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date, Roscoe took me out of town with him to Philadelphia, where he had tickets to a Jay-Z concert, front row and everything. And then afterwards, he had a suite at the Sheraton—you know he had a sista open. I ain’t no slut, but I fucked the nigga that night. I mean, who wouldn’t? It was worth it.
    And as our relationship grew, it was great to know that he didn’t have no kids. Oh, God, that was such a bonus, knowing that I didn’t have to deal with no jealous bitchy baby mamas. I had no kids, so it was great.
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    I stood in front of the mirror naked and gazed at myself, like I do every morning. I’m not conceited—well, a little, but a sista like me got it going on. I got a petite figure, with gracefully long black hair that stops at my shoulders. Bitches in the hair salon be hating, because my shit ain’t a weave like most fake sistas. My lips are pretty and stay glossed out. To the fellows, I’m known as the chocolate fine honey with the cute butt and curvaceous figure. Roscoe hates it when I walk out on the streets alone, because plenty of brothas be trying to come at me and holla. Most of ’em know that I’m with Roscoe, but they don’t care. They be stressing the situation, saying my man ain’t gonna find out. But I be loving Roscoe too much to fuck around with these lame-ass wannabe hustlers and gangstas. And I also know you don’t shit where you eat. Roscoe do take care of me—I just wish that sometimes he would take care of me a little bit more often.
    About an hour done passed since Roscoe left me alone in the apartment. And to be real, I was missing him already. This nigga had my fucking hopes up, thinking I was gonna be with my man all day, and we were going to go out shopping and have dinner at the Olive Garden and just do us all day. Instead he leaves because he claims I got him upset. Yeah, whatever.
    Well, I was determined not to spend my entire day off being bored and trapped in this apartment. I was getting into something—I don’t care if it was just hanging outside the projects.
    I called up Jade, and as soon as she picked up the phone, I heard the drama.

~ CHAPTER 2 ~
jade
    Y ou need to fuck that bitch up, Jade,” Camille said to me, looking angrier and more upset than me. “Fo’ real, Jade, that bitch was talkin’ mad shit the other night, talkin’ about you ain’t shit to her and how your man be checkin’ her every night. She actin’ like he ain’t shit to you.”
    â€œWhere that bitch at right now?” I said. I was heated because I hate when my name is constantly coming out of a bitch’s mouth, and the ho don’t even know me. And now this ho that Camille is talking about claims to be fucking my man, James, on the regular. Now I know me and James ain’t been on smooth terms lately, but for my man to be messing around with some dirty bitch like Tasha—yo, I swear, I’m about to get medieval on someone.
    â€œI heard that bitch be over on Guy Brewer gettin’ high and shit wit’ her cousin.”
    â€œShe there now?” I asked.
    â€œShe should be; that bitch is a bum. She ain’t got no place to be. You need to handle this, Jade. You know I got your back.”
    It wasn’t even noon yet, and here I was, getting into some drama, and Camille ain’t no good, because she’s a hyper bitch, ready to throw down whenever. She doesn’t care with who, male or female. You disrespect her, me, or Shy, and she ready to fuck you up, anyplace and anytime.
    And it’s funny, because a few years ago, we both had beef with each other, ready to tear each other’s hair out, and now we cool like sistas. When Shy’s man got killed in ’98, Camille stuck around and made sure my homegirl was all right. I gave her props for that. In ’98, we both squashed our beef and kept close ties to Shy, who became like our little sista. We all became