16 Years Old
“Damn, she fine.” Eights spotted Karin flaunting her ripe cleavage and twisting her waist hard across the patio. The way she pulled her cigarette slightly intimidated Eights and that excited him.
“Nigger, them some little girls.”
Karin smiled in Eights’ direction and beckoned with her batting lashes. The other girls at the table giggled at the prospect of the ensuing interaction, all except one. Grace snatched Karin’s sunglasses from the table, slid them on, and lowered her head. “You sure? She don’t act like a little girl. I know you like dark girls.”
Lieu had returned to searching the paper for mention of a Mutafarrik show or Bandit heist, but he did have a fondness for a woman about his brown, and when he’d glanced over he’d noticed such a girl—though he had dismissed her along with the four or five other giggling teens at the table. Maybe she was a nanny or maid or something. He looked again. His eyes locked on Grace and, though he couldn’t explain it, his heart skipped a beat. Was it because she was beautiful? She was beautiful. She had thick black hair, and although he wasn’t a fan of straight hair, it framed her heart shaped face delicately, and he liked that. Her skin was dark brown like his and full of healthy color. She was blushing and her cheeks dimpled accordingly, and through her full parted lips he could see white teeth glinting. She had a gap in her teeth. She looked like somebody.
Grace’s heart beat fast. Was Lieu staring because he recognized her? His eyes burned through her glasses, and he had never looked at her that way before. There was a heat that she recognized as desire, and it infused her memory of all their other interactions making sense of awkward pauses and a lately increase in body temperature when in his proximity. His eyes made her blush, made her open her mouth and pant a little, made her lick her lips, made her wiggle her legs a bit.
Was the woman calling Lieu with those faces? Her look, as much as her way—cool, withdrawn but observant--drew him in. This girl had the dignity of royalty, and the contrast between that and her seeming involuntary revelation of desire—the deep breaths, the parted lips, the tell-tale kicking—gave him a sense of power over her. But, more than anything else, she looked so familiar... Whoever she looked like, he must have really connected with—like an amazing lover? His heart raced his mind. Eights rose to cross to the girls when Lieu exclaimed: “Nigger, that’s Princess!”
“Aww, hell naw. Princess? Princess? We done spent the last half a year looking for your hot tailed ass!” Eights crossed over to Grace who tried to blink herself away.
“Princess,” Lieu commanded as he crossed.
Karin tensed and stole a glance at Grace. Only the friends knew of Grace's nightmares of this day. Karin laughed confidently. “Princess? What kind of ghetto name is that? Princess? Ha! Can you imagine anything more phony and blatant, Grace? If they weren’t so handsome, I might rebuke their low class.” The other girls burst into hysterics as Karin ran her slender, manicured fingernail down Eights’ sturdy arm, momentarily distracting him from Princess.
“Princess, take off those glasses.”
“My name is Grace.”
“Princess,” Lieu kept on, “you think I would forget you in seven months? You know how much I love you? You know how much we miss you? You think I would forget your voice, and it was the first sound I heard every morning for years?”
“My name is Grace,” she snarled back.
One of the less important girls at the table offered, “I’m sorry you have her confused with your ghetto princess,” she laughed at her joke, which signaled the chorus to giggle, “but her name really is Grace. Sorry.” The girl threw up her hand as if to dismiss the boys, but Lieu grabbed the girl by the wrist roughly. Grace rose.
“Handsome, red-boned man,” Karin intervened, fanning her lashes coquettishly against her wanton eyes in appeal to Eights. “Please, control your friend. He has no idea the consequences of disturbing a curl on the head of a Huntley girl.”
“Come on, Lieu. She’s right. Let’s just go.” He looked back over at the girl who might be Princess and studied her hard. In his study, he saw what Lieu saw, though, and he couldn’t move from the table. “Princess? I know you wouldn’t play us like this, Princess?”
Two armed guards approached from the corners of the patio restaurant; Grace took advantage of the moment. She lowered the sunglasses and shot venomously, “you played yourself.” Carefully she double-voiced her next statement, so to be clear to the boys, while mystifying her classmates, “You. Leave. Me?! My name is Grace. Don’t forget it.”
