Keysha's Drama (13 page)

“A little lost ghetto girl,” he said and then laughed at me. That did it. I had to put him in his place. I marched into the kitchen and grabbed the wooden broom. I rushed back into the family room howling out like a woman who'd gone mad, and whacked him so hard that the broomstick snapped in half.

W
hat's wrong with you, girl? Have you lost your damn mind?” Mike hollered at me as I stood before him with the broken broomstick. He wasn't hurt because of all the football gear he was wearing.

“Say another word and I swear I'll stab you in the neck with this damn broom!” Both of my hands were clutched around the broken broomstick and I desperately wanted him to say something else. I was on edge and was angry enough with him, my situation and the world to do it. At that moment I just didn't care about the consequences of my actions. I just wanted him to give me a reason to kill his spoiled ass.

“Keysha!” Jordan's voice was like a sonic boom in the room. He quickly snatched the broom out of my hand.

“Daddy, that girl is crazy!” Mike squealed like a baby.

“Keysha, go to your room now!” Jordan commanded me.

“He had it coming!” I screamed out. My words were as poisonous as a snake's venom.

“Get up to your damn room before you make me get ugly with you.” I looked at the expression on Jordan's face, and I knew he wasn't playing with me. I did as I was told, but in the back of my mind I wanted to kick Mike and his mama's asses for being so mean to me.

I got grounded for a week for attacking Mike. He didn't get in trouble at all for provoking me, and I didn't like that. I felt like he and his mother could get away with treating me like I was Cinderella, and Jordan didn't notice it or refused to notice it. Jordan took away my television and radio. I could have lived without the radio, but the television really hurt.

Sunday night I was in my room because I didn't want to be bothered. I was perfectly fine being by myself because I was used to it. I was lying on my bed with my eyes closed. On the walls of my mind I saw my mother and me. I was visualizing one of the rare times that I was happy to be with her. It was a summer day and it was very hot. My mother and I were on the bus, which was overcrowded with people. I can still smell the stale odor that was wafting through the air. We were going downtown for the Taste of Chicago Food Festival in Grant Park. When we arrived, we walked around all day sampling all types of food. We had ice cream, barbecue turkey legs, pizza, fried chicken and shrimp gumbo. My stomach was so full that day. At sunset we stood near Buckingham Fountain. It was the very first time I'd seen the fountain. I found a penny on the ground, made a wish and then flicked it into the water. My wish was that my mother would be nice to me all of the time instead of just some of the time.

There was a brief knock on my door and then Mike opened it up. I looked over at him.

“What do you want?” I was still pissed off with him.

“I just wanted to let you know that my father will never love you the way that he loves me.”

“Kiss my ashy black ass, Mike,” I snapped at him.

“Only in your dreams,” he shot back. “By the way, you should know that my mother is working on getting you kicked out of here. She feels that you're a psycho for attacking me with the broom, and I agree with her.” He placed a sinister grin on his face and I felt rage flowing through me. I sprang to my feet and raced toward him. Mike quickly turned and ran away from the door just like I knew his punk ass would.

The following day at school I was telling Liz about my situation and how ticked off I was with my stepbrother and stepmother. Liz listened to me vent about it during lunch hour, and I really appreciated her for doing that.

“Do you know what I do when I feel like the world is against me?” Liz asked.

“No, what?”

“I party, girl. I mean, I really party. Sometimes you've just got to do something crazy and insane just to free yourself of all the bullshit that people shovel at you. There is a party at this teen nightclub called Tricked Out that's going on this Friday night. You should come.”

“Girl, I'm busted. How am I going to go?” I asked.

“Come on, Keysha, do I have to spell it out for you?”

“What? Sneak out of the house? How am I going to do that?”

“You mean to tell me you haven't figured out how to sneak out of the house yet? Come on, Keysha, you're kidding, right?” Liz asked, surprised that I hadn't mastered the art yet.

