1—Junior
Everybody wanted to be associated with the Homeboys.
It was good to just be seen getting a smile or wave from them. It boosted your popularity and was even said to help you get into certain colleges. They were sexy. Popular. Cool. Amazing. To be in their presence, I was told, was the equivalent of seeing your favorite sight in the world. It was eating your favorite food as much as you wanted. It was dessert without the calories. It was to fall instantly and irrevocably in love.
The Homeboys didn’t just talk to anybody. For players, they were extremely picky. They were charming only to a certain few girls. They only broke a few hearts with those dazzling smiles. Which was why if you were a sleeping with them, a hook-up, or even getting your heart broken by them, you bragged about it. Here at Avian High, you just wanted your name to be in the same paragraph as them. And, hopefully, it would spread through the school like wildflowers, and you would be popular.
I was not the kind of girl they associated with. I wasn’t loud, nor really talented in anything but my brains. I was still a virgin and had kissed only a few boys. I wasn’t quiet nor shy, but I spoke my mind, and they wanted ‘yes sir’ girls. I didn’t have a chance in Heaven of getting with them, and it didn’t really bother me. My brother used to be a Homebody before he graduated. And the constant parade of girls, friends, and women that came through the house my freshmen year was ridiculous. And my brother had only passed down what he knew to the current Homeboys—Duke, Kyle, Dante, and Chris. They varied from year to year, even though the name remained the same—whether they were “hood” boys or “rich” boys, they still remained Homeboys. And this year we had a good mix.
Dante and Chris both hailed from the same, dangerous hood. They had been rumored to be in gangs, but that had never been proven. Dante was a black boy, chocolate skinned and medium height, about 5’9, with pretty brown eyes and long eyelashes. He had a few tattoos, none of them in plain sight except for the one on his bicep, which was a cross that said, “RIP Danielle”, which was his little sister who had been killed in a car accident. Chris, on the other hand, was a white boy with no known parents. He had been adopted, and he ran the streets like Dante. They were the closest of the Homeboys. So close, in fact, many of us were sure they didn’t actually know they were blood related. Chris was the same height with green eyes and brown hair. His body was clear of all tattoos, but he had a nasty drinking habit he hadn’t kicked yet. Parties were all the rage for him—get drunk, fuck around, tear shit up, bring home some girl he didn’t know and kick her out the next morning. They both were what and what with personality—nice enough, just as charming, but serious.
Then you had Duke and Kyle. Kyle was a boy of Spanish descent. Black hair, brown eyes, a Spanish (from Spain) accent that sometimes snuck itself into his voice from living with his parents. He was the shortest, 5’7, and had a nice, lithe build of muscles. He was sweet, too, but funny, the kind of guy girls fell for without even knowing it. Of all the Homeboys, he was the only one that spoke to me. And it was nothing more than answers for homework, but he always managed to ask about my life beforehand. And, finally, there was Duke. The tallest Homebody at 6’3, he was a mixed boy. His mother was white, his father black. His father had been a member of the Baltimore Ravens in his heyday, and was a future hall of famer. He was retired now, coaching a college team as a defensive coordinator. Duke was a rich boy, but he wasn’t snobby. He was a goofball, always cracking jokes and messing around. His flirting couldn’t be taken seriously. He laughed a lot, smiled even more. He was happy-go-lucky, but still possessed that sexy charm. His olive skin had some tattoos across his chest and upper arms. He had brown hair that he usually kept in a messy, sexy fashion, and his green eyes and full lips made you want to throw him against a locker and make out with him. He wasn’t the sexiest, by far, but he just… was. Duke had a personality that made you wonder why you liked it, but you knew that you did.
And he was the biggest player of them all.
Not that we could blame him, he had learned from my older brother, the most successful Homeboy to ever Homeboy. Crank, my older brother, had women for days. Not girls in his grade, but older women. Cougars thirty and up, women thirty and down. He didn’t care. He wanted to build a legacy, set a standard. Make sure nobody could beat him. Except who he chose.
And back in sophomore year, Duke was already a ¼ of the way there, which meant Crank had showed him all of his charming ways.
I sighed, grabbing a bottle of water and checking to make sure the cap was still screwed on. Rena, my best friend, laughed at me. “You are way too cashush,” she slurred, throwing back a shot of Crown. Her black hair was already matted down with sweat, and her blue eyes glowed viciously. She was the same 5’3 height as me, except she was skinnier with no butt and big boobs. I had a nice amount of both that usually got in the way when I played sports or went dress shopping. “Looshen up, June-ya.”
