by Nikki Carter
On my way down the hall to who knows where, my guidance counselor, Mr. Brubaker, flags me down. “Sunday, can I talk to you for a moment?”
“Sure.” I don’t really feel like doing this, but Mr. Brubaker is the other person I need a recommendation letter from.
We go into his office, where Mr. Brubaker walks around the side of his desk and points to the chair for me to sit down. I plop down on the soft, worn-out leather. I bet thousands of students have sat in this chair because it’s got a nice little dent in the middle where the behind should go.
“What’s going on with you, Sunday? Be real with it, too, because I saw the police officers earlier.”
I can’t help but crack a smile at Mr. Brubaker. If he didn’t have all that gray in his hair and beard, he’d be a grown-man hottie with that smooth, chocolate colored skin. But he’s the coolest adult in this school, and I think the only one who really cares what happens to us when we leave here.
“I’m cool, Mr. Brubaker, but my mother’s boyfriend is missing.”
“I hope he’s okay. Did you get that Spelman application done yet?”
I nod. “Almost. I still have to finish the essays and get my recommendation letters.”
“When were you going to ask me for the letter, Sunday?” Mr. Brubaker gives me a knowing grin.
“I was about to today in fact! But then the police came up here and stole my joy!”
Mr. Brubaker throws his head back and laughs. “They stole your joy, Sunday?”
“Yes, sir, they did. Can I ask for your help with something?” I ask, my tone suddenly serious.
“Of course. What do you need?”
I shift a little bit in my seat, because I don’t want to really put my mother out there, but I’m gonna need some help with my college fund.
“Mr. Brubaker, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to go to Spelman. I might have to do a community college for a few semesters, because my money isn’t right.”
“Have you applied for any scholarship money?”
“No, not yet. I don’t even know where to start looking.”
“You should’ve come to me sooner.”
I shrug. “Up until a few days ago, I thought my mother had it covered.”
Mr. Brubaker sighed. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you into Spelman and get it paid for. Your grades are excellent. I wish you did more extracurricular activities, but…”
“I do music after school, Mr. Brubaker. I don’t have time for volleyball or the glee club.”
He laughs out loud in his deep baritone. “You should join the glee club, Sunday. I could use your voice in the soprano section.”
“Maybe. I’ll think about it. When do you meet?”
“Thursdays before school and Saturday mornings. It shouldn’t take too much time away from your other stuff.”
“You might see me Thursday morning.”
“Great. And, Sunday, I don’t want you to worry about school. We’ll take care of it.”
“Okay, Mr. Brubaker. I’m trusting you on this one.”
After school, Bethany and I meet up to get on the bus. She still doesn’t know about the tour, and I’m trying to think of how to tell her about it without her blowing up.
“Dreya moved back home,” I say.
Bethany laughs. “What happened? Did your Aunt Charlie go over to Big D’s studio, wrecking shop?”
“No. Big D made her come back home so that Aunt Charlie would sign the contract.”
“So there’s a contract now? Wow…”
“Yeah, she signed to Epsilon Records.”
“What about you? Did they give you an in-house songwriter gig?”
An in-house songwriter is someone who works for the record company and gets a paycheck like a regular job. They don’t get royalties, though, so I’m not trying to go that route. I want to freelance like I’ve been doing. That’s the only way for me to come up. Plus, what record company is trying to hire a seventeen-year-old?
“No, Bethany. I don’t even want one of those. But they did give me a job.”
“For real? Doing what?”
“Well, I have to be Dreya’s assistant on two tours, photo shoots, and other stuff like that.”
Bethany’s mouth drops open like a broken hinge. “You have to be Dreya’s assistant?”
“Yeah, it’s cool.”
Bethany doubles over with laughter. “That is not cool, Sunday. You are the leader of our group! You’re used to being in charge. There is no way you’re gonna be able to survive five minutes as Dreya’s assistant!”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m doing this so that I can go on the road for free, meet celebrities, go to parties, and make money at the same time. I can handle Dreya.”
