Way Too Much Drama Page 6

  I hustled upstairs and entered the kitchen. I saw Viviana’s friend rifling through the refrigerator.

  “What are you doing?” I asked angrily.

  “Getting some food,” she answered.

  “Where is Viviana?” I asked.

  “In the bathroom.”

  “So you just decided to raid our refrigerator?” I was appalled.

  “Yeah, I was thirsty.” She pulled out a can of soda and popped the top. The soda fizzled and liquid bubbled over, ran down the side of the can and her fingers and spilled onto the floor.

  “Did Viviana tell you to go into our refrigerator?”

  “Hell, no. I was thirsty so I decided to get me something to drink. Do you have a problem?”

  “Yeah, you’re rude,” I said, wanting to snatch the can away from her. The girl answered by rolling her eyes at me.

  “Who is going to clean up the spilled soda?” I pointed to the floor. She smirked, stepped to the wet spot on the floor and smeared the liquid farther with the bottom of her shoe.

  When Viviana came out of the bathroom I told her what her friend had done.

  “It’s not a big deal, Maya. Just clean it up,” Viviana said unapologetically. I was so furious that I wanted to throw something at Viviana’s head.

  They headed upstairs toward the bedrooms while I stared at the wet stain on the floor and allowed my heart to grow cold. A short time later they came downstairs with backpacks. Curiosity got the best of me.

  “Where are you going with the backpacks?” I asked.

  “Damn, Paris. Are you a spy or something?” LaShaunda was clearly irritated. I got a bad vibe from her.

  “Remember, I told you that she’s a snitch,” Viviana said.

  “That’s right, you told me about what she did. She can’t keep her mouth shut. If there is one type of person I can’t stand, it’s a snitch.” LaShaunda glared at me in disgust. I had not known her five minutes, and she was behaving as if I was scum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

  “Excuse me,” I raised my voice at LaShaunda.

  “What’s wrong, Paris? Are you feeling like a frog? Do you want to jump into a fight?” In addition to being ugly, LaShaunda was also a short-tempered bully.

  “My name isn’t Paris, it’s Maya. And if you call me that again, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” I stood my ground even though I was nervous. Viviana seemed to get twisted joy out of the catfight LaShaunda and I were having.

  “Come on, girl. You are wild.” Viviana chuckled as she grabbed LaShaunda’s arm and they walked away.

  “That’s okay,” I said aloud. “You just wait.”

  * * *

  I hustled back upstairs and walked down the hallway to Paul’s room. The walls were blue, and the ceiling and wood trim baseboards were white. His bed was positioned directly in the center of the room, beneath the ceiling fan. On the far wall, in front of me, he had blown up several photos of himself doing aerial skateboarding acrobatics at a nearby skateboarding rink. On the right side of the room were several skateboards and a desk full of magazines, DVDs and a laptop computer. On the left side was his closet, which was unorganized and cluttered.

  “What I’m looking for is probably in there,” I mumbled to myself. Paul always kept gag gifts in his room that he often used on his friends. On April Fools’ Day I remembered that he had purchased itching powder, specifically to try on one of his friends. All I needed to do was find out where he had stashed the remainder of it.

  Once I located the itching powder, I hustled down the hallway to Anna’s room. I located where Viviana kept her underwear and sprinkled some of the powder in all of her bras. I kept giggling to myself as I did it because she’d feel compelled to scratch her breasts, but it would look so tacky to do it in front of people. I couldn’t wait for Viviana to return and get what was coming to her.

  ten

  VIVIANA

  LaShaunda and I boarded a bus. She got on first and immediately took a seat. I paid my fare with a few bucks I’d managed to stash. I glanced at LaShaunda, wondering why she hadn’t paid.

  “Girl, I know you got me,” she said as if I’d been informed in advance that I’d cover her expenses. I reluctantly paid her fare before going to sit near her.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  I was silent. I was a little sore about the move she’d pulled.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, sensing my agitation. “I’m going to give it back to you. I’m not like that. Just cover me for today. I’m good for it.”

  “Well, you should’ve said something before now.” I cut my eyes at her.

  “Okay, my bad. Just relax though. We’re about to go and have a good time,” she said, smiling at me. I knew that she was trying to change my sour mood.

  “You owe me big-time,” I said, finally letting go of my bitter disposition.

  “Yeah, I know,” she said solemnly. We arrived at the train station and I purchased tickets for us from a machine. We walked out onto the train platform and I curiously glanced down the track to see if the train was coming.

  “Do you know how long we have to wait?” LaShaunda asked. I shrugged my shoulders.

  “I don’t know the schedule, but I think they run every hour.” I pulled out my cell phone and looked at the time. It was 12:45 p.m.

  “We shouldn’t have to wait too long,” I said. I walked farther down the platform and sat on the bench seat. LaShaunda joined me.

  “So what’s your story?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I don’t get you. I thought you were a hood chick, but you live in a large house with Paris Hilton who treats you like Cinderella. Are you a foster kid?” she asked.

  I leaned forward and rested my forearms on my thighs. “Nope. She’s my stuck-up cousin and I can’t stand her,” I said, feeling my blood heat.

