The weekend came quickly and I was grateful to be out of school. I had promised Trisha we would go see the new Step Up movie. Only God knows why she loves dancing white boys. Either way she wouldn't respond to my text messages and I haven't seen her in school or on the block. She was going to milk this fight out as long as she possibly could. Trisha was being spoiled.

I sit up in my bed and try to call her one last time but again the ring goes to a formal greeting answering machine. I rolled my eyes and let out a sigh.

"Iight, Trisha. If you really wanna act funny that's cool. Ima talk to you later. " I leave the voicemail after the beep. Forcing myself to get out of bed, I sleepily glide to the mirror and unwrap my hair, taking all of the hairpins out one by one. I look at my roots and sigh in distress.

"Damn, I gotta do my hair." No one is present to hear my mumble, or see this horrid sight that is Chanel. I combed out my jet black hair and watched as it brushed pass my shoulders. It didn't take too long to get the knots out but combing it couldn't fix the roots. I decided to go to the Dominican hair dresser down the block and get my hair washed and blow dryed. I showered, had some cereal and got dressed in regular sweats and a t-shirt. Mom always gave me so much crap about dressing nice and acting more like the pretty girl I am but I wasn't one of those girls who focused solely on appearance. Not even my poetry was pretty and presentable.

"Where you off to ma'am?" I heard a voice from the room across from mine. Mom had her head wrap on along with her long purple robe. She was sitting on the side of her bed with her glasses on.

"I gotta do my hair, it looks crazy." I say, slipping on my cap.

Mom looks at me with small eyes.

"What?" I asked confused.

"Where have you been disappearing to for hours at a time in the weekday?" She asks. I realize that this is the first time I've really seen my mom in the last few days. I have been in the studio the entire time. She probably missed me.

I struggle, deciding if I should tell her. " I've been hanging out with Trevon." I say honestly.

"Where? Because if you come in here with a baby one day, it's not gonna be pretty Chanel. You know better than to be runnin around doing stupidness." The familiar motherly tone that kept me out of so much trouble was never music to my ear, though well appreciated. A lot of kids on the block didn't even have that.

"No, no." I say rolling my eyes but there is a smile on my lips and I don't know where it came from or why it's there. I look at my Mother and chose my words carefully.

"I've been working on some poetry and music in the studio. It's nothing big but I like it and.." , I shrug looking around. "..it keeps Trev out of trouble, keeps us sane."

She looks at me first confused then pleased and then shakes her head but looking accepting.

" You like that boy?" Mother lowers her eyes at me and stares into my soul. The question doesn't take me by surprise, it wasn't the first time she had asked. Trisha has asked me a few times too. Neither of them ever got an answer. Honestly, I'm sure I like him, who wouldn't like him? He's charismatic, handsome, smart, driven. His body isn't half bad either. But even though he flirts, I don't think he feels the same way. Trevon is a flirt, he does it on cue without even thinking about what to say. I've seen girls swoon over him like honey to bees and I've seen him flirt with all of them.

I've heard so many rumors about Trev sleeping with other girls that I am completely turned off to the idea of dating him these days, but do I like him?

Yes.

It's just that it doesn't matter.

"Ma, can I just go wash my hair? Like forreal." I had become a pro at avoiding her questions about him.

"You not gon tell me? I thought you told me everything." She got up and followed me downstairs.

" Why would it be so bad to like Trevon? He's one of the kids here actually goin somewhere. I wouldn't be mad at you." She walks into her room and sits on her bed.

"Hell, I like Trevon and i'm 30." She says sticking her tongue out and laughing.

"You aint no 30." I mock. Mom was young though, she had me when she was 18 years old. Completely convinced that she was in love with my Father, she moved out of Grandma's house and tried to start an actual family, right after her high school graduation.

My Father was 25 at the time and he had several warrants out for his arrest. After he got her pregnant, he only got to spend a year with me before they took him to jail. I don't remember that year but there's a few pictures I look at from time to time. I can't remember the last time I visited him, but I remember Mom saying that I look a lot like him. I knew she stilled loved him, all the way up til today. But she's never got over the fact that he lied to her about his entire life. The whole deal with the drugs he was mixed up in, the grand theft auto, he had even robbed a few stores. She tried to figure out how he was making all the money, but drugs is usually the first thing you think about when a guy from the hood is pulling money out his ass.

Either way, I don't hate him. I don't feel like he was a bad person, nothing my mother has ever said has lead me to believe that. It just sounds like he was trying to provide for us. maybe even trying to start a new slate before his old ways caught up to him. She used to tell me stories of how in love they were. How he took her to prom, even though he had graduated high school a long time ago. He did a year of college and then dropped out because he thought it was a joke and a money scam. He thought for himself and did what he wanted and in a way I guess that part has rubbed off on me.

