a Romantic Comedy
Worst Impressions
a novel by K L Brady
Worst Impressions: a novel by K. L. Brady
LadyLit Press
Cheltenham, MD 20623
Copyright © 2010 by K.L. Brady
Smashwords Edition
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
Publisher’s Note:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
February 2011
First Edition
This is dedicated to the Almighty Father.
Thank you for giving me the gift of writing—and forcing me to use it by refusing to let me find equal satisfaction in anything else.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank everyone who gave me love and/or support throughout this arduous but thrilling process.
Thanks to Selena James, the first person to plant the idea of writing a young adult novel in my head. I ran with it. Thank you for helping to think beyond what I imagined I could write.
Thanks to my all of my family, the Bradys and the Browns.
Thanks to my fellow writers and critics at The Next Big Writer. You guys are the best and I could not put out the books that I do without your help, support, and guidance.
Thanks to my agent, Andrew Stuart, for your guidance and support.
And to anyone I’ve inadvertently omitted, my apologies and thank you too!
Chapter 1: Won't You Be My Neighbor
During my junior year in high school, I got hammered over the head with two fundamental truths: First impressions are always right. And worst impressions form when you think you know them well but find out you really don’t know them at all.
When Jeremy and I first encountered one another, I didn’t meet the “real” Jeremy, rather his representative of the moment—which I later found out changed daily. Observing him in our AP classes, I always thought he had snake tendencies and an excessive thirst for the limelight (despite his decidedly nerd status), but he flashed the right smile at the right time, and all my good sense got smothered beneath rose-colored glasses.
Heck, looking at my own reflection in my dresser mirror, buried beneath an oversized Lakers hoodie and baggy Gap jeans, I understood all too well that outside appearances were invented images of who we wanted others to believe we were. For better or worse, the “man in the mirror” was usually a big fat fraud. So, I convinced myself that maybe Jeremy wasn’t a popularity-seeking ass. Maybe he just looked like one.
Besides, the quest for popularity seemed taxing and highly overrated. That’s why I dedicated my time to schoolwork and basketball. I didn’t play for the school team or anything because my Mom wouldn’t allow it. But I usually took the ball to the hoop whenever I needed to clear my head. The basketball court had become my refuge and spending my time there kept me blissfully under the social radar at school.
I’d grown quite comfortable with my anonymity, and I thought Jeremy was comfortable with his.
Apparently—not so much.
When I first met him, he wooed me with his book smarts, puppy dog brown eyes, and tall, beefy frame which soared over mine. He possessed everything a stand-out athlete could offer…except he had brains and no groupies.
I started crushing on him specifically because he had no interest in sports and seemed to keep a low-profile despite the occasional visit to the dark side. He hounded me for months, claiming I made him go to the school nurse every day because he kept “falling for me.” He’d fake a limp, wince, and then wink those baby browns at me every time we passed each other in the halls between classes.
So eighth grade.
But I thought it was pretty cute at the time. What do you expect from a bookworm?
Unfortunately, I found out the hard way that, in actuality, Jeremy was a stuck-on-stupid human brain fart.
I mean, really. If you don’t play sports, why would you challenge someone who lives, eats, and drinks basketball to a game of one-on-one? Was I supposed to lose to make him feel more like a man?
Really?
Oh, sorry. Didn’t get the memo.
He copped a little attitude but, after a couple of days passed, I actually thought everything between us was cool. That is until the day he and I were supposed to hook up to get a little physical for the first time, and I happened upon his Hyundai at the local hang-out park. I glanced inside the window, and his tongue was lodged deep inside the throat of my former BFF, Sonya, whose bony ass and ho-ish ways helped her ascend to an elite junior classman clique.
I couldn’t believe him, old backstabbing social-climber.
I banged on the glass, flipped my middle finger up at him, and yelled, “Hey, Jeremy! You and your bitch are in the wrong spot. The dog park is across the street!”
His diarrhea-brown skin turned seven shades of white, looking like a Twilight reject.
He scrambled nervously as he stepped out of the car and said, “Look, Liz. I like you and all, but…I dunno. I think I want to be with a different type of girl. You understand, right?”
I rolled my eyes, cranked my neck ghetto-fabulously, and said, “Oh…I understand perfectly. And you should have the type of girl you want. Congratulations on your slut!”
Then, without much forethought, I planted the tip of my Skechers in his nuts and watched him writhe in pain before storming off.
Sonya couldn’t even glance in my direction; she knew she was dead wrong. I mean, your best friend’s boyfriends (ex or otherwise) should be off limits, shouldn’t they? She and I had been friends since middle school; I thought I knew her. Turns out I didn’t. Worst impressions.
Later, I walked to his house and left this note on his windshield. All bets were off. Since Sonya broke the “boyfriend” code, I decided to break the “keeping secrets” code.
Dear Lying Dog,
I’m writing this letter to express my deepest appreciation and gratitude to you for treating me like dirt and kissing my best friend Sonya before you ever kissed me. You said you wanted a different type of girl, so I hope you like Type I. Last week, Sonya informed me that she caught herpes from Jamal Masterson and now you probably have them too.
Did I forget to mention there’s no cure? Sorry, dude.
You two deserve each other.
Liz
One of my more satisfying letters if I do say so myself. I wrote hate notes and kept journals to maintain some semblance of sanity in a house full of teenage girls gone mad. Kept them hidden inside a shoe box in my bedroom closet and never showed them to anyone…well, this letter was the exception.
Even though I wasn’t really pressed about kicking Jeremy to the curb, the experience was a little disappointing because boyfriends were a rare commodity among the kids in the Bennett household. My Mom ruled with an iron fist. According to her, all boys were Satan’s spawn until they graduated from college or joined the military, making our lives a living hell.
* * *
As I departed my bedroom to embark on a Twinkie expedition in my family’s upper-middle class slice of the American dream, I overheard my parents talking about something downstairs. I wondered if Lydia and Kat had gotten themselves into trouble again, as they were usually the topic of hushed discussions in our house.