I rolled my eyes, screwing off the top of my water bottle and taking a sip. “Never,” I promised, leaving her in the kitchen surrounded by some of the boys. This was a usual Homeboy party at Duke’s huge ass house. His parents were gone. Half-naked girls surrounded some of the Homeboys, getting drunk and slutting themselves around. The boys were playing a rowdy game of beer pong. I had a love-hate mentality for these parties. I hated drunk people, but I loved dancing and music and having fun. The drinking wasn’t really me, but the fun was. Loud dance music turned up to ignorant levels was one of the best things I could encounter. But the drinking could’ve went.
I made my way to the living room. The couches had been pushed up against the walls to create a huge dancing space. Couples made out on them, groping each other playfully. I could see the Homeboys from here, looking disinterested and bored with the girls on their laps. I turned my head away from them. I didn’t want anything to do with them. It would’ve been nice being popular, I’m assuming, but I had friends and people recognized me now, and I liked it. That was enough popularity for me. And as far as sleeping around with one of them? No. They were sexy, and apparently amazing in bed, but still. I wasn’t quite ready for that yet. I had just managed to make myself make out with a guy at a party, and I had nightmares for a week or two after that because I felt so guilty.
I topped my water bottle back up and danced my way into the middle of the dance floor. One of my good guy friends, Dave, was wasted as hell. I grinned, backing up on him and dancing. “Whoo!” he cried, wrapping his arm around my waist and moving with me. His drunkness, added to his already rhythymless self, made his movements off-beat and comical. I laughed, removing myself from him.
He moved on, grabbing some white girl instead.
A little smile stayed on my face as I danced with some friends, and even some people I didn’t know well. Thanks to Rena, we were basically a staple at these parties. Duke Alistair’s parties were legendary, and a security guard only allowed a few people in. Mostly people from our school and a few others. I was only invited because I was Crank’s sister. And I was never actually invited; I just showed up with Crank one day, and the security guard remembered me ever since. I didn’t plan on taking advantage of it, but Rena wanted to get drunk and party, so I came with her as a designated driver.
Plus, she wanted to hook up with a Homeboy, even though she was as much of a virgin as I was.
I looked up at the Homeboys against my will and caught the eyes of Kyle. He winked one big brown eye, a full smile playing across his lips. The girl on draped over him like curtains, thinking the smile was for her. I gave him a little smile back before opening the door and going outside.
Quiet. It was quiet out here, and I liked that. I sipped my water bottle in peace, staring over the balcony and thinking. If Crank was here, he’d be in the middle of the dance floor, getting everybody hyped. I’d probably be driving him home today because he’d be drunk off his ass. But I wouldn’t mind. Crank and I were close. We both had the same odd sense of humor, same short temper, and same good looks. We were identical in everything except gender and size. We laughed a lot, made people happy, and loved strongly when we did love. He was my closest confident, and I his. Or, at least, I was until he went to college, met some bitch named Laila, and now doesn’t even recognize my existence.
I pulled out my phone, deciding to give him a call. I hadn’t heard from him in weeks. I knew he was alive because he always checked in on Facebook with Laila, but that was all. He hadn’t called to check in on the family, except to ask for some tickets for him and Laila to go to the game. The same game I was supposed to go to. Even though Dad would’ve gladly reserved two more seats for me and a friend, the mood to go was gone. I didn’t want to put up with Laila and my brother around Laila.
His phone rang. And rang. And rang. And rang until it went to voicemail. “Hi! This is Laila on Crank’s phone. Leave your name and number, and we’ll get right back to you!”
We?
I narrowed my eyes. “Listen here, you little bastard,” I growled after the phone rang, “you still have a family that loves you. It’d be nice to hear from you sometimes. Especially since you want to take the tickets to every game I want to go to. Love always, your very angry little sister. Junior, by the way, in case you’ve forgotten. Bye.” I hung up the phone and shoved it into my pocket, angry.
Of course she would be on his voice mail, too. She was in every other part in his life. She probably wiped his ass, too.
I finished the last of my water, then tossed it into the trashcan a few feet away. It sailed in easily. I turned to go back inside, running head-first into somebody’s chest.
“Whoa!” I squeaked, as warm hands settled on my waist, steadying me. I reached out, too, grabbing on to the guy’s forearms. “Sorry!”
A husky chuckle let me know exactly who it was. Duke’s husky, signature chuckle was his trademark. It was the one thing everybody could identify with Duke.
Dammit.
I pulled away from him immediately, pushing myself against the edge of the balcony. “How long were you out there?” I demanded. I didn’t mind him hearing me blow up on Crank—it just unnerved me that he could’ve been there, watching, waiting, just staring at me.
