Boyfriend Season (17 page)

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Authors: Kelli London

BOOK: Boyfriend Season
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“So that means we can still be friends?”
He nodded, fast and hard. “Of course. Besides, if Trill lives up to his reputation, you're going to need me for a friend.”
A puzzled look swept across her face. “Why do you say that?”
“Because he's been known to drop a girl or two. You can Google the real newspapers to check. Until then, it's just a rumor because I'm not one hundred percent sure. But if that does happen and he drops you, I'm going to be the friend to catch you. Because that's what friends do. We help each other, and not because we'd look good in prom gear.” He laughed again.
His words filled Patience's head, and she hoped there wasn't any truth to what he was saying about Trill.
“So . . . can I know the name of my possible knight in shining armor?”
“You can call me Z, short for Zion.”
Now it was Patience's turn to be surprised, and jab back at him. “Zion? As in the multiple-award-winning choir boy who all the ladies love more than Cool J, Zion?”
“Du-du-da-dah,” he sang like a superhero. “The one and only, or you can just call me the catcher. Get it catchher?”
Patience was relieved now that she knew where she'd seen Zion before. He usually wore suits, complete with neckties and pocket squares, which is why she couldn't remember where she'd known him from, but he was one in the same as the guy she'd seen on TV many times performing gospel hits. She shook her head. He was as corny as his buttoned-up-too-high shirt, army haircut, and almost high-water jeans, but for the first time in a long time, she connected with someone with the same church roots as she had, and it felt good. The phone vibrated in her pocket again, and she pulled it out. Trill wanted to know where she was, and demanded that she check in at least once a day. If he cared so much, maybe, just maybe, Zion had been wrong about him. She hoped she was right.
19
SANTANA
S
antana sat on Gulliver's sofa, thumbing through his CD collection. His taste was strange or “eclectic,” as he'd called it. A singer she'd never heard before crooned through the speakers. She swore Gully had the soul of an old man, probably from being raised by his grandmother, which she believed was a good thing because he was a good person. They'd pulled off his plan for her to act sick, and she'd wound up with sympathy from her mother and Craig instead of another punishment. But now she had to do her part—learn about computers and databases.
“Here,” Gully said, handing her a glass. “It's this drink called sorrel. They drink it a lot in the West Indies, and my grandmother swears by it.”
Santana smiled at him. Ever since they'd met he'd introduced her to new things, and though she didn't care to admit it, he'd made her world larger.
“Thanks. So you ready to scream? You know I'm gonna drive you crazy. The only thing I know about computers is how to social network and e-mail.”
He waved his hand at her and beckoned her to follow him. “You're smarter than you think, Santana. You just fight it.”
She shrugged. He was right, but, again, it wasn't something she'd admit.
The house was quiet and dark and old. The scent of pine cleaner and bleach filled the air, bespeaking his grandmother's cleanliness. They passed an enclosed porch where she noticed pictures of Jesus, Martin Luther King Jr., and John F. Kennedy on the wall. That was enough to tell her that his granny was as old as her great-grandmother.
“In here,” Gully directed, opening a door. “This is my bedroom—where all the magic happens, of course.”
Santana entered the room laughing. Gulliver always made her smile, and never pushed up on her the wrong way. Then she wondered why. It wasn't that she was interested in him; it was that any other guy would've tried. They all did. For a second, a fraction of a minute, whether he found her attractive or not mattered.
“Why the look?” he asked, smiling.
She couldn't believe she'd slipped. She was only supposed to let the thought cross her mind, not register on her face.
“It's because of Pharaoh, right? Is it hard for you to be here when you know that he could pull up any second?”
She shook her head. She was fine with Pharaoh being outside and anywhere else. He was her boyfriend, and she had to trust him. That's what they'd established after he'd met her around the corner from her house and swore on his life that Nae had followed him to the cabins. But nothing happened, that's what he'd said, and she believed him. How could she not after comparing herself to Nae? Nae was hands down not the
it
girl.
“Good!” Gully said. “Have a seat.” He pointed to a huge plush bed that looked as if it'd been decorated by Martha Stewart herself. In fact, as she took the room in, it resembled a magazine layout, and didn't look like it fit the rest of the house. Everything in it was high quality and state of the art.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you my grandmother's into home design and sewing. I know you can't tell from the rest of the house. That's because she's sentimental and wanted to keep everything just the way it was when my parents and grandfather were alive. You should see her room . . . if you think this one is something.”
