Beware of Boys

 

 

Uptown Dreams
The Break-Up Diaries, Vol. 1
(with Ni-Ni Simone)

 

 

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

KELLI LONDON

Dafina KTeen Books
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

For T & C2 & K:
I lead; you follow. You lead; I follow.
Remember:
Actions, not words
Knowledge, not belief
Truth, not axiom
Sovereignty, not majority rule
Individuality, not popularity
Your story, not
His
tory

 

 

Love is classified as a noun, yet it's an action. Therefore live it and breathe it as a verb. You are mind—your thoughts manifest—therefore think, act, and become.

Loving you . . .

Family and loved ones: Your support and understanding my disappearing to write is greatly appreciated. I am fortunate to have you all in my life.

Fellow writers: Your dedication to writing is admired.

Selena James: Your dedication to the craft is admirable and inspirational.

R.M. Johnson and Dashawn Taylor: Thank you for the shoptalk and author powwows.

For my readers: Thank you for being you. Thanks for the emails, the support, and your dedication to following my works. You are truly, truly appreciated!

A wise person once wrote, “To whom much is given, much is required.” In short, if you receive a lot, you should give just as much. Now while I'd love to take credit for the above quote, I can't. However, I do acknowledge that I am huge advocate of giving back. I hope that, if not now, one day you too will promote the same, as it's this merry-go-round of giving and receiving that makes the world a better place, and people, in general, happier. It—giving—is also something that all of us are capable of. If you don't believe me, just think about it. Consider how much you've been given, and I'm not talking about just tangible things. I'm not referring to hot shoes, funkier handbags, high-priced two-hundred-dollar jeans that are cut from the
same
denim as the ten-dollar jeans your local supersaver store carries, but are pricier because of the brand on them (ahh . . . bet you didn't know that, did you?
), or designer's names and labels we have to practice to pronounce. I'm speaking of good friends who listen, great educators who teach, the unconditional love our pets give us, the care and dedication of parents—all the things we sometimes overlook because we've lived with them and, unfortunately, sometimes have come to expect these things of them and don't give them much deserved appreciation, not the way we should. And just as we should appreciate, we should also reciprocate. Put that—giving back—on the top of your to-do list. Be a good friend. Help a stranger. Lend a hand to your elders. Read to a child. Do everything within your power to propel the world in a good way. You'll not only feel better for it, your life will be richer. Don't believe me? Well, turn the page. Charly can show you how.

Enjoy
Beware of Boys
, and feel free to borrow from Charly's fuel to help.

Stay strong. Stay beautiful. Stay you.

—Kelli

BOYS

—song by DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince (aka Will Smith)

remixed title: Charly St. James

C
harly was in a storm of complete madness. Her purse was clutched to her side, a shopping bag was in one hand, and her cell was in the other. Her eyes widened, glued to the phone's screen. She was reeled in by the title of the online article that Lola, her best friend since forever, had urged her to read, but Lola kept interrupting Charly before she could. And Lola had interrupted everything else too, like Charly's relaxation and her efforts to focus on the pilot she was putting together. She was hoping the network would give her a new spinoff show that would make people over from the inside out. But it was what it was, and Lola, although a handful, had done Charly a favor by coming to New York to visit her while she took extra vacation time between tapings to accomplish her mission. She was also going to take Charly's dog, Marlow, back with her to Illinois while Charly went back on the road with the show.

Charly exhaled.

Yes, she was happy to have her best friend there, she reminded herself. She just wished Lola weren't so mesmerized by the big city. Lola elbowed her. “Give me a second, Lola,” Charly said, trying to ignore the disruption of Lola and the shoppers, zeroing in on the headline again.

Lola elbowed Charly again, clearly having not heard Charly or not caring that Charly wanted to read the article, even though she'd been the one to insist that she did. Charly closed the Internet connection, deciding she'd read it later. “You know, you could've at least let me see who teamed up and what their plan is. You never know, it could be info that would help me with my spinoff,” she snapped, irritated. She side-eyed Lola, and shook her head. Lola stood next to her with her mouth wide open, obviously amazed by something, but Charly didn't know what this time.

“Charly! Do you see all the shoes?” Lola asked, pushing her way through the crowded sneaker store, and making her way to the display case. “You know if you can get the new show, you can fit some of the girls in these. These are hot!”

