Gettin' Hooked (8 page)

“I didn't
know you were coming in today, Daddy,” I said, snuggling into his embrace, not givin' a damn that we were standing in the admin office. Only seeing him a few days a month wasn't enough. But I knew he was gone all the time because he was doing his best for me.

His arms were tight around me, his chest strong and lean. The warm scent of Polo cologne that clung to his clothes was bringing tears to me eyes, reminding me of when I was younger and he'd cradle me close. When his flights had been domestic, rather than international, and he spent more time at home.

“My flight schedules were rearranged.”

“What are you doing here?”

He chuckled, the rumble against my cheek familiar and comforting. “I live in this area, in case you didn't know,” he said teasingly, one large hand stroking across my hair.

“I mean at school. You came home to me being in trouble.” Snap, I hadn't meant to say that. Mr. Alton was straight trippin' and I hadn't done anything wrong.

My dad put his hands around my shoulders and backed me out of his embrace. “Trouble, Imani?” His gaze landed on my black eye, then his dark eyes narrowed. “What's going on, girl? Talk to me.”

“It was an accident. Really,” I added when he continued to look at me all skeptical like.

He nodded, but still looked pensive. After a quick sec, he stroked a gentle thumb over my bruised cheekbone. “You win?”

“I wasn't fighting.”

With another nod he gave me an odd look, then smiled as he hugged me again, planting a kiss on my temple. “Let me check you out and we'll get out of here.” He took my pack. “You can tell me about your trouble in the car.”

About ten minutes later we'd escaped the office, made our way through the pouring rain and finally took refuge in his hella clean black Lexus, and I was free of school for the rest of the day. That helped ease my whacked-out, frazzled nerves, but I was still feeling the onset of a cold and the lingering festering of a heart that been used the wrong way.

Cuddling up in the leather seat, I leaned my forehead against the cool glass as my daddy drove. Fat raindrops snaked down the outside window, the clouds thick and darkening around us.

With the soft voice of Usher, my baby-boy, seeping from the speakers thanks to XM Radio, I felt my lids droop and the restless last couple of nights start to ease from my bones. From my tired and sick body.

“Daddy,” I said sleepily, “how come you haven't mentioned my trouble?”

He relaxed in his seat, his left elbow on the window frame, his long fingers managing the wheel, his other hand casually tossed over the gearshift. He grinned, then winked. “Because I didn't know about it. You told on yourself, baby.”

What the—“How'd you know I was in the office? How'd Mr. Alton know you were coming?”

“I called. Asked them to call you to the office. Thought you could play hooky for the day, spend a little time with me. I'm only home for two days.”

He took my hand. “Now don't look so sad, Imani, you know I'd stay longer if I could.”

“I know.” My words were whispered, but hard to push out they were so lodged in my dry throat. I did know. His schedule was hard on him, too.

Pulling slowly into the breakfast line at McD's, my dad clamped down his foot on the brake and angled more fully toward me. “Why don't you tell me about your eye? Who'd you fight? I'm guessing that's the trouble you were talking about.”

I laughed. Fo' sho', parents thought they knew everything. “Not really.”

“Oh?”

“I wasn't fighting.”

“That's good. So what happened then?”

I sighed, then decided to clue him in on most of what was going down. I'd leave off the double kiss afternoon. No need having my daddy freakin' about the boy situation. No need for my dad's usual threats against any fellas interested in messin' with me.

“Actually, it's about a Web site.”

“Go on.” He pulled the car up one, bringing us a little closer to the menu board.

“Right. You won't freak, will you?”

My daddy laughed, his hand tightening around mine, it wasn't painful, but reassuring. “I'm cool, baby, but you'd best start talking.”

“Kayla and I set up a Web site, like a locals-only MySpace.” I watched his face, and lowered my voice. “To get prom dates.”

He'd been looking straight ahead and tapping his fingers in rhythm with the song, but as soon as the word
date
slipped past my lips his dark eyes and all his attention were focused on me.

“Prom dates?”

A little anxious giggle bubbled up. “Yeah, Daddy, you know that I've gone to school with the same guys forevah! Prom's supposed to be special, but the fellas at Howard are tapped, played out and tired.”

