As I stood in front of the mirror, the excitement and nerves swirled within me. My mom's voice echoed from the hallway, urging me to hurry up. I rummaged through my big, glittery closet, searching for the perfect outfit that screamed Brooklyn. Finally, I settled on a green crop top jersey with bold white letters that pronounced "BROOKLYN," paired with my favorite baggy low-rise jeans. The cherry on top? My trusty red Converse, which always seemed to bring out my personality. I grabbed a chic Y2K purse adorned with gold rings and adorned myself with some fun accessories—a mix of bracelets, necklaces, and hoop earrings. With my hair styled in a low puff ponytail braid and Y2K shades perched atop my head, I felt ready to embrace whatever the day had in store.
As I sit here reflecting on my journey, I am unable to help but feel a mix of uncertainty and hope. I know my past has been filled with struggles that I don't want to relive, especially for Brooklyn's sake. But I'm starting to think that maybe it's worth giving this new opportunity a chance, all while staying true to myself. I don't want my mom to feel like I'm an ungrateful burden; I want her to see that I'm trying. So here I am, ready to take a step forward and embrace positivity, even if it feels a bit daunting. It's time to push through the doubts and make an effort for the life I truly want.
"Wow, baby girl, you look gorgeous!" My mom's enthusiasm was infectious, and despite myself, I couldn't help but smile a bit. "Yeah, well, for your sake, Mom, I'm going to get used to it and adjust," I replied, attempting to keep my tone light. She giggled and shook her head, a familiar twinkle in her eye.
"What am I going to do with you, my little rascal?" she teased, lying flat on my bed, clearly lost in thought for a moment. It was one of those moments where I could feel the chaos of our lives slowing down just a bit. But as quickly as it started, it ended; she got up and left my room, and I was once again alone with my reflections.
Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me, and I turned around to confront whoever was brave enough to disrupt my mini oasis. "Damn, you got all dressed up for me, shortie," said Miles, a grin plastered across his face. Great, just what I needed — a comment from him. "Could you go anywhere else but here?" I shot back, doing my best to sound annoyed.
He just looked at me and let out a slow, low whistle. "You're lucky I'm calling you fine as hell tonight," he replied, his confidence oozing. I rolled my eyes, trying to let my nerves calm down. "Dick," I muttered under my breath, the annoyance coloring my cheeks.
"Jayla, that is no way to talk to Miles," my mom called from the hallway, even from afar, her support unwavering. "Mami, you're siding with him!" I huffed, feeling a mix of exasperation and amusement. This was typical.
It's only been a day since we arrived in Brooklyn, and I can already feel the tension rising. My mother took his side—Miles' side—like I was the one causing all the trouble. "You should listen to your mom, Jayla; she's right about what you said," she said, acting as if I were the one being unreasonable. I couldn't help but mutter "bolsa de basura!" under my breath, frustrated that my mother couldn't see it. "Jayla, se porta bien!" she shouted again, as if that would magically fix everything.
I could feel my blood boiling. Here I was, feeling like a stranger in my own family, and Miles was somehow getting all the sympathy. "You know what? I'm just going to wait in the car, silently praying for my death," I said, trying to keep my cool. It felt unfair, watching my mom back him up when he wasn't even family, at least not in the way I was. I could envision the trouble he would inevitably blame on me, and I wasn't ready for that. I sighed, preparing myself for the inevitable fallout that would follow this little family trip.
As I stood there, feeling the weight of my mom's expectations pressing down on me, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Jayla, come on," he urged, his tone a mix of impatience and concern. "Your mom is trying to look out for you. Besides, you're going to be with me at the party. Your parents thought you could spend time with me so we can get to know each other better."
I halted mid-step, turning to face him, confusion swirling in my mind. "¿Qué acabas de decir?" I shot back, my annoyance bubbling to the surface. "Jayla, speak English," he replied, frustration creeping into his voice. I rolled my eyes, annoyed by the insistence. "What did you just say?"
His response was vague, something about going alone together. I felt a mix of disbelief and irritation. Seriously? My mom and stepdad were trying to set this up, pushing me into something I wasn't sure I even wanted. "Ugh," I groaned, a heavy sigh escaping my lips as I crossed my arms defensively. It felt like yet another attempt to control my life; the thought was suffocating.
I slid into the sleek red Lamborghini, the engine roaring to life as Miles took his seat beside me. There was an unspoken tension in the air—one that I hoped would dissipate the moment we pulled away from the mansion. "You know what, Miles? Let's just drive and not talk, alright?" I didn't wait for his reply; my heart was too heavy with frustration.
As the cityscape shifted from opulence to the chaotic vibe of Brighton Beach, my thoughts spiraled out of control. How could my mother do this to me? Setting me up with someone new while I was already committed to someone else just felt so disloyal. It made my head spin. I could see throngs of my peers scattered along the beach, some laughing and guzzling beer while others engaged in far riskier behaviors. The sight made my stomach turn—was this what my mother envisioned for me? Did she want me to devolve into a reckless lifestyle?