Charly's eyebrows moved north. She didn't see what the big deal was. Yes, there were tons of sneakers, but what else would one expect in a store that specialized in all sorts of athletic shoes. And the last thing she'd planned to do once she got the new show was put girls in sneakers. “I see them. And stop saying my name, Lola! Didn't we just talk about that in the last three stores?” Charly asked, adjusting the sunglasses on her face. They'd been shopping for hours, and for just as long she hadn't been comfortable. What was supposed to have been sister-friends' day out to find Lola an outfit for tomorrow night's concert had turned into frenzy when Charly had been approached by fans of the show who'd refused to let her shop in peace. It wasn't that she'd minded the attention. She just didn't like when it became overwhelming, and it was way past that. She was just Charly, a girl from the Midwest who had fulfilled her dreams. But no one saw her that way anymore. That was what she'd been told for the past couple of seasons, but she hadn't believed it. She shook her head. The one thing she'd once desired—fame—was now coming back to teach her to be careful what she asked from the universe.

“Charly! Charly! Get over here,” Lola shouted, clearly not caring about their discussion or Charly's discomfort. “Stop it already, you know you like the attention,” Lola accused. “ 'Least I know I do. Because of you, I keep getting discounts.” Lola was smiling and holding up a pair of sneakers. “These are some hot tennis shoes, huh?” She sneezed, then wiggled her nose. “I hate these allergies,” she said more loudly than necessary.

Charly gritted her teeth. She loved Lola like a sister, but she promised herself that after this trip, she wouldn't go shopping with Lola anymore. She heard Lola sneeze loudly again, then made a mental note to herself. Not only would she not shop with Lola anymore, she also wouldn't sleep anywhere near her again. The night before, Lola had positioned the guest trundle bed next to Charly's, and had kept sneezing in Charly's direction. Charly was sure she'd felt a spray or two.

“Here I come,” she said, then tried to excuse herself through a small group of teens that had gathered between she and Lola, pretending she didn't see how they were looking at her. Some just gawked as if she were a circus attraction. Others were on their cell phones telling whomever they were talking to that Charly from television was standing feet from them. One or two were either snapping pictures or videoing her. “Sorry,” she said, stepping on someone's foot. “Pardon me,” she said to another. “So you're just not going to move? At all?” she snapped when one refused to budge, then locked eyes with Lola, who still stood in front of the display case with an
I'm sorry
look on her face that quickly turned into one of surprise.

“Oh. My. Yes! I so love New York!” Lola's voice shrilled as she screamed like she'd just won the lottery. “Charly! Charly!” she was saying with one sneaker in her hand, jumping up and down.

Charly didn't get a chance to answer her or see what all the fuss was about. “Huh?” she began.

A hand grabbed Charly's arm, pulling her through the crowd that had begun to thicken around her. “C'mon,” a raspy male voice said, startling her.

“Let me go!” Charly said to whomever the hand belonged to, then tried to pry it from her arm, digging her nails into his smooth dark chocolate skin as her feet gave in to his strength, moving one in front of the other, no matter how hard she dug her heels into the ceramic floor to prevent herself from moving. “I said let me go!”

“Stop acting stupid. Can't you see I'm trying to help you?” he said in a tone raspier than before. Charly still couldn't see through the throng of teenagers. But she could hear him, and “stupid” didn't sit too well with her.

“Who are you calling stupid, Stupid?” she snapped, no longer needing his help to break free of the crowd that swarmed her. After whoever-he-was had insulted her, she'd pushed her way through, parting the teens and knocking some over like dominoes. She'd forgotten about etiquette and niceties and treating the fans special. But she hadn't forgotten about respect, and this dude had just disrespected her. “Aw, heck no. You must not know who I am, you lowlife. Get your nasty hand off me,” she snapped after she'd pushed her way through the group, running face-first into someone's chest. Charly looked up, way up, ready to spit fire and throw hands, but she didn't. She was prepared for war, but she didn't want any casualties, and the person she'd run into would've definitely been an innocent victim, she decided. The hand that had pulled her through the crowd was still gripping her arm, and the person in front of her had both of his in his pockets, so it couldn't be him. Plus their complexions were different. One was smooth dark chocolate; the other was butter pecan. Finally, she successfully freed herself from whoever's death grip on her arm. “You idiot. You hard-up, stalking idiot,” she yelled, then stopped when she saw that a fan was videoing them and heard the man in front of her clear his throat. She looked into his eyes.