"I see a lot of him in you." Ma used to say.

It used to confuse and anger me. How do you see a lot of someone in jail for robbing people, in me?

It wasn't until I took a step back and stopped defining him by his confinement. As I grew up I began thinking logically about how I would help my family if we were in complete poverty and couldn't possibly provide for ourselves. I began to understand him.

Even then I never visited. He's in jail all the way in DC, which is at least 5 hours away from New York. They moved him there after he beat up some guy, close to the point of death. When I heard that story, I really decided not to visit him. I thought there was no way we could possibly have anything in common.

Trisha joked and said maybe the guy was trying to ass rape him. Even if that's true, a few punches should solve that, but he kept going.

Even so, Washington DC is too far. I used to send him letters when I was around 4 and could barely write. He responded often for a few months and then completely stopped. Ma told me he couldn't handle being away from me anymore, and that writing me was only hurting him. I remember hearing them on the phone arguing. I remember Ma crying as soon as she got off the phone, then pulling me into her arms and rocking me back and forth until she could pull her own self together.

I'm not sure if everything she told me was a lie. Maybe she didn't want to soil my image of him in my little toddler head. But I've asked for the truth many times since I've grown and it's always been positive things. It doesn't add up, because by the time I was 12, I was trained to hang up the phone if an operator was the first thing I heard.

"An inmate from DC Central Detention Facility-" Click. Gone.

I never stayed on long enough to even hear the entire message. I used to watch Mom run to the phone and wait for the entire message to play out. I would listen closely from my room door.

"Would you like to take this call?" The robotic voice on the other end echoed.

She would pull the phone away from her face and listen to the silence as if she was thinking about everything he wanted to say and everything she couldn't seem to bare hearing. She always ended up hanging up the phone. And every time I saw her hang up, she stayed by the phone for another few minutes staring into space, trying hard not to cry.

Eventually my Father stopped calling completely but she still only has positive things to say. I spent my entire life in fear of going through such pain.

I asked for some money for the hair salon, as I had little to none left from what Grandma gave me the other week. Being an only child was alright and probably all we could afford. I did have some brotherly figures like Jay and Trevon. Though I hated to think about Trevon as a big brother, that's exactly what he would act like at times. He's beaten up countless boys on the block just to defend Trish and I. Mostly me though.

I decide to get my eyebrows and nails done after straightening my long black hair. I walk around like I own Brownsville after I am all dolled up. I know i'm attractive but baggy clothes are so comfortable. I'm usually in a fitted top and baggy sweats; a look that I have actually came to perfect. When I did wear something that flattered my body, not only did I get unwanted attention but I almost felt girls wanting to beat me up. Some of the girls in the hood had such low self esteem, the minute you start flexing, they take it as a threat.

I call Flex on my walk home.

"Yeoo." He answers energetically.

"What you up to?" I ask giggling a little at his on going good mood.

"I'm actually sitting here, mixing down the vocals for you and Trev. Y'all took my whole vacation away but I'm having fun. I missed this."

I could hear my song in the background.

"So in a way, you're still on vacation." I shrugged.

"That's true. I don't get to engineer as much as I used to. It's usually just production and selling my beats. I haven't chopped up vocals or mixed harmonies in dumb long. Almost forgot how, but you lucky i'm mad talented and smart, type handsome too. I'm the shit. Why you ain't tell me?"

I roll my eyes and hoped he could see it through the phone.

He was already laughing. "Yo, you funny. I can hear the attitude from the Bronx." He says.

I chuckle. "I'm glad you can cause you corny."

"What happened though? You good?" He sounds like he has put me on speaker and paused the music. I momentarily forgot why I called him. I don't think I had an intention at all. I didn't have plans to come over, and I probably shouldn't go over again without Trev.

" I was just checking on you really. You iight over in that studio by yourself?" I ask like a Mother.

"Girl, I'm guuud. Ha. You feel me?" I could hear his antics and see his body language like I've known him for years. "

A nigga be workin." He says in the most ratchet voice possible. I can't see it, but I feel the grin on my face because my cheeks start to hurt. I hunt for my keys in my handbag and opened the door to my house to see Trev sitting on my couch just hanging out with my mom. This was nothing out of the normal, he used to come over all the time and bother me. Mom would just laugh at it all.

I say bye to Flex and he immediately knew Trevon was in my presence.

"You better marry that boy." I hear him yell as I hang up the phone. I was growing to like Flex a lot. He was a good spirit to be around, and so talented. The three of us had a mini team and we worked well together. I focus my attention on Trevon, sitting on the couch in front of the TV.

"Why you in my house Brozay?" I look at him with my eyebrows raised.

"Me and ya mom was having a nice little talk." He answers, smiling slightly with his right dimple poking into his cheek. My eyebrows furrow.

