I was straight aggravated and I didn’t know if I was aggravated more because this girl knew my name or that she wouldn’t step off.
“Do you have a little brother named Malik?” she continued to pry.
How does she know that?
“Do you?” she asked for confirmation.
“Why are you all in my business?”
“Because you look just like my best friend.”
“Okay, and, clearly you can see that I’m not your bestie.”
“But you could be. I haven’t seen her since I was like twelve. We lost contact and she looked exactly like you. Her name was Gem and she and her little brother, Malik, used to live with my grandmother. She was their foster mother. But when she died they moved and I don’t know what happened to them.” Tears glimmered in her eyes. “And for a minute I thought maybe you were her.”
I didn’t say anything, mostly because I didn’t know what to say. Especially since I now knew exactly who she was: Cameron “Popcorn” Hunter. Everybody called her Popcorn because that’s all she ever wanted to eat.
Her grandmother, Ms. Betty, was my foster mother and Popcorn used to come over her house every day. That’s how we became best friends.
We went to school together, were in the same class, and swore we were the only two girls in the world who could step—I mean really bring it.
When Popcorn had her first boyfriend in sixth grade and I didn’t have one, we created a club with only the two of us and called it the Rich Girlz. Why? ’Cause that’s what we both wanted to be—rich. And our club had only one rule: No boyz were allowed to come between our friendship. So when her boo got jealous, she dumped him.
We thought we had it all figured out—but then her grandmother died—and we didn’t know how to resolve that. So in the blink of an eye our lives changed.
Malik and I returned to being gypsies and Popcorn and I lost contact.
“Okay,” she swallowed and dapped at the corner of her right eye. “It’s cool, I guess I was mistaken.” She turned to walk away.
“It’s me,” I said dryly, not knowing exactly how to react.
She turned back around and her eyes lit up. “For real—for real? Or for real just so I won’t think I’m crazy, have an emotional breakdown, go home and eat all the popcorn I can get my hands on.”
I tried not to smile, but I couldn’t help it. “Nacho cheese with hot sauce.”
“And a little bit of salt, pepper—”
“And globs of butter.” I cracked up. “The only kind you would eat when you were mad.”
“My edible boyfriend.” She smiled like a kid who’d been given free candy. “So it’s really you, Gem?”
“The one and only!”
“I can’t believe this!” she squealed, and we embraced. For a moment I wasn’t certain if this was weird or simply perfect. But one thing I knew for sure, I felt like I was hugging the best part of my life.
“The original Rich Girlz are back together again! We can’t lose touch, ever!” she said. Her voice was high-pitched, squeaky, and she spoke a mile a minute—the same way she did when we were twelve.
“We won’t,” I said.
“I can’t believe this!” She smiled. “Girl, I’m surprised you didn’t remember me when G was calling me Pop.”
“Well, I thought he was calling you Pop because . . . well he said . . .” I hesitated. I started to sell Man-Man out, considering the havoc he caused, but then I changed my mind. “I guess I just didn’t put two and two together. And plus he never called you Popcorn.”
“Yeah, as I got older the nickname became shorter.” She smiled and playfully pushed me on my shoulder. “I just can’t believe—”
“All right listen,” Man-Man’s voice boomed as he found his way from across the room and into our conversation. “All of this arguing has to end. I thought y’all were over here hugging it out, but now I see you’re about box over me again.” He stood in between us and draped an arm over each of our shoulders. “I’m a playboy not a firefighter. And Pop this is really my sister. So I need you to calm down. You know it’s a G-world girl and you’re the only bird I want in my tree.”
“Boy, please.” Pop pushed Man-Man’s arm off of her shoulder. “I didn’t forget how you just tried to play me.”
“Don’t be like that, Pop.” He turned toward me. “Tell her, Gem.”
“It’s a G-world, you handle it,” I said.
Pop looked at me and smiled. “Come on, girlie, let’s go get our dance on!”
“Yeah, let’s,” I said as we walked away holding hands, our stilettos making drum beats behind us.
“Pop!” Man-Man screamed. “I was just playing, and why y’all holding hands?”
We didn’t answer we just kept it movin’.
Man-Man continued, “Gem, Pop, please don’t tell me y’all ordering fish-filet. I didn’t mean to hurt you that bad!”
“He is out of control,” I said.
“Yeah, he is.” Pop blushed and squealed, bumping against my arm. “But he’s
soooo
freakin’ cute.”
9
“
G
irrrlzzzz, drop it to the flooooor
. . .!” Waka Flocka Flame’s “No Hands” blasted through the D.J.’s speakers, as he mixed in the toughest bass beat I’d ever heard. The music alone took this party to a whole other level—transmitting everyone to another zone. Hands were in the air and everybody bounced, rocked, and shouted in unison, “Look, ma, no hands . . .!”
I was so caught up and lost in the moment that for the first time ever since I’d been on my own I didn’t think about my mother never getting herself together or where I’d lay my head next. The only thing on my mind was having a good time.
“Look, ma, no hands...!” The crowd shouted and bounced as if we were in a stepper’s dance.
