All the Wrong Moves

by Nikki Carter

  “Sure. Big D, can you show her where the studio is? I’ll go get Dilly, and we’ll meet y’all in there.”

  Mystique takes her soda back out toward the pool area, and Big D leads me down a long corridor. I make a backward glance at Sam and give him an extra evil glare.

  “Sam didn’t mean for you to find out about Rielle,” Big D says. “She’s nobody. Just a prom date.”

  I don’t respond, because I can’t stand when guys stick up for each other like that. First of all, if she was only a prom date, then what is she doing here at Zac’s mansion? Sounds like more than prom to me. And second, if she wasn’t important then why did Sam go out of his way lying and making up stories trying to seem like he’s important.

  “I thought you told me he would get over all the fight with Truth,” I say to Big D. “You were wrong.”

  Big D replies, “I wasn’t wrong. He did get over it. I didn’t think he’d moved on to the next chick, though.”

  “Well, thank you for being so encouraging. Thanks a lot.”

  Big D slings his gigantic arm around my shoulder. “I’m just keeping it one hundred with you, girl. It would do you much better to get over Sam too. That way we can have peace on our tour.”

  “So you trying to tell me you don’t want any drama when Sam pushes up on groupies?”

  “I’m saying Sam has moved on, and you should too.”

  Big D pushes open a huge double door that leads to Zac’s studio. This spot is totally decked out. The sound board is like twice the size of Big D’s, and the recording room has enough space for a whole gospel choir. It’s crazy how he’s got this set up in his house! And he doesn’t even live in Atlanta. I wonder what his New York studio looks like.

  “Are you impressed?” Mystique’s voice floats over to me like a feather on the wind. Sounds poetic doesn’t it?

  I turn to answer her, but my voice gets caught in my throat. The boy that’s with her, I’m assuming that he’s Dilly, has just the right amount of fineness to help me get over Sam. He’s what we call bright, down here in ATL, a black boy with light skin. His hair is cut low, and has deep waves. His eyes are big and pretty, with long lashes touching the sky. Hotness personified.

  He reaches his hand out to me. For a half second I don’t know what he wants, then I realize he wants me to shake hands with him.

  “I’m Jayson, but you can call me Dilly. You’re Sunday?”

  I nod, trying not to get lost in his eyes. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “I heard your single. Mystique let me listen. It’s good.”

  “Thank you.”

  Okay, I don’t think I’ve ever been this polite in my life. But I can’t think of anything else to say. Because what do you say to the younger brother of the thug who tried to kill your mother’s boyfriend and almost stepdaddy? I mean, do I say, “So pleased to make your acquaintance?” Come the heck on! He’s related to LaKeisha and Bryce. I can’t help but dead all thoughts of a potential crush even though he is ridiculously fine.

  Mystique cuts in. “So, I want y’all to hear this track that Zac did, and tell me if you think you can groove to it.”

  She trots over to the sound boards and presses a few buttons. I’m impressed that she knows her way around a studio. I’ve got to get that piece under my belt too, since Sam is acting up.

  The track is not what I’m used to, but still I think I can work with it. Mostly drums and bass, but not a lot of melody.

  I bob my head a little, sway back and forth to the sound of the drumbeat. Then, Dilly starts a freestyle verse.

  “Every time I go round/She tellin’ me to slow down/Actin’ like I’m low down/No matter how my flow sound/He’s a clown/that other dude she flossin’/Cookies he’ll be tossin’/When they let the boss in/I’ma win/Never lose ‘cause I’m a winner/I eat emcees with collard greens fo’ my dinner.”

  Big D and Mystique clap when he’s done, but I just lift one of my eyebrows and give him an up and down glance. It was aiight. He’s got a little bit of lyrical swiftness, but he could use some polish. “What did you think?” Dilly asks me.

  “You’re good,” I say. “Am I supposed to rap on this too, or y’all just want me singing the hook?”

  Big D lets out a huge laugh. “This girl is all about her business, know what I mean?”

  “I’m just saying! Trying to figure out what I have to do.”

