Page 25 of Kassir and Rebel
“’Scuse me, bitch,” she says while laughing. Then she turns and yells, “Rocky!”
“Rocky who?” I turn to ask and see a tall, pretty, mocha sister strutting toward us. She has on heels out here on this pavement. She’s brave because I’m struggling with these damn sandals. I’ll break my neck with heels because I’m truly a kicks girl. I have more of those than clothes, I swear.
“Racquel Sanders. Band at Prep,” she says but I truly don’t remember her from high school. The two of them hug then Racquel looks at me. “Oh my God, Rebel? You look the same,” she gushes before pulling me into a hug.
Not wanting to seem rude, I just go with the hug then smile back. “Hey, girl,” I greet her.
“I didn’t know you were back. I saw you at the wedding but you were so busy. Sorry, I didn’t speak.”
“It’s okay. Thanks for going though.”
Teaira motions to the red solo cup in her hand. There’s a long straw in it and the straw has gummy candy wrapped around it. “Emma?” she questions.
“You know it. This is the Candy Licker and it’s good and strong. I got it frozen though. You want to try it,” she offers while holding her cup out.
Teaira shakes her head so damn fast I have to hold my laugh in. “Just point me in her direction,” she says.
“Right over there by the DJ,” Racquel says. “It was good seeing y’all.”
“It really was,” Teaira says and I just smile.
“Why did you shake your head like that when she asked you to taste her drink?” I ask as soon as Racquel is far enough from us.
“Gurl.” Teaira pauses dramatically. “Because that bitch was a dick eater in high school,” she says, then falls out laughing.
“I can’t with you. Why did you call her like that then?” I ask, laughing too.
“Because I’m messy. Duh.”
“Very messy and petty. But I really don’t remember her,” I utter as we walk toward the DJ booth.
“That’s because you only knew three things in high school: me, Kassir, and track,” she says and I suck my teeth.
We walk through the crowd, speaking and hugging several people as we do. As we get closer to the DJ booth, I spot it, the Fire Peaux Boyz truck. My mind zones in on it.
“Get me a Candy Licker too. I’m going to get in that line. You want something?”
“I ate more than you so just some of their Voodoo fries, extra spicy,” she says.
We split and she heads toward Emma. She’s set up under a large white tent, right next to the DJ and dance area. Yahzi and Miss Mae, Ma’s friend and Suleem’s aunt, are doing the Tamia line dance that I can’t get for the life of me.
The line at the truck is long but it’s moving fast. When I make it to the window, I order my favorite, the shrimp and roast beef po’boy, light gravy, spicy coleslaw, and Teaira’s Voodoo fries.
“That doesn’t sound like fuel for performance,” a voice I know all too well says from behind me and I immediately turn around.
“Coach,” I damn near squeal as I embrace the woman who trained me and cultivated my love for track.
“I heard I should be calling you coach too,” she says, beaming. “How are you?”
“Good but great now. I was hoping to catch you while I was home. It’s so good seeing you,” I tell her, then embrace her one more time.
“I see you’re still walking the fine line between fuel and food,” she teases.
“You know me but the fries aren’t mine. That’s some balance. But I have to be honest. I use your line with my girls. They allknow food is fuel for performance, not enjoyment. I remember everything you taught me. Thank you.”
“I was just doing my job,” she says modestly.
“You always did more than that. That’s why we love you, Coach. How’s the team looking this year?”
