Doing My Own Thing

by Nikki Carter

  Also by Nikki Carter

  Step to This

  It Is What It Is

  It’s All Good

  Cool Like That

  Not a Good Look

  All the Wrong Moves

  Published by Dafina Books

  Doing My Own Thing

  A Fab Life Novel

  NIKKI CARTER

  Dafina KTeen Books

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Nikki Carter

  Title Page

  Acknowledgments

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  A READING GROUP GUIDE: DOING MY OWN THING

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  I hate writing these. This is worse than writing the book! I want to thank so many people, but then I always leave somebody out by accident, and I spend a whole year asking for forgiveness! But anyhoo . . .

  As always, I must give honor to God! He’s the one who gave me the imagination to write all of these stories. My family totally rocks. Brent . . . you da best! Briahdioh, Broontyclause, Brynn-Brynn, Fatman, and Brookie-Brooke—love you!

  To my editor, Mercedes Fernandez: You are such a pleasure to work with! Most of the time it doesn’t feel like work at all. . . . I said MOST!

  Pattie Steele-Perkins is one of the best agents in the business! If you don’t know, you better ask somebody! HA! Thank you, Pattie, for all you do.

  There are lots of authors who give me great advice and make me feel like I’m an author for real! Victoria, ReShonda, Eric, Rhonda, Sherri, and Dee—THANK YOU!

  I’ve got the best Facebook crew EVER! Y’all make me laugh, motivate me, pray for me, and tell me to get the heck off the Internet and finish my stuff! Ebony, Yolanda, Ayiana, Daphine, Monica (MMJ), Zaviera, Stephanie, Michelle, and Carla—I appreciate y’all!

  My besties are the ones who get the brunt of it all. They hear me stressed out on five cups of Starbucks and trying to finish a story! Afrika, Shawana, Kym, Tippy T., Robin, Brandi, and Leah—I love y’all!

  And to my reader CREW. Thank you so much for asking your mama or for using your Christmas/Birthday/ babysitting money to get this book. I hope there are many, many more to come!

  Hope you like it!

  Make it HOT!

  Love,

  Nikki

  1

  Have you ever been super nervous about something for absolutely no reason at all?

  Today is the day we get to see the episodes of our BET reality show, Backstage: The Epsilon Records Summer Tour. I shouldn’t be nervous, because I went out of my way to make sure I didn’t do anything that could be misconstrued as ghetto or lame. I didn’t talk bad about anybody in my confessionals, I never once used profanity, and I was only digging one boy the whole time (Sam).

  So, I shouldn’t be nervous.

  But for some crazy reason I am. I have the butterflies-flitting-in-the-pit-of-my-stomach feeling that something ridiculous is about to pop off.

  Maybe it’s because I haven’t really talked to anyone except Sam since the taping completed. We ended on a bad note. The final show in New York City got cancelled because of a botched kidnapping attempt that ended up in a nightclub brawl. It was all bad.

  I keep playing the whole thing over and over again in my head, because I knew about the kidnapping ahead of time, but didn’t tell anyone. In hindsight, I should’ve tried to do something, but I was afraid that something bad might happen to my mom and little cousin. That’s all I was thinking about. It didn’t even occur to me that telling Big D, Mystique, or Dilly about what was going down could’ve given a different result.

  And now, I’m paying the price for that. Dilly’s still not speaking to me, and the tour has been over for three weeks. Big D is a little salty with me too, and that really hurts, because he’s always in my corner. Mystique is a little disappointed, but she told me that she would’ve done what I did, so that made me feel better.

  My phone buzzes on my hip. “Hey, Sam.”

  “You want me to pick you up to go to the studio? Or are you driving, since you finally decided to stop being a tightwad and got yourself a car?”

  I laugh out loud. Yes, I am a tightwad with the money I’ve earned so far on the songwriting end of things. But when I got my six-thousand-dollar check at the end of the tour, I went to a used-car lot and got a car. It’s a tricked-out gold Toyota Camry that was probably seized from a drug dealer or something. Anyhoo, I’m on wheels.

