Diva Rules (9 page)

I frown. “What, a
kiss
?”

He grins.

“Are you serious? Right here?”

“Yeah. Right here. I dare you.”

Miesha 'n' Antonio look on, both with silly grins on their faces.

“Okay,” I say. Cease puckers up those sexy lips of his. I lick my lips real slow 'n' sexy-like for him. Then lean in as if I'm about to take him up on it. But instead I take my fingers 'n' pluck his lips, just enough to sting.

“Oww! See, you playin', right?”

“Bye, Cease.” I shake my head, shoulder my bag, spin on my heel, 'n' head off to class, way before the bell rings, with my booty bouncing 'n' a sly grin plastered on my face.

“F
iona!”

I quickly slide the earbuds to my iPod into my ears 'n' ig her.

“Fiona!”

I start singing all loud 'n' off-key to an Ariana Grande song.

“Fiona!” She bangs her hand on the foot of my bed.

I snap my fingers, continuing to sing “The Way.” Pretend to be oblivious to her presence.

She stands in front of me. Hand on hip. Face extra tight. “Fiona! You hear me talking to you, girl!”

I suck my teeth, looking up from my notebook at her, pulling an earbud out. “What?”

“Don't
what
me. Why aren't those dishes done?”

I give her a blank stare. Really? Is she frickin' kidding me?

I take a deep breath. “I'll do them in a minute. Why are you even here?”

“I'm getting ready to leave for work. Don't leave up outta this house, either. You think I don't know what you be doing when I'm not here.”

I huff. “And what is it you
think
I'm doing, huh?”

She glares at me. “Don't try me, girl. You either got some boy running in 'n' outta here, or you sneaking up outta here all hours of the night. And just because I haven't said anything, don't think I don't know about that boy you had climbing up outta your bedroom window two months ago.”

I blink.
How'd she know about that?
Then it dawns on me that Miss Pitney next door musta had her ole nosy butt all up in my business. Ole messy heffa! She stays minding somebody else's business. She swears she's the Neighborhood Watch.

I frown. “Tell your spies to get it right. I don't
sneak
out. I walk out through the front door, then walk right back in the same way. I'm not climbing outta windows or tiptoein' out the door 'n' duckin' down in trees to get in
or
out.”

“Well, I don't want you sneaking no damn boys in or outta here either. It's not right.”

“That was one time,” I say nonchalantly. Like get over it. No big deal. But what I really wanna say is,
Why you care? Maybe you should try gettin' you some.

“And who was that boy you had leaving up outta here the other night?”

I frown. “A friend.”

She twists her lips. “Uh-huh. Well, it's still downright disrespectful.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay, whatever you say.”

“Yeah. I know it's whatever I say. All this trampin' you doin' needs to stop.”

I give her a blank stare. “Not to be rude. But, um, can I help you? I'm tryna study.”

She plants both of her hands up on her hips. Her jaw set tight. Her nose flares. I can tell she's counting in her head. I ease up just in case she's thinking about jumping on me.

“Fiona. No boys in this house, you understand? And I want those dishes done. I shouldn't have to keep tellin' you the same thing over 'n' over again.”

I huff. “Okay, dang. I heard you. No boys. Do the dishes. Bye.”

She lunges at me 'n' swings an arm. But I'm too quick for the big girl. I jump up off the bed outta her reach.

“I'm sick of you, girl! I can't wait to toss ya slick-mouth azz outta here the minute you turn eighteen. You not gonna keep disrespectin' me like you do, girl.”

“Good day, ma'am,” I say, flicking a dismissive wave at her. “Please 'n' thank you.” She keeps talking all sideways 'n' crazy 'bout how she's gonna end up knocking my teeth down my throat. But I'm not really hearing her. I keep saying, “Good day, ma'am. Please 'n' thank you. Good day, ma'am. Please 'n' thank you.”

I know y'all think I'm disrespectful to her. But I don't care! You have no idea what she's put me through over the years. So what you see is the best I can do. I don't wanna relive the past, so I'm not tryna go there 'n' bring it up.

She stares me down.

I stare right back at her. Tilt my head.

But I know today's stare-down won't be long 'cause she has to leave for work, like now.

“Did you cook?” I ask, knowing the answer already. No.

She narrows her gaze. “No, I didn't cook. What I look like, slavin' over a damn stove for some disrespecting girl who already thinks she's grown? You know how to cook. You wanna eat, then get in there 'n' cook it ya damn self.”

I fold my arms. “I need money to order something.”

She smirks. “Oh, really? Ha! Like ya fresh mouth always tells me: Girl, bye. Miss me with that. You better eat what's down in that refrigerator or you just don't eat.”

