I try to hold her arm, to stop her from leaving, but Chantal is honking the car horn at the curb, and this time I have to choose blood over water.
Once we’re all in the car, I say, “Donna, Imani helped me with my paper. She’s not trying to steal your boyfriend.”
“I know” is all she says.
“Then why are you making her so scared?”
“’Cause that’s what we do, Fabulous,” Pri answers for her. “That’s just how the Three Bees roll.”
I’m quiet for a moment, then ask, “But why? Why do you have to be so mean?”
“I don’t want her to even think she has a chance with Dray,” Donna says.
“But she doesn’t,” I say.
“And I need to let her know that. Some of these girls out here will drop their panties for a nigga like Dray—thinking that he’ll buy them shit and that he really loves them.”
Pri makes a fake coughing sound. “You might want to check that mirror, D,” she says.
“Shut up, Pri! I can handle Dray. Your friend Imani, she’ll get burned real bad if she’s not careful. I’m just looking out for her.”
“So why don’t you just tell her that instead of being so nasty to her?” I say.
“Damn it, Fabiola!” Chantal finally speaks. “’Cause they will mess with you. That’s why. The same way they messed with me back then. If these girls think you’re scared and that you’re not gonna fight back, they will mess with you. And you don’t want none of that. Trust me. And because we do what we do, they won’t bother you, so you can just worry about your schoolwork and your essay. Okay?”
I nod. I understand. They are the Three Bees. They not only have to protect their bodies, but they have to protect their name and their story. And if they are my cousins, my family, I have to help protect them, too. But I have to do the same for my friends, too, like Imani.
We drive until we reach a big house with a bunch of girls standing outside. Donna is the first to open her door.
“She’s not gonna want to,” Chantal says.
Donna stares me down through the window. “Let’s go, Fab. You’re getting your nails done, your hair did . . .”
“What?” I say, looking toward the house. That’s when I see the sign that reads UNIQUE HAIR ESSENTIALS.
“Come on. Dray’s picking us up at ten,” Donna says. “It’s his birthday.”
My insides sink to the bottom of the deepest, darkest place here. “But I don’t want to do anything to my hair.”
Donna sighs. “Kasim really likes you. Dray said he ain’t never seen him act like that for no girl. So, you coming out with us tonight. You, Kasim, me, and Dray. But you are definitely not rolling with us looking like that. Let’s go.”
She starts walking to the house without looking back to see if I am following her. I’m still in the backseat.
“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Especially if Dray is paying for everything,” Chantal says.
“What?” I say.
“Dray is paying for you to look good while you roll with him, his boy, and his girl. That’s how he do. He tried to pull that shit with me and Pri. I gave him back his money. So you don’t have to go in with Donna. Kasim will still like you.”
Pri shakes her head. “I’m not down for none of this shit, Fab. Sometimes I don’t even want you to be with Kasim ’cause he’s Dray’s boy.”
“If you and Chantal don’t like Dray, then why is he still in your lives?” I ask.
“’Cause of Donna. She doesn’t just like him. She loves him. So it’s on you. This’ll really be for Donna,” Pri says.
“For Donna? Then I’ll go.” I scoot out of the car taking my bag with me.
I’m tired of hearing about Dray, talking about Dray, and seeing Dray. I have a chance to hand him over to that detective, and this opportunity is sunshine after a thunderstorm. Stevens said that the club was a good start, but she needed more information that will put Dray and his drugs at that party in Grosse Pointe. I have to be like Papa Legba now—a trickster. So I will wear the costume, say the right things, and play the game to get what I need.
The girls outside the house don’t even look my way. Some come over to Donna and kiss her on both cheeks. A lady comes out of the house with long flaming-red hair and wearing enough makeup for a whole beauty contest. She is so tall that the top of her head brushes against a nearby tree branch. My eyes are glued to her tight purple dress that sparkles in the late-afternoon sun under her light-brown fur coat. She looks like jewelry, or something that belongs in a store window. She must be a mannequin.
“Hey, Miss Sandra!” Donna calls out, and goes over to hug the mannequin.
“Hey, baby girl!” the lady shouts back in a deep, booming voice, catching me off guard.
I have never seen something so beautiful and strange. I stare at Miss Sandra from the top of her head to her feet. She has on the same black high-heel boots as Donna. They go over her knees and reach up to her thighs.