a page?” Chelsea was watching me all close, her mouth twisted into a smirk.

Something was up with the girl today, the attitude brimming right up to her eyeballs. She could be downright nasty to folks she didn't like, and I knew this. Still, I wasn't having it. She came to my table and she wanted on my site, then she best come at me with some respect.

Glaring back at her, I waited for her to ask again or make something of it. All bluster, I guess, because for the second time in ten minutes, she dropped the tone and checked her attitude.

She shrugged, then asked again a little more nicely. “You going to do a page, Imani?”

Um, yeah, tonight…or, shoot, right after school.
“I'm getting around to it.” Some shuffling across the room caught my attention and I realized that other students were gathering their things and zipping up their packs. That had to mean the clock was 'bout to spring us from school. “I'm gravy, though, and not worried about it,” I said casually, closing the book and leaning over to get my bag.

“Who you want to go to prom with?” Brie asked. “You had to have some dude in mind when you started this mess, didn't you?”

Shiieet, this chick was smarter than I gave her ho ass credit for. Damn straight, I knew who I wanted—always had, but no way was I going to tell her that she wanted the same hottie I did. No way was I going to let her think we were in competition.

My heart had started thumping again, along with a tingle of apprehension that was working its way down my spine. “Don't know.”
A lie.
Standing and shrugging my pack over my shoulder, I reached into the side pocket, then fit my stunnas over my eyes. “Haven't checked all the profiles yet.” The truth, but I intended to as soon as I got my butt in front of my computer.

The bell rang. Voices rose around us, and the flow of movement went eagerly toward the door as the rest of the students hustled out.

“I'm out,” I said, flashing Chelsea and Brie a peace sign, then turned and quit the library before they said anything else.

Hard to believe it was Friday already, nearly a week since my dad had come and gone again, and a few more days before he was landing in The Bay again. At least that meant that I'd be free tonight and tomorrow, unlike last weekend.

I walked along beneath the building overhang, but then reached for my umbrella and snapped it open as I moved on, away from school and toward home. The steady drizzle still hadn't let up none, but at least it wasn't all that cold.

A few other kids walked along around me, some drifting off in directions, giving a quick wave or shout-out goodbye. I returned the see-ya's, but didn't slow, too dang eager to get home and see the profile fine-ass Maurice put up.

Time to do what I could to make my own appealing, more appealing than the flood of other pigeons he was no doubt about to get. I knew Maurice was hot. Knew he was fun postin' with. Knew he was hella nice. Time now to see what kind of guy he really was. Guess I'd soon find out.