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Authors: Calvin Slater

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BOOK: Game On
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43
SAMANTHA
SUNDAY, MARCH 20
10:34 A.M.
 
“S
on, you showed a brilliant exhibition of courage on that school rooftop,” Mr. Fox said to Xavier. “Personally, I would've waited on the professionals to arrive and do their job, but that's just me. I wouldn't have had the guts to do what you did.” Mr. Fox was wearing a navy blue business suit and expensive Italian shoes.
Two days after Dakota Taylor had single-handedly opened the eyes of a sleeping nation on how truly bad bullying had become in its schools, Samantha had been blown out of her socks when her dad asked her to set up a meeting with Xavier over breakfast. Apparently, the heroism the boy displayed in front of the cameras had been enough to alter her dad's negative, narrow-minded view of him. They were dining at an exclusive breakfast club in the heart of downtown Birmingham.
Xavier politely smiled. “Douglas Banks, our head of security, wanted me to wait for the police crisis intervention team, but, sir, I wasn't afforded the time.”
Mrs. Fox was dressed casually in jeans, cute black leather shoes, and a beautiful blouse that showed off nice spring colors. She looked across the table at Noah. “You must be very proud of your son, Mr. Hunter,” she said.
Noah was dressed in tan slacks, brown leather loafers, button-up, and a necktie in those same colors. “God is good, and all the time. How else could that rooftop miracle have happened? I'm extremely proud of my son.”
Samantha said, “Amen.” She was dressed like her mother. “Dakota's story was big headline news. National. It gave me goose bumps when I saw the cell phone footage of the rooftop on
HLN
. Xavier, I couldn't believe how composed you were. I would've been shaking like a leaf on a tree experiencing an earthquake under those circumstances.” She winked at Xavier. He was sitting to her left.
“The young lady Dakota Taylor showed tremendous bravery to face down those girl gangbangers in her front yard,” said Mr. Fox, then sipped on his orange juice.
“She knew that she could bring attention to this problem if she recorded herself under attack,” said Samantha. “And after taking a beating like that, having the strength to go back in the house and upload the whole thing to YouTube was beyond strong. Mom, I don't think I could've done that.”
Alfonso was sitting on his father's right-hand side. Dude wasn't saying anything. He was merely chowing down on a stack of buttermilk pancakes.
Mrs. Fox sipped coffee from a mug. “Xavier, we all heard your Fox 2 News interview. You are a very humble person.” She rolled her eyes at her husband. “I knew that there was something special about you from our very first meeting in Principal Skinner's office. And of course, we've all heard some of the critics say that you should've waited for the professionals. What made you think that you could pull it off?”
“Mrs. Fox,” said Xavier, looking around at every face at the table, “like I've been telling news reporters, it wasn't really anything special. I love Dakota as a very good friend. Everything that came out of my mouth in that moment was from my heart. I spoke love from my heart, you feel me?”
Samantha loved herself some Xavier—a complex bad boy, good guy, intelligent nerd all rolled into a handsome, LL Cool J knockoff was her only way to sum him up. The original. Would never be another. And the boy had never been afraid to be himself. Kept it real. And that gangster “you feel me?” catchphrase of his seriously did things to her head. At this point she didn't care what her folks thought. She grabbed Xavier, hugged him, and kissed him on the jaw.
“I love you,” said Samantha. “You are a blessing to all of our lives.”
“It's important for me to say that Dakota will be receiving counseling. Her mother was never there for her and in the end she felt alone and vulnerable. She's a strong girl and I'll be right there by her side to help her recover, but she's taught us all something very valuable”—Xavier looked at his father—“and that's never take family for granted. Because in an instant, it could all be taken away.”
Noah looked like he was getting ready to cry. “I'm afraid you've shown your father some things about being a man. And I'll never get tired of saying that I love you, son. We will always put God first, and long as I live our family will stand united and continue to love the way we should.”