  “Why don’t I pick you up for a change?” I ask. “I do want to drive, but I don’t want to show up alone. I’m afraid I might get jumped.”

  “Dilly still isn’t talking, huh?”

  “No, and neither are Dreya and Truth, although I don’t know why they’re mad.”

  “Does Drama need a reason?”

  I chuckle. “No, not really, but I think if someone would call her by her real name every now and then she might remember that Drama is a stage name, and that she doesn’t have to live up to it.”

  “She will forever be Ms. Drama to me,” Sam states.

  “Well, whatever. She’s Dreya to me. I’ll pick you up in an hour. Cool?”

  “Yep.”

  My mother calls me from the living room. “Sunday! Come here, now!”

  “Sam, let me call you back. My mom is tripping on something.”

  Her voice sounds crazy, like she’s about to try to ground me for something. But we’ve officially halted all punishment activities since I turned eighteen, and graduated from high school. Like how’s she gonna ground me when I’m helping pay bills up in here? Real talk.

  But still she sounds like she’s in trip-out mode. I am sooo not in the mood.

  “Sunday, sit down,” my mom says when I come into the living room.

  “What’s up?”

  “Look at what just came in the mail.”

  She hands me an envelope that’s addressed to me and my mom, but doesn’t have a return address. I open up the envelope and inside is a cashier’s check.

  For twenty-five thousand dollars.

  It’s the exact amount of money that my mother’s boyfriend Carlos borrowed from my college fund to buy into Club Pyramids. It’s the exact amount that was stolen from him when the deal went sour and he ended up getting shot.

  “Do you think this has anything to do with Carlos’s cousins trying to kidnap Dilly?” she asks.

  “How can we say for sure? We don’t even know who sent it.”

  My mother replies, “It had to be Carlos. Somehow he got his hands on the money and he’s trying to make it up to you.”

  “But why wouldn’t he let you know it was coming? I mean, he knows how to get in contact with us.”

  My mother sits down next to me and takes the check back. She flips it over a few times as if she’s looking for clues to its origin. She sighs and shakes her head.

  “Maybe it was the record company. Maybe they want all of the ghettoness surrounding you to stop, especially since they wan
t to do a reality show with just you.”

  Apparently, BET liked what they saw of me from the reality-show footage, and they want to give me my own show. That’s all good, and I know they don’t want any more brawls taking place during my new gig. But how would the head honchos at BET know about the twenty-five thousand dollars? There is no way Mystique or Big D would tell them what really went down at the club in New York.

  “I don’t think it was Epsilon Records, Mommy. They aren’t really in the loop with all the drama.”

  “Maybe it was Big D or Mystique?”

  I bite my lip and think about this for a moment. Big D is out. He’s known all along about the money, and if he wanted to give it to me, he could’ve done it at any time. Mystique is a possibility. She’s the type who would do something under the radar and not sign her name to it.

  “I don’t know,” I finally reply. “Maybe. I’ll ask them both.”

  My mother shakes her head. “No. Don’t ask. Whoever sent this doesn’t want it to be known, or else they would’ve signed their name. We just have to look at it for exactly what it is.”

  “And what’s that?” I ask, completely confused at her reasoning.

  “That’s simple. It’s a gift from God.”

  Hmmm . . . a gift from God? While I’m as Christian as the next person, I doubt that He’s just sending random checks in the mail. If He was doing that, why doesn’t He send them to people who really need it? I mean, for real, I’ve got hundreds of thousands of dollars on the way. Isn’t there some poor single mom out there who could use the check more? I’m just saying.

  But there’s no way I’m gonna argue with my mother when it has to do with a blessing. She’ll make me attend daily revivals, Bible study, vacation Bible school and everything else if I even think I sound like I don’t have faith.

