Diva Rules (10 page)

I open my eyes. Blink several times to adjust to the darkness. My head is pounding. I'm breathing heavy. And judging by my covers being off the bed 'n' my pillows all over the place, I musta been tossing 'n' turning in my sleep again.

Another nightmare. This time I was being chased by a pack of rabid dogs 'n' my mother was leading the pack, wielding some type of black leather whip, talking all reckless. She sicced these wild mangy dogs on me 'n' had me running for my life.

I'm not sure exactly what the dogs in my dream mean since we've never owned any. But what I do know, what I always remember, is the mean, evil way my mother is always glaring at me.

“
Fiona, don't let what she says get to you
,” Leona would whisper to me as she hugged 'n' rocked me until I'd fall asleep or simply be too cried out to shed another tear. “
You're beautiful. Don't ever forget that. Okay?
”

And, yeah, I would nod like I believed her, but deep inside I didn't feel it. How could I? I mean, really. My own mother thought I was some ugly misfit who ruined her life.

But I know better now. Still, it hurts sometimes when I think too long about it, which is why I do everything I can to
not
think about it, or remember any of it.

I don't like her. And, honestly, I don't think I ever will.

I swipe tears from my face, then reach over 'n' grab my cell from off the nightstand to check the time: 1:13
A.M.
Omigod, I can't believe I slept through
Scandal
.
I don't even bother checking the six messages I have. I climb outta bed, dragging myself to the bathroom. I flush, wash my hands, then a few minutes later I step out 'n' head down the hall toward my mother's bedroom to see if she's home. Why I even bother when I know she's not is beyond me. Her door's closed. I press my ear up against it, then slowly turn the knob, opening it.

Empty.

Just like I knew it would be.

Mmph. Well, lies or not. The truth is, sometimes it gets lonely being up in this big ole house alone. Not that I want some annoying lil sister pestering me 'n' working my last nerve tryna suck up all'a my attention, or bugging me about borrowing my things, or worse—going through my ish without permission.

Oh no, hun. Trust. Ain't nobody got time for that. I'm not that kinda bored. Still. It'd be nice to have someone here, sometimes. Uh, hold up. Let me rephrase that. It would be nice to know there's someone here who gets me, someone who I like. Not some ole grump who just wants to eat, sleep, work, 'n' slick-talk me every chance she gets. Like, jeezus, get yo' life, lady. Anywaaaay . . .

I shut her door, head downstairs to get something to drink, then ease my way back up to my room, grabbing the remote 'n' turning on the TV. I climb back up in bed, flipping through channels. Then decide to go on Facebook 'n' page stalk until I finally drift back to sleep.

I don't snap my eyes open again until, until... seven o'clock. “Aah!” I shriek, bolting up in bed. “Omigod! I'm gonna be frickin' late. No, no, no!”

I plop back against my pillows, struggling with the idea of getting up 'n' getting dressed.
God, why can't today be Saturday?
I swear. I live for the weekends.
Girl, snatch back these covers 'n' get yo' life! You have no time for lying around acting all pitiful 'n' feeling sorry for ya'self
.
No no, honey-boo, get ya'self together!

I stretch 'n' groan, then begrudgingly hop outta bed, feeling no more rested than I did when I awoke in the middle of the night. I feel real groggy 'n' extremely cranky. And I know waaay before my soft feet hit the floor that today's not gonna be a good day, for me or for anyone who dares to try me.

I curse myself for oversleeping as I race around my room like a wild woman, yanking a black bra 'n' panty set from outta my dresser drawer, then snatching a cute pair of jeans off a hanger along with a sexy lil red wrap blouse.
Ooh, I hate rushing
. I turn on my stereo 'n' let my boo Ariana Grande do me right as I sing along to one of her latest songs, heading for the shower.

Forty minutes later, I strut into the kitchen 'n' stop in my tracks.
She's
home. Mmph. I cut an eye over at her. She has a cup of coffee in one hand 'n' the
Jersey Journal
in the other. She has her face pressed all into the newspaper, mumbling 'n' shaking her head about some old man getting punched up by three men over on Duncan 'n' Mallory Avenues.