Samantha was enjoying herself. Unlike that made-for-reality TV drama that had happened when she'd tried to mix their families before at that Italian restaurant, this time it was much more pleasant and with the right combination of folks. She was also pleased to know that Sean Desmond was a thing of the past. Her threat to go to the media and expose him for the dirt-bag that he was had worked like a charm. There were no more phone calls from him. And the only time she saw the scumbag was during an after-game interview for the Tigers' preseason—and she'd turned the channel. Didn't make any sense to tell her father. Get him all upset and for what? Samantha had it covered. She'd handled her business with him well. She was 1,000 percent sure that Sean Desmond wouldn't cause any more trouble for her. He'd better stay in his lane if he knew what was good for him.
Noah's emotional confession prompted Mr. Fox to stand and raise his glass of orange juice. “I propose a toast.”
Everybody followed suit, standing and raising their glasses.
Mr. Fox examined everybody's face at the table. “Here's to Dakota Taylor. May she continue on her road to recovery so she can get back to work and champion the cause of the victims of bullying in schools across the country.”
Everybody drank, but Mr. Fox wasn't finished.
“I have one more toast.” He looked at Xavier. “Can you forgive this foolish old man? Too busy being a parent and trying to keep the wrong element away from my daughter, my eyes were closed to the wonderful, thoughtful, and loving person that you are. Here's to you and my daughter graduating and becoming great pillars of our society.” He sipped his OJ.
Everybody followed up in unison with “Hear, hear.”
Alfonso put his glass down and ran to hug his brother. “I love you, big brother.”
Xavier held him tightly. “I love you too, little brother.”
44
XAVIER
TUESDAY, JUNE 21
10:44 A.M.
 
I
t was the day before graduation. Xavier had one more loose end to tie up. He and Alfonso had gotten up early this morning and hopped a bus to Muskegon, Michigan. They were now sitting at a table in a huge room. People sat in chairs and at tables all over the place. Looking back on his conversation with Noah before they'd left, Xavier was glad he'd chosen to go alone. Noah had tried to convince his oldest that he should be there, but this was something that he and Alfonso had to do by themselves. Xavier had to admit, there were more butterflies in his stomach than there'd been on the school rooftop that day.
Xavier checked his watch. He had a few minutes, so he didn't mind Alfonso grabbing a few z's with his head down on the table. The bus ride up had taken two hours and fifty minutes. His little brother was wiped out.
As Xavier looked around at the faces belonging to a colorful assortment of ethnicities, he couldn't help but to reflect back on his life. Statistics said that a young black male like himself would be dead or in jail, selling drugs or walking around the ghetto and sticking people up to feed a drug addiction. So far, he'd defied the odds. He recognized what others had failed to—that God gave everybody a brain—and he was showing mainstream America that he knew how to use his.
Billy had finally gotten in touch with Xavier. Said this was his week to have the baby. He also told Xavier that if the boy didn't want any trouble, Xavier had better include him in the graduation ceremony. Didn't care if he was some big-time hero, Billy brought him back down to earth by letting Xavier know that heroes could get their skulls busted too. Billy's comedy was always appreciated. He'd promised old man a ticket to the ceremony.
There was movement up front. A heavy steel door swung open and this big black Sasquatch-looking guard led out a line of women dressed in orange and green jumpsuits. Xavier shook Alfonso awake just in time to see Ne Ne walking, with a huge grin on her face, in their direction. Alfonso jumped up and met her with a bear hug before she could get to the table. His mother looked great. Her skin looked lighter and she appeared to have shed fifteen pounds. Xavier had noticed that all of the black women prisoners sported cornrows. Probably weren't any real beauticians in the joint, so the braids had to be easier to maintain.
With tears in her eyes, his mother hugged her oldest son.
The first thing out of Ne Ne's mouth was, “I love you both.”
“We love you too,” said Xavier, as the family stood together in a group embrace.
“We have a lot of catching up to do,” she said to Xavier. And then this wasn't a shocker—“Y'all daddy let y'all come up here alone?”
Xavier just shook his head and smiled.
“It was good you talked a girl down from the roof—but where is my gorgeous baby daddy at?” Ne Ne asked.
Xavier laughed and shook his head again. With Ne Ne, some things would never change.
EPILOGUE
X
avier pulled into the parking lot with a carload, parked, and turned off the ignition.
Xavier asked Samantha, “I need to know if we are boyfriend and girlfriend?”
Samantha said, “Xavier, I think that can wait. Let's go in.”
