Around the Way Girls 6

Book 6: Around the Way Girls

by Meisha Camm, Mark Anthony, Rahsaan Ali

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Following in the successful footsteps of its predecessors, Around the Way Girls 6 features three popular Urban Books authors presenting their versions of the tough, street-smart girls that everyone loves. Yana and Kiki had to grow up much too fast, thanks to their mother's drug habit. They've got each other's backs, but even that might not be enough to protect them from the ruthless drug dealer who's got them under his thumb. Connie is tired of struggling to get by, so when a shady corrections officer introduces her to a sure thing, she jumps at the chance. It doesn't take long, though, for her to recognize that her new hustle is bringing more drama than she bargained for. Quiana wants nothing more than to do the right thing. After bearing witness to her mother's heinous murder at the hands of her drug-addicted boyfriend, she is struggling with the ramifications of losing the only person in the world who truly loved her. Around the Way Girls 6 . . . the tradition continues.

Release date: March 1, 2012

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

“What did you see, Yana?” Ma screamed at me with a pair of sharp scissors in her left hand and a clump of my hair in the right hand.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of one of the kitchen knives in her pocket. Plus, I noticed the curling iron was at its highest temperature. “I didn’t see anything,” I whimpered, looking at her through the bathroom mirror, hoping she would believe me.

“I overheard you talking on the phone to Kiki,” she insisted before letting go of my hair and smacking me across the face.

“All I told Kiki was to be home before the sun comes down, because we know how you are about us coming home late,” I explained while she cut large clumps of my hair.

After my lips stopped moving, it took her no time to snip two more clumps. Ma knew, more than anything, I cared a lot about my hair.

“Being bald is going to be a great look for you in school,” Ma announced with an attitude as she continued to cut. “Now, unless you don’t want to be completely bald and have a five-inch scar down your rosy cheeks, tell me right now what you saw,” Ma demanded, the blade of the knife in position to cut my cheek.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. I saw Pop.”

“Where did you see him?”

“Umm ...”

“Wrong answer,” Ma commented before burning my neck with the scorching-hot curling iron.

“Please, stop,” I begged.

“Girl, that’s what you get for lying to me. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time. Where have you seen your daddy?”

“I saw him at the Laundromat. He was with another woman and a baby who looked just like Kiki when she was a baby. Pop saw me and acted as if he didn’t even know me. I’m sorry, Ma. I’m so sorry,” I explained, tears streaming down my face from the aching pain of the burn.

“No, your father is supposed to be here with us eating dinner, and he’s with another woman. I stood in line for two hours at the fish market to cook his favorite tonight,” she screamed, running to her bedroom.

I followed behind her. “Ma, put the gun down, please,” I begged.

“This is your father’s fault. How could he do this to me? I’m not going to be stuck taking care of his damn kids by myself,” she screamed. Ma shoved me out of the bedroom and tried to shut the door, but I got my fingers caught.

“Don’t do this. Kiki and I love you so much,” I said, while she repeatedly slammed the door against my fingers for me to let go. The pain was too much, so I let go. The door slammed shut, and I heard a shot.

The alarm clock went off, and I woke in a cold sweat, relieved. I was just dreaming. Now, I had to get up and make breakfast for Kiki, Teresa, and me before the bus came.

“Teresa, Kiki, get up. The bus is coming in thirty minutes!” I assured them.

Each day at 3:45 on the dot, the bus driver, Ms. Grey, kicked my baby sister, Keisha, who went by the nickname Kiki, Teresa, and me, along with eight other kids, off the bus in front of Browns Park.

Living in the heart of Norfolk, Virginia in one of the worst housing projects hasn’t been easy. My mother never took us anywhere outside of the city of Norfolk. Mrs. Smith, an English teacher, always talked about collecting seashells along the sands of Virginia Beach. According to her, the drive was only about twenty minutes away from the middle school.

