Salty: A Ghetto Soap Opera (Drama In The Hood) Read online

  Salty

  Aleta L Williams

  www.alanasbookline.org

  Salty © Copyright 2012 Aleta L. Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 978-147506141

  LCCN: On File

  Cover Design/Graphic: SoSo Boston http://www.facebook.com/sosographics

  Cover Model: Bryanna Alize (Brie Beautie) http://www.facebook.com/brie.b.beautie

  Editor: LaMia Ashley

  [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living, or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincident.

  For wholesale orders, contact the author: Aleta L Williams via email [email protected] Mail Orders in the amount of $15.00 USD to Post Office Box 59087 Los Angeles, CA 90059

  This book is dedicated to my three babies: Porshay, Anthony, and Miracle. It is because of you mommy stay on her grind. My mother Virginia Ann Thomas and Godmother Cherry, I love and miss you… Thanks for watching over me. To my dad, thanks for always being there. And to my readers….I appreciate you all so much; that’s why I dedicated this book to you 

  Acknowledgments

  First I’d like to give thanks to God who is the head of my life. To my pastor for helping me see that God is the reason and that he always has and always will be there for me. To my husband Taboo, I thank you for your continued support. I am so glad that “we” found a way to make it do what it do…the two of us “Chump Change Production and Alana’s Book Line” is going places…#Yup… straight to the top!!!! I thank you for my babies; without those three I may not be as determined. A special shot out to my Dub and Hub (Watts and Compton) Divas and Gents: Bridget Davis, Nikki Jay, Dorothy Jenkins, Sherika Nicole, Aja Unconditional Love, Shakeia Law, Kenyanda Reddy,

  Alysas aka OSO, M&M, Gary, YoLanda, Khalilah Barber, my HG for life Faniki, my little big HG Pooh and, sooo many more…..Oh, and my girl Apryl Cox from Florida, Moniek Williams, and Shaunta Fisher… I love and appreciate you all! Shout out to those in the Industry that don’t mind supporting and helping a New Author Like Me………Karen Williams, Urban Books author (you have too many to name), Cash, author of Trust No Man 1, 2&3 and Bonded by Blood, Kre, author of The Game Don’t Love Nobody, Sha Dow, author of Fyast Life, Gloria Lathen, author of E.M.O.T.I.O.N.S and Your Purpose Is Greater Than Your Pain, Katrina, author of The Balcony View, Nita Bee over at Steamy Trails, Renda Rose, author of God’s Grace and Mercy, Emmanuel Brown, author of I am Royalty and CEO of Seeinggrowth, Mz. Robinson, author of the Love, Lust, & Lies series, Aaron BeBo, author of Change For A Dollar. #YouGuysRock!!!

  To all my family, friends, and sisters and brothers in Christ thanks for being you. I love you dearly!!!

  Prologue- A Few Months Back

  Locke High School, Watts, CA

  Jazz sat in her 7th period, Advance class, aggravated by the jealous females who thought it was cool to get on her bad side. Despite the smirks and subliminal messages, she continued to keep her focus on

  the teacher. No matter what she did out of school, hanging out with her older cousin, sometimes drinking and smoking, she refused to allow anything or anyone to stop her from getting an education.

  “Can anyone tell me four types of defense mechanisms?” The petite teacher asked. None of the students raised their hands. They went on talking about everything but what was important, which was learning all they could so they would have a shot at graduating, and a choice to get out the ghetto. The teacher looked at Jazz. She knew she could get the correct answers from her but the expression on Jazz’s face read, “why me?” And besides, why did Jazz always have to answer? Didn't the other kids learn anything?

  "I know," one boy yelled out.

  "What is it, Deonta?" asked the teacher.

  "Slap the shit out of that bitch!"

  Almost the entire class burst into laughter. The teacher went from a pale white to a blush red.

  "Deonta, go to the office now." She demanded, pointing at the door.

  The boy got up and walked out. Once the class settled down, the teacher repeated her question. This time she spoke with authority.

  “I need four of you to give me four types of defense mechanisms. If I don't get any volunteers then I will call on you. If the four that I call on do not answer correctly, then you all will have an essay to do; thirty pages.” She paused and looked at the students with pity. She couldn’t understand why the kids didn’t take their education seriously. She wanted to blame the parents for not instilling the importance of an education, but these students needed to take responsibility for their

  own actions. After all they were high school students. “Now do I have any volunteers?”

  Jazz didn't have time for extra work. Her weekends were for her to chill and have fun. In her opinion, 95% of the class was dumb. She wasn't about to allow those dummies to screw up her weekend. She knew they wouldn't have the correct answer to the question, so she raised her hand.

  Instead of using their vocals to answer the teacher’s question, students began coughing, whispering, and mumbling things she could barely understand.

  Ughhh... I hate them. She thought. I can't wait until graduation. I'm out this piece. I can bet my last breath none of them are going to walk across the stage. Hell, they probably could care less. But that's their dumb ass problem.

  "Fire away, Jazz.” The teacher said.

