Diva Rules by Amir Abrams Read Free Book Online Page B

sexin’.”
    He keeps laughing.
    â€œYou know I’m not one to gossip. But—” I stop, eyeing Quanda as she walks in our direction. “Ooh, here come ya boo now,” I tease, leaning into him.
    He laughs, shaking his head. “She ain’t my boo. Just somethin’ to do.”
    â€œUh-huh. Good luck with that.”
    Quanda squints, her eyes darting from me to Pauley, then locking onto my arm looped through his. She stops dead-smack in front of us. Hand on hip, head cocked. “Umm, Pauley. You not even ’bout to play me, boy.” She shoots me a look. “Umm. Do you mind gettin’ up off my man?”
    I look up at him, easing my arm free. “Ooh-ooh, no worries, hun. He’s all yours.” I start laughing. “Apparently somebody didn’t get the memo. Pauley, I’ll catch you later, boo.”
    He gives me a nod. “No doubt. Yo, what’s good, Quanda? Why you steppin’ up on me like that, like you tryna check a nucca? You know what it is, yo.”
    â€œI don’t ’preciate you disrespectin’ me, huggin’ up on no trick.”
    I blink. Stop in my tracks. Turn to look at her. “Excuse you ?”
    â€œYou heard me,” she snaps. “Get ya own damn man ’n’ stay the hell away from mine! You hoes stay tryna steal somebody else’s boyfriend.”
    â€œYo, hol’ up, hol’ up,” Pauley says, putting his hands up. “Chill, Quanda. Now you doin’ too much.”
    â€œChill, hell, boy! You not gonna be playin’ me.”
    I start laughing. “Ooh, sounds like somebody forgot to take her cuckoo meds this morning. Girl, bye. I’m not thinkin’ about Pauley. And I’m definitely not thinking about you .”
    Quanda starts gettin’ loud as usual, rolling her neck ’n’ talking. Always on ten, always ready to bring the rah-rah, this chick loves attention. Loves to make a scene. She makes a buncha promises to beat my face in if I ever disrespect her again. Demands I keep my hands off of Pauley.
    Now her lil performance becomes amusing to me. I crack up laughing. “Girl, boom ! You a real live circus, boo. Go have several seats at the back of the bus, sweetie, ’cause you ain’t ready for the front row. Trust. If I wanted Pauley, I would have him. Been there, done that. All you’re doing, sweetie, is chasing behind what I’ve already had.”
    â€œAll right, girls,” Mrs. Sheldon—one of the AP English teachers—says, coming out of her classroom. “You girls break this nonsense up ’n’ get to class before both of you find yourselves in detention.”
    Quanda sucks her teeth. “Oh, this ain’t over.”
    â€œGirl, bye! Kiss my phatty, silly trick.”
    I step off just as the bell rings.

9
    B y seventh period I push into Mr. Nandi’s African-American Studies class, exhausted ’n’ so ready to get this class ’n’ the rest of this day over with. And it doesn’t help that my G-string keeps irritating the heck outta me. Oh, this is so, so not cute. I slide onto my chair in the back of the class, pulling out my notebook ’n’ pen from my bag.
    I glance up at the wall clock. The bell rang four minutes ago ’n’ there’s still no sign of Mr. Nandi. He’s always late. Mostly because the old freak be all up in the staff lounge tryna sniff up in the French teacher Mrs. Duvet’s drawz. She’s married. He’s married. And they both being messy. The whole school knows that she doesn’t have a class seventh period, so he sneaks a few minutes right after his sixth period class to make goo-goo eyes at her. If you ask me—which you didn’t—I think Mrs. Duvet gave his ole nasty butt some.
    Ugh. How sickening.
    â€œYo, you ready for the test?” Travis Richardson says as he slides into the seat next to me. He’s one of my ex-boos. Dark