“So how's your cousin figure in?”

“She feels the same way about her friends at Creekside, so our site is set up to kinda…um…er, trade.”

“Trade?”

“Fa shizzle. My girls can meet fellas from Creekside. Kayla's peeps can meet fellas from Howard. It's perfect. We all live close. We all needed dates.”

We pulled up another spot, easing closer to ordering, the thought causing my stomach to grumble in hunger. With his foot back on the brake, he glanced at me again.

“Look at you, Imani. You're beautiful. I hardly think you'll have any trouble finding a guy to escort you to prom.” He chuckled, then shook his head in sympathy. “Poor boy.”

I laughed with him. “What's that supposed to mean?” I shrugged and held out my hands, palm up, to my sides.

“Just that you're more than beautiful. You're smart. And special. Some poor fella is going to be a fool for you sometime soon, baby.”

“You're my daddy. You're supposed to think I'm pretty and special,” I replied, grinning for the first time all morning.

“Nah, it's more than that, Imani. You're like your momma, she was so pretty and sweet.”

I held my breath, shock trembling though my system.
Go on, oh, God, go on,
my heart begged, at the same time tears burned behind my eyes. My hands shook, so I folded them in my lap, and kept my gaze trained out the window, just as I had been.

My momma was a non-topic, and I can't remember the last time, if ever, my daddy had spoken about her calmly. And the few memories I do have, he'd been filled with anger and bitter.

I swallowed right quick, then licked my lips, trying to find a little moisture.
…like your momma, she was so pretty and sweet…
Those words had been said softly and filled with such tenderness.

It felt good, hella good to hear him talk about her like she'd actually been a part of his life rather than a big blank. But the light feeling was quickly overshadowed by something else.

Fear.

Had something happened to her? I'm not sure why it mattered, since it'd been such a long time since she'd been in my life anyway, but a gnawing burn started in my gut and wouldn't quit.

The pieces seemed to fit. First my auntie's phone call, and this gut feeling that she'd been talkin' about me. Then there'd been the pictures that Gram had hidden under her book. The envelope. And now my daddy talking 'bout her like she'd passed.

I swallowed again, choking down the lump of raw pain. “Daddy?” My voice cracked, and his gaze swiveled to my face.

“Hmm?”

“Is my momma dead?”

His shoulders seemed to deflate, a whistled breath rushing past his lips. He remained casually reclined in his leather seat, but I could see the tension in the way his knuckles gripped the wheel. In the way his jaw clenched. I could feel the tension tapdancing along my spine.

Finally, after a dragged-out moment, he said, “I don't know, baby.” He shrugged. “I don't know where she's at. I quit keeping track when you were about ten.”

And lawdy, that hurt nearly as bad, something sharp and hot pierced my chest and left me feeling empty and sad. Being dead woulda been a hexa good excuse for droppin' out my life and staying gone. Just being gone meant she really didn't have any interest in being my momma at all.

And I knew that already. I knew she walked out on me.
Her loss,
I silently repeated, the same reassurance I always brushed up on.

“Wh—” I had to break off to get the tears out of my throat and to wipe the trails of liquid from my cheeks. “Why'd she leave?”

Seventeen and I'd never once asked him direct.

His hand gripped mine, firm but expressing emotion. “Imani, baby, I wish I could give you the answers you deserve. I loved the girl.” He shook his head. “I loved the girl, and if she wanted to leave me, I'd have been hurt but would've dealt with it. She had no right to leave you.”

I gulped. “And that's why you've never forgiven her?”

“She hasn't asked for forgiveness. That requires she repent. If she isn't dead, baby, then her years and years of silence, of staying away, tells me she's not sorry. I can't forgive that.”

My lips were quivering so bad I had to tuck my lower one between my teeth, and there was no stopping the silent tears as they poured over my lashes.

“Hey, pretty girl,” my daddy said, putting a big palm across my cheek and swiping away the silver trails. “I love you very much. Your momma may not want you, but, baby, I do. I couldn't be prouder of my girl.”

