Free The Girl of His Dreams by Amir Abrams

hatin’ azz is behind this zoo creature being all up in my grill.
    I hear Mariah’s voice in my head saying, “I’m telling you, girl. You’re gonna have to drag one of them hoes real good for them to know you ain’t the one.” I sigh. It’s too early in the morning for this craziness. The only thing I wanna do is get to homeroom.
    I tilt my head. Keep my voice calm and steady ’cause unlike this half-man, half dinosaur, who’s loud-talking and going with the hands in my face, I’m not interested in a show. And I’m not about to hook off on her first. No, ma’am. I want this beast to swing first so I can claim self-defense when I take it to her gut. I keep my eyes on her hands.
    â€œYou know what, buffalo? I see why you’re miserable. You’re ugly, boo. You know it. I know it. And the world knows it. And if I had to wake up every morning looking like you, I’d be miserable too. Everything about you is dead wrong. From them whiskers around your face to them big-azz hands of yours, you’re a tragic waste. But I tell you what. Press me if you want. I’ma help put you outta your misery.”
    She blinks. I can tell she’s kinda shocked I brought it to her like that. And embarrassed since a few heads in back of her start snickering and saying stuff like, “Oh snap ... she went in on her beard. . . . Dang, she callin’ Samantha out. . . . Hahaha, she called her a buffalo. . . .” Of course, the comments get her all amped and she starts yelling and cursing, but hasn’t swung off yet so I already know what it is with this one, too. She’s another loudmouth broad who’s all talk and no action. But I’m done.
    Just as I’m about to step outta my heels, a golden-brown cutie steps in between us. “Yo, Sammie, baby,” he says, wrapping his arm around her/it, but eyeing me. “Why you effen wit’ the newbie? Let her live, ma.”
    I twist my lips up. Sammie? Hmmph. Whatever.
    She shifts her glare from me and goes all starry-eyed looking up at Mr. Fine, like she’s snagged the jackpot. “You know what, Cease, you right, boo. I’ma let the trick live.”
    I laugh. “ Trick? Sweetie, boom! I’m everything you’ll never be. Fly. Fabulous. Flawless. So before you bring it to me, go shed a hundred pounds, shave them whiskers and that mustache, get those hands and feet right, then come check for me. ’Cause the next time you do, Sam the Man with the big hands, I’ma set it off on your face!”
    She tries to lunge at me, but Mr. Fine holds her back.
    I’m tired of talking. I wanna fight! “Bring it, baby. Punch me, ho.”
    Everyone starts scattering when security comes down the hall, telling everyone to clear the halls and get to their homerooms. Mr. Cutie pulls Baby Bop down the hall in the opposite direction. I peep that Quanda broad—with her ugly, trifling self—dipping into the bathroom solo. My first thought is to creep up on her while she’s in the stall and do her face in lovely. But, then I decide against it.
    I strut off down the hall, my mind made up. The next ho who steps to me outta pocket is gonna get her sockets rocked—period, point blank!

9
    Antonio
    S econds before the second-period bell rings, I drop my backpack to the floor and slide into one of the chairs closest to the door, in back of AP English class. I decide this will be my seat for the rest of the school year. I ain’t ever beat to sit any closer to the board than I have to. And, yeah, I get mostly A’s—some B’s. Still, I prefer to sit in the back of the class wit’ my peeps. But don’t get it twisted, yo. Even when it looks like I’m not listenin’, I’m still payin’ attention. I just don’t like to let peeps know that I am, so I front like I’m kinda slow, even though I’m in mostly advanced placement classes. Still, for me,