Juliet Simone Everette #2
"She ugly as hell, right Ju-Money?" Mega said, half verbal, half signed.
He wasn't as fluent with signing as Yahya — hell, I think she knew more signs than me — but he could hold his own.
I found it priceless that my friends had learned to sign, just so they could always communicate with me.
To the naked eye, Yahya and Mega looked like arch nemeses, but I knew better. Those fools were in love.
"No, she is not ugly — and nothing about you resembles Biz Markie," I smiled.
"Whatever," Yahya waved. "How's pledging going, Ju?"
I let out a heavy sigh of grief. Member intake for Alpha Rose Society carried more thorns than petals.
The community service aspect was cool—I loved being assigned to give free ASL lessons—but the challenges were fucking ridiculous.
One time, they gave us a challenge to get dressed in five minutes, all because line sister number six, nicknamed Pressure, told her big sister that her outfit was uncoordinated because she wasn’t allowed the extra five minutes to iron her shirt.
Pressure was the one who was late, she was the one out of uniform, and she was the one who had the attitude — yet somehow we all got punished.
They gave us five minutes to get dressed, and whatever we assembled would be what we wore for the next 24 hours.
Normally, five minutes would give me enough time to throw on some Nike sweats, a fitted T-shirt, and cotton socks paired with either some kicks or slides. The remaining three minutes I'd use for jewelry, fragrance, and Summer Fridays Butter Lip Gloss. Comfy and sexy — what could go wrong?
Well, when your big sister hands you one left sneaker and one right high heel, pants with one leg cut in half, and a shirt that reads "I smelt it and dealt it" — a lot could go wrong.
It took me three hours to convince my mother and the family therapist that I wasn't having a mental breakdown and that it was all a part of my journey to become a Rose.
"It's trying at times, but the sacrifice is worth the reward. I really want this."
"And you are going to get it, Ms. Line Sister Number One — aka Sugar and Spice," Mega encouraged. "Being number one on the line is major, sis. They felt the leader’s energy."
"Ain't often I agree with little ugly, but he's right, Ju. And I'm not surprised — besides the fact that you're my best friend, your polished, mean ass fits right in with those bougie bitches. You were destined to be number one," Yahya added.
"I am not mean," I signed forcefully.
Mega and Yahya looked at each other and erupted in laughter. I, on the other hand, sucked my teeth and rolled my eyes. I ain't find nothing funny.
"You see —" Yahya pointed at me, enunciating slowly — "at-ti-tude."
Our conversation drifted into gossip — who was dating who, cheaters, athletes getting cut from the team for steroid usage, and my all-time favorite: family secrets being exposed.
There was something about the way wealth and secrecy coexisted that made the eventual unraveling so satisfying.
Rich people and southern folks — I still hadn't decided which camp spilled more tea.
What I did know was that it only ever took one drunk black sheep at the wrong event, or one person who just had to say something at a funeral, and suddenly everything buried came flooding into the light.
The latest scandal involved Ava Lennox, a sophomore here at the University.
Ava was tall, slim, and well-put-together.
Her hazel eyes settled miraculously against honey-brown skin; her long chestnut waves — streaked with blonde highlights — were currently styled in a half-up, half-down style, with a messy bun as the obvious focal point.
She was known as the catwalk assassin. The bitch could strut.
She always had the latest, was extremely popular, and I, for one, could not stand that girl.
Because Chanel aside, she was a mean girl — and she didn't bother hiding it.
Popular, yes, but not out of love or admiration.
Out of fear. Ava was a bully, not a fighter.
She had social capital, and one rumor from her could have you ready to join the nunnery.
One time she made fun of Professor Anderson's Old Navy flip flops — said she was rocking the early 2000s buy-one-get-one — and the next thing I knew, Professor Anderson had transferred to a completely different college in a completely different state.
Word was the other professors in the dining hall had started avoiding her too.
All because the Black Regina George decided to be a witch.
"Aight, so look — you know how she's been hanging around campus a lot more lately, preferably in the bookstore?" Yahya signed.
"Yeah," Mega and I signed back.
"Well, she's been saying it's for service hours, but come to find out that's a lie. Ms. High and Mighty is working off a work-study stipend. She had to get financial aid because her family lost all their money—"
"Slow down," Mega signed.