With that said, she's out the door, her hips 'n' big booty angrily bouncin' 'n' shakin' with each step. My door slams shut.

I suck my teeth, fishing through my handbag.
Lady, boom! I didn't need ya lil change anyway. I stay with my own coins, boo. Boom! I just wanted to see what you were gonna say.

I snatch up my cell 'n' call Travis's big-head self. He picks up on the third ring. “Yo, waddup?”

“Bring me something to eat, boo-daddy.”

He laughs. “Oh, word? Now a nucca ya
boo-daddy
, huh?”

“Oh, boy, stop. You know you always gonna be my lil boo-daddy.”

Lies!

“Yeah, a'ight. That's what ya mouth says. But I couldn't get no love the other day, right?”

“Boy, bye. Are you gonna feed me or what?”

“What I'ma get, huh?”

I roll my eyes up in my head so hard I almost make myself dizzy. “What you want, boo?”

I can practically see him lickin' his lips 'n' grinnin' through the phone. “You already know.”

I purse my lips. “I want a chicken cheesesteak with fries. And I want it nice 'n' hot.”

“Yeah, a'ight. And I want that thang-thang or that mouth nice 'n' hot, too.”

“Okay. I got you, boo-daaaady. What time you gonna get here?” He tells me in about two hours. Maybe less. That he's watching his lil brother until his moms gets back from the store. Like I really need to know all that. Just bring me my dang food. I shake my head. I already know his two hours or less really means like in four hours. I could be dead from starvation by then. I don't think so. “Okay. I'll see you when you get here.”

“Yeah, a'ight. Wear that lil sexy see-through jump-off I like. The red one.”

“Okay, boo-daddy.” I disconnect. And dial up King.

“Wassup, baby? How you?”

“I'm good,” I coo into the phone, lying on my stomach. I bend my legs up 'n' cross my ankles, twirling a lock of my hair. “I been thinkin' about you.”

“Oh, word? That's wasssup.”

I moan. “Mm-hmm. I can't stop thinkin' about you. Do you have classes tonight?”

“Nah. Why, wasssup? You tryna chill?”

Not really. Not with you 'n' all that spit you got goin' on.
“You already know I am.”

“That's wasssup, babe. I been thinkin' about you, too.”

“Can you bring me something to eat when you come?”

“Yeah. I got you. What you want?”

Ooh, I know you do, boo. Bless ya lil slobberin' soul.
I tell him Chinese—garlic shrimp 'n' steamed broccoli with brown rice—from the spot downtown.

“A'ight. I'll be over in like an hour.”

I smile. Then end the call.
Boom!
This diva will never go hungry. But if either one of them fools think I'ma serve 'em up a dish of this warm goodness, they have another think coming. I don't trick for Meals on Wheels, honey-boo.

No, ma'am.

“Y
o, that was real foul how you played me last night,” Travis says the next morning, walking up to me in the hallway as I'm standing here talking to this dang girl Alicia about our English assignment. “But you got that off, yo.”

I tell Alicia I'll catch her in class.

She rolls her eyes. “And you do know this project is due next week,
right
?”

I blink. “Yeah, and?”

“You know what?” She throws her hands up. “I can't. If we fail, we fail.”

“Boo-boo. Be clear. Fiona doesn't fail. So you can miss me with that.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She spins off 'n' I bring my attention to Travis. He's standing here showing off his muscled chest in a tight-fitting Hollister T-shirt. I glance down at the half-sleeve tattoo on his right arm, then meet his gaze.

“Now what were you sayin', lil daddy?”

“Nah, don't
lil daddy
me, yo. That stunt you pulled was mad foul, yo.”

“Boy, bye. Get over it or move along.”

He's still hot at the fact that I opened the door last night when he showed up all late 'n' crazy at like almost midnight. Oh noo, boo-boo. You not even about to make Miss Fiona sit 'n' wait on you. A diva sits 'n' waits on no one. Not even some boy who's bringing you a hot meal. No, ma'am. She always has a plan A, B, 'n' C.

So when he finally decided to show up, I snatched the bag of food outta his hand, then slammed the door in his stank face. Midnight? Really? When I called ya black behind at like four o'clock. And you show up ringing my door at
midnight
? Twelve hours wrong! Oh no, boo-boo. The carriage has already turned back into a pumpkin 'n' this Cinderella is already being entertained 'n' fed by someone else.

I laugh. “Well, at least I came to the door in that red nightie you like. And I texted you a thank-you, didn't I?”

He sucks his teeth. “Yeah, whatever, yo. You owe me nine dollars.”

I wave him on. “Let me know how you make out with that.”

“Whatever, man. But it's all good. You probably needed it more than me.”

