The Girl of His Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page A

mouth.”
    â€œOh, really?”
    Now I don’t know why chicks stay testing me. I swear I think it’s something in the air. Oh wait. Maybe it’s this pretty face. Or these light brown eyes that almost look hazel when the sun hits them. Oh, no. That’s not it. It’s gotta be the silky hair that stays fly—thanks to the Dominican spot I go to over on One Hundred and Forty-ninth and Amsterdam Avenue in New York. Uh, maybe, it’s this small waist that has ’em all gaggin’ on hater juice. Whatever! All I know is, where I’m from, you don’t step up in a chick’s face and pop noise. You got beef, you swing and take her face off. Period, point blank. I’ma feel real sorry for her if she’s dumb enough to let these nondescript chicks gas her into gettin’ a beatdown. She’s real lucky. ’Cause if this was last year, I swear she wouldn’t still be standing. She’d be dropped to the ground and I’d be standing up over her body stomping her lights out. But I’m tryna change. Tryna be the better person. New school, new beginnings . . . whatever!
    Point is, I miss Brooklyn!
    I miss Flatbush Avenue.
    I miss Fulton Street.
    I miss Fort Greene Park.
    I miss my old high school.
    I miss my girls, Stacy, Jalanda, and Tre.
    I miss the hustle ’n’ bustle of the streets. Brooklyn at night is live ’n’ poppin’.
    At my old school, I was that hot chick on deck. I still am. But these hookers and hoes here don’t know that, yet . They too busy hatin’ and throwin’ shade. But trust. They’ll get the memo. And when they do, they’ll know, like they did at Fashion High, that I’m that mad sexy chick—the fly girl who stays dipped in all the fly wears. The one who keeps all the boys following behind her like lost puppies, eating outta the palm of her hands. Yeah, that chick.
    At my old school, chicks wanted to be me!
    And all the dudes wanted to have me!
    And I had ’em all running around in circles.
    Now look at me. My life is ruined.
    Over!
    I’m so pissed. Why my mom felt the need to move across the river will never, ever, make sense to me. If she wanted to get away from my father, she coulda moved uptown somewhere. Heck, she coulda even moved waaaay out to Queens, or out on Long Island. She had a choice of five boroughs. And all she had to do is pick one. Then I’d still be in New York. But, nooooo. She wanted out. Out of her life with my father. Out of New York. And she just had to drag me across the bridge—well, through the tunnel—with her. Just had to disrupt my whole life . . . scratch that, my whole world, and move to corny Jersey.
    Now here I am . . . !
    First day of school with chicks slick talking when I walk by. Guys either tryna holla or eyeballing me all reckless and whatnot. And now I gotta deal with this chick standing here practically begging for these hands upside her head. I look her up and down, then dead in her face, letting her know ain’t no punk standing here. Still, I’m not gonna toss shade and say she’s ugly ’cause she’s not. I mean, she’s not as fine or as fly as me , but she’s still kinda cute. I guess. And I’m not gonna hate on her shape ’cause she’s definitely holding her own. But her body isn’t bangin’ like mine. And her hair . . . mmmph. Well, mine is real. Hers, a straight-up nightmare! Horrid!
    â€œYes, really,” she snaps, narrowing her eyes. “You’d better buy a vowel and get a clue, sweetie.”
    I tilt my head. “Excuse you? Have we met?”
    She twists her lips up. “No, we haven’t met, trick. I’m the Welcome Committee. Here to warn you that if you even think about going after my man, I’m gonna welcome you to a beatdown, boo.”
    Two of the girls in her fan club start laughing. I cut my eyes over at them, then back at Miss Ghetto. “Okay, so I’ve