Boy Trouble by Reshonda Tate Billingsley Page B

she was on edge, she definitely didn’t need to be behind the wheel of a car, especially my car, so here I was driving around town like I was a human LoJack.
    The first place we’d gone had been a bust. I’d almost died from embarrassment when Kendrick’s mom had looked at Kennedi like she was some kind of crazed stalker and said, “Honey, why are you over here trying to track down my son?”
    Kennedi hadn’t even answered the woman; she’d just turned and stomped back toward the car. I could tell by the look on the woman’s face, she was not a fan of Kennedi’s.
    Kennedi put another address in her phone’s GPS and then thrust it toward me. “Here, follow the directions.”
    Watching her at Kendrick’s house was strange enough, but now, watching the way she was rocking back and forth, wringing her hands, I was convinced—my friend had flipped.
    We drove in silence for about ten minutes, and then she said, “Right here,” as she pointed to the right.
    â€œWhere are we?” I asked, as I slowed down in front of the small wooden home.
    â€œThis is his friend Lucas’s house.” She leaned up and looked up and down the row of cars parked along the street. “I bet he’s over here.”
    The sun was setting and this wasn’t an area I wanted darkness to catch me in. I was just about to say something when she sat up.
    â€œSee! There’s his truck,” she said, pointing down near the corner. “I knew he was over here!”
    â€œKennedi, what is going on with you?”
    â€œMaya, don’t start with me, okay?”
    I was speechless as I shook my head and pulled over to the curb. Kennedi barely gave the car time to stop before she jumped out. Everything inside me told me to stay my behind in the car so I wouldn’t have to witness my girl acting a fool, so I sat there twiddling my thumbs against the steering wheel. I sat there five, then ten minutes, but then I got worried as I heard screaming and yelling. I jumped out of the car and raced up the walkway. I had barely made it to the door when it swung open and Kennedi came out, her hair out of the loose ponytail that she’d had when she’d gone in.
    â€œOh, my God! Kennedi, what happened?” I asked.
    â€œNothing,” she said, crying as she tried to push past me.
    â€œLet’s just go.”
    I grabbed her to stop her. “Are you okay?” She was sobbing but wouldn’t turn around. I looked up toward the house. Kendrick was standing on the porch looking mad as all get out, balling his fist up as he was taking deep breaths. Several people had trickled out on the porch as well, including some girls.
    Kendrick glared in our direction, his chest heaving.
    â€œWhat did you do to her?” I screamed as I pulled her close to me. I was two seconds from calling the cops.
    â€œYou need to get your girl” was all he replied.
    â€œYou’re up here with all these other chicks all over you,” I spat. “You lying dog.”
    â€œNo, boo-boo,” one of the girls with long, blond braids said, “he’s all over us .”
    â€œAnd you and your desperate friend need to get out of here before somebody gets hurt,” said another girl—well, I guess she was a girl. She had a low-cut fade, a wife beater, baggy jeans, and Timberlands.
    The other girls all looked out at Kennedi pitifully, and I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to say or do something in my friend’s defense, but these girls looked rough and the last thing I wanted to do was to get caught up in some street drama with these hood chicks.
    â€œKennedi, let’s just go,” I told her as I took her arm and tried to push her toward the car.
    She broke free and stepped back toward the porch. “So, you just gon’ stay here?” she yelled at Kendrick.
    â€œYou better get her,” Kendrick said, backing up against the wall.
    It was at that