I stop in my tracks. Neck cocked, one hand slung up on my hip, the other sliding down into my bag, yanking out my wallet. “Oh no, don't get it effed up, boo. Fiona doesn't need a boy for jack. Trust. You want ya lil change back? Here”—I toss him a ten-dollar bill—“have at it. One thing I'm not is some charity case.”

He pushes it away. “Nah, you good.”

“Uh-huh. I know I am.”

“You stay playin' for real though.”

I grin, snatching my money back 'n' stuffing it back down into my bag before he changes his mind. I sidle up alongside him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You know I love you, boo.”

“Whatever, man. I ain't beat.” He laughs. “All you love is playin' games, yo.”

“Ooh, lies, lies, 'n' more lies.” I inch up on my tiptoes 'n' give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the food, boo. I'ma eat it when I get home from school today.”

He pushes me off him. “Get off me, yo. I ain't effen wit' you, Fee. You play too much.”

“Ohh, I'm not playin', yet.” I inch up again 'n' whisper something real nasty in his ear. He tries to act like he isn't beat, but he starts grinning 'n' licking his lips.

“Yeah, a'ight. When?”

“Now,” I tell him. “I'ma go in the bathroom 'n' take 'em off for you. So you can have something to think about throughout the day.”

The nasty dog starts drooling. I tell you. Boys. I wish some boy would tell me he's gonna take his drawz off for me to sniff; I'd slap his dang face off. But this lil horny hound is all excited about getting my panties. Mmph.

I start walking down the hall. “I'll have 'em for you when I get outta next period.”

“Nah. I want 'em now.”

I laugh. “Boy, you stoooopid.”

“Nah, I'm dead-azz.”

“Whatever.” I huff, brushing my bangs outta my left eye. “Come on.” He follows me to the girls' bathroom 'n' waits outside by the doors. A few seconds later I return from the bathroom with my pink lace panties neatly folded, then hand 'em to him. Now he's all grins 'n' giggles. Just that quick he's forgotten about how he got played last night. Silly fool.

I make it to my next class two minutes after the bell rings.

 

“Glad you're able to join us, Miss Madison,” Mrs. Sheldon, aka Mrs. Haterade, starts in the second I waltz through the door. This lady stays tryna turn up. I can't stand her. She's such a . . . ooh, she's lucky I don't call old ladies the B-word. 'Cause that's exactly what I'd call her. And if you ask me, I think she has some kinda complex toward the real pretty girls. Yup. I sure do 'cause she's just as sweet as molasses to the lot lizards 'n' chicks that look like baboons. But let it be a fly chick like me 'n' she stays tryin' it.

But I'm not messy. So I'm gonna keep it cute 'n' move along. I open my mouth to explain my reason—well, okay, my lie—as to why I'm late. But she shuts it down. “Save it. Take your seat.”

I roll my eyes.
Don't do me, boo.
I take the nearest seat next to Alicia—not that I really wanna sit next to her—dropping my bag onto the floor beside me. I peep her looking at me outta the corner of my eye.

I turn to her. “Can I help you?”

“You're such a snotty bitch,” she hisses.

“And you're still a ox stuffed in a thick girl's body, but you don't hear me calling you names, now do you? Good day, ma'am.” I shift in my seat.

Mrs. Sheldon clears her throat, shooting daggers over in my direction. “Excuse me, ladies. Am I missing something? This is an AP English class, is it not?”

Alicia says, “Yes.”

I just stare at her.

“And you are
both
seniors, correct?”

“Yes,” Alicia says again.

“Miss Madison, please feel free to chime in.”

I twist my lips. “Mm-hmm.”

“Great. Now I trust the two of you have been getting along and working diligently on your project to present next week.”

Alicia shifts in her seat 'n' of course the messy
bish
tries to toss me under the dang train, bus, 'n' garbage truck all in the same sitting. “Well, I don't know what
she's
doing.” She tosses a look over at me. “But I'm doing
my
part,” she says, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

I toss my hair back. “Good day, boo. And how does that have anything to do with today's lesson, ma'am?” I ask.

A few kids in back of me jeer her on. “Ooh, she tryna play you, Missus S.”

She narrows her eyes at me.

I shrug. “No, shade. I'm just tryna understand the relevance of the question since last I checked I
thought
we were supposed to be discussing”—I pull out my book—“this.
The Bluest Eye
by Toni Morrison, which, by the way, wore my nerves down. Ooh, don't do me like that again. No, ma'am.”

She blinks. “Excuse me? Please elaborate.”

“The book is extremely depressing.”

“And why is that?” she wants to know, tilting her head.

I sigh. “Not that I wanna be center stage today, but . . .”

Someone says, “Yeah, right.”