Next to me, Miles let out a chuckle, breaking through my brooding. "Hey, don't blame your mom," he said with a smirk. "She said to spend some time here; I've got a party to get to, and I intend to have fun. You do your thing on the beach while I enjoy my beer."
His casual demeanor irritated me further, but I couldn't deny the temptation of escaping into this reckless world, if only for a moment.
As I strolled along Brighton Beach, I searched for a spot that offered some peace, away from the clinking bottles and floating cups of alcohol that seemed to follow me everywhere. "Hola, sexy," a deep voice purred in my ear, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned to face the source, feeling a mix of annoyance and curiosity.
"Have manners, dickhead, or next time I'll finish you off," I shot back, my tone sharper than a shard of glass. The guy, a tall figure with a carefree grin, merely chuckled with his friend, unimpressed by my harsh words.
"My bad, señorita. Do you want a drink?" He leaned in slightly, and I took a moment to assess him, from the tousled hair to the mischievous glimmer in his eye. "Lo que tienes," I replied, a hint of playful challenge in my voice.
He clapped his hands together, clearly amused. "I like you! We've got Coke and beer—choose."
The options lingered tantalizingly in the air, but I couldn't shake the responsibility that tugged at me. The thought of being a stable driver while Miles indulged struck a chord. Plus, the last thing I needed was for my mom to catch the scent of alcohol on me. "I'll take a Coke," I decided, my head nodding firmly, determined to keep my balance in a world spinning with unpredictable fun.
As I took a sip from my Coke, a strange sensation washed over me. Instead of the familiar sweetness of the fizzy drink, it felt as if a sharp, fiery liquid coursed down my throat, a blatant reminder that there was something else lurking in that glass. "Mireda!" I exclaimed, my eyes landing on a guy across the room who was barely suppressing a laugh.
"Come on, querida, I was just having some fun," he replied, a smug grin plastered across his face. I could barely contain my eye roll; boys like him were a dime a dozen—cocksure and insufferable. Clenching my jaw, I clutched the Coke tighter, determined to find a refuge, a spot where I could escape the barrage of obnoxious chuckles and overconfident glances.
With each step I took, the buzzing chatter of the party faded slightly, though I could still feel the weight of their unwanted attention. I scanned the room, hoping to find a corner untouched by the pervasive aura of testosterone. My heart raced with the urge to just retreat into a bubble of solace, away from the boys with their stupid jokes and need to show off. All I wanted was a moment of peace, just me and my soda, no mixers, no surprises.
"Hey, chica, are you from around here?" I looked up to see a girl in a bikini top and low-rise Y2K baggy jeans. She had an easy smile that made me relax a bit. I tilted my head slightly and replied, "No, and do all boys have to act like such assholes?"
She shook her head with a knowing look in her eyes. "Sorry, girl. As a Black girl from Brooklyn, I'm sorry for what the boys did to you. They act so high and mighty, thinking they're men."
I couldn't help but giggle. "Yeah, and their so-called 'muscles and abs, '" I mocked, rolling my eyes. It felt good to share a laugh over this ridiculousness.
"Hey, before we go mocking these so-called 'men,' I didn't catch your name," she said, her tone shifting just a little.
I looked her straight in the eye and said, "Jayla. And you?"
She flipped her long, curly hair over her shoulder, and I caught a glimpse of her sparkling gold hoop earrings catching the sunlight. "Seraph. The pleasure is all mine," she replied, a playful grin on her face.
Just like that, beneath the sweltering sun and the sound of laughter around us, I felt something shift. Maybe it was the bond over our shared exasperation with guys, or perhaps it was the way her confidence radiated, but I knew we were going to get along just fine.
As I leaned against the bar and took another sip of my not-so-coke beer, I couldn't help but reflect on how I ended up in this dimly lit club. It felt like a far cry from the life I once knew, the vibrant streets of my old neighborhood in San Angel now just a distant memory. My mom had met this guy, some wealthy dude who swept her off her feet, and just like that, my entire world flipped upside down. No one bothered to consult me or even consider what I wanted. I felt like a piece of luggage, just being whisked away to wherever my mom's whims took her.
"Dang girl, your mother is savage. She doesn't play, does she?" Seraph had said, her eyes sparkling with a mix of disbelief and amusement. I laughed, letting out a sigh that encapsulated all the frustration I couldn't express. "Nah, when she wants to do her thing, it's my thing too," I'd replied, knowing all too well how it felt to be at her mercy. Although I loved my mom, there was a weight to her decisions that often felt heavy on my shoulders.
