Doing My Own Thing

by Nikki Carter

  “What is so funny?” I ask.

  I have to wait while Sam finishes laughing, but when he finally composes himself he says, “I shan’t be getting wasted? Sunday, you are funny. Was that your TV speak?”

  “Do shut up! It wasn’t that funny! OMG. I can’t believe that’s what you were laughing about. You are a butt.”

  “Or am I a hindquarter?” Sam says before erupting into another flurry of giggles.

  Sam’s laughter is contagious because even though it’s at my expense, I’m laughing too. Hindquarter? Get the heck outta here.

  “Did you mind?” Sam asks as he chokes out his last laughs.

  “Did I mind what?”

  “Me kissing you on the video shoot?”

  I inhale deeply before answering. I know that my response to this question can make or break any chance at a relationship with Sam. If the kiss was Sam making a move, and I rebuff him, I think it’s over. In fact, I know it’s over. I don’t even have to think twice about it.

  But I don’t know why he kissed me. What if he was just coming down off the adrenaline rush from saving the girl from drowning? Or worse, what if he just thought it would be good for the video? What if it wasn’t a move at all?

  “I didn’t mind. . . . But did you mean it?” I ask.

  Sam kicks a foot full of sand into the pretty, transparent, blue water. “I was afraid. . . .”

  “Of kissing me?”

  Sam shakes his head. “No. I mean when I saved the girl. Once I jumped in the water I got really scared, and started doubting myself a little bit. Then when I got to the girl and she pulled me under, I got even more scared, but while I was fighting to make it and swallowing water, I only thought about one thing.”

  “What was that?”

  Sam clears his throat. “I just kept thinking how if I made it through this alive, that I was gonna make you my girlfriend, no matter what, and that I was gonna kiss you at the first real opportunity I got.”

  I’m speechless, and I have to look away from Sam. The intensity of his gaze is too much for me when I’m trying to figure out what to say to all this.

  But it was the drowning incident that brought all this on, and I was afraid of that. What if he doesn’t feel the same way after we get back home?

  “Sunday . . . what’s wrong?” Sam asks in a quivering voice.

  “What if . . . what if it’s just the adrenaline talking?”

  Sam shakes his head. “This is me talking, and I’m saying the same thing I’ve been saying for the past six months.”

  I swallow hard, believing every single emotional syllable that comes from Sam’s lips. His chest heaves up and down as if to provide a body-language exclamation mark to the end of his sentence.

  And so I don’t respond. Not with words. I put both arms around Sam’s neck, hug him tight . . . and . . . kiss. Him. Back.

  19

  Hours after the video shoot, me, Sam, Dilly, and Bethany chill in my suite. We’re trying to decide what’s up for our first evening in Barbados. The ever-present BET cameraman is here too. I think he’s trying to blend in with the scenery with his palm tree–covered Hawaiian shirt. But we still know he’s there, and I can’t speak for everyone else, but I’m extremely careful with what I say and how it can be construed as something else.

  Bethany’s brought all of her bags to my room, because she’s going to get changed in here if we decide to go out. I think she’s trying to move in for the weekend, but I don’t know how I feel about that.

  While I’ve taken Bethany out of enemy status, it’s hard to think of her in the “friend” category anymore. Even if she seems okay. Even if she’s got her own boyfriend and isn’t trying to take anyone else’s.

  “Can you even go anywhere?” I ask Dilly.

  “I don’t know. I feel a lot better now. The burns still hurt though, so I should probably stay in.”

  “If you’re staying in, then I am too,” Bethany says as she puts yet another cool facecloth on Dilly’s forehead. “I feel like it’s my fault anyway that you’re sick.”

  “It’s not your fault I didn’t put on sunscreen. Zac is gonna rip me a new one when he gets here. Y’all know this video was supposed to put me on the map.”

  Ouch! I didn’t think about that when we haphazardly put Sam in Dilly’s place. Maybe I should’ve tried to talk Mystique into delaying the video shoot until Dilly was better.

  “Well, you’re still here with us in Barbados,” I say. “That’s cool, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s cool, but I need my record to come out.”

  Bethany says, “Well, I just inked a deal with Mystical Sounds, so you should be in my first video. You’re my boyfriend anyway, so that makes more sense.”

  Sam and I share a glance, and I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking. Bethany signing a deal, having an album release and a video before Dilly is like rubbing salt in the wound. He’d been signed to Zac’s label for over a year with no release date in sight.

  “Speaking of your album, Bethany, I thought of a tight hook for you,” I say. “It’s an up-tempo track that could be a club banger. Good for a first single.”

  Sam says, “You talking about ‘Get Like Me’?”

  I nod and start singing, “Get like me, get like me/My sound is like honey to a bee/Swagger drops you to your knees/Get like me, get like me.”

  The hook is melodic and infectious. This is not me feeling myself, this is everybody bobbing their heads without a track. This is them feeling the melody and the lyrics and the flow. Hotness personified.

  Captured by BET cameras. And you know this!

  Bethany says, “I like that, Sunday! How do you do it? How do you keep coming up with song after song?”

  “I don’t know! I just hope it doesn’t run out anytime soon.”

  “It won’t,” Sam says. “I think you’ve still got a lot of music inside of you. You’re destined to be an icon.”

  “Icon! When I think of icons, I think of someone like Mystique,” I say. “Someone who’s been tried and tested in the game.”

  “Way to pay homage!” Dilly says.

  I laugh out loud. “Is that what I’m doing? Paying homage?”