"Nigga, keep up," she responded.
Yahya, who could not whisper for shit, always signed her gossip — and because her messy ass got overly excited, she sometimes moved too fast for Mega to follow.
"So. Mr. Lennox put everything into some pharmaceutical venture — a pill that was supposed to correct your vision. Full 20/20, no surgery, no laser, just a pill a day." She let that sit for a second. "Baby. That man made thousands of people go cross-eyed."
"Bitch," I gasped.
Mega just shook his head slowly, the way he did when something was too much even for him.
"And that's not even the main event," Yahya continued. "Her mama filed for divorce and has allegedly been spotted at the golf club actively auditioning replacements. Don't let Mr. Everette be up there — I will call Ms. Olivia and hype her up myself," she added, completely unbothered.
Normally, I would have pinched her for playing like that, but my attention had shifted. I felt someone watching me — and hard. It wasn't alarming, but it was powerful. The energy was so intrusive that I found myself glancing around.
"Spidey-senses tingling again, Ju-Money?" Mega asked.
"Coconut cream-skinned brother to the left," Yahya murmured to Mega, who immediately shifted his eyes in that direction. "My left, not yours, fool."
Mega corrected himself without a word.
"He's got on the Nike sweatsuit from the Olympic collab that just dropped, long neat single braids, Rolex on the left wrist — meaning he's right-handed — but the left wrist has a multitude of designer bracelets, so he's fashionable. It's giving Dave East."
"How the fuck do you know all that?" Mega questioned, confusion written all over his face.
"You know antibiotics, and I know an alpha man and a good catch. Go for it, girl," she winked at me.
"Your ass damn sure ain't know glass walls weren't for licking," Mega teased.
I could not hold my laughter in.
"Ha ha ha, very funny. I was sensory seeking — let it go."
"And so was I, except what I licked had me sitting down for a week," Mega responded.
"Shut up, Captain Clap — Ju-Ju's future baby daddy is coming over," Yahya fussed, slapping Mega on the shoulder.
The beautiful land walker started making his way toward the table and his scent hit me well before he did.
The woody, aquatic aroma flattered my nose and graced my goddess in between.
His stride was commanding and I could practically hear the windows shattering beneath his black cat Jordan 4s.
Broad shoulders paired perfectly with his tall physique.
His hands were massive — pretty sure he could turn me every way but loose.
He let out a half smile as he approached and I didn't know what was more spellbinding — his perfectly aligned top teeth or the diamond grill resting on his bottom row.
His long single braids swayed gently with each step.
A man this beautiful, commanding this magnitude of charisma without uttering a single word, was trouble.
"Girl, I ain't going for shit — he smells like Issey Miyake and the devil," I told her.
"Well, Hell is one stop away from Heaven, so get on the ride," her persistent ass retorted.
As the nameless beauty approached, I stood — not entirely by choice. Yahya had damn near launched herself across the table to push me to my feet.
"Pardon my interruption," he said, glancing around the table.
His voice was so deep it vibrated in my chest. He extended his hand and I took it.
His grip was strong but not intimidating — more protective than anything — and his hands were smooth like freshly churned butter.
He had every one of my senses on full alert and warmth traveled through my veins like lightning.
"I'm Nazir. Nazir Clarke," my future baby daddy spoke.
"I'm Juliet," I responded, bashful in a way I hadn't planned on being.
"Juliet. A beautiful name for a beautiful young woman."
Please don't lay it on thick. Don't turn me off, I thought.
"I won't hold you," he said smoothly. "But I was hoping I could take you out sometime."
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated. One glance told me everything — it was a text from someone I couldn't ignore. Shouldn't ignore, to be more accurate.
Echo: No
I sucked my teeth in pure annoyance. Choo-Choo was both my favorite person in the world and the biggest pain in my ass.
Echo: You got 3.5 seconds to get your ass in your Jeep and get to class.
Knowing he meant that literally, I began preparing my exit from Nazir's presence.
Echo: 1.5 seconds.
"Aye, Nazir — I appreciate it and would love to hang out sometime, but I have to get to class. Catch up with me later," I said, smiled, and made my way out of Flip'd.
"But I don't have your number," Nazir called after me.