Not A Good Look (10 page)

Sam stops in his tracks. “He said that?”

“Actually he said you were corny, but who cares? I want to see the whales.”

“He said I was
corny?
”

Aw, man. Maybe I shouldn't have told him that. I thought he'd think it was funny like I did. I didn't know he'd be standing up here taking it all personal and stuff.

“In my opinion, Truth is the corny one,” I say, trying to smooth it over. “He's got this facade that's not even true, trying to pretend like he's hard, when he's just a lame with locs and tats.”

“I'm not really tripping on him calling me corny,” Sam says. “I'm tripping that he said it to you. Is he trying to wreck my flow? Why would he tell you that?”

I grab Sam's hand and pull him in the direction of my favorite exhibit. “Didn't I just say it doesn't matter? Let's go see the whales.”

Sam gives a little resistance, but then he lets me pull him toward the door to the Cold Water Quest. It's dark inside, but the water is illuminated so that we can see the habitats of the whales and the area for the African penguins.

I stand in front of the whale tank, mesmerized like I always am. They are so big, but graceful at the same time. Their movements are almost poetic, and when they talk to one another it sounds like music.

“Sunday, do you want to go to prom with me?” Sam asks, snapping me out of my trance.

“Prom? At DSA?”

“Yes, you know the thing we do at the end of senior year? Everybody gets dressed up in tuxedos and fancy dresses, we get in limos, eat rubber-chicken dinners and take pictures. Prom.”

I laugh. “Sure, I'll go with you, but from the way you describe it, it almost sounds like you don't want to go.”

“I do. I was just trying not to seem too corny.”

“Boy, stop. Although it is kind of corny to get a prom date this early. It's not even winter break yet.”

He pokes his lips out and nods. “I hear you. But everyone is already asking everyone else. I didn't want to take the chance that you might end up going with someone else. Like that Romell dude that was over your house.”

“I don't even talk to him like that anymore. Bethany either—she's foul.”

Bethany and I haven't had a conversation since that day she left my house with Romell. It's crazy, because we stand at the bus stop mean mugging each other instead of having our morning gossip sessions. But I can't deal with her flip-flopping. And she's especially been crazy since Dreya got the record deal. It's like hating to the infinite power or something.

“Are you going to ask me to go to your prom? Or am I too corny to show up with at Decatur High?”

“Oh, my goodness. I wish I hadn't even said that to you. Are you gonna be on that all day? Can we go to the next track, please?”

“All right, but answer the question.”

“Yes, please go to my prom with me. We can rock the same outfits to both and save money.”

Sam throws his head back and laughs. “You ain't playing about that college fund, are you?”

“No, buddy. If you hadn't asked me, I probably would've skipped the whole prom thing altogether.”

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Every girl wants to get her hair done in some big updo, get her nails done, and go to prom. What's up with you?”

I point out my swept-to-the-side ponytail, jeans, layered tanks, jean jacket, and Timberland boots.

“Does this look like a girly girl to you?”

“No, but you do look like a hot girl.”

I laugh. “Okay, I'll accept that. But when I get all that stuff done for prom, the hair and nails and stuff, it'll only be so that I don't embarrass you.”

“My girl can wear whatever she likes to prom and I won't be embarrassed.”

“There you go again,” I say with an eyebrow-scrunching frown.

“There I go again with what?”

“That
my girl
stuff. Dude, don't say it unless you mean it.”

Sam smiles slowly and pulls me into a hug. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I mean it.”

He kisses me softly on my lips and makes me believe that he means what he says. And the whales sing like they're enjoying the show.

T
witter is fun, when you're pretending to be someone else. And I'm pretending to be Dreya, or I should say Drama.

I never really got the whole point of posting little blurbs about your day-to-day life, but Dreya already has three hundred followers. I suspect that a lot of them are from our school, which makes this even more fun.

 

Countdown to the promo tour. ATL can catch us at Club Pyramids the Wednesday b4 Thanksgiving.

Truth hooked a sista up with gear galore. Go ahead and hate me.

