No Way Out

Keisha- Baby Shower

Keisha sat back on her worn-out couch, the dim light from her phone illuminating her smirk as she scrolled through Instagram. The chaos of the church bake sale was still fresh in her mind—especially the brownies. She thought she'd never hear the end of it, especially after Ms. Thelma had sent her a cryptic text, promising a "conversation" that would surely be a verbal smackdown. But all of that would have to wait. Keisha had bigger plans on her agenda—plans involving her mortal enemy, Tasha, and a baby shower that was about to become legendary for all the wrong reasons.

Tasha had pushed the limits of their rivalry. She'd stepped into Keisha's territory, hustling her knockoff designer bags like she owned the place. But this was Keisha's block. She was the queen of side hustles, and no one, especially not some wannabe fashionista, was going to undermine her reign. Tomorrow, Tasha would learn the hard way that messing with Keisha was a fatal mistake.

Keisha's fingers tapped against her phone screen, scrolling through post after post until she saw it: Tasha's baby shower invite, complete with pastel balloons and cheesy "It's a Girl!" banners. Keisha's grin widened, her mind already plotting. This was her moment to strike, and she wasn't going to miss a beat.

The next morning, Keisha dressed as if she were attending a funeral. A sleek black dress hugged her curves, and her hair was laid so perfectly, not a single strand dared to step out of place. In her hand was the pièce de résistance—a gift-wrapped box that seemed innocent enough, but Keisha knew better. Inside, it was filled with enough ammunition to destroy Tasha's reputation for good. She had gone the extra mile to make sure this sabotage would sting, and the weight of the box felt like victory itself. Tasha wouldn't know what hit her.

As Keisha approached the baby shower, the suburban neighborhood screamed middle-class comfort: manicured lawns, white picket fences, and SUVs parked in every driveway. The garden was decked out in everything pink: streamers, balloons, a throne-like chair perched at the center where Tasha would sit and receive her guests. It was all so pretentious, and Keisha had to stifle a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

But she had to give credit where it was due. Tasha was glowing—not just from pregnancy but from the attention she lapped up like a cat basking in the sun. Her designer dress (fake, of course) fit her perfectly, and the guests fluttered around her like she was the queen of the moment.

"Keisha!" a voice rang out. Keisha looked up to see Tasha smiling at her, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. She could practically taste the tension between them. Everyone knew their history, and this was a fragile truce for the sake of the event. "Glad you could make it!" Tasha added, her tone as sugary as the cake on the dessert table.

Keisha flashed her own fake smile. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," she replied sweetly, stepping forward to present her gift. "I brought something special for the little one."

Tasha's eyes flickered with suspicion, but with all eyes on her, she couldn't refuse. She accepted the box with a delicate nod. "How thoughtful of you," she said, though her voice was tight.

"Oh, you're gonna love it," Keisha said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

The guests began to crowd around, eager to see what Keisha had brought. The tension in the air was thick, the kind that only exists when everyone senses something is about to go down but doesn't know exactly what. Tasha hesitated for a moment, then began unwrapping the gift, her movements slow and deliberate, as if trying to defuse a bomb.

Keisha's heart pounded with anticipation as the wrapping paper fell away, revealing what appeared to be an ordinary baby monitor. There was a collective "aww" from the crowd as people snapped photos, posting them on social media with captions like, Keisha's such a sweetheart!

But Tasha's fingers stopped when she noticed the weight of the monitor. "What's in this thing?" she muttered under her breath, shaking the box slightly.

Keisha leaned in, her voice laced with false innocence. "Oh, just some extra batteries."

But as Tasha fiddled with the monitor, a loud pop echoed through the garden. The plastic casing split open, and out tumbled a cascade of counterfeit hundred-dollar bills. They spilled onto Tasha's lap, fluttering in the breeze like leaves falling from a tree.

The crowd gasped. Phones went silent. All eyes were on Tasha as she sat there, frozen in shock, staring at the pile of fake cash as if it had just materialized out of thin air.

Keisha's laughter broke the silence. It started as a small chuckle but quickly escalated into full-blown hysterics. She threw her head back, her voice ringing out like a bell as she pointed at the counterfeit money scattered at Tasha's feet.

"Oh my god, girl, you're busted!" Keisha cackled, clutching her sides. "Guess you've been busy printing your own fortune, huh?"

Tasha's face flushed red, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. "What the hell, Keisha?!" she finally spat, standing up with such force that her ridiculous throne-chair nearly toppled over. She waved the broken baby monitor in Keisha's direction. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

Keisha shrugged, still grinning. "I don't know what you're talking about, Tasha. Maybe you should be more careful about who you do business with."

The whispers in the crowd grew louder. Keisha could hear the gossip spreading like wildfire. "I knew she was still hustling," someone muttered. "Isn't that illegal?" another voice chimed in. The guests, who had moments ago been taking selfies with Tasha, now looked at her with suspicion. The air was thick with judgment, and Keisha basked in the glow of her success.

Tasha's hands shook as she tried to gather the counterfeit bills, but it was too late. The damage was done. Her reputation—once carefully constructed through lies and knockoff bags—was crumbling in front of her very eyes, and Keisha had front-row seats to the show.

Tasha's cousin rushed over, trying to calm her down, but Tasha was already unraveling. "Get away from me!" she snapped, tears of frustration pricking the corners of her eyes.

Keisha, sensing her work was done, adjusted the strap of her real designer bag on her shoulder and gave Tasha one final look of smug satisfaction. "Well, I've got to run. Good luck cleaning up this mess," she said with a wink before turning on her heel and sauntering toward the exit.

As she strolled down the sidewalk, the sounds of chaos from the baby shower faded into the distance. Keisha felt light, like she was walking on air. She'd pulled it off perfectly. Tasha's social standing had been obliterated, and Keisha hadn't even had to break a sweat.

But just as she was reveling in her victory, her phone buzzed. She glanced down and groaned when she saw the message.

Ms. Thelma: We need to talk. Those brownies got folks at church talkin' to angels. Don't be late for choir practice tomorrow.

Keisha's smile faltered. One battle had been won, but Ms. Thelma's wrath was a war she wasn't ready for.