True Story (11 page)

I scanned my reflection in the full-length bathroom mirror.

I ran my hands over my hips.

I popped my cotton candy–colored lips.

I sucked my stomach in.

“Poetic Justice” boomed as I stepped into Cisero Murphy Billiards. My hair, which I usually wore in a ponytail, flowed over my shoulders and bounced with my every move.

To say that I was nervous would be a major understatement. Every nerve in my body was having an anxiety attack. And I wasn't quite sure why.

Was it guilt?

Was it butterflies?

I scanned the middle of the room. Then I looked from side to side.

To the right. Third pool table in. Dressed in slightly baggy carpenter jeans, a white tee, and crisp white Jordans on his feet. Looking fresh.

“So from what I can see”—I grabbed a pool stick off the wall and chalked the tip—“you wanted me to come here so that I could spank you real quick and send you home to your roommate, crying.”

“Word? Is that so?” Josiah looked up and his eyes danced all over me. He glanced at the word
Love
on my shirt, winked, and then took a shot, knocking the eight ball in a pocket. He walked over and kissed me on my forehead. I closed my eyes and drank in his Cool Water cologne.

“You a'ight?” he asked, locking eyes with me.

“I'm good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Because you don't have that cheesy fifth-grade smile on your face. The one where your dimples sink into your cheeks and your cheeks move into your eyes.”

I tried my best to give him the gas face, but no matter how much I tried to fight it, that silly smile made an appearance.

Josiah chuckled. “There's my smile.” He nodded. “Yeah, my Seven's good.”

I felt so silly. “Whatever.” I playfully hit him on the forearm.

“Now, Miss Seven McKnight. Do you need me to show you how to rack the balls? Or you got this?” He pointed to the pool table.

I chuckled. “Don't even try it. I taught you how to play pool. Let us not forget Arizona's in Newark, where Shae and I beat you and Country to a pulp.”

He smiled. And oh, what a cute smile. “We let you win.”

“Ha. Yeah, okay. Don't do me any favors. Now rack the balls, sir.”

“Don't say that.” He laughed, gathering the striped and solid-colored balls.

“Say what?”

“Rack the balls. That sounds so, so nasty.”

I laughed. “What. Ever. That's 'cause your mind stays in the gutter.”

“Nah, my mind stays on you.”

I blushed. “Okay, Josiah. Flattery will not stop me from beating you. So don't try and throw me off by flirting with me.” I took position. Broke up the balls. And knocked two solids in the pocket. “Bam!” I walked over to the opposite end of the table, picked up Josiah's soda, and took a sip.

“Oh word. You on my drink?”

“Winning makes me thirsty.”

I took another shot and missed. “Can't win forever.” I sipped more of his soda.

“But you can always come back.” Josiah took position, popped a shot, and as two balls slowly rolled and fell into opposing pockets, he walked over to me. He took his soda out of my hands and took a sip. He slurped. Shook the ice cubes around. “Yo, you know you wrong. How you gon' drink all my soda?”

“Don't be cheap, baby.” I playfully tapped him on the butt. “But don't worry. With the twenty dollars you 'bout to pay me for whupping you, I'll buy you another one.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. You know the rules. If you lose, twenty bills, boo.”

“Yeah, a'ight.” He pointed his stick and knocked a ball in. “And what you gon' give me if you lose?”

“I don't know.”

“Oh, you know.” He stood up and looked at me. “One thing I know about you is that you're very clear. You know exactly what you wanna do.”

“If you say so.” I shrugged. “I guess.”

“You guess? Guessing? Nah, that's not even you.”

“You sure about that?”

“I know that for a fact. Did you forget who you were talking to? I know everything about you. Your favorite color, your favorite thing to eat, your fears, what makes you cry, what makes you laugh. And I know I spent a lot of time acting like your writing didn't matter. But it always mattered. And when your blog blew up and went crazy, yo, I was so happy for you. And ever since then, I have read practically everything you've written.”

“Really?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Well, since you know everything about me, then tell me why am I trying to figure out what I'm doing here . . . with you?”

He boldly picked me up and sat me on the edge of the pool table. “You're trying not to face the truth. But your thoughts are clear and concise.”

“Really? So what's the truth here?”

“The truth is, we're best friends. Have always been. You love me and I know I love you. I want you back. But I'm willing to fall back and play my position until kissing you is no longer enough for me.” He gave me a soft peck on the lips. “Oh, and here's another thing that's the truth. I'm 'bout to whup the mess outta you.” He placed his arms around the sides of my waist, took position, made a shot, and I'm not sure how many he knocked in, but I heard at least two slamming into the corner pockets.