  Honestly, I’m not feeling anywhere close to creative right now. I’m stressed beyond belief, and the muse is definitely not in the building. My mind keeps going back to Sam and Rielle all booed up.

  Mystique says, “You can do whatever you want to the track. I’m gonna give you both an MP3 of it and see what y’all come up with. We can have a jam session next weekend.”

  “You cool with that, Sunday?” Dilly asks, as if all of this hinges on my participation.

  “Sure.”

  Now that I’ve agreed to this collaboration, I’m ready to go home. I need to listen to sad breakup songs, and cry into my pillow. And all of this needs to happen with a quickness.

  How is it that I finally figure out that I’m digging Sam after he’s already moved on? Looks like it’s over between us, before it even started.

  3

  Hours after our miniature studio session I get home from Zac’s party. Mystique meant to have Benji take me home right after my mini-session with Dilly, but then got sidetracked by someone Zac wanted her to meet. She didn’t get back to me until much later, and I had to endure two more hours of watching Sam push up on Rielle and Truth push up on groupies. Not exactly my idea of how to spend a Friday night, know what I mean?

  I slam the front door as I walk in. This causes Aunt Charlie to jerk to an upright position on the couch where she was napping. A thin plume of smoke rises from the cigarette in the ashtray in front of her. One day she’s going to burn our house down. I pour her leftover soda over the cigarette and frown as it floats in the Pepsi.

  “Dreya’s not with you?”

  I shake my head. “Naw. I went out with Mystique.”

  Aunt Charlie frowns, and scratches underneath her wig. “Mystique? Why she ain’t take Dreya too? Was this some kind of publicity thing?”

  Aunt Charlie has been heated ever since I signed a record deal of my own. She accused me of trying to steal Dreya’s shine, even though I’m the whole reason for Dreya’s having a record deal too. If I hadn’t written that fly hook for Truth’s album, no one would even know about her.

  “No, it wasn’t a publicity thing,” I reply. “It was a get together for some of her fiancé’s friends.”

  “Well, next time, you could ask Dreya if she wants to go.”

  “How do I look inviting Dreya to someone else’s house? If Mystique had wanted Dreya there, she would’ve invited her.”

  “You need to stand up for your cousin. Y’all are family.”

  I roll my eyes and walk down the hallway to my bedroom. Aunt Charlie acts like this is kindergarten when Dreya got to go anywhere I was invited. I remember once I got invited to Chuck E. Cheese’s, and Aunt Charlie dropped us both off, and didn’t come back until hours after the party was supposed to be over. She went to get her hair and nails done while we were at the party. My mother was so mad.

  My phone rings. It’s Sam. I press Ignore. Not even trying to hear anything from him right now.

  I slam my bedroom door behind me and peel off my clothes. I consider taking a shower, but that would require me to go back out there and listen to more nonsense about Tolliver solidarity from Aunt Charlie. I vote no.

  Instead of pajamas, I tug on an oversized That’s So Raven sleep shirt that my mom bought me a few years ago for Christmas. It is my most comfortable shirt—flaws and all.

  My lumpy, bumpy, seven-year-old mattress is the pits, but I’m too tired to be bothered by it. I need to skim a little bit of my royalty money and get a Sealy Posturepedic up in the spot. But if I do, it will probably be my little cousin’s favorite place to take a nap, which means it’ll be co
vered in pee stains. I’ll wait until I’ve got my own spot.

  As soon as I close my eyes and start drifting to dreamland, I hear a loud tap on my window. I sit straight up in my bed and pull my comforter over me, even though it’s warm in my room. That better not be Sam, because I’m gonna get all kinds of ugly if he’s waking me up to explain his groupie escapades.

  I hear the tapping again and sigh. I’m really going to have to see who it is. I reach on the nightstand for my cell phone and dial 9 then 1. I swear if it’s somebody crazy, I’m pressing the other 1 and then hightailing my little self to the front of the house.

  My mouth drops open when I see who it is at my window.

  “Sunday! It’s me. Open up.”

