Free Caught Up by Amir Abrams Page B

keeps laughing. “Yeah, a’ight. Whatever you say, ma. But don’t get it twisted, yo. I wanna def chill wit’ you again. But I ain’t tryna have you do nothin’ you don’t already do. Good girls don’t sneak outta dey parents’ crib. Bad girls do.”

10
    â€œH ey, y’all want to go check out that new movie with Jennifer Hudson?” Jordan asks, tossing her Teen People magazine over on her bed.
    No, I’d rather go riding around , I think. My mind drifts back to the other night with Hazel Eyes. I snuck out of my house to hang out with him. And guess what? I don’t even feel bad about doing it. A part of me knows I should feel horrible for doing what I did, climbing out of my bedroom window like that. But I don’t. In fact, it was daring and exciting.
    Yes, I was really nervous about getting caught, but the risk was worth it. Not that Blaze asked me to do it. Or expected me to. But his good girl comment made me want to not only prove to him that I could be a bad girl, too, but to see what it was like to break a rule. To sneak out.
    And I got caught up in the thrill of it all.
    It was fun. It was out of character. It was spontaneous. It was sooo not me. I climbed out of my bedroom window, grabbed onto the ledge, then shimmied my way down. Then I walked-ran outside the gates of my development and met Blaze at the WaWa’s three blocks down from my street. We didn’t really do much except ride around, then park in some secluded area and kiss and make out. I almost smoked some marijuana with him, too. Well, I wanted to. But he wouldn’t let me.
    He laughed and coughed as he smoked. “Yo, why you call it marijuana? That sounds mad white, yo.”
    â€œWell, that’s what it is,” I said, playfully swatting his arm. “Well, actually it’s called cannabis because it comes from the cannabis plant.”
    He smirked, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth. “Yeah, a’ight. Call it what you want, good girl. And I’ma call it what it is: Weed. Bud. Chronic. Loud. I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout no cannabis. All I know is, dis some good ish, yo.”
    â€œCan I try some?” I asked, surprising myself.
    He looked at me, gave me a funny stare. “Nah. You ain’t ready for dis, yo. I ain’t tryna corrupt you.”
    I smirk. “Whatever.”
    He took a few more deep pulls, then put it out. But he didn’t dare indulge my curiosity. And I’m kind of glad he didn’t. Still, I don’t like when he says I’m a good girl. For some reason, it sounds like being good is really a bad thing.
    Anyway, next thing I knew, Blaze’s hands were all over me. And mine were all over him. And before I knew it, we were in the backseat of his car getting all hot and bothered. But when he went for my panties, surprisingly, he didn’t make a big deal out of it when I stopped him from pulling them down, or sticking his hand in them. We just grinded and kissed, then he finally said, “I better get you home, good girl. Before ya parents find out you missing.”
    â€œI’m not missing. I’m out with you.”
    â€œYeah, true-true. You know what I mean.” We both fixed ourselves, then got back in the front seats. He started his engine then drove me right back where he dropped me off at.
    â€œYou think I’m corny, don’t you?”
    He turned to look at me, then knitted his brows together. “Nah, not at all.”
    I shifted my body toward him. “Yeah, right,” I said sarcastically, sucking my teeth. “Then why you keep calling me a good girl?”
    â€œBecause that’s what you are. It’s a compliment. Don’t ever change.”
    I frowned. “Then why doesn’t it feel like one when you say it?”
    He shrugged. “You tell me, ma. I mean it no other way; real spit.”
    I eyed him unconvinced. “So you really don’t think