Fast Life Page 2

  “What are you talkin’ about? I can do all that here! I learn at school. I like Chi-town. I love Chi-town. I grew up here, and I don’t wanna leave. Especially not to go to some little-ass island in the damn Caribbean! I mean, St. Louis or Detroit or somethin’ would maybe be a little more acceptable, but I mean, it’s a whole other country!”

  “Look, we are going whether you like it or not, Kyra La’nae Jones. End of discussion,” her mother said adamantly.

  “You have lost your fuckin’ mind,” Kyra mumbled. Her mother was in her face in a matter of seconds.

  “No. The only person who has lost their fucking mind is you, talking to me like that! I’m not one of your little friends. I’ll slap the taste out your mouth, girl. You are not grown!” she scolded.

  “Now, you listen! Chicago is not safe. You be out there running around with those little hoochies and your little drug-dealing thug boyfriend like your little ass is really something around here. Well, guess what? I can’t afford to pay the mortgage anymore. Bills are piling up, and I’m racking up debt like nobody’s business. So we are going somewhere better. Shit around here has been hard since your father died. He loved Chicago, too, Kyra. He loved the streets just like you do. Now look at him. He left me a widow and he’s six feet under. All because he got caught up in that same shit Mickey—”

  “Makai,” Kyra said, correcting her mother as she rolled her eyes.

  “—Makai is it now. You need to be as far away from him as possible, if you ask me.”

  “But I love him, Momma!”

  “What do you want to do with yourself, Kyra? What? Become a hustler’s wife, just like I did? You want to have a child to raise on your own and struggle to make it? That nigga doesn’t love you. You’ll see that. Someday it’ll hit you. I promise you that. The sooner it does, the better—for your sake. He probably has hundreds of girls all over this city. I know the kind, Kyra. Hell, your father wasn’t faithful to me, and we were married!” her mother declared, rubbing the wedding band on her finger to make her point. “I mean, Kyra, look, we can’t stay here. It’s not that I don’t want to. I grew up here, too, you know. But I’m doing this for the both of us. I’m doing this in your best interest, and I know you probably don’t see or understand that now, but…” She trailed off, her tone now soothing. But Kyra wasn’t buying it.

  “Yes, we could! We could stay here. We could get an apartment. Take a loan. I dunno, somethin’! But no! Some rich, fatass white man dangles a pretty little island and some extra dollars in front of your face and you’re just ready to pick up and go! What would Daddy say?” she added in protest.

  “He’s not here! So what I say goes! It’s been that way for ten damn years, so I would’ve hoped you were used to it by now. And don’t try that ‘What would daddy say?’ shit on me. Not everyone has a little sugar daddy throwing money their way twenty-four-seven like you do. This is how I have to get mine, by working. I’m not going to let this opportunity slip away just because you’re acting like a selfish brat. But you know what, never mind. I’m not saying anything else but deal with it. Deal with it.” Geneva Jones’s eyes were cold as she and Kyra exchanged glares. “Now go to your room. You done messed up my mood,” she ordered as she upped the volume on the television and rummaged through her purse for a cigarette.

  Kyra rushed upstairs to her room, slamming and locking her bedroom door before the tears forming in her eyes could fall. She wouldn’t let anyone see her that weak, not even her own flesh and blood.

  As she held herself against her door, trying her best to make sense of what had just happened, a muffled, catchy jingle played from her coat pocket. Her cell phone was ringing. She grabbed her flip phone and turned it off. She had no desire to speak to anyone after the news she had just heard. She didn’t want to do anything.

  Kyra crawled into her small, comfortable bed. She’d been lying there only minutes when the distant sound of gunshots distracted her. Unlike some people, who become frightened or nervous, Kyra was familiar with the sounds of the streets and so continued to lie still. She listened until, after five more gunshots in rapid succession, it was finally silent. She tried to gather her thoughts, but it seemed impossible. Her mind soon became overwhelmed with anger and confusion, and her body gave way as she fell into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER 2

  “It’s six-thirty, Chi-town, and it’s time to get up with your man Crazy Howard McGee! Stay tuned for the question of the day coming up next! 107.5 WGCI!”

