Chapter 07—Junior
“Duke… Duke… down,” I growled, pushing him off of me. I swear, you make out with a boy one time, and suddenly he thinks just because you show up at his house after practice, you want to kiss him again. Nope. I refused. I was not about to compromise myself because he was a horn dog. A cute horn dog, but a horn dog nonetheless.
He gave me a wolfish grin, wrapping me up in a hug. “Did you bring the stuff?” he asked, letting go and letting me in the house.
I showed him the huge bag that carried five different kinds of cake mixes, eggs, vegetable oil, stuff for icing, and sprinkles. “Yep.” I handed him his receipt and change, but he pressed the two twenties back in my hands. “This is forty dollars, Duke.”
He shrugged. “I’m aware. Forty to me is like ten dollars to some.”
“Ten dollars is still a bit of money. It’s about two and a half gallons of gas.”
“Don’t be a smart ass all your life, Junior.” He took the bag from me and sat it on the counter. “Alright, I’ll make the chocolate cake and vanilla cake… you can take the strawberry, carrot, and white.”
I wrinkled my nose. “But I hate white cake,” I protested, switching the boxes so that I had chocolate instead of white.
He moved it back. “I hate it also.”
Again, I moved the chocolate cake over to me. “Then why did you buy it?” I asked, holding the cake mix in my hands and away from him.
He tried to tug it away from me, but my grip was tight. “Because this cake isn’t for me. It’s for some people.”
“What people?” I asked, pulling it behind my back and hiding it from him.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I rolled my eyes. “I would like to know. That’s why I asked, stupid.”
“Your insults wound me, Junior.” He left me alone about the cake mix, sliding the white cake mix back his way.
I smiled in victory. He turned to one of the drawers and pulled out three mixers and some cake pans. “So, who are these cakes for?” I asked, knowing full and well he hadn’t called me over here to help make cakes because he wanted to see me. Also, they just weren’t for him.
“You’ll see,” he responded vaguely.
Whatever. I didn’t push him. If he wanted to be secretive, that was all up to him., Honestly, after I made these cakes and cookies, I would be heading home. I needed to get a good nap in. And prepare myself for Crank and his SuperBitch girlfriend. Maybe I could make her a shirt with the letters ‘SB’ on it. Tell her it stood for super bad or something like that, make her think it was something I made out of love for her. As if. The only way I loved her was when she was far, far, far away from my brother.
Smirking, I cracked some eggs into a bowl of my strawberry cake mix. I pretended each egg was her head. While I was super excited to see my brother after a few months, I was disappointed he would be bringing her. I wasn’t quite looking forward to this weekend actually.
Duke handed me a cup of water. I poured it into the cake, and then the vegetable oil. I grabbed a mixer and let the familiar sound of kitchen comfort me. I loved to bake, cook, fry, dip, and whatever. If it had ingredients, I’d probably like it. I didn’t cook for me, I cooked because I liked the satisfaction I received from feeding others.
I turned off the mixer and set it down, banishing the thoughts from my head. I was good at a lot of things, but not great at any. “Yo, Duke,” I said, starting a conversation as I poured my cake batter into the pan, “what’s it like to be great at football?”
I half-expected him to brush off the comment, but he shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. I like the attention sometimes. But, other times, I hate it. Like when a girl only wants me because I’m great at football. I want people to like me for my personality, like you do.”
“Where’d you get that idea from? I like you because of your good looks, Duke, not your personality.” I smiled at him to take the sting from my words.
He rolled his eyes. “I can always count on you to keep me grounded and humble, O Rude One.”
“Just doin’ my job.” I patted him on the back, turning to the stove to slide my cakes in. His family had three stoves. In my opinion, for a family that hired a chef and didn’t do much of their own cooking, that was about two too many. I closed the door and went back to my other cakes. “Where’s your family? They weren’t here yesterday either.”
“Away.” He turned the mixer on, effectively cutting off conversation.
O…. kay. For a brief moment, I wondered if he had went psycho and killed them or something, but then I realized it was Duke. He doted on his little sister, loved his mom, and took after his dad. He had no reason to kill them. I was just being Junior, all paranoid and whatnot.