"About?" I demand the answer. Mom swings her head around to look at me from the kitchen.

"Don't come in here questioning and interrogating my guests." Mom says with a mouth full of ice cream. I drop my bag and sit on the couch across from Trev and soon mom joins before Trev can bother me.

"You look nice." Trevon says almost in disbelief.

"Thanks?"I quirk confused.

"Why you always gotta have an attitude with me. What I be doin to you?" He asks truly frustrated.

Mom giggles, loving that he annoys me endlessly but appreciating how much of a good mood he gets me in.

"You ain't do nothing. What you up to?" I wanted to hang out with him, I always did.

"I'm bout to go chill with Francis. His brother is doing good in the hospital so he finally cheerin up. You wanna come?" Trev stands up and stretches his hand out for me.

I look at it with my stink face. " I don't know where that's been."

"You wanna know where it's been?" He asks, looking down at me with a devious look on his face. I was disgusted. He probably been fingering these birds on the block.

"Eww. No."

He laughs hysterically. "See? You dirty. Because I wasn't even thinking like that. Your Mom is right there, ya nasty ass."

"Shut up, let's go see Francis." I say getting up. We head to the door before I stop and turn back. "Hold up, I forgot my poem book."

I went up to my room to grab it and stuffed it into my army green bookbag that I usually take everywhere. The sweet aroma of Ma's BBQ chicken was all over the house.

"Iight, lets go so I can come back and eat this food." I say rubbing my hands together and smiling at mom.

She shakes her head. "I said you could eat my food? That's all you do. Write poems and eat all my food."

Me and Trev exited laughing t her frustration in unison.

We walk down Rockaway Ave back on to Livionia, close by our school.

"But forreal though." Trevon stares at me, licking his already moist lips. "You look guu."

I fold my arms and roll my eyes, smiling. "Thank you."

I notice he just got a shape up and his waves were swimming but he was gassed enough. I didn't feel like being teased about it. He smelled so good too. I don't even think he wore any cologne. Just his natural smell was intoxicating to me. I wanted to be close to him all the time.

"You be frontin though." He says in his low and serious voice. There was still a little smile on his face.

"What you mean?" I question.

"I mean, you act like there isn't chemistry between us. I been letting it slide." He sticks his hands into his pockets and shrug. I tried hard not to blush. Really hard.

I put my hair behind my ears and lie.

"I don't know what you're talking about. We been cool for mad long. You my ol' buddy ol' pal." I say in my best impersonation of a white southern man.

He doesn't laugh this time, which removes the smile from my face slowly.He stops walking and I get so nervous my palms begin to sweat and all I can do is stare at him. Stare at whatever is lurking in his eyes that wrap themselves around me in just one look.

He walks in front of me, his body only inches away from mine. I can feel the heat radiating off of him and I can smell the linen bounty smell of his shirt. I breathe deeply in a failed attempt to calm myself.

"You gon stand here and tell me" his smooth voice begins to make me melt, but he did this to every girl on the block. I kept my wall up.

"that you have no feelings for me whatsoever?" He looks directly into my eyes, warm and willing. I stare back at him and blink too often.

"Nope, nothing. Actually, you need to back up a little." I move my neck to my words and take a step back myself. Trev moves closer to me until my back is up against the wall of the post office.

"You've never thought about me in that way? You swear to God?" Trev is so close, that it feels dangerous.

"I don't swear to God. Didn't your mama tell you that was a sin?" My voice is barely audible as I become flustered. I feel my whole body getting a little hotter than usual. The heat climbs to make face and settles on my cheeks.

"Didn't ya mom's tell you lying was a sin?" He retorts. His finger moves up to my chin and he pulls my face closer to his.

"If you feel nothing for me, stop me when you want." He speaks with lips so close to mine, I can feel the breath of each word.

Very briefly, the soft skin brushes against my own. His scent rising into my nose and then all through my body. I move in closer adding more depth to a kiss my body involuntarily went for.

He kisses me back harder, his big and strong hands moving down my small waist. Then he grabs my hips with enough force to weaken me. He kisses me again, slow but urgent, taking my bottom lip into his mouth. Each move is as if he already planned it. Like he's been planning it for 17 years now. He probably was.

I breathe him in, weakening into his arms and I can feel his smile on my lips. He pulls away too quickly and I press forward for more. He gives me a brief kiss, just a peck then all in one motion lets his hands fall and takes a few steps back, placing his hands back into his pockets.

It is amazing and evil all at once and I hate and love it.

I hate that I waited so long for this feeling.

And I hate the power that I know it already has over me.

I love how it makes me feel.

And I love that it is him making me feel this way.

"That don't look like 'no feelings' to me." He mumbles as he walkes across the street to Francis's house.