He gave me a quick peck and as he went to turn away, I slid off the edge of the table and pulled him back toward me. “The truth is . . . I'm not as clear as you think I am. I'm confused. I feel guilty. And unsure. But one thing I know is that I want to be here. And I want to be here with you.”

Josiah stroked my hair. “Listen, when we're together, nothing else exists but us. Okay?”

“Okay.” I slid my arms around his neck, locked my fingers, and kissed him. Vehemently. Passionately.

“Don't think you're slick,” Josiah whispered against my lips as we ended our kiss.

I laughed. “Slick?”

“Yeah. Trying to distract me. 'Cause you know I'm 'bout to kill it.” He took a shot and missed.

“Yawn. Let me show you how we do this, since it seems you've forgotten.”

 

“And when are you going to pass off my twenty bills?” I asked Josiah as we held hands and walked back to my apartment.

“Twenty?”

“Don't even try it.”

“A'ight, a'ight. You won. So here you go.” He reached into his back pocket, took out his wallet, and handed me a twenty-dollar bill.

“Now give your speech.”

“Speech? What speech?”

“The same speech you gave last year. And the year before that. And the year before that. Whenever I beat you.” I placed one hand on my hip.

Josiah chuckled. “Yo, you know that's the broke speech. We only made up that speech when I didn't have any money.”

“Nah, you've been upgraded, so we gon' upgrade the stakes. Money and the speech.”

“You owe me.”

“Go 'head, baby. Getcha speech on.”

“Seven McKnight. You are the flyest player in the world.”

“That you have ever known.”

“What?”

“Say it.”

“That I have ever known.”

“And I don't know why I think I can beat you. Say it,” I insisted.

“Seven.”

I pouted.

“I hate when you give me that look. A'ight. And I don't know why I think I can beat you.”

“Cause all I do is what?”

“Win.”

“Bam!” I kissed him. “Now was that so hard?”

He slid his hands into my back jeans pockets. “Nothing's too hard for you.”

I smiled as I laid my head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

“I'ma see you at my game tomorrow? You know it's the championship.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So does that mean you're going to be there?”

“Of course I'll be there.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I'm sure. You just make sure you're ready to play ball, homie. I don't wanna watch you flying through the sky for nothing.”

“It won't be for nothing, baby. I promise you.”

“You gon' come home with the trophy?”

“Hell, yeah.”

We gave each other a pound and said simultaneously, “That's my homie!”

We laughed, held hands, joked, and reminded each other of the silly things we once did, as we strolled back to my dorm.

I hadn't felt this free in what felt like forever.

Once we reached my dorm, I stood on the top step, looked down at Josiah, who stood on the bottom step, and said, “I had a great time.”

“Me too.”

“I can't wait to see your game.” I placed my arms on his shoulders and caressed the back of his neck.

“I can't wait to see you there.” He kissed me softly. “You sure we have to say good night? I could come upstairs.”

“I know but . . . I don't know if I can go out like that. At least not yet.”

“I understand. But maybe we can chill a little more. No pressure.”

“Josiah.”

He pressed his forehead against mine. “It's just that I've missed you like crazy and for me to have this chance again, to have you on my arm and be like we used to be when you were my shortie and I was your superman, I just hate for the night to end.”

“Me too.”

But the night did end, which was cool, because we walked, and talked, and kicked it until the morning moved in.

“I think I should get going,” I said as we returned to my dorm.

“Yeah, I need some sleep. I'ma see you tonight though, right?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

I gave him one last kiss before going upstairs to my apartment, and the minute I entered my room and lay across my bed, Shae and Khya crowded my doorway.

“I sure hope he's worth it,” Shae said.

I jumped, clearly caught off guard. “Shae.”

“Don't lie, 'cause I saw you out the window.”

“Yeah, we did.” Khya nodded. “And I hope he's worth it too, because I have worked out this slide-to-side schedule and figured out Monday, Wednesday, and Saturdays work best for the two of you.”

Shae stormed away while Khya walked into my room, lay across the foot of my bed with her chin resting in the palm of her hand, and said, “Now start from the beginning . . .”

K
hya sat on the edge of my bed as I slid on a pair of black skinny jeans and a pink, Black Girls Rock T-shirt. “I need to ask you a question.”

“What?”

“Your phone has been ringing off the hook. Is that your mama, boo-love, or slide-to-the-side?”

“Who?” I squinted.

“Your mama, Zaire, or Josiah?”

“Zaire. Why?”

She arched a brow. “Have you answered at least one of his calls?”