I took my dirty bowl to the kitchen sink and turned on the water. I started scrubbing it out, losing myself to the methodical movements.
Duke wasn’t actually that bad, I realized as I glanced over at him carefully pouring out vegetable oil for the white cake mix. I mean, I could’ve been friends with someone a lot worse. I could’ve chosen to make a bet with somebody a lot worse. Like Chris. He was nice to Rena, but, to me? He would’ve chewed me up and spit me out. He was the asshole every girl secretly crushed on. Kyle was the sweetheart that girls didn’t mean to fall for but did (a dangerous kind, oh Lord, that kind was dangerous). Dante was a butt. Sexy, always with girls, but a butt nonetheless. And then Duke, the funny, smooth one. I liked funny. I could do funny. Butts, assholes, and sweethearts weren’t the kind of guys I wanted to be associated with or close to.
Ugh.
I was close to crushing on Duke. I couldn’t help it. Friendly banter, nice kissing…. Man. I wanted to crush on him so badly, and I had to keep reminding myself that I had to win. My competitive nature demanded it. Actually, I just wanted to see a Homeboy lose something for once. Even if they weren’t as bad as I had previously thought them to be.
“Scuse me, Junior,” Duke said, pushing me out of the way with his hips as he went by on the way to the other stove. “Did you buy cream cheese icing?”
I nodded. “I bought the stuff to make cream cheese icing. Honestly, it’s much better than store bought.” My mama had instilled in me from a young age to never buy something for somebody else that I wouldn’t buy for myself. And I always made my own cream cheese icing. More so for the fact that I could lick the leftovers when I was done.
He wrinkled his nose. “Do you know how to—“
“Duh.”
He looked doubtful, though. “Whatever you say.”
I washed out my bowl to get ready for the next cake mix. “So how was practice?” I couldn’t just cook. I loved to talk while I cooked.
He arched an eyebrow. “You don’t really care.”
“Nah, not really. I’m just makin’ conversation.” I poured carrot cake mix into the bowl. “It’s either this or hear me sing.”
“Oh, God, no. I’ll give you a detailed description of how I look naked first.”
“You probably want to give me a detailed description anyway, Duke.” And I didn’t want to hear it, but I wouldn’t mind him telling me. Like Justin Beiber. I didn’t enjoy his music, but I listened to it when I babysat occasionally.
He smiled. “You got me.”
We were silent again, and I continued to pour ingredients into a bowl, carefully measuring them. Duke handed me the mixer and our hands brushed, and suddenly I was reminded of how they felt sliding down my back at the same time his lips slid down the side of my neck. “Next time, Duke, you gotta go easy on the hickeys. My mom noticed.” Now that was an awkward conversation. While my parents had assumed I knew about the birds and the bees, and it was more of a “do you—“ “yeah, I know” talk, Mom had sat me down and talked about the various forms of protection there was. As if I would sleep with Duke!
His eyes sparkled, and he smiled. “Really? I’m sorry? Where is it?” He peered at my neck.
I turned the mixer off and sat it down, pulling my shirt down at the part of my neck where it met my shoulder. It was right at the dip my collarbones made. And everybody who was anybody had noticed. And everybody who was anybody assumed it was Duke’s. “Right here. And she made me listen to her talk about birth control.” She had even given me a pack of condoms, but, if I was going to be sleeping with Duke any time soon—and I didn’t plan on it—according to him, the mediums she had given me wouldn’t even fit.
Oh, gross, I thought, wrinkling up my face.
“Good. All girls should know about birth control. It would prevent many pregnancies. Girls need to come prepared.” He leaned against the counter, all smug, arms crossed.
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean girls need to come prepared? We don’t get pregnant by ourselves, so we shouldn’t be the only ones that come prepared.” My hands automatically found my hips, the thing I was sure every irritated or angry black girl did.
He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying, Junior. Guys shouldn’t be the only ones bringing protection.”
“Of course not. But what does it matter if the guy is convincin’ her it’s ‘much better without?’” I demanded. “We can make chocolate cake all day, but what does it matter if nobody likes chocolate cake?”
