It was just my dad and me—and Loraine, his wife. My mother had passed away during my birth and for most of my life it was just my father and me. Occasionally my father's sisters would come around, but for the most part we were pretty much a duo.

         By day my father was a carpenter, and by night he would be all about me—at least that was how things used to be before Loraine. He met her when he was building a new section for the elementary school she worked at. Friendly conversation turned into a date, which turned into a relationship, and that eventually turned into marriage.

I was just fifteen when I lost my father to Loraine. I knew it was wrong of me to feel the way that I felt, but it was like my father was all about Loraine. No more did he attempt to teach me about fixing cars, no more did he tell me these stories about his day.

But I suppose my actions didn't help either. I stayed away from home a lot while he was courting Loraine. My aunt Louise ran a ballet studio and I spent a lot of summers learning to dance from her, though my style was more contemporary. With Loraine in the picture, I danced nearly every day, perfecting my craft. My father didn't want me being a professional dancer, so it wasn't something I was seriously pursuing.

I'd gotten a job at Henry's, the local grocery store, to help around the house and to have some extra cash of my own. It also helped avoid my father and Loraine.

As I stood at work after school, Henry's was the last place I wanted to be.

I worked in the prepared foods section in the large grocery store, and cooking food and dealing with the public was the last thing I wanted to do after failing to get my run-in with DeAndre Parker out of my head.

Though I wasn't completely humiliated, I was indeed embarrassed.

Troiann had done her best to distract me from the situation during the rest of the school day, but there was no forgetting the words exchanged with DeAndre. I still couldn't get over how he'd one-upped me with his verbal bitch slap.

I was doing my best to make the most of my work day as I ran around preparing for the dinner rush, when I looked up and noticed the last person I needed to see standing in front of our hot case.

As if the universe hated me, DeAndre of all people came and stood right in front of me. He looked up at our menu, but his stance read more of a model's pose for me. Nola, my co-worker, instantly stopped telling me some story about her and her boyfriend when she noticed one of Moorehead High's top dogs standing in our grace.

When her jaw metaphorically hit the ground at the sight of DeAndre's beauty, I knew she'd be a goner if he laid some charm on her.

DeAndre tore his gaze from the menu and slid it over to me, tilting his head momentarily as he took me in.

"Chicken?" he said, sounding bored.

I nodded. His question was an odd one, the smell of fried chicken permeated throughout the entire area.

"What deals y'all got?" he asked.

As if coming out of her standing-coma, Nola went and stood in front of me. "We got a four piece, eight piece, twelve piece—"

"Eight piece," DeAndre said, still staring at me.

"Jojos? Mashed potatoes? Any sides?"

DeAndre shook his head.

"You paying here, or up front?"

He shrugged. "It's whatever." He moved over to where he could see me better. " 'Sup, Cree?"

"Hey, DeAndre." We had never spoken to each other besides our little disagreement in Mr. Ventura's class. Whatever he wanted, it couldn't be good.

"I bet the chicken is good if you made it."

"Why do you say that?"

"I get the feeling all things have to be up to your standards if you make them."

Was it a jab? I wasn't sure. Something I'd noticed about DeAndre was that he wasn't entirely boneheaded. He had a rather smart way of insulting people.

"Well, I did make it. I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will."

"Good."

"Great."

We stood there, him just staring at me, and me trying to figure out his angle.

"Anything else, DeAndre?"

"I bet you and your boyfriend have the most intellectually stimulating conversations."

Now I could see what he was doing. He was making fun of me, as if I were some stuck-up goody-two-shoes who had to have things perfect and her way.

I crossed my arms. "I'm not stuck-up, and I don't intend to turn every conversation into a debate."

"Word?" He looked and sounded bored, annoying me to the core.

"Yes."

He dug in his pocket and held out a little flyer between his fingers. "I've got a party I'm throwing Friday night, if you down to have a good time, come through."

If I said no, then I would still look salty, but if I said yes, I would have to ingratiate myself and actually go to one of his parties.

It was a challenge, one, after the public debate in English, I could not back out of.

Nola handed DeAndre his chicken and he briefly examined the box before thanking her and turning back to me.

