Team Seven (15 page)

Tunnetta was usually a little late coming out of school. Something about being smart also meant staying hella late after school. I’d walk home with my peoples, then stop off by Kelly Park to hoop and hustle. That’s what I’d do until she’d
walk by. She’d never stop and say anything. Wouldn’t sugar me with one of them caramel glares or nothing. And that’s why I liked her. She played her position right for me. She’d stroll by the court and I’d see her. She would keep it moving. I’d eventually breeze off from the court and catch up. Me being seen with her was a no-no.

One day after the basketball season was over Tunnetta got into a fight with her pop. He was drunk and beat the piss out of her, with a belt too, all because she got a B on one of her English papers. All during math class she was stressing it. I just put it out there and asked, “Ever met Mary Jane? Bet she’d make you feel better about it.”

She wrote back, “I haven’t but maybe I should.” I didn’t think she was serious, though. But sure enough, that day after school we met up inside my grandfather’s toolshed.

Now, I really ought not smoke so much of the weed I’m supposed to be selling, but as long as I keep killin’ on the ball court, my main man Smoke will break me off. He breaks bread with me, an ounce or two here and there to hustle and smoke, nothing major. He never sweats me ’bout no re-up money. I get it to him when I can and leave my extra around the house, where I know Ma will find it. Sometimes I put it in the mailbox and I know she thinks it’s either Pop or Reggie putting it there. Sometimes she trips for days off that shit. Hollerin’ and stomping her feet. Talking ’bout the Lord and His sweet mercy miracles. Ma would lose it if she knew drug money was sponsoring her dinner and church plate tithes.

I feel bad, but shit, the lights ain’t got shut off lately so fuck it. At the court playing one-on-one is the real hustle. And old-timers come by Kelly Park all the time. They can easily drop a prideful hundred on a lunch break trying to prove they still got it. Usually that’s the money I use to pay back Smoke for a
re-up. Anyway, me and Tunnetta walked inside my grandfather’s toolshed and I took my stash out from under his grease-cutting sink and rolled us up a joint. The whole time I rolled, Tunnetta’s leg bounced as she watched me, her eyes bright and focused.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” she asked.

“What you know ’bout green?” I laughed.

“I can learn. Be nice!” She slapped my arm.

“Ever ate a Fruit Roll-Up?” I sparked the joint. “Just think about stuffing some weed inside. Then up, up, and away.”

I hit it a few times, then passed it to her. She held it like a dirty thong she’d found mixed in with her laundry or something. She squinted and sniffed. She sucked.

“Now hold the smoke in your mouth and inhale again and hold it.”

She sucked again. Held her breath in like a yawn. Her head fell back and she put her hand to her chest, sighing a thick stream of milky smoke. She hugged her sides and started humming. She hit the joint like a champ and I was half jealous, half impressed.

She moaned, rocking side to side, waving the joint like an orchestra conductor. She kept singing that one verse like she was in a trance. I didn’t want to interrupt her. She took another toke, coughed, and then burped. Her face got pepper red and drooped into her cupped palms. My head was tingled-fried and I was starting to feel spacey. She sniffled and I thought she was laughing. I snapped my fingers loud and she looked up. Tears in her eyes, her lips pouted out as her jaw bounced.

“I just miss my mother is all. It’s lonely in the house without her,” she gasped.

She closed her eyes and it felt like she was leaning toward me. I didn’t know what to do so I touched her face. Her skin felt like fuzzy Braille. I kissed her and we fumbled over each other. We stood and I cradled her back, pulling her closer to me. I slid my hand down the back of her jeans and she let me. Even though it was wide wit’ no weight on it, it sure was soft. We bumped up against the shed door and it blew open. We both jumped back and almost fell, the daylight squinting our eyes. Flustered, she said she better go. We never talked about the kiss, but the next day in class I asked her what song she was singing.

“ ‘Feeling Good’ by Nina Simone. It was Mama’s favorite song,” her note read.

Tunnetta liked weed and we started smoking together after school a lot, like two or three days a week. She told her father she was tutoring, and I mean, that was our initial idea. We’d get high and sometimes she’d sing. She never cried again, though. Sometimes we’d kiss. Sometimes I’d even get halfway between second and third base and freeze up. I don’t know why, but I would.

Mostly we just chilled and talked. I don’t know what we were but I did know that friend shit was officially over. It started feeling like we ought to be more, but I was plain embarrassed of her too.

