by Mitzi Miller
The sudden sound of leaves rustling startled Sydney. What was once a gentle breeze had now picked up into an aggressive wind that threatened to usher in a late-night rainstorm. She instinctively stood up and headed back toward the well-lit area at the top of the stairs. About ten steps up, the sound of footsteps stopped her dead in her tracks. Sydney turned around, expecting to see Marcus.
“What’s up, Sydney?”
“Jason Danden, you scared the crap outta me!” she called out against the wind as the school’s star football player appeared at the bottom of the stairs. She retreated back down to curb level.
“My bad, ma. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just rushing to get home so I can catch up with the rest of the team at South City Kitchen.”
The thought of soul food from South City made Sydney’s mouth water. “No worries,” she said, noticing how much bigger Jason’s chest had become over the summer. This boy was no joke. Ever since he and his family had moved down to Atlanta from New York their freshman year, he’d just gotten better and better looking. Not to mention, more and more popular.
“So what are you doing out here so late?”
“Um, what are you doing out here, Mr. Lots-of-Questions? If I’m not mistaken, didn’t football practice end about thirty minutes ago?”
“Oh, true, I didn’t mean to be all up in ya business like that…” Jason shyly stepped back. “You ain’t got to tell me nothing.”
“Oh, I was just playing with you, Jason,” Sydney said. “I was actually waiting for my…sister. Lauren is supposed to be picking me up, and no big surprise, she’s running late.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I’m still here because Coach wanted to talk to me about some secret play he’s formulating for this weekend’s game against the Wolverines,” Jason answered with a diffident smile. “But don’t ask for details, ‘cause this co-captain can’t tell you anything.”
“Co-captain? Wow! Is a Yankee boy trying to run the A?”
“Aww, not me,” Jason continued modestly, “but being named co-captain as a junior is a good look. I’m definitely trying to get that football scholarship when the time comes.”
“Not that your family needs the scholarship, but I’m sure you’ll make it happen,” she said, moving closer to allow his body to block the wind that was picking up. As the storm clouds lurked ominously overhead, Sydney wished she’d thought to wear her new Louis Vuitton rainboots.
“Yeah, I guess…”
“Don’t guess. You gotta know,” she corrected him gently.
“Yo, you’re right, Sydney.”
“You make me sound like a little know-it-all.” She nervously looked around him to make sure they were really alone. Last thing she needed was Marcus showing up and getting the wrong idea.
“Naw, not at all. Beauty and brains is a hot combo.”
Whoa. Hold up. Did Jason Danden, future football star and all-around hottie, just call Sydney Duke beautiful? Despite the twins’ nearly identical looks, thanks to her long-flowing and extremely expensive weave most guys considered Lauren the beautiful twin. Add to that Sydney’s conservative attitude and refusal to follow every new hoochie-mama trend, and, well, let’s just say she’d long grown accustomed to Lauren outshining her in the “hotness” department.
“I don’t know about all that, but I appreciate you clarifying.” Sydney scuffed her new Gucci loafers on the pavement.
“I’m saying, I don’t feel right leaving you here by yourself. Can I give you a ride home? Or you could always roll out tonight with me if you like. You know, grab a bite with the team…”
“Jason, now you know I got a man! Why you trying to get me in trouble?”
Sydney could certainly appreciate Southern hospitality as much as the next chick, but there was no way she was about to show up at South City Kitchen on a Friday night with Jason Danden. It wouldn’t take but two seconds for Marcus to hear about that. Sydney knew he’d answer his damn phone for that information.
“Hey, all I’m saying is it’s dark, the sky is about two seconds from opening up, and you shouldn’t be alone out here.”
With streaks of lightning cracking in the distance, the enormous school looked like something straight out of the opening scene from the next blockbuster horror film. Sydney glanced around the now completely deserted parking lot. Public perception be damned, Sydney Duke wasn’t spending one more minute alone in the dark. “On second thought, you know what? I would love a ride home. Thank you.”
