Crazy Love

by Amir Abrams

Genres: Young Adult; YA Romance; YA Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

If everyone wants to say I'm trippin', well, that's their problem. . . If you saw my boo Sincere, you'd totally understand why I've dropped everything--even my besties--to be with him 24/7. After all, what girl wouldn't do whatever it takes to show her first-ever boyfriend she's all he could ever want? I know I'm a prize, but relationships are tough enough when you're just a high school senior, so I've really had to up my game to keep a college freshman like Sincere interested. And if that means hacking his cell and following him everywhere, I'm down. Because I just know what we have is for always. And I'm going to prove it, no matter how far I have to go. . . "Hot and poppin' with drama and life lessons. The world of teen lit has never seen anything like this before!"--Ni-Ni Simone Amir Abrams is a regular dude with a dream. Born in Brooklyn, Amir has a thing for fresh kicks, fly whips, and all things Polo. For Amir, writing teen fiction was never something he imagined himself doing until he started working with Ni-Ni Simone on Hollywood High. Now, he's amped about the endless possibilities. Amir hopes to be an inspiration to others and is determined to make a difference in the lives of teens everywhere.

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Kensington Teen

Print pages: 337

Sample

“Haaaaappy birthdaaaaaaay, baby!” Sincere sings into the phone the minute he finally picks up. He sounds like he’s all hyped to hear from me, but he could be fronting, too. ’Cause I know how boys do. They stay tryna gas a chick’s head. So I already know what it is. I turn my lips up. “I was just getting ready to hit you up.”

Yeah, right! For some reason I roll my eyes up in my head. Mmmph. “For real? I was wondering why you didn’t call me by now. I thought you mighta misplaced my number or forgot what day it was.”

He laughs. “Never that. You know you’re my baby.”

I frown. No explanation. No reason as to why in the heck he didn’t call me first thing this morning to wish me a happy birthday. Nothing! I mean, really. I take a deep breath. Try to keep my ’tude in check ’cause your girl can light it up if need be. My mom’ll tell you I have a nasty attitude. I’m telling you, my attitude is fine unless you wanna crank it up; then it’s a problem.

“Hmm, if you say so,” I say, looking over my freshly painted fingernails. Girlfriend down at the shop really did me right.

“Whatchu mean by that?”

“Well, you say I’m your baby ’n’ all, but you didn’t even text or call to wish me a happy birthday. What’s up with that? I shoulda woke up to a text or voice message from you if it was really all like that.”

“Yo, c’mon, Miyah. You already know what it is with me and you. Don’t do that.”

“Then why didn’t you call me?” I ask, whining. I know I’m bratty, but still.

Anywaaayz, he tells me he’s been out all day with his mom and left his cell home. And ya point? Even though I’m heated with him—well, not that heated—I’m still happy to hear his smooth, sexy voice.

“So are you enjoying your special day?” he asks, changing the subject. I let him think I don’t catch it, moving on. After all, it is all about me, and I’m not about to spend it arguing with some boy who isn’t even my man. Well, he is, but I haven’t served him the official memo yet.

“Of course I am! And guess what I got?”

“What?”

“A BMW!” I tell him excitedly, forgetting that quick that I was feeling some kinda way toward him. I describe my whip to him in detail, talking a mile a minute.

“Damn, baby, slow down,” he says, laughing. “You mad hyped and whatnot.”

“Yes, I am. OMG, you have no idea how much I love them cars. I told my dad that’s what I wanted, but I didn’t really think he was gonna go out and buy it. I thought he was gonna buy me a three series, which woulda been cute, too. But this right here is the truth, baby. Ohmygod, it’s so fly.”

“I bet it is. We gonna be riding in style now, huh? You won’t have to ride up in my hand-me-down truck anymore, now that you got ya own whip.”

I suck my teeth. “Oh, puhleeze. I would hardly call your Range Rover a hand-me-down. I love riding in that truck with you.”

“And I love ridin’ you in it.”

I giggle.

“I miss you,” he says, lowering his voice.

I grin, flopping back on my king-size sleigh bed. “I miss you, too. I’ma be back at my mom’s Sunday night.”

Even though this is my birthday weekend, it also happens to fall on the same weekend that I stay with my dad. Oh no, my parents aren’t divorced. And I don’t really consider them separated. They still do things together. And I know they are still getting it in between the sheets ’cause she spends nights over here, and he spends time at our house—sleeping in the same bed with the door closed, okay? So you tell me what it is. They’re very much married. They just happen to live in separate households. Oh, and get this: they both still live in the same town! I know. Crazy, right? But to me, it’s normal ’cause this is how they’ve been living since I was eight years old. So, basically, I have two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and two walk-in closets packed with all the hottest wears. So I’m definitely not complaining.

