Free The Pact by Monica McKayhan Page A

“Check it out.”
    “Yeah, it is pretty hot.”
    It was a Plies video, featuring Akon—a video where sexy girls shook their hips in slow motion. It was one of the top videos on 106 & Park that week, and one that was in my top ten.
    I watched as Michelle bounced around in the middle of the floor. I was surprised that she had rhythm, and I began to wonder how she would look if she got rid of those pop-bottle glasses and actually invested in a pair of contacts. And what if she didn’t wear braces and had straight, white teeth, and micro braids like the other girls I knew, instead of the silly ponytail that she wore on the back of her head? She seemed to be somewhat pretty on the inside. I just wondered what she would be like if she was pretty on the outside, too.
     
    It was a hot summer day, and I couldn’t wait to cool off in the pool. There was no hope of getting rid of Michelle as we both stepped out into the Texas heat. I had already spotted Rena from a distance, and watched as she paced the edge of the pool—back and forth—her whistle in her mouth, just waiting to be blown at someone violating the rules. I watched her, thinking of our kiss at the beach, and wondered if she’d thought of me when she got home. And wondering where her attitude had come from so suddenly that night. Had I done something wrong?
    The tapping of a basketball shook me from my trance.
    “What’s up, Michelle? You’re still as ugly as ever,” said a short guy who favored Martin Lawrence, with his short cut, big teeth and big ears. He grinned at Michelle as he insulted her. He was wearing gray shorts that hung past his knees, and the number 23 on his Miami Heat jersey was beginning to peel. He dribbled the ball between his legs and pretended to shoot it into an imaginary basket.
    “You are so stupid, Andre. You should grow up.” Michelle rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth.
    “You playing ball somewhere, man?” I asked. I didn’t remember seeing a basketball court anywhere.
    “Court right up the street, dog,” Andre said. “You play?”
    “Yeah, I play.”
    “Everybody plays up there. We can probably get the next game if we leave now.”
    I thought about it for a moment. I was just about to go for a swim and flirt with the sexy lifeguard at the pool. I wasn’t even dressed for a game of basketball—I wore swimming trunks, and flip-flops on my feet.
    “I was about to go for a swim,” I said, and glanced back over at the pool. I wanted to go for a swim, but part of me wanted to shoot some hoops, too.
    “Suit yourself, dog.” Andre continued to bounce the ball, headed toward the subdivision entrance.
    “Wait, man,” I told him, “let me get my sneakers.”
    He nodded and agreed to wait for me. I took the stairs two at a time, changed shoes and ran back outside with a wifebeater on, and Jordans on my feet. I caught up with Andre. Michelle was close behind, as usual. She was quickly becoming my shadow.
    “What position you play?” I asked Andre.
    “Point guard,” he boasted, “and let me tell you, I’m bad on the court…weaving in and out, in between the tall dudes. They can’t touch me, dog.”
    “You that good, huh?” I asked.
    “I can’t even tell you in words. I gotta show you.”
    “Please,” Michelle said, swinging her neck from side to side. “Boy, you can’t play no ball.”
    “Shut up, girl, with those magnifying glasses on your face.”
    “You shut up, with your learning-disabled self,” Michelle came back. “When you gon’ stop riding the short bus and ride a regular bus like the rest of us?”
    “Be quiet, girl,” Andre said. “Hey, Marcus, like I was saying before I was rudely interrupted…my game is tight. Believe that.”
    Andre was talking a bunch of trash, and I wondered if he really did have game. The three of us jaywalked across a busy street, a tow truck coming very close to running us over. We cut through the parking lot of a Shell gas station, and then ended up on the backside