“Bet. My ride is parked over there,” he said, nodding toward a dark blue Tahoe SUV as he bent down to pick up her book bag. Like the exterior of the truck, the interior was spit-shined and even smelled of wildberry car freshener. Sydney shifted in her seat to sneak a good look at the immaculate backseat and wondered how it would feel to be stretched out back there. She quickly turned around and caught Jason peeking at her out of the corner of his eye.
“What?” she asked suspiciously, thankful that he couldn’t read her mind.
“Nothing. You good?”
“Just fine, thanks.” Her gaze fell on his hand gripping the gearshift. His nails were perfectly trimmed. She forced herself to stare out the windshield and concentrate on the road.
Twenty minutes later, Jason parked his car in her driveway and turned the headlights off. They both stared at the illuminated water fountain in front of the bleached-brick-and-stucco mansion. Raindrops pitter-pattered around them.
“It was cool getting to spend some time with you.”
“Ditto.” Sydney unbuckled her seat belt. “And I really appreciate the lift. Although I must admit, I haven’t sat through that much crunk music in my life!”
“All righty, Miss Mainstream. If I promise to only play Mary J and Justin Timberlake, will you call me sometime?”
“I mean, as long as your girlfriend is okay with that,” she hinted coyly about Jason’s girlfriend, who had graduated from Brookhaven the year before.
“Tyra’s at Florida A&M now. She ain’t thinking about me no more,” he answered.
“Oh, I see. Guess I missed that YRT alert, huh?”
“Apparently. But the real question is, will your boy Marcus mind you calling me?” Jason countered with a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t you worry, I make sure my man has no reasons to worry,” Sydney replied, surprising even herself at how easily she flirted back.
“Well, in that case…”
Sydney tapped his numbers into her phone and let herself out of the truck. If it hadn’t been so dark and had he looked really close, Jason might’ve seen Sydney grinning from ear to ear as she ran for the foyer, ducking under her jean jacket and dodging puddles on the toes of her suede loafers.
Sydney had barely closed the door to her bedroom before it reopened. Surprised at the intrusion, she turned to face the only person in the house who never waited for an invitation to enter—her mother.
“Who was that bringing you home in a big ol’ truck?”
“Were you spying on me?” Sydney gasped dramatically, putting her hands on her hips.
“I have a right to know about anything that happens on my property.” Keisha Duke smirked. “I heard a truck, so I looked at the security video.”
“Oh.” Sydney looked away, unconsciously tugging on that right earlobe again.
“So, who was driving the truck? I thought you were headed to the movies?”
So did she. “Marcus got caught up in a meeting, so Jason Danden was kind enough to offer me a ride home.”
“Hmm, Jason Danden. Isn’t he that football player I keep reading about in the paper?” her mother asked as she raised one perfectly waxed eyebrow.
“Perhaps,” said Syd as she turned away. More than anything she wished her mom would leave the room so she could get back to thinking about her unbelievable ride home.
Mrs. Duke remained undeterred as she pulled her honey-blonde hair up in a twist. “Well, you know how quickly rumors can get started.”
“Mother, please. It was just a rid
e home. And besides, he’s so not my type.”
“Your type? You don’t even know what a type is yet. But I’ll say this—I saw the grin on your face when you walked in the door. And you better be careful. I didn’t work this hard to get us up outta the ghetto your father left us in for you to backslide over some no ‘count alleged football prodigy from New York!”
Just as Mrs. Duke’s tirade was on the verge of a full crescendo, she was interrupted by a familiar voice. “Hey, hey, what’s all the fussing and fighting about?” Relieved, Sydney turned to find her stepfather’s impressive six-foot three-inch frame filling her doorway. With his flawless chocolate skin, brooding eyes, and close-cut Caesar haircut, Altimus Duke was definitely considered one of ATL’s finest. Strangers often mistook him for the actor who played Stringer Bell on The Wire, and the twins caught more than their share of fellow students ogling Altimus when he attended school functions. “Babe, I can hear you flapping your jaws all the way down the hall. What’s up?”
“Nothing, Altimus. Mom is tripping ‘cause I caught a ride home with a guy before she had a chance to run a complete background check on him and his entire family,” Sydney offered with an eye roll.
