My First Black Girl

My First Black Girl

I was fifteen years old at the time, and I wasn’t a good kid by any means. I had just been kicked out of my high school and was getting caught by the cops every now and then for minor offenses. I didn’t mind paying a ticket here and there as long as I didn’t get caught for any major stuff. Like the quarter pound bags of weed I was selling off each week. I got into the drug game last summer. I started out smoking pot just because it was sort of fun, then when I started to want the drug more and more I realized that I needed to either get a job or start selling. I figured selling would make more sense because I would be around weed more and wouldn’t ever be without it if I needed a smoke.

The best place I could sell was at my old high school. It was also the most risky place because that is where I pulled a knife on the principle. Now every teacher new who I was and pretty much hated me. But one particularly slow night when I wasn’t getting any calls or sales I was bumming around the football field and smoking a blunt, and I saw someone walking through the open gates at the entrance of the field. I hid in the shadows of the bleachers in case it was the night guard. But then I saw it was a girl wearing a mini skirt. I continued to hide until she was about twenty feet from me.
She walked right past me talking to herself. She was saying, “Where the fuck is this bitch!” over and over again. I finally walked out of the shadows and said, “I’m not a bitch but here I am.” She jumped a little then stepped closer to me trying to make out my face. She was a short black girl with beautiful legs under the tiniest mini skirt I had ever seen. I walked up to her and asked, “Who are you looking for?” “My boyfriend.” She said back in an awkward voice.