 

I try to think like Dreya when I tweet for her. She's self-centered, rude, and doesn't care what anyone thinks of her. So she's pretty much liable to say anything.

One of her followers, ChaCha437, tweets,

 

Luv u on “What Ya Gonna Do”!

 

Do I know you?

 

I tweet back, thinking that Dreya would probably say something worse than that.

Then I feel bad so I say,

 

J/K ChaCha, cop that download on iTunes.

 

After I respond to ChaCha, a gang of Drama's followers start leaving congratulations messages. I do like Dreya would do—ignore them. I've got to go to class anyway. Got an honors English exam. I have to keep those scores up so I can get into Spelman.

I was so busy tweeting from my phone that I didn't see Bethany and Romell booed up at her locker until I almost crash into them. When she sees me, she gives Romell a disgustingly sloppy kiss. As if that will make me jealous. I don't care if they swap spit with each other.

But obviously her prom date, Jordan, does. He comes from out of nowhere and punches Romell in the back of his head, making him and Bethany tumble to the ground. Then Jordan jumps on Romell and starts whaling on the back of his head and neck until the security guards pull him off.

“You a slut!” Jordan screams at Bethany. “I can't believe I asked you to go to prom.”

Bethany scrambles up off the floor, but Romell is motionless, like he's knocked out or something. “I don't care what you call me, Jordan! You need to get up out my face!”

One of the security guards tries to get Romell to his feet, but he's completely unresponsive. Then his body starts to twitch and his eyes roll back.

“Oh, my God!” I scream. “Somebody call 911!”

Then I realize I have a phone in my hand, so I do it myself.

“This is 911. What's your emergency?” says the 911 operator.

“A boy, he just got punched in the head a bunch of times, and now he looks like he's having a seizure!”

“Where are you calling from? I can't pin a location on your cell phone.”

“I'm at Decatur High! Please send someone quickly! I don't think he's breathing!”

“Sweetie, is there an adult there?”

“Yes.”

“Hand them the phone.”

I give my cell phone over to one of the security guards. The other one has let Jordan go and is performing CPR on Romell. Now all the security guards are running down the hall, pushing kids out of the way.

After what seems like forever I hear sirens in the distance. But Romell is breathing again on his own, even though he hasn't opened his eyes. I was so scared he wasn't gonna start breathing again.

Bethany is crying hysterically and screaming, “This is all your fault, Sunday!”

I'm tripping now, because how is this my fault? If she hadn't been slobbering Romell down, trying to make me jealous, maybe Jordan wouldn't have jumped on him. Or maybe if she hadn't been playing these boys out here, then this wouldn't have happened. I'm feeling some kind of way about her trying to blame me for Romell, who is now getting carried out on a stretcher.

At least his eyes are now open. The paramedic is asking him questions, and he seems to be responding. Looks like at the worst he got knocked out by Jordan. I know this is not the end of this episode. Romell's ball-player friends are gonna get Jordan at some point. I see them eyeballing him down already. He might as well make his life easier and go ahead and transfer.

Dreya appears from out of the crowd and walks straight toward Bethany. She shocks me by giving her a hug and whispering something in her ear. Whatever Dreya says has Bethany smiling from ear to ear and hugging her back.

The security guards start clearing everyone out of the halls, so people start moving toward their classrooms. I grab Dreya by the arm as she tries to sashay past me.

“What did you say to Bethany?” I ask.

“None of your business.”

I ask again, “What did you say to Bethany?”

“If you must know, Sunday, I invited her on tour with us. She can be one of my assistants.”

“Epsilon Records isn't going to spring for another hotel room. So where is she staying? With you?”

“No. She's staying in the assistant's room with you.”

I laugh out loud. “You getting payback for me riding around the block in Truth's car?”

“No, but I don't trust either one of y'all, so you don't need to have a hotel room by yourself. I'd have to hurt both of y'all if I saw him creeping to your room late at night.”

“You can't be serious to think I would want him, or that I would play you like that. We're family, Dreya.”

“Yeah, well, family does foul stuff, too. Like I'm still trying to figure out how you found a way to get a paycheck off my come-up.”