“No, I haven't figured it out yet. I just got there,” I said, defending myself.

“Okay, let me school you a little. The best way to get out of the house is from your bedroom. Don't walk around the house. You run the risk of waking someone up. Also, don't leave your party clothes in your room. Leave them in the garage inside of a duffel bag. You can change clothes once you get to another bathroom.”

“You sound like an old pro at this.”

“Let's just say I've learned a trick or two over the years,” Liz said as she took a gulp of her soda. I guess she thought that she'd mapped out the perfect plan for me to get out of the house.

“Liz, my bedroom is on the second floor,” I said. “What do you suggest I do? Jump off the damn roof?” I laughed.

“I've done it before,” Liz said as if it were no big issue.

“Liz, I'm not about to jump off the roof and possibly break my damn leg in the process.”

“Okay, plan B. Act like you've fallen asleep in another part of the house.” Something clicked for me at that moment. I remembered that the greenhouse had a door that led outside. I snapped my fingers.

“I just figured a way to get out and back inside the house,” I said.

“Cool, then you're going to come to the party, right?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling as if I deserved to go out and have a good time. In my mind, I truly believed that. After all I'd been through in the past several months, going out and having a good time was exactly what I needed.

“Now, Liz, there will be cute guys at this club, right?” I wanted to be sure Liz wasn't taking me to some alternative lifestyle hideaway.

“The place is going to be crawling with guys from our school as well as other schools in the area. I'm telling you, Tricked Out is the spot. If you can't pull a guy or girl, depending on how you get down, then you need to go and live in a cave for the rest of your life.”

“I am only into boys,” I clarified my orientation for her.

“So.” Liz leaned in closer to me. “You're not a virgin are you?”

“No,” I answered. Liz placed a sinister smirk on her face. I could tell she was about to fire off a bunch of questions. She wanted to get all up in my sexual history as if she were studying for an exam.

“How old were you when you first did it?”

“Last year when I was fifteen it was my first time.”

“You ever give a guy oral sex?” she asked. I guess she thought her question would shock me or make me feel uncomfortable but it didn't. My ex-boyfriend Ronnie and I had done a lot of things.

“Yes,” I said, glaring at her. I wanted her to read my facial expressions well. I wasn't afraid of her questions.

“Has a guy ever gone down on you?” she asked.

“Yeah, plenty of times,” I answered her. But now I had a question for her.

“My turn,” I said. “You ever got down with a girl before?”

“I've done both,” she answered.

“So, which do you prefer? Guys or girls?” I wanted to know.

“I consider myself to be bisexual. I like what both sexes can do for me.

“Have you ever been with a girl?” she asked. I placed an angry expression on my face.

“Oh, hell to the no, I just don't get down like that,” I answered.

“Have you ever considered it or thought about trying it?” Liz asked, pressing the issue.

I was about to answer with a resounding “no” but I stopped and thought about the question before I answered. “Well, the thought has crossed my mind but I'd never act on it.” Liz smiled at me.

“You're going to have a damn good time at the club Friday night.”

“I plan to,” I said boldly. At that moment the bell rang and we had to go to our next class. As I walked out into the hallway I thought about going home and standing in front of the mirror so that I could work on my dance moves. After all, it had been a minute since I'd gone out, and the last thing I wanted to do was hit the dance floor looking all stiff. I laughed to myself as I continued on.
I'm going to look hot out on the dance floor. I'm going to burn the memory of my hips and sensual movements into the minds of all the boys at the club
.

When I got home from school, no one was there. I hadn't been in the house a good five minutes when the phone rang. I answered it. It was Jordan.

“I see you made it home,” he said.

“Yeah, I'm in here,” I answered him.

“Are you okay? You're not afraid are you?”

“No. My mother started leaving me in the house alone when I was eight or nine,” I answered him condescendingly. He was quiet after I said that. I guess he didn't like hearing the truth.

“Okay, Barbara will be there in about a half hour.”