The tall, butter-pecan guy met her with a smile. “Trust me, sweetheart, he didn't call you stupid. Why would he go out of his way for you if he thought you were stupid? He was saving you—just like he does all girls. And you may want to consider making nice for two reasons: one, because you should never bite the hand that feeds you, and two, because of that person over there.” He pointed to a fan, who was obviously recording the whole scene. “They're going to sell that video or whatever to the tabloids or post it online, and it'll be viral in no time. And that's not good for you, especially since you're up for a new show.” He winked, and Charly wondered how he knew.

“Oh. My.” Lola sneezed. “God!” Lola was still shouting between sneezes. “Charly! Look. Look. You gotta look! He's one of them.”

But Charly couldn't look if she'd wanted to. The red heat of rage was blurring her vision, and all she could think about was the fan uploading the video online, and the only thing she could see was the butter-pecan charmer who stood in front of her. His statement may have been warm, due to its being laced with
sweetheart
, and the smile he wore commanded ease. But he was much more than tall—he was massive. He looked as though he was close to seven feet and bench-pressed gyms, not weights, but his mind had to be small, she thought. She hadn't done anyone dirty who was responsible for her pay so, clearly, she hadn't bitten any hand that had fed her. One thing she didn't have to think about was his size. It prevented her from seeing the guy who stood behind him—the same guy who'd snatched her through the crowd, and now seemed to have one of his own swarming him. Charly crossed her arms, then nodded her head in the direction of her assailant. “Well, while he's at it, he may want to save himself too. He needs more help than I did,” she spewed.

Butter Pecan turned around and transformed into an action hero. His chiseled arms moved left and right. In one swift motion he pushed down whoever, covered the other guy with what appeared to be a blanket, and then parted the crowd, pushing some away.

“Back up! I said, back up!” His calming voice changed into an authoritative, deep you-don't-want-none-of-this tone as he finished securing the area. His hand was on his ear pressing something; then he spoke into a miniscule microphone Charly couldn't see. It reminded her of the earplugs Secret Service for the White House were equipped with. “I need three inside the store and the trucks waiting. Alert store security that we'll need private exit escorts. He's right here. He's with me, so, of course, he's all clear.”

“See. I told you to look!” Lola was still yelling. “Wish I was over there. I'd touch him too. Touch him for me, Charly! Touch him! At least get his autograph.” Then Lola screamed again, this time louder. “Oh my God. There's another one! Look, Charly! Look! Outside the store! Is that Faizon walking with the cops?”

Charly rolled her eyes. Lola's excitement about her assailant and Faizon, a mega Hollywood actor who was nowhere outside of the sneaker store when she glanced out, was getting under her skin, and her level of anger was growing. She hadn't wanted to go shopping, and had begged Lola to stop yelling her name. Lola and her big mouth had incited all this mess, she tried to tell herself, then thought better of it. It wasn't Lola's fault. Charly could've left after her first fan frenzy. “You come touch him yourself, Lola. You couldn't pay me to touch him,” she began. Then her jaw dropped when Butter Pecan stepped to the side to go meet three other massive men who'd rushed into the store with uniformed security. “Oh.”

“You know, I grew up fighting bullies who thought I was soft because I wasn't in the streets, and I've toured the world a few times, and I've never, never, met anyone in my life as rude and disrespectful—as ungrateful—as you. Now I wish I could take it all back,” M
kel, the hottest, most gorgeous singer in the universe, said, staring into her eyes. He shook his head in disgust; then his lips pressed together, making his trademark pool-deep left dimple indent. His skin was the prettiest shade of chocolate she'd ever seen, and, upon closer inspection, she noticed he had a spatter of cute freckles across the bridge of his nose. “My moms raised us as a single mother after my father died, and she brought me up to believe that all females were queens. I wonder if she would've taught me that if she knew you.”

“But—” Charly began, not knowing what to say. She wanted to defend herself but couldn't. In less than a second, M
kel was whisked away by security.

 

“That was cool,” Lola said, gripping two shopping bags filled with four pair of tennis shoes and zooming toward the exit doors. “Right, Charly?”