We gather in Fung’s apartment, our eyes bulging with wonder, respect and utter amazement.
There are weed plants under lights everywhere! Along the walls on top of cupboards, on the sink. Fung is a genius.
“Have we died and gone to weed heaven?” Laura whispers.
“Four different kinds, fucking,” Fung boasts. “I grow it quickly under lights. Use science. Keep turning it auntyclockwise, every week. Then auntyclockwise again. LED – means Light Emitting Diode. Light produced by passing a current through semi-conductor …”
“Never mind all that, Fung, let’s just spark up!” I say. Don’t ever get Fung started.
And spark up we do.
As usual, Fung asks the all-important question at the end of each “party” – “Do you want to have relations with me, fucking?”
And as usual, we all respectfully decline even though we ate up his crisps and drank up his Coke. But we didn’t touch his octopus as we didn’t like what the octopus did to Steve Irwin.
Thereafter, Fung rises to cult status among all of us and to others, and he’s invited to a lot of parties. Providing he provides the weed, of course, which he’s happy to do.
He always takes his “crew”, which thankfully includes my girls and me. So again we attend parties we wouldn’t normally get invited to, which is pretty cool.
At one of these parties, I run into Brody and Alicia.
“Hi,” he says, appearing equally taken aback to see me.
Alicia smiles.
“Hi,” I say, shocked to see him, to see them. The porcupines in my chest nestle deep into my heart.
For a few moments we all stand in awkward silence.
Then Kate and Nick show up.
“Isn’t there a restraining order in place here?” Kate says.
None of us answer.
“One of you has to leave,” she continues, her voice dripping with glee.
Since my mood is already ruined at the sight of the two of them, I decide it will be me. Without a word, I turn and walk out of the house. I’ll text my friends later that I’ve left.
As I walk to the gate, Brody runs after me. “Burn!”
I walk faster, not in any mood to talk to him.
“Don’t try to outrun me,” he says, falling into step with me. “That would be a futile attempt.” His voice is light. “Impossible, actually.”
I’m now on the street and walking briskly towards my house.
He races in front of me and blocks my path. “Don’t you know I’m the fastest runner in Emhart County?”
With a small smile, I move to the left; he moves to the left.
I move to the right; he moves to the right.
“Brody, please!”
“I’ll drive you home.”
“No need. I’ll walk. It’s just around the corner. Go back inside and have fun with your blue-eyed, blonde, socially acceptable girlfriend, Brody.” Brushing past him, I stride on.
He ignores my bitterness and falls back in step with me. “I miss you.”
With my eyes on the ground, I continue walking.
He steps in front of me again and I collide into him. He puts both hands on my shoulders. “Let’s elope. You and me, tonight. Let’s just go, Burn.” His voice is pleading. “I miss you.”
“This is hard for me too, Brody,” I say, choking on my words. “I miss you too.”
With a sad smile, he takes me in his arms and holds me tight. I let him. To be in his arms again, to bask in his scent, to hear him say my name, I want to stay here and never let go of him.
When he kisses me, I’m ashamed to say, I don’t stop him. But when his kisses intensify, I wriggle out of his embrace.
He grabs my arm and jerks me back to him. I try to shrug off his arm, but he holds on.
At that moment, two cop cars pull up. Thinking that we’re in a fight they take us aside, check both our IDs, then cuff Brody.
“No!” I cry, “Why you doing that?”
“He’s violated the restraining order,” the cop says.
“No, he didn’t!”
Suddenly hoards of people from the party run up to us.
“He didn’t!” I plead. “Please, it was my fault. All of it. Please don’t do this to him.”
“Stand back!” the officer snaps. “He has no right to put his hands on you.”
“He didn’t!”
Alicia runs up to me and grabs my arm. “What have you done?”
I shrug off her arm and turn to the cop. “Please don’t do this to him. I’m at fault.”
“You stand back or I’ll arrest you too,” the cranky cop warns.
With tears running down my face, I watch helplessly as the cop throws Brody into the back of the cop car.
My friends surround me and try to comfort me.
