Diva Rules by Amir Abrams Read Free Book Online Page A

project together. Uh, hel- lo ? I didn’t know I needed to hold her by the hand to get it done.
    â€œAlicia, boo. Riddle me this, hun— ’n’ I’m only gonna ask you this one time: Did I eff with you when you had that double chin ’n’ were rockin’ thick glasses ’n’ wobblin’ your way down the halls the last three years?”
    She frowns.
    â€œExactly,” I say, not giving her a chance to respond. “I didn’t do you then. So I’m not doing you now , sweetie, just ’cause you can finally squeeze ya’self into a pair of stretch leggings ’n’ not look like a beached whale wrapped in Saran wrap. So if you think staying after school to work on some paper with you is gonna happen, you’re sadly mistaken, hun. You do your portion. And . . .”
    She bucks her eyes.
    â€œYo, what’s good, Fiona?” P-Money—I mean, Pauley—says, walking by. Hunnni . . . listen. He’s a real cutie-boo for a white boy. And he loves him some chocolate pie. Mmph. And he’s hanging, too. Oh, how I know? Mmph. How you think? I sampled the vanilla stick. Let him swirl it all up in my chocolate love-cup last summer when I ran into him down on the Ave. one night. I sure did. Things got real hot ’n’ heavy for like fifteen minutes, then it was over. Boy, bye. My engine was just gettin’ revved up ’n’ here this boy was already at the finish line. Sweating like he’d run a two-hundred-mile race. Mmph. Noooo, thank you!
    â€œHeey, Pauley,” I coo, checking him out. He’s rocking the new KDs with a pair of baggy jeans. His red polo shirt is half tucked-in. And his long hair is done up in cornrows. Two weeks ago he wore his dirty-blond hair out in a huge ’fro.
    Mmph. Can you say confused?
    This boy can’t decide if he wants to be the next Huey P. Newton or Snoop Dogg one minute or Malcolm X the next. Chile, boom! I can’t with him.
    â€œWhat’s good, Alicia?” he says, keeping his shimmering blue eyes on me.
    â€œYou, boo,” she says, grinning ear to ear. But she’s too caught up in tryna be fabulous to see he isn’t even checkin’ for her like that. “You still have my number?”
    He peels his gaze away from me, glancing at her. “Yeah, I got it. Why? You tryna chill?”
    She smacks her lips. “Maybe.”
    I laugh.
    Alicia shoots me a dirty look. “I know you not even tryna hate.”
    â€œ Hate? No, hun. Never that.”
    â€œThen what the hell’s so funny?”
    I raise a brow. “First of all, check ya tone, boo. Second of all”—I ease up on Pauley ’n’ loop an arm through his—“he ain’t checkin’ for you. Now, good day.”
    Pauley grins, then looks over at her. “Yo, me ’n’ my baby out. I’ll holla.”
    â€œNot today you won’t,” I say, tossing a look over at Alicia. She peers at me through narrow slits. I toss my hair. “Don’t hate, boo.”
    â€œEff you, tramp,” she hisses, storming off in the other direction.
    Pauley laughs. “Yo, why you do ole girl like that? You ice cold, babe.”
    I shrug. “I don’t wanna talk about her.”
    He grins again, glancing at me. “Oh, word? What you wanna talk about? Me ’n’ you?”
    I frown. “C’mon again. Not,” I say as we turn the corner toward my geometry class. “I hear you done bagged you up some ratchet-snatch.”
    He laughs. “Yo, you crazy, Fee. Word is bond. Where you hear that?”
    â€œDon’t worry, boo-boo. News travels. Besides, ya name’s scribbled all over the girls’ bathroom wall ’bout how you been motorboatin’ Quanda’s jugs.”
    He cracks up. “You wildin’, yo. Hahahahaha. But, nah, nah. It ain’t even like that. We just chillin’.”
    â€œUh-huh. Code word for we