I normally slid down our mahogany stair rail with my dismount ending in a noisy, parent-irking thud on the wood floors in the foyer, but long ago we’d learned to be ninja quiet when attempting to eavesdrop on my parents. They could hear a bird fart from two-hundred yards away in a thunderstorm.
“Lock the doors, bolt the windows, and set the alarm. We’ve got new trouble in the neighborhood. And I’m talking trouble with a capital ‘T’,” Mom said in her customary flustered manner.
She flipped her hair behind her shoulder and settled in next to Dad on the family room sofa.
Talk about wired!
She always fluttered through the house amped up about something. More often than not, to our dismay, her diatribes involved some fanatical effort to protect our virtues. “I finally sold the lakeside mansion over in Woodmore II today. You remember the property I listed in the gated section? And you’ll never guess who bought it.”
Dad, a fairly laid back man with a psycho wife and four hormonal teenage daughters, made a feeble attempt to bury his head into The Washington Post and avoid the discussion. He understood, as we all did, Mom’s talks went on far longer than they ever needed to.
“Well, don’t you want me to tell you who bought it?” she urged.
Couldn’t take a hint either.
He let out a heavy sigh of resignation. “You’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not, dear, so go ahead.”
Although he’d offered a less than enthusiastic invitation, Mom ignored him as usual. “You won’t believe it, honey. You just won’t believe it! They’ve got more money than they know what to do with. And you should see the furniture! Very elegant. Those enormous flat screen televisions alone would’ve had you drooling with envy.”
Dad finally looked up from his paper. Mentioning electronic gadgets of any kind always piqued his attention.”Okay, spill it.”
“Well, the man of the house plays for the Washington Redskins—ever heard of Darnelle Williams?”
Dad’s voice perked up. “Say whaaaat?”
He lived for football season and loved his Redskins. Dad wanted to paint the house burgundy and gold, but Mom threatened to divorce him. We thought her threat would be incentive enough for Dad to run to Home Depot and buy up every can of paint in the store, but he relented and settled for a “man cave” in the basement.
“Yeah, he seems like a nice guy, pretty down to earth. His wife, on the other hand, hmph. Let’s just say I didn’t get the warm and fuzzies from her. She acted a little bourgeois and had more labels on her clothes than the can food aisle at Safeway,” she quipped. Then she let out a long dramatic breath. “Doesn’t matter anyway. They aren’t the real problem.”
“Well, what is the real problem in your estimation, dear?”
“The booty magnets. They have, not one, not two, but three boys. Well, two teenagers and a baby.”
“Are you suggesting the baby might be attracted to one of our daughters?”
“Don’t be silly! But we will have to keep an eye the older ones. Handsome devils,” she said, shaking her head in pointless despair. “Just what we need, two more rocket-headed boys coming into the neighborhood to get the girls’ panties in a wad. We were this close to getting the girls out of the house without being impregnated by some horny knuckleheads and now here they come. So much for that dream!”
“Well, I’m not concerned about Liz and Jeni. They’ve always got their heads in the books. And when Liz isn’t in the books, she’s on the basketball court. It’s fast-assed Lydia and Kat that we need to worry about. Always scheming and getting into something they don’t have any business doing. No matter how hard we try or how strict we are, trouble follows them wherever they go.”
Mom shook her head. “No, let’s keep it real. They always find trouble—and Lydia’s a little trouble hound, sniffing it out wherever she can. Kat’s just a wingman. As handsome as those boys are, Lydia will get pregnant just looking at them.” She heaved a sigh. “As for Liz, she’s such a tomboy, no small thanks to you putting that stupid basketball in her hand from the moment she could walk. I’ll consider motherhood a success if I can get that girl back into a dress before she graduates. I mean, people talk. You know what they say about her. That she’s a les… a les…a les… that she likes girls.”
Dad laughed.
Mom didn’t.
Neither did I.
Chapter 2: The IBTC
Let’s get something straight right now. I loved being a girl and really did want a boyfriend despite popular opinion. I just didn’t feel like I should have to dress all frilly or act like a weak-minded dimwit to get one. If a guy couldn’t accept my smart, slightly tomboyish self, he could keep it moving. I’d refused to change the kind of person I was for anyone . . . ever again.
A couple of years ago, I bent to my mother’s will and wore the trendy clothes and all that superficial crap. But as I neared my teens, hips and curves found me much earlier than they found my sisters and most of my friends. My boobs were small, but small is a lot when nobody else has them except you. Boys used to talk so much smack about what they were gonna do to me and how they were gonna do it. To them, I was only a phat ass and breasts. They never wanted to get to know the “me” inside, always made me feel like a piece of meat. Girls called me every kind of bitch in the book, said I thought I was all that.
I’d come home from school crying almost every day, wishing I could make them see me for who I was and not what I looked like. I didn’t want the attention, just tried to fade into nothingness. Eventually, my clothes became my cloak, kind of like Superman hid behind Clark Kent and a Brooks Brothers suit. I drowned my shapely form in baggy shirts and jeans. Then the comments changed from “there’s the girl with the phat ass” to “there’s the tomboy who dresses like a dyke.”
I couldn’t win.
Rather than fight the rumors, I went hard, built up an imaginary wall between me and them so their words couldn’t touch me. Eventually, I learned to talk smack right back (which shut down allll the BS) and focused on my one joy in life—basketball.
“Darnelle Williams, huh?” Dad said, trying to change the subject. “Isn’t that something? Did he say which school he’d be sending the kids to?”
“Yes, they’ll be in Mitchellville Academy with the girls. The boys were outside tossing the football around in the front yard and their arms didn’t look half bad. I’ll bet they’re going to play on the team.”
“Is that right?” Dad said, folding his paper over his lap. “Well, I hope one of them is a quarterback. The Tigers sure need one. They lose so much that even the parents have started taking bets on the losing score. That reminds me, I need to call Bill and get my bet in for the home opener.”