  “Four defense mechanisms are Pathological, Denial, Suppression, and Passive Aggressive Behavior.”

  The teacher smiled at Jazz; she then looked at the rest of the class,

  "Because of Jazz you guys will have a stress-free weekend. Thank her."

  “Fuck her." One girl yelled out.

  Just then, the bell rang and the students made their way out of class. As Jazz walked off the school campus, she pulled out her Sidekick from her Coach book bag and texted her cousin, Yay. She was letting her know that she would be at the burger stand on the corner by the school. When Yay-Yay felt like being bothered with Jazz, she would pick her up from school. They would either go shopping, compliments of

  Jazz’s mother, or go hang out at one of Yay-Yay’s play date’s house. This particular Friday, Yay’s one and only best friend was out of town. And since Yay’s scandalous ways caused her to have very few associates, she allowed Jazz in her space. You would think the fact that they were first cousins, as their mothers are sisters and them only being three years part; Jazz is 17 and Yay is 20, they would be close. Jazz wished. Jazz would be lucky if Yay would even talk to her some days. And that would hurt her feelings. Jazz would never treat Yay badly, no matter how many times Yay would diss her and make her feel bad. She would brush it off and write it off as Yay being Yay-Yay. Everything Yay did, Jazz would make excuses for her. If she screwed one of her now ex-home girl’s men, Jazz would say, he must have come on to her, and/ or took advantage of her because she was drunk. If she refused to mess with a dude who couldn't give her money, Jazz would say she was about her hustle and nothing in the world is free. Nobody could talk about Yay-Yay to Jazz, not even her best friend, Laurie, because she would get defensive; that's why people often talked about her too. For her to take up for somebody like Yay, they thought she had to be just like her. And the fact that her mother was known to sleep around didn’t help. Although Jazz was far from Yay-Yay and nothing like h
er momma, people that didn't know her personally or just didn't like her because a lot of guys admired her pretty face, sassy attitude, and intelligence would say she was just as shady as her cousin and a hoe like her mother. Trust me when I say, that is far from true. Jazz never really tripped about what people said; she didn’t have to prove who she was to nobody. Her motto is, “Only God Can Judge Me,” but if she was in her “I'm not the one you wanna fuck with today” moods, she would check you quick. That didn't happen often; she tried to keep it ladylike at all times. Her grandmother always said, “You must carry yourself how you want to be viewed. If you respect yourself, so will others.” But sometimes you gotta throw that lady shit out the window, and show assholes that you are not the one.

  Jazz walked into the gate of the burger stand and got in line. She already knew what she wanted; a cheese burger special. She pulled her Sidekick back out of her bag and texted Yay letting her know that she had arrived at the burger stand. She then went on the web to mess around on Facebook. Jazz’s attention was taken away from responding to one of her friends messages when she heard a guy behind her speak.

  "What's up girl?" He said.

  She turned around and smiled. It was Peter, the guy that used to stay next door to Yay-Yay when he lived in the projects. Peter is also one of many guys that had a crush on Yay-Yay.

  "What's up Peter; what are you doing up here?” Jazz asked.

  "Handling some business."

  She should have known. Pete and his homeboy, Ken, serve that West Coast Fire: known to some as ecstasy! Most of the high school kids were on it.

  "Oh. Ok!" She said. She then looked around. "Yay coming up here." She spoke with excitement.

  “So; what that mean? Is that your way of telling me that I can't give you a ride home?"

  He looked her up and down seductively.

  She blushed.

  "I'm good. And why you wanna give me a ride; I thought you were checking my cousin?"

  “Never that! I wanna know what's up with you?"

  He lied, and half told the truth. Although the sexual attraction he held for Yay was still there, he wasn't about to push up on her and get dissed again. Besides that, Jazz had grown up to be a sexy little cutie.

  I'll say. Jazz thought. She couldn't even finish enjoying the thought because of a hater.

  "If you ain't no pimp, then the hoe don't want cha." said a hating ass tramp.

  It was the same bald head, ugly bitch from 7th period. Jazz looked and rolled her eyes.

  Does she not know hating makes her look uglier than what she already is…?

  "Bitch, roll 'em again and I'll black 'em." The girl said walking her way.

  "Y'all chill that out man. Why y’all hating? “Peter said in Jazz’s defense.

  Deonta’s tall, bumpy face ass had the nerve to add in his two cents.

  "Naw, P, you don't wanna mess with her. That trick’s a hoe. You ain't heard? "

  "Stale her out, y'all. That shit ain't cool." P said.

  "Peter its cool." Jazz said.

  Today was the day that she had to throw the lady shit out the window. She wasn't trying to get embarrassed in front of the guy that was flirting with her. It was time to turn the tables.

  “Nigga, hoe or not, I wouldn't give your dusty ass no play if my life depended on it."

  That was so unattractive of me. Why did I let them take me there? Oh well!

  Bumpy face spoke up: “I'll slap you bitch, but it ain't worth it. I'll just let my home girl fuck you up."

