Shattered

by Kia DuPree

Genres: YA Literary Fiction

Synopsis

A compelling new voice in urban fiction, award-winning author Kia DuPree has been praised for her depictions of real-world problems. In Shattered, a young girl named Kiki ends up in foster care when her mother is judged unfit for custody. After Kiki and a friend run away, they are ensnared by a pedophile, who imprisons them. Months later, Kiki is finally freed, but the emotional aftermath of her trauma soon infiltrates every aspect of her life.

Release date: October 23, 2012

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 384

Sample

“Its inner city realism compares favorably with Sister Souljah’s The Coldest Winter Ever and Sapphire’s Push. This is easily one of my top-five fiction books of the year.”

—Library Journal (starred review)

“DuPree’s knack for dialogue and her insight and compassion for her characters inspire the reader’s empathy—an outstanding achievement.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Shockingly provocative and earnestly raw…DuPree holds nothing back, but explores the poverty, pain, and hopelessness of the slums with absolute openness…Her writing is vibrant, descriptive, and full of flavor.”

—Decatur Daily

“Powerful…emotionally wringing…a raw deep look at surviving the mean streets…provides profound insight into the other side of living in D.C.”

—Midwest Book Review

“Honest and heartbreakingly intense…DuPree scores another win in the urban realism department…​Every page of this novel is intriguing and entertaining…​It has the ability to make us look at one another similarly, and maybe, even for a brief amount of time, allow us to see past cultural differences and try to understand and change the flaws that plague our society…​together.”

—SUAVV magazine

“A knockout of a story…raw, gritty, uncompromising realism, telling like it is honestly and well. DuPree is an author to watch.”

—Library Journal

“An unvarnished look at the troubled, violence-filled lives of inner-city youth in Washington, D.C.…DuPree displays an excellent ear for the dialogue, thinking, music, and worldviews of her young characters and a talent for setting: The grimy streets, rundown hotels, beat-up houses, sweaty house parties, and clubs feel real and far above standard street lit.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Riveting.”

—Gazette

“Kia DuPree’s literary voice sings in this beautifully written story of a young lady’s tumultuous life. Easily the best book I’ve read this year!”

—Tracy Brown, Essence bestselling author of Twisted

“DuPree enters the literary game with her pen blazing in this unforgettable tale of a woman’s determination to overcome her obstacles and not become damaged.”

—Joy Deja King, national bestsellingauthor of Queen Bitch

“Kia DuPree has created a page-turner, with characters so real, so vivid, they literally jump off the page. As you read, you feel every struggle, every emotion, the joy, pain, happiness, and sorrow. I had to keep reminding myself that I was reading a work of fiction!”

—Mari Walker, Essence bestsellingauthor of Not Quite What It Seems

“Kia DuPree hits the ground running with this one. Readers will be drawn into the drama of Camille’s young life, anxious to see what happens next. A page-turner and intense read, this dramatic story will keep you guessing.”

—J. D. Mason, national bestselling authorof That Devil’s No Friend of Mine

“In Kia DuPree’s Damaged, she really showed readers what she could do with a pen. I’m proud of you, kid!”

—K’wan, #1 Essence bestselling author of Gangsta, Gutter, and Section 8

November 2011Washington, D.C.

Life is funny. One minute you think you got everything figured out. Then just like that, something random happens to make you question it all. I felt like that a month ago when somebody I ain’t seen in forever bumped my shoulder hard as I stood in line at Nordstrom. Just when I was about to curse a bitch out, I heard, “KiKi! Oh my God, I knew that was you!” I blinked hard when I heard Nausy’s voice screaming. She hugged me tight before I totally realized it was her. I couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked and so different from what I remembered when I met her over ten years ago.

Nausy used to be big and chocolate with plump lips that matched her oversized attitude. The first day we met at Ms. Val’s foster house on South Dakota Avenue, she sounded out every single syllable in her whole name. “It’s Nau-sy-ni-ka and get it right,” she had told me, her neck snapping left to right for each syllable. We was kids then, but wow—look at her now.

