ANGIE SITUATION (Book 1 / Innocence) Chapter Excerpt “The Queen Bee in Me”



“Playtime” was nearing an end, when my right boob woke up for good and finally said hello to the world. The completely developed left one had been around for about a year. That right one had finally caught up with it. Both had now arisen: perky and straight-forward like they were kissing the wind.

I was so happy to rid myself of having to stuff the right side of my right bra with tissue. It was such a task trying to demi-plie’ and arabesque my way through dance class with Mrs. Eckhardt constantly pirouetting up and down past all of us-patting and positioning our body parts.

Like clock-work it seemed to happen. Right at the moment where I’d stand facing the bar in first position: heel-to-heel, then turning with one hand on the bar-arm extended;  frappe’ing forward then backwards. That seemed to always be the moment she would move in. She used that as her chance to run by and hold us by the front of our chests to straighten our backs, then she would look down and smack our asses-checking for any jiggle whatsoever. If she caught any jiggle she would yell out loud: “jelly booty-no jelly booty!” I had been so tired of trying to guard my right titty tissue while trying to keep my ass tight in dance class for Mrs. Eckhardt’s approval. Thanks to her, it had been no problem bouncing quarters off of it-all praises due to her pressure and scrutiny.

The summer of that school year, I turned twelve years-old and playtime was definitely over back home with the girls and me under those umbrellas: “Playtime is over bitches! This aint no muthafuckin’ sit-in! I’m twelve years-old now and a full-grown queen bee, with cultured, polished and celebrated queen bee ways. It is now time to show and prove. I got my titty in full bloom-sitting up on perk, my ass tight and on perk and a fully blossomed flower with lots of grass on it. These lil’girl games are beginning to be a bit passe’ to me-the kissing and grinding games are getting tired. It’s time to try something different bitches!” I may as well had said, but rather-demonstrated.

I decided that if they were going to hang out with me any longer, we were going to have to switch it up-and I meant pronto! I was already into other secretive “bigger and better things” and harboring secrets that their little minds could not comprehend, but still, it was now time for these girls to put up or get shut the fuck out. Putting up penny candy and bad food was not what I had in mind, nor  was it an option:

Save the drama for your mama and the goodies for your footies bitches! I’m on a diet anyways and I’ve got Mrs. Eckhardt on my ass-literally. So penny candy, watermelon Now & Laters, Crunchy Cheese Doodles, Little Hug juice drinks, Snickers,’ and Payday candy bars aint cutting the mustard anymore,” I may as well had said, but rather-demonstrated.

My umbrella parties soon turned into secret parties where everyone could still bring goodies (for each other-not me). Seeing some goodies was what I needed. I was growing and blossoming in ways that astonished me. I didn’t know if it was with the help of my “older boyfriends,” or what. I was just amazed and obsessed with why and how I was sprouting in ways that I was. I wanted to know why all my friends my age were still looking how they were looking: like six-o’clock. I wondering if my body was “giving me away-” telling my secrets about what I had been doing for the past six-years of my little young life: next doors, up stairs, in attics, around corners, across streets, in closets, behind the couches and such.

I needed to know if everybody had what I had underneath their clothes. I needed to know if everybody’s flower had grass and blossomed like mine did. So one day in the middle of my salivating at all of their junk-food goodies that because of dance, I wasn’t allowed to have; I said to them all: “Let’s take turns going around one by one. Roll your pants downward so I can see what you got-if you got something down there, like some hair-like I do. I got a whole lot! Wanna see?”

Their eyes got big: “Ooooooooohh you do?” they asked, mesmerized at the thought of that possibly being true, considering the fact that I was always much more physically developed than they were.

Mother-nature played some tricks on me. In my mirror, I was like a freak of nature. About the only things we had alike as we grew together from eight to twelve years-old, were our baby faces, skinny arms and skinny legs. I left them behind when my one-then both boobs grew, my little booty grew (tight-no jelly), and my straight little hips developed a little curvature in them that you could see if you stared long enough. With that serving as visible proof, they all knew I most probably was not lying when I told them my flower had fully blossomed into a garden.

Everyone was sitting there looking at each other all stupid-trying to figure out who was going to go first.