Commotion filtered in from outside. Gully walked over to the window and peered out. When he turned his face was frozen as if he was nervous or stuck.
“What's wrong? Who're the fools acting up now?” Santana changed her mind about sitting, and wanted to see what was going on. She turned toward the window.
Gully stood in front of her. “Santana, don't. Let's just get to work. It's very interesting.”
“Un-uh. I just want to see.”
He grabbed her wrist, then stared in her eyes. “No, you don't . . . and I don't want you to. You're worth too much, Santana.”
She snatched away from him. Now she had to see what was going on. In only three steps she'd made it to the window, cracked the blinds with two fingers, pressed her face to the opening, and discovered her world was a lie. To the left a violent dice game was in session. To the right was her man, and he was the biggest, nastiest liar she knew. He stood leaning against his car as usual with his legs slightly parted, and Nae was settled between them. They were kissing—full-fledged Frenching, like they were the only two in the world.
“Sorry,” she said to Gully, then darted out of his room.
“No, Santana! Wait!” he called and ran after her.
“You no-good liar!” she spat like venom as soon as she opened the front door. She was moving so fast she didn't feel the steps underneath her feet, or the barren landscape. But she could feel her fist punching someone's face, that's how bad she wanted to. She hadn't even made it to him and Nae yet, but in her mind she'd already knocked them out. She tasted blood, revenge, and hate.
“Oh,” Nae said, then slid behind Pharaoh and climbed through the open car window into the safety of the Charger.
“What up, shawty?” he asked, acting as if she hadn't seen anything, but unable to look at her.
“Santana, just come back inside. . . .” Gully stood to her right, reaching out for her.
Pharaoh stepped up, then walked toward Santana and Gully. She looked him up and down, then noticed something on the ground she could use to split his head. A huge rock. In one swoop, she picked it up.
“
Inside?
” Pharaoh asked Gully. “What, G, you pushing up on my girl or somethin?”
“Your girl?” Santana hissed, holding up the rock and aiming it at him. “Your girl's in your car . . . and I'm out of your life.”
Pharaoh held up his hands in surrender. “Come on now, baby. You know it ain't like dat. I don't want her. She was just telling me a secret. Plus,” he said, pulling out two tickets from his pocket, “I have VIP passes to Trill—yes, ya heard ya man, shawty, I said to Trill's surprise birthday party. Just for you!”
Santana mimicked the girls at her new school, and doubled over in laughter. Pharaoh must've thought she was still a fool. She'd seen him with her own eyes, and he knew she had, but he still was trying to play her? She shook her head, walked up on him and snatched the tickets from his hand. She pocketed them, walking back over to Gully.
“Gulliver, what's the word for someone trying to play you like you stupid when you not?”
“Patronize.”
“Yeah, well, Pharaoh, don't try to patronize me or insult my intelligence.”
Gulliver laughed. “Wow, Santana. I'm impressed. Seems you've already picked up a few words at your new school.”
She nodded. “I only been there a couple days. I got the new vocab from you. I'm working on my lexicon.”
Pharaoh put one hand in his pocket. He licked his lips and glared at Gulliver.
“Yo, G, shut up 'fore I slap you.”
Santana aimed her rock. “Try it, and I'll bust your head.”
Gulliver stepped in front of Santana. From the look on his face and his body language it was obvious that he wasn't scared of Pharaoh. Not in the least.
“Look Pharaoh, we've known each other for a long time, buddy. And I know I may speak and dress differently from you, and that I view the world in a way that you don't, but I also know that we're from the same streets. You know me, just like I know you. And you know I'm many things, but I'm not a punk.”
“And I ain't no punk neither, homeboy. I plays wit steel, partner. I'm from the skreets.” Pharaoh bucked up.
Santana jumped in front of Gulliver, disgusted by Pharaoh's skreets, wits, and ain'ts. There was no way she was going to let him put his grimy hands on her friend. All of a sudden she saw him through a new lens. He was no longer sexy or cute or fine. His hood grammar was decidedly ignorant, and now she knew it. He just didn't do it for her anymore, and she knew he didn't deserve her. She held the rock high over her head, aiming it for his, then pulled it back, ready to bust him in the face. And in the blink of an eye, she threw it with all her might. Pharaoh jumped, blocking his face. Santana laughed. The rock landed in the street where she'd intended it to.