“How you been, girl?” she asked, squeezing me close again.

“I been good. Look at you!” I said, looking her over. Her chocolate skin was flawless; her dark eyebrows arched to perfection; her slim, curvy shape wearing the gray wrap dress like it was tailor-made. “You look really good.”

“You do, too! Girl, give me your number. I came in here to grab some shoes to match a dress I’m wearing to this gala tonight, but I still gotta get my hair done,” she said while taking her phone out of her handbag. “We gotta catch up, and I’m serious!”

It didn’t take us long to exchange numbers, say we’d call each other, and give another round of hugs before we went our separate ways. It felt good as hell to see her. Even if she ain’t never call me, I was happy to know she was doing good after all we had been through together. A lot had happened since the last time I saw her.

The next morning when Nausy called, talking about her new life and the YELL Foundation she worked for as a fund-raising associate for at-risk youth, I was shocked for more reasons than one. I thought her job was a nice fit for her considering she was once a part of that same group of teens growing up. Nausy sounded like she had her head on straight and like none of the stuff we faced back in the day had scarred her in the least. She seemed more outgoing than I remembered her, like a light radiated inside. Something about her made me want to lift my chin up and sit up straighter, too. I smiled listening to the excitement in her voice.

We planned to meet up for brunch at Front Page, a nice restaurant near Dupont Circle. A couple hours later, we was laughing and crying, talking about how life used to be for both of us, how she graduated from American University two years ago and the nonprofit organization she interned with since her junior year. She seemed so happy. And then…I told her about what happened during the years after I moved back home.

Even though Nausy was different, I could tell she was still the same girl who I used to tell all my secrets to. She was listening to my every word and not waiting for a break in our conversation to tell me more about her wonderful new life. I could tell she really wanted to know what happened to me. I thought about all the good, the bad, and the worst. When she asked me, “Ow haga ave haga ou yaga eally raga een baga?” in the same broken pig latin we used to talk back in the day, I smiled remembering her teaching it to me.

“How have you really been?” I repeated to see if I still understood it.

“You remember?” she said, smiling hard.

I thought about the question for a moment, took a sip of my pomegranate mimosa, then began pouring my heart out to her. Before long, only she cried. My own words had numbed me as I sat staring at my glass. Nausy reached across the table, breaking my concentration. Her hands rested on mine when she said, “You know you gotta tell my girls, right?”

I didn’t understand, and I guess my face showed that I didn’t cuz Nausy said, “They gotta hear your story and know they will be okay, too.”

“What you mean?” I said after taking another sip from my glass. I ain’t have nothing to say to them kids. Wasn’t like I was a college graduate or had some big career I could brag about like her. What was I gonna tell them? I sold my body for more than half my life?

“Look at you now. You still here,” she said matter-of-factly. “Somebody told me once that some people gotta take the rough and muddy road in life.”

I rolled my eyes and looked over Nausy’s shoulder at a waiter refreshing a customer’s glass.

“You know why?” Nausy asked, her eyes penetrating me.

I shook my head. Hell, I ain’t never heard no shit like that.

“The easy road is a setup,” Nausy said before frowning up her face. “You can’t see snakes and wolves lurking in the woods like you do on a muddy road. Plus, with every long stride you take, digging your heels in and pulling them out, over and over again, you’re building your strength for whatever’s ahead of you.”

Maybe she was right. I swallowed the last of my drink and considered Nausy’s words.

1

Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump. That loud bass beat knocked me back to reality. The walls and ceiling shook so hard the wood paneling covering the basement vibrated. For real, for real, I forgot where I was until I noticed the tacky, sky-blue bedsheet covering the patio window. Then I remembered Meeka dragged me out to some stupid house party all the way out Riggs Park that I already knew was suspect as soon as we walked up the sidewalk. Nothing but broke niggas grinning from ear to ear. Meeka said she promised somebody she knew she’d make it out, so I just kept my mouth shut, except for the drinks. Now my head felt like it weighed a ton. Had to be the cloudy haze hanging in the air.

