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“Chillin’ son. I see you out here doin’ ya thing-thing.” He eyes me with his cute self. He’s dark-skinned with deep brown eyes and has his hair braided in fresh cornrows. I glance at the thick chain draped around his neck, then look down at his feet. He’s wearin’ a brand new pair of Jordans. “Recruitin’ some new cougar pussy, I see.”
“ ‘Cougar pussy’? Lil’ niggah, puhleeze. How old are you?”
He licks his lips. “Old enough. And, for da record, ain’t nuthin’ on me lil’. Believe that.”
“Allllrighty then. This is my cue to leave b
efore I have to school ya young ass.”
He laughs. “School me, baby. I’m always up for learnin’.”
I walk off, wavin’ him on.
“Aiight, ma, later,” Killah says.
“Damn, son. She gotta fat ass,” Mr. Old Enough says.
“Word is bond.”
I glance over my shoulder at the two of them. “Make sure you watch my truck, and don’t worry about how fat my ass is, son. ’Cause ain’t either of you lil’ niggahs gonna ever get any of it.”
“Yeah, aiight, ma,” Killah shouts. “I got you. But, as soon as I turn eighteen, I’ma be checkin’ for you again, so be ready; real shit.”
“Not with them old-ass boots you got on,” I say, walkin’ up to the buildin’ and through the double glass doors. I throw up a peace sign, then bounce and shake my ass into the buildin’.
Surprisin’ly the elevators are workin’. I step in, then press the button for the eleventh floor; glad the lobby isn’t packed with niggahs as it usually is. Once I get to Dickalina’s apartment, I press down on the bell. Someone is blastin’ “Rack City” by Tyga. I roll my eyes, pressin’ down, long and hard, on the buzzer.
“Who the fuck is leanin’ on my motherfuckin’ bell like that?” someone yells, lowerin’ the music.
“It’s Cassandra. Open the goddamn door.”
I hear the locks click. Candylicious opens the door. “Oh, it’s you,” she says, smackin’ her greasy dick suckas together. “What you want?”
I frown. See. This lil’ bitch is too damn grown. And I don’t know why she likes to try me. For the last six months or so she’s been sayin’ real slick shit and I’ve been lettin’ it slide. But I’m thinkin’ she’s not goin’ to be satisfied until I wreck her face. “Candy, don’t fuck with me. I will beat your motherfuckin’ ass and you know it. What the fuck you mean, what I want? Obviously I’m not here to see your bald-headed ass. Where’s your ugly-ass mammy at?”
I brush past her.
She sucks her teeth. “Damn, you don’t have to get all sensitive. I’m only playin’. She’s in the kitchen.”
“Ho, you play in ya pussy. You don’t play with me. That’s the problem with you dumb-ass, lil’ bitches. Y’all think everything’s a damn game. I’m not your motherfuckin’ friend. Now say somethin’ else slick and see what I do to you. Anyway, shouldn’t your retarded ass be in school?”
“I’m suspended.”
“For what, bein’ stupid?”
She sucks her teeth, then mumbles somethin’ under her breath as she points the remote toward the stereo. The music blares out of the speakers again. I walk down the hallway into the kitchen. Dickalina is standin’ over the sink washin’ some chick’s hair. She’s leanin’ back in the stylin’ chair Lina found at a yard sale last year. Penelope, a.k.a. PennyLou—a skinny, big-tittied chick from over in buildin’ six—is at the kitchen table sittin’ under a hairdryer. Dickalina has turned her kitchen into her very own mini-salon where she’s been doing hair for the last eight years.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” Dickalina says dryly, glancin’ over her shoulder. But I don’t pay the shit no mind. I sit my bag on the table, pullin’ a chair out, then takin’ a seat.
“Girl, I ain’t seen you in a minute,” PennyLou says, eyein’ me. “What you been up to?”
“Not a damn thing, girl. It’s school time now so chasin’ behind my bad-ass kids is all I have time for. I just got finished droppin’ the twins off to school this mornin’ with their bad asses.”
She laughs. “I heard that. So I see you finally comin’ through to let Lina lay ya hair right.”
I frown. “Lay my hair right? Girl, puhleeze. I wish I would. Lina’s my girl and all, but she knows the only place I go to get my hair laid is down at Nappy No More.”