Romell walks up to where we’re standing. “Hey, Sunday.”
“Hey, Romell. What’s good?”
“You, girl. When we going to the movies?”
I crack up laughing. “You must like getting dogged out by girls.”
“Nah, only you. Who was that lame that picked you up from school yesterday?”
“Wow. Hater much?”
“Naw, never that. I just wanted to know who you was kickin’ it with these days.”
That’s really funny. “Ro, you didn’t care too much when we were together, but now that we’re apart, you all of a sudden checkin’ for me?”
“Guess I didn’t know what I had.”
“Boy, stop. You don’t mean that. What’s up? You need help with your calculus homework or something?”
Romell sighs and his entire body relaxes. “Girl, I’m so glad you said that! I do need some help with the homework assignment.”
“You can come over, Romell, and we can do the assignment together. All you had to do was ask.”
Bethany covers her mouth and giggles. “If he comes over to your house, y’all not gonna do no homework. Maybe I should come, too, and chaperone.”
Romell’s eyes light up. “Do we need a chaperone, Sunday?”
“Uh, no. We do not, but, Bethany, you can come through if you want.”
“Okay.”
Romell narrows his eyes at Bethany like he’s angry at her for some reason. I know he can’t be over there thinking she’s blocking, because there’s nothing to block. I’m not feeling him at all anymore.
Romell licks his lips and runs a hand over his cornrows. “Bethany, you are a chump, for real. You stay in the way, don’t you?”
“I’m in the way, Romell?” Bethany’s feelings are probably hurt now. “Never mind, Sunday. I’ll just go to my house.”
“No, Bethany! He’s just trying to psych you out. You’re coming over.”
Romell takes one of my long cornrows between his fingers and drapes it across my neck. I wonder if he likes my hair like this. I used to love when he played in my hair. Shoot, I still love it when he plays in my hair—I ain’t gonna lie.
“No alone time?” Romell asks. His face is so close to mine that I can feel his fruity-scented breath in my ear.
I take a step back so I can clear my head. “No. No alone time, Romell. Just homework. I’m talking to somebody.”
“You talking to somebody?” Romell repeats my statement as a question. “That dude who picked you up from school?”
I nod. “Yeah. He goes to DeKalb School of the Arts.”
“For real?” Romell laughs in my face. “The arts school? You sure he likes girls?”
I roll my eyes. “Keep talking trash, and you’re gonna be figuring out that calc homework by yourself.”
Romell slides his hand over my hip. “Well, I just want you to know. I like girls.”
“I know you do. Multiple girls, in fact.” I push his hand away.
I’m glad the bus pulls up, because I don’t want to continue this conversation with Romell. It’s only going to end in an argument, because I can’t help but get mad about all the times he played me for other girls. Only cute boys get away with that kind of stuff, though. I bet Sam wouldn’t cheat on a girl.<
br />
Thinking about Sam makes me want to text him. I sit down in the seat next to Bethany and pull out my phone.
Hey, babe. What u doin?
A few seconds go by and he replies.
Thinkin’ ’bout you. Want some pizza?
Dang. Now I wish I hadn’t invited Romell over for homework.
Can’t. Gotta tutor this dude.
Want some company?
I think it would be funny to see Romell and Sam interact. Romell and his hating and Sam with his perpetual cool swagger.
Yeah, come thru. And bring pepperoni.
14
For some reason, no one is home when we walk in from school. Not even Auntie Charlie and Manny, who are always here. Dreya’s probably somewhere with Truth, so I’m not surprised that she’s not home, and my mother’s at work.
In a nutshell, we’ve got the house to ourselves.
“Nobody’s home? See, I knew we shoulda kicked Bethany to the curb. It coulda been just me and you, Sunday,” Romell fusses, and pouts like a little kid.
“Boy, please. Even if Bethany wasn’t here, nothing would be going down. I’m not on you like that anymore.”