Whoever Big Cuz was, he sleeping all up on my shoulder like he knew me. Dude must be insane. What I look like? A bed? He slid off easy when I sat up, but his hand still managed to stay on my thigh. Oh, hell no. I stood and pulled my skirt down. Where was Meeka at? It was hard to see in the room slightly lit by the glow from the huge fish tank spread across the far wall. Some people was hugged up on couches, dancing in corners, but there was no sign of Meeka’s chunky, milk chocolate ass in that pink halter. I stepped across legs and limbs and made my way up the stairs. I excused my way past a crowd. Oh, hell no. There she was. “Meeka! Get your ass down!”

I rushed over to the coffee table where she danced naked for some knotty-headed dudes. This heifer even had a Heineken bottle stuck in between her body glitter–​covered thighs, twirking her hips to the same th-thump, th-thump, th-thump that woke me from my sleep. Her rose tattoo, painted on her upper thigh, popped in and out to the conga beat.

“Move!” I pushed past the swarm of niggas panting over her.

“Hold up, slim,” somebody said, shifting my elbow over.

“Excuse me!” I snapped at the troll who had touched me and snatched my arm away. He threw his hands up like he knew I wasn’t playing. “Meeka, come on, girl! Let’s go!”

“What, KiKi?” She giggled and flashed her silver peg tongue ring, the whole time still twirking. The ripples on her sweaty, thick thighs moved in waves.

A tall dude threw some ones at Meeka as he videotaped her on his cell phone. She was pudgy cuz she was short, and she had an unusually flat stomach to have such chunky arms and thighs. Most niggas loved her shape. I know Meeka did, and she carried herself like she was the best-looking thing on the planet, even if she could stand to lose a few pounds.

“This shit ain’t even fucking worth it. Come on!” I yanked her arm to the boos rising from the hungry audience behind me.

“Nah, shawty, let her go,” the tall dude said.

“I’m just having fun,” she hollered.

“Meeka!” I yelled again, this time with even more attitude. She knew I was her ride, and if she ain’t wanna get left, she’d better pay me some attention.

“Hold up, let me just get my money.” Meeka put the beer bottle down and scraped up the handful of dollars on the table before she climbed down.

“Whoa!,” “Don’t stop!,” “Where you going, thick youngin’?” filled the room. I shook my head. After all this time, you’d think she’d know better than to dance for damn near free for some broke-ass niggas in the hood.

“What?” Meeka asked with her corny-ass Kool-Aid smile, counting her money.

“How much is it? Fifteen dollars?” I pressed my lips to the side.

“Stop hating, KiKi. I was just having some fun.”

I helped her find her clothes as the crowd scattered. Some bitches rolled their eyes at us as we walked to the door.

“The fuck you looking at?” Meeka shouted in their direction. “Can’t stand jealous bitches!”

“Come on, Meeka!” I snatched her arm and pulled her out the door. “That ain’t even necessary.”

“You kill me, KiKi,” Meeka said as we jumped in my Acura. “Like you so innocent.”

She and I both knew that was hardly the case. I’m just saying if you gon’ do it, make some money doing it. Meeka probably had only earned about forty dollars. What the hell she gon’ buy with that? A SmarTrip card for the Metro? “Unless you counted more than five hundred dollars, your ass stupid.”

“Yeah, okay.” She recounted her money in her lap. “You hungry?”

“A little bit.”

“Let’s go to IHOP. My treat,” she said, smiling again and waving her ones like she had a big stack.

I shook my head and drove toward Bladensburg Road. I knew Meeka since I was little. We grew up on Fourth and W Streets, but we ain’t start getting close until I ran into her at Everest College. She was taking classes to be a medical assistant, too. I liked her cuz she was cool as hell. Plus, she was almost finished with her program and she was giving me all her old tests and textbooks. She already knew about my hustle and didn’t hate in the slightest cuz she was about making money, too. Meeka was willing to do just about anything to close the gaps between Temporary Assistance for Needy Families and child support checks from Quentin’s father.