“How about that tiny, tiny part of writing all the songs on the album? Did you forget about that?”

“I didn't forget. But once this album is a number-one hit, I'm kicking you and that corny Sam to the curb for my sophomore release. You're not gonna be making royalties off my career. Get your own record deal.”

Dreya pretends to wave down some girls who aren't even her friends. Now that I think about it, Dreya doesn't have any friends except me and Bethany. She's either dogged out everyone else, stolen their boyfriend, or done something else just as foul.

And now she's bringing Bethany on tour with us. That's a real trip right there. I watch Bethany standing at her locker, laughing with one of Romell's friends, as if her new man wasn't in the hospital with a head injury. What Jordan did to Romell could be classified as blunt force trauma to the head. I learned that from watching
Law & Order.

But like I was saying, Bethany on this tour is going to be drama to the infinite power. If Dreya thinks she needs to watch her back with me, she better double that with Bethany, because she's the one who's really looking for a come-up.

“Y
ou ready to record this song?” Sam asks from outside the booth.

I nod and smile. “So ready. Let's do this.”

Sam and I collaborated on this song for Mystique, and I know when she hears it she's gonna love it. And it looks like we're going to have to make our songwriting mark without Dreya/Drama, because she's determined not to have us writing for her on her next record.

She even told Big D her suspicions about me and Truth. He reassured her that I didn't have anything on her; same thing Truth told her. It's a good thing I've got high self-esteem, because if I didn't, all this talk about Dreya being hotter than me might hurt my feelings.

Anyway, our song for Mystique is called “This Time.” It's a midtempo breakup song, which is the type of song that Mystique always turns into a hit. I think she'll love it when she hears it. I'm going to purposely sing in her favorite key, so that she sings along after the first verse.

As you can tell, Sam and I thought this thing all the way through.

I hear the intro on the track filtering in through the headset. I close my eyes and get ready to belt the words.

I sing the first verse in a quiet, smooth voice. “Your new girlfriend called me up last night / Telling me that I better be movin' on / Didn't call you, 'cause all we'd do is fight / So instead I wrote you a little song.”

Now I take a deep breath to transition to the bridge. “This time is the last time / you're breaking my heart / you've torn it apart / This time is the last time / I'm crying over you / crying over y-ou!”

The drums kick in loudly for the chorus, and my voice grows loud, too, emotionally belting out the sad words.

“This time it really is over.

This time not taking you back.

This time not thinking it over.

This time I'm packin' my bags.

This time I don't believe you.

This time ain't changing my plans.

This time when I walk out

This time not coming back!”

I don't open my eyes until I sing the second verse, bridge, and chorus again. When I do, Sam is clapping with an awestruck look on his face. Big D has joined him, and he's clapping as well.

“That was hot, Sunday,” Big D says through the microphone. “Is that for Dreya's sophomore album?”

Sam lifts an eyebrow. “Nah, this is for Sunday's song-writing demo. Dreya doesn't want us working on her stuff anymore.”

Big D frowns and waves for me to come out of the sound booth. I pull open the heavy wooden door and join them in the technical area of the room.

“Drama said she doesn't want you working on her next album?” Big D asks me.

“Yeah, she's on some mess. She thinks I want Truth, which is completely and totally not the case.”

Big D shakes his head. “Y'all know what, bump her then. If she's tripping on her own cousin, it's only a matter of time before she's tripping on me. That song sounds like something Mystique would sing. Y'all need to let her hear it. She'll love it. It might just get you enough money for your tuition, lil' mama.”

I don't tell Big D what Dreya said about kicking him to the curb after she blows up. For some reason, I feel a sense of loyalty to my cousin, and I don't know what Big D would do to her. I've not seen any evidence that he's gangsta, outside of his looks, but the fact that he keeps company with the thugs at Club Pyramids gives me pause.

I clear my throat. “Are you gonna try to take credit for it, too?”

“Since y'all secretly using my equipment to do this little project, I could,” Big D says while stroking his goatee. “But this genius is all y'all. God would get me for trying to get in on that.”

