Ex-girl to the Next Girl by Daaimah S. Poole Read Free Book Online Page A

Tony, the family almost gave her a party. Like, Yes! No more bummy Nate , but somehow Nate wiggled his way back in the picture, and now Toya got Monet by Nate and Destiny by Tony. Destiny is one and a half and Monet is four. Everybody likes Tony because he has a job and takes better care of his daughter. He is from Jamaica. Nate plays with the kids and cooks for them, but never keeps a job. He hardly does anything financially, but he is always available to watch them.
    I’m pretty close to Toya. I don’t have any girlfriends, just an aunt and a crazy cousin. Me and females don’t get along. You probably heard it before, but most girls who say they don’t like girls are girls who like being around men because they are gay or out there. I’m neither, but even in high school I was always fighting them. My last year of high school it got ugly. Mean girls to a whole other level.
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    We pulled up to Toya’s apartment. We got out of the car and rang her bell, but she didn’t answer. She lived in the lower-level apartment, so I knocked on her window. Her cream blinds were broken and bent on the edges. I could see Monet sitting on the sofa in her Dora the Explorer underwear with her hair sticking up. Little Destiny was lying on the carpet with a bottle in her arm. When they heard the knock, they jumped up and ran and got Toya. She came to the window and peeked through the mini-blinds. “One minute,” she said, like we didn’t just call her and tell her we were on our way.
    Toya came to the door in tight red boy shorts and an oversize white t-shirt. She was incredibly thin. Toya is one of those people who could eat a whole extra-cheese pizza and never gain a pound. She was tall—five-eight—with brown skin and long, natural, thick black hair that reached her shoulders.
    â€œToya, I told you to be ready,” Aunt Connie yelled.
    â€œMom, I’m getting dressed!”
    â€œIt smells like cat in here,” Aunt Connie said, sniffing around with her nose turned up.
    â€œOh, I know. I have to clean the litter box,” she said as she went into the bathroom and dumped the litter box. She sprayed orange-blossom air freshener into the air. It covered the smell a little.
    â€œDoes it smell better?” she asked.
    â€œYes, now get dressed.”
    We sat down among the empty Bacardi Apple Twister bottles, a pizza box, and condom wrappers. Well, at least she is protecting herself , I thought. I tried to save my cousin some face and kicked the wrapper under the sofa.
    â€œNadine, I already saw it. I don’t know who this girl is. She is not my daughter,” my aunt said as she turned her head away from me in disgust. “Why couldn’t you be my daughter, Nadine? You’re more like me. You got a drive. Maybe Ariel will be a go-getter like us, ’cause that damn Toya don’t want to do shit. Look at this place.” My aunt loves bragging about me; she tells all her friends she raised me. When anyone asks about Toya, she will say, Toya’s okay, but do you know my stepson is a mortgage broker and my niece—you know, the one I raised—is a teacher.
    â€œShe’ll get herself together,” I said.
    â€œWhen? She can’t decide on a man, a career, or anything else,” she said, loud enough for Toya to hear her.
    The kids ran back into the living room. They climbed up my Aunt Connie’s legs. Monet had silver caps on her front teeth—too much sugar and drinking a bottle for too long. She had red, green, and yellow barrettes in her hair, and they clapped as she ran over to Aunt Connie. The girls gave us an impromptu booty dance. They were doing the tick and popping and locking. “I ain’t no holler-back girl,” they said as Monet did half of a flip. She was trying to follow her sister.
    â€œStop, Monet, before you break your neck,” Aunt Connie shouted.
    â€œY’all were good,” I said as I