"See you around, Cree." There was something wrong with the smile on his face and the way he spoke.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, pulling me away from watching DeAndre's exit.

I looked over to Nola, finding her staring after DeAndre as if in a trance. To think she had a boyfriend waiting at home.

"Nola, I'm going to take my break, okay?" I said.

She nodded and went back to work.

I headed into the backroom after clocking out for break and found a missed call from Troiann.

Troiann had perfect timing. I needed her to talk me out of going to DeAndre's party. Even if I only had fifteen minutes I called her back.

"Cree?" Troiann asked as she answered her phone.

"Troiann, guess who just showed up here?" I cut to the chase.

"Who?"

"DeAndre."

"Did he apologize?"

"Not in so many words, but he invited me to some party at his house this weekend. I don't wanna go."

"Why not? I hear the Ballas throw the best parties."

Was she serious? "Troy! This is the same guy who embarrassed me in fifth period, remember?"

"So go to his house, enjoy the free stuff and leave," Troiann reasoned. "It'll only get worse if you avoid him."

She wasn't making any sense. We hated the Ballas' Club, why would we go out of our way to go to their events?

"Not happening, I'll think of some way out of it."

Troiann sighed. "I don't think that's a good idea, but anyway, I was calling to see if you wanted to go to After Hours tonight."

It was a school night and I got off at nine. I would smell like chicken, garbage and a little bit of chlorine, but I did want to head over to the studio to put in a half hour of dancing before heading home for homework and bed.

"It's a school night, Troy."

"So, come on, you need to go out and relax after the day you've had. Please." I could just picture her doing her famous baby-like pout, the one that always got her in my good graces and my saying 'yes' to whatever she asked.

"I won't even have time to pick out something to wear," I tried to say.

"I'm at The Closet right now, I'll find you something."

I scowled. "Troiann, you can't shop for me. I don't browse the juniors' section."

Troiann clicked her tongue. "I know your size, CJ, whateva. I'ma find you something cute, you're going to go home and shower and I'll come over around ten, got it?"

There was just no getting out of the endeavor.

"Fine," I huffed. "I gotta go, 'bye."

Troiann had been my best friend since the 8th grade and I knew she had my best interest at heart, it was the only reason I was letting her drag me out to a night club on a school night.

The beat to "R.I.P." had the club jumping and my heart pounding hard against my chest as the song was turned up to the max.

Troiann's cousin supplied the fake IDs and we were definitely using them to the fullest. I sat at the bar, putting on a casual grown and sexy act as I prepared to order a drink from the bartender who kept giving me the eye. Part of me wondered if he were on to me and another found it to be flirting. Either way, I only wanted another Sprite, so it wasn't like he would catch me slipping.

Troiann and her cousin, Minh, were drinking some fruity drinks while they sat on either side of me. Even with the loud, lively atmosphere of After Hours and my best friend beside me, I just wasn't feeling the club.

Troiann nudged me with her bony elbow. "Come on, Cree, lighten up, we in here."

I forced a lopsided smile on my face. "I'm just not feeling this."

Minh's eyebrows pushed together. "What's wrong with you?"

Troiann waved me off and faced her cousin. "This boy sorta got the better of her in an argument."

"So?" Minh questioned.

Troiann took a sip of her drink and went on to explain the situation further. "At our school, there are two groups of girls, the Tackle Bunny and the normal."

Minh laughed. "Tackle what?"

"Tackle Bunnies, they're football groupies," Troiann explained. "And when basketball season is out, they turn into Lay-up Bunnies. At our school, Minh, there's one force to be reckoned with, and that's the Ballas' Club. They're four fine brothas—"

"Chris is not a brother," I corrected, noting that Chris was the only white one of the bunch.

Troiann rolled her eyes. "Tell him that. Anyway, two of them play basketball and the other two play football. They're hot, they got dollas, and they get girls."

"Or Bunnies," Minh said.

Troiann nodded. "Right." She gestured between herself and me. "Normal girls like us, we see through their game and we don't run around behind them acting thirst. Now today in class DeAndre and Cree got into a little disagreement and he sorta outsmarted her."