“I thought it might not be a bad idea if you go visit with me when I drop off their housewarming gift . . . so I can introduce you. He seems gracious enough and would probably love to meet a season ticket holder.”
Dad about bubbled out of his seat but somehow managed to conceal his excitement behind a calm grin. “What about the girls?”
“What about them? I’m not making any introductions. It’d be like throwing our prized hens into the fox hole. Not on my watch!”
“So let me get this straight,” Dad said in confusion, “you do want them to be girly girls but you don’t approve of them liking boys.”
Mom threw her hands up in the air in delight as if he’d just cracked the Di Vinci Code. “Exactly!”
I chuckled at Mom’s crazy notions. Feeling like I’d soaked up all the juicy news I needed to hear, I walked into the kitchen, got my Twinkies, and ran upstairs to tell Jeni the news.
* * *
You know the girls at school who have the perfect hair, and their perfect clothes always match their perfect shoes and handbag, which—by no small coincidence—coordinates perfectly with their flawless makeup? And let’s not forget about the perfect accessory to any perfect outfit: the perfect guy.
My sister is one of those—a perfect hottie.
Well, she could be if she had the faintest clue just how nightmarishly pretty and popular she was. By Mitchellville Academy standards, she’d be classified as a chasee, not a chaser—and she certainly didn’t have to settle for the leftovers. Those stuck up heifers in our school always hated on Jeni because she’s a natural boy magnet; guys flocked to her. She always seemed oblivious when they’d break their horny, way undersexed necks trying to get with her—and ignored them accordingly.
Don’t mistake my admiration for jealousy though. No way. We were as close as two sisters could be, despite our differences. She wore dresses, fitted A-line skirts, and open-toed sandals. I wore jeans and a broad selection of Skechers. I was a basketball playing tomboy. She lived for the MAC counter at Macy’s. She read Cosmo girl and every other fashion magazine. I refused to read anything that ever featured a “how to” article. She had a body shaped like an hour glass. Mine was shaped more like the letter “d.” Straight Aunt Jemima up front, flat as a pancake—but I toted much junk in my trunk.
When Jeni was in a room, I was invisible. But I didn’t mind it all, preferred it really.
Now, my sisters Lydia and Kat, woo!
They were totally off the hook—two of the fastest freshman to walk the hallowed halls of Mitchellville Academy. Fast when it came to boys and slow when it came to schoolwork, homework, housework, or anything constructive. Lydia was the ring leader but both of them stayed in embroiled in meaningless drama at school and home. Mom and Dad punished them so often Jeni and I called their bedrooms “Alcatraz.”
If our parents could’ve kept them locked away for the remainder of their high school years without getting into trouble with child protective services, they would’ve homeschooled them and slid their meals through a doggie door.
“Jeni, guess what?” I said a little winded from running up the stairs. Dang I needed to get out and exercise more often, but scarfing Twinkies during my power walks became challenging, especially during the late-summer squelchers. So, I gave up my power walks. “I just heard Mom tell Dad that one of the Washington Redskins moved into the neighborhood and they have two boys who play football.”
“Get out of here! Well, I hope Lydia and Kat don’t find out. Lydia will probably camp out in their front yard to make sure she gets first dibs.”
“I know, right? Every girl in school will be sweating them. And you know how those cocky football players are. They’ll spend the first week scoping out potential worshippers. By the end of the first month, they’ll each have two girlfriends and a thirty-day waiting list.”
Jeni huffed. “Well, they won’t be putting me on rotation. Those fools in our school only want one thing from a girl anyway—to dip their hands and other unmentionables into the cookie jar. Trust me, they won’t have me walking around all fat-bellied, like a character in some lame afterschool special. I’m going to college!”
The sound of a herd of cows trampling up the stairs grew closer and closer to Jeni’s bedroom. The door flew open without so much as a knock. Lydia and Kat barged in.
“Excuse me!” I yelled. “Can’t you two knock? We’re having an A and B conversation. So, C your way right back out the door.”
Lydia rolled her eyes and twisted her neck. “Anyway! Did you guys get the latest 4-1-1? Mariah just told me they have some new next door neighbors. Two boys who play football. She said they are cu-ute! And their father is a Washington Redskin.”
“You’re late. We heard already. Mom sold them the house,” I offered. No feeling could surpass the joy of bursting Lydia’s bubble when she thought she had juicy gossip but didn’t.
“She did?” Lydia said, the gears turning in her pea brain. “Awwwww shuuuucks!! We can get Mom to introduce us.”
“Ha! You keep on dreaming sister. Mom would sooner buy you some crack than introduce you to those boys. That won’t happen. That’s why your fast behind stays on lockdown half the time now. So, you can hang that up.”
“Whatever, Liz. I’ll bet you twenty dollars I can get Mom to introduce us,” she said, holding out her pinky finger to seal the deal.
“Bet!” I said, linking my pinky around hers. Then it dawned on me that she couldn’t afford to pay attention. “How’re you gonna bet me twenty dollars when you don’t have any money?”
“Well, you have twenty dollars and I’m not gonna lose,” Lydia said.
“Okay, Miss Cocky Pants. The bet is on!”
* * *
I checked my clothes in the mirror. Decided to wear the Dereon jeans and top my mother bought me for Christmas last year. Still had the tags on them, but I’d had no occasion to wear them before. I didn’t want to be the only Bennett sister looking like death sucking on a lifesaver (my usual fashion statement). Most of the time, I wore my hair up in a ponytail, but for this visit I decided to let my unruly mane fall across my shoulders and added two or three curls. I reached between my mattresses, pulled my secret sock from my hiding place, and removed twenty dollars from its contents. Stupid Lydia. She knew how to work my parents. Truth be told, she knew how to work everybody. Made me sick. . . . or jealous. In that moment, a lot of both. I walked into her room and handed her the money.
“So, how’d you get Mom to agree?”