“Brody, I’m sorry!” I yell. “Brody, I didn’t …”
“Not your fault, Burn,” Brody mouths and smiles at me.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Harjoon says and leads me home.
As I stumble home, a feeling of utter desolateness overcomes me.
How could this have happened? Brody is going to jail. How can I blame him for hating me after this?
The next day I find out that because of what I said to the cops, they didn’t charge Brody with anything and he was released hours later.
I’m relieved. Totally.
But the rest of the week is like Monday.
****
I’m dressing for my dinner date with Trojan. Maybe this is what I need – guys in my life to stop me thinking about Brody. Ever since his arrest I’ve been morose.
“Tonight, I’m going to have fun,” I tell the girl in the mirror. Carlene’s home, so she’s watching Angel and Bobby’s leaving pretty soon. No reason for me not to have a good time and rid myself of all Brody McGraw thoughts.
As I step out of my room, I gasp at what I see. Angel sits on Bobby’s lap while he attempts to braid her hair, cigarette in mouth.
Horror like I’ve never felt before torrents over me. “Angel! What you DOING?” I’m unable to fight the hysteria in my voice.
Angel shrinks back from me, confusion and fear in her eyes. “Bobby says he’s gonna make me a fish braid, Burn. That’s all.”
Shaking, I walk up to them, grab her arm, jerk her out of his lap and march her off to my room.
“Aw c’mon, sweetpea,” Bobby says. “I was really enjoying that.” His voice is so meaningful and so revolting, that I whirl around and glare at him.
“What? I like braiding hair. It’s relaxing. Like knitting. I can braid your hair too. Come sit on my lap.” He taps his crotch and wriggles his eyebrows.
“Go fuck yourself!” I hiss.
“Okay. You’ll come with me when I do it, sweetpea?”
“You dirty old man!”
“Dirty? Then you should wash me, sweetpea.”
I groan and storm off.
In our room, I sit Angel down on my bed and wave my finger at her. “Angel, listen … listen carefully now …” Shit! How do I say this to a nine-year-old? “He’s … Bobby – Angel, he’s not a good man and I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
“No, Burn, you’re wrong,” she says, “He’s nice to me. He lets me play with his lighter and he tells me funny stories and ...”
“Angel!” I grab her arm so hard, she looks at me with frightened eyes.
I fight to regain my composure and say, “Look, Angel, he’s not nice and I worry about you so you have to listen to me when I tell you that you are not to …”
To my chagrin, she puts her hands over her ears.
For a few moments, I just stare at Angel, not knowing what to do. I mean, Bobby’s pretty drunk right now and doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. How can I possibly leave Angel here and go off?
Even though I’m fully dressed, I have no choice but to cancel my date with Trojan. Yes, it’s gonna piss him off but …
I text him. Gonna have 2 take a raincheck sorry really sorry.
He doesn’t respond.
I sit with my head in my hands, helplessness washing over me. The situation with Bobby is getting from bad to worse and I can do jack about it. Myself I can handle, but Angel? She’s so vulnerable and innocent.
At 7:30 PM Trojan rocks up at my door, looking, as you may have guessed, pissed. I meet him at the entrance, but I don’t invite him in.
“Oh, so you’re all dressed, then?” His voice accusing.
I nod solemnly.
“You blowing me off for white boy?” His anger is unmistakable.
“No, Trojan, I’m not!”
“We had a deal. Now the deal’s off.” He turns and strides off. Fuck you for fucking with me.
“Trojan! Wait!” I run after him, grab his arm. “Okay, I’m gonna come clean with you, okay?”
He looks pointedly at his arm. I drop it.
“Look, my aunt, she was supposed to watch Angel, my li’l sister, but now… her boyfriend’s here and like, he’s drunk and probably high and I don’t feel comfortable leaving my nine-year-old-sister with him in the house and …” My shoulders slump. “I don’t know what to do. He hits on me all the time and like, I worry he’ll do the same to her when I’m not here and I’m sorry, I really am, but I have no choice. I mean, I’m all dressed and stuff as you can see, but …”
“I don’t know if I believe you,” he says, his narrow eyes scanning my flushed face.
