Burger King money on to fool me.
I squinted my eyes at who I had just decided was an imposter and said, âI should punch you in the damn face for fakinâ the funk!â
âWhat?â he stepped back.
âYou ainât Haneef,â I snapped.
âThatâs Haneef,â Naja insisted.
âHow do you know?!â I spat.
âI can look at his booty and tell.â
âHmphâ¦good pointâ¦â I paused, turned around and looked at the driver standing outside of the crisp and gleaming black Hummer, holding open the back door. Then I looked at the two men, standing outside of the Lincoln town car, parked in front of the Hummer. They were so buff, they were either bodyguards, or hit menâ¦So, maybeâ¦maybeâ¦this wasâ¦nope, I was trippinâ.
This was the hood; mofos donât just appear around here, unless theyâre filming a gangsta movie. So obviously, this was some bullshit. Somebody tryna be funny. I looked at whoever this was and wondered if I should let him pull this off, or cold-cock âim in the face.
âYou aiâight, Liâl Ma?â
I wanted God to stop playing before I really started to think this was Haneef. I sized him up with my eyes: six feetâcheck. Tattoo of his name on the right side of his neckâcheck.
Jeeeeeeeeâsussssssss! This was Haneef. Okay, okayâ¦I had to calm down. I was gonna let the other birds go wild, but I had to get it together. After all, he was a nineteen-year-old boy. A boy?! There I was trippinâ again; this was a man. A grown ass man. One fine specimen of a manâ¦
âWhat you got, a boyfriend or something, Liâl Ma?â Haneef asked.
Immediately that captured my attention. âWhat? Boy, donât play with me.â Hell, at that moment, Jahaad didnât count.
âCool,â he pointed toward his Hummer. âSo, can we chill?â he asked as the crowd grew and the screams escalated.
I turned around, smiled at Naja, who was fanning her face, and mouthed to Ciera, âHater.â I turned to Haneef and said as cool and calm as melting ice, âYeah, we can chill.â
I eased into the backseat, closed my eyes, and said a quick prayer. âOkay God, if this is a dream, donât bother me with reality.â
SPIN ITâ¦
Track 7
A s we entered the highway and blended into rush hour traffic, I thought of something: Suppose this cat was a stalker? I was so busy getting my groupie on that I didnât even think about why this dude was showing up at my school, anxious to take me around in his Hummer like I was Kim Porter, Maneka, or one of them type chicks.
I turned to him. âYou know my mama gonâ be lookinâ for me.â I knew that was a lie, but heck, he didnât have to know that. The butterflies in my stomach were killing me. I was so nervous, I was certain the words âsweatinâ like hellâ were encrypted on my forehead.
Haneef laughed and flipped open his cell phone, âYou wanna call her?â
I couldnât help but blush. âBoy, Iâm grown.â
He laughed again. âAiâight, since youâre grown and everything.â He arched his eyebrows.
âSo, ahhhhâ¦â I said as we got on the New Jersey Turnpike heading toward the Holland Tunnel. âWhy are you doing all of this?â
âIâm always anxious to please a fan, especially since I didnât see you backstage last night. I wanted to come hollah at you, and tell you that you killed it out there.â
âThank you,â I swallowed, scared to look him in the eyes.
Maybe he wanted me to be his protégée. Or perhaps this was a publicity stuntâ¦or an offer for a record deal. Or both.
But then againâ¦maybe he found out I was a crackheadâs kid, felt sorry for me, and has a TV camera following us around. I turned and looked out both the back windows.
âWhat are you looking for?â he
Learning to Kill: Stories