Dirty Jersey Read online

  I refocused, asked Lark, “What about you? David Rivers has been trying to holla for a minute.”

  “Negative.”

  Lark was hard to figure. David Rivers ran point on the varsity basketball team. Six-three in his socks. LL Cool J dimples. Muscular. Built more like Fif than LL, though. You know, big arms, thick through the middle, whereas LL has a more tapered waistline. David’s cocoa-colored skin was smooth all over. Teeth were whiter than Wonder bread. And he had strong hands and big feet. David was the truth.

  I said, “I’m gonna start wondering about you soon, Lark.”

  She looked at me. Hard. “What’s that supposed to mean? Wondering what?”

  “You ain’t going Sheryl Swoopes on me, are you?”

  Sheryl Swoopes was a WNBA player. She’d come out of the closet not too long ago. Left her husband to date her female coach. Gave new meaning to the phrase playing on the same team.

  Lark batted her eyelashes, licked her lips, moved to touch my arm. “Hmm, you figured me out. What’s that Fab song…? ‘My girlfriend’s got a girlfriend,’” She grabbed my wrist, ran her hand up my arm, stopped at my chin, and caressed it with her soft fingers. It all happened so fast I couldn’t react quickly enough. “Come here, sexy. Sexy Kenya.”

  I swatted her away. “Stop playing, Lark.”

  “Can the two of us fit in dem jeans, mama?”

  “If you don’t—”

  Lark broke out laughing. “Relax your mind, Ken.”

  “I’m saying…”

  “I am looking forward to your next pajama party, though.”

  “Lark!”

  She put her hands up. “Okay, I’ll stop.”

  “You’re crazy, girl.”

  “All day, every day.”

  The Shop Boyz was partying like rock stars through the store’s speakers at that point. I swayed sexily to their rhythms as I continued to look around the store. Lark was busy looking at clothes, too. Why, I didn’t know. She hardly ever bought anything. Her folks’ money was funnier than Katt Williams, she always said. And yet she always managed to have fly gear. A gift, she’d say every time she showed up with something new. Never did say who her benefactor was, though. And I never asked.

  After a while Lark announced, “David just doesn’t fit into my life, Ken. That’s all.”

  It’d been a moment since we’d spoken about him. I’d forgotten that conversation.

  But I said, “Use it or lose it.”

  Lark looked at me, wide-eyed. “Use it or lose it. What are you saying? You’re using it?”

  I didn’t answer.

  She got right up in my face.

  “Ken, please tell me you didn’t go and give up the goodies without telling me about it.”

  I hadn’t.

  But close.

  Real close.

  Ricky’d seen me in some boy shorts. Matter of fact, he’d bought them for me. Said he liked how I looked in them. Moaned and licked his lips like he didn’t have sense when I modeled them. “Turn around, Kay. Ooh, turn around again, Kay.” At one point I was sneaking him into my room at least three nights a week. Just like in the movies. Except he didn’t have to throw a rock at my window to get me to open up. He’d send me a simple text message:

  LMIK, translation “Let me in, Kay.” That’s right, we had our own language. Our vibe was incredible. We kissed all the time, something most of these dudes weren’t trying to do. We rubbed up against each other so much I’m surprised we didn’t catch fire. We didn’t do the do, though. I always stopped him right before it reached that point.

  Maybe that’s why the text messages slowed.

  He still hollas on occasion. But not like he used to.

  I missed it.

  Mama would’ve said I deserved it if she knew how much I gave of myself to Ricky Williams.

  She’d probably be right.

  “Kenya?”

  “What?”

  “You blocking me out?”

  “No.”

  “Answer my question, then.”

  “What’s your question?”

  “I only asked about five times. You were seriously zoning me out.”

  “Ask me one more time.”

  “Did. You. Give. Up. The. Goodies?”

  “No. I. Didn’t.”

  “Pinkie swear, and may you grow Michael Jackson’s nose if you’re lying.”

  I tell you, sometimes I thought Lark wanted to be a Jackson. She was always bringing their names up into something. Michael and Janet especially. But she was known to throw La Toya and Jermaine’s names around, too. Shoot, I’d even heard her mention Randy a few times. Now, who other than Katherine or Joseph did that?

  “Come on, Ken. If that’s true, I want you to pinkie swear right now.”

