Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 1

“Yeah! I got this, girl. I’m about to make us the bomb-ass breakfast,” Chanel said cheerfully.

Chanel quickly got dressed. It was a beautiful summer day, and the only thing she needed to wear outside was her cream shorts, a tank top, and her clean white sneakers. Of course, her long hair was styled into a ponytail. With a five-dollar bill from Mecca, Chanel left the apartment and walked toward the nearest bodega. She smiled the entire way, enjoying the bright sun in her face and taking in the busy sounds of Harlem—the people, the culture, the boys, and the atmosphere. She did not want to go back to Brooklyn anytime soon.

Inside the bodega Chanel bought a dozen eggs and a couple of sweet peppers to season the omelets. Her family always took her for granted, but her friends cherished her talents in the kitchen and it made Chanel feel special for once.

“Gracias,” she said to the Spanish man behind the counter.

He smiled at the young girl. She was cute.

Chanel turned and made her way outside, but once she stepped foot onto the sidewalk, her entire world lit up and a wide smile grew on her face. She couldn’t believe it. Her heart fluttered and her eyes became fixed on him.

“Hey, I’m seventeen now,” she called out to Mateo.

He was standing near a black Tahoe and talking on his cell phone. Mateo turned around to see Chanel gazing at him with admiration, and her wide smile caused him to smile wide too. He curtailed his phone conversation and focused his attention on Chanel. He laughed at her comment.

“Seventeen, huh? Well, happy belated birthday,” he said.

“Thank you.” She moved closer to him. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise.”

Chanel couldn’t stop staring at him. He was fine—extraordinary. He had on a pair of beige cargo shorts, a stylish T-shirt that fit his frame, fresh new Nikes, and that Patriots logo designed into his haircut.

“You know that logo in your haircut’s gonna piss off some Giants fans,” she said.

He laughed. “So, let ’em be pissed. I’m proud of my team.”

“So you’re from New England?”

He smiled, taken aback. “You watch football?”

“A little . . . not much, though.”

“Impressive.”

“I haven’t seen you around lately,” she said.

“I’ve been busy. Why, you missed me?”

She chuckled. Of course she did, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “How can I miss someone I don’t know?”

“You’re witty. I like that.”

Chanel continued to smile brightly. Mateo couldn’t take his eyes off the pretty, young girl. There was something special about her. He told himself that seventeen was better than sixteen. Still, he was twenty years old, and the last thing he needed was a statutory rape case against him. But Chanel was compelling, and staring at her beauty was almost hypnotizing.

“You have a very pretty smile,” he said, mesmerized by her pink lips against her bright white teeth and her deep dimples.

Everything about her was pulling him in.

“Thank you,” said Chanel.

Though their conversation was brief, it was engaging. Chanel wanted to ask him so many questions. She wanted to get to know his world, and she wanted to tell him about hers. But they were still strangers simply encountering each other in passing. How could she involve herself in his life?

Mateo’s cell phone started to ring and he glanced at it. By the expression on his face, it seemed like an important call that he needed to take. He looked at Chanel and said, “Well, anyway, it was nice seeing you again, beautiful. You take care, a’ight?”

He was about to leave. No! Chanel didn’t want Mateo to leave and let another four months go by before they saw each other again. She had to say something.

He turned with his cell phone to his ear and was about to walk back to his vehicle. Chanel took a deep breath and said loudly, “Can I get your number?”