“Ancient Chinese secret,” she said snatching the money from my hand and stuffing it into her bra. She was built like me so there was plenty of room.
“Lydia!”
“Alright, fine! I didn’t. Dad talked her into taking us with them when Mom dropped off their housewarming gift. He told her we’d be introduced eventually, better to get the meet and greet over with when they were present. But thanks for the twenty bucks, though. Now I can get my Cherry Blossom lotion from Bath & Body Works next time we go to the mall. Got to be smelling good for the fellas.”
Lord knows Lydia, of all people, didn’t need to buy anything talking about blossoming cherries. She clutched her boobs for dear life.
“You little sneak!” I said, bum-rushing her with a tackle to get back my hard-earned babysitting money and causing a loud thunk!
“Girrrrrrrrls!!!! Y’all are gettin’ on my last nerve,” Mom yelled from downstairs. “Stop all that bumping and thumping and get your butts down here. We’re leaving!”
Mom’s last nerve had become a member of the family. It joined us at the dinner table almost every single night, traveled with us on vacation, made frequent appearances at the principal’s office thanks to Lydia, and even had its own bedroom (Mom’s quiet room).
We all trampled down the stairs and prepared to leave. Just before we walked out the door, Mom stopped in her tracks, glanced in my direction, and said, “I forgot Liz is still on punishment.”
I shot my Dad a pitiful look, turned to face her, and whined, “Mooooom!”
Chapter 3: A Mother Knows...
Okay, yes, I’d been punished for nearly two weeks but the fault belongs to my mother, not me. See, Mom could be a bit cuckoo when it came to her daughters—and I mean to the extreme. Oh my God, she embarrassed us so often we’d considered putting ourselves into witness protection. She tended to do stuff like monitor our cell phones and e-mails, pop into our classes unannounced, search our rooms for diaries, love letters, or any sign some poor guy had taken more than a friendly interest in us. The extraordinary lengths Mom went through to keep us “pure” were legendary, thoroughly embarrassing, and by themselves sufficient to keep most normal boys at bay.
The minor incidents leading to my incarceration started about two months ago. Charmaine and I stopped by McDonald’s to get french fries. No big deal, right? Well, Mom’s a bit of a health nut and had forbidden me to buy anything from Mickey D’s except water, but I couldn’t resist the french fries’ golden-brown goodness. The next day she said I smelled like french-fry grease and warned me not to waste my money on junk food anymore.
A week later, I tried a cigarette for the first and only time in my life (so nasty) and the next day she said I smelled like smoke . . . even after I had taken a shower and brushed my teeth. Then she grounded me for a whole month, even though I rarely got in trouble and those were my only two serious offenses in like seven years.
To hear Mom tell it, she had some super motherly intuition that heightened her sense of sight, hearing, smell, and provided a lie detector capability.
Yeah, whatever!
I had a feeling the issue was less complicated than all that and got to thinking the problem wasn’t her nose or that Jeni had dimed me out (which I suspected briefly). I surmised, correctly, that the problem had more to do with her eyes . . . eavesdropping in my diary. How did I solve this little mystery? Because that’s where I wrote that I’d eaten fries at McDonald’s with Charmaine and tried a cigarette!
So, in my infinite wisdom, I started keeping two diaries—one for her and one for me. I kept mine in my backpack and hers in its usual place under my mattress.
Was it my fault that she snooped in my fake diary and read that I was planning to skip school one particular day to catch the bus to New York . . . to meet my new 25-year-old Internet boyfriend . . . who bragged about his ten minutes of fame . . . on a Nightline episode on which he got arrested for soliciting a minor? Was it my fault that by mere coincidence I left for school extra early on said morning? Was it my fault that she drove to the Greyhound station in downtown DC in bumper-to-bumper morning rush-hour traffic and stalked the New York-bound terminals for four hours looking for me?
I think not!
Had she kept her super-powered nose out of my business or simply had come to me asked about what she’d read, the whole ugly incident could’ve been avoided. But no. Trusting her daughter would’ve been too much like right.
While Dad found my teach-Mom-a-lesson tactic hilarious and just short of genius, Mom totally failed to see the humor . . . hence, my “grounded-for-life” status.
I couldn’t confess it openly, but before Mom sprung the whole punishment thing on me, I kind of felt excited to meet The Williamses. Being one of the oldest girls, I’d held out some small sliver of hope that because of their Dad’s status, they might be the one (and only) pair of brothers in our neighborhood that wouldn’t be subjected to Mom’s excessive weirdness. Jeni and I would be graduating within the next two years, and had nearly run out of viable options, which sucked since homecoming and prom loomed on the not too distant horizon. For my part, I kind of hoped that because they were athletes, if one (by some miracle) found me attractive, he wouldn’t assume I was a dyke just because I dressed comfortably and could ball.
In one of his rare moments, Dad firmed up his jelly spin and said, “Honey, we’re only going to be at their house for a few minutes, and we’ll be with them the whole time. We can set her free for one day.”
Mom hesitated for a second and then got with the program. “Alright. You can go.”
Whew!
* * *
The Williamses and my family all lived in an exclusive development called Woodmore, but they lived on the “good side.” Million-dollar homes. That’d be why all of our mouths hit the floor when we pulled into their driveway. Dang, their house was like that. They lived in a mega-mansion like the ones I’d seen on MTV Cribs.
Mr. and Mrs. Williams appeared at the door with their model-perfect smiles, seeming quite warm and friendly—the father more so. Mrs. Williams looked flustered as she tried to calm her whimpering baby, so she might’ve just been a bit distracted. Towering over his wife’s petite frame, Mr. Williams welcomed us in and accepted Mom’s fancy food basket.