Beezy was the first one that caught us. It was a half day of school. Her father didn’t know this, and we’d planned to kick it until school usually got out. We were walking and Beezy was right outside in his front yard all sweat-greased up, looking like a water buffalo ass-deep in the shrubs. I told Tunnetta to wait at the edge of his walkway. She posted. When he saw
me he went up and sat on his porch. He looked at me, then down at Tunnetta.

“Let me find out you chippin’ it,” he said.

“She’s my math tutor. Relax.” I kept stone-faced.

“Your stupid ass for damn sure ain’t taking no math lesson on no Friday afternoon.”

Caught. “Come out of my business, son,” was all I could say. He shook his head. Beezy’s funny as hell and my best friend, but two things I know about him: one, the nigga got a loud mouth and, two, he likes to show off. I didn’t like the way he kept looking down at Tunnetta.

“Man, I’ll catch up with you,” I said and dap’d him.

“Going to study, huh?”

“What! You wanna come?”

I started walking. Beezy’s nosy ass couldn’t let it lay, though. He leaned over his porch railing and started eyeing us. Tunnetta was bugging the fuck out too. She asked me if she could use his bathroom like my crib wasn’t only down the street.

“Come on up, Chocolate Chip.” Beezy yelled from the porch and held his screen door open. I don’t even know how he heard her. Tunnetta smiled at me and took one of them strong stomps.

The
106 & Park
countdown was on BET. I tossed my backpack on the floor, kicked my Timberlands off, and stretched out on the three-seater. Beezy sat at his computer. He’s forever zombied-out at the computer screen. Tunnetta rustled her way out of the bathroom and into the doorway. She stood there waiting for someone to say something to her. I nodded my head at her and put my palm flat up to my chest a little bit under my chin and twisted so Beezy couldn’t see. I walked two fingers across my palm. Her face went soft and she nodded.

“ ’Ight. Bye, Andre. Thanks, Beezy.”

Beezy looked up from the computer and muted the television.

“What about studying?” He looked at me and chuckled. “If y’all ain’t gon’ study you ought to stay and watch ‘Freestyle Friday,’ Chocolate Chip.” She looked up cheesing all bright, batting her eyes back and forth, smearing honey between me and Beezy.

“Okay! My dad thinks I’m tutoring anyway.”

She sat down on the other couch across from me. Beezy played Teddy Pendergrass’s “Love TKO.” He was sampling the hook for a beat he’d been working on. It was like he’d plugged the red peg into a Lite-Brite. She reached between her legs and popped the CD out of her Discman and sat next to him at the computer. I couldn’t hear what he was saying to her, but I looked over and she was cracking up, slapping her leg and clapping her hands. I’d never seen her laugh like that. She never laughed at my jokes that way. I saw his forearm on her knee and got a flash of fire in my chest. He was showing her a scar but I felt like he needed to keep his hands to himself. I unmuted the TV and let them rock out.

Tunnetta had a CD full of baby-makers, some old-school rhythm and spice shit, Al Green and Marvin Gaye cuts. They seemed to have so much in common. The freestyle battle came on
106 & Park
. This nigga Beezy was so busy flapping his gums to Tunnetta about how he and his older brother Smoke be doing this and doing that that he missed the first contender, Poster Boy’s whole verse. This he realized right as it cut to commercial break. He tossed a pillow at my face.

“You couldn’ta told a nigga the joint was on?”

Tunnetta thought that was hilarious too. I was pissed off
beyond words. The show cut back and the second contender, Young ’Tastic, was terrible. Poster Boy won the battle.

“Glad I got to see the whole battle,
nigga
!”

Beezy gave me the stank-eye and smiled. I wanted to kick him in the teeth. He felt my heat and said he needed to go and shower. He clicked off the light in the room and walked out. Ginuwine’s “So Anxious” was the old-school joint of the day on the countdown. I turned the volume all the way up. Tunnetta was wearing her glasses for the first time in a long while, and the video was reflecting off her lenses.

“Come here,” I said.

She sat on the far end of the couch, one cushion between us, her staring at the wall, me staring at her. Her eyes looking buttery and sweet. I scooted over toward her and leaned my head back into her lap. She started tracing my ears and I closed my eyes.

“They’re so little and cute,” she whispered.