“Around what time?” he asks, bringing me back to the conversation.

“Like around nine, I guess. It’s up to my dad. We’re supposed to be going into the city to have dinner with my sister, Erika, and her fiancé, so it all depends on what time we leave to come back.” Thankfully, we only live like twenty minutes or so from New York, so I won’t be getting home too late.

My sister, Erika, is nine years older than me and lives in Manhattan with her extra-fine mocha-chocolate man, Winston. OMG, I like him so much better than that bum she was with before him. All they did was fight! Anywaaayz, she and Winston attend NYU’s School of Law. And you should see the ice he put on her hand. Whew, it’s sick!

“Oh, a’ight,” he says. “I wanna see you and give you your gift.”

“Oooh, you got me a gift!” I say, getting all amped, already knowing he was going to catch it something terrible if he didn’t have a nice shiny trinket or something for me. “What you get me? I love gifts!”

“Slow down, baby,” he says, laughing. “Of course I did. You my boo. So you know I was gonna get you something special.”

And it better not be nothing cheap! “Awww, you are so sweet.”

“Yeah, I know,” he jokes. “And you know what’d be sweeter?”

“What?”

“You stop playin’ and admit I’m your man. You ready for that?”

“Mmmph, the question really is, are you ready?” I smile.

“Yeah, okay. I’ve been ready. You the one stallin’. Stop frontin’, Miyah. Are you ready to be my girl or not?”

“Maybe, maybe not . . .” I laugh. “I’ll let you know after I see my gift.”

“Yeah, a’ight. You already know what it is.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“You’re mine. So make sure you come through as soon as you get home so we can make it official.”

Um, the way he says that sounds like he’s telling me to be at his house, instead of asking me to. But I’ma let it go. I can tell Sincere thinks he’s running things, but he has another think coming.

“What you doing tonight?” I ask, changing the subject.

“I don’t know yet. Probably chill. Think about you.”

I smile. “Awww, how sweet.”

“You already know. I told you you’re mine. So what’s my baby getting ready to get into?”

I tell him I’m waiting for my mom to get here. That we’re going to Medieval Times to have dinner. Then when I get back, Zahara, Ameerah, and Brittani are coming over to spend the night.

“Oh, word? And what y’all gonna get into?”

“Chill, watch movies, and probably eat all this birthday cake up; nothing major.”

“Damn, save me some.”

“I got you,” I tell him, cheesing it up. Whew, this boy’s voice makes me feel tingly all over.

“That’s wassup. Let me find out you got some dudes all up over there, too; there’s gonna be consequences and repercussions.”

Um, hello, helloooooo . . . how in the world did we go from saving you some cake to dudes being all up in my space? That’s what I hear myself saying in my head. I suck my teeth instead. “Ain’t no boys gonna be over here, biscuit head.” I get up off the bed when I hear a car. I peek through my curtains. My bedroom faces the front of Daddy’s townhouse, so I have a perfect view of who’s coming and going. It’s my mom pulling up in the driveway. Late and wrong, as usual!

He laughs. “Yeah, a’ight. I got your biscuit head all right. But you heard what I said.”

“Whatever. My dad is not playing that,” I tell him as I watch my mom flip down her sun visor—to freshen up her lipstick or make sure she doesn’t have a hair out of place, I’m sure. It takes her five minutes and thirty-seven seconds—I know because I timed her—to do whatever it is she’s doing before she finally steps out of her Benz, looking like she’s preparing for a photo shoot. That’s how we Nichols women do it. Always fresh, always fly, and always fine! Yes, high maintenance, you already know. She still gets on my nerves, though. But that’s a whole other story. “The only boy he seems to like is you,” I add, shaking my head. For some reason, Daddy’s really taken a liking to Sincere. Probably ’cause he’s a freshman in college, plays basketball, and is interested in pledging Daddy’s beloved fraternity. So of course Daddy is gonna like him. Oh, Daddy’s all about his frat. And he’s dragged me and my sister to all of his alma mater’s homecoming and step-show events every chance he’s gotten, which is why I know so much about all the different sororities and whatnot. Anywaaayz, my boo says he’s gonna pledge next year.

I watch Mom as she walks up to my new car, taking it all in. Of course she knows it’s mine ’cause it has a big red bow on the front of the grill. I see her shaking her head. I already know what that means. She’s going to try and give Daddy the business about the car. She’s such a hater! I step away from the window, then go into my bathroom to remove my hairpins so I can comb out my wrap.

“Oh, word.” He chuckles. “That’s wassup. My future frat brotha is mad chill.”

“Oh, puhleeze. What. Ever.”

He laughs.

“Kamiyah!” I hear my dad calling me from the bottom of the stairs, like he always does. I walk over and open my bedroom door.

“Yes?”