  I’d promised Ricky that when I was ready, no matter what the circumstances, I’d let him be my first. I wonder if that still applied being as we hardly ever talked anymore. I believed it did.

  Lark said, “Pinkie swear, Ken.”

  I nodded, then hooked my pinkie with hers. I wasn’t about to tell her the whole truth about me and Ricky, though. Lark was my girl and all, but her mouth was a sieve. She was the Wendy Williams of our school. Couldn’t keep a secret to save her soul. Serious diarrhea of the mouth.

  We moved around the store at least ten more minutes without another word between us. I measured time by songs in Against All Odds. Justin Timberlake moaned about his summer love. Ne-Yo wondered aloud if his ex ever thought about him anymore. And Fab, in a cute ghetto way, let his girl know that he and she together equaled better math. Like I said, about ten minutes had passed, all told.

  Then, suddenly, Lark said, “Damn, Ken. I. Do. Not. Believe. This. The universe is at play here. Has to be. This can’t be a coincidence.”

  If she was talking about what I thought she was, then she was right, this wasn’t a coincidence. I’d heard more rumors than I could stand regarding Ricky. I’d come to the mall for myself to see if they were true. I prayed they weren’t. The slander of haters.

  “What are you talking about, Lark?” I asked as innocently as possible.

  “Guess who just walked in.”

  I turned to see, already knowing what I’d find.

  Ricky Williams.

  My heart started to beat. Well, it probably had been beating all along, but seeing Ricky made me aware of it. Made me aware of my sweaty palms and the knocking of my knees, too. It’s a shame the kind of effect that boy had over me, that I let him touch me so deeply, so profoundly. A real shame. Mama would have been so disappointed in me.

  “He must have felt you talking about him, Lark,” I said slowly.

  Lark sucked her teeth. “Dang. Oh no he didn’t.”

  Oh yes he did.

  She was referring to the girl Ricky had with him. I didn’t know her. From a different school, I’d heard. Rumor had it her family had some serious money. That she practically lived at the mall, forever buying things for herself and Ricky. I’d heard she bought him an iPod, loaded it with his favorite songs. Homegirl spared no expense. That’s why Ricky was with her, I told myself. I ain’t saying he’s a gold digger, but he ain’t messin’ with no broke…Had to be that.

  Wasn’t looks, that’s for sure.

  She was a light skin thing with good hair, I gave her that. Other than that, she wasn’t hitting on much.

  Still, it hurt that the rumors were true.

  Lark said, “Don’t even sweat her, Ken. You’re a ten. A dime. She’s a two.”

  “Pretty much.”

  In unison we said, “Too skinny. Too tall. Too ugly.”

  I don’t know what hurt more, my head or my heart, but I played along.

  “He’s a trifling dude, Ken. You’re right not to give him the time of day.”

  I said, “They look like Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes.”

  “Ciara and Bow Wow.”

  “How tall you think she is?”

  “WNBA tall. Manly-looking, too. Bet she’s got some Sh
eryl Swoopes in her.”

  “You ain’t ever lied.”

  She was tall, but I was exaggerating more than a little bit. Ricky was taller than her by an inch or so. She had to be about five-ten, though. Model height. I was prettier, but I could see her morphing into Tyra Banks later in life. The ugly duckling turning into a beautiful swan. I guess Ricky could envision that as well.

  Ricky stopped short when he saw me, tried to backtrack. Miss Wannabe Sheryl Swoopes wouldn’t let him. She grabbed his wrist like it was a basketball and moved deeper into the store. Ricky hung his head. I don’t know why he was tripping like that. He’d obviously made his choice. So he should live with it.

  Omarion was coming through the store speakers at that point. He had an icebox where his heart used to be. I did, too.

  Lark yelled out, “Hey, Ricky? Pretty Ricky.” She didn’t have to yell. They were right up on us. Miss Wannabe Sheryl Swoopes was rummaging through a rack of jeans. I wanted to toss the Baby Phat jeans in my hands at her. Here, I’d say, take everything I have. I wanted to be anywhere but in Against All Odds at that point. I think Ricky did, too.

  He looked up, shamefaced. “Oh, hey, Lark…Kay.”

  Kay. He had nerve calling me that.

  I said, “Who’s your tall friend, Ricky?”

