Not A Good Look

by Nikki Carter

  “You are a fake, Sunday! A fake friend, and I’m so glad I got hip to you.”

  This music industry thing is changing Bethany and Dreya. Bethany used to be down for me, but now she’s so thirsty she can’t see straight, and Dreya is taking diva to a whole other level.

  Is this going to happen to me, too? Are fame and fortune going to turn me into a monster, too?

  26

  “Sunday, you’ve got a letter,” my mother says as soon as Dreya and I walk through the door of our Atlanta home from the promo tour.

  Her eyes are wide as saucers as she tells me this, like she just walked in on her own surprise birthday party. I just stare at her with a confused frown on my face. I’m completely incoherent from lack of sleep.

  The bus ride from New York City to Atlanta took two days total. We stopped overnight in Tennessee, but I still feel like I haven’t slept at all. It’s a good thing tomorrow is Saturday and I don’t have to get up for school, because I would be a total zombie.

  But my mother is standing here talking about a piece of mail. I don’t know what letter I could be getting that would make her even look all big-eyed like that.

  Oh, my God!!!

  “Is it my letter from Spelman? Gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme!”

  Dreya shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “I’m going to bed. Y’all corny.”

  “’Bye, hater.”

  My mother hands me the letter, which looks frayed and worn but not opened.

  “I’ve been holding on to it for days,” my mother says. “But I knew you’d want to be the one to open it.”

  “Thank you!”

  I rip into the paper like it’s a Baby Alive on Christmas Day. I inhale deeply with anticipation, but I don’t let the air out until I read the first sentence.

  “‘Dear Ms. Tolliver, I am very pleased to inform you of your acceptance to Spelman College as a freshman for this fall’!”

  “Congratulations, baby!” My mother hugs me and spins me around the room.

  “I can’t believe I actually got accepted. I didn’t think I’d get in this early—I figured I’d have to wait.”

  “What do we need to do to get your financial aid in order? I want you to go even if I have to take out a loan.”

  “Mom, I may not need to worry about any of that.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “I wanted to wait until tomorrow to tell you, but I might as well go ahead,” I say. “I got offered a record deal.”

  “You better tell me about this tomorrow. I can’t take another announcement tonight,” my mother says as she sits down on the couch.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Still haven’t heard anything from Carlos. I’m starting to think that he might be…”

  “Don’t say it, Mommy. He’ll be all right. I know it!”

  We sit quietly for a while. I feel sleep descending on me like a heavy, warm blanket.

  “Go to bed, Sunday. You look exhausted.”

  “But I want to tell you about the tour, my record deal, and…”

  My eyes snap open. “Mommy, did I just fall asleep?”

  My mother laughs. “Yes, you did. You should go and lie down. Just leave your bags out here.”

  I stumble back to my bedroom, with cell phone in hand. I’ve got to tell Sam about Spelman, and then I’ll go to sleep.

  I fall into my bed, fully dressed. Dreya is already snoring.

  Clumsily, I dial Sam’s number in the dark. I’m too lazy to turn the light on and then have to get back up and turn it off again.

  “Hello,” Sam mumbles.

  “Hey, Sam. It’s me.”

  “Me who?”

  “Sunday.”

  “Oh. Hey, Sunday. I’m sleepy. Whazzup?”

  “I got into Spelman!”

  “Really? I’m so proud of you!”

  “Are you really? You don’t sound proud. You sound like you’re half-asleep.”

  He chuckles. “I am half-asleep. Can we celebrate over the weekend?”

  “Yeah. Call me tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  I press End on my phone and close my eyes. I want to fall asleep, but my stomach keeps doing flip-flops. I’m in. I’m IN! I’m going to Spelman in the fall. Oh, my goodness.

  Too much good stuff happening all at once scares me. I keep waiting for something to go wrong, or to explode in my face.

  It’s gotta be a dream, right? Well, if it is, please let me sleep for an eternity. I’ll be Sleeping Beauty up in this piece!