Minh patted my arm. "Sorry, C."

"He's wasn't that bad," Troiann said. "Out of all the boys he's one of the ones who isn't so terrible."

Isn't so terrible? She had to be kidding.

"Troy, he's one of them, of course he's terrible," I said.

Troiann faced me appearing skeptical. "Of course because he's a Balla I'd avoid him like the plague, but when it comes to DeAndre, excluding today, I don't think he's as bad as the others. He's sort of...mysterious even."

I thought to laugh. DeAndre Parker, mysterious? "Guys like DeAndre are easy to figure out. They think because they listen to the Weeknd and Drake and post pictures with text on them on Instagram they're deep, when in reality they just like boring music and cliché bullshit. Come on, Troy, don't give in to the hype."

"True." Troiann nodded. "But we haven't really spoken to DeAndre besides today. We don't really know him, which is a good reason to head to his party."

"I know their type. If you're not smoking weed, getting drunk, partying or having sex, you're lame to them. I don't need that kind of pressure around me, Troy, no."

Troiann shook her head. "You know of them, you don't even really know them, CJ. I don't condone what I see, but I won't place a label on the entire product without getting to know it."

It seemed like my best friend was almost defending DeAndre, which made no sense.

I shook my head. "Whatever, let's just drop it, okay? Aren't you here to ogle boys or something?"

A blush spread across Troiann's cheeks. "Why?"

"Because the last time I checked my best friend was all about boys."

Troiann swirled around on her stool and faced the near packed dance floor. "Yeah, boys, right. Looks like there are a lot of options to choose from tonight."

Minh turned as well, her mouth quickly falling open in an 'O' shape. "Shit, do you see that boy in the burgundy sweatshirt?"

Soon, the two of them linked arms and headed to the dance floor to flirt.

I wasn't in the mood to dance in such a packed space and I wasn't in the mood to drink alcohol either.

The bartender caught my eye once more. He was handsome, young, but not anything I was interested in.

I had to thank Troiann for supplying such an attention worthy dress for me to wear for the evening. It was black, it was short, and it clung to my figure. When it came to my body I had just enough in the front and just enough in the back, too much to really be a dancer by some standards. That was another reason my father didn't want me taking dance seriously, he saw what it did to some girls, saw the eating disorders, saw the thin frames. He said he was raising a healthy young woman, so rather than let me possibly puke or starve my C-cups and round backside away, my father let me dance for a hobby instead of a career.

As the bartender continued to sneak glances at me, I knew it had everything to do with the dress and nothing to do with my age.

"What can I get for you?" he asked as he finally came over.

Oh hell, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right? "A Panty Wetter," I said, taking a chance and making up a drink that sounded like something you'd get from a bar.

"Coming right up." He nodded and headed over to his supply of alcohol.

Shit, they were real?

A chill ran down my spine, sensing someone was behind me, too close.

"Rookie." DeAndre whispered in my ear as he came around me and sat beside me, smirking at my nerves.

He sat wearing a simple black t-shirt with dark wash jeans. A gold chain hung around his neck, a gold watch on his wrist and there was even gold in his black Jordans. I had to admit, the Ballas knew how to present themselves.

I rolled my eyes and moved further away from him. "Am not." Are to.

My action made DeAndre chuckle. "Damn, Cree, so every time we run into each other it's gotta be World War III?"

"You tell me, DeAndre."

"Class was class, aren't we both over that?"

If he was willing to put it behind us and let things return to the status quo that was fine by me. "In my defense, I had just watched one of Tremaine's leftovers crying about him in the bathroom."

"In my defense," DeAndre gestured to himself, "I'm not Tremaine."

I hated to admit it, but DeAndre had a point, and so did Troiann. He didn't seem as harsh and careless as Tremaine was. 

         They were all unique in their own way. Tremaine was the major heartbreaker, he was tall, dark skin, handsome as ever, and smooth as silk girls often said. Chris was the white one, the wild one, and the near rockstar of the quartet. Marcus was light skin with the softest looking curls on his fade haircut, and built like a machine after all his years playing linebacker. He was also rumored to be a good singer, easily letting him woo in his marks, and then there was DeAndre.

