“Yeah, I did. He posted a picture of Kylie holding all that money, talking ‘bout, ‘My daughter is balling harder than you niggas.’ Rodrick is a piece of work.”
“Guess who Liked it?”
“Me and about 50 other people.”
“Yeah, but I’m talkin’ about that girl Angela youngandfly Serrano. She’s stalking him
“And she doesn’t care. Neither does Rodrick. You see he hasn’t deleted her. Nine times out of ten he’s fuckin’ her. Have you ever thought that maybe he likes this girl? Maybe he wants to be with her, but you’re holding him back. Maybe he’s torn between this girl and the mother of his child.”
“Bad theory,” I said.
She laughed. “I’m through with you.”
I got to my third mile before Deja did, but I kept going until she finished. We were supposed to hit the weights next but she gave an excuse about how she was too tired today. Usually I would get her to stay by giving her the guilt trip—telling her the pounds could crawl back on her hips if she didn’t mix in weight lifting with the cardio. But I didn’t this time.
I wanted her to leave.
As I sat down on the leg press alone and mounted my feet against the plate, I thought about all the people that wanted to see me and Rodrick fail. The anger helped me to push out an extra three sets. When I stood up, my hamstrings burned so bad I had to pigeon-walk to the showers.
Under the streaming shower head, I examined my body to see if I had any improvements. I tightened my tummy and still saw the same flatness, no six-pack. Turning my leg so my thigh muscles flexed, I thought I saw more definition but it could’ve just been the gleam of the water playing tricks on me. Sometimes it frustrated me how people new to exercising—like Deja—could start working-out and get better results than somebody that had been doing it way longer. I really think I reached my fitness pique.
When I heard my phone buzz, I leaned halfway out the frosted glass stall and checked it. Somebody else made a comment about my status today. I tapped my screen and read it.
Ladykiller: Which one are you at?
I freaked out. I took my towel and started washing the suds off of me as fast as I could. Was this guy really going to try and meet me here? I suddenly regretted letting Deja leave so easily.
Throwing on my Ruskin Eagles hoodie and campus pants and slinging my gym bag strap over my shoulder, I high-tailed it out of the showers. I could tell I didn’t dry off good enough because my booty and my legs still felt wet.
I was almost to the door when I saw a man that resembled Ladykiller’s profile picture coming in the building. I stopped so fast I stumbled forward a little.
“Tyesha Fenty,” he called with a big smile.
He used my real name, not my Site name. I figured he knew it because most of my relatives on my page had the last name Fenty. He was wearing a black sweat suit with neon green resistance bands slung over his shoulder.
When he opened his arms for a hug, I slightly turned my shoulder toward him so he couldn’t get a full embrace.
“How you doing?” he asked, as if we were old buddies.
“I’m good,” I said with a nervous smile. “Just got through workin’ out. Funny we should meet up here.”
“It is, ain’t it? I was already on my way here when I saw yo status. I didn’t know if you was at this one or the one in Overland Park. You stay near here?”
“No, I stay far, far out. Clear across town.” Actually, I stayed right down the street. About six blocks from here. I took a step toward the door, hoping he would get the hint.
“How’s yo little girl doing? Kylie, right?”
“She’s fine. I have to go pick her up.”
“I know. Yo momma’s watching her until you find another daycare. Is she getting any better with that hoarding? I remember you posted a status about her problem of not being able to throw anything away.”
It felt super weird hearing him mention personal stuff about my family. And I know he could see the uncomfortable look on my face.
“I really have to go,” I said. I didn’t want to just walk off because that would have been rude.
“I won’t hold you up.”
I smiled and headed out the door. By the time I got my bag in my trunk and my butt in the driver’s seat and checked my phone, Ladykiller had already posted a message on my Site wall.
Ladykiller > Tyesha816: It was good seeing you!
-
Tyesha816: Hey yall! Be careful what yall put on here. These people is crazy and will stalk you. I’m talking from experience!
August 14th, 5:09 p.m.
CHAPTER 4
I couldn’t believe it. Yesterday when I was here at my mother’s house, I at least had a pathway to the kitchen. Now, standing in the threshold of the front door, I saw in order to get through the house I’d have to crawl over a bunch of cardboard boxes. She must have gone out and bought more crap.
Most of the boxes were open, with long handles and sharp ends of appliances sticking up out of some of them, which made it that much harder navigating to the kitchen. I bumped my knee on the edge of the end table —the one thing that was supposed to be in the living room—and dropped my phone in a box. When I bent down to pick it up, I saw a chain and a heart-shaped locket stuck between some taxes paperwork.
I pulled it out and held it up. At first I thought it was one of my mother’s old charms, until I opened it. I let out a laugh. It was a tiny throwback picture of me and Rodrick inside. Our prom picture. In it, my sideburns were horridly gelled down and Rodrick had a full set of gold teeth.
“Can I give this to Kylie, momma?”
Velma Fenty was in the kitchen chopping up an onion insanely fast into little pieces. She paused mid-chop to look. “And you wonder why I hold on to all this stuff,” she said. “There’s a lot of memories in some of those boxes.”
“I never said you should get rid of all of it. Just go through it and get rid of the stuff you don’t need.”
“I will.”
“You’ve been saying that for at least twenty years. I remember building club houses in the attic out of your packed boxes. I bet it’s a picture of one of my club houses in here somewhere.”
I dug in the box and found another picture. It was taken at one of my birthday parties, I don’t know which year. The little girl with the glitter all over her face in the bottom corner was me; my face was blurred from