  The girl turned, looked me up and down several times, frowned in appraisal, said, “Monique Thompson. And you know Ricky how?”

  “School.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She plastered a fake smile on her face. “Your name is Kay? That’s a cute name. Like something you’d name your pet. Sit, Kay, sit.” She laughed it off, gave me a just-joking smile. If she’d been darker, I’d have smacked the black off of her. As it was, I was two steps away from making sure her yellow wasn’t mellow.

  Ricky tried to move her away. She stood her ground.

  I said, “Actually, my name’s Kenya. Kay is something only Ricky calls me.”

  Ricky groaned. I paid him no mind. Charge it to the game, player.

  “Kenya.” Monique said that like she was spitting out stale food. Then she turned to Ricky and repeated it with emphasis. “Kenya.” Her hands found her hips and her head was on a tilt at that point.

  Ricky hung his head again and sighed.

  I asked, “You two okay? There a problem?” They’d come in like Will and Jada. I wanted them leaving like Whitney and Bobby. Like Britney and Kevin.

  Monique couldn’t hide her disgust. “Yeah, there’s a problem. My boyfriend has your name written like a thousand times on this stupid poster in his room.”

  Her boyfriend?

  I regrouped from that bit of news and asked her, “Beyoncé? Or the complete Destiny’s Child poster by his window? Couldn’t be that LeBron James poster on his door. I’d figure he’d write your name on that, seeing as you’re damn near LeBron’s height.”

  She frowned and ignored my insult. “Beyoncé. I see you’ve been in his room.”

  Ricky groaned again.

  He always told me I reminded him of Beyoncé. Matter of fact, he’d started calling me Kay because Jay-Z called Beyoncé Bey. I’d thought it was cute when Ricky and I were hanging tough. I still did, to tell you the truth. I was being hateful with Monique, but all is fair in love and war. The yellow homegirl and I were definitely getting our Baghdad on.

  I said, “I’m so sorry beautiful Beyoncé is taken, Monique. But like I said, you deserve to be up on his wall, too.” I looked at Ricky. “Get cracking on that, homeboy. Get your girl’s name up on LeBron. Today.”

  Ricky was knee-deep in it. He couldn’t form his mouth to say a word.

  I turned my attention back to Monique. “It’s only right you’re on his wall…you’re his girlfriend, after all. His significant other. The B to his A. You and him together equal better math. All that good stuff.” I laid it on thick.

  Monique rolled her eyes. Did that thing we girls do with our necks when we are seriously upset. Looked at Ricky. Hard. Homegirl was looking at Ricky like PETA protestors outside the courthouse eyed Michael Vick when he arrived in his suit, lawyers in tow. For those of you slow on the uptake…she wasn’t happy. I wasn’t mad in the least. I didn’t want her to be happy.

  I looked at Ricky again. Wanted to see how he was going to handle this. He avoided my gaze, focused on Monique, said, “It’s not her name, Mo. Well, I mean, it is…but not on the poster. I wasn’t writing about her on the poster.” He stopped, got his lies together. There were probably enough of them to fill the football field at school. “I told you that had to do with Africa. Kenya is one of Africa’s—”

  Monique put up her hand. “You are so tired. Save it.”

  “Monique,” he whined. I’d never heard Ricky whine before.

  “Take me home, Richard.”

  I almost laughed. Lark actually did.

  Monique glared at me, then at Lark, and stomped off. Ricky looked my way, started to say something, and then caught himself. He sighed and shook his head, gave chase after Monique. I wondered if he’d have chased me like that.

  Lark called out, “Nice meeting you, Lil’ Mo. And see you in school, Richard.”

  I elbowed her in the side. “Stop that. Don’t instigate.”

  When they were out of the store, Lark said, “Homegirl must be on the Barry Bonds diet.”

  “She was big.”

  “I was a second away from calling her out of her name, though, when she dissed you with that pet remark.”

  I looked at Lark. All five feet of her. She made Lil’ Kim look tall. I said, “Stop your lying. No you weren’t.”

  Lark smiled. “Okay. I’m just talking greasy, I admit it. I was scurred. Who wouldn’t be? Homegirl was Amazon.com, Ken.”

  “You mean an Amazon.”

  “See…she scurred me so bad I can’t even get my thoughts together.” She laughed.

  I didn’t.

  I said, “I wonder what he sees in her.”

