“Well, hurry up. That ho-ass guard told me to be gone before Dearborn Police show up. He called out a squad car when they realized I had a teen’s purse, but that wasn’t enough of a reason to hold me. I don’t know what slick shit they’ve got planned, but we need to be out of this city, ya dig?”
“Oh, wow.” She gasped. “I’m almost there, Ma. I’m coming around the bend near the restaurants now.”
“A’ight, cool,” I replied, trying to sound like I was in control, though I was panting and looking around nervously like every vehicle speeding into the mall’s entrance was a squad car.
I was usually never off my square, but racism was alive no matter who said different. As diverse as Dearborn was, they hated black people. I was not trying to have my body ripped with bullets and the fatality report reading like I unloaded first.
“Get out of the way! What’cha gonna do? Not shit, so keep driving.” Porsha was honking the horn and yelling at pedestrians. I heard the horn blowing not only over the phone, but close by. Porsha was coasting around the bend on two wheels.
“If you tear my muthafuckin’ truck up, I swear I’ma kill yo’ ass,” I yelled, rushing toward the road to meet her. The quicker we could get on the freeway, the better.
Slamming on the brakes, she threw the truck in park and hopped over the console to the passenger seat so I could drive. Seeing Porsha in action was like looking at the younger me when I used to ride out on missions with her father. He and I used to set the city on fire doing dirty before he knocked me up.
“Ma! Come on,” she cried out, visibly shaken like she was ready to break from the pressure she was under.
“We’re straight. I got you, baby girl,” I said in a calming tone so she’d chill out. I gave her her shoes, which she’d left at the shop and I’d managed to grab. “You did good. Hella good.” I sincerely thanked her, knowing I owed her big time. I would have been cuffed in the back seat of a squad car facing five years for having the pistol.
“Ma, this shit is crazy. I can’t believe this is happening.” Porsha was frantic, looking back and forth between the mirrors and me as I drove as cautiously and quickly as I could.
“Keep ya eyes out of the rearview mirror. We ain’t looking back. We’re pushing forward,” I barked at her. “This ain’t ya first time riding shotgun or at least in the whip behind some crazy shit me and ya father got into. You know I’ma get you home in one piece. Don’t doubt me. Matter of fact, dial ya daddy up and hand me the phone. Then get ya’self together.”
Swooping down onto the freeway, I slowed down to the speed limit until I crossed into the city of Detroit. The last thing I needed to happen was for us to get flicked.
“Here, Ma. Daddy wants to talk to you.” Porsha passed me the phone.
“Man down, nigga. I know yo’ ass got my baby and is riding dirty on your way to save me, but I am straight now. Porsha actually saved me. I will tell you about it when we get home, but I’m going to make a quick stop first.”
“Um, don’t you think you should take yo’ hot ass to the crib and tuck that pistol before you somewhere else?”
“Naw, I’m straight. We will be in the city. Plus, you know I’m not going nowhere without my heat.”
“A’ight, man. Can’t nobody tell your thick-skulled ass shit. I’ll see you when y’all get home. Don’t call me no more if you get in trouble.” I knew he did not mean that last line before he hung up.
“Ma, where are we about to go?” Porsha asked.
“It is a surprise. I was going to wait until closer to your birthday, but your display of loyalty today is worth giving it to you now.”
I saw her beaming out of the side of my eye. It felt good making my daughter smile since I was always swinging on her ass.
CHAPTER 5
PORSHA
It felt good as hell hearing my mother praise me to my daddy, and even better when she thanked me. I loved it when she gave me props. It felt a lot better than beefing with her. I spent so much time getting smart, and she spent so much time keeping me in check, that the “good job” moments were rare. The more details she gave about the story, the more at ease I felt. Today wasn’t turning out to be that bad after all. My mom and I had gone from enemies to aces in less than a couple of hours.
With so much going on and for me to gossip about with Imani, I unblocked her calls and messages. She was the only friend I had to kick it with for real, but I wasn’t able to get the first text message typed before my phone was blowing up with picture mail. Imani had been texting me the whole damn time she’d been restricted. There were photos from ol’ boy I was crushing on and photos from this bottom-feeder chick who was crushing hard on him too.
My mood turned sour again. In almost every picture, the girl was either all in his face or draped all over him like a down blanket in the wintertime. I wanted to throw up in my mouth. I wasn’t his girl, so I couldn’t technically check ol’ boy, but I’d be making sure Jamika gave him fifty feet the next time I wasn’t around. All I needed was a li’l more time to lock him down for all these hoes to know who he’d really been creepin’ up behind on the low. I’d never given Street the pussy within my panties, but I knew he wanted it. And true story, I wanted him to have it.
As I was all into my phone, staring at the pictures and trying to figure out how to respond and if I should, my mother’s voice snapped me back into reality. I almost fumbled and dropped the phone to the floor.
“Ay! Yo! Earth to Porsha. Quit running ya damn mouth and let me get ya attention for a second.”
I looked up and gasped. “Ma! For real?”
We were parked in the lot of a boutique that sold not only one-of-a-kind pieces but custom-designed pieces as well. I’d been following their page on Instagram for a few months and always liked their pictures. I even entered a contest and was blowing up everyone’s timeline, trying to win a custom dress for my birthday.
“Ma, come on and answer me before I pass out. Are we here for me? What’chu know about this place? Huh?”
“Girl, shut the hell up. Yeah, we’re here for you. I know everything you think I didn’t know,” she replied, throwing her hand up playfully. “But for real, I appreciate you looking out and stepping up at the nail shop. You’ve redeemed yourself one hundred percent from earlier for sure. The shit you did shows you’re ’bout ready to be an adult.” Her voice cracked. She was trying to lighten the mushiness, not wanting to wear her emotions on her sleeve and seem soft. “Anyway, coming here now is an early birthday/thank-you gift. Order you a custom outfit, and then I’ll buy you a couple of thangs, too.”
I jumped across the middle console of the truck and was damn near in her lap, hugging her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Yeah, after all that shit you were talking earlier about not giving me a thank-you, I see ya ass taking a cop now.”
“Yup, I sure am. And with that being said, I’m about to go in before you change your mind.” I leaped out of the truck and busted through the boutique doors. I swore I loved growing up with so much fast cash.
Trinity ended up flexin’ on ’em in the boutique, spending almost a rack. She let me order two custom dresses and get a few of the stoned-out bras to wear underneath certain shirts for the upcoming summer and a couple of pairs of ripped jeans. I was too excited. I was about to be fly as hell stepping into adulthood. Any chick who had eyes on Street were gonna have their eyes on the baddest bitch on his side—me.
Trinity thought she was simply getting me together so I could be fashionable, cute, and envied by all the girls my age, but she was really helping me be a fast ass at the moment. I’d sent ol’ boy at least five pictures of me in the bras, and one with