I have no interest, so I pretend to not hear her. I don't even wanna be in the same room with her right now. But I am too hungry to turn back around. I shuffle on over to the refrigerator 'n' pull out a container of vanilla Greek yogurt 'n' a bowl of sliced strawberries. I pour some yogurt over the fruit, then seal the container, placing it back into the fridge.

“Oh, so there must be something wrong with your mouth, huh? You too cute to speak, right?”

Oh, here we go with the BS already.
I frown. “Um, hello. I don't see you sippin' through a straw, so that tells me your jaw's not broke. So what's wrong with you speaking to
me
?”

“What?” She slams the paper down on the table. “Lil girl, I think you keep forgetting who the parent is up in here. You're gonna walk up in here, go inside
my
refrigerator 'n' eat food
I
buy 'n'
not
open your mouth 'n' say one word to me, like you don't see me sitting here? You have it all backwards. You're the
child
. I'm the
adult
. When you walk into a room,
you
open your mouth 'n'
you
speak. I don't give a damn if I saw you or not, with your disrespectful azz. I'll be glad when you get the hell up outta my house.”

I shoot her a dirty look. “Trust. The feeling's mutual. Please don't even sit there 'n' act like you've rolled out the red carpet 'n' welcomed me with open arms. You didn't want me here the moment they sliced me outta ya stomach. So boom! I'm sick of you actin' like it's my fault you had ya lil nervous breakdown or that you're three scoops from damn crazy. I didn't ruin ya life, boo.
You
did. It's not my fault ya husband ran off 'n' left you for some other woman.” I tsk. “I see why he left you . . .”

“Whaaat?!”
She glares at me. “Keep it up, Fiona. Okay? Keep testing me. I'm this close”—she snaps her fingers—“from hoppin' on ya tail. I don't know what you were doing all night that you couldn't get up for school on time, but I'm not signing no notes.”

I shoot her another dirty look, pulling out a stool 'n' sitting at the counter, as far away from her as possible. “I didn't ask you for one, either. Did I?”

“Well, I'm telling you.”

“Mmph. Well, thanks for the notification. You coulda at least made sure I was up.”

She grunts. “For
what
? Making sure you get up for school is not my concern. You grown, remember?”

“But you just
said
you were the parent here,
remember
? Make up ya mind.”

“Don't try me, lil girl. Now hurry up 'n' get the hell up outta here.”

I take a deep breath. Count to ten slowly in my head, then backwards. I can hear Leona in my head saying,
“Pick 'n' choose your battles.”

But little does this lady know I'm in no mood for her. Oh no. I'm so not. I'm getting sick of picking my battles. She keeps pickin' 'n' itchin' for a fight. And I'm about ready to give her one 'cause I wanna get bloody on the battlefield. Still. I'm tryna bite my tongue 'n' keep it cute. For now.

“Umm, why are you even home?”

She grunts, iggin' my question. “Mmph. And what was wrong with you yesterday?”

Uhh, duh
. “I was sick.” I don't even look at her when I say it. Just keep flitting about the kitchen. But I can feel her stare burning into me.

“
Sick
with what?”

“All know is, I don't know what kinda mess you're tryna pull, but all that throwing up you were doing yesterday in school had better be because you had food poisoning.”

I am breathing heavily. I shut my eyes tight. So tight that I think I'm going to mash my eyeballs in. Right at this very moment, believe it or not, I am desperate for some kind of control. Anything to keep me from servin' her. But she's tried it. One. Time. Too. Dang. Many.

And I'm done.

“Trust, I'm not pregnant. Nor am I stupid enough to wanna be.” I pop my eyes open 'n' make a face at her. She threatens to get up 'n' slap me. I threaten to call the po-po 'n' have her dragged up outta here in silver wristlets if she even tries it. She calls me a whore. Tells me that's about all I'm ever gonna be. Umm, really?

You think?

Wrong answer, boo.