“No. Because—”

“Oh no! We don't do that!” she snapped. “You tryna break up?”

I hesitated. “No . . . I don't know. But I know I'm not trying to break up today. But I don't want to think about that right now. I just wanna get ready for this game.”

“Stop the press. We got to clean up the mess, bey'be. Look-a here—rule 101, section 3, article Z, or something like that, in the playette handbook. It clearly reads that unless you want Boo-Love running up on you and Slide-to-the-Side, then after every argument, you have to make up with him before he turns serial-killer stalker on you. Gurl, you gotta get your mind right.”

“He doesn't expect me to call him. He knows we just had an argument.”

“No, Seven. Trust me.”

“Listen to her, Seven,” Courtney said, clearly minding my business. “Because when I met Big Honey the other day and I wasn't sure how this was gon' work out, being that Slowreeka is addicted to me, Khya worked out a schedule for me and now I am home free to work it out with Big Honey.” He snapped his fingers and tossed his peach boa over both shoulders.

“What in the heck is a
Big Honey
?”

“Why you gotta say her name like that? Big Honey is her nickname. Bigastheworld is her real name.”

“What in the . . .”

Courtney frowned. “See, this is why I can't talk to you.”

“Look, you and Courtney can argue tomorrow,” Khya said in a panic. “But as for right now, I just need you to call Zaire.”

“And tell him what?”

“That you're . . .” She hesitated. “Sick.”

“Boom,” Courtney said. “There it is. You're a freakin' genius, Khya!”

“Sick?” I questioned. “You can't be serious.”

“I am. Stomach virus, leaning over the toilet, can't get outta bed sick.”

“Eww,” Courtney snarled. “Two snaps up and a fruitloop nasty.”

“I'm not doing that, Khya.”

“Listen to me. If you don't call him, it's not gon' be pretty. And you will be too busy arguing with Zaire to go to Josiah's game.”

“All right. Whatever.” I dialed Zaire's number and he answered on the first ring. “Hey.”

“Hey. I've been calling you a million times too many. Why don't you just tell me wassup? We good or are we over?”

See this is why I didn't want to call him, because I knew he would pressure me and I would feel guilty. “Zaire, no.”

I looked over at Khya and she mouthed,
Act sick
. She folded her hands in a prayer position. “Do it.”

“I just . . .” I said as groggily as I could. “I've just been sick.”

“Throwing up,” Khya whispered.

“Throwing up and everything.”

“Really?” Zaire said, taken aback. “What happened?”

“I think it's a stomach virus. Or maybe the flu.”

“Aw, man. Sorry to hear that, love. But you know we need to talk about yesterday. What was that really about?”

“I'm sorry. I was buggin'. I've just been aggravated. And frustrated. And you know my mother stays stressin' me.”

This was ridiculous.

Khya whispered to me, “Act like you're about to throw up.”

I heaved. “Zaire, hold on.” I placed the phone to my chest and made vomiting sounds.

I felt sooo stupid. There was no way he believed this.

“Dang, love. I'm not gon' hold you. You sound like you need some rest.”

“I do.”

“I just wanted to make sure you know that I love you, and I needed to know if we were good. 'Cause the fight we had yesterday I don't want it to ever happen again.”

“It won't.” I blew him a kiss and in an effort to avoid telling him that I loved him, I acted as if I was dry heaving again. Ugh. I felt like such an idiot. Lying and pretending that I was sick was the last thing I imagined happening.

“Bye, love. I'll talk to you later.”

I hung up and looked over to Khya and Courtney. “I'm not doing that again.”

Shae quickly peeked in my doorway. “You wouldn't have to if you would just be honest.” She turned and walked away.

“Shut up!” I yelled behind her as I slipped my sneakers on.

Khya whispered, “Don't worry about her. You know she's an upstanding farmer's wife. You can't expect much.”

“I heard that, Khya.”

“What, Shae? I was just telling Seven that you were so right. That's why you're the only one who can keep the same man for years and years on end. 'Cause you and mini Ricky Ross gets it in! Whaaat!”

“Don't talk about my baby now. And would y'all come on, so we can get to this game?”

“I just need to do my makeup real quick.” I flopped down on my vanity stool and put on my eye shadow, eyeliner, and lip gloss.

“Now let me tell you about Big Honey,” Courtney said to me, as if I really needed to know. “She's like chocolate-cake-on-a-PMS-night fly.”

“What?”

“Like a Pamprin-to-soothe-the-cramps fly. She got that two-snaps stamp on her.”

“Seven.” Shae ran to my room and whispered, “Zaire is at the door.”