  So, it’s up to me to figure out the identity of the mystery check writer. Something new to put on my already overflowing plate!

  “Well, I guess we just need to thank the Lord,” I reply.

  “You sound like you’re being sarcastic, Sunday.”

  “I’m not! If it’s from God, then I think I should thank Him.”

  “All right. Keep it up and your new reality show will follow you around at vacation Bible school.”

  This would be funny only if she didn’t really mean it. Even though I’m eighteen, I’m still afraid of her. I have to hurry up and figure out who the mystery check donor is, before my mom makes her move.

  Can somebody say a prayer for me?

  2

  When Sam and I step through the studio door and into Big D’s tricked-out lounge, the tension is pretty thick. Dreya and Truth are sitting on one end of Big D’s new white leather couch, and Shelly is chilling in one of the four huge, fluffy, white leather armchairs. Bethany is huddled on the other end of the couch and Dilly is at her feet on the floor, on a large pillow.

  Everyone seems to be waiting for something. And the facial expressions are beyond stressed.

  “You redecorated,” I comment to Big D.

  “Shelly wanted to do all white and a big-screen TV, since Big D in the A Records is in the TV business now.”

  “I know that’s right! After our show airs on BET, it’s gonna be on and poppin’. They’re gonna sign us up for like ten seasons,” Dreya said.

  Big D and I exchange glances. Apparently, he hasn’t told Dreya about my reality show. I already know there’s gonna be some mess behind this.

  “But, I think before we even talk about that, we need to watch this DVD of our tour show. The one that’s about to premiere on BET next Friday,” Big D says.

  Truth says, “Did you already watch it?”

  “Yeah, and for the most part, I think y’all are gonna be cool with how it turned out.”

  Bethany lifts her right eyebrow suspiciously. “For the most part? What does that mean?”

  “I don’t think you have to worry,” Dreya says with a laugh. “The show isn’t about you.”

  “Ladies, please,” Big D says in his exasperated voice. “Let’s just watch the DVD.”

  Sam says, “What? No popcorn?”

  “I know, right!” I add, hearing my stomach growl.

  Big D replies, “I’ve got food on the way. Pizza, wings, pasta, and soda. It should be here soon.”

  Big D walks over to the big-screen television and pops the DVD into a slot on the side. Sam and I both plop down into big leather armchairs. He takes the one closest to Dilly, and Bethany and I sit down nearest to the TV.

  I look over at Dilly out of the corner of my eye. He’s still mean mugging like nobody’s business. We’ve got to get a resolution to this beef quick, fast, and in a hurry because I’m not working with him if he’s gonna hold grudges.

  “What is it with you, dude? Why you keep looking at Sunday all like that?” Sam asks, as if reading my mind. “You gonna have to fall back with all that madness.”

  Dilly lets out a wicked-sounding laugh. “You her bodyguard or something?”

  “You want to find out?” Sam replies.

  “I’m supposed to be grinnin’ and cheesin’ at someone who almost got me kidnapped? How does that make any sense?”

  I jump up out of my chair and scream at the top of my lungs. “How many times do I have to apologize to you, dude? You act like I’m the one who put together that plot! You should feel lucky we even deal with you at all, the way your brother and sister have threatened my family.”

  Big D steps to Dilly and intervenes. “Listen here, son. The only reason you’re in my camp is because Sunday and Mystique spoke up for you. Epsilon is really feelin’ Sunday right now, so what’s good for her is good for Big D in the A Records. Ya’ feel me?”

  Dilly nods. “Yeah. I feel you.”

  “You start making her feel uncomfortable,” Big D continues, “then you’re making me uncomfortable. And I’m not about to feel that way up in my spot, ya’ dig?”

  “Oh my God!” Dreya shouts. “She ain’t the queen bee up in here! If dude is mad, so-freaking-be-it! Can we watch the video? I’m ready for my close-up!”