  27

  “Impossible dreams / makin’ reality seem / like a fairy tale / to me. / This ain’t make believe / happenin’ to me / like a fairy tale / baby.”

  —Sunday Tolliver

  My stomach does flip-flops as I sit in the living room with my mother, Big D, and Sam. I didn’t get much sleep last night, wondering how all this was gonna go down. I even got up and made my mom orange, mint, and honey tea, and biscuits out of the can to butter her up. The record deal needs to happen now, if I want to go to college and graduate debt free.

  My mom reads through the thick stack of papers with a serious expression on her face. My leg won’t stop bouncing up and down. This whole thing depends on whether or not she signs the contract.

  When I told my mom that Mystique wanted to pay me and Sam $50,000 for our song, and promised royalties on the back end, she had to sit down. She didn’t believe it at first. I’m still not sure if she believes it.

  Shoot! I don’t even know if I believe it.

  “Is this what you really want, Sunday?” she finally asks.

  I nod. “Mom, you know I love music…”

  “Yes, I know, but you’ve been talking about college for so long, and now this?”

  “I’m still going to college.”

  “Ms. Tolliver, if I might explain,” Big D says. “Mystique has agreed to Sunday recording her album right here in Atlanta. She can attend class during the week and record on the weekends.”

  “When will she do her homework, study for exams, go to parties?” my mother asks.

  Since when did she care if I went to parties?

  “Mom, just look at it like I’m working my way through school. I can do this!”

  “And this Mystique is reputable?” she asks Big D.

  “She’s the real deal, Ms. Tolliver. I wouldn’t be so excited about this if she wasn’t. She heard Sunday’s voice and was completely mesmerized.”

  “And when will she promote the record? I know that’s important, too, right?”

  “Ms. Tolliver, you are asking all the right questions! You’re a natural stage mom.”

  My mother laughs out loud. “Well, I just want to make sure no one takes advantage of my daughter, and if she decides to do this, I want her to be successful. She’s way too talented to be a one-hit wonder.”

  “You’re right,” Big D says. “She’ll be much bigger than that. But to answer your question about promotion, she’ll be going on tour this summer with Dreya on the Truth and Drama tour. She’ll open the show.”

  “But her album won’t be finished by then, will it?”

  “Maybe not, but we’ll have a few singles ready, and it’ll get her name out there.”

  My mom cocks her head to the side as if she’s deep in thought. “So she’ll get to promote her records during the summer and go to school during the rest of the year?”

  “That’s the plan!” Big D says.

  Aunt Charlie, who’s been sitting on the couch the whole time listening to the conversation, gets a twisted expression on her face.

  “I don’t hear you sounding this crunk when you talking about Drama’s career,” she says to Big D.

  “Drama is going to be a success, too, Ms. Tolliver.”

  “Yeah, you better make sure you don’t forget it. She’s the one who got y’all here. Sunday wouldn’t be gettin’ any holler if it wasn’t for my baby.”

  “Actually, Ms. Tolliver,” Big D says, “we have Sunday to thank for a lot of this.
We’ve worked together as a team, and Sunday doesn’t owe Drama anything.”

  Dreya comes up the hallway looking crustier than a mug, wrapped in a comforter, with her spiky hair mashed on one side. There’s a trail of spit going across the side of her face, and her smudged eyeliner is making her look like a raccoon. And…she looks like her breath stinks.

  “Did I hear you say that Sunday was opening for me and Truth on the summer tour?” Dreya asks in a husky, scratchy-sounding voice.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “How can she do that when she doesn’t even have a record deal? I don’t want her on my tour. It’s the Truth and Drama tour.”

  Big D frowns. “You don’t get to make that decision, Drama. Epsilon Records along with their sponsors are doing this tour. Mystique wants Sunday on it, and what Mystique wants she gets.”

  “Mystique?” Dreya asks. “What does she have to do with anything? How does she know Sunday? It sounds like y’all been doing stuff behind my back.”

  “You’re tripping!” I say. “Why do you think I need to tell you about my opportunities? I don’t answer to you.”

  “You’re supposed to be my assistant, not my competition,” Dreya whines.