But here I was, surrounded by the pulsing beat of the music and the colorful lights that danced across the club. Seraph, my wild and free-spirited friend, was urging me to shake off the remnants of my past. "Forget this crap and dance!" she exclaimed, rolling her eyes as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. I was taken aback, my eyes widening in disbelief. "What?"
"Dance, bitch! It'll make you feel better, okay?" She persisted, her voice filled with a contagious energy that was hard to resist. Maybe she was right. Maybe I needed to let go, even if just for a moment. What did I have to lose?
As I took a deep breath, I could feel the rhythm of the music pulling me in. The worries of the day faded into the background, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I let myself be carried away by the beat, experiencing a little freedom amidst the chaos of my life.
As I keep dancing on the floor with my first-ever friend in Brooklyn, I can't help but feel a sense of ease wash over me amidst everything that's been happening. Taking another sip of my drink, I hear "Party in the USA" start to play, and I can't help but grin. "Yes, this is my jam!" Seraph exclaims, stepping to the beat. I shake my head playfully, "You're not going to make me dance."
She rolls her eyes at me. "If I dance, will you dance?" she asks, and I pause to think about it for a moment before nodding. I can't resist the infectious energy. Soon enough, her voice fills the air as she moves to the rhythm, singing, "I hopped off the plane at LAX with a dream and my cardigan." I laugh, caught up in the moment, and start spinning with her.
As we continue, I chime in on the next part, "Jumped in the cab, here for the first time, look to my right and I see the Hollywood sign." The excitement bubbles between us as we dive into our favorite lines, belting out, "And the Jay-Z song was on, and the Jay-Z song was on." We join together for the chorus, "Yeah, there's a party in the USA, yeah, there's a party in the USA!"
I feel myself letting go, enjoying the song while at the bar, my hips moving and body swaying like crazy. This is what I needed—a night to forget, a chance to embrace the fun and spontaneity life has to offer.
As the music pulsed around me, I kept dancing, feeling my body warm up and become free. It was as if each beat lifted me higher, turning the night into a vibrant celebration. Everyone was calling my name, merging their voices into the rhythm of the moment. Taking a break from my handstand, I tossed back a drink, the alcohol sliding down my throat like a smooth wave. Finally, after moving to Brooklyn, I was embracing the fun that came with it.
I could feel the infectious energy swirling within me as I moved my hips to the next song. Seraph, my first friend in this wild city, had mentioned she needed water and promised to text me tomorrow, but my head was already spinning. Voices seemed to call out to me, weaving through the laughter and music. "Jayla! Jayla!" I inhaled the scent of cologne, a sweet escape, and smiled at the sensation.
"Hola, sexy! Wanna dance with me?" Miles appeared out of nowhere, lifting me off the ground. I couldn't help but giggle as he held me close, nestled beside his neck. He guided me into his flashy Lamborghini, and I felt a rush of exhilaration. "Shit, I didn't think you would get drunk," he said, a mix of surprise and amusement washing over his features. I giggled in response, watching him as he tried to figure out what to do next.
Once we made it back to the mansion, Miles gently carried me up the staircase. The world around us blurred into a dreamy haze, and I couldn't help but start complimenting him. "Miles, your abs are so strong! Are you always working out?" I asked, my fingers playfully wandering toward his pants. He chuckled, half-amused and half-concerned. "Jayla, you're drunk, but don't get your hands in my pants," he warned, though part of me sensed he was just trying to keep the moment light. The night was alive with possibilities, and anything felt like it could happen.
I lay in my bed, the world a hazy swirl around me, fueled by the remnants of the party and a little too much to drink. Miles was there, his presence strong and comforting, though I could feel the pull of mischief tugging at my thoughts. I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling his warmth seep into me. "Come on, it won't hurt if I kiss you," I purred, a playful challenge in my voice as I leaned in closer.
With a teasing slowness, I pressed my lips against his neck, planting soft kisses that lingered just a moment longer than necessary. I could feel his heartbeat quicken, the way his Adam's apple bobbed beneath my lips, igniting something daring within me. My fingers itched to wander, to explore further, but he caught my hand before I could slip it into his pants, a laugh escaping his lips.
"Damn, Jayla, you're good at trying to get what you want," he teased, amusement dancing in his eyes. "But you're drunk, and you have a boyfriend. Get some sleep." He was gentle as he lay me back onto the bed, the sheets cool against my heated skin.
But I wasn't ready to give in just yet. "Come on, he won't know," I insisted, my voice a whisper as I tried to entice him. "I'll make it quick—nice, soft, comfortable, and adorable. You'll enjoy it, Miles." There was a playful spark in my eyes, a challenge I knew he couldn't resist entirely.
With another chuckle, he shook his head, a mixture of amusement and caution etched on his face as he closed the door behind him, leaving me in a swirl of thoughts. A part of me felt the weight of my choices pressing down; another part craved the thrill of crossing the line, if only for a moment. What was the harm in a little fun when the night was still young?