Q had mocha skin and a wide, mobile mouth. She had a great figure, petite but with boobs, which got her mad attention. Her skin was good too, despite the occasional zit in her T-zone.
Q’s name was actually Latisha Stairs, but over the years it went from Latisha to Queen Latifa to Queen and now just Q.
“Wanna come over?” Asking her was a daily ritual. Unless she had dance class, she came over to my place for a couple of hours pretty much every weekday. I liked the company, and she liked the downtime when she didn’t have to deal with her mom or her annoying younger brother and sister.
Q always had to be home for dinner at 5:30 p.m. on the dot or her mom would go into her speech about young people not respecting their parents. The lecture was the same every time with little variations she’d picked up like “You should’ve seen that mama backhand her child in the grocery store—you be glad I ain’t taking to you like that,” or “Her child missed dinner one night, and she was pregnant and not a day above fourteen. Fourteen, do you hear me?”
Yeah, that was Q’s mom. Her dad was a firefighter in the city, but since her parents were divorced, she only saw him every month or two.
We got off the number 44 at the corner of Nostrand and Flatbush and jaywalked to my apartment building opposite the projects. On bleak days, it looked gray and depressing as hell. Today, with the September sun gleaming off the brick, I was almost proud of where I lived. Most of my friends lived in much worse.
I dug into my jeans and fished out my key.
The DiVino crib was pretty stylin’, with a black leather couch and love seat, an oval glass coffee table, cream carpeting, and an entertainment system, to which my dad had added a fifty-inch flat-screen a few months back. By the front window was a desk with a computer. Dad thought I needed the most up-to-date technology to do my homework; he didn’t know that I spent most of my computer time on Facebook and YouTube.
Q had barely entered the crib and found the Doritos when she asked me to tell her more about the guy in the office.
“His name’s Eric. He’s from Detroit. That’s all I know.” I chose not to mention that I wasn’t exactly sweet to him right off the bat. Q thought I self-sabotaged when in the vicinity of good-looking guys.
“Is he a junior?”
“I don’t know. He looks more like a senior.”
“Well, you’ll have to find a way to talk to him again. Maybe he’ll be at the dance Friday night. I hear he’s so fine.” Her eyebrows went up and down. “Mmmm . . . ”
“As if! Don’t look at me like that.”
“Let me guess. He ain’t your type?”
“Right.”
“You always say that, Julia. Chill. Not every guy’s like Joe.”
I stared at her. She knew not to bring him up. She knew mentioning that asshole could put me in a bad mood for the rest of the day. She just didn’t know the whole story.
“Sorry, Julia.” She licked the powdered cheese off her fingertips. “I’m just saying. It’s time you made an effort to find a guy.”
“I’m not not making an effort.”
“Good. So you cannot not make an effort Friday night at the dance.”
“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.”
Q crunched some more, grinning.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Allison van Diepen is also the author of Takedown, Snitch, and Raven. She teaches at an alternative high school in Ottawa, Canada. Visit her at allisonvandiepen.com.
Also by Allison van Diepen
TAKEDOWN
SNITCH
RAVEN
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
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This Simon Pulse paperback edition September 2013
Copyright © 2006 by Allison van Diepen
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The text of this book was set in Adobe Caslon Pro.
Library of Congress Control Number 2005933468
ISBN 978-1-4424-8166-4
ISBN 978-1-4391-2032-3 (eBook)
CONTENTS
Tyrone Johnson, Self-Made Man
A Simple Businessman
Networking
A Short Piece On Packing
Surprises
Lunching it Up
The Real World
Welcome to the Les Chancellor Institute of Career Opportunities
Not Another Dead White Guy
Speaking of Style
Thin Ice
As it Comes
A Meeting With the Prince of Pakistan
The Making of a Hero
Orlando’S Only
The Case of the Jamaican Mushrooms
Girls, Like Basketball
The Code of the Warrior
Jimmy Pennington: The White, Ivy League Version of Me
Sweet Dreams
The Date
The Competitor
Orlando’S Solution
School Daze
Supply and Demand
Job Benefits
Secret Intelligencereport 001
Turkey Shoot
Family Matters
A Blade in the Back
Dishonor Among Thieves
Innocence
Breaking the Rules
Shattered Glass
Visiting Hours
The Break
On the Hunt
Return to Paradise
The Meeting
The Best-Laid Plans
Judgment Day
Down for the Count
The Sound of the Late Bell
Happy New Year
Choices
Taken
Black January
Honoring the Dead
A Walk in the Park
Dear Dad
Under Construction
Revisiting Monfrey
Adults Only
Birthday Wishes
Excerpt from ‘Takedown’
Excerpt from ‘Takedown’
About The Author