  Big D says, “Listen. There’s room enough for the both of you. Y’all sounds are completely different. Sunday’s got that neo-soul vibe, and you’re all hip-hop / pop. Actually, y’all complement one another.”

  “Well, I don’t want Epsilon Records to sign her. She needs to get a record deal somewhere else,” Dreya growls.

  “Sorry, hon. Mystique picked her out personally to be the first artist on her label, Mystical Sounds. You don’t have more pull than Mystique,” Big D says.

  Dreya turns her frown toward me. “You couldn’t let me have this one thing, could you? You had to find a way to come up off of my come-up. I hate you!”

  She storms out of the room, leaving a trail of hot, stanky breath behind her. It’s whatever, though.

  “What were we talking about before we were rudely interrupted?” I ask. “I’m ready to finalize this, Mom. What do you think?”

  “I think I don’t know about you being a celebrity in college. That’s gonna make it really hard for you to figure out who wants to be your real friend and who just wants to be with you for the fame.”

  “I’m not worried about that, Mom. I’m a good judge of character,” I reply.

  My mother gives me a motherly smile. “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”

  “Not everything, but I’ve thought about it, yeah.”

  My mother sighs. “Well, I guess since your college fund is gone, and that’s my fault, I’m not going to stand in your way on this. But I want them to have a chaperone on tour.”

  Big D laughs. “A chaperone? They haven’t done that since the seventies.”

  “Those are my rules,” my mom says. “If you can’t make that happen, I’m not signing this.”

  “Okay, okay. A chaperone. I’ll make it happen. Got anyone in mind?”

  “No, but I’d like for it to be an older woman.”

  I cover my mouth to quiet my laugh at the frustrated look on Big D’s face. My mother’s making him jump through hoops to get this deal signed. I already know she’s gonna sign it, but he’s still working hard.

  “Okay, Ms. Tolliver. I can do that. Can you please sign the papers before I go into cardiac arrest?”

  “Sure, I’ll sign it now.”

  As I watch my mother sign her name in her big, curly handwriting, I feel the butterflies start all over again. It’s really going to happen! I’m a recording artist.

  The only thing that makes me feel a little bit irritated is Dreya’s reaction to this. I can’t believe that she wouldn’t be happy for me. I was happy for her! I even wrote her some hot songs to make her stuff successful. Why would she be like that toward me?

  I guess blood ain’t thicker than benjamins.

  28

  “Oh, my God! It’s Drama!”

  The worst thing that has happened since the tour and the appearance on 106 & Park is the screaming. The constant screaming of girls who used to mean mug in the hallway and now either want my autograph or want to be my friend because I’m Dreya’s cousin.

  I try to navigate through the majority of the ninth grade (the freshmen are the worst for some reason) to get to my locker. I’ve got much classwork to make up because of the few days I took off to do the tour.

  “Back away from Drama!” Bethany says. “She’s got to get to class.”

  I laugh quietly inside at Bethany’s brand-new bodyguard duties. Yeah, I didn’t actually laugh out loud. It wasn’t amusing enough for all that. All laughter took place on the inside.

  What’s even funnier is how the kids back up like Bethany has some pepper spray or a water hose. They don’t even fall back like that when the security guards bring the pain.

  “Before I go to class, I’ll sign two autographs, but you have to show me that you have Truth’s single downloaded to your iPod or phone,” Dreya says, totally not ready to trade in her adoring fans for class.

  Fifty kids start waving cell phones and iPods, trying to get her attention, and she grabs the closest two. Once she’s checked their gadgets for the song, she signs a little slip of paper and the back of a notebook. A few flashes come from digital cameras, which aren’t even allowed in school. Where is a hall monitor when you need one?

  I would feel like a hater on the inside if I didn’t know that Dreya doesn’t want me to blow up, too. She doesn’t want me to have adoring fans, tours, or autograph signings. So it doesn’t matter that she’s getting on my nerves right now. It is what it is.