Teresa, Kiki, and I took a deep breath, holding each other’s hands, wondering if we could get to our building without getting killed. Six months ago, Jeremiah, a kid in my class, got shot by a stray bullet. Three days before that, I had accidentally dropped my lunch tray, and all the kids laughed at me while I was trying to get tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese off my sneakers with napkins. Jeremiah came and helped me pick up the lunch off the floor.

“Ma?” I called out after we all went into the apartment. I listened to hear if her TV was still on in her bedroom. Usually around this time, she was getting ready to watch The Jerry Springer Show, her all-time favorite talk show.

“What’s for dinner?” Teresa asked while taking her book bag off her shoulders.

“Chicken fingers and fries, I guess.”

“Don’t worry, Yana, your mother is coming back. She always does,” Teresa reassured me, giving me a hug.

Three years ago, Ma adopted Teresa. Her parents and baby brother were killed by a fire in the building next to us, and none of her other family members could take her in. Ma was real good friends with her mother, Ms. Cooper, and felt adopting Teresa would bring extra money in the house. And so Teresa became a sister to Kiki and me. Being nosy, I heard Ma talking on the phone a couple of times to a lawyer about suing the city over the faulty electrical wiring that caused the fire.

“Thanks.” I walked into the kitchen and preheated the oven three hundred and fifty degrees to bake the chicken fingers and fries.

Ma taught me at an early age to cook basic stuff like pancakes, eggs, toast, chicken fingers, fish sticks, fries, Oodles of Noodles, and Pop-Tarts.

On the refrigerator, I caught a glimpse of a picture of Ma, Teresa, Kiki, and me two years ago at the carnival in the parking lot of Military Circle Mall. We were proud to hold up our bags of blueberry cotton candy and cherry-flavored snow cones. Those were the days when she was happy and healthy. Ma had the body of a supermodel, brown skin, dark brown eyes, and long jet-black hair, which she loved to part down the middle.

Ma wanted more for us girls than the average. She made us read so many books and also the dictionary. In return, I got teased every day at school for talking proper like a white girl. Teresa and Kiki found books to be boring, but me, I could spend hours in a library.

Ma believed Pop was coming back to live with us so we could all be a family for a long time. Finally, one night, after a long screaming match in which Ma got two black eyes and a broken nose, Pop told her it was over and he would never marry her. After that, Pop just came and went as he pleased, disrespecting Ma to the point where he even spat in her face, calling her out of her name. Ma’s name was Helen, but I heard bitch and ho more often. I cried myself to sleep so many nights wondering how he could treat her like that. She loved him so much.

Ma loved showing us old pictures of Pop. His name was Peter Johnson. Back in high school, all the girls wanted to be with him for being the star wrestler. With light brown eyes, curly hair, and an award-winning smile, he used to be a fit six-foot-two. Now, he was overweight, potbellied, and had bloodshot-red eyes. When he did come around, if he wasn’t holding an ice-cold Michelob in a brown paper bag, I wondered if something was wrong with him.

After doing homework, fixing dinner, and washing dishes, I cleaned up the apartment. I found six dirty needles and discovered Ma’s drug stash. While brushing my teeth, I watched the drugs flush down the toilet, hoping Ma would get help.

I was tired and climbed into the third twin bed. It was tight in the bedroom, but we managed to make do. As long as we had each other, we were fine.

“Yana, wake up!” Ma demanded, smacking me in the face. She had all the lights turned on in the bedroom.

At first, the lights were blurring my vision. The alarm clock read 2:15 in the morning, and Teresa and Kiki lay still in their own twin beds, probably scared to death.

“Ma, what’s wrong?” I pleaded, barely recognizing her. She had lost at least another fifteen pounds.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The stash, Yana. Where is it? You’re the only one who cleans up this shithole!”

“Ma, I don—t

Ma didn’t even let me finish. She grabbed a baseball bat and hit me on the left side of my jaw. Then she picked me up and pinned me against the wall.