  Old boy was fronting. He knew damn well he wasn’t about to do nothing to Jazz. If he had, all Jazz had to do was say one word, and the entire project would be on his head. Her daddy and uncle resting in peace are well respected in the same projects the big mouth boy stayed in.

  “Don’t front like you doing me a favor." She told him.

  He didn't say a word. She then turned to the females, “All three of you BUM bitches are ugly. You couldn't be me on my worst day. Don't hate me because you are you and I’m me.”

  “Oh this bitch trying to show out.” One girl said.

  “She don’t be talking that shit when we at school.” Another girl said.

  “I know you ain't trying to get smart with the homeboy.” the first girl that spoke said.

  Jazz responded by giving her the middle finger. The big, yellow, husky girl walked up on Jazz. She pointed her finger at her,

  “I will beat your ass, little girl.” she warned.

  “I know one thing; you better get that finger out my face.”

  “And if I don't?” the girl said and thumped Jazz on the nose.

  Without giving it a thought, Jazz gave her a right hook and then a quick left, and then another right. The girl could try all she wanted to grab Jazz’s hair, but it wasn’t happening; Jazz was too quick. Jazz mopped that ass; she dragged her, kicked her, and at one point, she bent down with her hand wrapped around the girl’s hair and punched her a few times in the face. The school crowd was hype. Not one of the girl’s friends tried to jump in and help. They were scary anyway; they only talked their mess because they thought they could bully Jazz.

  “One Time.” Someone yelled out, letting it be known that the police were near. Peter then grabbed Jazz, and Deonta grabbed the other girl. Deonta and the girl Jazz was fighting ran out of one side of the gate and Peter and Jazz ran out the other side to his car. He hit the alarm on his car unlocking the doors. Jazz hopped in on the passenger side. Peter was getting in on the driver’s side when something told him to look up. He did, and that's when he saw a purple Camaro. He and the driver made eye contact. The driver frowned up her face, rolled her eyes and rolled up her window. Peter stood there for a second in shock. He couldn't help but shake his head.

  “What you shaking your head for? I know I shouldn't have let that girl take me there.” Jazz said when Peter got in the car.

  He started to tell her that wasn't the reason he was shaking his head. He wanted to let her know that he was shaking his head at her cousin; he knew Yay had to see what went down, but went against it. He didn't want to start no mess.

  “Sometimes the only way you will get respect is if you fight.” Peter told her. Or if you gain status, he thought!

  “Right!” She said just above a whisper.

  The two pulled into traffic. Peter was about to ask her where she lived so he could take her home, but then thought that he wouldn't mind spending a little time with her. He looked over at Jazz.

  “Would you like to make a few runs with me before I take you home?”

  Jazz didn't respond. She was thinking about the fight. She then thought about Yay. Oh shoot, she thought, let me call her.

  “Dammit. I left my bag.” She said. “My phone and everything was in there.”

  “My bad. I saw your bag drop to the ground and I was meaning to pick it up, but I had to make sure you were alright. I was scared if I took my eyes off of you I wouldn't have been able to stop the fight if somebody jumped in. What was in it?”

  “Nothing, but my phone, my wallet and a few notebooks. Can I use your phone to call my cousin?”

  “My battery dead.” he told her.

  She asked did he have a car charger. He told her the fuse blew out the lighter. She sighed.

  “I'll get you another phone, don't trip.” Peter said.

  “No, I'm good. My mom has insurance on it.”

  “Word? But you never answered my question.”

  Puzzled, she asked, “What question?”

  “Ride with me a few places and then let’s get something to eat.”

  “Sure.” Jazz smiled.

  After Peter made a few drops around Los Angeles County, he and Jazz decided to go to the Beverly Center, where they enjoyed a meal at the Grand Lux Cafe. Jazz could barely have a conversation with Peter because all the boy did was crack jokes. If he wasn't cracking jokes, he was telling her how pretty she was. Basically, her time spent with Peter was full of laughs and blushing. They did get serious for a g
ood thirty minutes. That's when they talked about Peter's mom passing, how he went from a nobody to a somebody, and how he was looking for a nice young lady to accept him for him. Jazz talked about her father being in prison and how she was happy that he would be home within the next year. She told him about her dreams of becoming a famous tap dancer and that she couldn't wait until she graduated. Jazz not only wanted to get away from Locke, but she wanted to go to college. Her major would be dance of course. By the end of their evening together, the two agreed that they had a good time and wouldn't mind seeing each other again. Not wanting to speak to soon, and/ or seem desperate, Peter and Jazz kept their thoughts about how they imagined the other in their future to themselves. Jazz felt Peter was mature enough to respect a lady, plus he was cute to her and made her laugh. Peter felt that he finally found somebody that he could be his self with; goofy or silly Peter is what they used to call him back in the day. Some people still did. Jazz seemed as if she liked him for him and not his money or hell of a sex game. Sex and money is all the girls wanted him for; he knew eventually he would get tired of it, and when he did, he wanted someone like Jazz on his team.