  “So why are you there?” LaShaunda asked.

  “I was forced to live there. I was in a bad situation,” I admitted.

  Exhaling, LaShaunda said, “I know all about bad situations.”

  “Well, mine is pretty jacked up,” I said.

  “Couldn’t be more jacked up than mine,” LaShaunda said as she leaned her back against the bench and crossed her arms.

  “I doubt it. My situation involves jail time and murder,” I said, feeling certain LaShaunda’s situation couldn’t match the hell I’d gone through.

  “Murder? Really?” LaShaunda leaned forward and rested her forearms on her thighs just like I had.

  “Did you have to kill someone?” LaShaunda whispered as she looked around to make certain no one else had joined us on the platform.

  “No,” I said.

  “Then what are you talking about?” LaShaunda laughed nervously.

  “My father. They said he killed someone. He was sent to prison for it and was murdered while he was locked up,” I explained.

  “Who is ‘they’? People trip me out when they say that. Is there a collection of people who stand around and say, I’m ‘they’ and I know about everything?” LaShaunda was being sarcastic.

  “Well, in this instance, the ‘they’ would be my cousin, Maya, or Paris Hilton as you like to call her.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you saying that your cousin snitched on your father?”

  LaShaunda was quick. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “He went to jail for something he didn’t do and was killed by someone?” LaShaunda asked.

  “That’s what I just told you. Why are you repeating it?” I said, feeling edgy. Whenever I think about Maya and my dad, I get angry.

  “Dang, that is messed up. You’re living in the house with a snitch. I can’t stand people like that,” LaShaunda said.

  “Well, neither
can I,” I admitted.

  “So how did you end up living with her?” LaShaunda was full of questions.

  “My mother. She can’t get a job and she walked out on me for a guy,” I said, wondering why I was sharing all of my secrets with her.

  “I understand. I know what that’s like,” LaShaunda said.

  I stood up and glanced down the track again and saw the train approaching.

  “The train is just about here,” I informed LaShaunda. A few seconds later the train stopped and we boarded. Our car was almost empty so we sat in seats near the rear.

  “Dang, my feet hurt,” LaShaunda said as she slipped off her gym shoe. She took her foot out and wiggled her toes. It was then that I noticed that she didn’t have any shoelaces.

  “Why don’t you have any shoelaces?” I asked.

  “I can’t believe you just asked me that question.” LaShaunda glanced at me.

  I remained silent, waiting for an answer.

  “Okay, hood test,” LaShaunda said.

  “Hood test?” I was confused.

  “Yeah. This is where I test your level of hood knowledge.” She smirked.

  “Okay,” I said suspiciously.

  “When your feet have outgrown your shoes, and you don’t have money for a new pair, what do you do?” she asked.

  “You remove the shoelaces so that you have a little more foot room,” I said, immediately knowing the answer to the question.

  “Correct. You’ve just answered your own question,” LaShaunda said, slipping her foot back into the shoe. I suddenly felt dumb for asking my question. I, too, had done the same thing when my feet outgrew my shoes. In the summertime, when I lived with my mother, I just wore flip-flops so that I would not have to deal with the pain of scrunching my toes.

  “So what’s your story?” I asked.

  “You don’t want to hear about my screwed-up life,” LaShaunda said. Her voice was suddenly distant as if the question caused her to go deep within herself.

  “Hey, I’ve just spilled my guts out to you. The least you can do is do the same,” I snapped at her.

  She glanced at me. The look in her eyes was a murderous one, and I didn’t exactly know what to make of it.

  “You ever get high?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “I do,” she admitted. “It keeps my nerves calm.”

  “That’s not healthy,” I stated, pointing out the obvious.

  “I know. I can stop at any time. It’s not like I’m addicted or something. I know that I can stop whenever I want to.”

  “I don’t think you can smoke on the train,” I said, believing that she wanted to smoke weed.

  “I’m good. I only get high with I’m stressed out,” she said.

  “Stop avoiding my question, LaShaunda.”

  “Oh, yeah. That. What do you want to know?” LaShaunda scratched the side of her neck.

  “What was your father like?” I asked.

  “I met him once, when I was two. At least that is what my mother told me. I haven’t seen or heard from him since,” LaShaunda said.

  “What about your mom? What is she like?” I asked.

  “Psst. My mom is crazy. She doesn’t like me and I don’t like her,” LaShaunda said.

  “You sound like you’re angry with her,” I said.

  “You could say that,” she said as she took her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Well, we have that in common,” I said.

  “Your mom is nothing like mine. When I said my mother was crazy, I meant it. She’s crazy. When I was eleven years old, I came running home from school crying because some guy tried to grab me, but I fought him off. When I told my mother about the pervert, she took me into the bathroom, grabbed the scissors and cut off all my hair. She said, ‘Now men won’t look at you.’ I cried for at least a week,” LaShaunda said.

  “Why did she cut off all your hair?” I asked, completely stunned.

  “I told you, she was crazy. My mom is also on drugs. No surprise there, right?” she asked.