“I’m going to ask you one more time—Where is the fucking stash?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, barely able to speak, and terrified to tell her the truth.

Ma threw me down on the floor and kicked me in the stomach so many times, I lost count. Teresa and Kiki were begging her to stop.

“What? You don’t think I know that you want me to stop shooting?” she asked, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know,” I responded, not wanting to get hit with the bat again, hoping my jaw wasn’t broken. Usually, Teresa, Kiki, and I got smacked in the face or hit upside the head a few times for talking back, but she’d never beaten me like this.

“Yana, you must think I’m stupid to not realize that. I’m so sick and tired of you leaving brochures about drug rehab places and side effects of drugs. Don’t leave that crap around my house no more.” Ma poked my temples with her finger.

“Okay, Ma, I will stop.”

“I’ll stop using when the fuck I get ready. I can’t prove it, but I know you took my stash. Next time, leave my shit alone. Y’all better be happy I’m getting a check for each one of you; otherwise all of you would be at an orphanage or homeless shelter somewhere. Yana, do you know what it feels like to have withdrawals?”

“No,” I replied, my hands clenching my stomach.

“It feels as if I’m going to fucking die. Now, because of your dumb ass I have to go out and get some more,” she yelled at the top of her lungs, leaving our bedroom and storming down the hallway.

When the front door slammed shut, Teresa and Kiki fell to their knees, crying over me.

The nurse, Ms. Carver, shut the patient room door behind her and started asking me a lot of questions, which I barely knew the answer to. Luckily, most of her questions required a yes or no. After Ma got hooked on drugs, she stopped taking us to the doctor and the dentist. She didn’t go herself either. Too scared to give them any real information about me, I used the name Donna Martin.

“So, Donna, what brings you here at the clinic this morning?” Ms. Carver asked after taking my temperature, heart rate, and blood pressure. This lady was nice to me, but she reeked of smoke and cheap perfume from the dollar store.

“My jaw and stomach are very sore.”

“How did you get so sore?” Pen in hand, Ms. Carver was ready to write down everything I said.

“The next apartment over from us has a huge dog named Baxter. Yesterday, while I was coming out of my apartment, which is on the second floor, he spotted me, started barking, and ran in my direction. I was so scared that I started running, lost my balance, fell down the stairs, and landed on my stomach.”

“Honey, let me take a look at the damage. Please remove your scarf and coat,” she instructed.

“Okay.”

Ms. Carver gave me a dreadful look after I let her look at all of the bruises. She put her trembling hands on her mouth. “Donna, are you sure you received this from a fall down the stairs?”

“Yes. This is what landing on concrete can do to you.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.” I started copping an attitude, not knowing what was going to happen next. I just wanted to see if there were any broken bones.

“Did someone do this to you?”

“No,” I blurted out.

“Baby, no fall from the stairs did this to you. It looks as if someone beat the hell out of you. Tell me who did this to you. Donna, you don’t deserve this.”

“No one. Please help me. My stomach is killing me, and my jaw feels as if it’s barely holding on.”

“Donna—if that’s even your name—as a healthcare professional, it’s my duty professionally and ethically to report this to Social Services.” She picked up the phone and began dialing a number.

“Please, Ms. Carver, don’t call Social Services. I have my little sister and Teresa to watch over. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Please, I’m begging you not to break up my family. We can’t go to foster care.” I got on my hands and knees, with my head at the top of her left shoe.

Two years later Teresa and I graduated from Booker T. Washington High School. With the help of guidance counselors, Teresa and I were able to get into Hampton University on scholarships and school loans. Not wanting to leave Kiki behind with Ma, we’d planned on getting an apartment together. It was always going to be a battle getting Ma to let go of Kiki, since she still got a check for her. Plus, a large settlement was brewing for the death of Teresa’s family, and Ma had her eyes on that too. For Teresa and me, the money train was going to run out in a month.