I flex my fingers at him and walk back into my house. He follows me in.
“Carlene!” I call. “Come meet my date.”
She’s at my side faster than Hawk appears. “Well, hello there!” she coos as her eyes sweep over him.
I make introductions and call Angel in as well.
Then as predicted, Bobby appears, shirtless, flushed-face, with a beer bottle in one hand and cigarette in the other.
“Meet my Uncle Bobby,” I say with great gusto. After that I fold my arms across my chest and give Trojan a now-do-you-believe-me? look.
After greeting everyone, he looks at me with what I think is concern in his eyes. He drops his voice and leans towards me. “Okay, I get. So, bring Angel with.”
“What? On a date?”
“Not a date date. We’ll change things around. Hey, I don’t feel comfortable leaving you and Angel here with him anyway.”
My mind races. If I take Angel, I keep the date with him so he’s not pissed off. If I say “no” he might not like it.
“Okay.” I run off to get Angel to take her on my first date with Trojan. She’s excited, I’m relieved, Trojan’s anger has vanished – paradise.
We climb into his Escalade. “Nice wheels,” I say.
Can your white boy match this?
I smile to myself. “Does it come in pink?”
“Thanks,” he says in a casual voice. “I doubt it.”
He drives us to a stately home in Breiton, an upscale neighborhood in California, a few miles from where we live. The house we walk into is nothing like I expected.
I expected a den of a house, with a recording studio and a stripper’s pole in the center of the lounge where about fifty dancers in gold bikinis lie around sipping on Cristal and bobbing to T.I and Tupac.
What I see is a modern home with a massive, marbled entrance-hall where a huge water fountain dominates.
We walk down three stairs to a living room that looks like it’s straight out of a décor magazine – plush, off-white leather couches and black and silver blingy cushions. A black and silver rug in the center of the room matches a painting on the wall. It has beautiful green plants and tasteful décor pieces throughout. It’s like Brody’s house, but a lot flashier and definitely more expensive, I’m sure. In fact, now that I have seen this house, I plan to have something just like this for Angel and me one day.
Angel nudges me. “I love this place, Burn.”
I nod and put my finger over my lips. Gotta play it cool – can’t let him know how impressed we are.
No rap music, no bongs, no semi-nude girls, no stripper’s pole. To date it’s the most homely house I’ve ever been to.
Brody’s house was more a showpiece, but this house is a home, especially since I notice children’s toys strewn around and the smell of food wafting from the kitchen. I love the warmth of it already.
“You married or something?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “I’m adding you to my harem.”
“Wow, a black sheik. Will wonders never cease?”
We walk into the kitchen where he introduces us to Sofia, a beautiful Puerto Rican with long, dark hair and a soft friendly voice. Then we’re introduced to Riann, his ten-year-old niece. Of course within minutes Riann and Angel are friends.
“You must stay for dinner,” Sofia says. “Grover is on his way and I have so much food cooked.” She and I look at Trojan.
He shrugs at me, eyebrows raised.
“Only if you do the cooking,” I say.
“Yeah, right,” Sofia says. “Trojan will cook. Right.”
We all laugh.
“I can if it’s a matter of life and death,” he says.
“Eh, it will be a matter of life and death if you cook,” Sofia says. “Burn, I am making chiiiili. You like chiiiili?”
“Sure, I love chili and I would love to stay for dinner,” I say. It’s been a while since I had my taste buds scorched.
“Okay, great. While I finish up here, show her around – the recording studio – all the stuff Grover showed me when he was trying to impress me.” She shoos us off.
Trojan takes my hand. “Come, let me show off.”
“A recording studio, huh? Do you have a disco ball there?”
“Of course.”
I am already impressed so there is no need for him to show off. The walls of the studio are adorned with photos of Grover with celebrities -- Michael Jackson, Puffy, Obama, LA Reid, Jay-Z, Mother Theresa, Princess Diana and many other famous people in and out of the music industry.