I adjusted the umbrellas so that we could get some light inside our private little circle. I stretched my legs out from Indian-style position, watching their faces glued to my crotch and eating their Crunchy Cheese Doodles intently. Vulgarly and with a smirk on my face, I then sat back on my left arm and thrust forward so that they could get a full view of my pretty and fully blossomed flower. I flipped my shorts down some and showed it to them.

Like the juveniles they were, they all stretched their eyes open and squealed out and covered their mouths saying: “Ah!” as if I was in some kind of trouble. They were giggling and sitting there in complete girly shock. I let them stare for another couple of minutes as I looked at the astonishment in each and every one of their faces. Like dominoes, they all began tugging at their own shorts in a hurry, trying to expose themselves, but more curious to look down at themselves to see if anything different had grown on them through this moment that wasn’t there as of early that morning. They were merely checking rather than exposing. The moment each of them could gather up enough sparse hair, they were up on their knees; mooning each other with their bald and barely haired little purses that had no comparison to my full pocketbook.

I sat there and turned my nose and face up-thinking in my head, how much I couldn’t understand how we were either the same age or one to two years apart, but they hadn’t blossomed like I had. That confused me so. I was so preoccupied with finding my physical equal for some sort of validation that I wasn’t a complete freak of nature like in the back of my mind I thought I was. The comments my mom’s friends would make to her, rang in my head: “Oooh what are you going to do with her?” and to me: “Ooh Angie you’d better keep those boys away from you!” while mom would chime in with her usual: “That’s alright. You see a muthafucka fuckin’ with her, kill him and save me the trouble!”

This preoccupation I had with finding my physical equal was about to cause nobody but me the trouble when Rita (my friend from school) had moved onto my street and a few doors up from me. We had been the best of friends at school for the entire school year, but when she moved on my street, if she was going to be my friend (there) she had to be trustworthy enough and willing to join in our raingear games. At school, I was one person-and played by the rules. But at home, I was another person-I made the rules: and anybody my umbrella shared everything from our candy to our kisses and now: a peek into our purses.

Things seemed to be going well under that umbrella when we all let Rita join in, and while it was cool and all; she was yet another purse bitch-that annoyed me. I wanted to see a grown bitch, or at least someone older that was my physical equal-even if she was my age.

It was her older sister Charlene who piqued my interest because she was about three or four years older than all of us and twice and a half my size. I could look right at her body and tell that she had what I wanted to see. Though she was older and much bigger than all of us, she liked being around us because the other older girls (who I would sing for) didn’t quite mesh with her because she was slightly tomboyish. They were set in their ways and were well-past that initiation type of cliquey stage (where we all were). They just didn’t give a damn. One thing about our street is that we were one big happy family. It was like life began there for all of us, we all grew up and developed there-in every way. Our groups and associations were formed since we were all tots there. The leaders were the leaders-forever, and the followers were the followers-forever. You got your place, you learned of your place and you remained in that place-comfortably. Of those of us who closely associated (the kids, us pre-teens as well as the older teenagers); none of our families seemed to ever move out and away from the neighborhood, so, if you moved in-you stuck out like a sore thumb. And if you stuck out like a sore thumb, you had to find your way.

Charlene couldn’t find her way, and I had my eye on her.

I knew she was cornered and had nowhere else to fit in because if she wasn’t in the house by herself, she would come around me and my buddies-trying to see if we would accept her. After enough subtle torture and apprehension, I finally accepted her-slowly. And well, since I did-they all did.

I would stare at her for long periods of time-undressing her with my mind and eyes-merely curious about her because not only was she twice and a half my size; I could tell that she most probably had gotten her period by observing the size of her breasts. But I was dying to take a peek at what I could almost bet was a pocketbook like mine. So after some time of feeling her out; enticing and making her feel welcome behind our umbrella with her sister (who I would have loved to trade for her), I decided to test her.

I knew it would take some time because she didn’t seem as pliable as my buddies who were my age; we all seemed to melt into what we would do-as one. But with Charlene, I could tell that she would have to be tested-not molded. That annoyed me, because I had no time to play around trying to mold a bitch-my curiosity was getting the best of me.