We scanned the area and didn’t see any signs of the boys at first, which disappointed Lydia more than anyone else. Mr. Williams motioned us into the pristine foyer, where we faced a stately double staircase made of rich, almost regal, dark wood. I wondered why one would need two staircases—maybe they’d need an extra, I mean, in case one broke down. The wood floors didn’t shine, they blinged like L’il Wayne’s front teeth. Our house, which was pretty nice for Woodmore’s cheap seats, couldn’t touch their dream crib on its best day.
Once Mom and Dad made all the introductions, the idle chit chat began.
“Wow, you have a beautiful home here,” Dad said, gazing in wonderment. “Looks like you’re setting up house pretty quickly.”
“Yes, we wanted to get settled as fast as possible because of the baby,” Mrs. Williams said, bouncing the fussy little one to calm his whining. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to lay him down; he seems ready for his nap. In the meantime, why don’t you show them around the house, Darnelle? The boys are around here somewhere.”
Mom chimed in, “You know, if you ever need a babysitter, Liz is certified. She’s had infant CPR training and everything,” Mom bragged before she’d fully considered the consequences of her announcement. She always offered my services to her clients as if she ran a babysitting racket. Most of her clients didn’t have football playing teenage boys in the house though. I suspected she’d regret that disclosure sooner than later.
“Is that right?” Mrs. Williams said as she ascended the stairs. “Thanks for letting me know! The boys are good with the baby, but they’re so busy with football and everything, I’ll need to have someone nearby.”
Mr. Williams walked us through the house, and we gawked and gasped. The enormous bathrooms had tubs the size of swimming pools. Mr. Williams’ trophy room displayed all of his trophies, including a Heisman, and two Super Bowl rings. They even had a twenty-seat movie theatre and a video game room. And the backyard—whoa! A gi-normous pool with a Jacuzzi adjacent to a spongy lawn. The lush grass made me long to lay out a picnic blanket and cloud watch. Eventually, we arrived at the―Oh-My-Gawd—full-size basketball court inside their basement! I couldn’t believe it. Lydia perked up because on the court is where we’d found the boys. Mr. Williams called them over.
“Charles and Darcell, come here for a minute! I want you to meet our new neighbors from across the way.” They jogged across the court to greet us. Charles, who appeared to be the younger of the two, had a bright smile that complimented his ridiculously handsome latte-colored face and tall, sculpted frame. Darcell, even more handsome and a bit taller, met us with a greeting more chilled than his brother’s. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Bennett and their four daughters—Liz, Kat, Lydia, and Jeni.”
We all smiled and said hi—except for Darcell. He only threw up his hand in a weak-ass wave, looking more constipated than friendly. I almost wanted to ask him if he’d eaten his Wheaties. Without so much as a “see ya later,” he walked back to the other side of the court, sat on the floor with his back against the wall, and put in his iPod earphones.
What a jackass!
“You guys will all be attending the same school this fall, so I hope you’ll become good friends,” Mom said, knowing dag on well she was lying. She wanted us as far away from those boys as possible…on a different planet if possible.
“So, who’s the baller?” Dad asked.
Charles piped up and raised his hand, “Me! I play football too, but I love basketball. You play, sir?”
Sir? Oh Dad is gonna love this one. Good manners.
“No. I don’t play ball, but Liz does. She’s been playing since she could hold a basketball.”
Charles smiled at me seeming a tad surprised.
“Cool! You want to shoot around for a little bit or are you guys leaving?” Charles asked me. I gave my Dad the pleading puppy dog eyes.
He chuckled. “Okay, you guys go ahead and play. We’ll go upstairs and get you in a half hour or so. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect! Catch you guys later,” I said. Mom cut her eyes at all of us as a warning to stay in check. But the second my parents were out of earshot, Lydia went to work.
“You guys have a nice crib,” Lydia said, staring into Charles’s eyes, trying to get her flirt on. Unfortunately for her, his eyes were locked on the true object of his affection.
“Jeni, do you play basketball too?” he asked, as he traced her body with his eyes.
“Naaaaah, I’m not into sports so much. I mean, I sometimes watch them with Liz and go to the football games, but that’s about the extent of my interest,” Jeni replied, oblivious to the fact that she’d totally been scoped out.
Lydia quickly noticed Charles had no intention of paying her any mind, so she knocked the basketball from under his arm and started dribbling with both hands in a feeble attempt to turn his attention from Jeni. No such luck. Defeated, she passed the ball back to him.
“Charles, we wanna see if you’ve got skills,” Lydia said. He looked straight irritated.
“No, I wanna see if your sister has skills. Here you go,” Charles said.
He passed me the basketball and I started bouncing it toward the basket. I did a little crossover, dribbled behind my back for show-off effect, and took a jump shot from the three. Swish!
“Daaayumm!” Charles said. “How’d you learn to play like that?!”
I laughed. “You know how we do!”
“Darcell, you check that man? She shoots better than you!” He hardly blinked. Just waved Charles off, closed his eyes, and got lost in his music. “Keep going. Lemme see what else you got!”
I did a few lay ups. Swish! Swish! Took a couple of baseline jumpers. Swish! Hit a few shots from the free throw line. Swish! Lydia and Kat leaned against the wall frowning and pouting like somebody had stolen their Barbie dolls. Charles and Jeni clapped, laughed, and giggled—so sweet to the point that it activated my gag reflex. Sometimes they whispered in each other’s ears and gazed as if they’d gotten lost in each other’s eyes. I couldn’t wait to get the scoop from Jeni.
As for Darcell.
Well, I’m not even sure why he bothered to stick around. I caught his eyebrows popping up when I made a shot from the baseline, but he quickly closed them and went back to being his anti-social self.
Dad came back downstairs and stuck his head in the door. Charles and Jeni jumped up looking all guilty like they’d gotten caught making out or something. I mean they were only talking for goodness sake.
“Okay girls. It’s time to go! Say your goodbyes. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
Dad invited The Williamses over for our annual Labor Day cookout, to which The Williamses said they’d be glad to attend. We all waved goodbye to Darcell the Grinch; he shot us a head nod and went back to his music. Charles walked us to the door.
We like him.