  Kyra slammed the Off button on her alarm clock radio, silencing the host of the morning show. She dangled her feet over the edge of her bed while a yawn slipped from deep inside her. She glanced at the clock again and fought the urge to bury herself under the covers again. The soles of her French-pedicured feet made contact with the cold hardwood floor as she searched for her slippers and her robe to prepare for the day. It was sure to be a long one.

  As the warm water of the shower flowed over her body, she mulled over her mother’s announcement and the argument that followed. It all still left her body tense.

  That was when it hit her. How could she do this me? She didn’t even ask me or nothin’. How could she act as though this is a good thing? This ain’t nothin’ good. If she was really doin’ this for me like she’s claimin’, then we would be stayin’ here, in Chi-town. We would be stayin’ home.

  “You better hurry and get out of there before you’re late for school! You haven’t even eaten yet!” Geneva Jones cautioned from the other side of the bathroom door.

  The unexpected knock on the door jarred Kyra from her thoughts.

  She didn’t bother to answer. Kyra sucked her teeth in response and turned off the water. She hurried to her room to avoid seeing her mother. She decided that it would be best to have as little contact and conversation with her mother as possible.

  Kyra was sitting on the edge of her bed, lacing her black, fur-lined Timberland boots, when she heard loud, bass-filled music and the honk of a horn outside her house. Her ride to school had arrived.

  She quickly snatched up her black Baby Phat jacket and her cell from the nightstand before running downstairs.

  Kyra hurried into the kitchen, where her mother was already seated, enjoying her morning cup of coffee. She noticed the plate set for her but didn’t touch it except to grab the two pieces of toast, leaving the eggs and bacon behind.

  Makai, Kyra’s daily ride to and from school, beeped his horn again, and she had just turned to leave when her mother spoke.

  “You’re not going to eat anything?” Her stare was attentive as she looked her daughter over.

  “No,” Kyra replied without turning to face her. Just looking at her was enough to piss her off.

  “Well, I really think we should talk,” her mother said.

  Makai beeped his horn again, louder this time. He was getting impatient.

  “I gotta go.”

  Lunch couldn’t come quickly enough for Kyra. She found out in her African Studies class that her grade had dropped twenty percent because she hadn’t done her report on the empire of Mali. In English class, she was reprimanded for paying more attention to a brand-new copy of Vibemagazine.

  Mercedes and Natasha took their seats in the booth at McDonald’s with their trays full of burgers, fries and shakes while Kyra opted for only a small Coke.

  “Okay, see. I know something big must be up because you stay stuffing your face, especially with some Mickey D’s. Spill it. Oh, and I want details,” Mercedes said before taking a long sip of her strawberry milk shake.

  “My mom got a promotion,” Kyra mumbled, scanning the scenery on the other side of the window.

  “Aww, girl! You had me worried fa real! Why are you so sad over that? You should be happy as hell. Last I knew, that meant more money. But I don’t know, I guess that’s just me,” Natasha said, shoving a handful of fries in her mouth.

  “Yeah, I know. The only problem is that it’s in…well, it’s on Prince Paul.”

  “Where
the fuck is that?” Mercedes asked.

  “It’s in the Caribbean. We’re movin’ Friday.”

  The table instantly fell silent.

  “Hold up, what the fuck? Wait a minute. Friday? As in this Friday, when we’re supposed to be going to the Black and White Party?”

  “Mmm, hmm.”

  Mercedes’s voice was quiet. Natasha still hadn’t said anything. No one spoke for a moment, and a cloud of awkward silence fell over the table.

  “I got an idea!” Natasha piped up as she slid her tray away from her.

  “What?” Kyra asked, only half interested in what her friend had worked up.

  “We can all go and chill at my crib for a while. My mom ain’t coming home till five. Fuck school.”

  “Okay,” Kyra laughed. School was the last place she wanted to spend the few days she had left in Chicago.

