Caught Up (4 page)

I smirk. Hope can be so over-the-top with her theatrics. She's more melodramatic than Jordan. “I seriously doubt she's dangerous,” I protest. “Or
that
kind of crazy. I just think she's an angry girl.”

Hope purses her lips. “Well, angry or not. I think you should report her to management the next time she says something to you. And get yourself a security team and a can of Mace in case she calls for backup from her ghetto friends.”

I shake my head. “Let's hope it never has to come to that.”

“S
o how was your day with the girls?” my mom wants to know, leaning up against the doorframe of my bedroom. She watches me as I remove my purchases from Forever 21 and Uniqlo from the shopping bags and hang them in my closet.

It's a little after seven o'clock in the evening.

“It was okay.”

“I see you bought some really cute things,” she says, eying my purchases. “How much did you spend?”

I shrug. Tell her not much, like three hundred dollars. She asks for her Amex card back. I walk over to my bag and pull it from my wallet, handing it to her.

“Now that summer is here, you should probably go through some of the clothes and shoes you haven't worn in a while and put them in a pile so that I can take them down to the Salvation Army, along with some of all your brothers' things.”

“I will. I need to make room for all of the new stuff I'll be getting over the next few weeks anyway. Daddy promised me a shopping spree if I got all A's on my finals.”

She chuckles. “Your father knew that wouldn't be a challenge for you. He was going to buy you whatever you wanted, regardless.”

I stick my head out from my closet and smile. “Yeah, I know. You, too.”

“Shameful, I'll admit. We've spoiled you rotten,” she says playfully. She steps into my room. “You're our only daughter. You've never given us any problems, so of course we'll give you whatever you want.” I grin, stepping out of my closet. “Within reason,” she quickly adds.

“Well, just be grateful I'm not like Jordan and Hope, who want S-series Benzes and expensive trinkets from Tiffany and Company.”

She chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you've got a point. Those two are going to run their parents crazy.”

I laugh.

“Your father wants you and me to fly over to Dubai to spend the month of August with him. Won't that be exciting?”

Daddy works in intelligence as a National Security officer and has been working over in Dubai for the last eight months. Before that, he worked in Afghanistan for eighteen months. Although over the last two years he's spent more time in the Middle East than home, he usually comes home for the holidays, and typically stays from anywhere from two weeks to a month, depending.

Last summer—before I was interested in having a life of my own—Daddy met mom and me in Morocco, where we spent three weeks vacationing in Casablanca. That was a lot of fun: learning about Moroccan culture, sailing the Mediterranean Sea, even hiking the Moroccan mountains was quite interesting. Still, during the day, it was viciously hot and I thought I would die in the sizzling heat.

But this summer I have plans that do not include travel abroad or being scorched under a blazing sun. I love Daddy, but I'd rather wait until he comes home to spend time with him than give up practically a whole chunk of what could potentially be one of the greatest summers of my life . . . ever!

I stare at her.
Is she kidding me? I can't spend a whole month away. Stuck up under her and Daddy. What kind of fun is that?

“Mom,” I whine. “I can't go to Dubai for a
whole
month. What about work? I can't leave them short-handed.”

“I'm sure they'll manage,” she says indifferently. “Besides, you'll be quitting a week or so before the school year starts anyway, right?”

I blink. Tell her that I hadn't planned on it. That I had hoped to stay on during the school year and work the weekends. She smiles at me. “Sweetheart, I think that's great you want to work and gain a sense of independence, but we already agreed that you'd only work for the summer. The only thing your father and I want you to concentrate on is your studies; that's it.”

I poke my lip out. “I know. But I can do both. It's not going to interfere with my grades. I promise. I really like it there.” Umm, no, what I really want to say is, “I really like seeing all the sexy boys who come through the mall with their pants sagging.”

“We'll see,” she says brusquely. Code for end of discussion. I take the hint, moving about my bedroom. “You know I ran into Craig and his mother at Short Hills mall this afternoon.” She gauges my reaction. There is none. “He asked about you. And his mother told me to tell you hello.”

“Oh. That's nice,” I say nonchalantly. I'm still kind of put off that she expects me to stop working and wants to whisk me off to some desert country in the blazing heat. Anything to try and ruin my summer plans. So what if she doesn't know about them? That's the whole point. For her not to know.

I walk back into my closet. “Next time you see Mrs. Johnston, tell her I said hi.”

“You should call her. I know she'd love to hear from you.”

Craig Johnston is my mother's idea of the perfect guy for me. And yes, he was one of my parent-approved boyfriends last year. Thing is, he is a really, really nice guy. And he's cute, too. But I didn't like him like that. I mean. I tried to like him. But, after our first kiss and there weren't any fireworks going off in my head after he pulled back, I knew he wasn't the one for me. Still we talked/dated for almost three months after that, mostly because he was fun to be around and I really did like his company.

I just didn't like him for a boyfriend.

Still don't.

“He's such a fine young man,” my mom continues. “I can't get over how tall he's gotten since the last time I saw him.”

“I bet.” I close my closet door, then walk over to my bed and plop down on it.

“I always wondered whatever happened to the two of you. I can tell he still likes you, Kennedy.”

I roll my eyes up in my head. “There's not much to tell. It didn't work out, Mom. It's not the end of the world.”

She sits on the edge of my bed. “I know, sweetheart. I'm not saying it is. It's just that... I can tell he really liked you. He still does.”

“I liked him, too, Mom. Just not like
that
.”

“Well, what was wrong with him?”

Umm, let's see.

Honor student, check.

Star athlete, check.

Respectful, check.

