No Way Out

Keisha- Choir Ambushes

Keisha stood in front of her mirror, studying her reflection with a smirk of satisfaction. Confidence radiated off her like heat from a summer sidewalk. Her hair was laid to perfection, slicked edges that could withstand a hurricane, and her lips glistened with the perfect shade of gloss that caught the light just right. Her outfit, a mix of affordable fast fashion and what she liked to call "designer-inspired" accessories, screamed success—at least in her eyes. The knockoff Gucci bag slung over her arm might not be the real deal, but Keisha knew how to wear it like it was. It wasn't just about the brand; it was about the hustle. And Keisha? She had hustle written all over her.

Today's mission was clear: take down the competition. There was a new girl on the block, some wannabe entrepreneur, who had the audacity to sell fake designer bags right under Keisha's nose. That wasn't going to fly. Everyone knew Keisha had a monopoly on the counterfeit goods market in her neighborhood. If someone wanted to hustle on her turf, there were dues to be paid—and those dues had her name on them.

As Keisha threw her braids over her shoulder, preparing to step into the battlefield that was her block, her grandma, Ms. Thelma, appeared in the doorway like she'd been summoned by some invisible force. That force was likely Keisha's tendency to find trouble like it was a magnet.

"Baby, you betta get to choir practice this evenin'. We need more altos, and you know the Lord don't wait for nobody," Ms. Thelma's voice was stern, but there was love in it. Love wrapped in an iron fist.

Keisha's face twisted in protest. "Choir practice again, Grandma? I'm busy with, uh, community work," she said, trying to sound as innocent as possible, though her eyes darted around like she was trying to plot an escape route.

Ms. Thelma narrowed her eyes, already seeing through the lie. "Community work, huh? Like that time you were helpin' the 'community' by sellin' them bootleg DVDs out the back of Ms. Dottie's beauty salon? You think I don't know what's goin' on?"

Keisha groaned. "That was ages ago. And besides, who watches DVDs anymore? I've upgraded, Grandma. I'm hustlin' with style now."

"Style? Girl, you ain't foolin' nobody. You need to hustle your way into church before I lay hands on you myself," Ms. Thelma said, brandishing a wooden spoon like it was a holy weapon.

Keisha, already halfway out the door, called back, "I got Jesus, Grandma, don't worry! I'll catch you after practice, promise!" Her quick retreat was punctuated by the sound of her grandma's voice calling out something about salvation, but Keisha had bigger fish to fry today. Namely, Tasha—the new girl who dared to step on her block like she owned it.

The sun hit her face as she strutted down the street, each step a reminder that she ran these streets. By the time she rounded the corner to the local bodega, her eyes locked on the target. Tasha. The girl had set up her little operation, bags laid out on a blanket like she was having a garage sale. Keisha's blood boiled. The nerve.

With a flick of her wrist, Keisha straightened her stance and approached Tasha like a queen ready to defend her throne. Her voice was sweet but laced with venom. "You must be new here, 'cause ain't nobody told you the rules. You don't sell on my block without my say-so."

Tasha, lounging casually with her phone in hand, barely glanced up before smirking. "Girl, relax. It's not that serious. These bags? High quality fakes. Yours are probably the ones that fall apart after one use."

Keisha's eyebrow twitched. High-quality fakes? Oh, this girl didn't know who she was dealing with. "Listen, Tasha, or whatever your name is, I've been in this game longer than you've been trying on cheap wigs. So unless you want me to snatch that ponytail right off your head, you better pack up and go."

Tasha finally stood, her posture defensive, ready to go toe-to-toe. "Snatch my ponytail? Girl, please. You still out here sellin' DVDs from 2009. Ain't nobody tryin' to watch a bootleg 'Titanic.'"

Keisha clenched her jaw, her pulse quickening. She was ready to slap the smugness off Tasha's face when the sound of sirens cut through the air. Both girls froze, their gazes snapping to the approaching cop car. It slowed down, and the officer inside eyed them both suspiciously.

Keisha's smile instantly morphed into something sweet and innocent, a rehearsed performance that could win her an Oscar. "Good afternoon, officer! We're just discussin' a business transaction here. Nothin' to worry about!"

The cop squinted at her, clearly unconvinced, but after a long pause, he rolled his eyes and drove off. Keisha exhaled sharply. Crisis avoided. For now.

Tasha, still glaring, wasn't ready to back down. "You better watch your back, Keisha. I ain't scared of you."

Keisha tossed her hair over her shoulder, glaring back. "Oh, you should be." And with that, she turned and strutted off, her mind already racing with ways to get back at Tasha. This wasn't over, not by a long shot.

Keisha spent the rest of the day holed up in her room, her mind buzzing with plans. She wasn't about to get into a street fight over a knockoff Louis bag. No, Keisha was smarter than that. Her revenge would be subtle, strategic. She wasn't called the queen of the hustle for nothing.

Scrolling through Instagram, Keisha stumbled upon the golden nugget she needed—Tasha's cousin was having a baby shower that weekend, and half the block was invited. Keisha's lips curled into a devious smile. Oh, this was perfect.

That evening, she tiptoed back into the house, trying to avoid Ms. Thelma's inevitable inquisition. She'd just made it to the stairs when her grandma's voice rang out from the kitchen. "Keisha! Don't think I forgot about them choir robes! Get in here!"

Keisha winced. There was no escaping this woman. Resigned, she walked into the kitchen, her face already forming excuses. "Grandma, you know I would, but I'm just so busy with all this...community service. You wouldn't believe how many people I'm helpin'."

Ms. Thelma turned slowly, one eyebrow raised, spoon in hand like she was about to give a sermon. "Community service? You mean that time you was sellin' Girl Scout cookies without a troop? Girl, you can lie to everybody else, but you can't lie to me."

Keisha sighed. "I'm serious, Grandma. I'm tryin' to raise money for the church. You know, to support the Lord's work."

Ms. Thelma's suspicious gaze didn't waver, but after a long pause, she waved her hand dismissively. "Hmmph. Just make sure whatever you're raisin' is goin' in the collection plate and not your pocket."

Keisha grinned, backing out of the kitchen. "You got it, Grandma. All for the church."

As soon as she was upstairs, she pulled out her phone, already planning her next move. Tasha wasn't ready for what was coming. The baby shower would be ground zero for her payback, and Keisha was going to hit her where it hurt.

When the weekend rolled around, Keisha was ready. Dressed in her Sunday best—only without the whole 'going to church' part—she slipped into the baby shower unnoticed, blending in with the crowd of excited guests. But Keisha wasn't there to celebrate. No, her eyes were fixed on Tasha, who was soaking up the attention as if she were the guest of honor.

Keisha played it cool, mingling with the guests, making polite small talk, but all the while, she was plotting. Her opportunity came when Tasha stepped away to take a phone call. Keisha casually walked over to the gift table, her fingers itching to make her mark.

She didn't need to steal anything or cause a scene. That wasn't her style. Keisha was all about the long game. With a quick, practiced hand, she swapped a few of the gift tags, making sure that Tasha's gifts would end up in the hands of other people, and vice versa. It was petty, sure. But sometimes petty was the most satisfying kind of revenge.

As she slipped out of the party, unseen and unnoticed, Keisha smiled to herself. The battle for the block had just begun, and Keisha was already winning.