Chapter Sixteen: What You Wearing That For?
901 Words
Lyric
Saturday morning started like any other — early shift at the store, hair tied up in a claw clip, sneakers on, no time to breathe.
By the time one o’clock hit, I was done.
Feet sore. Eyes heavy. And that soft ache in my back from standing too long.
I didn’t even say much to my coworkers — just clocked out, took my bag, and went home.
The moment I touched my bed?
Gone.
I woke up to loud knocking and Janiyah yelling from outside.
“Open the damn door, girl! It’s party time!”
I dragged myself out of bed and cracked the door open. She barged in like always, carrying her bag, speaker, wig head, and a Chick-fil-A cup like she ran the house.
“I brought lashes!” she yelled, already turning up the music in my room.
I yawned, rubbing my eyes. “I’m too tired for all that.”
“Not tonight, you not.”
An hour later, we were in full glam mode.
I didn’t go overboard — just some concealer, a soft highlight, lashes, and lip gloss. Sleek bun with my edges laid real smooth, gold hoops, and that new crop top that matched the sneakers Zay gave me. My jeans hugged my waist and sat right on my hips.
I looked… good. Not loud. Just solid. Confident.
Then Janiyah stepped out the bathroom — and I blinked.
“Damn.”
She had on a little black dress that was basically a belt, a split so high it needed a warning label, and this long body wave wig that nearly touched her knees.
Her face was beat. Beat like celebrity red carpet beat.
“You tryna fight for your life in that dress orrr?” I joked.
She laughed. “It’s Smoke’s fault. He said I could wear what I want. So I’m wearing what I want.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Smoke gon’ kill you.”
She waved me off. “And then come back to life just to hit it from the back.”
We pulled up to the party around 8.
It was packed.
Music booming. Red cups everywhere. Backyard glowing under string lights. People dancing, drinking, flirting. The energy was loud — the kind that stuck to your skin.
I held my breath as we walked through the side gate.
Eyes turned.
Girls whispered.
Guys stared.
And then I felt it.
Zay’s eyes.
He was leaned against the back wall, hoodie on, blunt in hand, but those gray eyes?
Already on me.
Janiyah disappeared fast, caught up in a group of girls who were dancing wild by the firepit.
I stayed near the drink table, sipping slow, keeping to myself… until one girl strutted up beside me.
Tight jumpsuit. Acrylics. Lace front laid.
She gave me the nastiest once-over.
“You must be the new chick,” she said, fake-smiling. “Zay got a new one every other month, so don’t take it personal.”
I didn’t say anything.
Didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
I just sipped my drink.
And stared straight ahead.
That’s when she looked over my shoulder and said, “Oh, here he come now. Good luck, boo.”
She walked off just as Zay stepped behind me, his hand brushing my lower back.
“You good?” he asked, voice close to my ear.
I nodded.
“Look like somebody tryna pull a reaction outta you.”
“I’m fine.”
Zay didn’t smile. Didn’t say nothing slick.
He just stepped closer, real calm.
“You don’t gotta say anything. I’ll handle that.”
A slow song came on, and I started vibing a little with some girls I used to work with.
Nothing major. Just a lil’ two-step, hips swaying, smiling, feeling cute.
Zay stood across the yard, talking to Smoke, but I could feel him watching.
Then one guy slid behind me — not touching, just dancing near.
Before I could even turn around…
Zay was there.
He didn’t say a word.
Just grabbed my wrist real gentle… and led me off the dance floor.
“Why you letting dudes stand behind you like that?” he asked, voice low.
I blinked. “I didn’t even—”
“I ain’t gon’ say it twice, Lyric.”
I swallowed. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Exactly,” he said. “So act like it.
Meanwhile, Smoke stormed toward the music, eyes locked on Janiyah.
She was twerking with her friends, dress flying, cup in hand, lit.
He yanked the cup from her hand and whispered something sharp in her ear.
Janiyah’s smile dropped. “What?”
“I said sit your ass down,” Smoke snapped. “Dress riding high like you ain’t got no damn sense.”
“You ain’t my daddy,” she hissed.
“You right. I’m the one f**king you. That means I get a say.”
He motioned to the couch.
She stomped over, flopped down, arms folded tight.
I sat beside her quietly.
Janiyah wouldn’t even look at me.
“He gon’ tell me what to wear now?” she mumbled.
“I told you that dress was gonna start drama,” I said softly.
“Yeah, well… now I’m sitting like a damn child while he out here acting like he run me.”
Her jaw was clenched. Lashes still perfect. But her pride? Bruised.
- Writer
