Teenie Read online

  THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2010 by Christopher Grant

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

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  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at

  www.randomhouse.com/teachers

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  eISBN: 978-0-375-89779-5

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  To Uwingablye Sowo

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  “It’s better to be a good listener than a good talker, because the good listener can remember what was said.” As hard as it is for me to admit that my father says anything that makes sense, when I apply that little ditty to conversations with my best friend, Cherise, he hits the nail right on the head. Whenever we do something that doesn’t pertain to her, like standing in front of the study abroad office, she gets really antsy. Most times it’s a lot of eye-rolling and an occasional huff, but today she doesn’t last more than ten seconds before she says, “So why are we standing here again? For that nerd thing you’re trying to get into?”

  I look at her sideways and grumble, “Yes, for YSSAP.”

  “What’s ‘sap’?”

  Cherise has been my best friend since the third grade, and over the past six and a half years, this type of conversation has played itself out time and time again. I guess that’s what I get for doing ninety-five percent of the listening. “YSSAP, Young Scholars Study Abroad Program.”

  “Sounds like loads of fun,” she sighs.

  “Don’t be a hater because you can’t get in. You wish you could go to Spain for free.”

  “Whatever. Like I’d want to be in Spain with a bunch of shribs.”

  “I’m not a shrib”—her latest term for loser.

  “If you say so … So how long do you plan on standing here?”

  “I guess until someone comes out of the office.”

  Apparently that’s all she needed to hear. She starts tapping on the door, waiting about three seconds before knocking harder. “There ain’t nobody in there, Teenie. Let’s go.”

  Teenie, that’s what my girls call me. I’m five feet and one-quarter inch, one hundred and one pounds, with all my books in my book bag and a pair of waterlogged Timberlands on. “But they’re supposed to put the acceptance list up.”

  “Do you see anyone coming to the door?” She says this as we’ve put about twenty feet between the office and ourselves.

  I turn and look back, but don’t see anyone. “No.”

  “That’s what I thought. If you want to get anywhere in this world, you gotta BE AGGRESSIVE! BE, BE AGGRESSIVE!”

  “What the hell was that?”

  “It’s one of the cheers that I have to do for tryouts, which is why I don’t want to waste time standing in front of that door with you when I should be practicing.”

  “What time do the cheerleading tryouts start?”

  “In twenty minutes.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” I’m not really into the cheerleading thing, but Cherise definitely has the look: long hair, light skin, and a big butt, an apple bottom. She has all the makings of a video vixen.

  “I don’t know why you’re so scared to try out for the squad.”

  “I’m not scared.” I am scared, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I told you like fifty times I’m going to get my braces off.”

  “You’re getting your braces off today?”

  Make that ninety-six percent of the listening.

  Since I’ve been home, I’ve been standing in the mirror, staring at my teeth. It took the dentist an hour and a half to take my braces off, but part of me wants to go back to his office and tell him to put them right back on. My teeth are gigantic, looking like some supersized Chiclets. They don’t taste like them, though, since I’ve been rubbing my tongue across them for the better part of an hour.

  I hate being wound up like this. These are the times that I need Cherise the most, but as usual, when I’m desperate for help, she’s never around. It’s not every day that a girl gets her braces taken off, and after three years of being called everything from Tin Grin to Metal Mouth, the least she could do is be online when she’s supposed to be. Cherise was supposed to log on to Instant Messenger forty-five minutes ago. Honestly, she should know better.

  I’ll be pissed if she’s on the phone talking to one of those meatheads from the football team or has me blocked so I won’t see if she’s online. There are ways around that.

  Appletini: crystal u there?

  Bottle of Crys: yup, sup?

  Appletini: nuthin’ much. u c cherise online?

  Bottle of Crys: Nope

  Appletini: k thanx. ttyl

  Guess she really isn’t online, so I have to sit here and kill time. There are about twenty other windows flashing. I don’t feel like chatting to any of my cousins in Barbados. I have one of those families with like thirty-something grandchildren.

  My mother thinks lack of education and birth-control methods are the reasons my father’s parents had so many kids. She may have a point, but I kind of agree with my dad’s take on the situation. He says, “It ain’t got a ting to do wit birff control. Dem people [his parents] was so cheap, dey ain’ want to pay nobody to tend dee land. So dey make dee servants.”

  My paternal grandparents had fourteen children. My father was the first boy, after four girls. He has told many stories about shucking sugarcane and how he has the calluses on his hands to prove it. He embellishes, claiming he had to walk ten miles to and from school each day, uphill in both directions. I know he worked hard when he was growing up, busting his hump so we would have a better life than he did. Despite his family being well-off, nothing came easy for him. I think he works too hard, but that’s all he knows.