I laugh sarcastically. “You know what, I'll be whatever you want me to be. What you think about me can't hurt me no more than it already has. So, boom. But what we both know is, it takes a whore to know one.”

Next thing I know her coffee cup is being hurled across the kitchen at me 'n' she's jumping to her feet, like she's ready to toss it up. I slam my spoon into the half-empty bowl 'n' push myself away from the stool, which falls to the floor with a loud crash. Then let her have it. For.
Filth.

I shut my locker, then jump. Cease is standing here. And, yes, he's startled me. “Ohmigod! Boy, are you crazy? What are you doing sneakin' up on me like that?”

“My bad.” He smiles. “I didn't mean to spook you.”

Shoot. I forgot my Latin book.
I huff, reopening my locker. “Well, you did. I mean . . .” I force myself to pause 'n' take a deep breath. “How can I help you?”

“I heard you were throwin' up everywhere the other day, so I wanted to see if you a'ight.”

I smirk. “Yeah, right.”

“Nah, nah. I'm dead-azz. You good?”

“Oh, I'm always good, trust.”

“Well, I'm tryna find out . . .”

“Heeeeeey, Cease,” this Spanish chick Maribel says, sticking out her boobs like she's tryna offer 'em up on a platter to him. That's really about all she has going for herself. I'd like to see how far those watermelon jugs get her in life. By the time she's twenty they'll be dragging down to the ground from all the boys she's had hanging on 'em. But I'm not messy, so I'ma leave it at that.

“Yo, what's good, Maribel?” he says, giving her a head nod.

She cuts her eyes over at me. I toss my hair. Make her invisible.

“
Nada
, papi.”

“Oh, a'ight.”

She's still standing here.

“I think you better go sign her autograph,” I say, smirking.

She rolls her eyes at me.

He looks over at her. “Yo, I'ma holla at you, a'ight?”

“Yeah, make sure you do, papi.” She shoots me a dirty look before finally catching the hint 'n' bouncing. Silly trick.

“Ooh,
papi
,” I tease, running a hand over his chiseled chest. “She's gonna ride ya enchilada. Giddy up, giddy up, boo.”

He grins, leaning against the lockers. “Yeah, a'ight. How 'bout you ride it?”

“I'll pass. I don't do Mexican.”

He laughs. “Yeah, a'ight. How 'bout a soul pole?”

I frown. “Not interested.”

“Yo, what's goodie, Cease, man?” his boy Justin says as he walks by. With his fine self. “We still hittin' the gym after school?”

“No doubt, son.” They bump shoulders, giving each other dap.

I eye Justin on the low. Mmph. McPherson High got some real cutie-boos on the basketball team. Trust. I'm not even gonna lie. Justin could get it. With his nerdy-looking self. Still. He's super cute. Real tall, like I like 'em, 'n' he has really nice skin.

“What's good, Fiona?”

“You, boo-daddy,” I coo.

He laughs. “Oh, word?”

I lick my lips. “Uh-huh. You already know.” Yeah, I'm flirting shamelessly, knowing Cease is checking for me. So what?

“You stay flirtin'.” He looks over at Cease. “Yo, man, I'ma get at you later. I'll catch you at lunch.”

“A'ight, bet.” They give each other a pound, then Justin walks off. Cease brings his attention back to me. “Why you be playin' me, yo?”

I smirk. “What are you talkin' about, boy? Ain't nobody playin' you.”

Okay, yeah, he's cute. No, scratch that.
Fiiine.
And yeah, he has mad swag. So what? Am I supposed to now all of a sudden fall at his big feet 'n' worship him because he's tryna get at me?

No, hun. Not over here. I'm not one of his groupies.

“Yeah, a'ight,” he says, eyeing me. “All school year you've been playin' me to the left. You know what you be doin', yo. How you gonna flirt wit' my mans 'n' I'm standin' right here, yo?”

I shrug. “I'm single. He's single. What's the big deal?”

“Yeah, a'ight. Whatever. And what was that stunt you pulled the other day at lunch, huh?”