A few kids chuckle.

I throw my left hand up, then middle finger up. “Ooh, don't do me.” And of course, Mrs. Haterade tries to give it to me, like I'm the one causing problems. “Annnnyway,” I continue, igging her. “The whole time I was reading this mess I felt like I was in the middle of a horrible nightmare. First of all, she hates herself to the point where she thinks havin' blue eyes 'n' blond hair is gonna make her more beautiful. It's like she was obsessed with it. I mean, dang. She shoulda just embraced her ugliness 'n' kept it movin'.”

“That's a bit harsh,” Mrs. Sheldon says, frowning.

“Omigod!” Alicia snaps. “Are you frickin' serious? That girl—”

“Her name is Pecola,” Mrs. Haterade interjects.

“Okay. Pecola,” Alicia says, “was treated like shi . . . uh, crap. If someone is always ridiculed 'n' made to feel worthless, like she was, how you expect her to like what or who she is? She's spit on, teased. Then her own father, with his nasty self, rapes her, and ends up knockin' her up. Pecola's whole life was bleak. Her father tried to burn down their house. He drinks. Her own mother doesn't really show her any love 'n' all they do is beat each other down. Her parents fight. I mean, c'mon. Her whole life was effed up.”

“Girl, relax,” I say dismissively. “You takin' up for the chick like she's a long lost cousin. It's
only
a book 'n' it's
my
opinion. Get over it.”

“And now I'm giving you facts. Almost everyone around her mistreated or abused her. So,
you
get over it.”

I shoot her an icy glare. “And like I
saaaid
, in my opinion, the book was
borrring
and too dang depressing. And Fiona has no time for tragedy 'n' heartache. Period.”

“Okay, girls,” Mrs. Haterade says. “Settle down. Let's not turn this into a verbal sparring match. Yes, it's true. The book is very sad and haunting. But it's a deep and inspiring one as well.”

I grunt. “Mmph. I can't tell. The only thing it inspired me to do was shut it.”

I blink back the burning sensation that's building up in the back part of my eyeballs. I feel like I am about to burst out in tears at any moment. I didn't realize talking about this dang book would have me feeling all types of crazy. Snippets of my own damn life being tossed in my dang face. Not that my father was a drunk. Or ever tried to rape me or burn down our house. But I know what it's like to be ridiculed 'n' made to feel like you're nothing by your own mother. That was most of my life. And it had nothing to do with being dark-skinned 'n' ugly. Or having brown eyes or blue eyes, or wanting to be white.

I have green eyes 'n' blond hair. And I'm very light-skinned. Almost white, at first glance. But guess what? That ish doesn't mean jack. Growing up, I still felt worthless. Still felt like I didn't belong. And, even now, sometimes I still do. But I'm not about to admit it here. Oh, no ma'am, no sir. Not in front of these clowns. That's my dirty lil secret. Trust. I didn't need to read about feeling ugly 'n' being treated like crap in some miserable book. I can look in the mirror if I wanna be reminded of misery.

I take several deep breaths, then push out, “Well, someone shoulda sent her silly butt the memo that having blue eyes like Shirley Temple doesn't make you more loveable. And being white or light doesn't guarantee your parents are gonna love you more, or respect you more. And it definitely doesn't mean you're gonna be accepted by anyone.”

Someone in back of me says, “On the real, what Pecola went through is no different than what my lil thirteen-year-old cousin went through last summer when her moms's boyfriend raped her. Dude kept on rapin' her 'n' her moms was walkin' around actin' like she didn't see or know what was poppin' off. No different from Pecola's moms, if you ask me. My cuz ended up pregnant 'n' with gonorrhea at the same time. And my aunt blames her for that mofo . . . oh, my bad, Missus S. But she blames my cuz for what happened.”

The classroom starts to rumble.

“Omigod!”

“Oh, that's effed up!”

“I hope his butt's in jail.”

“Mister Croix, I'm sorry to hear about your cousin,” Mrs. Haterade says. “And you're right, her story is no different from what we hear today. Truth is, Pecola's story, although fictional, is the reality for so many of us. There are hundreds and thousands of Pecolas in the world. And just like in this book, for many of them, there are no happy endings.”

I choke back tears. My stomach starts to twist in knots 'n' I can feel my breakfast bubblin' up inside of me 'n' I can tell I am gonna be sick. Like right now. I can taste it in the back of my throat.

Oh no, oh no. These fools will not see me break down. Not today. Oh no, honey-boo.
I snatch up my things 'n' bolt for the door with Mrs. Haterade calling after me, but I don't make it to the bathroom in time before I am hunched over in the middle of the hallway, tossing up my guts along with every nasty word my mother has ever said to me.