  Now I definitely don’t feel like chatting to my cousins in Barbados. They’ll want to know when I’m coming down and then ask me to bring them some clothes. They never give me any money to pay for stuff, always asking for designer T-shirts and things like that, like I’m some kind of millionaire. I’ll kill time until Cherise gets online and chat with Garth. As annoying as he can be sometimes, he’s the lesser of two evils versus my horde of cousins.

  I told him I would be right back about an hour ago. He
’s written close to ten replies, giving updates on what he’s doing. I don’t even know why I gave him my screen name. Oh yeah, he helped me study for a math test, and I stink at math.

  Honestly, I don’t see the point in studying numbers. Isn’t that why man invented calculators? I needed to pass an algebra exam to keep my ninety-three cumulative average and Garth gets hundreds all the time so you do the math. They call him Girth at school, and the name is well deserved.

  My boy has a huge buffalo butt, looking like he’s got two volleyballs tucked into his pants. People pick on him all the time at school. Someone stuck a WIDE TURN—DO NOT PASS ON THE RIGHT SIDE sticker on his lower back last semester. I had to try my best not to laugh before I pulled it off. I guess I can talk to him for a little while.

  Scratch that, Cherise just logged on.

  Appletini: Took u long enough, trollop. Where u been?

  Cherish me: What?

  Cherish me: What’s a trollop?

  Appletini: Look it up.

  Cherish me: K hold on.

  Five, four, three, two …

  Cherish me: Oh u r wildin’ out u … wait lemme get a synonym.

  Cherish me: u harlot.

  Cherish me: Who u think u r callin’ me a Ho? .

  Appletini: lol

  Appletini: Well how did it go?

  Cherish me: I made the first cut.

  Appletini: congrats!!!

  Cherish me: thanx. Still got one more to go though.

  Appletini: Oh come on u know ur gonna make it.

  Cherish me: probably, judging from the competition.

  Cherish me: You should have tried out. I’m telling you. You woulda made it easy.

  Appletini: Nah. I’m fine. That ain’t my cup of tea.

  Cherish me: u wouldn’t believe how many dusty chicks were out there trying 2 get on the team.

  Appletini: For real? Like who?

  Cherish me: The head girls cut some of those dump trucks before they even started dancing.

  Appletini: Like …

  Cherish me: Keep your panties on geez.

  Cherish me: I was writing the names but u so impatient.

  Pause. Now see, this is the kind of stuff I hate. Instead of writing all that crap about keeping my panties on, making me wait, why not write the names of the girls down?

  Appletini: u realize that all the time u wasted telling me 2 have patience u could have been writing the names of the girls.

  Appletini: lol

  Cherish me: lol. u r the worst sometimes.

  Cherish me: Be playin’ yourself too.

  Appletini: how?

  Cherish me: y u care so much who made the team if it aint your cup of tea?

  Appletini: No reason. I just wanted to know is all.

  Cherish me: Whatever.

  Cherish me: OK back 2 the dump trucks that thought they had a chance in hell of making the team.

  About time, geez.

  Appletini: Who else was there?

  Cherish me: Ugly Wanda and her friend with all the bumps on her face.

  Cherish me: What’s her name again?

  Appletini: Who Lucresha?

  Cherish me: Yuck. Well at least her name fits her busted grill.

  Cherish me: u would think some people heard of Clean and Clear before.

  Appletini: LOL!! ur wrong for that. Lol

  Cherish me: lol

  Cherish me: Well it’s the truth.

  Appletini: Yeah I guess.

  Cherish me: Speaking of grills … your braces?

  Appletini: Finally got them off. Thank God.

  Cherish me: Well make sure u scrub them teeth cuz I heard they leave spots.

  Appletini: Shut up.

  Cherish me: lol

  I didn’t have any spots, luckily. I brushed my teeth after every single meal, even if I just ate a mint.

  Appletini: My teeth look really big

  Cherish me: what u expect?

  Cherish me: you got used to lookin at them with the braces on.

  Appletini: I guess …

  Cherish me: so you’d rather them be back on?

  Appletini: Hell no!

  Those things hurt like hell, all that adjusting and tweaking, and more adjusting, not to mention having to keep myself from eating certain foods. I wolfed down like three pieces of corn for dinner tonight.

  Cherish me: Alright then. Stop complaining.

  “Martine!!!”

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  “Get off dat computer and go and read a book!”

  My dad needs to come up with some new sayings. He knows I’ve read just about every book in this house. “Okay, Daddy. I’m just finishing up my homework. I’ll be off in ten minutes.”

  Cherish me: So what r u wearing tomorrow?

  Cherish me: u there?

  Cherish me: HELLOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

  Appletini: Here, here, sorry. Beresford was complaining.

  What the hell kind of name is Beresford? How could my grandmother do that to my father? Well, how could my grandfather’s mother do that to my grandfather? My dad is a Third: Beresford Amadeus Lashley III, born and raised in Barbados, now the proudest Bajan in all of America. Barbados is nice and all, but I can’t take them mosquitoes and I can’t understand what my cousins are saying half the time. My family there uses curse words for the smallest things. Don’t let them get angry, because they’re liable to lob some serious vulgarity, the harshest being “God blind yah.” That’s deep.