His thumb smoothed across my plump and bruised eye, causing me to suck my teeth and wince.

“Even with your busted-up eye.” He laughed, then, looking forward, he eased his foot off the brake and pulled up to the menu. With a touch of his fingertip, his window went down all smooth. He smiled at me and I knew in that smile that his words were true. “You ready to order?”

I forced a smile. “Yeah. And we should take something to Gram, too.”

And then we went on to order some food and while my daddy paid and we waited for it to be prepped and bagged, I eased back into my seat and watched the rain fall noisily across the glass, then slide downward, just like my eyelids.

As I drifted in the haze of half consciousness and half sleep, I realized that today could be one of those lazy days where we lounge around, watch movies, eat popcorn and just spend the day as a family, safe from the weather. Safe from the world.

And today I could ditch school—with my daddy's help—and I could take cold medication, and forget about classes, homework, friends. Forget about my poppin' off outta control Web site. Forget about boys and prom dates.

Forget about kisses, and dark, dark eyes that stroked my soul and made me want something.

Today was a day of forgetting and getting onward. Exactly what I needed. My daddy and home and sleep.

My
daddy had dropped me off back at school Wednesday morning on his way to the airport again. I hadn't been ready to see him go, but after being home all day Monday and Tuesday, sleeping and getting the tender care of Gram's chicken and dumplings, I'd been ready to see my peeps again.

In those two days of being home, I'd kept my cell off and had gotten online once, but then it had only been to check GettinHooked's numbers. Tuesday afternoon they'd been 3,204.

And I found a problem. A hella huge frickin' problem. All of 'em weren't just from Howard and Creekside. Like stuff always goes down, someone had told someone else who then flapped their lips, and word had spread. GettinHooked was off the chain, and had spread across the entire area.

GettinHooked was bumping, straight blowing up. There were so many people now that they were just making dates on their own, hooking up, when they exchanged e-mails and messages. I wasn't involved in the planning anymore, and I fo' sho' doubted Kayla was, either.

Feel apprehensive about all the area schools getting their sticky fingers into our find-a-prom-date idea, I'd sent Kayla a message, letting her know why I was home, and asking her what we should do about the jumping, pumping numbers.

She'd instantly e-mailed back, Nothing. It's hot. And I met a guy. I tried to ask her about 'im, but she must've gotten offline right after hitting Send 'cause she'd quit replying to my messages. And I'd gone back to my spot on the couch anyway, to spend the time with my daddy. Even Gram joined us, deciding to venture from her room.

And I'd hardly checked the site or talked to Kayla after that, because returning to school on Wednesday had been hexa jacked, filled with makeup work and trying to catch up on missed exams, the messed-up thang about not being at school. And there'd been a lot to catch up on, too, since we were steppin' from school for the next ten days for spring break, so tests and junk were on double uptake.

And the fact that we were at spring break already freaked me the hell out. Snap, less than three weeks after that was prom. Three weeks after chillin' and marinatin' while off school, and I was still no closer to having the perfect prom date than I was when I'd thought up this mess in the first place.

Trying not to think about it, I spent the week studying, my head in a book rather than on my dateless prom, and the fellas I had to choose from. At least my girls had been hooking up like mad, finding dudes to go along with their pre-picked dresses. And from Kayla's less frequent messages, she had a boy spittin' at her, too.

Shortened to a three-day school week, it still dragged on hella long, and I'd gotten to the point that I was avoiding the scrubs and beezies at Howard who wanted inside tracks on hook-ups because this whole thang had gotten out of hand.

By Friday I was more than ready to blow school and spend some time postin' with Kayla. I'd already told Gram I was headed to my cousin's right after school, so as soon as the bell rang after American Government, I headed toward her house rather than home.

The walk wasn't far, and I spent most of it scrolling through text messages I hadn't answered all week. Nothing really important, just “what ups” and “where you beens,” except there were a few messages from Darian, too, that I'd done a pretty good job ignoring.

It's not that I didn't dig the boy. He was fine, and seemed into me, but somethin' kept me from wanting to get to know him better.

Maurice.

