Akeem came in around nine p.m. handing me a piece of paper, “Yo, O told me to give this to you.”
Puzzled, I opened the tightly folded paper and it read, “Call me sometime 552-3695”. I suddenly became aware of my own presence and appearance as if O was in my room and took my retainer out and combed my fingers through my hair. I ran out of the room and into kitchen then living room searching for my brother. I sprinted out of the apartment into the hall, as he was about to reach the exit door to the stairwell and yelled, “Who gave this you Keeme?”
“Girl, you heard me say O!”
“Stop playing, Keeme. When did he give this to you?”
“I-on’t know. Like a couple of hours ago before him and Kool-Kev went Uptown,” he yelled as he ran down the stairs.
I gawked at the paper all night but dared not to call. O was one of those down ass cats. He was older but I never really considered his age because young adolescent men and women were all on the same mental level in the projects. I knew I’d get lots of brownie points from my girls when they found this out. I could hardly sleep that night. All I could think about was the previous night’s game and the cell number. What would he possibly want from me when he could have Tasha? She was his age…or Tameka who fought Tasha over him a year back.
The next day I told Keysha and her sister, Theresa, on our way to school. We spent the rest of the day fantasizing about me being O’s baby mother. Classless, I know, but at that age that was all we knew. After school, I attempted the usual, which was to run home for a few hours to do homework and get a snack before heading back to school for practice. Only this day I found someone waiting for me in front of my building before I made it up to my apartment. It was O.
“Aren’t we a little later than usual?” he said with a smile.
I thought to myself, I did take forever in T.J.’s to get a sandwich. “Hunh?” was all I could muster.
“You heard me, girl. Why you ain’t call me? Im’ma fuck your little brother up if he didn’t give you my number.”
People always referred to Akeem as the younger sibling because of my maturity. O was no different. I chuckled to myself at that before answering, “I stopped at T.J.’s to get a sandwich. How do you know what time I get home?”
“Because I know. Now did dat lil’ nigga give you my number or what?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t call…”
“I know you didn’t. Why not?”
“I—” I tried to answer but he interrupted.
“A’ight, you got plenty of time to explain. Go upstairs and get ready for practice. I’m giving you a ride.”
I felt rush of exhilaration. He never gave me a chance to decline or explain that my mother would kill me if she even knew he made the proposal. I headed straight upstairs to catch my breath, my hoagie be damned. I brushed my teeth, ran in my mother’s room to use some of her perfume and tried to apply a little make up.
I gazed at myself in the mirror and thought about all of the endless possibilities of becoming O’s girl. The older girls would notice and respect me. My only problem was my mother. Hopefully hanging out with Ann down the hall would have an impression on her decisions concerning me dating a drug dealer.
Two hours later, he was waiting downstairs right in front of the building, blasting some underground rap song from a ’88 money-green BMW. I knew it wasn’t his but he looked damn good in it. I looked around three times as if I was crossing the street to see who was watching. I jumped in the car. O started laughing hard as hell. I grew more embarrassed by the second.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, flaring attitude.