  “Ricky’s a health nut…maybe he just needed someone to pick fruit from the top of trees for him.”

  She was trying her best to make me laugh. Trying to ease the pain. I appreciated that. Despite my denials, she knew Ricky had a spot reserved deep inside of me. But Chris Rock and Chris Tucker and Eddie Murphy and Eddie Griffin and all the comics on Def Comedy Jam and The Bad Boys of Comedy couldn’t ease my pain. Mama was right. Giving a man your heart is like turning over the keys to your life. He’ll drive your life into the ground and then lose those keys just as quickly. Men can’t handle the responsibility. Women’s lives are fragile. Handle with care. Ricky’d tossed me around carelessly, broken me into pieces.

  Lark said, “You went for homegirl’s neck, though, Ken. You took her head clean off with that LeBron stuff. That was brutal. She tried to play you and you struck her back. Bet she doesn’t go there with anyone again. I’m proud of you.”

  I wasn’t proud of me.

  End of the day, I’d won the battle, but she’d won the war.

  She’d left with Ricky sniffing behind her like a dog in heat.

  That should’ve been me. I guess I could stop playing he-loves-me, he-loves-me-not over Ricky.

  Lark said, “You okay, Ken?”

  I smiled courageously. “Yup. At least all that drama made me forget about Eric.”

  I was reading The Interruption of Everything, a very interesting Terry McMillan novel. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep from crying. In the novel, Marilyn Grimes’s marriage was falling apart, and her life was devoid of meaning. She was forty-four, and had kids older than me, yet I related to her in so many ways. Everything had been interrupted in my life at the Against All Odds store. I’d given Ricky way too much power. And he’d used it against me. I closed the book, wiped my eyes with a Kleenex and turned on the radio. Hot 97. Angie Martinez was cutting up one minute, cracking all kinds of jokes. Then, next thing I knew, Tamia was talking about “me.” How “me” would love her more than he ever knew. Another sad love song.

  Oh hells no.

&
nbsp; I turned that off quick, fast and in a hurry. I didn’t have enough Kleenex to be messing with Tamia.

  But the music didn’t stop. A beat still pulsed through my room.

  Then I realized it wasn’t my stereo. It was my cell phone.

  Rihanna’s “Umbrella.”

  The special ringtone I’d assigned to Ricky.

  It’d been ringing all day. I’d been ignoring it all day.

  I went ahead and checked it that time.

  It wasn’t a call. An alert for a text message: LMIK.

  I got up off my bed and walked slowly to my window. I peeked out, looked up to the end of the street. Ricky’s black Honda Accord was parked at the end, like always, being as he couldn’t just park it at the curb in front of our house. Mama didn’t play that. She wasn’t hearing me and any dude. Even though I was about to be eighteen in a few months. She’d set fire to Ricky’s car and make him toast marshmallows over the wreckage before she’d let him take her baby girl.

  I looked down. Saw Ricky’s dark figure casting a shadow on our lawn. He had the sexiest shadow ever. I swear. But I wouldn’t let that sway me too much.

  I moved away from the window. Blotted my eyes with another tissue and blew my nose and threw on some lipstick and straightened my shirt and fixed my jeans so they rode my waist and prayed and had a miniature nervous breakdown and quickly ran down my options and just as quickly decided what I had to do. Not what I should do, what I had to do. Then, calmly, I went back to the window, opened it.

  I heard “Kay” as soon as I pulled the window up.

  “What are you doing here, Richard?”

  “Don’t play me, Kay. Let me up, please.”

  “No.”

  “I will scream, Kay. I will have the entire neighborhood out here.”

  “Go away.”

  “I can’t, Kay. I made that mistake once.”

  The way he said that sounded so sad, so sincere. It melted me.

  I undid the latch on my window, lifted the screen. Ricky bolted from the lawn, started climbing. I moved away from the window, went and made sure my bedroom door was locked. Mama wasn’t home, neither was the boyfriend, and Eric never left his room, but I liked to be on the safe side. When I turned around from locking up tight, Ricky was standing in my room. He had on a black wife-beater, baggy jeans and crisp white K-Swiss sneakers. Diamond studs in each ear, a Jesus piece medallion that hung almost to his waist. He looked good. Ten feet separated us. It felt like ten inches. I hated that he had that effect on me. Hated it.