“The twins know their parties be crazy!” Pop fanned her face as the D.J. slowed the music down to Beyoncé’s “Rather Die Young” and mostly everyone on the floor coupled up. Unless of course, you were solo, a third wheel, or came with your friends—then you stepped to the side or headed to the bar.
Me and Pop chose the bar.
We ordered two Shirley Temples and nodded our heads to the mellow beat. “We have so much to catch up on,” Pop said, as she played with the tip of her stirrer. “Like, I need to tell you about all my boos since sixth grade. And how out of all of them I thought G was going to be the one, but I’m so done with him.”
I twisted my lips so far to the left that the right side of my mouth sank. “You need to stop,” I said, not believing a word she’d said. Especially since Man-Man stared at her and she couldn’t sip her drink for smiling at him.
“I’m serious,” she insisted and turned her head away from him. Pop pushed her hair behind her ears and her lime green feather earrings dangled on her shoulders. “I’ma just be by myself for a while and G can do what he wants to do. See who he wants to see, ’cause I’ma do me.”
I sipped my drink. “Sure.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Umm, no.”
“And why not?” She looked hurt.
“For one you keep staring at him.”
“My eyes can’t help it. I’m addicted to cuties.” She peeked over at Man-Man and the moment he looked up and over at her she turned back to me. “He is so fine.” Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling, she stared off into a daze, and then regained her focus. “But he is not the only fine fish in the sea. ’Cause this is not just G’s world, this is Popcorn’s world too, you feel me?”
“I hear you.”
“G is always trying to play me like I’m some jealous lunatic. Which, I’m not. I’m just passionate about my feelings.”
“Okay.” I took another sip.
“Girl,” she looked at her watch. “It’s 12:32 and by 12:37, I’ma be so over that boy it’ll be a shame.”
“Wow, five minutes. That must be a record.”
“It might be. But hmph, I’ma ballplayer, not a chaser.” She put up her hand for a high-five.
“Okay!” I slapped my hand against hers.
“Boom.” She turned back around and looked over at Man-Man. “You think I’m beat by that girl all . . . up . . . in . . . his face? Well, I’m not.”
“Umm hmm.”
Pop paused, squinted. “Hmph, it’s like she’s trying to swallow his breath they’re so close. She’s smacked and smashed all up in his grill.”
“Dead in it.”
She placed her hands over her eyes like a sun-visor. “Like she could eat him for breakfast, lunch, dinner—”
“And a snack,” I added. “But you’re not beat for that.”
“Not sweatin’ it one drop.” Pop squinted again. “But she really needs to back up. Wait, is that Janay?” Her eyes popped open. “Oh hold up, wait a minute. I’m ’bout to put some push up in it.” She snaked her neck, paused, and snaked it again. “Has she lost her mind?”
“That’s the quiet chick you were with earlier, right?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe she was just looking for you.” I shrugged.
“Well, I’m over here, boo.” She snapped her fingers. “You know, I’m like 5’ 7”, size twelve, you can’t miss me. She doesn’t need to be in G’s face looking for me. Plus I have to keep an eye on Janay anyway.”
“Why?”
“’Cause she’s quiet and my grandma always said you have to watch the quiet ones. Plus, when she smiles at G her grin is more than one eighth of an inch.”
Now that caught me completely off guard. “More than one what?”
“One eighth of an inch. That’s how wide her smile should be when she’s looking at G.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s a nice-and-friendly respectful you’remy-friend’s-boo-type-of smile. But Janay hits G with a smile so wide a truck could drive through it. And that’s a sneaky smile. A smile that clearly says when my friend’s back is turned, I’ll be trying to side bag her boo.”
“Wow.”
“And that’s against
all
the rules! Plus, I don’t play that.”
“Maybe it’s nothing shady. Maybe she really was looking for you and didn’t see you. Pop, it is a lot of people in here.”
“Well, if she didn’t see me, she’s about to. And if it looks shady and Janay got that side-bagging smile on her face, then this party is about to be a beat-down crime scene.” She marched toward Man-Man and I walked alongside of her. “I ain’t the one,” she announced.
“Let’s just hear what she has to say first, and anyway didn’t you just say you were done with him?”
“So what? I don’t need her cleaning up after me. Suppose I want seconds? And besides it’s not 12:37, it’s 12:36 and I still have a whole minute to lose it!” Pop stormed in between Man-Man and Janay. She turned toward Janay and said, “And what’s this about?”
Janay’s smile was nervous but wide—straight deer caught in headlights.
Before they could say anything, Pop stepped into Janay’s personal space. “I know you’re not trying to be a homewrecking-homie-hop?!”
A what?
“No, girl,” she said, as if they actually understood what a homewrecking-homie-hop was.
“I was over here because Kamani sent me to look for you,” Janay said.
“For what?” Pop snarled.
“’Cause we wanted to go and get something to drink.” Janay hesitated.
“Well, I’m not thirsty,” Pop said, sarcastically. “But since you are, then you better get on.”
“Whatever,” Janay said, as she hurried out of Pop’s way. Once she was out of eyesight Man-Man smiled from ear to ear and said to Pop, “It wasn’t even like that. As soon as Janay started smiling I told her to close her mouth.”
