me.”
“Then you need to chill and act sixteen and not like that miserable sixty-year-old lady who lives on my street. ’Cause, newsflash, just ’cause she’s old doesn’t mean anybody likes her. I can’t stand her. And in order for her to be a nasty-face-frowned-Polident problem at sixty, means she was giving people the business at sixteen. Feel me?”
“Yeah, I feel you.” I shook my head. “But Pop, you have to understand that being sixteen to me—means moving from place to place, having to fight for everything. Having nobody but me and wondering if the people I live with will like me from one day to the next. Or will I be waking up one morning with them telling me it’s time to roll.”
“Dang, girl. That ain’t being sixteen, that’s a hot mess.”
“Exactly. My life.”
“Look, you got it twisted. Maybe that was your life before you came here, but these people are different. And I’m not just saying that because I need you to become my sister-in-law and keep an eye on G for me. I mean, I need that, too, but still. I’m saying this because when I told G that you left school and he didn’t know where you were, he looked so worried. And he was so sensitive at that moment that we almost got back together and everything right then, but then I remembered what he did and put him on pause. And after he begged me to reconsider and I didn’t, do you know what he told me?”
“What?”
“That he loved having you as his little sister. And he loved Malik, too. He said his mother and stepfather wanted to be here for you, but that you had so much attitude that you couldn’t even see it. G said the day that Cousin Shake dragged you down the stairs and tossed you into the kitchen that he knew you were in like Flynn. So I’m telling you pay attention, ’cause they love you. Just chill and ride the wave. Stop thinking about tomorrow, ’cause at sixteen all I think about is today. Tomorrow is a whole other problem. Feel me?”
“I guess,” I nodded. “A little.”
“You need to feel me all the way, ’cause all you need to be thinking about is boo-lovin’ and ballin.”
I chuckled. “That’s what’s most important?”
“Fa’sho. Now stop buggin’ and just roll wit it.”
“Is it really that easy?”
“It’s as easy as Janay after a football game.”
Pop and I cracked up laughing. We laughed so hard that we fell back on my bed in tears—happy tears. And I thought, maybe . . . maybe . . . Pop was right .
Or maybe she was wrong . . . which one I really didn’t know. All I knew is that me being upset and uptight all the time didn’t do anything more than work people’s nerves and cause me to stay steppin’ to folks.
I was tired of that.
And I was tired of a bunch of thoughts about my mother, my life, and where I was going to lay my head at night crowding my mind all the time. I just wanted to think about silly and simple, like boos, and parties, and clothes, and shoes, and Twitter, and Facebook, and make-up, and maybe ballin’. Things that meant nothing, but meant everything all at the same time. I didn’t want to worry another day—about being kicked out of another foster home. Like Pop said I just wanted to be sixteen—her version of sixteen. “Just boys and ballin’, huh,” I said.
“Yep, that’s it.”
“So maybe I should chill, a little bit.”
“You need to chill a whole lot,” she smiled.
“So maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. My cuteness allows me to know these things. So just trust your bestie, okay?”
I paused. I felt second thoughts creeping up on me, but I shook them off, because I felt like...like I had to do something different, at least I had to try it. “A’ight. I’m game.”
“All right now!” Pop hugged me tightly. “We ’bout to make it pop, boo-boo!” She hopped up off the bed. “’Bout to do it, whaaaat!”
I fell out laughing.
“And from this moment on, all that other stuff, that ain’t even relevant,” she
“Then you need to chill and act sixteen and not like that miserable sixty-year-old lady who lives on my street. ’Cause, newsflash, just ’cause she’s old doesn’t mean anybody likes her. I can’t stand her. And in order for her to be a nasty-face-frowned-Polident problem at sixty, means she was giving people the business at sixteen. Feel me?”
“Yeah, I feel you.” I shook my head. “But Pop, you have to understand that being sixteen to me—means moving from place to place, having to fight for everything. Having nobody but me and wondering if the people I live with will like me from one day to the next. Or will I be waking up one morning with them telling me it’s time to roll.”
“Dang, girl. That ain’t being sixteen, that’s a hot mess.”
“Exactly. My life.”
“Look, you got it twisted. Maybe that was your life before you came here, but these people are different. And I’m not just saying that because I need you to become my sister-in-law and keep an eye on G for me. I mean, I need that, too, but still. I’m saying this because when I told G that you left school and he didn’t know where you were, he looked so worried. And he was so sensitive at that moment that we almost got back together and everything right then, but then I remembered what he did and put him on pause. And after he begged me to reconsider and I didn’t, do you know what he told me?”
“What?”
“That he loved having you as his little sister. And he loved Malik, too. He said his mother and stepfather wanted to be here for you, but that you had so much attitude that you couldn’t even see it. G said the day that Cousin Shake dragged you down the stairs and tossed you into the kitchen that he knew you were in like Flynn. So I’m telling you pay attention, ’cause they love you. Just chill and ride the wave. Stop thinking about tomorrow, ’cause at sixteen all I think about is today. Tomorrow is a whole other problem. Feel me?”
“I guess,” I nodded. “A little.”
“You need to feel me all the way, ’cause all you need to be thinking about is boo-lovin’ and ballin.”
I chuckled. “That’s what’s most important?”
“Fa’sho. Now stop buggin’ and just roll wit it.”
“Is it really that easy?”
“It’s as easy as Janay after a football game.”
Pop and I cracked up laughing. We laughed so hard that we fell back on my bed in tears—happy tears. And I thought, maybe . . . maybe . . . Pop was right .
Or maybe she was wrong . . . which one I really didn’t know. All I knew is that me being upset and uptight all the time didn’t do anything more than work people’s nerves and cause me to stay steppin’ to folks.
I was tired of that.
And I was tired of a bunch of thoughts about my mother, my life, and where I was going to lay my head at night crowding my mind all the time. I just wanted to think about silly and simple, like boos, and parties, and clothes, and shoes, and Twitter, and Facebook, and make-up, and maybe ballin’. Things that meant nothing, but meant everything all at the same time. I didn’t want to worry another day—about being kicked out of another foster home. Like Pop said I just wanted to be sixteen—her version of sixteen. “Just boys and ballin’, huh,” I said.
“Yep, that’s it.”
“So maybe I should chill, a little bit.”
“You need to chill a whole lot,” she smiled.
“So maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. My cuteness allows me to know these things. So just trust your bestie, okay?”
I paused. I felt second thoughts creeping up on me, but I shook them off, because I felt like...like I had to do something different, at least I had to try it. “A’ight. I’m game.”
“All right now!” Pop hugged me tightly. “We ’bout to make it pop, boo-boo!” She hopped up off the bed. “’Bout to do it, whaaaat!”
I fell out laughing.
“And from this moment on, all that other stuff, that ain’t even relevant,” she
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