And the fact that I hadn't been able to get him from my mind since he kissed me bugged and nagged at me. Not even while sick and sleepy had the memory of his mouth on mine been far off, and a couple times I'd been tempted to head back to the computer to check out his profile. Again. But I hadn't.

I just felt so hella confused, because despite pushing 'im away and refusing to be bossed 'round by him, if there was a fella I wanted to spend time with, it was Maurice. Not Darian.

It was all gravity, though; hell no was I wasting time trippin'. I wasn't a bopper, or a girl that'd let a dude get over. If either of them wanted to get at me, they'd have to step correct.

Slushing my sneakers along the sidewalk, my pace slow, the cool air on my cheeks froze up the increasing heat on my cheeks as I drew closer to Kayla's. And Maurice's. I had this weird crazy need to stay away from the boy, to not look into his hella fine face, or into dark eyes that made my stomach feel warm and my heart rate pick up speed.

Thinking of him, wondering about him did funny thangs to me. Made my pulse race. Made me want to smile. And cry. And all that bent out of shape emotion was running amok on how I was dealin' with shit. Seeing him made it worse.

And even though I'd peeped him a couple times throughout the week, once while out with my dad and another after school Thursday, I'd straight dodged him, doing everything I could to avoid him.

Pausing at the end of the cul-de-sac, I could only hope he wasn't outside today since it had at last quit raining. I took a few steadying breaths, then made my way around the corner so I could peep into the court, hoping the street was silent and empty.

Breathing a sigh of relief when I didn't see Maurice, or anyone else, I lingered, hesitant, but also knowing he could drive around the corner any sec in his hella clean black Altima and see me standing here like a damn fool.

Sliding my pack from my shoulders, I reached into the front pocket and shuffled through for my iPod, then popped the tiny buds into my ears, found a bangin' song and smashed my thumb gently to make it play. At least with music ring-a-dingin' I'd be able to pretend to not notice Maurice if he did come out before I made it inside Kayla's. Or I'd be able to make ignoring him seem reasonable.

Scoffing at myself, I flung my backpack on again, and headed down the court, my pace quicker now, and careful to keep my face forward and my gaze schooled, not trailin' off toward his place. And before I knew it, I was heading around to the side gate of my cousin's house to go in through the kitchen, and without having to deal with seeing Maurice.

The slider was open, as usual, so I let myself in. Besides Kayla, the house was wiped out, my auntie and uncle gone on a ten-day Alaskan cruise and Brandon staying with our unshared gramma, his dad's side, for spring vacation.

Music echoed down the hallway from upstairs, so I jogged up to Kayla's room, tapping my knuckles against the door as I let myself in.

“What's crack-a-lackin'?” I said, dropping into the beanbag chair, tossing my backpack aside as I tucked my headphones back into the front pocket and put my iPod away.

She grinned at me, looking up with blue eyes so bright I knew something was up with her.

“Hey, girl.” She whispered the greeting, but I could tell she was listening to someone else. Sitting on the floor, the phone propped between her ear and shoulder, her legs spread out into a wide
V,
pictures scattered on the carpet between, she was wiggling her bare toes to the rhythm of Diddy.

After a sec, she picked up a picture and handed it to me, her lips forming the word “fine” but not a sound seeping out. I laughed as I accepted the picture that had been printed off the computer, angling it so I could check it out.

Oh, yeah, the boy was a hottie, all right. A light-skinned brotha, with cornrows braided into his hair and hazel eyes that twinkled like he was 'bout to get over.

Kayla giggled at something said on the other end of the phone, her laughter drawing my attention right quick from the pic she'd handed me.

“Who dat is?” I asked.

She wiggled her pale brows, then lifted a second picture from the floor and handed it my way. The same fella, just a different pose. A different day, judging by the hair, now in a tight fade.

“He's
cute
.”

“Yup.” She handed me a few more pictures to check out, then turned her attention back to the caller. “Hey, lemme call you back, 'kay? My cousin's here.”

She was quiet for a quick min, only Diddy's voice interrupting the silence, and while Kayla listened to what some boy was spittin' at her, my gaze slowly drifted to the window, and my mind to Maurice.

