Chapter One  "It doesn't matter how the surface got slick, or if it's shaven at all. Men will take it nappy, braided, dreaded-up, or parted to the side as long as it’s good,” was my answer to Madison’s question of why I had chosen to use a $4.99 bottle of hair removal cream instead of joining her for a $45 bikini wax. First off, at twenty-two years old, and a recent college graduate, my spring break days should’ve been over, but she and Yvette convinced me that one last wild hooray was what we needed. So we were Daytona Beach bound for Black College Reunion Weekend. Madison made the hotel arrangements, I secured the rental of an Escalade, and Yvette was supposed to find out the who, what, where, and when of all the events that weekend. Instead, all she did was extend invitations to everybody and their mamas. I still can’t believe that she talked me into letting Kantrell tag along. The “Kantrell” idea didn’t sit too well with Madi, but funds were tight and she realized that rental car and hotel expenses were cheaper divided into four. “Neat, break me out,” Madison said after putting her bags in the back and hopping in the front seat. “This is a kick ass truck.” She looked around at the black leather interior. She was more of a sister to me than my older and biological sister, Tyann. Sometimes she felt more family than my two brothers too. Madi and I had been best friends since the sixth grade. I met her on the first day of middle school. And although she was always the one to get the cutest guys I managed not to strangle her. It was no secret why men flocked to her, her smooth dark brown complexion and slightly slanted eyes were just the beginnings of her unique beauty. Madi’s mother was a Blackfoot Indian, which blessed her with the type of long wavy dark hair we black women pay tons for. Mrs. Flack died when Madi was just ten and since then her father, Reverend Isaac M. Flack, Pastor/Teacher at Mt. Pleasant Missionary Baptist Church, was very protective of her, his only daughter. People based what Madi should act like on who her father was, but she was just the opposite. In middle school she talked Yvette and I into skipping classes by hiding in the restroom and standing on top of the toilets. She schooled us on not showing our report cards until after the weekend. We all tried the smoking thing, but gave it up when we realized that buying weed cost more than buying school lunch. Plus, the more we smoked the more we wanted to eat; we just simply couldn’t afford both. After having our hearts broken in the eighth grade we made a vow that love was a game we weren’t grown enough to play. In high school we broke the vow but learned that we still weren’t sufficient to or for love. Love got us grounded, put on daily progress reports, and on the special prayer requests list at church. Shit, love even got one of us crabs and with us sharing the same clothing so often, gave it to the other. We still don’t know who caught it first and where from. Yep! We were Daytona Beach bound. It was 5:29 P.M. and as I pulled out of her driveway the front door eased open and Reverend Flack stepped out wearing a tight fitting black tank top and a loose pair of black slacks. Saying that he was sexy, fine, hot or cute was like describing a Jaguar as just another four-door car. He was 6’3 and 2l5 pounds of firm chocolate tenderness. If I had three wishes the first would be to make him not be her father; my second wish would be for just one night alone with him without a Bible in sight; and last I’d ask for forgiveness. The fact that he was single just made him more delicious. Eight years prior, in 1995, Reverend and Sister Flack were to attend the National Baptist Convention in Charlotte, North Carolina. The night before their flight, one of the church deacons had a car tire blowout, and while walking to the next exit to get help he was struck by an eighteen-wheeler and killed. Mr. and Mrs. Flack decided that she’d go to Charlotte alone, and Reverend Flack would stay to comfort the family and help them make arrangements. If the funeral wasn’t right away he’d join her later that week for the end of the convention. Bianca Flack, along with 103 other passengers, perished on Northeastern Air flight number 672 when it crashed six minutes after leaving Fort Lauderdale Executive Airport. Reverend Flack was devastated by the loss of his wife. His faith dangled between him questioning God and finding a reason for why he had to suffer this way. It took him almost a year to get back into the pulpit. After battling the tragedy