I Want to Be a Baddie

Note: This story contains elements of sexuality and strong language. I made some of the character speak as stereotypes to fit the message. It's also very long, and I Just wanted to let the readers know, beforeheand.

There are no years in your life quite as memorable as your youth. When you are young, you can be fun, you can be stupid, you don’t have to do the things you don’t want to do. Every preceding year, from four years old to 18 years old, you are handed a platter of people to know, people to love in life, before idling 60 hours of your week at a desk or at a warehouse.

Now, Saleema was more than halfway to the finish line. Now, as a middle school graduate, she would share a seat in that matrix in just four more short years, without living the carefree, boy-crazy life she wanted.  Saleema took her thoughts to Orlando, Florida for the weekend. Even when surrounded by the Universal Studio rides, by fellow teens laughing all their worries away, Saleema couldn’t shake the fact that her youth would end without getting a kiss from that special someone in class. Her best friend, Vic, noticed.

“Is there something you have to say,” Vic asked Saleema on a Saturday afternoon. They were parading around their motel waterpark resort in swimwear, while their mom and dads decided to stay in and marathon The Housewives of Atlanta. Saleema admired Vic for being everything that she thought she wasn’t: mature, confident, ambitious, able to do whatever she put her mind to. She would often educate Saleema on side hustles, and stock investments. She couldn’t believe her mom allowed her to walk out the door in a string two-piece. Saleema thought she was walking with an actual woman.

“I’m fine,” Saleema replied.

“Then what’s with the silent treatment? You always have something to say about BTS.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Not if it comes from you,” Saleema and Vic took a rest in some lawn chairs outside the giant pool and near the swirly slide ride. If it weren’t for this nagging existentialism, Saleema would’ve ridden that thing ten times over by now.

“Are you sad about graduating?”

“Parry’s going to Moca Boega like me,” Saleema said. “Do you know who that is?” That name rang a bell to Vic. “I’m imagining, tall, dark and handsome. Box dreads. Very good at fighting. Aspiring football player too, I think.”

“Bingo.”

“What about him?”

“I love him, that’s what,” Vic blinked and cocked her head at Saleema.

“You love him?

“You don’t believe me?”

“Didn’t think you were the type to gush about guys. It’s never been a topic of interest.”

“Then let me surprise you,”

“Surprise away.”

“It’s as you said. He’s tall, dark and handsome. But he’s also kind to me. You know I have issues with the way I look. I don’t feel good being around other guys because they look at me like a freak. And then, there was the bullying; it was at its absolute worst in 8^th grade.”

“Those dickwads were still picking on you?” Vic was disgusted by this truth.

“Yeah. When you were sick on April the 8^th , they cornered me in the hallway. I was pretty sure they were gonna beat me up, and then I saw him. Just standing there, watching.”

“And what’d he do,” Vic asked. Saleema was smiling, so she knew this part was where the fun begins.

“He walked up to me, handed me his jacket, smiled at me, and beat the shit out of those assholes, all by himself. They didn’t pick on me again. They didn’t even look my direction. They were totally different people after that. The most I’d hear from any of them in class, was to ask for a pencil sharpener.”

“He sounds like quite the prize.”

“Yeah. I got to have him. Up until now, I’ve never felt comfortable with guys until he talked to me, until he protected me. I’m not gonna let that love miss its opportunity.”

Vic was grinning wider than the Cheshire cat thought capable. “Than come by my room, late in the evening. My parents said they’ll be out tomorrow to go to dinner. “As someone who has experience with boys, I can show you how to get Parry under you. I can also fix that problem about being comfortable near them. Leave it all to me.”

“Bet. You know what, I’m think I’m ready to actually have fun now,” Saleema was eyeing that swirly slide like a Mcflurry.

“You read my mind,”

 Saleema and Vic’s frolicking gave the rest of the afternoon the lifespan of a fly. Finally able to have fun again, Saleema and Vic did their thing in the park and called it a day at dusk. A bit underwhelming for the last day before they had to pack their bags and return to St. Pete. Saleema wanted by Vic to rendezvous at her apartment at midnight to fulfill her promise. It was when mama would be off somewhere, so as to not intrude on her education.

Saleema knocked on the door quietly. She rocked a navy hood that camouflaged her with the darkened skies. The waterpark was closed, of course, but she wondered how any children could still be lounging at the apartment pool.

“Anybody follow you,” Vic asked.

“No. What is so top-secret that you’d ask such a question,” Saleema replied.

“It’s top secret for you. I’m about to show you the way I started to get over my anxieties with guys.” Vic invited Saleema into her room. The new lights made the dove white walls blood. On one of those antique bed sheets lied a closed laptop. A laptop that Saleema could sense was the subject of today’s lesson. Vic grabbed it and sat on the opposite side of Saleema. She opened it and studied the screen a bit.