He shrugged. “Only a minute or two. I came to talk to you, but you were on the phone.” He took a step closer to me.
“Talk to me?” I pressed myself as far as I could go. I didn’t want him to touch me. That was how it went—first they talked to you, then they touched you, and then you were in his bedroom, deflowered.
He smiled. “Yeah. Talk. It’s what people do to communicate. The exchange of words between two or more people.”
“I know the definition of talk, Duke.”
He clapped. “Good! We’re already half-way there then.” He eyed me curiously. “It’s okay to get close to me. I don’t bite. Unless you like that sort of thing?”
I shook my head vehemently. “Nope. I don’t.” I did relax, however, keeping a space of two feet between us. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
He was silent, studying me. I studied him back. Tall, muscle. He wore a sleeveless shirt, neon green, with black shorts that hung off his waist. He wore Nike socks and a pair Jordan’s, black and the same neon green as his shirt. His shirt had a checkmark that read Just do it. His snapback was backwards on his head, the back of his hair escaping out of the hat.
He shrugged, finally. “Not much, really. Just wondered why you’d prefer to be alone in silence than in there with the music. You were enjoying it earlier.”
I let his words sink in, trying to think of an appropriate response. “You were watchin’ me earlier?” I asked, instead, brushing off his question.
He shrugged again. “It’s my house; I watch all my guests. For example, I know you came in here with a girl with black hair and an orange t-shirt on. She’s sloppy drunk right now, trying to talk to us. But you’re sober.”
It wasn’t so much a statement as a question. He wanted to know why I was sober. “Of course. I don’t like bein’ drunk. It’s rather degradin’ and usually puts girls in inappropriate situations. So I’m always the DD.” I crossed my arms across my chest. “I haven’t seen you drinkin’ either.”
A little smile crossed his face. “So, you’ve been watching me?”
I shrugged, just like he had. “Of course. You’re a Homeboy. Everybody watches y’all, desperate to get in.” I thought about the girls surrounding them, offering their bodies for just a piece of the Homeboy life.
He gave that trademark chuckle. “And you? Are you desperate to get in?”
“Not desperate. I’d like to see what the big deal is, though. Ex-Homegirls are always braggin’ about how amazin’ it is, but never have an explanation as to why.”
He came stand next to me, crossing his arms and leaning against the balcony, too. From our position, we could see inside the party. Drunk teens were going crazy, having sex with their clothes on in the midst of the make-shift dance floor. He pointed inside at the other Homeboys, though. “This is what it’s like. Girls always on us. People wanting to be us. Parties thrown by us that people attend just because they think it’ll make them cooler. It’s not what the ‘Ex-Homegirls’ claim. Half the time, we don’t even let them in on the most important stuff we do.” He dropped his hand, glancing down at me.
“Like?” I questioned, knowing I should get the hell out of there before it was too late.
He smiled. “That’s a secret only a True Homegirl could tell you—and then she wouldn’t tell you.”
I frowned, my brow wrinkling as I tried to figure it out. Probably something with sex. The Homeboys probably were pimps, too. It would be about right for them.
“Don’t make that face. You have no idea what it is, so don’t make judgment based on your assumptions..” He gently nudged me on the shoulder.
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled, still staring. “Do you like bein’ a Homeboy? You are a guy, so I know you like the girls.”
“Now there’s a sexiest comment.”
“It’s a true one. I never see you turn down a girl.”
He stared at me then, capturing my gaze. “Let me ask you something—if you were thirsty, would you turn down a glass of ice cold water?”
I nodded. “Yeah. It could be poisonous, or it could give me a 9-month disease. All glasses of ice cold water aren’t just ice cold water.” Plus, I was the type of person that would probably die of thirst before I asked somebody for a glass of water or even accepted something to drink from someone. “And, I wouldn’t know how many mouths had touched that glass, or how many people had drunk from it.”
“We aren’t talking about water anymore, are we?” he questioned, amused.
I shrugged. “Depends on how dirty your mind is, Duke.”
He chuckled. “As for your previous question, of course I like the girls. What young, able-bodied straight male doesn’t? It makes me feel good about myself that they all want me.”
I wanted to argue with them. They wanted his money, his fame, or even the Homegirl status, but I doubt all of them just wanted him. I didn’t argue, though, I just let it go. “If you say so,” I answered noncommittally.
He was silent, and it was a comfortable silence we were in. I could feel his body heat radiating off on me, and I was thankful for the cool breeze that flowed through the night air. My good senses were protesting, telling me to leave this boy high and dry. But my southern raising was telling me to be a lady, and ladies didn’t leave boys—or people in general—until both had decided the conversation was done with. And the conversation definitely didn’t feel done with.