  “Who isn’t on drugs these days? Every time I turn on the television, there’s an advertisement for some type of drug,” I said.

  “You know, you’re right. I’ve never thought about that, but those are prescription drugs, not illegal drugs,” LaShaunda said with a bit of anguish in her voice.

  “People get hooked on prescription drugs, too. Talk shows always have some guest who has been hooked on something,” I said.

  “You’re keeping it real. I like that,” LaShaunda said as she gave me a fist bump.

  “So you never knew your father, and your mom does drugs. What else?” I asked.

  “I have five younger siblings, and we had it bad. My mom refused to do anything. She wouldn’t go to work, and she barely bought food. When she got her government assistance debt card for food, she’d give it away to someone in exchange for cash so that she could get her head bad. That’s what she called it. Then, when she came down from her high, she’d try to get the drug dealers to give her something for free. When they wouldn’t, she’d call the police and complain about them standing on the street corner. That just made life harder for me.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “Hood test.” LaShaunda glanced at me with a hardened expression.

  “Another one?” I asked jokingly.

  “Yep. When you call the Po Po on the neighborhood drug dealer, what happens when the Po Po leave?”

  “The drug dealers try to find out who called the police on them,” I answered.

  “Exactly, and when they found out that it was my mom, they not only harassed her, but they came after me, as well. I couldn’t even walk down my block without the drug dealers sending a pack of chicks after me. I’ve been in some brutal fights.”

  “Yeah, so have I,” I said and paused for dramatic effect.

  “So you know how to fight?” LaShaunda asked.

  “Yeah, my father was an amateur boxer. He taught me a lot,” I confessed, knuckling up my fists.

  “That’s good to know.” LaShaunda paused and glanced out the window for a moment. “I tried to stay inside so that I wouldn’t have to deal with fighting chicks all the time, but with no food in the house, my younger brothers and sisters looked to me to get them food.”

  “So what did you do?” I asked, wondering if I was prying more than I should.

  “I’d sneak onto the bus and ride past downtown and into the rich suburban neighborhoods and stand outside of a grocery and beg for money and food.”

  “Really?” The word rushed out of my mouth.

  “Yeah, really. At fourteen years old, people gave willingly. Now that I’m seventeen and look like this, they call the police on me.”

  “Wait a minute. So what happened with your mom? You’re not living with her anymore?” I asked.

  “Hell, no! She kicked me out when I was fifteen.” LaShaunda shifted uncomfortably.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. She just looked at me one day and said, ‘Get out.’ I thought she was kidding until she started pushing me out the door.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said.

  “I told you my mother was crazy.”

  “So what did you do?” I asked.

  “I did what I had to do on the streets of Milwaukee. I’m a survivor, you know. I know how to handle myself.”

  “Where did you sleep?” I asked.

  “Wherever I could. On the rooftops of buildings, under expressway overpasses, on the corner. I’d beg for money and people would either ignore me, as if I wasn’t there, or they’d give me freaking pennies. I eventually hooked up with a crew of other homeless kids. We looked out for each other. We shared food, blankets or whatever. I met people from all
over that were just like me, running away from a jacked-up family. That’s how I met T.J. and Bebe.”

  “So if you’re from Milwaukee, how did you get here, in Illinois?” I asked.

  “I caught a case.” LaShaunda began gyrating her leg as if it were a jackhammer. I could tell she probably needed a smoke.

  “What kind of case?” I asked.

  “Assault. I just got fed up with the police harassing me. When you’re sitting outside a business asking people for money, the police eventually come around and run you off. One particular day, I was at a gas station begging for change. I had not eaten in three days and I was hungry. I was about to do a snatch-and-grab when the police pulled up. They asked me to move and I asked why. I didn’t get an answer. They told me to go home and I was like, ‘I would if I had one.’ Anyway, I had my life stuffed in plastic bags. As I was picking up my stuff, one of the officers kicked it. I just snapped. I swung on him. Nailed him good, too. The cops roughed me up, but I was no stranger to violence. I knew how to protect myself from the serious hits. They took me down to the juvenile detention facility until my court date. It wasn’t the worse place. I got a chance to shower every day and a bed to sleep on. As far as I was concerned at the time, being locked up was like living in Beverly Hills.”

  “So what happened when your court date came up?” I asked, admiring her for her strength and courage.

  “The court got in touch with my mother, who showed up looking like she’d just come off of a bad high. Her hair was jacked as if she’d stuck her tongue in an electric socket. Her eyes had sunk deep into their sockets and resembled a creepy skeleton. She told the judge that she didn’t want me. She said that she didn’t want any of her kids. She gave the judge the contact information to my great-aunt who lived here in Chicago. My great-aunt Ola Lee took me in, but she was very old. She’d just turned eighty-five and had one foot in her grave. I moved in with her. I’d only met the woman a few times when I was a little girl. She lived in a very small apartment on the west side of the city. The place was only slightly larger than my prison cell. There was just one bed—hers—and I had to sleep with her. If you ever want to feel really creepy, sleep in the same bed with an old person. I swear, every five minutes I was waking up to make sure she had not died in her sleep.”