  Appletini: I’m not sure what I’m wearing.

  Cherish me: Teenie, come on now.

  Cherish me: u’ve been looking forward to getting those train tracks outta your mouth for so long now.

  Cherish me: You better come to school looking right.

  Cherish me: Why don’t u wear your Wade jersey dress?

  Cherish me: It’s supposed to be nice tomorrow.

  Appletini: 70-something degrees.

  Beresford has a bunch of theories as to why it’s so warm in the beginning of March. He’s looking into buying land in the Midwest because he’s convinced that it will be beachfront property in the not too distant future.

  Cherish me: right so u can show a lil skin in that dress.

  Appletini: u sure it aint 2 tight?

  Cherish me: Duh, that’s the point. No more using ur braces as an excuse to not take care of urself.

  Cherish me: Put ur hair in cornrows. I’ll do mine the same way and wear my Lebron jersey dress.

  Appletini: u sure I’m not 2 skinny?

  I’ve never worn that thing before. Honestly, I can’t believe I even bought it.

  Cherish me: ur small but u got a tight little body. I don’t understand why u always wearing all them big clothes.

  Cherish me: Watch tomorrow and see how the boys are sweating u.

  Appletini: Okay.

  “Martine!!! You ain’t hear what I tell you? Come off dee friggin’ computa now!!! You burnin’ up all dee current! You ain’t got to pay the bill, so you ain’t care!”

  Appletini: Hey, I gotta go. Beresford is barking.

  The Bajan accent is coming out kind of strong now, a telltale sign that he’s getting pissed off. The way he gets sometimes it’s hard to tell he’s been living in this country for over twenty years. I’m burning up all the current? Good Lord, give me a break. For some reason, he seems to think that we’re going to run out of electricity soon. His new excuse for being such a cheapskate is that we’re trying to go green. I’d better get off before he has a stroke.

  Cherish me: lol. K. I gotta go anyway. Big Daddy just logged on.

  Appletini: U still talking to that clown?

  Cherish me: Don’t hate, congratulate.

  Appletini: lol whatever. ttyl c u tomorrow. luv u

  Cherish me: luv u 2

  Big Daddy is some college kid that Cherise met on Facebook. She’s never seen him face to face, but he looks good, judging from the pictures on his profile page. He gets her whatever she wants, sends her jewelry, clothes, money. I
tell her to be careful, because I think Big Daddy’s gonna want something in return one day. Still, sometimes I get a little jealous. Why can’t I have a Big Daddy in my life?

  “Martine!!!!!!”

  “Daddy, I already logged off, okay?”

  It’s a no-win situation with Beresford. He complained that I was running up his phone bill, so he made up a two-minute rule. The man would bust out a stopwatch and start a countdown when ten seconds were left. When I asked him for a cell phone, he looked at me like I had an eye on my forehead. Then I started using Instant Messenger. Now he complains about me being on the computer too much, saying, “You gine burn holes in yah retina starin’ at dat idiot box.”

  He never seems to complain when I type up a work memo for him. Watching him try to type is so funny. He might as well use his feet. It’s so pitiful that I almost feel like I have to help him. I type close to eighty words a minute, thanks to staring at the idiot box. I do get something out of helping him. He’s a compliance officer with the Securities and Exchange Commission, so I get to learn some cool new words, like “capitulate.” If I spend any more time trying to figure out my dad and his quirky ways, I’ll end up in a mental institution. It’s getting kind of late anyway. I better start braiding my hair. I wanna make sure I look hot tomorrow.

  Chapter 2

  As far back as I can remember, every morning my mother has woken me up by singing softly over my bed. Don’t even ask me to try and sing the way she does. I think that stuff skips a generation or something. It’s usually a Bob Marley song, most often “Three Little Birds.” Glory Lashley’s name should be up in lights, but three young children put an end to those dreams.

  She’s been a nurse at Maimonides Hospital since my twin brothers, Bakari and Solwazi, were born. Lucky for them they’re twins, or we’d be talking about Beresford IV. My dad didn’t think it would be fair if one had the “privilege” to be his namesake and the other didn’t. That’s why my name is Martine. It was his grandmother’s name, and since he missed out with the boys, he made sure to leave some kind of mark on me.

  It must’ve meant a lot to my father to be able to name me after his grandmother. She was a big part of his life. I’m not complaining, because Martine’s not a bad name or anything. It’s different, so I guess that’s kind of cool, and it’s better than the alternatives. If not for my older sister, God rest her soul, my name might have been Beresforda. My brothers warned me never to talk about her in front of Mommy and Daddy. The one time I did slip up and talk about her, Beresford started tearing up.