  Just when I thought I couldn’t be any more disgusted by this entire scene, Romell slides up behind Bethany the bouncer and kisses her on the neck. He’s still got a bandage on his head from his concussion, but I guess the head injury hasn’t bothered his mack game.

  “How does it feel to have a celebrity for a cousin?” Katrina, a freshman, asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. My cousin isn’t really a celebrity yet.”

  Katrina frowns. “You should just be happy for her. I saw you on 106 & Park, too. You wouldn’t have been on TV if it wasn’t for her.”

  I want to stand on top of some lockers and scream at the top of my lungs, The only reason Dreya has a record deal is because of a song I wrote!!!!!!

  Would that be terrible if I did that? Would it make me seem like even more of a hater? I don’t know, but her groupies are getting out of control.

  Instead of having a hollering tirade I say to Katrina, “You’re right. I am happy for Dreya. I think she’s really going to go far.”

  Katrina’s frown turns upside down. “That’s more like it! I knew you weren’t a hater.”

  I roll my eyes as she prances away over to Dreya’s adoring groupie circle. The first bell rings to signal that we have two minutes left to get to class, and the crowd starts to disperse and head in different directions.

  I rush into honors English and take a seat next to Margit. She snatches up her high ponytail and straightens it. I smile, because this is Margit’s signal that she’s about to tell me something.

  “You just missed it, Sunday. Mrs. Silo just walked Brandon down to the office. He cursed at her and said he wasn’t doing any more essays this semester.”

  “What? He’s crazy. He does know this is honors English, right? Essays are like mandatory.”

  “I know, right? But he got Ds on his last couple papers. If he gets another bad grade, he’s gonna be off the basketball team.”

  “He’s gonna be off if he keeps calling teachers cuss words.”

  Margit squints and her eyes turn into tiny slits. She flings her long brown hair to one side and leans over to my desk. “I saw you on 106 & Park! Yay. Is your cousin gonna be a huge star?”

  “Not you, too, Margit!”

  Can I just have one friend that isn’t caught up in this Drama mess?

  “You know I really don’t listen t
o rap, but that song is kinda hot! You and Bethany looked good, too, though.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Y’all still can’t hang with my girl Taylor Swift, though,” Margit says with a smile.

  “Okay. I’ll take that under advisement.”

  “You’re such a nerd, Sunday,” Margit says with a giggle.

  “So are you! You are sitting next to me in honors English, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Oh, I got my acceptance letter to Alabama State. My dad is going to be so happy. He played football there.”

  My eyes light up. “Congratulations! I’m going to Spelman; got my early acceptance letter, too.”

  “Spelman? I don’t know if I could survive no boys on campus.”

  “There are boys all over the place. The Morehouse men are right across the way.”

  “I guess. I heard Romell is going to Georgia Tech.”

  “I don’t care about him. I’m going to prom with a guy over at DSA.”

  “Dish! You haven’t told me about any new boyfriend prospects. Is he hot?”

  “He’s kinda hot, but he’s more sweet than anything. And he’s talented.”

  Margit frowns. “So he’s not cute, huh?”

  “Yes! But he’s got that kind of cute that grows on you.”

  Margit nods. “Gotcha. Starts out kinda ug, but turns on swagger later.”

  “Yeah,” I chuckle. “Something like that.”

  “Well, that’s cool. Am I gonna get to meet him? You haven’t been hanging out much lately.”

  “You’ll get to meet him at prom.”

  “How do you know you’ll still be digging him then?”

  I shrug. “I hope I am, or then I’ll be hunting for a prom date in the tuba section of the marching band.”

  Margit scrunches her nose. “No, thank you. At least pick a drummer or trumpet player. The tuba boys are always extra large.”

  “They have to be big to hold up all that metal!”

  “No, no, and no. I don’t like this mental picture. Hurry and draw me another one.”

  “Ha, girl. Whatever. Here comes Mrs. Silo.”

  Wouldn’t it be cool if you could just erase situations like you can erase a mental picture? If I could, I’d erase Bethany and Romell flossing in my face. I’d erase Carlos getting shot, and I’d erase Dreya all up out of my come-up.