So the day I decided that I would let my friend Rita and her sister Charlene get behind the umbrella on a 2 for 1 brown bag candy special, I was hoping that Charlene would ingratiate herself to me by letting me see her goodies. I had to think of a way to get Rita out from under the umbrella to run my test on Charlene to see if she would be down. The goal was for me to switch Rita out for Charlene, permanently-if this all worked out:

“Rita, head around to Leroy’s to get your candy bag and then run over to the Dixie Cup Lady and grab me and Nina a raspberry Dixie Cup will you?”

“Okay,” she replied, as I handed her the money.

I moved over and released her from under the umbrella and quickly turned back around-watching Charlene sitting in our circle eating up the goodies as if she was enjoying free lunch at school. With no time to waste I got straight to the point-the only way I always knew how:

“Charlene, are you a grown lady yet?” I challenged her.

“Yeah I’m grown!” she yelled and smiled, feeling the sugar high from the junk food of my labor that I so graciously let her enjoy-free of charge, for now…

“That’s not what I’m talking about though,” I said, while cracking open my sunflower seeds, sitting Indian-style and looking into Charlene’s eyes-seductively.

“Did you grow anything down there yet is what I’m asking. ‘Cause I’m grown too-I got a lot down there.”

Nina and the rest of the girls gulped down Little-Hugs and waited attentively on Charlene’s next move.

“I got a lot too-probably more than your lil’ pipsqueak tail!” Charlene laughed and asserted-thinking this was something that was going to be merely said then over with. But no, I was serious.

I moved in for the kill-looking at her with a serious face:

“Let me see then-show it to me!”

Nina and the girls laughed out.

Shocked and laughing, Charlene rolled her face back into her neck and responded:

“Hell no. I ain’t letting you see my stuff!”

I yelled at her:

“Well either you prove it or quit eating OUR stuff. And get out!” I snatched her goodie bag from her hand. I emphasized the word: “our” hoping that my buddies would assert themselves with me-but they were scared. Charlene was kind of solid-bodied, and I was secretly hoping that I would not have to threaten to let go of any collars on my porch again.

Charlene stood up and yelled: “Y’all are some nasty lil’ things!”

“Nasty how? You are the one who said that you had grown lady stuff!” I flipped it on her.

Nina and the girls laughed loudly as Charlene looked really confused-remembering that she did say that.

So before she could flip it back on me, I looked at Nina and the girls and began to yell: “Charlene is a liar but Rita is truth! Charlene is a liar, but Rita is the truth!” repeatedly while Nina and the girls began to chime in. Before Charlene knew it, she couldn’t remember who asked who first. All she could do was cover her ears and do her best to yell over me and four other girls screaming: “Charlene is a liar, but Rita is the truth!” … like a broken record-in every soprano octave unimaginable.

We were surrounding her like we were the hood version of “Children of the Corn.”

I didn’t care if her head popped off, all I wanted out of it was my secret to roll from out of its crevices.

From over the umbrella, I saw her sister (my friend) Rita, approaching the porch with her goodie bag and the two Dixie cups for Nina and me.

I rushed in: “Rita your sister is a liar!” I yelled, as the rest of the crops lowered their voices while Charlene took her hands from her ears and yelled to her sister:

“They are nasty! They are nasty!”

That pissed me off even more because now I really felt that our secrets from behind that umbrella were going to get out, so I had to give it to her hard:


I reached for mine and Nina’s Dixie cups and snatched the goodie bag from my friend Rita, who in my eyes at that moment, turned into the same infiltrator I felt her sister Charlene was at that moment-simply because they lived in the same house.

We sang and repeated that song nonstop while Charlene continued to cover her ears. I could tell that our screams and that song rang in her head like those loud gold bells that I used to ring as a little girl for the Mormons.

I didn’t give a care if she heard our screams in her sleep that night. All I wanted was for our secret to be kept about what goes on behind our umbrellas. I was serious-business about secrets being kept out of the hands of any outsider.

With that, and as far as I was concerned, Rita and me could keep our friendship for and during the school year-outside of umbrella play, for she was no longer invited-because her sister was an outsider.

For me, it just didn’t feel right to let her hang out with us in that way anymore. Quite frankly after that incident, I didn’t too much care for the crop and me congregating under the umbrella anymore.

I came to terms with the fact that the girl I wanted to see was not going to want to hang out under umbrellas with silly little girls built like six-o’clock.

