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“You’re a heavy sleeper,” Mecca said.
“Shit, Mecca, I didn’t mean to sleep all day in your bed.”
“Nah, you cool. I understand.”
Chanel couldn’t believe she’d slept for so long. She remembered lying across Mecca’s comfortable bed and simply closing her eyes, and that was around noon. Now it was eight at night. Chanel knew it was time to take her ass home, even though she didn’t want to. Bacardi, Charlie, and Claire were insufferable, but Chanel didn’t want to wear out her welcome at Mecca’s place. For the past three weeks, she had been coming by almost every day and spending hours and hours there. Her friend’s room was cozy and comfortable. It was neat, entertaining, and with Mecca being the only child, there was some needed solitude. Chanel wished she had a bedroom like her friend’s. Shit, she wished she had a warm home like Mecca’s and a doting mother too. But it was wishful thinking.
“I’m about to go,” Chanel said.
“I’ll walk you to the subway station.”
“Mecca, you don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do. You’re my friend and I wanna make sure you good. And it’s getting late.”
Chanel smiled. Mecca was good peoples, and Chanel knew she could count on her. Chanel gathered the few belongings she brought over and placed them into her book bag. It was dusk outside, and Chanel could hear Harlem alive and buzzing on a beautiful spring evening from Mecca’s second-floor window. The neighborhood had become her stomping grounds away from home. It was a beautiful melting pot of culture and diversity, and in Harlem, Chanel felt like she could breathe again. Not to take anything away from her Brooklyn roots—but Chanel desperately needed a change in environment.
The two teenage girls walked out of the apartment and decided to take the elevator instead of the stairs, though it was only two flights.
“Thanks again for having me over,” Chanel said.
“C’mon, Chanel, you’re welcome here anytime. You’re family. I know it be hectic at your crib. Shit, I seen that shit with my own eyes.”
“I swear, Mecca, I just wanna pack my shit and go somewhere far away and never come back. I hate it there.”
“It’s just jealousy, Chanel,” Mecca added. “Look at them and look at you. You’re pretty and fly, and hateful bitches always try to knock someone down to make themselves feel good.”
Chanel sighed. “I’m just trying to be strong and not make any more trouble for myself.”
“Well, you can spend next weekend with me. My mother’s going out of town. It’s not a problem. We can sit back, eat popcorn, and watch my husband on Luther and The Wire.”
“I appreciate that.”
They stepped out of the elevator and strolled through the lobby with their conversation still flowing. Chanel zipped up her spring jacket and they exited the lobby. Chanel wanted to take her time and not hurry toward the subway. She wasn’t in any rush to get home. Home was hell.
As the girls walked down the pathway from the building toward the street, Chanel noticed a pearl white Range Rover parked on the curb in front of Mecca’s building with rap music bumping. It was a beautiful vehicle sitting on chrome rims. Seated in the passenger seat was a handsome Latino male who looked to be in his early twenties. Chanel noticed the New England Patriots logo cut into his fresh low haircut. From a distance, he seemed intriguing. In the driver’s seat was another Latino male dressed urban with a low haircut.
As she and Mecca walked and talked, the passenger quickly locked eyes with Chanel. Though it was a fleeting gaze, he took in Chanel’s long, black ponytail and her clothing. Chanel was cleanly dressed in black jeans that somewhat hugged her curves and highlighted her booty and white Nikes and her purple-and-white spring jacket. She looked cute and sexy, and there was nothing trashy about her.
Chanel couldn’t help but to flash a quick smile at the passenger. Damn, he’s cute, she said to herself. She and Mecca continued to walk right by the Range Rover toward the nearest intersection.
The passenger, a man named Mateo, was immediately drawn to Chanel. He climbed out of the vehicle and approached her with a wide smile.
“Excuse me, ladies!” he politely hollered at the two girls. “Can I get your attention?”
Chanel turned around to gaze at Mateo approaching her. Mecca wanted to keep walking, but she had no choice but to stop and wait for Chanel because she wanted to stop at some nigga’s catcall.
“Ohmygod, you’re exquisite,” said Mateo.
Chanel chuckled at the word. “Exquisite . . . now that’s something new,” she replied.
“But you are. What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?
“Chanel.”
“Hello, Chanel. I’m Mateo,” he said, extending his hand. Chanel shook his hand. “I couldn’t help it, Chanel; you definitely caught my attention.”
“Oh, really? And what about me caught your attention?”