“Wow!” I say, impressed like hell.
Bet white boy can’t match this.
God! Trojan has such a massive chip on his shoulder!
There’s also a huge bookshelf with a ton of books. “Sofia,” Trojan explains. “She used to be a preschool teacher and she likes to read.”
“Ah.” A preschool teacher. Not a backup dancer or something.
We come across a water fountain where we sit across each other and talk.
“What’s the deal with you and white boy?” he asks.
I tell him briefly, then say, “Can we not talk about him?”
“Okay. So Carlene …?”
I explain who she is and who Bobby is.
“You shouldn’t be living there,” he says.
“I know. Can’t wait till I’m eighteen,” I say. “Then I’m outta there.”
“A lot of things are going to happen when you turn eighteen, huh?” His eyes dance as he looks at me.
I blush and look away. “Shouldn’t we help Sofia?”
He nods and takes my hand again.
Grover is an older, more mature version of Trojan. Thirtyish, he’s calmer, intelligent and very observant. I catch him sizing me up from the corner of his eyes but I don’t mind – I really have nothing to hide. He’s really loving towards Sofia and I dig that.
We have a great time talking and laughing and I feel really comfortable with him and Sofia.
“You are the first girl Trojan has ever brought to my house,” Sofia says.
Surprised, I look at Trojan.
He shrugs. So what? So what? It’s no biggie.
I think it is a biggie.
After dinner, I help Sofia with the dishes. Thereafter she shows me some family photos.
“Where’s a baby photo of Trojan?” I ask. “Quick, show me!”
“He doesn’t have any.”
“What do you mean?” How can anyone not have any baby pictures of themselves?
She pauses with her photo flipping and looks at me. “Burn, when you grow up on the streets, all you have is the clothes you wear and, usually, a knife or a gun.”
I cock my head and look at her. “Trojan grew up on the streets?”
She nods. “Him and Grover.”
“Wow! Can’t believe it. They’re both so well put together. I mean, look at this house – it’s amazing. And Trojan’s car … you sure about their …?”
She nods, her full lips turning downwards. “They’re a sad story. Maybe one day he will tell you about it.”
Trojan re-enters the room and she falls silent.
When it’s time to leave, I give them all hugs and thank them for the lovely evening. “I really had a great time,” I say, meaning it.
“You come anytime,” Sofia says. “Come without Trojan too.”
On the way back home, I can’t help comparing Trojan with Brody. They are so very different in every way, yet I feel comfortable with Trojan and his family. With Brody, I feel really close to him and I trust him, but I really dislike his family.
I turn to look at Trojan. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I smile at him and touch his arm. “You’re not that hood, after all.”
His turn to smile.
He walks Angel and me to the door. Inside, Carlene’s asleep, while Bobby’s in the living room watching TV by himself. He’s still shirtless.
The moment Angel’s out of sight, Trojan walks up to Bobby, lifts him to his feet and slams his fist into his stomach. So hard, Bobby falls on his face and gulps at the cigarette-smoke-filled air in the room.
I gasp. “Trojan!”
“Get up, Eric,” Trojan says.
“I’m …not …Er …ic,” Bobby splutters, still on the floor.
“What?” Trojan hoists him to his feet and punches him again.
This time Bobby falls to the ground and doesn’t move.
“Trojan, what the fuck?” I whisper.
He ignores me. “C’mon, Eric,” he says to Bobby.
“I’m …not …Er …ic,” Bobby whispers after a while.
“Oh, you’re not?” Trojan reaches down and hoists Bobby to his feet. “Sorry, mistaken identity. Sorry.”
I watch with both hands pasted over my mouth, my eyes the size of the ashtray on the table.
Trojan sits Bobby on a chair and pats his head. “Sorry, I mistook you for someone who was fucking around with my gal here. Know what I’m saying?”
“Not … me,” Bobby whispers, both hands on his stomach.
“Okay,” Trojan says. “Sorry then.” He sounds anything but sorry.
Realizing that he’s probably not going to be punched again, Bobby slowly straightens up. “Your gal?”