  It’s my mother’s missing boyfriend, Carlos.

  I shake my head, not knowing whether I should open the window or not. For a half second I wonder if he’s a ghost or something, because the last we heard he was maybe dead.

  “Come on, niña. Someone might see me. It’s cool.”

  “Go to the front door,” I whisper, but he can’t hear me through the glass.

  He shakes his head and shrugs, and I point toward the front of the house.

  “No! I don’t want Charlie to see me. Plus, they’re watching the house.”

  Now I throw the window open. “Who’s watching the house?”

  Carlos climbs through the window. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and army fatigue pants. His long hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and he looks tired.

  “Bryce and LaKeisha. They’ve got people driving by every night. Seeing if they can spot me.”

  Finally, the shock wears off, and I throw my arms around his neck. Then I punch him in the arm. “Fool! My mama thought you were dead. She’s gonna beat the mess outta you.”

  “I hope not,” he chuckles. “I’m not all the way healed yet.”

  “What’s still wrong with you?”

  “One of those bullets punctured my lung. It’s hard for me to breathe now. I breathe like an eighty-year-old man who smoked cigarettes his entire life.”

  “For real? That’s messed up.”

  “Is Shawn here?”

  I nod. “It’s late, so she’s probably in her room asleep. Are you sure you want me to wake her up?”

  Carlos runs his hand over his head and paces the floor. “Sunday, I’ve been in town a week figuring out how I’m gonna see my Shawn. She’s gonna hate me, but I love her so much. I’ve gotta see her before I leave town again.”

  “Okay. I’ll get her.”

  I tiptoe out of my bedroom, to my mother’s room. I quietly open the door to my mom’s room, as if Aunt Charlie could hear me—she’s got Dreamgirls blasting on the television, and she’s trying to sing along with Jennifer Hudson. The sound is not a pleasing one.

  My mother is sleeping so peacefully that I hate to wake her. Especially to this mess here, because she’s about to trip the heck out.

  “Ma, wake up,” I whisper as I gently shake her body.

  “W-what is it, Sunday?”

  “It’s Carlos …”

  She bolts upright. “Did they find him?”

  “No. He found us. He’s in my room. Just climbed in the window.”

  I hold a finger up to my mouth to shush any other squealing my mom wants to do. I can tell she has a thousand questions, which she might as well hold onto. I don’t have any answers.

  We both creep back to my bedroom. My mother stands still for a moment—staring at Carlos. Neither of them say a word; they just stare and breathe. My mother’s breaths sound clear and even, Carlos’s sound weak and rattled.

  Then, my mother lunges toward Carlos and lands in his arms. She hugs him like she’s clinging for dear life, and I can hear the sobs that she tries to muffle by putting her face in his chest. He hugs her back, and tears trail down his face as well.

  “Shawn, I …” Carlos starts to speak.

  “Don’t say anything yet!” my mother exclaims. “Let me just look at you.”

  My mother pulls away from him and looks him up and down. She strokes his face, runs her finger over the bullet wound on his neck, and then takes one of his hands.

  “It’s a miracle that you’re here, baby,” my mother says. “I thought you were gone.”

  “I would’ve been if it hadn’t been for my family in Brooklyn.”

  “Brooklyn? You’re in New York now?”

  “Yes, I’m in New York with my cousins.”

  “Just like that? Why haven’t you called?”

  Carlos sighs and throws his head back. “I thought it would be easier for you if I disappeared. My cousins aren’t good guys, Shawn. They aren’t people you’d want to deal with.”

  “They’re thugs like Bryce, then,” my mother says with a frown.

  “Worse. But they were the only option. We didn’t have any money.”

  “Are you back in Atlanta for good?” she asks.

  “No. I’m leaving tonight. I just wanted to see you. To let you know I’m alive.”

  “Well, what good is that, if you’re not here?”

  Carlos shrugs. “It’s all I’ve got right now. But soon, we won’t have to worry about Bryce or any of those dudes down at Club Pyramids. I promise you that.”