I feign ignorance. “What
stunt
?” I bat my lashes. “Oh, when you wanted me to kiss you? Boy, bye. I don't know where your lips been.”

“Let me show you where they've been. Or where I want 'em to be.” He smirks that sexy smirk that makes him so effen fine 'n' almost irresistible. Almost.

“Not.”

“I'm sayin', though. I'm tryna make you mine.”

“Lies 'n' fabrications. The only thing you tryna do is make me late for class.”

“Stop, yo. I'm feelin' you, Fee. You already know what it is. I've been diggin' you for a minute, but . . .”

I run a hand through my hair 'n' purse my lips. “Why?”

He gives me a perplexed look. “Huh?”

“I asked you why. Why now, Cease?”

“C'mon, Fee. You know I've been big on you since freshman year, yo.”

“Uh-huh. And that's why I caught you with your tongue stuffed down in some mare's mouth, 'cause you were so
big
on me. Right? Boy, bye. Lies 'n' fabrications.”

“Mare? Girl, whatchu talkin' 'bout? You ain't ever seen me kissin' up on no horse.”

I roll my eyes, stuffing my book into my bag. I peer around my locker at him. “Boy, don't play dumb. And don't give me that selective amnesia crap you boys stay tryna act like you have. You know
who
'n'
what
I'm talkin' about. Freshman year. Fifth period. Behind the gym bleachers. Big head. Big face. Big teeth.”

Realization registers in his eyes. “Ohhhh.
That
.
Her
.” He laughs.

I don't.

“Damn. You still on that, yo? I tol' you then she was a dare. You know I wouldn't a done you like that for real, for real. That chick was mad ugly.”

“Uh-huh. That's what ya mouth says. But your lips were sayin'—or should I say,
doin'
—something else. You chose Horse Face over
me
. That was a no-no, boo.”

“C'mon, Fee. It wasn't even like that. I wasn't checkin' for that girl like that.”

I slam my locker shut. “Yeah, well you
claimed
you were
checkin'
for me back then, but then I catch you holed up behind the bleachers. You were too busy
checkin'
that chick's tonsils with your tongue for me to believe that lie. Ha! You weren't checkin' for her. You got me once, you won't get me twice.”

Okay, let me hip you right fast. See. I'm not even fazed about what Cease did with that horse-face chick freshman year. I had only been so-called messing with him for like three days. So it wasn't even all that serious. Trust. I wasn't spilling no tears over him, or over what he did. Be clear. Fiona Madison doesn't play the backseat to no boy unless we back there to get it poppin'. But play the backseat to some other chick? Not. Still. He had no business doing it.

Dare or not, I don't think so.

Anyway, the girl doesn't even go to this school anymore. Shoot. I can't even think of her name. All I see is her gigantic face, those big gums of hers, 'n' her huge white teeth that reminded me of piano keys every time I looked in her mouth.

And, yeah, I heard a few days after I caught them tonguin' it up that the whole thing was supposedly some dare, or stupid-boy bet to see who could get with her first.

I guess he won.

And nope... I wasn't all broken up about it, either. I simply tapped him on his big wide shoulder, then reached up 'n' slapped his face when he turned to look over his shoulder at me. He tried to explain. Tried to apologize. But I wasn't hearing it. It was over. And by the end of seventh period, I had moved on. Yup. I had me a new boo—his boy, Luke.

He shakes his head. “Nah, yo. You got me all wrong. I'm a grown man now, baby. I ain't on them lil kiddie games like that anymore. I've paid for my sins long enough, Fee. Don't you think it's time for you to forgive a bruh? Can I live, yo?”

“Sure you can,” I say, walking off 'n' glancing over my shoulder. “You can
live
with the fact that you coulda had all'a this goodness. Now watch it shake.”

I bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing as I throw an extra bounce in my step, for emphasis.

Pow! How you like me now? I throw a hand up in the air at him, popping my hips down the hall, smirking.

He laughs. “Awww, man. You killin' me, yo.”