Romell chuckles. “You think you’re not on me like that. But I felt you shiver when I was playing in your hair earlier.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. It tickles when you do that. That’s all.”
I hear my own voice and it doesn’t sound too convincing. No wonder he still thinks he’s got it like that.
Bethany giggles. “Do y’all need me to leave?”
“No,” I say a little bit too loudly. “Sam is on his way over here, and he’s bringing pizza.”
Romell frowns. “You invited your man to our study date?”
“This is not a date.” I sit down at the dining room table and take out my calculus book. “Let’s do this homework.”
Romell skulks over to the table and sits down in front of me. “I know how to do the homework, Sunday. I just wanted to spend some time with you.”
I cock my head to one side and really look at Romell. OMG, I think he’s sincere. He silently takes his book and a sheet of paper out of his backpack. He looks at his pencil tip and it’s broken, so I hand him a sharpener.
“Thanks,” he mumbles as he sharpens his pencil.
He spreads his arms out on the table and leans closely into the book as if the words are too small. I don’t know what he’s reading, but he’s sure concentrating hard. I always liked to watch him do homework like that.
Dang, why is he looking so good to me right now?
“I’m glad you came over,” I say.
Just as he looks up and smiles, the doorbell rings. Who could that be? Oops! Did I really just forget that Sam was coming through? Wow…
“I’ll get it,” Bethany says. “You two lovebirds can just keep gazing into each other’s eyes.”
“Whatever.” I chuckle nervously as Romell grins from ear to ear.
When Sam comes through the door, a breeze blows in the smell of pepperoni pizza and his cologne. He’s all smiles, too, like he’s happy to see me.
“Hey, Sunday and Bethany.” He holds his fist out to Romell for a pound. “I’m Sam. What’s good?”
Romell pounds back, but it’s a halfhearted pound. “Yeah. I’m Romell.”
If Sam can tell that Romell is heated, he doesn’t let on. He comes around to my side of the table and hugs me from behind, taking in the back of the chair, too.
“I missed you, girl!” he says. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in days.”
“You just saw me yesterday, Sam. Do you have any homework to do?”
Sam shakes his head. “I finished it up in study hall. One of the perks of DSA.”
“That might be the only perk,” Romell says. “Y’all ain’t got no football or basketball team that’s ’bout nothin’.”
“You might be right. I’m not all that into sports.”
Romell leans back and blows breath through his lips in a whistle. “Is you a chick or something? This who you feelin’, Sunday?”
“Yeah, liking sports would make me a real, down type of dude, right?” Sam asks, with sarcasm dripping from his tone like a melting Popsicle.
“Well, it would make you a dude at least.”
Sam laughs. “Sunday, what do you think? Sports or music? What’s more swagger filled?”
“Swagger filled?” laughs Bethany. “Oh, my goodness. Y’all are tripping.”
“I’m not an expert on swagger. I can just say what I like, and Romell, you know I’ve never been on jocks all like that. You’re the only ball player I’ve ever dated.”
“So what you sayin’?” Romell asks.
“Well…I do like artists. Musicians, singers…”
“Rap dudes,” blurts Bethany.
I’m looking at her real crazy right now. “What rap dude are you talking about?”
“You know! Truth.”
Sam’s face tightens. “You feeling him, Sunday?”
“Uh, nooo!”
I could bop Bethany in her head right now. She knows I don’t want Truth. She’s just trying to make both Romell and Sam mad at me at the same time. Obviously her hateration knows no bounds.
Romell turns to look at Bethany, who’s flipping her long ponytail and sitting on the couch with her miniskirt hiked way up over her thick thighs. “She’s talking to Truth, Bethany? The dude with the single?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know if they’re talking. That’s Dreya’s boyfriend. I just think that he likes her and they definitely flirt with each other.”
Okay, wait a minute! Isn’t she supposed to be my friend? I can’t believe this. She’s that mad about Romell and Sam both liking me that she would play me out with a lie. That’s foul.