“Ain’t nobody tripping. I’m just making sure that my child doesn’t find herself right back where her no-good daddy left us,” Keisha corrected with a huff as Altimus sauntered over and enveloped her from behind in a hug.
“Relax, Keish, Syd’s a good kid,” he said as he nuzzled her neck. “You don’t gotta badmouth her father for her not to end up in the hood.” He looked over Keisha’s shoulder at Sydney knowingly.
“Whatever, she’d better not,” Keisha pouted, immediately deferring to Altimus’s authoritative tone.
“Uh, yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence. And if the two of you are finished getting all hugged up in my room, I’d like to do some homework before I go to sleep,” she responded sarcastically.
“You know I always got your back, princess,” Altimus laughed as he ushered Keisha out of the room. “Don’t stay up too late, babe.”
“And you know, I’m dead-ass serious,” Mrs. Duke added over her retreating shoulder for emphasis.
As the two disappeared down the hall, Sydney reclosed the door with a firm snap. Nothing annoyed her more than when her mother brought up the twins’ biological father. Even though—as usual—Altimus had managed to shut her down, Keisha’s harsh words still stung. Sure, the convicted gun smuggler was less than Atlanta’s most upstanding citizen, but as far as Sydney was concerned, Dice was still a good man. And Sydney worshipped the ground he walked on.
Turning toward the waiting pile of textbooks on her desk, Sydney allowed a smirk to cross her face. She could only imagine what her know-it-all mother would say if she knew Sydney was planning to see the very same biological father she’d just finished bashing…first thing in the morning.
4
LAUREN
Lauren could hardly see straight through her tears as she programmed 1315 Hope Street into the navigation system—yet another seedy, shady place where she didn’t have any business going. Four wrong turns, two near-accidents, one gas station stop later, and she finally parked across from her destination, still unsure just what the hell possessed her to—or why—she was taking Dice up on his offer to visit. She’d sat in the parking lot of a gas station not too far from the video shoot for a half hour, replaying their short conversation in her mind, alternately pissed that he’d called at all and giddy at the fact that her father truly wanted to see her, despite that her mom had insisted to her and her sister all those years their dad was in prison that he didn’t want any contact. If that were indeed the case, why would Dice’s first call out the pen be to his daughters, Lauren asked herself. But if he really cared, like he was trying to make himself sound over the phone, why didn’t he try to keep in contact with them while he was locked up? Could he have kept in touch? Do they even let inmates have stamps? she asked herself. At 8:30 P.M., Lauren wanted to confront him—tell him face-to-face that he wasn’t shit and that he better stop dialing her number. By 8:32, every inch of her wanted to look into her biological’s eyes, feel his embrace—find out for sure why he didn’t fight harder to stay out of prison and be with his girls. When the neon orange 8:34 lit up her dashboard, Lauren was so paralyzed by indecision that the hot tears wouldn’t stop coming. Just fifty yards away was her father, and all she could think about was what he might look like. Would he be a gray, old, haggard, beat-down version of the handsome, strong man she used to love to hang on? Or would he be muscular and packed, like the buff, crazy psychopaths in that HBO show Oz?
God. Her father could be one of those guys.
Too nervous to get out of the car, Lauren called her girl, Dara, to calm her nerves.
“What up? Where you at?” she said, trying to sound cheerful.
“We’re in the Commons, watching JV stumble through their routines,” Dara dragged, her disgust evident.
“Dang, it’s Friday night—no weekend hiatus for hazing?” Lauren laughed through her tears.
“I swear, these scrubs will never make it onto varsity with those sorry-ass moves.” To the junior varsity girls, she yelled, “Pick up your feet! Pop it! Damn—what are y’all doing, auditioning for Elmo’s World? This is ridiculous! It’s step, step, hop, hop, pop, half turn, kick, pop!”
“Damn, D, is it that bad?” Lauren asked, fishing a tissue out from her glove compartment.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Um, not really. How long you gotta lounge with the lames? Because I could really use a shoulder to lean on right now.”
“What happened? You didn’t get picked for the lead in the video? Relegated to background dancer?” she asked.
