It was official: I was fly. I had on my freakum dress and the fat version of Lil Wayne was stalking me. Everywhere I looked, there he was. Grinning. As if somebody here in Newark, New Jersey, told him he was cute. He had drips of sweat running from his temples to his chin and was breathing like he was having an asthma attack. I was embarrassed. Out of all the tenders lined up outside the club, hugged up on their honeys, and kicking it with their boys, here I was being harassed by a baby gorilla in a short set.

My girls and I were in line, waiting to get in to Club Arena for teen night, and for the first time in my life, I was appreciating my size fourteen brick-house hips. My hair was done in a cute ponytail, swinging to the side with a swoop bang in the front, my MAC was poppin’, and my stilettos were workin’ it out.

I resembled a voluptuous New New from ATL: two deep dimples, honey glazed skin, full lips, and dark brown eyes shaped like a lost reindeer. My sleeveless House of Dereon dress was the color of new money and the belt wrapped around my waist was metallic silver. My colorful bangles and big hoop earrings were courtesy of Claire’s and the rose tattoo on my left calf was by way of the 99 Cent Store and warm water. So, you get the picture? Fierce was written all over me. And just when I started feeling comfortable with being the biggest one in my all-girl clique, tragedy struck...

“Yo, Shawtie!” my stalker screamed as if he were working at the Waffle House, making a public service announcement. He was standing at the door talking to one of the bouncers, when my friend Deeyah walked up and stood beside me. “Yo, Shawtie,” he called again. “Deeyah”—he raised his arm in the air as if he were making a three-point play—“that’s me right there.”

My girls and I all looked around. We ain’t know who the heck he was talking about.

“Seven, there go your new boo.” Deeyah blew a pink bubble and popped it. “The one and only Melvin. Told you I was gon’ hook you up.”

Melvin? I tugged Deeyah on her arm. “Is this a joke?”

“What’s wrong with him?” she snapped, rolling her eyes. “You tryna talk about my taste?”

Oh...my...God...I’ma die. “He looks like my sixty-year-old Cousin Shake.”

“Everything is not about looks, Seven. When are you gon’ to grow up and learn that?”

“When I’m done with being sixteen, which is not today. I don’t believe this.”

“Well, who did you think you were gon’ get?” She popped her gum and smiled. “After all, Josiah is mine and the rest of his crew, well...I hooked them up,” she said as she pointed at each of our friends: Ki-Ki, Yaanah, and Shae.

Ki-Ki and Yaanah shot me a snide grin as if to say, That’s right! But Shae rolled her eyes and said, “Please, Deeyah. You lucky I ain’t punch you in the face for that. Gon’ hook me up with somebody named Shamu.”

“Shamu is a nice name.” Deeyah jerked her neck.

“But he followed me around in school.” Shae sighed. “From class to class, and then I come to find out he was the oldest kid in special ed.”

“Special ed?” Deeyah pointed to her chest. “He’s in my class. So what you tryna say, Shae?”

 “Why”—Shae looked toward the sky—“do I even go through this?”

“Go through what?” Deeyah smirked. “Why don’t you think about the future, Shae? Don’t you know people in special ed get a check every month? Never mind, Shae. You just played yourself.” She turned her attention back to me. “Seven, I know you got more sense than this chick, so you know you need a man that you gon’ complement. Trust me. See, Josiah needs a chick like me. I’m a dime and you’re a quarter. Josiah is the captain of the basketball team and Melvin over there”—she pointed—“is the team. Make sense?”

We all looked at Deeyah like she was stupid. “Can you say dumb-dumb?” I shook my head. “You so busy tryna dis me that you actually just gave me and ole boy over there a compliment.”

“Girl, please. That flew over your head,” Deeyah snapped. “You just played yourself.”

“Deeyah, you just said you were a dime and she was a quarter.” Shae sighed. “Get a clue.”

“I could get a clue if I could stop passing it to you.” Deeyah rolled her eyes. “Anyway, Seven, I called myself doing you a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Yeah, I’m tryna save you from being played.”

“Excuse you?!” I could’ve smacked her.

“Think of it this way. If a guy is too fly, he might leave you for a skinny chick.” She ran her hands along the sides of her body. “And with Rick Ross over there”—she snickered—“you ain’t got to worry ’bout that.”

Before I could decide if I wanted to body her or simply cuss her out, I felt a tap on my shoulder and hot breath on my neck. “What’s good, Shawtie?” It was Melvin, looking me up and down as if he could take a biscuit and sop me up with his eyes. “I knew I’d seen you before—good look, Deeyah.”

“You’ve seen me?” I don’t think I’ve been to hell yet.

“Yeah, I pass you every day on my way to English class.”

“Really?” I was beyond disgusted.

“Come on, Shawtie, ain’t you in them honor’s classes? You real smart and er’thang.” He had the biggest grin I’d ever seen. “My pot’nahs call me Big Country. But my name is Melvin. I just moved here from Murfreesboro.”

“Murphy who?”

“Carolina, Shawtie.” His gold tooth was gleaming. “You know, I-95 in the house, the dirty-dirty baby.”

I was speechless. Not only was he fat, he was country.

Excerpted from SHORTIE LIKE MINE © Copyright 2008 by Ni-Ni Simone. Reprinted with permission by Dafina, an imprint of Kensington Books.