Neither Ma nor Pop showed up to my high school graduation. I guess they just didn’t care. Kiki tried her best to keep our spirits up that day. I didn’t allow myself to break down. All I knew was, I had to get from under Ma’s grip and make something of myself and keep the promise to Ms. Carver.

Through the years, Ms. Carver was our role model as well as a mother, protector, and a friend. She was the one who uncovered a lot of scholarships for Teresa and me, saying, “There are a lot of free grants out there. All you have to do is apply for them.”

In return for her kindness, I never wanted to let her down. She was so happy to meet Teresa and Kiki that very first time. On weekends, she bought us pizza, took us to the movies, the mall, the zoo, and treated us to manicures and pedicures. But most important, she taught us how to conduct ourselves as ladies.

Ma, ever since the first day she laid eyes on Ms. Carver, was always rude to her. Even though Ma treated us like shit, I could tell she was jealous of our newfound friend. A tiny part of me had Ms. Carver come around, just to get a reaction out of Ma, because I knew it bothered her. Someone else was stepping on her territory.

With my relentless nagging, Ms. Carver decided to quit that nasty habit of smoking, adding at least ten more years to her life. Now, I can’t imagine how we lived without her.

There was a knock on the door. I didn’t think anything of it, because it was around the time that Uncle Fred usually showed his face.

“Ms. Carver, what are you doing here?” I asked after hugging her. I was so glad to see her.

“Hey, baby. How are you doing?”

“I’m good.”

“Where’s Kiki and Teresa hiding?”

“They’re ’sleep. Those two can’t stay awake for nothing.” I giggled.

“Please go get your mother for me,” she told me.

“All right.”

After I knocked on her bedroom door several times, Ma came out to the living room.

“Well, if it isn’t Carver gracing us with her presence. What could you possibly want at this time of night?” Ma coughed. For the last five days, she’d been wearing the same stain-covered shirt.

“This time of night and day has been a usual routine for you,” Ms. Carver responded.

Ma laughed. “Oh, you finally figured it out.”

“Yes, I have. I hired a private investigator to see exactly where my husband has been spending so much time. Helen, you knew this whole time and wasn’t woman enough to tell me. You smile in my face while stabbing me in the back by screwing my husband.”

“I didn’t even know who you were until Fred told me about you.”

“It’s Fredrick,” Ms. Carver corrected her.

“Well, round here, Fredrick likes to be called cougar in the bed. The funniest part of this whole situation is, Fred pays my bills, and you take my kids out and spend money on them. Money from your household is being trickled down to my household. By the way, in your living room, those pastel purple drapes are ugly.”

Ms. Carver hit Ma so hard, she knocked her down. “Keep talking. I’ve had enough of your mouth. You may think you can bully these girls around, but you won’t do the same to me.” She smacked Ma in the face.

Ma quickly ran into the kitchen and got her knife. “Bitch, come on,” Ma egged her on, knife in hand.

I came between them, not wanting either one to get hurt, and was trying my best to not get cut.

“The punch was for beating these girls down on a daily basis. The smack was for you screwing my husband. Stay away from him.” Ms. Carver went up close to Ma.

“Please, Ma,” I pleaded, “put the knife down before someone gets hurt.”

Both of them continued to go at each other. The next thing I know, the knife grazed my arm, and blood was all over the living room carpet.

“Yana, baby, are you all right? Do you need to go to the hospital?” Ms. Carver asked, snapping out of her trance of kicking Ma’s behind.

“I will be okay,” I assured her. I quickly washed the cut off.

Ma was still trying to take swings at Ms. Carver. She didn ’t even care that she cut me. I was glad Kiki and Teresa slept through all the commotion, because they didn’t need to see this.

“Call me if you need me. Yana, I’m so sorry about all of this. I never meant for you to get hurt,” Ms. Carver said.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” Ma screamed. “These girls only have one mother, and it’s not you. Come around here again, and I’ll call the cops on you. You’re not the first or the last married woman who’s been cheated on.”