“Don’t try me, G.”
“Look at you,” he carried on, proudly. “Getting all mad. I just love it when you get that wrinkle in your nose.”
Pop fought back a blush and rolled her eyes. “Mad? Puhlease. I ain’t mad!” she carried on but I could no longer focus on what she was saying, because something—or better
someone
—across the room had just snatched my attention away.
I thought about turning away, but I couldn’t. I felt forced to look straight ahead and stare. I couldn’t help it. The cutie who stood across the room from me was soooo fine—that all I could think was
goddamn
. . . .
He was 6’ 2”, wore a navy-blue Yankees snap back bent like a half a moon over his chestnut-colored eyes. His skin was the color of a Hershey’s Kiss, and his right arm was covered with a colorful tattoo sleeve. Sexy. And his gear was on point: slightly baggy skinny-jeans, a blue and white plaid button up, with the sleeves pushed over his elbows, and crisp white Jordans on his feet.
As if on cue the D.J. played Monica’s “Anything (to Find You)” and he walked toward me.
My stomach did four flips. I diverted my eyes from him and turned to the side.
Breathe in . . .
Breathe out . . .
And chill...
I turned back around and like a flash of light he’d disappeared.
My heart jumped.
“Gem.” Pop called my name as if she’d been calling me for a minute.
I felt like I’d been in space. “Yeah?”
Pop pointed to the middle of the living room floor where couples slow danced. “Me and G decided we couldn’t live without each other so we’re going over here to celebrate.”
And before I could protest, say okay, or even ask her what she’d just said to me, they were already in the middle of the floor wrapped in each other’s arms, leaving me to wonder if I’d just gone crazy.
I did my best to shake off my thoughts as I walked back toward the bar, glanced over my shoulder, and thought that maybe . . .
Know what, I’m trippin’ . . .
I placed my dollar on the bar, reached for my drink, and leaned against the wall.
“Praying to see me,” drifted into my ears.
I opened my eyes, swallowed, and fought with everything in me not to smile, but nothing stopped my eyes from dancing in delight. The corners of my lips crept their way toward a smile, but I managed to keep them turned down as I said, “Am I praying to see you? Not at all.” I sipped my drink. “But what I did pray, is that you weren’t stalking me.”
Why did I say that?
He smirked—a sexy smirk—but a smirk nonetheless . . . then he looked me over, leaned in, and stroked the right side of my face from my cheek to my chin. “Trust me, I’ma lot of things, Pretty Girl, but one thing I’m not is a stalker.”
“And how would I know that?”
Oh...my...God...Just when I thought I couldn’t get any dumber, my mouth sinks to an all-new low.
I smiled, hoping that my cuteness would somehow erase his memory of what I’d just said.
My heart thundered loudly and I wondered if he could hear it. I swear all of this was new to me.
I sipped my drink and he smirked.
This whole deal was going south real quick.
“Know what? You’re way too beautiful for your mouth to be so slick. And maybe the next time a dude tries to kick it to you, you’ll have your mind right.” He hit me with a two-finger peace sign and left.
Did he just call me crazy?
I swallowed.
Watched him disappear into the crowd.
Maybe I shouldn’t have...
“Everybody on the floor...!” Ciara’s throwback “1,2 Step” blasted through the D.J.’s speakers and I joined the line dance. A few minutes into it—and although I knew every step—from watching the video over and over again—my rhythm was off. And the last thing I wanted was to look stupid, again.
I gave up the dance and headed toward the bathroom. Of course there was a line—which I had no patience for. I decided to wait, and not because I had to use it, but because I wanted a moment alone. Scratch that, I needed a moment alone.
The line moved hella slow.
I opened my clutch purse and took out my compact.
Lips . . . still poppin’.
Eyes . . . revealed too many thoughts that I didn’t want to deal with.
I quickly put the mirror away and continued to wait. But after a while the line seemed permanently on pause, so I gave up and walked away.
This party had gone from a ten to negative one. All I wanted was to go home, crawl in bed, and toss the covers over my head. But at the moment, with Pop and Man-Man crazy-glued to one another I couldn’t do that.
I need some fresh air.
I walked toward the front door and as I made my way through the crowd my eyes scanned everyone... just in case...
The night’s breeze felt like a relief when I stepped outside on the porch. My heels clicked as I leaned against the black iron stair rail and looked out into the street—only for my eyes to meet him: standing on the street corner beneath a flickering street lamppost, kicking it with a group of his boys.
Be bold.
No. If anything, I need to go back inside.
Just chill and stand here.
I hesitated.
Maybe I should . . .
Maybe I shouldn’t . . .
I slid a piece of gum in my mouth, blew a minty-fresh bubble, and popped it.
I can’t . . .
This was crazy.
He was too far for me to hear anything more than a few shrieks of laughter that drifted from his conversation but he was close enough for me to see him smile, turn his head, and notice me standing here. We locked gazes for about two point five seconds and then the butterflies took over my stomach and I couldn’t take the stare-off anymore.
A few minutes later I looked back in his direction. He was no longer looking this way and had resumed his conversation with his friends. I wondered was he talking about me.