My heart dropped to my stomach. “What?”

Khya jumped up. “At the door. We didn't plan for that. What does he want?”

“I don't know,” Shae said sternly. “And I'm not lying to him. As a matter of fact, I'm opening the door and I'm leaving. Whatever y'all do is on you. Seven, if I see you at the game, then, oh well. And if I don't, then that means you came to your senses.”

“What am I going to do now?” I asked in a disgusted panic.

“I don't know,” Khya said.

“You're the reason I'm in this. What do you mean, you don't know? You
need
to know!”

“Listen. Get in the bed.” I quickly crawled into bed as I heard Zaire say, “Hey, Shae.” I hugged my pillow and did all I could to look miserable and not cold busted.

“Oh God, Courtney, close the door, before he comes in here,” Khya squealed as she ran over to my dresser, grabbed the blow dryer, plugged it in, and turned it on.

“What's that for?”

“Your forehead.” She waved the blow dryer across my forehead, from ear to ear.

I swatted her hand. “Girl, you are burning me!” “That's the point. You need a fever.”

“Khya, please. He's not going to move from the door.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know him. And one thing he doesn't do is sick.”

“Then why is he here?”

“Because he was at his grandmother's house. He probably told her I was sick and she sent him with a cup of soup.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

Khya opened the door and she and Courtney smiled at Zaire before rushing out.

Zaire stood in the doorway with a pair of get-well balloons and a cup of soup.

Now the balloons surprised me.

Zaire took a half step into my room, placed the soup on my dresser, and let the balloons go free. Immediately they floated to the ceiling.

“Hey, baby,” I said weakly. I held my head up a little, pointed to the balloons and said, “Aw, boo. You shouldn't have.”

“I just wanted to check on you. You know it's Sunday so I was at Big Ma's. And when I told her you were sick, she wanted me to bring you her homemade chicken noodle soup with a splash of brandy.”

“That's so sweet.” I lifted my head and looked over at Zaire.

“Why do you have on makeup if you're sick?”

Dang! Think... think... think...
“Because,” I said. “I, umm, was thinking about surprising you and maybe coming to see you.”

“Oh wow, love. But you know I don't do sick. The last time I was sick I missed work for a week. And then I got sick again once I looked at my paycheck.”

“And heaven forbid if that happens to you again,” I mumbled.

“What you say, love?”

“I was saying, thank you for checking on me.”

“I wanted to see you.”

I gave him a quick smile. “Well. Now you see me.”

“I miss you.”

I hesitated. Because the truth was I missed him too. I missed who he was when we first met. I missed the spontaneity. I missed the surprise. I missed being in love with my man. I missed wanting to be with him. And I wanted so badly to tell him that, because I needed him to know that if he didn't hurry up and start to love me the way I needed him to, that these feelings . . . these unexpected feelings for Josiah, would keep hitting me like a gut punch. And force me to have to choose between them.

Talk to him . . . Talk. To him.
“Zaire, umm, I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. Can you come sit down?”

“Nah. But what I can do is call you when I get home. This way we can kick it on the phone and I don't have to worry about having the flu and missing work.”

“All right?” he asked.

He was serious. And no, it's not all right.
“Yeah, sure.”

“Cool. I'll hollah at you in a minute.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

He waved, and a few moments later, he disappeared from the doorway. Once I heard the front door close, Khya and Courtney rushed into my room.

“Whew, girl.” Khya wiped invisible sweat from her brow. “That was close.”

“Sure was.” Courtney fanned his face. “Scared the fruitloop outta me.”

I shook my head. “You know I asked him to come sit and talk to me.”

“You did?” Khya said, surprised.

I nodded. “Yeah. I did. But of course, he didn't.”

“You knew he wouldn't.”

“I know, but . . . I just wanted to really express how I felt. I don't think he understands how unhappy I am. And I need him to understand that.”

“Seven, I am not trying to sound like Shae. But. If you want to be with Zaire, then be with him. Stop trying to change him. Like really, you know how much time you're about to waste with that?”

“But, Khya—”

“But, nothing. If you're feeling that sad about your relationship with Z-boring, then don't go to Jo-hot's game. Sit here. And I'll tell you how it was when I come back. Right, Courtney?”

“Not exactly. I need to go run up on Big Honey for a minute.”

“How gross.” I frowned. “Anyway, Khya, I never said I wasn't going to the game.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Let's go.” Khya snapped her fingers. “Trust. If you follow me and play it right, I'ma have it so tight that you gon' be able to marry Zaire on Friday and Josiah on Saturday night. Hollah.”