  After passing around a half-full bottle of Hypnotiq and watching TV, the girls quickly found themselves bored. The bottle was brought out toliven things up, but it failed to change their moods or to get them drunk.

  “Damn, that’s some bullshit. I don’t even have a buzz,” Kyra complained as she dropped the empty bottle onto the carpet.

  “Yeah, I know…but oh! I got something that will get you way past a buzz. Hold on.” Mercedes went digging in her purse before she even finished her sentence.

  As she pulled out what she had been looking for, a wide, mischievous grin spread across her face. Natasha jumped up from her position on the bed, snatched the blunt from Mercedes’s hand and quickly moved toward her nightstand drawer to get a lighter. She sat on the side of her bed and lit the joint, which was already between her lips.

  “We’re definitely gonna have to chill before you go. How about Thursday night we go out to get something to eat?” Mercedes suggested.

  “As long as we go to—”

  “—the Cheesecake Factory,” Mercedes said, finishing Kyra’s sentence for her. “We know, we know. Shit, everyone knows that’s your favorite place to eat.”

  “Man, shut up and just pass that right here.”

  Mercedes threw her legs over the side of the chair and blew smoke up toward the ceiling. She passed off the thick blunt to Kyra, who took deep hits.

  “Oh, and I don’t know who you’re telling to shut up, because I will tell Makai you smoking, and he will get all in that ass. You know he got you on lock,” Mercedes teased.

  “Man, whateva. What Kai don’t know won’t hurt him,” Kyra said, coughing a little.

  She knew Makai didn’t like it when she smoked; he had told her a few times in the past. It would really get him angry.

  “And why the hell are you all worried about me and Kai? What will LaMonte think about you smokin’?” Kyra shot back.

  “Oh! I think she’s trying to blaze!” Natasha laughed.

  “Whoa! Okay, let’s get this straight. LaMonte is not my man and he never will be. I gave him some of this—” Mercedes stood up to model her golden body and flicked her straight, shoulder-length hair over her shoulder “—because I was getting those passes for us. Shit, I sure as hell didn’t do it because he was fine or paid. That nigga was just saying how he got the passes from his cousin who’s a bouncer at Pandemonium and that he could hook me up. So, I figured I would use what I got to my advantage, and I got what I wanted. You see? If y’all were smart you’d be doin’ the same stuff I’m doin’. Sleep wit’ ’em, get paid,” Mercedes explained.

  “Damn, I didn’t mean it literally,” Natasha joked.

  “A’ight, so what did you get from Reggie, then?” Kyra said.

  “Oh, you slept with Reggie’s fine ass?” Natasha asked, all excited. Reggie was one of the biggest ballers in the neighborhood, and one of the finest.

  “Yeah, I slept wit’ him. How do you think I got this?” Mercedes bragged, holding up her brown Gucci G-print purse.

  “Uh-oh! Turn this up!” Kyra said, turning her attention to the television. Her body was slowly beginning to wind like a caterpillar to the beat of Lil’ Wayne’s latest music video.

  Natasha turned the television set up to its loudest and began to dance along. Before Kyra knew it, they were all up dancing to the music and enjoying the high. They continued to dance and sing together all afternoon until they got the munchies and raided the kitchen, finishing off a pitcher of cherry Kool-Aid, a bag of Famous Amos chocolate chip cookies and two party-size bags of Cool Ranch Doritos.

  Kyra enjoyed herself that day. She and her girls hadn’t had fun like that in a while. That was something she wouldn’t have in Prince Paul.

  Brown. That was all Kyra could see when she opened the door to her living room, which was full of folded cardboard boxes.

  “Where were you?” her mother asked. Her hands were on her hips, her attitude reflecting her displeasure as Kyra entered the house.

  “I was at Tasha’s.”

  “Well, sit down, because I certainly have some words for you.”

  Kyra wished she could run up to her room and close her door, shutting out everything and everyone, including her mother.