When we got to IHOP, the restaurant was practically empty except two other tables. I ordered pancakes, eggs, and bacon. She got coffee, waffles, and sausage.

“You talk to ’Reem lately?” Meeka asked, raking her fingers through her long extensions.

“Psst. Last time I talked to him, he talking about his name Hamza.”

“What?” she asked, twisting her face up, confused. “Huum-zaah?”

“Yep. Hamza,” I repeated. “Just cuz somebody done gave him a Malcolm X book, I’m supposed to call him that now.”

“Oh no. Not another one of them,” she said sipping her coffee.

“Yes, one of them. I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. I’m not that in love. Forget what you heard. Me wearing scarves over my precious face? Picture that.”

She laughed. “No, I can’t picture that. Ain’t Kareem a Muslim name anyway?”

“Exactly.”

The waitress brought over our food, and we both attacked it, though my mind was still on Kareem. Maybe because he was the only real boyfriend I ever had. But that’s the thing about Kareem, he’s such a follower. Always trying to do what the next man do cuz the next man says he’s supposed to do it. Such a turnoff. Weak and whack don’t mix. That’s how he got caught up breaking into that music studio on Georgia Avenue. Trying to steal some equipment with his dumb-ass friends. ’Til this day, I still can’t figure out how he’s the only one that got locked up behind that. It had to be a setup. Now he sitting up in jail, putting Allah’s name in every other sentence. Talking ’bout things gon’ be different when he get out. Tssk. I don’t know about all that. “If I get one more picture in the mail of him wearing a kufi with that thick ’fro around his chin, I’ma scream!”

Meeka cracked up, laughing. “How long he been in there?”

“It’ll be fourteen months next week.”

“He’s still your baby.”

I rolled my eyes. I’m not gon’ lie, Kareem held me down at first. I ain’t have to work the streets no more. I had a place to stay. Even had a job washing hair at Peaches’s salon in Lanham, but when Kareem got locked up, the bills piled up. One after the other. Pepco, WASA, Comcast, Sprint, State Farm. I sure as hell wasn’t gon’ lose the apartment. Hell nah. Not when I had a bank in between my thighs.

“Baby? I guess that’s what he thinks.” I took another bite and looked over her shoulder where a couple seemed too in love to notice nothing else happening in the room. That used to be us. But not no more. Kareem promised I wasn’t gonna ever have to do what I used to do to eat. As far as I was concerned, his D.C. jail phone calls was just a way to pass the time when I was bored. “He’d be so blown if he knew what was really real for me right now.”

Meeka nodded. She knew exactly what I was talking about.

“And I’m sure his Imam won’t think I’m wifey material no way.”

“You ain’t never lied,” she said smirking before scooping up another bite.

Wifey material? Would I ever be somebody’s wifey material? Me and Meeka probably wasn’t ever gonna wear that title. I ain’t know what it was Kareem ever saw in me in the first place. I tried to hide my life from him in the beginning, but it ain’t take him long to figure out that I had a lot of shit with me. Hell, I was never available when he wanted to go out. I was always tired or in the middle of doing something when he called. For a long time, Kareem actually thought me and my girls worked the bar at the Pearl on Ninth Street. Since he only went to Go Gos, he never knew no different. I was a bartender, not a ho. That was until the day Nut caught me sitting in Kareem’s car in front of my apartment building.

I swear I can still remember it just like it happened yesterday. Nut had rolled up and double-parked beside Kareem’s Magnum, blocking him in. As soon as I saw that silver Excursion in the corner of my eye, my heart damn near jumped out my chest cuz I thought Nut’s crazy ass and my cousin Marcha had went to Myrtle Beach for Bike Week.

“You look like you just seen the devil. You all right?” Kareem had asked me.

