Outta Her System

Chapter Eleven - Here 4 Ya

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Girl there's no need to cry

'Cause you know I'm here for ya

And girl you know when you cry

I'll wipe yo tears for ya

And girl I know when you lie 'cause I can feel for ya

But girl there's no need to lie 'cause I'm still here for ya - Paper Lovee
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Next Day...

Lanae

"Yo Nae," I heard my friend Deon yell.

I slowed down my steps and turned towards him as students began to make their way around me.

"Wassup," I asked.

"Lemme carry 'em books for you, baby," Deon bit his bottom lip trying to flirt.

I rolled my eyes before smiling, "Boy, I'm good."

"You more than good, ma. You fine," he winked causing me to laugh.

"Deon, if you don't get yo' corny ass away from me," I playfully pushed his shoulder.

"Aww," he chuckled, "thats cold, but nah what you and Queen doin' after school?"

"Nothing," I admitted, "why, what you finna be doin'?"

"Shit you know me," he smirked and rubbed his hands together, "I'm always doin' something, but everybody suppose to be linkin' up at the park, you down?"

"I don't know, imma ask Queen and see what she say. I'll let you know by the end of this period."

"Aight. You better run up before you late for yo' last class," he warned while smirking.

"I don't really care," I shrugged and began walking to my last period, which was English class.

When the bell rung, I was literally stepping inside of the room.

"Right on time Lanae," Mrs. Wright smiled as she grabbed a pile of worksheets, "hand these out for me, baby."

"Okay," I said before grabbing the papers and setting my binders on top of my desk.

Mrs. Wright was my favorite teacher at this school, so far. She was the most down to earth adult here and I could talk to her about anything. Well... not anything, but I could hold a conversation about something other than homework or school.

She is a 65 year old black woman, but looks like she's in her early 40's. She is a true example of the term black don't crack. She's dark skin with long jet black hair. She keeps it in either a back ponytail or two long French braids. Her thick frame stood at 5 feet, allowing most students to tower over her.

"Mrs. Wright when we gon' get together," this boy named Chris suddenly yelled from the back of the room.

I held in my laugh and continued passing out papers as the classroom filled with laughter.

"Chris," Mrs. Wright smacked her lips, "if you don't stop talkin' to me. I ain't dealin' wit' your foolishness today."

"I'm serious. You could real life be my chocolate cougar," he said licking his lips causing Mrs. Wright's face to scrunch up with disgust.