“Tell me what you see,” the content on the screen jump-scared Saleema onto the floor. The specificity behind it will remain vague, as this story will be going to a safe-for-work submission prompt, but let’s just say it showed men and women in a new light that Saleema would never forget.”

“What in the…”

“That’s how I felt when I saw that at 11 years old.”

“11 years old?!” Saleema backed up from the screen. “Who showed you that at eleven?!”

“Mama did. It’s a shock at first, but you get used to it the more you look at it,” Vic said. “Mama had me from watching this. I learned to know guys from watching this. What they want to see. How they want you to play. C’mon. Today, you just gotta watch one vid,”

Saleema cautiously accepted Vic’s invitation. They started with a twelve-minute display of something “vanilla.” Vic kept Saleema from covering her eyes. Saleema’s horror and guilt molded to curiosity. In the end, it was a creeping enthusiasm. An enthusiasm Saleema felt in a place she didn’t think she was supposed to know about. Vic was beside her doing some type of ritual until the video ended. Ritual was the most accurate synonym Saleema could conjure up for everything happening right now.

“That felt good,” Vic said with bated breath.

“…What the hell were you doing?”

“It’s what’s gonna help you conquer that fear of boys. Better yet, that aversion to maturity.” Saleema didn’t understand.

“Just bear with me. Saleem, you told me that you wouldn’t miss the chance to get Parry wrapped around your finger. From what mama taught me, ain’t no better way to get a man’s attention than to show him that you’re a baddie. How do you start: "sex".” Saleema knew what that was. She took health education in 8^th grade, after all. She knew of genders, that guys had this and girls had this, but the sex was scarcely mentioned nor detailed in the slightest. It was a fable whispered to juveniles answering the tale of where babies come from.

“I know, because I did it this year. At a college frat party that my sister dragged me to for Halloween. She gave me a schoolgirl outfit. Said the boys would find it cute. She was right. The guy I told you I was dating is a freshman at college. He saw that I was about it. He took us to a place where they weren’t no noise. It felt great, and since then, I think we’ve done it no more than ten times.”

“Whoa…it was that easy?”

Vic nodded. “Men are simple. Parry is simple. As long as you got some meat on you, as long as you ain’t squeamish about it, they’ll look your direction. So, this is the first step,” Vic looked at her clock. “Mama’ll get home soon. We’ll pick this up later.”

“Sure. Where did she go by the way?”

“The nightclub, I think. See you tomorrow.”

Vic was one of Saleema’s closest friends prior to Orlando. When they came back, she had leveled up to a confederate, and a wedge between Saleema and her parents. Saleema would pay a visit twice a week. Sometimes, staying for just an hour. Often though, nearly half a day. The introduction ceremony of Moca Boega was in eight weeks.

The first week was more spicy videos and a workout routine. The second, Saleema’s first try at the ritual. Third, more niche and sophisticated content. Fourth, cosmetics and lingerie. Vic took Saleema to see her sister who knew where to find Parry’s cousin named Bobby, then a hairdresser who would twist her hair down forevermore. Sixth week, Saleema ditched the rim prescriptions for some purple contacts. Week seven and week eight brought everything learned together for that first day.

“So, there’s this new baddie that’s been creeping in Bobby’s crib?” said friend one of Parry.

“Probably Vic,” Parry replied, focusing on her and her new red weave on the other side of class. She looked like she was waiting for someone.

“No, man. About as old as her, but different,” said friend two. “Your cousin actually liked this one. He said she had juicy lips and a booty bigger than a motherfucker. Also, she knew you. But I know you ain’t never holla at no bitches at Martin Luther.”

“Shut up. I didn’t want to. Not one girl at that school was a baddie.

“But did you know one? A girl there, I mean?”

“I knew one, but she ain’t look nothing like what you described-”

 “Parry Smith and friends, if you continue to talk in the middle of class, I’m going to send you out,” The teacher cut them off to the quick. Behind their whispering, a new student had stepped inside the class. “Sorry ma’am. Introduce yourself, please.”

“You got it,” Saleema sauntered to the chalkboard, leaving Parry in a daze and Vic with a smile.

“I go by Saleem,” Saleema had contacts in lieu of glasses and blonde locs in lieu of a fro. Her face was clearer than porcelain and her lips were thick from the red gloss. Parry admired what she was working with thanks to her crop top and bohemian high-waist leggings. To top it off, she wore sandals with her toenails glossed in blue. “Nice to meet you,” she walked a runway to Vic, who was a second from crashing out from her protégé’s progress. From a childhood friend to a true baddie. Parry remembered Saleema. He didn’t remember her ever looking this good.

“That’s her!”

“Her?”

“Yes! She’s been the one that Vic has been bringing over all the time! Deadass!”