within, Reverend Flack got back on his feet and delivered the Word with a new meaning and with more vigor than anyone else in the community. To my knowledge, and as far as Madison knew, he hadn’t been with a woman since the loss of her mother. He dedicated all of his time and effort into spreading the Word, bettering the neighborhood, and making sure his children found everything they needed in him. “This man really thinks I’m still twelve. Why did I ever come back here after college? I have to move out real soon,” Madi said, rolling her eyes as he walked toward the truck. “I thought he was asleep.” Mr. Flack approached and I quickly asked the Lord to help me not stare at his bulging biceps or his beautiful brown eyes. This man could quickly become one of my favorite sins. He could easily pass for a thicker and slightly lighter complexion version of Denzel Washington. It may sound farfetched, but the man was all that. Though he was forty-two, he didn’t look a day over thirty. He maintained his youthful appearance working out at the local gym five days a week. He smiled as he got closer to the vehicle and his pearly white teeth gleamed like piano keys playing behind his dark brown lips. Each step he made toward us made his dress slacks fall against his thick thighs and the print of his masculinity was in 3D. He folded his arms and partially leaned into the vehicle. “So, you were just going to leave, huh?” He smiled at Madi and pushed her playfully. “Daddy,” she leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I thought you were sleeping. I didn’t want to bother you.” “I was reading up on tonight’s bible study scriptures.” “Umm,” she continued sarcastically, “with your eyes closed?” “There was an interesting verse…” he mumbled, “on the inside of my eyelids.” She touched his head and I wished I were one of her fingertips. “I thought I’d let you rest.” “Thanks for being considerate, but you know that I like to see you off.” He looked over in my direction with a smile. “Hey there, Miss Thalia Tyree.” I tried hard not to blush, but it was too late. He always called me by my first and last name saying it had a nice ring to it. He reached over Madi to shake my hand. “What’s up? How are you doing?” “I’m fine, Reverend Flack,” I delivered without drooling. “What did I tell you about that Reverend and Mr. Flack stuff?” He laughed. “Isaac is fine with me.” “Sorry, I always forget.” I smiled. “I haven’t seen you at church in quite sometime.” It had been about four or five months since I visited Mount Pleasant. “I find myself grading papers all weekend long these days.” As I responded he seemed to be staring at my lips, or maybe he was just watching my lies form. “You’ll be seeing me within the next few Sundays.” “I’ll be looking forward to it.” He let go of my hand. “Well, I won’t hold you two up any longer. You girls have fun at the family reunion.” Isaac reached into his pocket, pulled out a phone card, and placed it in Madi’s hand. “I know that your cell phone only goes as far as West Palm, so use this.” He smiled. “Call me when you get there.” He took a step away from the vehicle. “Drive safely.” I slowly reversed the truck and let up the windows. “Family reunion?” “I’ve got to move out.” She shook her head. I looked over at Madi. “You told him that we’re going to a family reunion?” “It’s Black College Reunion weekend.” She buckled up. “We’re all black and like family, we went to college and we’re reuniting.” “Whose family reunion are you supposed to be going to?” “Vette’s.” She laughed. “You’re twenty-two. I don’t understand why you’re lying to him.” I was a little confused. “He’s so down to earth, you can tell him anything.” “Lia, c’mon, he gave me a damn phone card.” “Because he cares,” I continued in a mumble. “I wished my dad gave a shit.” My father married a woman he barely knew five months after my youngest brother, his fourth child with my mom, was born. “Be glad that your dad is even around.” “I know.” She thought about it. “I guess he’s cute sometimes.” “Sometimes?” I said. “Let’s try every goddamn day of the week and every hour of every day.” I raised my voice. “That man is off the chain.” “Yuck, I don’t mean like that you pervert.” She turned the volume up on Sean Paul’s cute ass singing about how he gon’ stick to some chick like glue. If I were glue I would be all over Mr. Flack. For a while we drove in silence and enjoyed the glow of the streetlights, and then the question pierced the peace. “You think Trell and I will finally have our long awaited fistfight this weekend?” Before I could laugh