Bad Apple - the Baddest Chick by Nisa Santiago
CHAPTER 1
The shabby three-bedroom apartment in the Lincoln projects of Harlem reeked of cigarette smoke and weed. The place was in dire condition, with its weathered furniture and tattered carpeting littered with stains and cigarette burns. The plumbing was shot, dirty dishes cluttered the kitchen, roaches were crawling all over, and the unkempt floors and walls were soiled with dirt and other grime. Still, it was home to the same family for years—two generations to be exact—so everyone in the apartment was accustomed to the filthy conditions.
Hot 97 blared throughout the apartment, and Lil Wayne’s “Lollipop” made Apple nod and sing along. She sat near the window of the fourth-floor bedroom she shared with her sister, Nichols and stared down at the corner bodega, her eyes transfixed on a certain young man lingering in front of the store. She watched him closely, admiring everything about him—his swag, his wardrobe, the gleaming black Range Rover he drove, and the way he had respect from his Harlem crew.
Seventeen-year-old Apple had a crush on Cross, a young Harlem hustler, for years. She felt blessed to be able to watch him chill and do his business from her bedroom window. It was the perfect position for her. She dreamed of Cross constantly, hoping someday he would wife her and whisk her away from the madness and poverty she lived in. If Apple hadn’t lost her virginity at fourteen, she would have waited for Cross to take it, because she knew one day he would finally notice her and realize how beautiful she was.
Cross had ladies chasing him on the regular, from young to old, and Apple knew he got around. Still, she knew she could be the better woman for him someday. All she needed was time with him. He’d never had a wifey, and Apple was ready to become his ride-or-die chick.
Apple sat near the window for an hour, her beautiful, long, light-brown legs clad in a dark blue and white pinstripe skirt. The white T-shirt she had on accentuated her full b-reasts, and her long, sensuous hair fell down to her shoulders, making her look like a black Barbie doll. She knew she was beautiful, with her curvy waistline and succulent figure, because the men who chased her on the daily reminded her. Having chestnut eyes, perfectly curved eyebrows, tight light-brown skin, and sweet glossy lips made her and Kola, her identical twin sister, the envy of Harlem.
Apple was older than Kola by forty-six minutes, and she reminded her of that every chance she got. The two sisters were like night and day. Apple, who could be more reserved and patient, kept to herself sometimes. She knew her time to escape poverty and the projects would come. Kola, on the other hand, was a firecracker and a very promiscuous young girl—getting money and having sex whenever she could. Both sisters had their untamed ways and share of men. Apple wasn’t any angel herself, but Kola was the more ambitious and raw of the two.
*****
Apple hated when people confused her with her sister. One day, while she was in the Chinese restaurant with her friend Mesha, a young teen felt on her booty and whispered to her, “So when you gonna let me hit that again?”
“Get your f*ckin’ hands off me!” Apple shouted. “Who the f-uck is you?”
The young teen quickly realized it was the wrong twin. “Damn, my bad, shawty. I thought you were your sister.”
“Well, I ain’t,” she spat.
“I’m sayin’, ma, you ain’t gotta act like that. f-uck is wrong wit’ you?”
“What the f-uck is wrong wit’ you? Don’t get me twisted, fo’ real.”
Mesha had to pull Apple out of the Chinese spot before things got more heated. After Mesha calmed her friend down, the two went on with their day without any more incidents. But Apple was tired of the repeated mix-ups between her and Kola. She’d even thought about cutting her hair one day, but when word got back to her that Cross loved women with long, black hair, she quickly erased the thought from her mind.
*****
Apple continued to stare at Cross from high above, admiring his strapping physique in the wife-beater he had on, and the way his dark brown skin shimmered on the hot spring day. Cross had on a pair of stylish beige cargo shorts, with a pair of spotless white Uptowns. His tattooed arms were rippled with definition, and his long corn rows hung down to his shoulders. He sported a thick Cuban link chain with a diamond-encrusted cross around his neck, along with a matching bracelet and diamond pinky ring, signifying his wealth on the block. Cross was the epitome of a well-groomed, get-money thug.
As Apple sat and watched him, she heard the announcement of the upcoming Summer Jam concert. She, Ayesha, and Mesha had their tickets in advance. It was the much-needed break she sought from Harlem and her family. Excited, she rushed over to the radio and turned up the volume to hear the 2010 Summer Jam lineup that would include Drake, Trey Songz, Ludacris, Juelz Santana, Usher, Gucci Mane, Nicki Minaj, and a few more. Apple screamed because she yearned to see her favorite artists, Drake, Trey Songz, and Ludacris, perform. It was her first concert, and she couldn’t wait to go with her best friends.
She rushed back to the window and continued to look down at Cross and his goons. She only wished Cross was the one taking her to the concert. She pictured herself riding in his truck, styling in the passenger seat, being his woman and the envy of all the other bitches chasing after her boo.
“One day, you’re gonna be mines,” she said to herself in an assuring whisper.
The door abruptly flew open, and Apple’s mother came rushing into the bedroom, disturbing Apple from her fantasy.