Was he at home? Was he chillin' with Brie? Had they hooked up? And why had he been so demanding, why had he kissed me? Was there something more than his busted-up pride at steak?

“Oh, my God, I like that boy,” Kayla said, her tone light with joy, drawing my attention back to her.

“He's a boy? He looks older. Where he from?”

“Chicago, but he's in Arizona now.” She reached forward, blond strands falling in her face as she gently touched my cheek. “Your eye doesn't look too bad.”

I knew what the girl was about, trying to change the subject, thinking I might miss the mention of her diggin' a dude from another state. “Much better than it was,” I replied, smoothing my fingertips across skin that had been so tender a few days back.

“That was crazy. Did Michelle get suspended?”

“Nah, but can you believe how messed up it is that Mr. Alton tried to make me take some blame?” And in a way I knew he was been right: some of the responsibility did lie on my Web site.

“Messed up, Imani. I'm glad you didn't get in trouble though.”

“Me, too.” I lifted a different photo, slanting it foward, wanting to get back to this guy and the mention of Arizona. “What's his name?”

“James Drew, isn't he so frickin' hot.”

“How you meet him?”

Her cheeks went from pale peaches to strawberry in the thump of a heartbeat. “Gettin' Hooked.”

“Gettin' Hooked! Kayla, you gotta be kiddin' me.” Panic started speeding through my blood as I pushed off the beanbag and went to her desk to flick on her computer.

I knew our profiles numbers were insane now, but I'd assumed they were all semilocal high schools wanting on board. But if Kayla was talking to someone out of state, then our Web site had to be all over the freakin' place now.

“He's a Sun Devil. A freshman at Arizona State.”

The computer was taking a sec to come out of sleep mode. “In college, Kayla, dayum.”

My hands were trembling as I scrolled the mouse through some of the new profile pages, the browser laggin' probably because of how huge the site had become.

“He's just nineteen, though,” she mumbled, her tone just sharp enough to sound a little defensive.

“Is this the guy you were telling me about?”

“Nope.” She moved in behind me, the pictures that had been on the floor gathered into a stack in her hand. Kneeling right behind me, she reached over and took control of the mouse. “This is him.” She clicked on a profile.

“Chris Lewis,” I said, not needing to read his name. He went to Howard and I'd known him since we were eleven. “He's nice. What happened to diggin' him? You were hella hyped on him all week.”

“Nah, just for a few days, not all week. And besides, that was before I peeped out this boy.” She dropped the photos onto the desk.

“So you're just blowing Chris off?”

Kayla shrugged, but I could see the guilt in her blue eyes and by the way she kept looking away, unable to meet my gaze. I knew this girl and there wasn't much she could hide from me.

“We were supposed to go out tonight, but I told him my parents said another time.”

“Your parents aren't even home.”

She laughed. “I know.”

My mouth plopped open as I stared at my cousin, having a hard time figuring out what was going on with her. She'd grabbed up all her hair and was busy twisting it into a braid.

“Darian said you're not callin' him back.”

She brought up Darian to change the subject again. And just like she'd closed down, I wasn't in the mood to share, either. A first for us. It was hecka weird. I forced a smile and shrugged. “I will.”

Pushing away from the computer, I got to my feet, then took her hand and yanked her up. “Come on, I'm starved. Let's find grub and put on a movie or something. Then we can decide what's up for later tonight.”

“Okay, Imani, nice one.” She laughed as she shut off Diddy and followed me out of her tie-dyed room and down the hall. “Don't talk. I see how it is, girlfriend.”

“Fa shizzle, Kayla. I'm just hungry.”

“Riiiight.” She made a clicking sound with her lips, and when I turned and glanced at her she was rolling her eyes at me. “But you should know—” She giggled. “Darian got it bad for you. What's going on with you two? I was kinda feelin' you and Maurice hooking up.”

I paused, turning to look at her. “Why you think that?”

“He asks about you, is all.” She tugged on my hand, swinging our arms like we did when we were little. “Besides, he looks at you different. I don't know how to describe it, just different. Like warm or somethin' crazy. And he did put his number in your phone.”

“He didn't ask me to call him though.”