“Bethany, you need to stop playing. And you can step if you’re gonna be in here lying. You know I’ve never flirted with Truth.”
Bethany stands to her feet and puts on her jacket. “All I know is Dreya is checking for the wrong person. She needs to keep her eye on you instead of me, because I don’t want that little troll-looking dude.”
“You about to go?” Romell asks Bethany.
“Yeah. You wanna walk me home?”
Romell looks me up and down with a disgusted glare. “Yeah. It’s all good. Your mother at the house?”
Bethany smiles. “Nope.”
“Did you forget about Jordan?” I ask, reminding Bethany of her prom date.
“No. He’s just my date, not my man.”
Romell grabs his jacket and packs up his bag. “I’m out. Come on, Bethany.”
“Enjoy my sloppy seconds!” I shout as Bethany walks toward the door.
I run behind the two of them and slam the door. Bethany gets on my nerves about these boys! Why can’t we go back to the old days when we used to play jacks and listen to Destiny’s Child CDs, before we even knew what they meant by “Say My Name.” Her hormones have made her insane.
Sam opens up the box of pizza, takes out a hot, cheesy slice, and bites it. I try to gauge his mood as he slowly chews and swallows. I can’t call it.
“I thought they’d never leave,” he says. “Your friends are annoying.”
“I know, right. I didn’t know they were gonna trip like that. Well…I expected Romell to act a little bit stupid since I used to go with him, but Bethany’s hating is out of the blue for real.”
“You used to go with that dude? He doesn’t seem like your type.”
“Really? Well, then, what’s my type?”
Sam freestyles. “Poetry-writing bruthas, who’s respectful to they muthas, not pretty suckas, who quick to kick it with anotha.”
“I like them rhymes you spittin’, got me reminiscin’ on the time when we was hangin’. S-sayin’ you my type then?” I spit back with a flurry of giggles.
“Yeah, I’m your type.” Sam’s voice catches in his throat like he wants to say more, but doesn’t.
The air is so thick in here now that I reach for the pizz
a box, trying to change to the next track. I need something upbeat right now. Some conversation to get us laughing, because Sam is staring at me with nothing but seriousness in his eyes.
“So it’s gonna be fun going on tour, right?” I ask as I grab a slice of pizza for myself.
Sam chuckles. “It can be really fun. How fun do you want to make it?”
“Shut up! As much as Dreya gets on my nerves, I’m looking forward to this. We’re part of a real live entourage.”
“That’s what’s up!” Sam says, now joining in with the fun.
“Who else is gonna be on that BET new artist showcase?” I ask.
“I’m not sure who all of the artists are going to be, but Mystique is hosting it, and having an after party at Club 2020 in Brooklyn. It’s all on the itinerary.”
“What itinerary?”
Sam pulls a folded-up piece of paper out of his bag. “Big D had me deal with the charter bus company that’s doing the tour bus, so that’s why I have this.”
I read down the sheet of paper. This is about to be off the chain! Parties in every city at nightclubs where we’re not even old enough to get in. Concerts at malls and expo centers.
“How are we going to get into these clubs? None of us are twenty-one.”
“We have work permits for all of y’all. And they’ll make sure you have on a wristband that says you’re with the crew and underage. It’s all taken care of. Epsilon Records handles all that back-end stuff.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Me neither, but we’ve got a lot of work to do before we leave. That’s about a month away.”
“What work do we have to do? The music is already done, right?”
Sam laughs. “But your job as Drama’s assistant is about to get real interesting.”
I hold up a hand. “Wait a minute. I was supposed to be Dreya’s assistant on the tour, right? What do I have to do beforehand?”
“We’ve got to go with the artists and stylists to pick out outfits, set up concert riders, get on Facebook to start a fan page, and give tour status updates. Plus, we need to activate Twitter accounts as Drama and Truth so that they can have little couple spats on the Internet.”
