LITMIR.BIZ

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When I applied myself I got all As anyway, so why not apply myself now? Besides, I wasn’t beat to argue with this old chick; I rolled my eyes toward my health teacher and shot her a fake smile.

      The drama of getting Saturday detention for lack of preparation simply wasn’t worth it.

      “Miss Fields.” My teacher, Ms. Raymond, sat behind her desk and called my name. “Where is your paper?”

      “I don’t need it,” was my attempt to play it off. “I can recite my report from memory.”

      Ms. Raymond’s eyes narrowed. “Now, Miss Fields, if you have memorized a report I will be quite impressed. So please, proceed.”

      “Alright.” I cleared my throat, pushed my gum to the side of my mouth, and popped my MAC-covered lips. “My report on self-esteem.” I looked to one side of the classroom and then to the other. “Do you all know what it means to have a positive self-image?” I asked the class, only to receive blank stares and dumb looks.

      Pitiful.

      But I would bet my last dollar if I asked them if they knew how to do the Pop-Lock-and-Drop-It or the Stanky Leg they would all be at military attention.

      I sighed loudly. And to think this was Science High. “Listen, in order to get anywhere in life you have to be comfortable with who you are and know where you are going.”

      I looked around the classroom and everyone was obviously bored. Even my homeboy, Courtney, was yawning. So, I had to bring it to ’em in the only way they would understand. “Excuse me.” I snapped my fingers. “Do y’all birds even know what self-esteem is?”

      Seeing no response, I continued on. “Well, self-esteem is like…when you got it like that. Like, when you know that deep down inside you’re really fly and it’s not just a front for the cats around you. Dig?”

      “Oh,” one of my classmates yelled, sounding proud of himself. “It’s when you got it goin’ on.”

      “Exactly, you feel me?”

      “Yeah, I feel you, Zsa,” Courtney agreed.

      “See, Courtney, we here.” I pointed from my eyes to his and back again. “But understand we as young women and li’l dudes don’t need to be playin’ ourselves for these li’l ghetto hoods around here. We need to have dreams, explore our talents, and be determined to go to college. Plus these hoods around here, they don’t have no money.”

      “For real,” my newly emerged amen choir in the back of the room said.

      I snapped my fingers. “They have no style.”

      “Umm…” the amen choir carried on.

      “No fly gear.”

      “Tell it now!”

      “No rides.”

      “Preach!”

      “And for real.” I was so into my report I had to stop myself from getting the Holy Ghost. “They can’t do nothin’ for you. So what’s the use of wasting time on them when it’s more important things in life to attend to? Don’t be gettin’ fooled by these donkeys lookin’ to trick you outta ya li’l Burger King dough. Don’t even do it to yourself.”

      “Miss Fields,” Ms. Raymond interrupted, “this sounds like a sermon from the church of slang. What does this have to do with your report on self-esteem?”

      “Ms. Raymond, we need to speak to each other in a language that we understand. All I just said to them was believe in yourself and don’t let anyone use you.”

      “You just said that?” she said in shock.

      “If you would listen and stop interrupting her,” Asha commented. “God-lee.”

      “She always interrupting people, too,” somebody in the back of the room added.

      “Continue,” Ms. Raymond said, “and class”—she eyed Asha—“last warning, watch your tone. Next step is out the door and Saturday detention.”

      “Okay.” I popped my lips. “See y’all need to grow up and be like me. Understand this, my boo, Ameen, is the truth.” I hit ’em off with a moment of silence, and then I went on. “He’s nineteen and his pockets are always fat.” I opened my arms wide and pointed my hands like guns, and said, “Boom. Now peep this, ’cause this is some real ish, I’m his number one friend on MySpace.”

      “That…is…so…sick….” Courtney drooled while snapping his fingers in a Z motion. “Oh, my God.”

      “You haven’t heard a thing. I’m the screen saver on his iPhone and when it rings, it’s my voice saying, ‘It’s me, li’l daddy, pick up the phone.’”

      A series of dangs rang throughout the room.

      “That’s my homegirl right there!” Courtney said in a proud excitement.

      “Now, don’t you think that means something?” I tapped the ball of my foot and placed my hands on my size 10 hips. “Of course it does, and if you don’t agree, you’re a hater. And you know what I say to haters? Hi, hater.” I waved. “Bye, hater.” I hit ’em with a salute. “See, my mother raised me to know that I’ma leader, not a follower, which is why I recited my report from memory, ’cause I know that all y’all wannabes gon’ try and copy that.

      “Needless to say, I believe that I can accomplish anything I want in life, ’cause I’m too fly not to succeed. I don’t look like Ciara for nothin’.” I did a booty drop and popped back up. “So, just look at me and see what it means to have self-esteem.”

      I looked at Courtney and we popped our lips, gave each other fist bumps, and I sat down.

      Just as everyone started telling me how good my report was, the bell rang. Forty-five more minutes and I’ma be like deuce-deuce baby.

      “Miss Fields.” Ms. Raymond called me on my way out the door. “On Monday, I expect a written and less creative report.”

      This chick knew she was trippin’. I didn’t even respond to that. Instead I headed to honors algebra and allowed my teacher, Mr. Watson, to bore the heck outta me.

      After three pages of mixing my first name with Ameen’s last name with hearts, clouds, and bubbles around it, class had finally ended and I was on my way to fulfill my destiny.

      I walked down the hall, mixed in with the first-period lunch students, walked out the side door of the school, and there was my baby sitting in my black ’97 Honda Accord. He crashed his onyx Escalade last month, so being the caring and supportive woman that I am, I let him stunt in mine.

      My man’s whole presence was fiyah: Five foot eleven, a muscular build that put 50 Cent to sleep—scratch that, it put 50 in a coma—he had a fresh Caesar with thousands of brushed-in waves, and his swagger was so serious that anybody looking at him knew he was nothing to play with.

      Lil’ Wayne’s throwback “Lollipop” was bumpin’ so loud inside the car, it looked as if the tinted windows were jumping. I slid in and Ameen looked at me with a sexy glare on his face. “You’re late.” He tapped the digital clock on the dashboard.

      “I had to go to algebra, baby. That was the only way I could cut without anyone noticing I was gone.” I reached over to kiss him and he pushed me back.

      “So what you sayin’?” he asked seriously.

      “I’m sayin’ I had to go to school.” I couldn’t believe he refused my kiss.

      “So school comes before me, that’s what you sayin’?”

      “No.” I hesitated. “Nothing comes before you.”

      “It better not, either.” He ice grilled me and pointed his finger in my face.

      “Don’t be mad.” I pecked the tip of his finger and he twisted his

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