He stretched. “Why aren’t you in there, though? Why don’t you hang on to us? Every other girl in there wants a piece of us.”
I smirked. “If every boy was drinkin’ from the same glass of water, would you put your lips on it?”
He stared a moment before laughing. “Alright, alright, I get it. So, you don’t want us because everybody’s had us?”
I didn’t see why he was even bothering to figure this out. It didn’t matter anyway. After he went inside, we would both go to our respective friends and never think about each other again. “No, not because everybody’s had y’all. But I’ve seen this before with my brother, Crank. He used to be a Homeboy. I don’t care if you like girls comin’ in and out of your life, but that’s not me. If I’m with a guy, I’m with him. I’m the only one. I’m selfish and I don’t share.”
He nodded slowly. “I get that. So, if I wanted you, I’d have to settle down?”
“Yeah. But you don’t want me.”
“I don’t?”
“Nope.” I stared inside. The girl who had been draped on him was now on Kyle, batting her eyes and touching him inappropriately. “You said you were thirsty, and those girls were like cold drinks of water. Well, they’re cold drinks of water sittin’ right by your hand and all you have to do is lift them up and drink.”
“And you require. I’d have to climb up a mountain, swim through a river, and fly a plane through the Amazon jungle for your glass of water, correct?”
“You forgot ‘go through hell and back unscathed’, but, you get the gist of it.” I smiled at him. My words weren’t only the truth, but they were also meant to discourage him. I didn’t want him chasing me. I didn’t want to have to keep telling him no at every turn.
He smiled again. “I think I could have you if I wanted you, Mini-Crank.”
“It’s Junior, Duke. My name is Junior.” Well, actually, my name was Cori, but so was Mama’s name, so most people called me Cori Junior, or Junior for short. “I doubt that you could. Everything you know has been taught to you by Crank. And who told him everything about girls for him to learn? Me. I know all your tricks, Duke, and you haven’t even tried them yet.”
The challenge in his eyes were all too familiar. “Really? All of them?”
I nodded. “Every single one. Actually, I’m pretty sure I could beat you at your own game.” Now that was a bluff.
He gave a little bark of a laugh. “You talk big words for a virgin.”
My face heated up immediately. He said it like it was something to be ashamed of. And it wasn’t something I flashed around, so how did he know that? “So?”
His eyes lit up, and he looked shocked. “So you are a virgin. Shit, I thought cute virgins went extinct in 2011.” He stared at me like he was seeing the sun for the first time. “You have to change that, ma. You’re missing out.”
I felt extremely defensive. I was sure that if I was a dog, all the hair on my back would’ve been standing up. “Oh really? Not anything from you, I’m assuming. Rumor has it you always come first.”
He laughed. “That’s why it’s called a rumor, Junior. Whether I have one, two, three, or four competitors, I always come last, making sure my audience is thoroughly satisfied.”
We weren’t talking about races anymore, that was for sure. “I’m pretty sure you’ve competed with some good actresses.”
“Some things you can’t act, Junior.” He winked at me. “You wouldn’t know, though, would you, Mother Mary?”
I glared at him. “What’s so bad about bein’ a virgin?”
“Nothing. It’s just that, you have all these pent up, sexual frustrations, don’t you?” he questioned.
“Not that I know of.” I wasn’t dying to go sleep with the first guy that offered. I was fine being a virgin—even if he did make it sound like something was wrong with me for it. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“Because you’ve never had anybody stir up your instincts.” He spun so that he was standing in front of me. “You said you could beat me at my own game, Junior. Game’s on.”
He slid his hand under my shirt, his warm hands feeling like a slice of Heaven on my cool skin. They slid further up, slowly, teasingly. I kept my face neutral and my eyes on him. I knew that if I told him to stop, he would win. I didn’t want him to win.
He leaned forward, his lips centimeters away from the back of my ear in that extremely sensitive spot. My knees turned to jelly.
The door opened then, and he didn’t move immediately, instead opting to rest in that position before pulling away, looking irritated.
It was Kyle, motioning for him to come back inside. “We have some bad bitches in—oh.” He smirked. “Am I interrupting something?”
I shook my head, pushing past Duke. “Nah, you’re good.”
Kyle stopped out of the way and right before I went inside, Duke called my name. “Junior?”
I turned, arching an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
He winked. “Don’t forget—ball’s in your court now.”
No matter how long I thought about it, I couldn’t figure out if it he meant that it was my turn to strike, or if he meant that in a dirty, perverted way.