“C’mon, your mom’s here.”

“Okay. I’ll be right down,” I tell him, closing my door. “I gotta go.”

“A’ight, have fun.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“And don’t be havin’ no boys all up in ya face, either.”

“Well, don’t you be havin’ any chicks all up in yours,” I shoot back.

He laughs.

I don’t. “Oh, you can laugh if you want. But, trust. I will bring it to a bird’s throat.”

“No need for all that, baby. Like I said, you the only one I got eyes for.”

I roll my eyes up in my head, hard. “’Bye, Sincere. I love you.” I blink, blink again; surprised to hear those three words slip from my lips. Um, I can’t even front. I’m really feeling Sincere. But love him? Um, I don’t know if I’m ready to go that far, but I just did! Okay, okay, I’ll admit I think about him all the time—every waking moment. And I get butterflies every time he hugs and kisses me. And listening to his sexy voice sends chills up and down my spine. But it is waaay too soon for me to say I love him. But I feel like I do. No. I know I do. And I already let it slip outta my mouth. Shoot, after nine weeks I should be madly in love with him. Okay, okay . . . dang, I’m lying. Truth is, I’m crazy in love with this boy! But I wasn’t ready for him to know all that yet. Not until I had him completely wrapped around my fingers.

When Erika lived at home I used to always overhear her and her girlfriends talking about boys and sex and whatnot. And the times I was ear-hustling—which was usually anytime her friends came over—I remember hearing her say, If a guy tells you he loves you after less than a month, then he’s probably a nut. They would call little tidbits like that about guys the “Nut Alert.” Well, I guess that same rule applies to chicks, too. So the last thing I wanna do is be considered a nut. Well, I guess the verdict is gonna be out on that one, since I know it was love at first kiss for me over a month ago; and now I’ve put myself out there and said it to him first. But wait! Technically, it’s after the one month mark, so then I’m not a nut. Whew!

“Aaah, that’s wassup, baby.”

I frown. That’s wassup, baby? Is he serious? Is that all he has to say? Didn’t he just hear me tell him that I love him?

“Oh, so ‘that’s wassup’ is all it is to you? I tell you I love you and that’s the best you can do?”

“C’mon, Miyah, don’t do that. You know how I feel about you.”

“Um, nooooo, I don’t. I wanna hear it.”

“I’m real big on you, Miyah.”

I hear my sister’s voice saying, If a guy can’t tell you he loves you after you’ve told him, then maybe he doesn’t. That’s why you never, ever tell him you love him first. This way you don’t play yourself.

“Oh, so is that your way of nicely telling me you really don’t?” I ask with an attitude. For some reason, I wanna go off on him. But it’s like the words are stuck in the back of my throat somewhere, ’cause I know I have nobody but myself to blame for being the first to tell him how I feel.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what, Sincere?”

“Put words in my mouth.”

“I’m not tryna put words in your mouth,” I say, pacing the floor. “I’m tryna understand what this ‘I’m real big on you’ means.”

“It means I’m really digging you, Miyah. It means I want you to be my girl. It means I think you’re hot. That I got you on the brain, hard.”

I smile. “Oh, okay. I’m just checking.”

“A’ight, cool. You know you’re my baby. So stop tripping.”

“I’m not tripping.”

He laughs. “Yeah, okay. But you were getting ready to.”

“Okay, I was. But just a little.”

“You’re too beautiful to be tripping. And it’s your birthday.” He starts singing “Happy Birthday” all off-key, and I start laughing.

“All right, all right. Don’t. You’re making my ears bleed.”

He laughs with me. “A’ight, then. Give me a kiss.”

I give him a big kiss through the phone. “Muuuuuah.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout with ya sexy self. My baby’s fine as hell.”

I smile as I wriggle myself into a sexy pair of True Religion skinny stretch jeans, then decide to wear the matching jacket without a shirt underneath. I turn around in the mirror, admiring the way my jeans hug my curves.

“And you all mine,” he says.

I keep cheesing—hard. “And you better be all mine,” I warn him.

“That’s what it is.”

We finally say our good-byes, then hang up.

I hear my dad calling for me again. “I’ll be right down,” I yell out, racing around my bedroom, trying to finish getting ready before my mom starts rushing me. For some reason the lyrics to Nicki Minaj’s “Moment 4 Life” pop into my head as I’m slipping on my six-inch chocolate Gucci boots that Mom bought me for my birthday.

I snap my fingers to the beat in my head as I give myself the once-over in the mirror, making sure everything’s on point. Oh, wait a minute! I forgot my cherry lip gloss! Oooh, that’s a no-no! I rush into the bathroom and grab it from off the counter, then glide a fresh coat over my lips. I like keeping them looking sweet, wet ’n’ juicy. When I’m satisfied, I grab my shades, then turn off the lights in my bathroom and closet. I swing open my bedroom door and head down the stairs.