“Whatever,” I said.

“I want you to work on building a better relationship with her,” Jordan said.

“I don't see why. She wants me to disappear and you know it.” He was silent again for a long moment.

“Listen, if we're going to make this work, we've all got to be willing to put forth an effort.”

“I'm not the one you need to be telling this to.” I couldn't help speaking my mind to him. I mean, he was coming at me like I was the damn cause of all the drama. I came to the house being as nice as I could be and both Barbara and Mike came at me all twisted.

“We'll talk when I get home,” he said and then hung up the phone.

I walked upstairs and noticed that the door to Mike's bedroom was open. I walked toward his room and peeked inside. To my surprise his room was rather clean. In fact, it was too clean. Mike was a neat freak. As I glanced around his tidy room, I noticed that his computer was on. Since no one was home, I decided to see what Web sites he'd been to. I sat down at his computer and hit the button for Internet Explorer. I looked at his favorites list and saw that he had a personal Web page on MySpace. I opened it up and saw that he had a photo of himself without a shirt on. Next to the photo was a little information about him. It said that he was eighteen years old, which was a lie. He listed his city and state correctly. Under the heading “About Me” it read:

Im a gangsta u c. Im Mad funni two. I Lov two go out and party—drinking and smoking ain't my scene-hey I'm doin' my thang, sun. Da Gurlz luv err thang I got, I gotz dat six pac cuz i workout err day. i play football im fine az hell an I keepz ma pockits full of kash. Soo im sayin for all ya cuties out dare if ya think ya can handle da kid holla @ me.

Under the heading of “Favorite Movies” it read,
Scarface, Carlito's Way, Boyz n the Hood
and
Menace II Society
. I noticed that he also had a blog. When I saw that, I felt an exquisite rush of vindictiveness pulse through me. I decided to post a new blog to all of his friends. The title of it was, “I'm a spoiled punk-ass suburban boy who is only thirteen years old.”

After I posted a real ignorant blog, I scrolled down to the bottom of his page and peeped that he had close to three thousand friends linked to his page. I decided to click on the first picture that I saw, which was of some guy from Philadelphia. When his page came up, the song, “Hot In Herre” by Nelly began to play. I noticed that he'd posted a video on his page. I clicked another button to turn Nelly off and clicked the button for the video. The boy had videotaped himself dancing in his bedroom without a shirt on. I watched him as he sensually and rhythmically moved to the song “Confessions” by Usher.

“Damn,” I said aloud. “He is so fine.” I watched the video several times before I'd had my fill. I copied his Web address and e-mailed it to myself so that I'd be able to find his page again.

I went into my bedroom and shut my door. I pulled out several outfits and finally settled on some Phat Farm jeans and a belly top that exposed my flat and sexy chocolate stomach. I placed the clothes and some accessories in a small duffel bag and rushed out of my room to hide it in the garage so that I'd be able to get it once I'd sneaked out of the house on Friday night. I decided that it would be best to play the role of daddy's little girl and apologize to Jordan and explain that the reason I snapped out on Mike was because I wasn't raised properly. My plans centered on making him feel guilty for not being around during my childhood. I didn't see any harm in using guilt to my advantage. In my mind, I knew that I could pull it off. After all, my mother and grandmother were some of the best con artists around. I wasn't going to mention the party because I didn't want him to get the idea I was pulling one over on him. I wanted him to think I was genuinely sincere, even though I wasn't.

My guilt-trip con worked better than I thought it would. By the end of the week, I had Jordan apologizing to me. It was such a rush to know I'd pulled one over on him. Friday during school, Liz and I mapped out our plan. I told her that I probably wouldn't be able to escape from the house until around eight o'clock in the evening. Once I got out of the house I was to grab my duffel bag and go over to her place. From there we'd head out to the club. I hung out in Jordan's office all evening pretending to read a book. Before he went to bed, he came into his office to say goodnight.