MATERIAL GIRLS

“What are yo-...why is your mouth so fuckin’ reckless? Like, what’s good with you?”

“So you- okay.” She quickly did an About Face headed for the crosswalk, leaving Kaden dumbfounded momentarily until he eventually stepped out his truck hitting his alarm and followed.

“Yo! Jordan, man!”

“Nigga you either catch the fuck up, or I’ll see you later!”

He didn’t do shit like this, and technically he couldn’t. Gaining notoriety and recognition from his blessing of being a second year Wide Receiver in the NFL came with its perks, and downfalls. People actually noticed him now. And not in the pedestrian way either. He signed his third autograph this week for a five year old, who told him he was his biggest fan, and that one day he wanted to be just like him. Fans. He winced at the poor little boy wanting to be like the critically acclaim asshole, with a horrific track record to match. He shook the apprehension off seeing the subway entrance come to view in which Jordan speedily descended. He didn't take the subway. I don't have to. He never explained himself to anyone aside from the very few he held in high regards. There's no reason to. And certainly he never chased after a female especially in the physical sense because he never felt the urge to. This is just...

His eyes scattered about the congested space, in search for some breathing room and a bright orange jacket with the signature Nike emblem. Shoving her way through a boisterous crowd of prep school students he could see was Jordan stepping onto the train. He shoved his way through and searched for a space to squish in. Conveniently it was close to her, as they stood side by side latching on the standee seething. The abrupt smell of funk, and her antics he had just about enough of. Kaden didn't understand how or when the dynamics of whatever relation one would call this, got so conflicting. How he couldn't stand her so intensely. They were way past grade school spats, or any juvenile issues that any guy had with their best friend’s little sister. But as easy as it was to provoke, and get a rise out of her it was hard to deny the real reason why. They silently stared at each other, until she eventually sucked her teeth looking off.

“You so damn hollywood. What? You afraid the act of the common folk will rub off? Hm?” As Kaden grimaced feeling a sweaty arm collide on his skin for the fourth time, he looked down at her beyond annoyed. Blame it on hypochondria and slight claustrophobia, he couldn’t endure for too long even if it was the latter.

“You don’t know shit about me.”

“I know you’re full of shit...I know that. I know whatever it is you have to say would be utter bullshit too, so you shouldn’t even waste me or your time.” She shoved him off as they continued bumping into each other with each sway the subway was causing.

“You got a stick so far up your ass, nobody can get through to you.”

“Good. I like it that way.”

“Where the fuck you got me goin’ Jo?”

“Got you goin’!?” She hissed, attempting to whisper but failing miserably. “ Nigga you hopped your happy ass on here, I didn't force you to follow me!” A lady in earshot, Kaden could spot in his peripheral, shifted in her seat following the clear of her throat as she continued looking ahead. Damn. We're really doing this...in public.

“It's that hard though!? For you to just open your fuckin’ mouth and spit it ou-” More eyes shifted in their direction, causing Kaden to grit his teeth as Jordan maneuvered to the exit to get off finally as they came to a stop. She jetted up the stairs and walked up 135 street. For several blocks they dwelled in silence. Him attempting to keep up with her swift steps and glares with an occasional reminder that he didn’t have to follow her. But he wasn’t budging. I came this damn far anyway. They reached the Harlem Hospital Center, and immediately Kaden grew confused and concerned. Slowly turning his way, Jordan folded her lips in. Her eyes closing before bringing her hands clasp in a prayer motion to her lips.

“Don’t say shit you hear me? Just stay...stay your ass in the background.” They entered as she went towards the front desk greeted by a nurse. “Hi uh...I-I’m here to visit one of your patients.”

LONDON

“Ouch, Milan! Shit!”

“Keep your damn head still, then. Big ass head.”

It's worth it. The woven lines of strings crisscrossed and zigzagged through her masterpiece of a braided beehive, truly was. London didn't trust her brother to be her landline if she secured a spot on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. Or have the expectation from him that he will ever arrive at any place on time. But Miles ‘Milan’ Pierre if not anything knows hair. Even to much of their father’s dismay, having a secured hairstylist for every recital, every fashion show, and event was much of a blessing and for him a curse.

The moment his son traded a football for a hot comb, the soured hope of doom courtesy of Monty Pierre was placed. Where he shunned Miles total existence, only acknowledging his presence when it suited him, and was forced to at any social gathering. As Milan would put it: “Some just can't take the fabulousness even if the DNA is shared.”

So it was important to affirm through every tug, rip, and yank that the flawless honey blonde tresses of virgin Malaysian hair was worth it. Milan allowed the flat irons and comb glide through the tresses, before fluffing out the ends. Silky.

“Don't trim shit either. l want all 28’’ inches of lush down to the crack of my ass.”

“Yeah, I know...cause you're extra. And you bitches think I'm about to be doing the same hair twice every two weeks too, huh? Ha! Think again. Call Brooklyne and tell her little ass she has an hour to get here. And I wants my bag.” The rat tail comb was directed towards her nose. His eyes squinting looking down at her. 