Lauren cursed herself again for having bragged earlier about how she’d be the flyest chick strolling the hallways of Brookhaven Prep once everybody saw her getting her Melissa Ford on in the latest video from the A’s most famous rapper. But she’d recover. She always did. “Long story,” Lauren said. “Anyhow, I got my stepfather’s platinum AmEx, and I’m ready to do damage. Wanna meet me at my house? I kinda need to be getting back anyway before my parents realize I wasn’t really with Donald.”
“True. I’ll call my mom and tell her I’m stopping by your place on my way home,” Dara said, and hung up.
That right there was why Lauren loved her some Dara, regardless of all the drama that had gone down. Not too long ago, Lauren had caught Dara with Marcus’s tongue dangling between her lips during a fund-raiser at the High Museum of Art while Sydney was working the room for donations.
Dara and Marcus had been all booed up in an obscure corner just off the entrance of the second-level bathroom, twisted in a furiously passionate tangle. They’d been going at it so heavy that it took a few beats longer than it should have for them to respond to Lauren’s “What the hell are you two doing?”
“Ohmigod! Ohmigod! Ohmigod!” Dara had exclaimed, pushing Marcus off of her and tugging her dress down, broken lengths of beading falling at her feet like hail. Marcus had tried to turn his back to Lauren at first, but, realizing there was nowhere to go, he finally faced her. He’d absentmindedly run his hands over his locks; his eyes were cast downward, no doubt in embarrassment.
Lauren grabbed her BFF by the arm and yanked her off to the bathroom. She could smell Marcus’s dreadlock hair cream on Dara as she pushed past her—a scent Lauren despised. Whenever Marcus was at their house for longer than a few minutes, Lauren would have the housekeeper, Edwina, run through all the common areas with the deodorizer to get rid of his stench.
“You’re not going to tell Sydney, are you?” Dara had pleaded. “I know how this looks, but you gotta trust me. There’s nothing going on between Marcus and me. And if you tell your sister, it’s going to turn into a big mess.”
Dara was right. Sydney would manage to turn what her dog of a boyfriend did into yet another issue to blame on Lauren. It would be just like her to think that Lauren had had someth
ing to do with hooking up her self-righteous, power-to-the-people, fake-ass backpacker boyfriend with precisely the kind of girl he and Sydney railed against: a light-skinned, green-eyed, half-white girl who looked the exact opposite of what Sydney was and what Marcus claimed to love.
“Fine,” Lauren had quietly conceded. And then she moved in closer to Dara’s face to make her next point. “But that is my sister’s boyfriend. Whatever was going on between you two ends tonight. I’m not trying to have this come back on my ass, got it?”
Lauren snapped out of her haze and used the back of her hand to wipe her tears when she realized she had company on her aunt’s street. A crowd of what could only be described as Men of Unclear Purpose wandered by, looking like they were about to stir up some trouble. Someone whistled and ran his hand along the passenger side. “Yo, peep this ride!”
Lauren, beyond unnerved by the menacing crowd, put her car in gear and tried to make a speedy getaway, but in her haste, she didn’t realize Baby was in reverse, and she smashed into the car parked behind her.
“Yo! What the hell are you doing?” one of the boys in the crowd cried, while the others pointed and sent up a chorus of “Oh, snap!” She pushed down the automatic-lock button and said a silent “screw me” for being in front of Aunt Lorraine’s busted-up house in the first place.
“My ride’s all dented up!” the boy yelled.
Lauren met his eyes in her rearview mirror. He had the flat of his hand raised like a traffic cop. He did not look happy, but he did look cute. His eyes were big and brown with heavy lids, making him look almost Asian. Lips, thick. Teeth, sparkling. High cheekbones. Cropped haircut. Chocolate. Fine. Under normal circumstances, Lauren would have pimped this moment, but Cute Boy’s friends made her want to call 911.
“Yo, shorty jacked you up, son,” one yelled.
“Must be lost or somethin’, stylin’ in the fly ride in these parts,” another said.
Lauren wasn’t getting out of the car for nothing. But then Cutie got a closer look at her and started shooing his friends away. “Let me handle this—I’ll catch y’all later.”