“You know what, Pharaoh? I'm not even mad at you. You're just dumb as hell-oh. But I am mad at me because you didn't deserve me and I wasted my time with you. I feel sorry for you. All you know how to do is hustle, and all hustlers end up in jail. Where I'm
not
headed.” She looked at Gulliver. “Because of people like him and my stepdad. I'm not jail material. I'm Santana Jackson, and I'm too fly for that.”
She laced her arm through Gully's and kept it moving.
20
DYNASTY
R
ufus refused to be pushed in a wheelchair, and hobbled out of the hospital sicker than when he went in. His nose was stuffed from the cold he'd caught from the frigid air-conditioning, his stomach hurt because of the two-day hospital diet he'd been forced to endure, and he'd sworn he'd had an allergic reaction, an invisible rash that only he could see, because he'd been assigned a male nurse instead of the female one with the “nice butt.” Dynasty walked next to him, holding his bag of goodies that she planned to chuck into the first garbage can she saw. She couldn't figure out why he was so hardheaded. He had a heart problem and high cholesterol, and had been warned that he was an inch from becoming diabetic. Still, he insisted on his usual snacks of chips, skins, and cupcakes. She shrugged. He wasn't going to get them. She didn't care how angry he'd be, and she'd never been afraid of him, so they were as good as gone.
“How we getting home?” asked Rufus, standing by the curb, looking into the parking lot.
Dynasty tossed his goodie bag into the trash. She held her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun.
“There!” She pointed. “Here comes City now.”
Rufus looked at her. “That's your boyfriend.” It wasn't a question; he wasn't asking her. He was telling her.
She tilted her head and gave him a soft look. She didn't want to hurt him because she knew, deep down, he was crushing on her. But she didn't want to lie to him either. She'd spent both days in the hospital with him, and they'd developed quite a bond, especially after his family was a no-show and City had to pay someone to pretend they were Rufus's parent and sign the hospital release papers. She nodded. Yes, Rufus deserved the truth, and if he was really her friend he'd be happy for her.
“Kinda, but not really.”
“Kinda, but not really? What's that? Either he is or he isn't.”
“Well, no then. Since you put it like that.”
“But you like him,” Rufus said, waving his long arm in the air to get City's attention.
She nodded. “I do. He's been really good and sweet to me, plus—”
Rufus elbowed her. “He helped you get into a business, bought you a new dictionary and SAT book, and some clothes. That's all you talked about for two days. How can I forget?” He started walking to City's car, which was standing idle behind another that was picking up someone, too.
City jumped out of his car, and jogged to meet them.
“Dynasty! My man, Big Ruf. Nice to see you two,” he said, taking Rufus's bag from Dynasty. “Dynasty, I'm so glad to see you. I can't wait to tell you about the new stock we have coming.”
Dynasty smiled and gave City a half hug. She didn't want to rub their being together in Rufus's face. It was bad enough that she'd called City to see if he could pick them up.
“Oh, yeah. Here,” he said, reaching into his back pocket. He handed Dynasty two tickets. “Look what I got! We're going to the party of the year! What I tell ya, baby? Your fam's got you covered.”
Dynasty looked at the tickets and almost passed out. They were two exclusive passes to a personal surprise party for Trill—an invite-only event.
“How . . .”
“Trill?” Rufus said, finally reaching the front of City's car.
City pointed to the car. “My people . . . Meka.”
People
bounced through Dynasty's mind like a thorny Ping-Pong ball, tearing up her brain. “Your
people
?”
City nodded. “Yes, I told you I was bringing her to New York . . . to meet my other fam. Just like I introduced you to her because we're fam, me and you. We're almost related because of your aunt and my grandfather. Family. Isn't that right, Big Ruf?”
Rufus scratched his head, looking at Dynasty. He held open the back door of the car for her. “I don't know about all that, City. I'm her friend.”
Dynasty reluctantly got into the car and made herself speak to Meka. She looked at Rufus through pained eyes, and was glad that she had him to lean on. He was her friend, he'd made that clear. City was her fam and business partner, and genuinely cared about her well-being and future, he just didn't genuinely like her the same as she did him.
“So you good with going to the party, Dynasty?” he called from the front, pulling off from the curb. “We got to make our money, fam. There's going to be a lot of people there who can help brand us and help take City Gear international.”
Rufus grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
“You okay?” he mouthed.
She nodded. “City, I'm good with everything. You've made it all crystal clear.”

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