Parry redirected his gaze to the girls, who were already examining him. Like a cat caught by its prey, Parry feigned observation of the closest object behind them, while the girls laughed. Saleema’s gaze was unbroken. Through his peripherals, Parry saw her devious smile. She knows it’s only a matter of time. She’s got him looking at her now.

“Damn. Parry, send her an invite to your birthday party. I’d love to see her there,”

“On god, bro,” Parry put his name on the attendance clipboard being passed around. “I’d be stupid not to invite her.

“Hey Parry. Did Bobby get you a gift this time?”

“He did. Said it’s an anonymous surprise. He used one of those white people words, so I know it’s going to be good.”

“See you at Bobby’s crib,” friend one and two peaced out, continuing the day with their other classes and Parry’s his. Saleema was long gone by the time he was scouting her in the crowd for an invite. Perhaps, she’ll show up anyway.

Parry took the bus home, and awaited a call from Bobby. He volunteered to set up the accessories, even the escape measures since his cousin had garnered infamy with the police over his “gatherings.” Parry was denied. He would wait at home, in his youngest pair of Black Air Force’s and liquid jeans; in his onyx tank top and leather jacket until Bobby made the signal. Bobby’s Buick arrived with the signal a quarter before 9:00 pm.

“A little late for a party on Monday, cuz,” Parry said. “What if I’m too tired to go to school tomorrow.”

“Ninja, your dad had to force you to go to graduation. Don’t play with me,” Bobby replied. Bobby had hundreds of guests, inside and outside the property. Inside, He saw friend one and two. He saw Vic. Everybody else was a swirl of cousins, concubines and collegegoers Each congragulated him a loud happy birthday, and gave him his cake, his birthday kisses, his beers.

“I sure ain’t going to school tomorrow,” Bobby said to himself, buzzed on the 2^nd floor balcony. “Man, I should’ve invited that girl. My arm around her shoulder would make this a perfect night.”

“Try around my waist,” Saleema suggested three feet away with a shot of vodka, and a smile. She was dressed even more racy than before

“You! Are you really that girl from before. The one who had the glasses and long-skirts.”

“I’m the reason you fucked those three guys up in the hallway. Thanks, by the way.

“No problem. When did you meet my cuz and do all this?

“When I decided I want you. When I decided I want a little fun before I’m 18 and employed. A little bit of alcohol, a little bit of love wouldn’t hurt nobody would it?”

“Don’t remember you talking like that?”

“I do now,” Saleema drank up and let her glass break on the floor. She grabbed Parry by the privates. “I didn’t get to tell you happy birthday. Can I?”

“Lay it on me,”

  Saleema and Parry, buzzed out of their minds, hopped in a vacant car and got to work. Saleema gave him everything. That special dance Vic taught her. Those forbidden techniques she practiced tirelessly from those videos. Saleema assumed the proper positions, and reacted the proper ways a bad bitch would, and it was…conflicting. Hot and intimate during the here and now; cold and gross after the party ended.

Vic cared for Saleema’s side effects shortly after on the roadside. Strange. Between belches, images of the innocence she never thought she’d miss came into remembrance. Images of that frizzy hair, of those dorky glasses. Of that cosmopolitan dialect and knee-high socks. Images of BTS. Vic said the same happened to her. She’d get over it. Baddies can get over things like that easily. Parry was her’s after that night. That’s all that mattered.

“By the way, did he…” Vic said.

“Yeah, but it’s cool. I took the pill. I won’t get pregnant.” Saleema assured.

“Do you need still need to crash at my cirb?”

“I think I’m gonna need it indefinitely till I get some money. Mom and dad…I don’t think I plan to see them again.

Saleema didn’t see them again. For her freshman year, at least. They would’ve definitely disapproved of her and Perry. To hell with them. As yearned, Saleema now had Parry under her fingertips, and overtime that came with benefits.  She continued her research, and with it grew her appetite in experience. Something Parry couldn’t provide, but colleagues of his could. She knew them, then her friends at school, then his lady companions at school, then by Sophomore year, any new blood around the block.

“My name is Martin,” said a lanky lad in a sports jersey to his new class. “I look forward to knowing you,” Saleema liked the way he looked. She spoke to him afterschool.

“Cool fade,” Saleema said.

“Thanks,” he replied.

“You look sad. In need of something?”

Martin nodded. “Just some good memories. I’ll be a drone in the work force in three year. I want to make the best of my time here.

“Gotcha,” Saleema’ circle of Vic, Parry and male rif-raf were waiting for her.

“Get to know us,” Saleema wrapped one of his arms around her.  “I had the same worry. We’re driving somewhere special tonight since its Friday.”

Martin noticed Parry. “Isn’t that your boyfriend. Is he okay with this?”

“Yeah, he says its okay. Come on, let’s get to know each other.”

END.