Boy Scout—no, Eagle Scout... excuse me, check. How could I have forgotten? It was one of the things he constantly talked about in between his incessant chatter about the debate team and his volunteer work with the SPCA.

Umm, what else?

Tall, check.

Good looking, check.

Parents loved him, check-check.

I shrug, sighing. “He just wasn't for me.”

“He comes from such a nice family. And he seems like a really good kid.”

I shrug dismissively, getting up from the bed. “I'm sure he is. Good, that is. But even good kids have problems, Mom.”

She gives me a quizzical look. I can tell she wants me to elaborate, to gossip. Truth is, there's no chinwag to tell when it pertains to Craig.

“I'm sure he's given his parents about as much trouble as you've given your father and me. All I'm saying is, maybe you should give him a call and invite him over.”

I stop flitting about my room, turn to face her. “
Call
him? And
invite
him over? Are you serious? Why would I want to do that?”

I plop back on my bed, scooting back then sitting Indian-style. Aside from his dad and my dad being fraternity brothers and my mother and his mother being sorority sisters, Craig and I have nothing in common. We don't even have the same taste in music. He likes classical, pop, jazz, and rock. Whereas I love hip-hop and (believe it or not) some country music.

I decide to tell her, “I just wasn't that into him.”

She pushes. “Why?”

“Mom . . .” I say wearily.

“What? I'm simply asking a question. I really want to know why the two of you didn't work out.”

I sigh. “Mom, I see what you're trying to do, but it isn't going to work.”

“What am I
trying
to do?” she asks, feigning confusion.

“All I'm suggesting is that you give Craig a call. That's all.”

I guffaw. “Uh-huh. You're trying to play matchmaker again.”

She reaches over and grabs one of my pillows and playfully hits me with it. “I'm trying to do no such thing.”

I give her a “yeah right” look.

She smiles. “Well, sweetheart, you can't knock me for trying. You've done everything your father and I have asked of you during the school year, so there's nothing wrong with me wanting to see you have some fun over the summer with someone from a good family background.”

“I'm glad you want me to have fun,” I say excitedly. “That's exactly what I want. Lots and lots of summer excitement.”

“Ooh, do tell,” she says, smiling. “What kind of girlish mischief are you girls planning to get into this time?”

But how?

Hope and Jordan are out.

“Well, um,” I say, cautiously. “I was kind of hoping I could stay a week with the twins.”

Mom blinks. “Your uncle
Kent's
twins
?
”

“Yeah, Mom. Who else's?”

She looks surprised. “Now, why in the world would you want to stay over there?”

I shrug. “I don't know. It'd be fun. Besides, I don't get to spend a lot of time with the twins.”

“Sweetheart, I know Shaniqua and Kaniqua are your favorite cousins—only God knows why—but you know how your father and I feel about you spending too much time with them.”

I sigh. “I know, I know. You and Daddy think they're bad influences. But that's so utterly ridiculous. I have a mind of my own.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. It's just that—”

“What, they live in the hood? Is that it?”

She frowns. “I wasn't going to say that.”

I make a face that says, “I don't believe you.”

“There's no supervision. Or very little of it over there.”

“I know they can be a little wild . . .”

She raises an arched brow. “
A little?
You think?”

“Okay, okay. They can't influence me to do anything I don't want to do,” I add. “I wish you and Daddy would trust me, just once.”

“Your father and I do trust you. We just don't trust
them.
”

“Same difference. You're still saying you don't trust
me
. Don't you think I know right from wrong?”

“Of course we do.

“That's so unfair. They're my cousins.”

“Yes. They are. But they're also rude, disrespectful, and out of control, just like their mother. You can go visit for the day. But I don't want you over there unless there's supervision. That means your uncle Kent must be over there
and
your aunt Tiny must be sober.”

“Ohmygod! You know Uncle Kent is not going to go over there just so that I can visit with the twins.”

Uncle Kent moved out two years ago, and divorced the twins' mom like three months ago because all she wanted to do was hang out in the bars. From what I've overheard from my parents talking, Uncle Kent had had enough of Aunt Tiny's roguish ways.

“Then I guess you can't go,” Mom says triumphantly. “Besides, I don't like the company Tiny keeps. Ever since your uncle moved out she keeps a lot of riff-raff coming in and out of there.”

“How do you know that? You don't even talk to her.”

“You're right, I don't. That still doesn't mean I don't know what's going on over there. Tiny wouldn't be half bad if she stayed out of the bars and stopped all that drinking.”

“Dang, Mom. You make it sound like she's a drunk or something.”

She shakes her head. “I'm not saying that. All I'm saying is, your uncle's ex-wife is a bit too liberal when it comes to the twins. And she's a bit too loose for my liking.”

Translation: She lets them do whatever they want. Well, almost whatever. They're not allowed to smoke in the house. And boys aren't allowed to stay over past one
A.M.

“I tell you what. Why don't you call them and invite them here for a weekend. You could have a slumber party . . .”

“Why can't I stay over there?” I whine.

She gets up from the bed, her forehead creasing with frustration. “Kennedy, you're not staying a week in Irvington with your cousins. So you might as well let that crazy little dream go. If you really want to spend time with them, then you can invite them here for a week.”

“Well, what about for a weekend? You or Daddy could drop me off on Friday, then pick me up Sunday morning, if you want.”

“I have a better idea. How about they come
here
for the weekend?”

I blink. “And do what?”

“Oh I don't know. What did you plan on doing if I agreed to let you stay there?”

“Hang out and chill.” I say this as if it's an obvious answer.

She smiles. “Then you can
hang out
and
chill
here.”