  “First off, I don’t know who you think you are. You skipped school today! A few teachers called and said you had unexcused absences in their classes, which means you skipped. Then you come in late. It’s five o’clock! Your ass should’ve been through that door two hours ago! You didn’t even bother to call and let me know where you were.” Geneva Jones drilled the words into her daughter. Kyra didn’t even have a chance to defend herself before her mother continued, “Then I guess they figured while they were at it, they would bring up the subject of grades.”

  “Oh God…” began Kyra.

  “Oh God is right! That’s what you are going to need when you get out here because that’s all you’re going to have to your name, your faith in God, if you even have that! Your biology teacher said you are now getting a D for the class, because apparently some test y’all just took—which I haven’t even seen, by the way—lowered your overall grade. Then, your African-American Studies teacher, Mr. Braxton, said your grade in his class fell twenty percent, and now you are failing! I mean, your grades aren’t the best, and they really never have been. But dammit, Kyra! I don’t know how much I have to stress to you how important it is for you to get good grades. You can’t get into college with these kinds of grades, and don’t think for a second you will be bringing grades like these home once we get to Prince Paul. You need to get yourself together, girl.”

  “I got myself together, Mom. College just ain’t for me. I’m not some genius that knows biology and black studies. I’m passin’ all of my other classes, though, right?”

  “Just barely! I mean, what are you going to do for the rest of your life, Kyra? Have Makai give you everything on a silver platter? Before you know it, you will be out of high school. You only have two years left. You really need to think about your future.”

  “I’m not goin’ to have Kai give me everythin’. I know that much.”

  “What are you going to do, then? Tell me,” her mother impatiently demanded. To tell the truth, Kyra wasn’t exactly sure what she had planned for her future.

  “Look, all I know is that when you hit eighteen, your ass will be at some college somewhere learning something. You understand? Now take these and start packing your things.” Geneva Jones shoved two brown boxes into her daughter’s arms and walked off.

  As expletive after expletive ran through her mind, Kyra tore open her closet doors, revealing row upon row of shoes and clothes. Louis Vuitton, Dolce & Gabbana, Gucci, Prada, Versace, Rocawear, Baby Phat, Chanel, Apple Bottoms, Azzuré—the list went on and on. Designers that most people only dream about, Kyra had in her closet.

  She squatted down to the floor to fill the second box with her shoes. After clearing out most of them, all stored in their original boxes, she saw that there was only one box left, far back in the shadows of the closet.

  The shoe box was red, old and covered in a thick layer of dust. It was plain and had no desi
gner name on it, but it was more precious to Kyra than any pair of Prada boots. It was where she kept everything she treasured.

  She removed the lid from the old red shoe box and began slowly, piece by piece, sifting through its contents. She came across an old bracelet Makai had given her for their first Valentine’s Day together, some old arts-and-crafts friendship bracelets Natasha and Mercedes had woven for her out of colorful plastic string in seventh grade and pictures.

  There were tons of pictures of her with Mercedes and Natasha: in middle school, at their eighth-grade graduation, at homecoming last year, at Six Flags, at the Navy Pier, all over the place. She even came across one of Natasha in elementary school. She smiled at her friend’s missing teeth and big smile.

  She continued to flip through the collection of photos she had gathered over the years and came across one of Makai. She had been with him since she was in the sixth grade. They had shared six years of love, and he always took care of her. He would do anything for her, and she would do anything for him. Makai was her everything. He was all she knew. He was her first love, her first kiss and the first person to explore her body and all of its forbidden places. He was her last love. Kyra wanted to be with him forever, and she was sure he was the man she would marry. She already had their wedding planned down to the smallest detail, and even had the names of their children picked out. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that now with her moving so far away, everything between them would come to an abrupt end. An end she wasn’t in any way prepared for.

  She grew anxious and put the picture away, her gaze fixing on another one. Her father was a tall man, his skin a deep chocolate color. A neatly trimmed goatee brought out his well-defined jawline, with his hair crisply cut into a fade. He stood there smiling, his pearly whites shining. He had on nice clothes and a thick gold chain.