“Yeah, both of them. Watch over them, will ya?”
Bobby nods, fear in his eyes.
Trojan reaches for his wallet, pulls out a couple of bills and throws them at Bobby. “For the mistaken identity bit. Buy yourself a bottle of whisky, okay?”
Bobby’s fear vanishes like magic – he gathers the money, counts it and then breaks into a massive smile. “Hey, sure, no problem, man, I mean dwaaaag.”
I’m too flabbergasted to say anything.
Trojan starts to leave. I follow him outside. We look at each other.
“What the fuck, Trojan?”
“Relax, it’s my way of dealing with things.”
“But, Trojan …”
He stabs me on the shoulder with his index finger. “Nothing’s gonna happen after this. Count on it, okay?”
I just stare at him.
“If ever you need help, call me. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”
Again, all I can manage is a stare.
He takes my face in his hands, plants a brief, but firm kiss on my lips without asking if he can, then hurries away.
At his car, he turns, looks at me, then winks.
I manage a smile.
He smiles, then gets into the car.
As I stand and watch his four-wheel-drive disappear around the corner, I think how nice it is to have someone to help Angel and me. It’s actually a nice feeling to be able to share the problem I had with someone capable and strong. Someone who can do something about it. Someone who isn’t afraid to do something about it.
It’s all very seductive and I feel … seduced.
Pity he’s only doing all this to get back at Brody.
I touch my lips with my fingers. I can still feel the imprint of his firm kiss on my lips.
I smile to myself.
When I walk back inside, Bobby does not look at me. In fact, he leaves me alone after that. What a relief. It’s like I can breathe again.
Thank you, thug Trojan!
****
Word about my date with Trojan Catrell gets round pretty quickly.
In class everyone looks at me, some horrified, some intrigued, some fascinated, Miss Moss walks in. “What is going on?” she asks. Poor Miss Moss, nobody bothers to answer her.
The reactions to my date with Trojan are as follows:
“You took your sister to a drug dealer’s house? Are you crazy?”
Miss Moss puts both her hands over her mouth as the questions fly.
“Did she witness any selling of drugs?”
“Did he offer you any drugs?”
“Did he offer your sister any drugs?”
“Was there a stripper’s pole around?”
“Did you see his gun collection?”
“Were there a whole lot of girls lying around drugged out of their minds?”
Did he suggest a threesome?
What the hell? I scan the room looking for the voice that dares utters those words.
“Did he demand sex?”
“How many stolen vehicles were there?”
“Have you called Crimestoppers for the reward?”
Miss Moss rests one butt cheek on the desk and listens in, her eyes as big as saucers.
“Guys, guys, guys! There were no drugs, he didn’t sell any in front of me. (Don’t want to disappoint them completely by saying it didn’t seem like he’s a drug dealer.) He was nice to Angel, a gentleman to me, and no question of a threesome; he scared the shit out of Bobby and no, I’m not calling Crimestoppers anytime soon.”
“Threesome?” Bud stands to attention. “Who said anything about a threesome?” He grins at me. “Kinky, huh?”
I ignore Bud. “And, I’m going out again with him on Saturday.”
“But why?” Miss Moss asks, her hands now on her hips.
“He’s okay,” I say.
Around me, looks of concern are exchanged before voices-of-reason are voiced in surround sound:
“He’s used to women doing whatever he wants and he’s gonna expect that of you too – use and abuse you.”
“Overdone Barbie is gonna come after you with her posse and kick your fat ass.”
“Fat ass?” I glare at the person uttering those words.
“Eh, I meant your great booty. JLO booty.”
“Mff!”
“His friends are her friends and they will never accept you in their circles and whenever you go out, they’re gonna spike your drink. Roofie you and sell you to child traffickers.”
“Child traffickers? I’m almost eighteen.”
“Haven’t you seen, ‘Taken’ with Liam Neeson? That’s gonna be yo ass in Dubai or whereva.”
“If you’re caught with a stolen car, you’re going to jail too. Didn’t you ever watch Cops?”
“You’re gonna be used as a mule for his drugs and land in some prison in Bangladesh.”