It worked out well for me to leave them to their Barbie Doll and dollhouse play while my TGGF and I hung out at her house in closets, or at my house behind the couch playing our own version of playhouse.

Rita and I would still hang out occasionally, whenever I would be over her house.

I would do my best to meet Charlene eye-to-eye-needing her to submit, wondering what, if anything she remembered that would put my umbrella secrets out and onto the street. It seemed like every time she would look back at me, in my head-all I could hear her say was: “your lil’ pip-squeak tail!”

My squinted-eyed gaze had no affect on her whatsoever.

She knew that she could take me if she had to, and I knew she could too-so I didn’t want any trouble.

I just wanted my secret back from her.

All she had to do was repeat her words: “ole nasty thing!” And I would have known for sure that what happened that day-stuck with her enough to repeat it to someone else.

As long as she didn’t utter those words, regardless if she would submit or no, that was almost, just partly, submission enough for me. I refused to flat out ask her had she told anybody, because then-she would have thought she had me by the balls. I wasn’t going to give her that kind of power, knowing that with no one to hang out with, she sure as hell needed some kind of leverage. I wasn’t going to be up under her foot.

No matter how many times I made it over to my friend Rita’s house, Charlene would not back down from my stare. All I could do to try and subdue her was come get Rita to join me and the girls in a game of tetherball at the bottom of the hill, or for swimming at one of the two local pools that we frequented. Charlene’s obvious summer boredom and the loneliness in her face proved to be much more apparent as each hot summer day passed.

I felt bad for her and wanted her to hang out with us but I just needed her to submit at least one time-eye to eye. That was the only security I could have and know for sure that she would keep my secret safe.

My TGGF was possessive. I did not want it to get out to her or the lil’ thirteen year old boy who was crushing on me. He lived further up the street from us and he too, would hang out at the local swimming pools where we’d be. So until she fully submitted, she was not going to get a spot on that cement wall waiting to play tetherball, splash and fun at the local swimming pools with us, or anything remotely close to what her sister was having the pleasure of enjoying.

Eventually the loneliness wore her down, my gaze finally worked:




Head turned to the left somewhat.


Result: Under her breath and with her lips folded, Charlene laughed a little bit with a look on her face as if to say: “This lil’ pip-squeak think she’s tough. Let me let this lil’ girl have her way before I have to lift her off of her feet by her fuckin’ neck!” She took a deep sigh and smiled (really laughing at me).


I didn’t want any trouble. Hell, I was over wanting to check her out. I really felt sorry for her and how badly her summer was going and sincerely wanted her to be included with our summer fun. So, I was happy that we got past this issue. I smiled back and gracefully asked (in a curtsy kind of way):

“So…Would you like to go to Wilson’s Pool with us?”

“Yeah!” she replied-happily.

She then ran up the steps to catch up to Rita, grabbing her towel and swim bag.

To Wilson’s Pool, I liked to wear my yellow swimsuit and to Ginwood Pool, I liked to wear the silk, one-shouldered white swimsuit with the big purple and pink flower covering the front and back of it. My dad bought it for me and my mom had a rip-roaring fit when he brought me back from shopping the day she pulled it out of the bag. Outside of wearing makeup before age sixteen, my dad was one of those fathers who had no concept whatsoever about what was and was not appropriate for an underage girl. I can’t recall how the conversation between my mom and dad ended-regarding the sexy white swimsuit, but all I know is that it was up in my room, in my drawer then on my body when I would go to Ginwood Pool.


Little did they both know, the basic yellow swimsuit happened to be my favorite because when I would get out of the pool, if you stared long enough-you too, could see that I was a “a growing lady,” which to me, was perfect for trying to be cute for the boy who had a crush on me. Despite his crushing on me, I never sat around at the pool with him for more than five minutes at a time. I was always too busy walking up on the diving board; threatening to dive but never would.

I was so fascinated and found it to be amazing that kids my age had no fear of diving off the diving board into waters deeper than five feet. Watching that would be the highlight of my swim fun.