“The birthday diva is ready,” I chime out.

Ohhkaaay, so we’re driving back from Medieval Times—which was cute, by the way—and everything is going great until the Wicked Witch opens her mouth and out of nowhere spits haterade all over my night. She decides she wants to discuss my birthday gift. Not the Gucci boots, or the Tiffany tennis bracelet, or the thousand-dollar Louis bag—things she bought—but my whip! Not that I’m surprised, ’cause I already told you she was gonna have something to say about it. But I didn’t think she was gonna try ’n’ sabotage my driving it before I got the engine started and drove the damn thing out of the driveway.

She twists her body in her seat so she can look back at me while she speaks. “Kamiyah, I wasn’t going to say anything until tomorrow because I didn’t want to put a damper on your birthday . . .” Well, then don’t! I scream in my head. “. . . but I told your father earlier that he needs to take that car back and get you one that’s more economical and suitable for a girl your age.”

I blink, hard. “Excuuuuse me, you did whaaat?” I ask with more ’tude than I mean.

She repeats herself, then goes into her reasoning why. “You’re too young and inexperienced to be driving a car that fast and that expensive.”

I roll my eyes, sucking my teeth. “Daaaaddy,” I whine, looking at him watching me from the rearview mirror. “She can’t be serious!” Now, I know better than anyone that he won’t ever go against her in front me. But I know he better check her on this one, quick, before I turn it up on her.

“Kayla,” he says, reaching over to my mom, touching her arm. “Not now, sweetheart.”

Not now, sweetheart? What kinda ish is that? How ’bout not now, not ever!

“Erik, she’s too young for that type of car, and you know it. I don’t know what you were thinking going out spending that kind of money on her, without even discussing it with me.”

Daddy cuts his eyes over at her. But as usual doesn’t check her.

“Ummm,” I say sarcastically, “maybe he was thinking he can trust me. That I’m responsible; that I have a four-point-oh GPA, and am in the honor society. Um, oh wait. How ’bout this one: I’m his daughter and I deserve nice things, ’cause I earn them and he can afford it.”

“Don’t go there with me,” she snaps. “You get nice things, expensive things, all the time.”

“You are such a hater.”

“You better watch your mouth, young lady.” She scowls. “Before I reach back and smack you in it.”

“C’mon, both of you stop this bickering,” Daddy says, sounding frustrated.

“Erik, are you going sit there and let her talk to me like that?” Wicked Witch huffs, shooting him a look.

He shakes his head. “Listen. For once, can’t the two of you get along long enough to get through one whole evening?”

“It’s her, Daddy,” I offer, pouting. “She did the same thing to Erika, and that’s why they never got along. And now she’s doing it to me.”

“Kamiyah, that’s enough,” Daddy warns. But I’m not hearing him.

“Girl,” my mom says through clenched teeth, “I will reach back there and smack all thirty-two of them straight teeth my money paid for, right down your throat if you say that one more time. I’m your mother, not one of your little ghetto friends in the streets.”

“I don’t have ghetto friends, thank you very much. But it’s mighty funny how you seem to forget that that’s exactly where you came from.”

Her eyes almost pop out of her sockets. “Kamiyah Mychele Nichols, have you lost your damn mind, young lady? Don’t you ever, and I do mean ever, talk to me in that tone or fashion. You’re grounded.”

“Grounded? For what? For reminding you that you come from the guts of Newark?”

“No. For reminding me that you are too damn grown and fresh at the mouth. I think you forget who the mother is, and who the child is. So until you get your attitude in check, you’re grounded. Do you understand me?”

I ignore her.

“I said, do you understand me?”

“Mmmph,” I grunt, biting my tongue.

Daddy swerves the car over to the side of the road and abruptly stops, causing my body to jerk to the side. Mom and I both look at him, wondering what’s going on.

“Both of you—stop it! I don’t want to hear another damn thing from either one of you while I’m driving. So if you want to argue, do it now. Get it all out, now! Because once I start this car and it starts moving—again, I don’t want to hear nothing else from either of you.”

I think about something really, really sad, like my grandma dying, until my eyes get all teary and whatnot. I dab at my eyes with my fingers when I see Daddy looking at me in the mirror again. Tears always work with him.

“Kayla, I bought the car for Kamiyah and she’s keeping it, end of discussion.” I smirk, wiping a single tear that finally slides down my cheek.

Mom glares at him, then turns back around in her seat and leaves me the hell alone.

“And as for you, young lady, don’t you ever let me hear you speak to your mother like that again. No matter what you feel, she is still your mother. And you are to respect her, you hear me?”

“Yes,” I softly say.

“Good,” he says, turni. . .