Bad Apple - the Baddest Chick

Bad Apple - the Baddest Chick by Nisa Santiago Read Free Book Online Page A

Book: Bad Apple - the Baddest Chick by Nisa Santiago Read Free Book Online
Authors: Nisa Santiago
Tags: Fiction, General, New York (N.Y.), African American, Sisters, Urban Life, Urban Fiction, Street Life
stadium for miles, with a candid thirst in their eyes. Apple couldn’t blame them, though, because she looked around and noticed the fine men in attendance, different races, and different sizes. She smiled and gawked at a few. She was in cutie heaven with the ballers and shot-callers all around her.
    “Damn! Niggas is fuckin’ fine out here,” Apple commented with a smile.
    “I know, right.”
    “But they ain’t finer than my boo, Ludacris,” Mesha stated.
    “You mean my boo,” Ayesha corrected her.
    “Uh-uh, my baby comin’ home to me tonight,” Mesha joked.
    “Well, as long as no one ain’t touchin’ my husband Drake, we good,” Apple chimed in.
    “Whateva, Apple,” Mesha teased.
    The trio soon made it past security into the vast arena and looked around for their seats. In the distance Apple could see her friend, Cartier from Brooklyn, heading down toward the Orchestra seats. It looked like she was with Bam and Lil’ Momma.
    “Cartier!” Apple screamed and caught hateful looks from the concert goers. “Cartier!” she yelled once again, ignoring the hard stares.
    “Who you callin’?” Mesha asked the obvious.
    “What it sound like? I just saw Cartier and her crew inching toward the floor seats. I was hoping to get a hook up.”
    “You can’t just leave us,” Mesha stated. “We came together we leave together.”
    Apple ignored her. She hated being seated so high, where it was hard to see anything, but happy to be out of Harlem for once, she made the best of it. Once the girls made it to their seats, Apple looked around wide-eyed at the thousands of fans who came to support their favorite artists.
    The concert opened up with Drake singing “I’m Goin’ In” with Cash Money’s Birdman. The crowd went crazy. Apple jumped up and down, roaring with excitement with the screaming crowd. As she sang along, she kept her eyes on every single detail, like she would be quizzed on it later. It was an intense experience, with the lights, the blaring music, the colossal projector screens all over, and the screaming fans.
    Drake closed the set with his big hit, “Over.” Nicki Minaj performed the summer dancehall anthem, “Hold You” with Gyptian. She then sang “My Chick Bad” with Ludacris. Ayesha and Mesha went crazy, screaming out, “We love you, Ludacris!” The noise in the stadium was almost deafening, louder than any Jets or Giants game.
    As the night continued, the crowd’s screams never died down. Gucci Mane and Waka Flocka Flame represented for their state by performing “Wasted,” “Lemonade,” and “O, Let’s Do It.”
    Apple was enjoying herself, dancing and singing. Soon, she didn’t care where she was seated, as long as she was at Summer Jam having a good time with her friends.
    The show ended with Usher on stage, and his performance was stellar. He closed out the show with a smash, performing “U Remind Me” and “Yeah!” with Ludacris.
    Though it was getting late and they had a long ride home, Apple didn’t want to leave. She wanted to linger around to look for Cross, so the girls decided to chill in the parking lot. They followed behind the thick crowd toward the exit. It was madness. Security guided the fans out like a herd. There was shouting, laughing, and a few incidents that got defused quickly.
    They exited into the parking lot, where the after-party continued near a few high-end cars and trucks. The ballers and show-offs wanted to impress the ladies walking by with their tricked-out rides and bling. A few ladies mingled with the men, while Apple and her crew continued on their hunt. The girls strutted through the crowd, eyes on them from every direction and the men trying to get at them.
    “Yo, ma, let me holla at you.”
    “Yo, shawty in that skirt, I’m feelin’ them thighs. What’s good?”
    “Damn! Y’all lookin’ fuckin’ right!”
    “Yo, love, let me holla at you and your girls, fo’ real.”
    The catcalls came from every direction, but Apple

Similar Books

Firebrand

R.M. Prioleau

Bullet Work

Steve O'Brien

The Compendium of Srem

F. Paul Wilson

Pictures at an Exhibition

Sara Houghteling

The Wild One

Melinda Metz

Return to Me

Morgan O'Neill