When The Going Gets Tough

When The Going Gets Tough- Chapter 1

"I said it must be, cause a nigga got dough

Extraordinary swag and a mouth full of gold

Hoes at my shows they be stripping off they clothes

And them college girls write a nigga name on they-"

The song Goldie by A$AP Rocky went off signaling that it was time for me to wake up.  I sat up in my bed an wiped my eyes.  I then proceded to check my phone, searching for any missed text messages or phone calls.  Nothing.  I got up and headed to my closet which had a mirror on the front.  My hair was a mess, even though I had wrapped it before I went to bed last night.  I was wearing green sweatpants and a white wife beater.  I grabbed the handle of the closet and pulled open the door, revealing my big, yet simple closet.  I pulled out my black and white Last Kings sweat shirt.  Then I grabbed a pair of printed leggings and layed them out on my bed with my panties, bra, etc.

I went to the bathroom, took a shower, brushed my teeth, lotioned my skin, then went back to my room and put on my clothes, proceeding to reach under my bed to find some black low top converse.  I walked over to my wooden dresser and grabbed my black, small- faced Michael Kors watch, putting on my wrist.  And as for my hair, I slicked it back and put it in a tight bun then put on my white headband with a bow on the side. No makeup.

My name is Laila Sommer Evans, I'm 16 years old, born and raised in Manhattan, New York.  This is my life.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  April 8th, 7:15: The kitchen.

I walked down the stairs, passing the living room, and following the smell of food right into the kitchen of our 2 story condo.  No I'm not rich or anything, my mom just has a really great job and has her priorities straight.  As I walked in I saw her putting a plate filled with bacon and eggs down on the granite counter top.  I looked at her and smiled. 

"Good morning mom."

She smiled back at me.

"Good morning, love."

I looked a lot like my mom.  Caramel skin tone, naturally long, curly brown hair a bit past my shoulders (her mother is Trindadian-Indian, her father Trinidadian), thick, but well manicured eyebrows, and big, round, deep brown eyes... not to mention my long eyes lashes. We were both the same height, 5'8.  Everything else I got from the man who I have failed to see or hear from in 8 years.  But I could care less.  He just left one day and never came back.  Never decided to write back or even call me.  The worst part is, he lives right here in Manhattan.  Never even left.  He is also the VP of some bigtime computer technology company that I've never heard of.  Did I mention that he has a son... who is my age? Yeah, he got my mom and some other hoe pregnant at the same time.  He disgusts me and he can honestly fall into a ditch and die. I wouldn't even care.

"So is that for me?" I asked pointing to the steaming hot food on the counter.

"Yes it is, so hurry up and eat.  I have to get to work early today.  Call me when you get home from school."  I watched her as she grabbed her purse and walked through the kitchen, past the living room, swishing her hips the whole time.  I giggled to myself.  She is such a diva.  My mom was still workin' it for a single 40-year-old woman.  Men hit on her all the time, actually.

I heard the front door open then close, signaling that she was gone, so I decided to dig in.

9:00 AM: At school

I opened my locker and grabbed my books necessary for my first 4 periods, then put them into my black Juicy Couture cross- body bag.  I checked my phone again, only to see that I got a text message from my mom saying to have a good day, and to talk to Mr. Parker about my grade in his science class.  You would have sworn that I had an F in his class.  I had a B. An 87 in his class yet my mother insisted on bugging me about it.  If I didn't fix it, I get my phone taken away.  And lord knows that I need my phone.