“I'm not spending any money on a jump-off,” he told Samantha.
There was laughing in the car.
Samantha took the joke good-naturedly. “You wanna be my baby daddy?” she said in a horrible attempt at a homegirl impersonation.
“Samantha, I'm serious,” he said to her.
Dexter said from the backseat, “For goodness' sake, will you put that man out of his misery and tell him that you will be his wifey so I can go eat.”
Samantha kissed Xavier. “Okay, if you feed me in there, I'll consider you for my boyfriend.”
“Sam,” Xavier said with a look of frustration on his face.
Samantha said, “Okay, okay, you're my man. Now can we go eat?”
He told Samantha, “Don't y'all embarrass me in this place, you feel me?” He looked at Dexter in the backseat. “Homeboy, I'ma need you to act like you have a couple of drops of table manners and not like you've been raised by a clan of hyenas.”
Dakota cracked up laughing. She was in the backseat next to Dexter. Xavier didn't care; he blazed her too.
“And you,” he said to her, “I don't care anything about your fame. Don't let me catch you in there signing autographs. It's our time to eat and enjoy each other. So tell your little fans to beat it.”
Samantha giggled. “Y'all, don't let this ogre bother you. Since we've graduated and about to start college, he's gotten bitter in his old age.”
Dexter said, “I'm hip. He's letting winning that little essay competition go to his dome. Since he's about to be a big-time street-lit author, homeboy thinks that he can push people around.”
Xavier said, “Let me correct you for the fifteen hundredth time, Mr. I Barely Got By on the Skin of My Teeth in Mr. Chase's Classroom. I did not win that competition. I guess they didn't think that an essay dealing with”—he made air quotes—“ ‘the real reasons why young black brothers resort to the hustle game' just wasn't compelling enough for mainstream America.”
Dexter said mockingly, “Blah, blah, blah—fool, they still thought enough of you as a talented writer and gave your blockhead a book deal.” He reached for the door handle. “So if you are finished, I'm going to go in there and spend some of yo' big-time advance money on stuffin' my face, you dig?”
Samantha said, twisting in the front seat and giving Dexter a high five, “That's telling him.”
Dakota finally spoke up. “Samantha, you have your nerve. You were accepted to Juilliard and kept it a secret until a week ago.”
Samantha smirked. “And, Dakota Taylor, how does it feel with every school in the city wanting you to come and speak to their students when school starts back? You keep that mess up and Oprah Winfrey will bring her show back just so that she could interview you.”
They almost blew the roof off Xavier's car with laughter.
Xavier got out and opened Dakota's door. “You ready to go in here?”
Dakota looked at the storefront. “Yes. I've been waiting on this a long time.”
When they were all out of the car, Xavier held Samantha's hand and put an arm around Dakota's shoulders.
He told them, “Let's go in and have breakfast.”
Dexter held the door open and let them walk into IHOP.
Don't miss Amir Abrams's
 
Diva Rules
 
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Diva Rules
Diva Rule #1: Keep it flossy-glossy. Always step out camera ready.
Diva Rule #2: Keep it cute. Never, ever, fight over a boy. No matter how much you like him.
Diva Rule #3: Serve 'em grace 'n' face. Politeness with a smile goes a long way.
Please and thank you
seals the deal in every situation.
Diva Rule #4: Read 'em for filth.
Snap, snap!
Never, ever, look for trouble. But if trouble comes strutting your way, give 'em a tongue-lashing before a beat-down.
Diva Rule #5: Keep a BWB—Boo With Benefits—on speed dial. Every diva should always have a rotation of cuties at her beck 'n' call.
Diva Rule #6: Love 'em 'n' leave 'em. Never, ever, get too attached to a boy. All that letting a boy be your life is a no-no. Getting cuckoo-nutty over a boy is for the ratchet! A diva has no time for that.
Diva Rule #7: Never kiss 'n' tell. Always keep 'em guessing.
Diva Rule #8: Say hi to your haters. Let 'em hate. Someone's gotta do it.
Diva Rule #9: Never let another chick steal your shine. You are your only competition.
Diva Rule #10: When in doubt, always refer back to rules number one through nine.
1
D
iva check . . .