She laid her left arm across my chest. I raised my hand and wiggled my finger in between hers. She started swaying to the video and I opened my eyes. She drizzled them caramel eyes down on me and we kissed. Her hands were clammy too. Her fingers started to wander and soon she was rubbing her fingers over my chest. My heart was beating so hard my whole body was shaking, I tried to think. Think of anything. I opened my eyes and sat up.

I turned and kissed her and she kissed me back harder. I pulled away, then looked at her, then over in the corner to the attic door. I hugged her and I began rubbing my hand on her back under her shirt.

“Wanna go upstairs?” I suggested.

She bit down on her lip and nodded yes.

Inside Smoke’s “Poom-Poom Room” we sat at the foot of the bed.

“Why don’t we get comfy?” I asked. We both slid back and I snaked the comforter over us. She turned and grabbed me by the chin, looking me in the face.

“Andre, I want to ask you something. Do you like me?”

“Yeah,” I mustered out, slightly winded.

“Look, I know this isn’t going to work out, but you at least have to still be nice to me.”

Buzzkilled. I didn’t answer her. She grabbed my belt buckle and bobbed down, disappearing under the blanket. I tugged her hair and lifted the covers.

“You sure?” I asked her and she ignored me.

My knees bucked and my stomach tangled in knots as I felt her mouth’s warm repetition. I leaned back groaning and grabbed the back of her head. I looked over on the nightstand and grabbed the gold-wrapped Magnum sitting there. She came up for air and I waved it in her face. She took my shirt off and I struggled with the buttons on hers. She laughed and got undressed by herself. I got the condom on and straddled her, poking around until I popped her piñata and felt a tight rush. Her back arched up and I looked down into her face. It looked like she was in the middle of a painful shit. I stopped.

“Am I hurting you?”

She grabbed my hips and told me to keep going. I pumped a few times more, but she clearly was not enjoying it. I saw the crimson contrast against the condom and almost gagged. We both hopped off the bed naked, mad-dashing for our clothes. The room smelled like a long day’s walk, and it was time to roll. I realized the shower water was off and the TV was muted and that Beezy had probably heard everything.

“Maybe I ought to walk you home,” I said and we started moving toward the door. We got down into the TV room and Beezy’s bitch ass whistled as we walked out. I didn’t say anything to him.

“Bye, Beezy,” she said and we bounced.

We rounded the corner of Lothrop onto the parkway. We got a block away from her father’s bodega and I forgot it was a half day at school. Everyone was still out: Hot Girls, Bad Girls, BRC, and my Team Seven crew. I didn’t say anything. We just kept walking toward them. They were all posting outside the store, huddled up in a circle. Sade Fulton and Monika Allen were in the middle of arguing about something. Sade saw us and put Monika on pause. She pointed and led the pack toward us. We met paths and I stopped. Tunnetta had no clue what was going on.

“Excuse us,” Tunnetta said and stepped to the side.

I looked at her and thought, Us?

“And look at this ol’ saggy-ass chocolate-chip-faced cellulite-body-ass-bitch,” Sade said.

Tunnetta pulled my sleeve. “Come on, Andre.” It was a good move.

Sade grabbed Tunnetta’s hair. “Bitch, you gon’ act like you know something!”

“Let me go!” Tunnetta struggled.

They fell and Sade was on top. She started hooking off rapid-fire. I watched, sandwiched between Big Maal and Reggie, cringing with every hit. I stepped and put my arm out about to break it up, but Big Maal put an elbow in my chest.

“What’s it to you? Let ’em,” he said.

“Reggie, you don’t think this shit’s foul?” I asked. Tunnetta’s mouth was bleeding and I could see the beginning of a dotted eye.

“Stop acting like a lil’ bitch,” he replied.

Tunnetta wrestled away from Sade and staggered into her father’s store. I started walking in after her, but Reggie put his arm around me and said, “Creeping is one thing, but ain’t no Captain Save-a-Hoes in our clique. Let it go.”

The next day she didn’t look at me. I didn’t talk to her or Beezy that entire week. One week turned into two and then three, and I heard she’s fucking Beezy now. I really miss her, but in the hallways I guess that makes sense.

The bed shakes and I wake up facedown in a soggy pillow. I turn onto my back and glance over at Janet, she’s naked. She slaps the bed and stands up. Eyes like two green olives, she’s glaring at me.