  Leave it to Dreya to bring everybody’s attention back to her. And I don’t recall ever acting like I was the queen bee of anything. That was a true hater comment if I ever heard one.

  “My baby’s ready to see herself on TV,” Truth says as he kisses Dreya’s neck.

  My eyes widen a little when I see Dreya pull away from Truth as he tries to kiss her. It’s a very small and subtle move that I would’ve missed if I wasn’t glaring in Dreya’s direction. Something is up between Dreya and Truth. I wonder if she knows about his and Bethany’s extracurricular hookups while we were on tour. But, no, she couldn’t possibly know about it, because Bethany is still her roomie.

  Big D presses Play on his remote and our reality show’s opening sequence plays over music from my album. It’s my first single, “Can U See Me.”

  I hear Dreya inhale a sharp breath and her eyebrows furrow into a tight frown. Houston, we’ve got a problem. For real.

  I don’t think it would be so bad if the opening sequence didn’t have me posted up front and center, like the show is all about me and everybody else is my supporting cast. Dreya’s and Truth’s images are in the background right with Sam, Bethany, Big D, Shelly, Dilly, and Ms. Layla.

  The last shot is some footage of me and Mystique where she puts her arm around me and hands me a microphone. I remember us goofing off and doing these poses in front of the BET cameras. I don’t think anyone, most of all me, knew that this would be the end result.

  Dreya looks madder than a bunch of hoodrats ready to fight over the last bulk of platinum yaki weave.

  I take a deep breath as we go into the episodes....

  Episode 1

  All is cool in the beginning of this episode. The cameras show shots of the tour bus—the outside and inside. There’s much footage of Dreya in diva mode, demanding cans of Sprite, extra pillows—her usual. They’ve got Aunt Charlie dancing, booty popping, a
nd rump shaking. Everybody laughs out loud, even Dreya, when Aunt Charlie blows a kiss at the cameraman.

  Next, there’s a confessional with me, and I say, “I feel cool about going on tour with Truth.”

  After they show that sound bite, they cut to a shot of Dreya marching around the bus, making demands. Then they cut back to my confessional.

  “There’s no beef. We’re first cousins.” I see my face smiling at me on the TV screen.

  Immediately, I notice that these two sound bites are from two different confessionals. My hair isn’t even the same in the two shots. Next, there are confessionals from Dreya and Truth.

  Dreya says, “Sunday wasn’t supposed to be on this tour, but it’s whatever. I’m the star and she’s my opening act.... So it’s whatever. We can all eat, right?”

  I roll my eyes hard over in Dreya’s direction. She’s tripping! I can see right now, I was probably the only one trying to keep it positive on this reality show.

  Truth’s little sound bite isn’t any better. “Sunday is . . . well, you know . . . she be playin’ games and stuff. Ain’t no beef at all. Her dude is even with us on tour. It’s all gravy.”

  I glare at Truth and Dreya and holler over the TV. “I’m playin’ games? What the heck are you on?”

  Truth laughs. “Girl, watch the show!”

  I fold my arms across my chest and slump down into the soft leather chair. For the record, I do not like Truth or Dreya.

  Episode 2

  This show flashes back to me and Dreya trying on stage costumes at Ms. Layla’s studio, and us learning choreography at Mystique’s dance studio. I see that they don’t mind showing stuff out of sequence.

  The next shot is of Dreya in the confessional booth. She says, “Mystique’s mama has absolutely no fashion sense at all. I can’t believe I have to wear these ugly spandex unitards on my first tour! Why everybody got to be a fashion designer? I heard she used to be a caterer or some mess, but her daughter gets a record deal and all of a sudden she’s a designer? Not!”

  My jaw drops! I can’t believe Dreya would go in on Ms. Layla like that. Can somebody say career suicide? Mystique is the number-one chick in the game right now, and there’s nothing Dreya can do about that. She doesn’t even qualify as Mystique’s competition.