Well of course Rita’s sister’s Charlene took full advantage of my astonishment and admiration of the few females at the pool who would dare to dive and jump; that was all she seemed to do-over and over. She would stand in line with the boys and a handful of girls between every fifth boy waiting their turn, feeling like she earned her keep with us after learning that I, the leader, was awe struck at watching her flossing like a dolphin. I was so jealous. I thought it was amazing. I could only fantasize about doing something like that.


The closest that me, Nina and the girls would come to seeing the bottom of twelve feet of water, was when one of the older boys would take turns holding us in his arms while we would wrap ourselves around him like vines to a brick wall; and viola! He’d take us under-destination: bottom. Return: shooting to the top of the water like a missile. While under, I would be eyes wide-open like a guppy; trying to capture that deep, wide-bottom mass that I feared so badly. It was so wonderful for us-getting our experience of seeing what it was like on the bottom floor of twelve feet of water versus the five-feet that we swam in, dog-peddled in and had splash-fights in. I longed to jump off that diving board down into the bottom of it.


All the while, Charlene and the rest of the whales lined up like packs of sardines and dived in like amusement park show-dolphins. Those show-off bitches. I was star struck about as much as I would roll my eyes. Charlene got a kick out of that-the fact that she knew I scared to dive into the deep water, but when the church we attended shipped us off to camp that summer she had to park her tuna in the same can we all did: four feet maximum waters and no diving board: “Flossing like a dolphin and playing like Orca is over bitch!” I wanted to say, but rather, thought in my head.


She didn’t feel too lonely at camp however, because the church had open slots for other neighborhood kids to come along as well-even if they did not attend church with us. That left room open for Lena: a big-tall, pigeon-toed girl who used to comb her hair to the front of her head like Gary Coleman. She was a major tomboy and neighborhood loner who would join us in tetherball, other times she spent her time playing basketball with the boys. Amongst one another, we called her Big Basketball Lena.


She and Charlene kept each other company at camp during the times Lena would peel herself away from me and my yellow swimsuit that she too, must’ve liked just about as much as I did. She never paid me that much attention back at home, but that yellow swimsuit must have had her thinking about me in a whole new way. No matter where she would be around the camp, she would always seem to magically appear whenever I’d be getting out of the swimming pool. Lena stuck to me like a bad habit for as long as she could until my TGGF would show up and pick at the seams of her tomboy dreams-she was not having that bullshit.


My TGGF and all her awkward ways. She wouldn’t say anything, she would just give me a look and I knew what it meant. Whomever was around, I would have to leave them right where we stood.

At camp, she would give me that same look when Lena would come around me, but followed by: “ugh,” with her face turned up. Her face turned up with a lot more “ugh’s” after that Wednesday when the camp held a church concert and I took to the mic to sing “Going Up To Yonder,” after all these years-all by myself: the entire song. While everybody was playing around laughing and singing remixed and adlibbed versions of church songs they could piece together, nobody had any idea how serious I took singing “Going Up To Yonder.”  I brought church to camp in a way that shocked everybody and made Lena flock to me for more of a reason than just my yellow swimsuit. 


That Thursday and Friday, besides the cockling of the real rooster yodeling in the mornings to wake us, swimming in the afternoon and roasting marshmallows at night; the only thing I remember about the last two days of camp was hearing my TGGF turning her face up and yelling out: “ugh” countless times-because Lena wouldn’t let me be.


When we returned home from camp, Lena still stuck to me like white on rice. The weirdest thing about it is that she never said much to me-not even at camp, she would just come around and up close to me-maybe say something corny and unrelated to anything in particular. I really did not know how to take her or what kind of conversation to have with her because all she would do is smile when she would come around. But she turned “coming around” up a notch and got bold one day. Caught me by surprise when she rang my doorbell while I was in the house. My TGGF was sitting right outside on the porch next door unbeknownst to me at the time.


When the doorbell rang, from the first floor window I looked out: “Who is it?” I yelled.

Lena then stepped from my porch awning and looked up at me without saying a word-her usual.

Resting my hands up on my window’s ledge, my eyes stretched really big as I looked over at my TGGF sitting the next porch over with some other friends of ours. She twisted and tooted her lips up and began to nod her head up and down-slowly; looking right at me up in the window and looking back at Lena on my porch as if to say: “you’re busted!”


I stepped away from the window and stood in the kitchen, hoping that Lena would just go away and the next time I looked out of the window, my TGGF would be gone too-but instead, the doorbell rang again.