He frowned. “One, everybody likes chocolate cake. Two, I’m not following that analogy. And, three, let’s not argue. I don’t like it when you’re right.” He grabbed the cake mix from me and started putting it into cake pans. “I get what you’re saying though—pregnancy is a two way deal. Either make both parties responsible, or make neither.”
Was it really that easy to get guys to agree? What was the catch? I frowned at him. “Why are you agreein’ with me? I thought all boys didn’t want to be responsible for their babies.”
He glanced over at me, smiling. “Notice you said boys. Men take responsibility.” He handed me the cake pans to put up. “I would welcome any child of my blood with open arms at this very moment, if there so happened to be one.”
Yeah, right. But I didn’t want to argue with him, so I let it go. “Uh-huh.”
“You don’t believe.”
“Not a bit. But we’re not arguin’, so I’m lettin’ it go.” I slid the cake pans into the oven and closed the door. When I turned around, he was right on top of me.
His arms wrapped around my waist, and he pulled me closer to him. “If you want to argue, I can think of somethin’ we can be doing with our mouths that’s a lot more fun,” he said, a smirk playing across his lips.
Nopenopenopenopenope, I said in my head, trying to detangle myself from him. “Oh, no sir. My mama told me kissin’ got you pregnant.” I pushed him away slightly and scooted away from him. I didn’t need him to think this would be a regular thing, us kissing and carrying on. I was not about to become that kind of girl.
He chuckled. “Funny, my mom never told me that.”
“She should’ve.” I stopped on the opposite end of the kitchen, watching him. I thought about offering to play some music, but then I remembered what happened last time. Nah, no music, I told myself. “Anyway, you never told me how practice went.”
His eyebrow arched. “Are you still on that?”
I nodded.
“It was fine, Junior. How’d you sleep last night?”
Oh, I didn’t. I was too busy waking myself up because I kept dreaming of a tall, hot, football player kissing me all night. No big deal. “Like a baby.”
He looked like he saw right through my lie, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he checked on the cakes. I tried my hardest not to look at him stooped over, but he had the perkiest butt in those basketball shorts. And his back. It was all smooth and muscled, clear with the exception of a date in roman numerals. I wish I could’ve read it, but I didn’t know how to read roman numerals. It was a lesson I had completely skipped in school. I hated tattoos, absolutely despised them, but this one looked good on his olive skin.
“You know,” he remarked casually, “I was thinking about making you a Cuffed Homegirl.”
He said it casually, but I knew it was a Big Deal. Homeboys didn’t cuff girls they weren’t the tiniest bit serious about. Being Cuffed meant that no other Homeboy—or boy in general actually—could touch me. It was like dating without the title. If it got around school that I was Cuffed by a Homeboy, than rumors would really start flying. Me? Cuffed? I had never given it thought before. And by Duke? He was legendary for making sure not a single girl got the wrong idea with him. He didn’t settle. Which was why his announcement had me frozen. “Um, why?” I asked, watching him suspiciously.
He turned the stove on, then spun to look at me. “I don’t like to share.” His voice said he didn’t want to say anything else about it.
I didn’t like his answer. “Yeah, but, Cuffing is a big deal, Duke. You shouldn’t do that unless you’re absolutely serious about it.”
“Oh, I am.” He rubbed his head, watching me. “You’re a virgin. I don’t believe any guy besides myself is worth your virginity.”
Who said I would be sleeping with anybody? “I have no plans on givin’ it to you.”
“You don’t have plans yet.” He looked so dang smug, I wanted to wipe the grin off his face. As if I was going to sleep with him simply because he was Duke. His Homeboy status didn’t impress me. I was all about personality and a good body.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “As if I ever would, Duke.” I couldn’t help the bite in my tone. I didn’t like boys assuming that I would be into them because of what money they had. It had happened all too often. Those kind of boys broke your heart. I would know.
He looked confused. “Wait, what’d I say wrong? You’re upset.”
Of course I was upset. “You assumed I wanted to sleep with you.”