“Liz, I hope you and Jeni will come back and visit us again. Maybe we can play some ball next time.”
“Whatchu talkin’ bout, son! You don’t want none of this!” I said, laughing. If Mom caught me talking all ghetto-fied, she’d knock me upside my head. “I’m just kidding. I’m sure Jeni and I would love to come back and visit…you.” I cut my eyes at Darcell.
He chuckled. “Sorry Darcell wasn’t very sociable. I don’t know what’s up with him today. He’s usually nicer.”
Yeah, right!
* * *
As soon as we got home and settled in, I ran straight into to Jeni’s room and locked the door so I could get the scoop.
“You and Mr. Charles were looking quite friendly cozy’ed up in the corner. What were y’all giggling about?”
Her cocoa-butter skin turned bright red and she pressed her hands against her flushed cheeks. “Liz, don’t make me blush! We weren’t talking about anything special. I don’t know. He kept making me laugh. Don’t you think he’s cute?”
“Heck yeah! He seems pretty cool. I think somebody’s going to have a date for the Back to School dance.”
“Oh, he’s not feeling me like that. He was being . . . nice.”
“Girl, you must be high! He was looking at you all googly-eyed, like he couldn’t wait to get his hand in your cookie jar.”
“Shut up! You’re exaggerating,” Jeni whined, with a smile that said she hoped I spoke the truth.
“I’m serious. But he seems to be cookie-jar worthy. Better than ninety-nine percent of the turds that go to our school. That’s for sure.”
“What did you think about his brother, Darcell? He’s hot. Looked like you were trying to show off for him a little bit. I’ve never seen that many of your shots actually go in the basket,” she said.
I whapped her in the head with a pillow.
“Yeah, he’s hot alright…a hot mess. I didn’t think he was all that—but he certainly seems to think a lot of himself. Acting like Satan’s son. I didn’t much care for him. And for your information, I wasn’t showing off. I was just playing around.”
“Mmmmhmmm. Whatever,” Jeni said, turning her light off as a hint for me to get to gettin’. “Well, time to get to bed. School starts tomorrow, and I need to get some sleep.”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want Charles checking for you with bags under your eyes,” I said.
“Get out, Liz!”
Then I started singing “Jeni and Charles sittin’ in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes—,” when a pillow almost grazed my head. I ducked and it flew into the hall and knocked Mom’s vase of fake tulips from the pedestal. I said, “Awwwwwwww, you’re in trou-blllllle.”
Mom yelled from downstairs. “Y’all go to bed now before you get on my last nerve!”
What a disappointment Darcell turned out to be. I’d so hoped one of them might be the right boy for me, but at least Jeni got lucky. I didn’t know what the school day held in store for us; I only hoped I could avoid Darcell. The further he stayed away from me, the better.
Dear Darcelle,
When we met today, I found the whole experience underwhelming to say the least. As you’re no doubt well aware from the hours upon hours you probably spend in the mirror, you’re actually kind of cute. But you’d look a whole lot better if you pulled your head out of your ass.
Liz
Chapter 4: Fightin' Words
Mom had knocked on my door twice and Jeni had come in and bounced on my bed to the point of extreme annoyance. “Just five more minutes” quickly turned to thirty. Why couldn’t school start at noon?
I had only twenty minutes before time to catch the bus, so I ran around like a crazy person trying to take a shower, brush my teeth, and get dressed. One thing I loved about Mitchellville Academy is that we all wore uniforms—khaki pants and navy blue polo shirts—so I never had to figure out what to wear. Uniforms had become the great fashion equalizers.
“Liz! Get down here and get some breakfast! The bus is gonna be here in a few minutes,” Dad called. Everyone else had already gone downstairs. I was last as usual.
“Okay, I’m coming!” I slid down the stair rail, landing in a loud thump, and ran into the kitchen.
“Didn’t I tell you about sliding down the rail, Liz? One day you’re gonna break your neck,” Dad warned.
“Yay, then I wouldn’t have to go to school.”
“Yeah, you’d be stuck around the house all day with your mother and her last nerve.”
Oh heck no.
“I won’t do it again!” I promised, kissing him on the cheek.
“I’m going to my office for a minute. You’ve only got five minutes to eat,” Dad said, rushing down the hall.
“Well, glad you finally decided to join us, Sleeping Beauty,” Jeni told me. “You sure got your beauty rest.”
“You have your nerve talking. What’s with the all the curls and the lip gloss?” I said, noticing she’d gotten more dolled up than normal. I grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl. Didn’t have enough time to eat my usual toast and eggs.
“Look at you. Been down here a hot minute and already trying to start something,” Jeni said, licking her tongue at me.
Lydia teased, “She’s trying to look cute for her new boyfriend.”
“Don’t hate,” Jeni said to Lydia. “It’s not attractive.”
“Yeah, stop hatin’,” said Kat to Lydia. “You’re just mad because Charles didn’t notice you, but you need to slow your roll. You can’t date all the boys . . . even though you’re sure enough trying.”
“Nobody wants Charles,” she said to Kat, sucking her teeth. “Anyway, I’ve got my eye on the new kid from last year.”
“Which one?” Kat asked.
“Trent Whitman.”
“Hmph. You better get a ticket and stand in line. Last year he had his own fan club. He seems to have a way with the girls, if you know what I mean,” Jeni said.
“I don’t remember Trent. Have I seen him?” I asked.
“Naaaaah, probably not. He takes remedial classes on the other side of school with Lydia. He wouldn’t be anywhere near your AP crowd,” Jeni said.
Lydia grabbed her backpack and headed for the door. “He’s cool. I think he’s just misunderstood.”
“Instead of worrying about Trent, you need to put your head in those books before you end up staying back a grade,” I said.
“Girls, the bus is out front! Last one out gets to pimp cookies at your mom’s open house…alone…for three hours!” Dad yelled.
Somehow Kat and Lydia got locked in the bathroom.
Weird how that happens.