she continued. “I think it would give me closure.” Years ago, in our high school days, Madi and Trell were friends until they fell for the same guy, Derek Cowan, in the tenth grade. As if turning them against each other wasn’t enough he asked them both to the senior prom. Derek, a senior, and a star football player, was truly a demon seed. He fueled a tremendous fire, telling them both that the other was saying nasty things about her. Madi and Trell ended up two words away from a fistfight. In the meantime, Derek turned the other way and went to the prom with Jennifer Kolinsky. Sounds childish? It was, but Madison still wanted to shake up a can a whoop ass and open it in Kantrell’s face. I couldn’t believe that she was still dealing with this issue after seven years. “Are you serious?” I glanced over at her. “High school days are done. Shit, college days are even done. I thought you were over that.” “I thought I was too, but hearing her name for the first time after all of these years just woke up something inside of me.” She was angry. “That was seven years ago, in nineteen ninety-six. We were fifteen and in the tenth grade, Madi.” “Nineteen ninety-six,” she chuckled. “Those were the days.” “Yes, but without that bastard.” “Yeah, but I really liked Derek. I feel that Trell ruined what could’ve been a great thing.” “A great thing?” I was shocked. “Obviously you haven’t been keeping up with the Derek Cowan story.” I laughed. “He works at the Wal-Mart in Florida City.” Her mouth flew open. “You’re lying!” “No, ma’am,” I went on. “Saw him stocking meat the other night.” “I thought he went to NYU?” I smirked. “That brotha went to WHATSAMATTA U.” “Wal-Mart?” Her hands flew to her mouth. “Stop lying!” “Ask Yvette.” “Derek?” She was in disbelief. “That’s all well and good, but I still feel like I need to say something to her, she’s not about to think that she can...” “C’mon, Madi, she’s over it and she’s moved on, otherwise she wouldn’t want to be traveling with us this weekend.” I didn’t want this drama to ruin our trip. “Please let this outdated foolishness go.” “Okay, Ms. Sense and Sensibility.” She’s been calling me that ever since I went to the theater three weekends in a row to see that movie. “I’ll let it go.” “That’s my girl,” I said as we pulled up to Vette’s apartment. Madi reached over and blew the horn. “They better be ready.” “Madi, stop!” I grabbed her hand. “That old lady might call the cops again like that night I was knocking on Vette’s window.” Before I could grab my cell phone the door to Vette’s place swung open. “When do I get to drive?” Vette asked before even saying hello. “Why are you guys so late?” I winked at Yvette before I spoke. “Reverend Sexy held us up.” “The Holy Ghost can fall on me anytime if it looks anything like him.” She did the sign of the cross. As she walked back toward the back of the truck she added, “I might just join Mount Pleasant if he promises to be pleasant.” We loved to gang up on Madi about her dad. Madi had had enough. “My dad can spot demons five miles away, so you both would be cast out.” “Yeah,” I joked, “but would he have to lay his hands on me to cast out the demons?” “Fuck you.” Madi rolled her eyes. “Both of you sluts need Jesus.” In laughter Madi helped Vette load her luggage into the truck. While lifting a bag that was heavier than Vette herself I asked, “Did you forget that we’re only going for four days?” “I went to college in Daytona Beach,” she defended herself. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve been to BCR before.” “You have to be kidding me.” I threw the suitcases in the back of the Escalade. A voice crept up behind me. “I have one suitcase and I guarantee you that I’ll look just as good or better than you will with your three bags of clothes.” I turned around to see the honey brown chick that could be Trina’s stunt double, Kantrell Jackson. “Trell!” I said loud enough to get Madi’s attention while she organized Vette’s bags. “How are you?” I gave her a hug. “Girl, I’m good.” She looked me over. “How are you?” “I can’t complain,” I answered then paused, but as Madison peeked out of the window I added, “You look great.” She really did; the years had been on her side. Still slender and her make-up was model perfect. Finally Madi hopped out of the backseat and stared at Trell with a look of disgust. I held my breath until mean ass Madi cracked a smile and walked toward Trell. “Hey, girl.” As they entered a short embrace I exhaled and couldn’t help but usher in the thought that this was the beginning of a great weekend.