“Well, you seemed into me last night, so I—“
“Last night wasn’t even that good, Duke. Women are the world’s best actors.”
Sighing, he held his hands up. “My apologies, Junior. I’m going about this the wrong way. I wanted to Cuff you simply because Kyle thinks you’re hot. I don’t want him to break your heart.”
I laughed. Kyle? Break my heart? Oh yeah because Kyle was the boy that had bet me he could win my heart with his smooth words. Kyle had tried to seduce me. Kyle had called me over to his house today to make cakes with him. Rolling my eyes, I gave him a sarcastic smile. “Kyle will be the last person to break my heart.” I didn’t even like him that much. He was cute, yeah, and funny, but Kyle was just good to flirt with. Nothing more.
“I just want to make sure. You’re a special kind of girl.”
Bull shit. I knew bull shit when I saw it, but I let him think he was getting somewhere with me. I knew better than to believe that. Duke had been with every girl in the world; he didn’t want a single thing to do with me more than winning a bet. I didn’t call him out on it, though, I just returned to my old, snarky self. “Of course I’m special, Duke. Too special for you.”
He shook his head, looking hurt for a brief second before he turned back into his confident persona. “You kill me, Junior.”
“You should probably see a doctor about it.”
*
Cakes baked, iced, and cooled, we piled into his car and drove to this little abandoned building in the back of our town. “What are we doin’ here?” I asked, my hand on the door handle. I wasn’t too sure about this place. It was fishy.
His face was serious when he looked at me. “You have to promise not to tell a soul you came here,” he muttered, staring at me with those gorgeous eyes. We had quickly returned to… whatever we were doing before our spat in the kitchen. Everything was back to normal, flirting-wise anyway.
I nodded. “Okay. Why?”
“We’re at a women’s shelter, Junior,” he said softly, staring inside of it. “I always make them food once a month to help out. It’s a part of bein’ a Homeboy. We’re not all bad.” His gaze returned to me.
My hear dropped. A women’s shelter? That was so… nice. Why on earth would he want to hide that from people? “Why wouldn’t you want people to know you did that?” I questioned, glancing behind me as Dante’s vehicle came into view. Followed by Chris and Rena.
He lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s better if people think we’re bad news. It’ll get at least some of them off our backs.” He unlocked the door. “Don’t cry in front of the kids.”
Overwhelmed, I just nodded.
We got out of his car and grabbed the cakes. The others came following behind us. Dante and Kyle had huge loaves of homemade bread in their hands. Chris and Rena held huge pitches of some kind of liquid. It looked like fruit punch from the red color. Dante held the door open, and we walked in.
Don’t cry, I told myself, as the first people I came in contact with was an older woman that looked worn down and two malnourished kids. One of the kids had a black eye and looked to be about five. The other was a little girl, about three years old, who gave me the saddest look with her blue eyes.
“Keep going,” Duke commanded, nudging me forward into the kitchen.
We entered through a door where five or six cooks were waiting. Women with hair nets that bore friendly smiles and big soup pots. “Boys, you’re back!” one of them declared with a smoky, raspy voice. “Well, who are these girls? You don’t bring them around.”
I arched an eyebrow at Duke as another woman grabbed the two cake pans from my arms. Duke just smiled. “These two are new. Rena, Junior, meet Gladys, Gilda, Sharon, Olive, and Laura.”
The five women all gave us bright smiles. “My, aren’t y’all so cute,” Olive said. Her eyes roamed over me. “Such a beautiful girl. Obviously Duke’s. You’re his type.”
I was? I giggled, face turning a bit red. “Ahhh, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, honey, I know so.” She waved off my comment. “I’ve been knowing Duke since before his balls dropped.”
Duke’s face turned red. “Miss Olive!”
“What? She’s not surprised. She knows those kind of words, boy. I’m too old to beat around the bushes these days. When you get to be my age, you start marching straight through’em, no questions asked.” Behind her, Gilda started cutting the cake up into little squares and depositing them onto plates.
Rena and I glanced at each other and laughed. I liked Miss Olive already.
Duke just shook his head. “You old perv, Olive.”