Hey, hey now! It's diva roll call . . . Are you present?
Rude, check . . .
Bitchy, check . . .
Spoiled, check . . .
Selfish, check . . .
Overdramatic, check, check . . .
Scrrrrreeeech! Hold up. That is
not
what
this
diva is about. No,
hunni
! Being a diva is all about attitude, boo. It's about bein' fierce. Fabulous. And always fly. It's about servin' it up 'n' keepin' the haters on their toes. And the rules are simple.
So, let's try this again.
Fiona's my name. Turning boys out is my game. Fashion's my life. Being fabulous is my mission. And staying fly is a must. Oh, and trust. I serve it up lovely. Period, point blank. At five seven, a buck twenty-five with my creamy, smooth complexion, blond rings of shoulder-length curls, and mesmerizing green eyes, I'm that chick all the cutie-boos stay tryna see about. I'm that chick with the small waist and big, bouncy booty that all the boys love to see me shake, bounce, 'n' clap. I'm that hot chick that the tricks 'n' hoes at my school—McPherson High—love to hate; yet hate that they can't ever be me.
Like I always tell 'em, “Don't be mad, boo. I know I give you life. Thank me for giving you something to live for.”
Conceited?
No, hun. Never that.
Confident?
Yes, sweetie. Always that.
No, boo. I don't
think
I'm the hottest thing since Bey-oncé's “Drunk in Love” video. I'm convinced I am. Big difference.
Snap, snap!
Don't get it twisted.
Now who's ready for roll call?
Always fly, check . . .
Always fabulous, check . . .
Always workin' the room, check . . .
Always snappin' necks, check, check . . .
Always poppin' the hips 'n' turnin' it up, check, check . . .
Wait. Wait. Wait. Let's rewind this segment
alllll
the way back for a sec. Yes, I keeps it cute, all day, every day, okay? And, yes, I know how to turn it up when I need to. I'm from the hood, boo. Born 'n' bred. But that doesn't mean I have to
be
hood. No, honey-boo. I'm too classy for that. Trust. But know this. If I have to let the hood out on you 'n' introduce you to the other side of me, it ain't gonna be cute. So don't bring it 'n' I won't have to sling it.
If you wanna check my credentials, just ask the last chick I had to beat
down.
She'll gladly show you the stamp I left on her forehead,
okay
?
Soooo. Moving on. As I was saying, I'm from the hood. Lived on the same block, in the same house, all my life. I know these streets like I know the back of my hands 'n' the curve of my hips. They can be mean 'n' dangerous 'n' ohhh, so exciting. And, yeah, the streets might be praising me, but they ain't raising me. So I'm not about to serve you some effed up tale about a chick being lost in the streets, eaten 'n' beaten alive. No, no. I'm a hood goddess, boo. That chick the wannabes bow down to, 'n' the lil thug-daddies worship. But, trust. This ain't no hood love story. So be clear.
No, hun. I wasn't born with a silver spoon hanging from my pouty mouth, but that doesn't mean I can't dream. That doesn't mean I can't want more than what I already have. And, yeah, a chick dreams about getting outta the hood. Traveling the world. Bagging a fine cutie-boo, or two, or three, who I can call my own. And being filthy rich. One day I will be. Trust. But for now, that doesn't mean I can't wear the illusion like a second skin. And, trust. I wear it well, boo.
So if you're hoping for some sob story about some broke-down, busted, lil fast-azz, boy-crazy ho tryna claw her way outta the hood, trickin' the block huggers up offa their paper for a come-up—sorry, boo-boo. Not gonna happen. If you're looking to hear about a chick going hungry or sleeping on some pissy-stained mattress, or having her hot pocket stuffed in some dirty panties going to school smelling like a sewer, then go find you another seat, boo, because you're sitting in the wrong arena. That stage play is being run somewhere else. If you're looking to hear about some fresh-mouthed chick who got beat with fists 'n' locked in closets, that's not gonna be featured here, either. Sorry, hun. I can't tell you a thing about that. Well, I could. But that's not my story. So I'll save that for some other hood chick.
So who am I?
I'm that hot chick, boo.
I'm a diva.
I'm a boss
bish
. . . and
whaaaat
?!
BOOK: Game On
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