  “What are you going to do?” my mother asks. I can hear the fear in her tone.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to make everything up to you and Sunday.”

  Carlos grabs my mother into his arms and kisses her. I watch her go limp in his embrace. When he finally lets her go, he has tears in his eyes again.

  “I’ve got to go, Shawn. I’m putting you in danger by being here.”

  “Can’t you leave in the morning?” my mother pleads.

  Carlos shakes his head and lifts my window. “Sunday,” he says. “I’m going to get your college money back.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it covered.” I can’t believe these words are coming out of my mouth. Maybe I’m getting all emotional because he’s here.

  Carlos climbs backwards out of my window as my mother stands looking helpless with her hand over her mouth. As soon as I close the window she breaks down crying. I don’t know how to comfort her. I can’t think of one thing to say that might make her feel better.

  “At least he’s alive.”

  While this is a true statement, it doesn’t stop my mother’s tears from falling. I wish we could go back in time to before the shooting. Back to when Carlos was slumming on our couch because my mom wouldn’t let him in her bedroom without a ring. Back to when I didn’t have to worry about having a crush on a new somebody because he might just be related to an attempted murderer.

  Can somebody loan me a time machine?

  4

  First thing in the morning, my mom told Aunt Charlie about her visit from Carlos. I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell her, but my mom and her sister are best friends. No matter how much Aunt Charlie gets on my nerves, I know she’d never do anything to hurt my mom.

  They decided to take Manny to the zoo, to get my mother’s mind off of it, although it probably won’t work. But at least she’ll be out of the house, and she won’t be walking around crying all day.

  I’ve got the house to myself, because Dreya’s at Big D’s house—where she’s been since last night. Today, she’s supposed to be doing studio remixes of some of her album tracks. What will I do with my peace and quiet?

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. I just got a text message.

  I’m outside. U gonna let me in?

  Okay, clearly I’m not going to have any peace and quiet, because Sam picks now, of all times, to drop by. And who does he think he is anyway, dropping by? I shouldn’t let him in, but I peek out the door and see his smiling face.

  “Come in,” I say with attitude, as I swing the door open.

  Sam chuckles, “I feel so welcome.”

  “You do? Dang. I was going for the exact opposite of that.”

  Sam perches on the arm of the couch and gives
me a goofy grin. “I know you’re mad about Rielle. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Why would you think I’m mad?” I sit down on the love seat and give him a confused look as if what he’s saying is completely ludicrous.

  “Come on, Sunday. You were about to explode on me over Zac’s house.”

  “Nope. Wasn’t about to do anything like that. What I look like blowin’ up over somebody else’s dude?”

  “Well, even if you won’t admit that you’re mad, I’m here to apologize. Rielle is not, nor has she ever been, nor will she ever be anything other than a date. She’s going to prom with me, and I mentioned the thing at Zac’s house while we were picking out corsages.”

  I roll my eyes. Why does he think I want to hear about his prom plans?

  “Speaking of which,” he continues, “what color is your dress? Do I need to get a matching vest or anything for my tux?”

  Dang. Why did I ask him to go to prom with me? Bad idea.

  “You know what? I think I’m gonna skip it,” I say. “Prom is for suckas anyway.”

  Sam laughs out loud. “Are you serious? You just asked me like five minutes ago.”

  “And now I’m un-asking you.”

  “And this has nothing to do with Rielle?”

  “It has nada to do with Rielle.”

  Sam pokes his lips out with a “yeah right” expression. I wish he would stop, because them soup coolers are already large enough without him adding anything extra.

  “Did you get a dress?” he asks.

  I sigh. “Why does it matter? Didn’t I just say I was skipping it?”

  A tiny smile graces Sam’s lips. I can’t stand him, because he looks so cute right now. Grrr!

  “I want to see it.”

  “What? The dress?”

  Sam folds his arms and nods as if he’s not leaving my couch until he sees my prom dress. I storm back to my room, snatch the shimmery, short green dress out of my closet and lay it on the couch.

  “See, there it is.”