* * *
First period seemed to end as fast as it started. Crowds of people bustled through the halls, some sending text messages on their back-to-school phones, trying to get caught up with their friends and all the news they missed over the summer. We got our locker assignments, so I spent my time attempting to get the stupid thing open. Hated those combination locks. If I didn’t spin the dial exactly on the number, I’d be a half hour getting inside. I dropped my bags on the floor in front me and started spinning the combo when someone walked up to the locker beside mine. I looked over.
Oh hell.
Darcell.
Of all the lockers in entire the world, they had to assign him one right next to mine. Jeni got one thing right. He looked and smelled good but his attitude was monkey funky. At first, I decided not to speak to him, but my parents raised me to be polite. A quick hello couldn’t hurt, could it?
“Hey, Darcell.”
Ouch! Yes, that really did hurt.
“Whassup,” he spat. He slammed his locker door shut and walked away.
Fuhget you, sucka!
That’s what I got for having manners.
At our school, lunch time equaled gossip time. Every girl in the school buzzed about three things—homecoming and Charles and Darcell. They whispered about their hot bodies and bragged about how they’d improve our sad football team. According to my sources, Charles played wide receiver and Darcell was a shoo-in for starting quarterback. Whatever you wanted to say about him, he was the beast on the football field based on everything I’d heard. If his future groupies knew what I knew about his attitude, they’d save the praise for the football games.
Per my usual routine, I grabbed a book and sat in a quiet corner of the cafeteria to read and collect my thoughts. When I looked up, I noticed Charles heading toward me.
“Hey, Liz! I thought that was you,” he said, parking himself in the empty seat across from me.
“Hey, Charles,” I said, returning his enthusiasm. Too cool for words. He’d make Jeni happy. “How’s your first day at Mitchellville Academy?”
“It’s a’ight so far. Everybody here seems pretty chill. I’ve noticed signs posted around for the Back-to-School dance. Have you ever been to one?”
“Yeah, I went last year. I guess it’s okay if you like that sort of thing. The guys hold up the walls and collect telephone numbers while the girls dress to impress and drop it like it’s hot all over the floor. Typical high school dance.”
“Are you and Jeni going?”
“Yeah. With three sisters I don’t think I’d be able to miss it,” I said, placing my book on the table and folding my arms across my chest. “So let me ask you, you’re not one of those guys who holds up the walls, are you? If so, you can’t hang with my sister. We like to groove.”
“Naaaaaah, money. I rock the party. I don’t play.”
“Mmmmhmmm. Well, I fully expect to see you and my sister on the dance floor…often. Don’t go up in there faking.”
“Nah, I don’t fake, ma. You can count on it,” he smirked.
Truth be told, I seriously hated back to school dances. The girls always arrived early. Once the guys finally showed up, they stood against the walls and watched the girls dance alone until five minutes before the party was over. At the last moment possible, they grabbed a partner and bumped and grinded for a hot minute, collected phone numbers, and left. Whoop-de-freakin’-do.
Also problematic was the fact that guys rarely asked me to dance. To them I was some tomboyish nerd who loved basketball and had a 4.0 GPA. Most guys didn’t understand me, nor did they want to for that matter. The ones who found the balls to approach me were usually the jerks who thought I’d be down with letting them, how shall we say, snack on cookies from multiple cookie jars. After all, I must be desperate, right? Yeah…not so much.
Anyway, seemed like a big waste of time to me, but if Jeni and I didn’t go, then Kat and Lydia couldn’t go. We’d be guilt-tripped into it whether we wanted to be there or not. The incessant whining would be too much to endure.
As I headed out the cafeteria door to fourth period, my stalker’s voice called me from down the hall.
“Liz! Liz! Wait up!”
Coach Smith. For two years, he’d been trying his best to recruit me for the girls’ basketball team, but I couldn’t (or wouldn’t) join, even though every ounce of my being craved the opportunity to sink that orange leather splendor through the hoop to the sound and rhythm of my family’s and friend’s claps and cheers. Can’t exactly say what held me back. Probably a combination of my mother’s scorn and my desperate attempt to cling to what little dignity I had left. Better to only be thought a lesbian than crush everyone on the court and prove it (their logic, not mine).
“Practice started last week, Miss Bennett. Why didn’t you show up?”
“Coaaaach,” I whined. “For the same reasons you didn’t see me last year . . . or the year before that.” I crossed my arms and listened impatiently, wanting to make my escape before I caved. Behind Coach Smith appeared a super cute guy that I hadn’t seen in school before. He had the build of a football player, deep-set hazel eyes, and the smile of an angel, which he flashed…at me? I struggled to focus on what Coach said. My mind had drifted when I felt a tug on my arm.
“I’m sorry…what were you saying, Coach?”
“You have so much potential, Liz. I hate to see you let your talent go to waste. You could be a star forward. You’ve got the height, you handle the ball better than both of my starting guards…and you’ve never played on a team. With some formal coaching, the sky is the limit. Think about it. After this year, you’ve only got one left.”
“Okay,” I lied. “I’ll think about it.”
* * *
The first week of school was a total blur. Between adjusting to waking up at the butt-crack of dawn and trying to find the power switch to turn on my brain (which was slow returning from its summer break), I had just enough clarity to process that Saturday night had arrived, and the first mating game of the year was upon us—the Back-to-School dance.
I walked into the gym with my sisters straggling behind. Jay Z blared so loud the floor vibrated. Charles was lighting up the floor, dancing by himself and seriously going hard. He smiled, waving Jeni onto the floor, and she sashayed on out with her hands in the air bouncing to the beat. Kat and Liz headed for a group of lower classmen holding up the walls.
Everybody who wasn’t dancing seemed to be sweating Darcell but he paid them no mind, engrossed in his conversation with some girl standing beside him. I’d never seen her before because she didn’t attend our school. Charmaine would know who she was…if I could find her. I wandered around the perimeter until I spotted her coming out of the bathroom. She strutted toward me grinning from ear to ear in her new Baby Phat outfit.