Who could make sense of Princess Grace? Not Drum, who called himself Princess’ brother and father, not Suave who considered her a dear friend, not Lieu who had not lied when he confessed his love for the girl, not Eights who had run four miles with her on his shoulders to save her life, and not Knucnuc nor Doc with all their medical research could process this new Princess. How could she think they’d leave her? She’d been gone for days! Didn’t she believe Lieu when he told her they’d been looking for her? How could she just pretend not to know them? How could their Princess trade her brothers for Huntley? How could she become what they’d taught her to reject? How could she not miss them? How could they get her home?
Grace’s heart beat fast. Was Lieu staring because he recognized her? His eyes burned through her glasses, and he had never looked at her that way before. There was a heat that she recognized as desire, and it infused her memory of all their other interactions making sense of awkward pauses and a lately increase in body temperature when in his proximity. His eyes made her blush, made her open her mouth and pant a little, made her lick her lips, made her wiggle her legs a bit.
Was the woman calling Lieu with those faces? Her look, as much as her way—cool, withdrawn but observant--drew him in. This girl had the dignity of royalty, and the contrast between that and her seeming involuntary revelation of desire—the deep breaths, the parted lips, the tell-tale kicking—gave him a sense of power over her. But, more than anything else, she looked so familiar... Whoever she looked like, he must have really connected with—like an amazing lover? His heart raced his mind. Eights rose to cross to the girls when Lieu exclaimed: “Nigger, that’s Princess!”
“Aww, hell naw. Princess? Princess? We done spent the last half a year looking for your hot tailed ass!” Eights crossed over to Grace who tried to blink herself away.“Princess,” Lieu commanded as he crossed.
Karin tensed and stole a glance at Grace. Only the friends knew of Grace's nightmares of this day. Karin laughed confidently. “Princess? What kind of ghetto name is that? Princess? Ha! Can you imagine anything more phony and blatant, Grace? If they weren’t so handsome, I might rebuke their low class.” The other girls burst into hysterics as Karin ran her slender, manicured fingernail down Eights’ sturdy arm, momentarily distracting him from Princess.
“Princess, take off those glasses.”“My name is Grace.”
“Princess,” Lieu kept on, “you think I would forget you in seven months? You know how much I love you? You know how much we miss you? You think I would forget your voice, and it was the first sound I heard every morning for years?”
“My name is Grace,” she snarled back.
One of the less important girls at the table offered, “I’m sorry you have her confused with your ghetto princess,” she laughed at her joke, which signaled the chorus to giggle, “but her name really is Grace. Sorry.” The girl threw up her hand as if to dismiss the boys, but Lieu grabbed the girl by the wrist roughly. Grace rose.
“Handsome, red-boned man,” Karin intervened, fanning her lashes coquettishly against her wanton eyes in appeal to Eights. “Please, control your friend. He has no idea the consequences of disturbing a curl on the head of a Huntley girl.”“Come on, Lieu. She’s right. Let’s just go.” He looked back over at the girl who might be Princess and studied her hard. In his study, he saw what Lieu saw, though, and he couldn’t move from the table. “Princess? I know you wouldn’t play us like this, Princess?”
Two armed guards approached from the corners of the patio restaurant; Grace took advantage of the moment. She lowered the sunglasses and shot venomously, “you played yourself.” Carefully she double-voiced her next statement, so to be clear to the boys, while mystifying her classmates, “You. Leave. Me?! My name is Grace. Don’t forget it.”
Who could make sense of Princess Grace? Not Drum, who called himself Princess’ brother and father, not Suave who considered her a dear friend, not Lieu who had not lied when he confessed his love for the girl, not Eights who had run four miles with her on his shoulders to save her life, and not Knucnuc nor Doc with all their medical research could process this new Princess. How could she think they’d leave her? She’d been gone for days! Didn’t she believe Lieu when he told her they’d been looking for her? How could she just pretend not to know them? How could their Princess trade her brothers for Huntley? How could she become what they’d taught her to reject? How could she not miss them? How could they get her home?
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