I nodded, but the whole time I was thinking what the hell was I gonna do next. I watched Nut go inside his tiny apartment building I shared with all of his girls. Wasn’t nobody there cuz Trina Boo and Camille had both went to get their hair done in Southwest, and Marcha was supposed to be with him. If he saw me, Nut was gonna go the fuck off. I was breaking a rule. As long as he took care of me, I wasn’t supposed to be in no nigga’s face unless they paid Nut to have my undivided attention. Camille warned me about sneaking around with Kareem and told me that this day was gonna come sooner than later, but I ain’t wanna listen.

“You all right? You shaking and shit,” Kareem said, placing his wide hand on my thigh.

I nodded again and tried blocking my face, hoping Nut wouldn’t notice me through Kareem’s tinted windows whenever he finally came back out.

“My ex-boyfriend just went in there,” I whispered. “I really don’t want him to see me. He’s crazy.”

“Who? That bama smoking right there?” said Kareem, mean-mugging Nut. His pretty-boy face tensed, and his jaws locked tight.

I didn’t want to turn and see for myself, but if Nut was smoking in front of my building, that meant he already knew something was up and he was just waiting for the chance to call me out. Before I could think of something to say, Kareem rolled down my passenger window. Shit.

“Hey, Moe. I need you to let me out,” Kareem shouted to Nut, his hand possessively tight on my thigh. This was not the time to try and flex. If he knew just how crazy that sicko was, Kareem would have never made that stupid move.

“Nah, son. You got my girl in the car,” Nut said, puffing his cigarillo. “And I know you ain’t have no appointment cuz I ain’t see no money yet.”

Kareem looked confused. I sat speechless.

“Ain’t that right, KiKi?” Nut said puffing calmly. “You got some money for me, girl?”

The hurt in Kareem’s eyes as Nut’s words sank in was something I ain’t ever wanna see again. He had been treating me like a queen, taking me here and there, buying me this and that for the past two months, and I ain’t even fuck him yet, only for him to find out that I wasn’t the kind of girl he thought I was. A foul look swelled his face. He shook his head and unlocked my door without even looking at me.

“Bye, Kareem,” I managed to mumble as I climbed out.

Nut laughed, then pushed me into the building like I was a piece of shit before he went to move his car. Later on, Nut punched me in my face so hard, I fell and chipped one of my teeth. I cried all night, not because of Nut, but cuz I knew something real that I had was now over. Except Kareem surprised me. Like two weeks later, he called and told me if I really wanted to change my life that he would be there for me. And little by little he was.

Meeka said something about the waitress being slow that snapped me out of my thoughts. I laughed, pretending I was listening, then toyed with my food for a second before she threw cash on the table.

“Fuck it. Let’s go,” Meeka said, standing up.

As soon as we walked out of IHOP, I lit a cigarette. Meeka did, too.

“If it wasn’t for Kareem, I probably would’ve never got my GED,” I said as I unlocked the car. “Hell, he got me this Ac’ just cuz I ain’t stop going to school.”

“Told you, he still your baby.”

She was right. Kareem ain’t give up on me.

After I dropped Meeka off at her grandmother’s house on Upshur Street, I headed home to my apartment on R Street. It wasn’t the best place to live, but it was a long way from that hole-in-the-wall, roach-infested apartment I used to live in on Nineteenth Street. Sometimes I missed that old apartment, the neighborhood that never seemed to sleep, and my girls who shared the four-unit building with me. Meeka’s little stunt tonight made me remember Trina Boo and how crazy she was. My girl was never scared to take risks or drop it like it was hot for an opportunity. Just like when she up and left us to roll to New York with a megaproducer. Now she’s one of the top video models, making crazy money and dating big-name rappers like T’yahze and Spider Black.

I miss my bestie Camille, too. She was the one who first made me get on my paper game. Because of her, I charged niggas double cuz that’s what she was getting away with. Now her smart-ass at No. . .