“Girl, it’s about time y’all showed up,” she said locking her arm in mine and guiding me toward the bleachers. “How long you been here?”
“Long enough to notice everybody’s jocking our new star football players,” I said, looking in the direction of Darcell. “Is that his girlfriend with him?”
“No, girl. That’s his cousin, Chanelle. We met her yesterday at the house. They were all hanging outside throwing the football around.”
“She cool?”
She shrugged. “I guess so, seems a little ghetto.”
Speak of the devil. Chanelle headed straight toward us. I figured she wanted to say hi to Charmaine since they’d met already.
“Whassup, Charmaine?”
“Hey, Chanelle. I didn’t know you’d be up in the spot tonight.”
“I didn’t either. I’m staying with my cousins this weekend so they asked me to hang with them. Who’s your little friend?”
Little? No she didn’t.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Chanelle, this is my best friend, Liz.”
I gave her a limp wave. “Hey! Nice to meet you.”
Not so much.
“Nice to meet you. Darcell told me he met you and your sisters the other day,” she said, giving me the once over as if she was sizing me up. “Ooh girl! Are those Levi’s you got on?”
“Ummm…yeah. I think so,” I said, craning my neck around to check my butt. I just pulled a pair of jeans from the hanger and threw them on.
She huffed, stuck her nose a little further in the air, and moved toward the dance floor. “Hmph. I think I remember seeing those on display at the Smithsonian museum last summer. Well, anyway I’ll check y’all later. This is my song.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped.
“Girl, don’t even sweat that. I don’t know what her problem is. She seemed okay yesterday. Maybe Aunt Flo is making her monthly visit,” she chuckled.
As the night moved on, Darcell’s monkey funky attitude put everybody off. The fact that his family was rich and he would become a star football player couldn’t substitute for him behaving like a total douche bag. He held up the wall and talked to the other guys on the football team for most of the night. He graced us with his presence a couple of times when he did some of the line dances. After they ended, he went right back to the wall.
Charles, on the other hand, got along with everyone. He danced every dance, and it didn’t seem to matter what the girl’s status was. Fat or skinny, rich or poor, pretty or butt-ugly, he’d come to have a good time. Although he’d been the life of the party, he reserved all the slow dances for Jeni—and every single hating ass girl at the party took notice. I smiled. It was good to see them together and her so happy. What a difference between the brothers. One spawned by Satan and the other an angel sent from heaven to make my sister happy.
I got my groove on a couple of times but only a few guys came out on the floor, so I never stayed out for long. Given my fragile reputation, I couldn’t be seen dancing with a bunch of girls. I took a seat on the bleachers, not too far from where Darcell was standing. Not by design, though. I gravitated to that area because so few people were standing there. Charles walked nearby, smiled at me, and continued to his brother.
“Come on, man,” Charles said. “I’m getting crunk as hell up in here. Stop actin’ like a little punk and get your ass off the wall.”
“Whatever man! I don’t think so. You know I don’t like to dance unless I’m with somebody I know.”
“Well, if you get your butt off your shoulders, you might meet somebody decent.”
“There’s nobody here I want to be hooked up with.”
“Man, you couldn’t pay me to walk around with your attitude. These girls are looking good. Some of them are super hot, like her. Check her out. She’s sweet too,” Charles said, pointing to Jeni who was talking with Charmaine.
“You’re dancing with the only hot girl in the room.”
“Why don’t you dance with her sister, Liz? She’s hot too if you ask me, and down to earth. She’s right there,” Charles said. I turned around and accidentally caught Darcell’s evil eye. He turned away like he was a vampire and I was a crucifix.
“Man, go on back on the floor. I’m chillin’. I’m not feeling, Shorty and besides…she looks like she’s a, you know, a dyke.”
Oh no he didn’t! I gave my neck a ghetto twist and looked dead at him, but he didn’t notice me.
What is this, pick on Liz night?
First his cousin and then him?
Had I been dropped into some alternate universe?
I couldn’t even front, I’d definitely caught feelings behind his remark. Not only was he not the right boy for me, he’d stereotyped me like every other boy in school, couldn’t see past my exterior. My hope of meeting someone dissipated within seconds. The girl I used to be flashed through my head, the one who would’ve run home and cried, but no way would I give Darcell or anyone else the satisfaction of knowing how he’d hurt me. So, I pulled myself together and had man-up moment so-to-speak. Every fiber of my being wanted to walk over and tell him to take his stank attitude home but I talked myself out of going. Then I talked myself right back into it. Not being one to hold my tongue anymore, I made a bee-line straight in his direction. I’d cuss him out or my name wasn’t Liz Bennett.
Chapter 5: Hubba Hubba Hubba
Fully enraged, I stomped over to Darcell ready to bomb him out with every three-, four-, and five-letter curse word I could think of. How dare he insult me! He didn’t know who he was playing with but he was sure enough about to find out. As I charged on him, he caught my snarly-eyed scowl and brought his stance to attention, probably realizing I’d caught wind of every funky word he said. In the midst of my fury, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. I turned around, and through my angry fog, the words hubba hubba hijacked my thoughts and almost slipped out of my mouth. The same guy I drooled over while I was talking to Coach Smith had appeared in front of me…Prince Charming in the flesh.
“Hey! I was wondering, would you like to dance?” my Prince Charming said, looking like T.I. on steroids. All kinds of fine. Ooooooh weeeeeee!
“Sure.” I shrugged, playing it cool. He grabbed my hand and I rolled my eyes at King Crabby. By chance, I caught Darcell and my prince giving each other the “I’ma kick your ass” stink eye. The anger and tension in their gazes told me they’d met before and didn’t like each other at all. Whatever they were beefing about, my prince wasn’t to blame. I reasoned that Darcell started hating once he realized all eyes had gravitated from him to me and my dance partner.
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-32 show above.)