She patted him on the butt and winked. “I know, but nobody says anything after you turn sixty.” The women in the room laughed. “Alright, ladies, go out there and make nice with the kids and women. It’ll do’em some good to have some conversation. We can’t have the boys talkin’ to’em, on account most of them women are runnin’ from some crazy abusive men.”
Miss Gilda nodded. “Oh yeah. Try to stay away from conversations about how they got here and all that. Just go spread some of that prettiness, girls.” She pinched my cheek first, and then Rena’s. “The things I would’ve done with that face.”
“The face?” Miss Gladys said, shaking her head. “If I had half the body those girls have, the damage I would’ve done. Hell, I would’ve ran straight through all the boys in my school….” She trailed off, lost in thought.
The boys were red in the face as they pushed us out the door, probably in a hurry to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Rena looked at me once the door closed. “I think I like them.”
I nodded. “Oh definitely.”
We split up after that, her moving to one half the room while I moved to the other. Before I could fully get to the play area of the children, a little girl stopped me, tugging on my pants. I squatted down to talk to her. Dark brown hair, light blue eyes, and a few missing teeth. “What’s your name?” she asked, blinking those eyes at me.
“Junior.”
“That’s a boy name.” She reached out and grabbed one of my braids. “I like your hair, Junior, even if you have a boy name.”
I smiled. “Well, what’s your name?”
“Harley. And you forgot to tell me ‘thank you.’ Mommy always makes sure I tell the women in the kitchen ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous.’’” She frowned. “But sometimes I forget anyway.”
“It’s okay, I forget too, Harley.” I heard her stomach grumble, but I didn’t say anything about it. “You want me to do your hair like this?”
Her eyes widened. “You can do that?”
I nodded. “Of course! Let’s go sit down over there so I can do it.” I led her to the play area where the other kids were. They paused for a second, watching me, but quickly went back to their game of House.
Harley settled between my legs and started chatting her head off as I braided her hair nimbly and carefully so I wouldn’t hurt her. She played in her doll’s hair, a doll she named ‘Polly.’
The more Harley spoke, the more comfortable I became with my scene. Children started sliding up to me, the girls asking me to braid their hair, too. The boys noticed my sweatshirt and started talking to me about sports. Eventually the toys were put down, and the kids were engaged by me completely.
I tried not to think how these kids had absolutely nothing but what this shelter offered them, I really did. But the thoughts snuck up every time I heard an empty stomach and no complaints. I would have to come back on my own, I decided, and visit these kids again.
A bell rung, and suddenly, “DINNER” was yelled.
As the kids all got up reluctantly, they gave me hugs and made me promise to come back again. I made that promise. I had to.
I followed after them thinking, as Rena met up with me.
The kitchen was empty of the boys, so we headed outside. Rounding a corner, we paused as we heard voices.
“You brought Rena? You must like her, huh,” Duke muttered, his voice cool and collected. “This is Homegirl shit, Chris, you can’t just bring any girl here.”
Chris scoffed. “Yeah I like Rena, that’s obvious as fuck. You the one messin’ around with Junior, actin’ like you in this for a damn bet. That’s some damn good actin.’”
Duke laughed. “Like Junior? Please!”
I exchanged a look with Rena. She placed a finger on her lips, but she didn’t need to. I knew to be quiet.
Kyle’s voice interrupted then. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah.” Duke sounded a bit defensive. “The only reason I’m actin’ like that is because I want to break her fuckin’ heart for what Crank did to me. There’s no better revenge than to fuck his little sister, right?”
There was no response, except some uneasy grunts.
“Say what y’all want,” Duke continued, “but know that I have Junior wrapped around my finger. She thinks I’m doin’ this for a bet, but she doesn’t know she’s fallin’ right into my trap.” He laughed. “Anyway, let’s go get the girls. I’m ready to go home.”
We hurried and backed up, opening and closing the door. I laughed when I came around the corner, although the sight of Duke’s face made me want to strangle him.
Break my heart?
As he wrapped his arms around me, I smiled into his chest. Oh, this was war.
Chapter Song: Break Your Little Heart--All Time Low