Free Crazy Love by Amir Abrams Page B

real quick and she caught feelings.”
    â€œOh, okay. So basically you were being too grown.”
    I huff. “Whatever. I don’t even wanna talk about it. That Witch is ridiculous.”
    She laughs. “You crack me up calling her that.”
    I shrug. “Well, that’s what she is. Besides, it beats calling her a bit—”
    â€œDon’t you young ladies have someplace you’re supposed to be?” Mr. Donaldson, one of the creative writing teachers, asks.
    â€œYeah,” we both say. Zahara rolls her eyes up in her head, then mumbles under her breath. “He makes me sick with his ole crooked-tooth self.”
    I snicker.
    â€œI heard that, young lady,” he says, following behind us.
    Zahara glances over her shoulder. “Well, at least I was nice enough to not say it to your face.”
    â€œWell, guess what? I’m nice enough to tell you to yours that you now have two days’ detention.”
    Zahara stops in her tracks. “For what?”
    â€œFor being disrespectful,” he says, looking at her like she shoulda already known the reason why. “You’re a senior now, and we expect much more from our upperclassmen.”
    â€œAwww, c’mon, Mister D. You know I was only playing. Besides, I didn’t even say it to you, so how can that be disrespectful?”
    â€œWell, you said it about me and I heard it.”
    Zahara flips her hand up at him. “Mister D . . . boom! I’m not serving no detention for that mess. What I said is true. You do have an ole raggedy mouth. But I didn’t say it to your face.”
    â€œWell, young lady. Now you just did—two days’ detention.”
    â€œI’m entitled to my opinion. And I have freedom of speech.”
    â€œAnd now you have detention along with that opinion and your freedom of speech. Would you like to make it three?”
    â€œWhatever.”
    He tells her to go to the principal’s office, and she really goes off. I stay out of it, though. Shoot. I have my own problems to deal with. I keep walking. “Zee, I’ll see you later, girl.”
    When I finally get to gym—which, by the way, should be banned or optional, if you ask me. I mean, really? Anywaaayz. . . everyone is already changed into their gym gear, on mats, stretching. I walk over and hand Mr. Bailey my hall pass. He glances at the time on the pass, then looks up at the clock. “Must have been a lot of traffic in the halls,” he says, all smart-alecky and whatnot. “Hurry up and get dressed.”
    I walk off, rolling my eyes. He’s all mad ’n’ miserable ’cause his wife left him last week—well, that’s what the gossip is around here. None of the students are supposed to know this. But nosy-behind Zahara overheard the secretary whispering it into the phone to someone while she was up in the principal’s office last week. And now his lonely butt wants to take it out on me. Loser!
    At the start of seventh period I find myself walking into the guidance counselors’ office to see my counselor, Mrs. Saunders. She’s one of the coolest counselors in the whole department. And she can dress her butt off, which is probably one of the reasons why I like her. I walk down the hallway past the bulletin board covered with information on colleges, scholarships, and work opportunities. I never stop to read what’s up there because I already know where I wanna be—at Juilliard. But what is your backup plan? Mrs. Saunders always asks me each time she sees me. What if by some chance you don’t get into Juilliard? Then what?
    I always give her a crazy look, because for me, not getting in isn’t an option. At least I hope it doesn’t become one. You need to have a backup plan, Kamiyah , I hear her saying.
    Uh, no. I need to get into Juilliard!
    I lightly tap on her door. “Hi, Missus Saunders.”
    She looks up from her computer screen. “Oh,