Of course DeAndre was good looking with his brown skin, tall height, and athletic build. Yet, there was always a look of boredom written across his face. An unreadable mask I couldn't decipher.

Troiann had a point the more I thought about it, I couldn't think about what his niche was. He played basketball like Chris, had a few tattoos like the others, and his father had played in the NBA. But when it really came down to DeAndre Parker, I wasn't sure who he was.

That made me more nervous than anything.

Talk about a motley crew.

A smile hung in the corner of his mouth. "What? Why you staring so hard?"

The bartender came and handed me my drink and I slid him a few bills, thanking him.

The drink tasted sour, fruity, and strong.

Doing my best to keep my face straight, I swallowed and went back to my Sprite.

I could feel DeAndre looking at me, forcing me to look from my Sprite to his eyes. "I'm a nice person, Cree. I look out for people I admire. Take right now for example, I know something your eyes aren't ready to see just yet."

My eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "What?"

DeAndre smiled. "Nothing. So you wanna dance or what?" he asked, gesturing to the dance floor where the newest Chris Brown song was playing.

He was not Patrick Swayze and I was not Jennifer Grey, we were not about to dirty dance on the dance floor.

Calmly, I shook my head. "No."

"There are a lot of girls in here and I'm only gonna ask you one more time before I take advantage of it."

"So."

"Cree, I don't want you."

"Whatever."

"I mean, you sorta cute and all, but you just don't have it. Awe, what's the matter, mad because I'm not all up on you?"

He was making me nervous and I wasn't entirely sure about his approach. "It's too hot in here and I already feel sweaty as it is. I—"

"I can tell."

"Screw you, DeAndre."

"We could do that, but according to you, I've got a dirty dick and I wouldn't wanna taint your purity."

He still thought I was a virgin. Okay, I was, but only DeAndre and his friends could make it seem like a pathetic fact. Even Troiann had lost her virginity before me. It wasn't like being a virgin was something to be ashamed of, but the way DeAndre was talking made me second guess myself.

"Keep thinking that."

DeAndre checked out my profile, stopping at my chest and tilting his head to the side. "At least you're not a liar, Cree."

What was that even supposed to mean?

I wanted to cross my arms, but that would've only brought attention to my nearly exposed bosom.

"Am I really not supposed to be offended when you say I 'don't have it'?" I asked.

DeAndre shook his head. "It's not a bad thing. You're too good. I could be good to you in a fun way, but bad where it counts. Good girls like you, you deserve the best. I like to run dolo for a reason."

He was saying all the right words but I still didn't trust him. "Then why are you still running game?"

DeAndre grinned, standing from his stool. "Why do you assume you're worthy of my game?"

He didn't even let me reply as he walked away, disappearing into the mass of bodies filling After Hours.

Goose bumps prickled all over my skin, an aftereffect of the conversation I'd had with DeAndre, where once more he left me feeling speechless and inadequate.

A big, meaty hand came down on the counter top beside me, pulling me from my thoughts. Some man was standing beside me, a mouth full of gold shining my way.

"How you doin'?" he asked.

Good God, could the day get any worse?

To be nice, I smiled. "Just fine, thanks."

"You wanna dance or something?"

Besides his horrendous gold grill, his dreadlocks and the sweat sprinkled all over his forehead was yet another reason why I wouldn't submit myself to being fondled or dry humped on the dance floor.

"No thanks."

He pressed on, moving closer. "C'mon, dance with me. You look bored anyway."

He was pretty heavy set. I looked to my Sprite, wondering if he put some type of drug in it and I didn't know it, like some rapper had claimed to be a fan of.

One look around the club and I couldn't find Minh or Troiann anywhere. Another glance and I found DeAndre, leaning against the wall by the restrooms getting some girl's number.

I was on my own.

I looked over towards the odd mixture of T-Pain and Rick Ross. "N-no thanks, really, I'm about ready to go home."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Blowing out a sigh of relief, I took another sip of my Panty Wetter and went in search of Troiann and Minh. It was time to go home.