“Not Bangladesh, Bangkok, you dumbass.”
“Oh, ok, Bangkok, then.”
“Or Bali.”
“Yeah, or Bali. All the countries with the letter B.”
“Except Bombay.”
“Yeah, except Bombay. Hey, is Bombay a country?”
“Ye …nah, it’s a …the fuck I know.”
Laura saves the day. “It’s Mumbai now, I’ll have you know, and it’s the capital of India. A city.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes it iiiiiis!”
As I leave class, Nick blocks my way. “What?” I ask.
“My parents are sending Brody to Bel Air for a while.”
My heart sinks. “W…why?”
“They worry he’s gonna break the restraining order and get thrown in jail. Just thought I’d let you know.”
“Really?” I don’t know what to think. “Like, when’s he leaving?”
“This evening at six.”
“This evening? Today?” My hands fly to my mouth. That means I will never see him again, hear his voice or be able to spy on him like I do sometimes. “W … where’s he now?”
“At home.”
I nod. “Thanks for telling me, Nick.”
I can’t function. Guess I’m distracted by Brody’s leaving. Then a couple hours later, unable to stand it, I throw caution to the wind and go to Brody’s house.
I’m greeted by Dawn. “What the hell are you doing here?” Her voice is cold and hard.
“Can I see Brody, please?”
“No! Leave right now or I’ll call the cops.”
“Please, please!” I beg. “I just wanna say goodbye.”
Alicia appears behind her. “Burn, you can’t be here.”
“Alicia, I just wanna say goodbye to Brody, please?”
“Um, he’s not …available.” She holds up his cell phone, indicating that if I call, she will answer anyway.
Behind her, Dawn stands, arms folded, eyes narrow.
“I’ll just be a few moments, that’s all.”
“I’ll tell him you said goodbye,” she says after a glance at Dawn’s stony face. “Goodbye.”
Her voice is so soft, like she doesn’t want Brody to hear our conversation. That makes me believe he’s there.
Suddenly, I push past her and rush up to Brody’s room. Dawn tries to grab me, but I jerk out of her reach and race up the stairs. I throw open Brody’s door and look into Brody’s surprised face.
“Burn!”
“Brody!”
Alicia and Dawn fly up the stairs. I shut the door and lock it on both of them.
”Burn, what are you doing…?”
“Brody,” I say moving towards him. “You’re leaving. How …?” I run to him and throw my arms around him. “Don’t go!”
“Burn, oh, man …” He hugs me to him.
“Brody, I love you so much and this hurts so badly…”
“I love you too, Burn. I’m sorry about everything. I’m struggling, man and my parents – they think I need to put some distance between us.”
“Do you wanna leave?”
His eyes fill with tears. “No.”
I hold him to me. “This is so unfair, Brody.”
“Listen, Burn,” He holds my face in his hands and runs his thumbs across my cheeks, “Wait for me. I’ll be twenty-one soon and I can do whatever the fuck I like. Right now I’m suffocating under duty, but one day, I will break free, I promise you. Will you wait for me?”
“Yes!”
“Promise?”
“I promise!”
I reach up and pull his mouth down to mine and kiss him. “I will always love you,” I say between kisses, ignoring the banging on the door.
Our kisses are fierce and hungry, and for once I don’t complain when his hands travel all over my body. He pushes me onto the bed and climbs over me. It’s wonderful being in his arms and this is where I want to stay forever.
“I’m calling the cops!” Dawn shouts through the door.
Both of us freeze.
I’m the first one to move – I wriggle out from under him. “I gotta go, baby,” I whisper.
“I will always love you, Burn,” Brody says, kissing me again. “Always. Always.”
“Me too,” I say as I walk backwards towards the door. He rushes up to me and we kiss one last time before I open the door and rush past Dawn and Alicia. I run all the way home and collapse crying in my bed, the pain of losing Brody like a knife through my heart.
I’m too young to handle this pain, this heartache. He’s too young too. What a disaster.
All because of my color.
All because of Dawn McGraw.