“Alright mighty mouth Milan, sheesh.” She pushed the comb away, while typing a text to Brooklyne. Like always his false promises went in one of London’s ears where a princess cut stone from Cartier could be found and out the other as she typed away, and hissed at another yank of the sewing string.

“So...Kiersten. Heard from her?”

“Yup.”

“Really, now? How long ago was this?”

“Two days ago.” Short, clipped, and sweet. He ain’t slick. London wasn't too fond of Kiersten recent choices, in fact she despised them. With her association of Imani’s brother being one of them, and her recent disappearing acts being a close second. It didn't take Einstein to figure he had to be the one occupying her time if it wasn't herself, and Brooklyne especially with her keeping it short with them both. But the secrecy was Kiersten’s way of ducking and diving from London’s typical interrogations.

“You know London Bridge…” Here we go. “As your favorite brother on this dreading universe…”

“Nigga you're my only brother.”

“Shit as far as we know.” London sneered up in his direction watching him through the mirror. “...I know you wouldn't, of course, keep secrets from me would you? Like, you shouldn't...it would totally go against sibling code.”

“There's nothing to tell, Milan.”

“Hmph. So riddle me this…”

Milan held a picture in her direction posted on E! news. There in a grainy picture was a snapshot of Messiah and Kiersten leaving Rime sneaker boutique in Brooklyn. The caption identifying them as the daughter of Supermodel legend with an unidentifiable specimen of a hottie. Oh, heavens...

“...yeah, hoe. And you were sayin’?”

-----------

“This incognito...ass...bitch.”

Brooklyne spat while gawking at Kiersten crossing the street heading in their direction. Huddled as a duo at the signature rustic tables, London hoped that a frappe courtesy of Maman Coffee, would aid in settling the trauma ahead. She reckoned Kiersten even looked the part of a person not wanting to be seen or acknowledged. Frames concealing the majority upper region of her face, so big twice they were pushed up at the nose bridge. A huge scarf to shield the cold, and from what London could also see, provide some form of warmth to make up for Kierstens icy demeanor. She finally took a seat setting her huge crimson Celine duffle on the adjacent seat.

“Hey.”

“Kiersten where have you-” Brooklyn raised her hand halting London as she interjected.

“What’s up mama, how’re you? Where you comin’ from?”

“Just left my only class for the day. But I’m fine...why? What’s so urgent?” She typed away on her cellular device ever so casually. London raised a brow, and dipped forward fighting away a scowl.

“Listen, Ki. I want you to know that not only do we love you, we're here for you through any, and everything. You do know that right?”

“Why wouldn’t I Brooklyne?”

“Well, jee Kiersten maybe your absenteeism could be a clue?” Even the huge shaded lenses couldn’t shake London’s stare she could see Kiersten fidget under. It’s truly never her intentions to ever come off condescending...well half of the time admittedly so, but London just couldn’t help herself. Kiersten could just be so...dense.

“London!”

“What, Brooklyne!?”

“As I was saying...we love you. So you shutting us out makes no sense. Like what’s really the matter?”

When they scheduled the mock “conference”, intervention in the words of London, a “simple girl talk to get to the bottom of the issue” to Brooklyne, they didn’t expect for it to go like this. Especially foodless with a flat frappe she reckoned to add insult to injury. Why was she being so defensive? For the life of her London couldn’t figure it out. Cute shades or not.

“Can you tell your sister not to bore holes into me like I’m some nutcase, or freakshow.”

“Brooklyne can you tell your friend that she should acknowledge me cause I am sitting right the fuck here, and maybe I’m staring at her cause she's avoiding eye contact?!

“You bitches are going to drive me to drink. And it’s only 11a-fuckin’-m! Please, alright? Kiersten real shit, though? Take the damn glasses off! I don’t know what kind of super duper spy shit you got goin’ on, and London pipe it the fuck down cause you’re doing a lot at a smooth eight, bring it down to like a three. I know it’s finals, and the end of the semester is approaching but, damn!”

“She’s just so judgy! I get enough of that from Fiona, from my professors, from everyone. The one person I don’t need it from is the person I should be confiding in the most; my best friend! And then when I find someone that doesn’t do those things...that respects me, and my opinions, acknowledge my efforts, and furthermore doesn’t treat me like a child? That’s a problem too!”

Silence. For a lengthy two minutes that followed a sniffle, and finally the removal of those big ass frames that presented liquid duds pouring in droplets of two. Brooklyn immediately reached over and wiped her face, causing London to feel slightly shitty.

“I just worry about you Ki, and want what’s bes-”

“Want what’s best for me. Yes, I’m always hearing that you, but your opposition to my wants, doesn’t warrant judgement. Cause you’re not always right.” An obnoxious sound of intense suction came from Brooklyn’s straw, as she sipped her iced tea and divided her gaze amongst the two.

“Hmph. Well isn’t this tea just lovely?” She muttered. London, cut her eyes at her before refocusing them back on Kiersten.

“Okay, so this is about Messiah? Alright, fine. If you like it? Then I love it...so be it then Ki.”

“No, London...Messiah is just the half. I need you and everyone else? To realize that I’m grown. So the next time my mother or your father goes around looking for me, tell them just that.” She pushed her seat back grabbing her shades, and bag.