Sam chuckles. “This ain't had nothing to do with me. Sunday made an ordinary track come to life with her melody, lyrics, and vocals. I don't even feel like I should take credit.”

“Of course you should,” I say. “I got the idea for the song after hearing your track. The melody wouldn't have come to my mind without hearing your track.”

Big D interjects, “While you two are in here stroking each other's egos, I'm gonna go and check on this dance rehearsal upstairs. Drama wasn't lying when she said she had two left feet. I'm thinking maybe I signed up the wrong cousin.”

“My music and image wouldn't fit with Truth. Dreya is much better suited for that edgy, hip-hop thing they got going. I couldn't pull that off if you paid me. You wait until Dreya gets on stage, though. She can dance—she just can't do the choreography.”

“Here's a suggestion for the track for Mystique,” Big D says. “Don't add too many runs or ad-libs on your second go-round. Leave it clean. The melody is hot enough the way it is, and knowing Mystique, she'd want to finesse it in her own way.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I say, although I hadn't planned to do any ad-libs.

“Well, I'm gonna leave y'all to your genius! Make it hot,” Big D says with a smile as he backs out of the music lab.

The song has a pop sound to it, but my voice makes it soulful. It's perfect for the kind of crossover music that Mystique does, and I really hope she's feeling it. Even if she doesn't, Sam is sure we can sell this to someone, and make some serious cash.

I sip from a bottle of water while Sam does some things on his magic soundboard. He's really talented with flipping those little dials and making sure the perfect sound emerges.

Speaking of emerging, why is Bethany standing in here all of a sudden? “What do you want?” I ask.

“Drama told me to check on y'all and see what y'all are down here doing.”

I laugh out loud. “What are you, her little spy now?”

“No. She just wants to know what her staff is doing. She needed water and you weren't there to hand it to her. Drama was a little bit upset that she was thirsty and had to find her own water.”

Sam asks, “What were you doing? Why couldn't you get the water, assistant number two?”

“Because I had to watch Shelly as she was preparing the food. Drama doesn't trust Shelly cooking for her, so she asked me to monitor the food preparation.”

I'm searching Bethany's face for any sign that she's joking, and I can't find it. “Bethany, you need to tell Dreya that she's tripping.”

“I don't know if she is. She's right to watch her back. Truth is a player. He's tried to get with both of us behind her back. There's no telling what he might do.”

“Why doesn't she break up with him then?” I ask. “Why would you stay with a guy you don't even trust with your own cousin?”

“You know why, Sunday. It's for her career. She needs Truth right now to help her blow up.”

Sam says, “She's messed up for real if she doesn't even trust her cousin.”

“Well, she doesn't. That's the only reason why Bethany is coming on this tour,” I say. “What did you tell your mom, anyway, Bethany? They're cool with you taking time off from school to go on a tour?”

“Yeah. She wants me to get a record deal. She thinks I can be Miley Cyrus or Taylor Swift, and I do, too.”

I think on this for a minute. Bethany
can
sing. Probably better than Miley and Taylor. That's the only reason why she was in our group. It would be crazy if she ended up with a record deal, too, but I'm sure Dreya will do everything in her power to make sure that doesn't happen.

“Have you heard anything about Romell?” I ask, changing this stupid subject. “Is he still in the hospital?”

“No, he got out. He just had a concussion, that's all, but Jordan got charged with assault.”

“How do you feel about that?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Just two hardheads duking it out. It has nothing to do with me. Jordan knows that I wasn't his girlfriend. It's not my fault all this junk I'm packing makes the brothas go wild.”

She giggles and sashays out of the room, making sure to give Sam an ample view of her behind on the way out. Sam rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“No thank you,” he says to the back of Bethany's head.

I laugh out loud. “No, thank you?”

“Yeah. I want her to know that not all the brothas only care about booties.”

“Nobody cares what Bethany thinks. She's a lame. She and Dreya.”

Sam plays on the keyboard, doing the beginning of our song. Every time we vibe on a song, I feel myself liking Sam even more. But I've gotta stay focused right now. We're right on the verge of something with this song, and I can't let Sam or a crush get in the way of me getting mine. That wouldn't be a good look at all.