“These girls are better off with me. You heard what I said—Stay away from my husband!” Ms. Carver walked out the door.

That night, I tossed and turned in my bed thinking about how small the world is.

Ma had no remorse for sleeping with Ms. Carver’s husband. As long as Uncle Fred was giving her money, she would continue to sleep with him.

Ms. Carver was too nice of a person to be dealing with this. Despite everything that happened that night, I still wanted her in our lives.

Kiki, Teresa and I weren’t little girls anymore. Even though my hair was kinky, curly, and knotty, I used a straightening comb faithfully every week to tame it to being straight. Now it came down to my shoulders. Flipping through old pictures, I realized how beautiful Ma used to be, and where I got my brown-sugar skin tone and Coca-Cola-bottle shape. Now, her eyes looked sunken, and she was literally skin and bones, and had nasty sores all over her body.

Teresa kept her hair short and had an almond skin tone that was smooth to the touch. With her small waist and thick behind, guys went crazy for her.

Kiki was the wild one out of the bunch and was constantly dyeing her hair black, blond, red, or autumn brown. I was surprised her hair hadn’t fallen out yet. She had her heart set on going to hair school and then opening up her own shop. She was thin but still carried a nice shape with her dark skin tone, which she got from Pop’s side of the family. She looked just like him; there was no way he could deny her.

Lately, I’d been hearing a lot of talk from her about getting breast implants. Watching BET videos and mainly listening to Ma made her think she needed bigger melons. I told her to hold off until she got older, because she still might be growing.

Over the years, Ma became harsher with us, not so much her hands but with her words. She stopped putting her hands on all of us once I took a stand and smacked her back after she smacked me because I forgot to tell her that Pop had called. I’d smacked her so hard, she tumbled into the dining room table and fell to the floor. Kiki and Teresa were too scared to stand up to her to let her know that those days of beating us were over, but I wasn’t, and she knew it.

One thing Ma and I had in common was our feistiness. When she was at the apartment, we constantly heard that all men wanted was to use us for our bodies and go to the next one. My hate and resentment for Ma became stronger because she loved to do anything to make us as miserable as she was.

Being the social butterflies that they were, Kiki and Teresa were too embarrassed to bring friends and guys over to the apartment. I either had my nose in a book, or was too worried about putting food on the table, making sure the bills were paid on time, and finding bargains for clothes for the small amount of money Ma gave us for it.

When Ma realized that she never had to get off Section 8, she refused to get a job. Her job was getting Pop to come back to her.

Determined to celebrate our high school graduation in style, I planned a fun night. As a graduation present, Ms. Carver set up a four-hour stroll with a limousine. After the principal called my name and Teresa’s to walk across the stage and receive our high school diplomas, her mouth was the loudest I heard.

Last year, I’d started working part-time at Up Against the Wall, a trendy clothing store in Military Circle Mall. With four months of my paychecks, I’d managed to save money for tickets for the Nas concert at the Norfolk Scope tonight. Most of our friends were going. Plus, I was able to buy outfits for the occasion for Teresa, Kiki, and myself. Not being able to afford the real thing, I bought Gucci, Fendi, and Iceberg knockoffs.

God must have answered my prayer, because Ma was nowhere to be found while we were getting ready. We had less than an hour before the limousine would be waiting downstairs for us.

I’d picked up a black Iceberg dress for Kiki with open-toe heels, and a red purse to add color. Deep down, I knew she was going to be a trendsetter.

Teresa was excited about her brown Fendi shirt and matching skirt set, with cream heels and clutch bag to match. I chose to wear a grey Iceberg shirt and matching jeans, black Nike DC sneakers, and a black bag.

Tonight, I knew we were going to receive lots of attention, and I wanted the least of it. Trusting men was becoming an issue for me, so I had never let one get too close. Besides, I was too busy trying to figure out a . . .