I ran down the steps, opened the door and there stood Lena: bouncing her basketball back and forth from my porch’s brick wall.


“What’s up girl?” she asked-perplexed.

“Nothing, just in the house,” I replied, with my foot in the door. She then pushed the door open and began to walk up the steps as if my words were: “Come on in Lena, right this way.”

I closed the door slowly-thinking that my TGGF would come busting it open but no, instead, the door slowly closed, and there Lena stood at the top of my steps saying: “come on upstairs Angie.”


I walked up the steps slowly-looking up at Lena standing there like a groom waiting on his bride. When I reached the top, I hurriedly walked past her and headed straight for the refrigerator to pour me something to drink. With the kind of smirk on her face as if she thought it was funny that she finally had me sequestered and kidnapped, Lena asked: “Well, can I have something to drink too?”

“Sure,” I replied.

Feeling like a serving winch, I poured her something to drink as well. The moment I handed the glass to Lena, I heard my name being called:

“Angie! Angie! Angie!”

I looked out my window sill-resting on both my hands and looking down to my TGGF whisper-yelling: “Ugh! What the hell is she doing up there?”

I turned my head back to look at Lena sitting at the kitchen table-so as to let my TGGF know that she was near.

“You’d better get her OUT of there!” she grunted.


I nodded my head really fast, turned right around to Lena like serious business, shut my window then said: “Well Lena, I have to be getting out of here-we are about to go to the store. I will be back later though.”


She stood there with that same playful look on her face and replied with a bunch of nothing relevant to anything in particular as she began to walk down the steps. When she got to the bottom, she looked up at me standing there and began to speak with some relevancy: “Ok, Angie well can I come back later?”


“I will have to see when I get back because my mother will be home from work. She’s tired when she gets home. I will talk to you later though okay?”


“Okay,” she replied then opened the door and walked to the other side of it.


I stood there and breathed a deep sigh of relief. A few minutes later, I ran down the steps to run outside to see where my TGGF was. When I opened the door, she was sitting right outside on the porch steps:

“What time does your mom get home Angie?” she asked.

“She’ll be here about six?” I replied.

“Hmm,” she said-thinking about something.

I quickly interjected:

“Um, Kenya’s mom got us some tickets for Kingsman Amusement Park that we have to use before the end of the summer. We’re going one Saturday afternoon very soon. She’s going to drop us off and let us hang out all afternoon then come back to get us. I got an extra ticket if you want to come,” I lied and offered as an apology.

“Ooh you do?” she replied-not really caring about that.

“Yeah I’ll go,” she agreed.


We stood there quietly while she put her thinking cap back on and then looked at me:

“Let’s go to my house, okay?” she said.

“Sure,” I replied.

Off we went to her house where there were three floors of space and a total of about ten closets.

I followed her lead as we went from room to room while she tried to find the perfect closet for us for the next hour or two. We settled on the third floor television room, where she turned the television up for the television to listen to us and watch the door…


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PREFACE                                                                   5

  1. The Roots of Picked Fruit                              17
  2. The Precocious Ripening                              33
  3. Ripe & Ready. Gangs, Bangs & Pangs        39
  4. The Queen Bee in Me                                     63
  5. Another Level. Blossoming. Beautiful.        80
  6. TGGF, Male Model & Me                              101
  7. TGGF & Me                                                      112
  8. Divorcing Dad                                                 124
  9. You Know Who                                                130
  10. First Flings First                                             139
  11. In the Lion’s Den                                             170
  12. Cold Shoulders and Frozen Dancing Feet  195
  13. Pills & Frills                                                      204
  14. You Know What: I Told You So                    209
  15. Dichotomies & Dazes                                       228
  16. Situations, Decisions & Transitions               241
  17. Up, Out & Away                                           244

MEET the AUTHOR Q & A                                      254

READING GROUP GUIDE                                      257

SNEAK PEEK into book2 (“Angie Situation NAIVETE’” )’s  CHAPTER ONE     260

OTHER BOOKS BY ANGELA SHERICE                                                            269

ABOUT the AUTHOR                                                                                     270

Author: OSFMagWriter

Spitfire . Media Maestro . Writing Rhinoceros .