  “Yeah,” Sam replies. “A lot of artists refuse to acknowledge the ones who came before them and paved the way. But you’re the real deal, so you don’t have a problem with giving credit where credit is due.”

  “Real talk,” I say. “So . . . what are we gonna do if we don’t go out?”

  Bethany grins. “Who said y’all had to stay in, just because we are?”

  “Honestly, with everything that happened today, I have to admit I’m super exhausted,” Sam says. “I’d probably be a boring date tonight.”

  “Yeah, me too. Let’s get some room service and hang out,” I say.

  Bethany’s eyes light up. “Y’all just gonna hang in the room all night with us?”

  I refuse to make eye contact with Bethany when she’s looking all hopeful like that. This doesn’t have to mean that we’re friends again. It just means that I don’t hate her anymore. Forgiving somebody isn’t something that just happens in an instant, and there’s a whole lot of history that Bethany and I have to get past before we can be friends again.

  But I’m not ruling it out.

  “Um . . . I have no idea what the stuff is on this menu,” Sam says, while holding up the room-service menu. “Who’s feeling adventurous?”

  I laugh out loud. “Give it to me. Let me see.”

  Sam gives me the menu and I read out loud. “Okay . . . roti. That is spiced meat rolled in a piece of flat bread called chapati. And conkies are cooked in banana leaves.”

  “I am not eating anything called a conkie,” Dilly says.

  “Open your mind! It’s got cornmeal, pumpkin, raisins, spices, and a bunch of other stuff.”

  Bethany scrunches up her nose. “Have you ever tried it?”

  “Um . . . no . . . but it sounds tasty.”

  “I wonder if there’s a Pizza
Hut in St. Lawrence Gap,” Sam says.

  “Y’all are tripping! I did not come all the way to Barbados for pizza!” I yell at the top of my lungs.

  All three of them give me blank stares. Whatever!

  “All right. Let’s eat some rodeos and conned feet for Sunday,” Sam says.

  “That’s roti and conkies. You all can bite me,” I say as Sam picks up the phone to dial our order in.

  “It better be good, Sunday,” Dilly says. “I’m not well and I need something that tastes good to heal my body.”

  “I thought Dreya was the only drama queen in this crew!” I say.

  With the food order placed, I plop down on one of the double beds in my room. Dilly is resting on the other one. The soft pillows and fluffy down comforter are welcoming. I didn’t realize I was this tired. Who knew saving lives and filming videos would be this exhausting?

  But then, I look at the BET camera dude and he just checked his watch like he’s super bored and can’t wait to get the heck out of here. Well, that just won’t do. I can’t have the cameraman thinking I’m boring. I am trying to have a hit show even if I don’t ever want to do the whole reality thing again.

  Then, I have an idea.

  “I know what we can do, y’all. It’ll be fun.”

  Sam claps his hands in a frantic and over-the-top manner. I know he’s teasing me, and for that he gets the narrow-eyed glare.

  “Anyway! Y’all can help me answer that fan letter I got. From the girl named Zoey.”

  Bethany says, “Okay, let’s do this. Did you bring the letter?”

  “Yep.” I pull it out of the pocket of my purse.

  “Didn’t she say her boyfriend broke up with her on Facebook?” Sam asks.

  I nod. “Yes, she says she logged on and his status was single. And that ‘Can U See Me’ helped her out when she was feeling sad. I’ve got to reach out to her.”

  Dilly laughs. “You’re such a bleeding heart, Sunday.”

  “Whatever, hater. You’ll do the same thing when you get some fan mail.”

  Bethany says, “I can’t wait to get fan mail!”

  “So help me write her back!”

  Sam says, “Dear Zoey. Your boyfriend was a tool. You are better off without him. Thanks for purchasing my album and not bootlegging it. Ta ta for now. Sundeezy!”

  I throw a pillow at Sam as he ducks and giggles.

  “I was thinking something more like this. Dear Zoey, I’m so sad that your boyfriend played you like that. But love can be really rough sometimes. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, but there’s always another fish in the sea.”

  Dilly shakes his head. “Boring. Tell her that her new boo is right around the corner.”

  I write that down. That is a decent suggestion.

  “And tell her,” Dilly continues, “that another boy’s trash is another one’s wifey.”

  I scrunch my nose this time.

  “Too much?” Dilly asks.

  Bethany says, “Tell her that her ex-boyfriend was just there to pass the time until the boy of her dreams could come along. When he comes, she’ll know it and there won’t be any doubt.”

  Dilly, Sam, and I stare at Bethany. She seems to have gone to some other fairy-tale, romance-novel place. I’ma need her to come back. Earth calling Bethany . . .

  “Okay, I’ll use some of that too, Bethany. But you got stars in your eyes, boo. Somebody got you sprung!”

  Bethany blushes, and so does Dilly. No wait, Dilly is badly sunburned, I can’t tell if he’s blushing or not. But he’s got that “I-got-game” cheesy grin on lock.

  I clear my throat and hold my hotel stationery up. “This is what I’ve got so far. Dear Zoey. It really blows that your boyfriend would break up with you on Facebook, but your new boo is right around the corner. Your ex-boyfriend was not the guy for you and he was just there to pass the time until the boy of your dreams comes along. Breaking up is hard, but it’s not the end of the world. So chill and enjoy being a hot girl! Thanks for buying my music! Much love, Sunday.”

  “That’s good,” Sam says. “What it lacks in finesse it makes up for in raw honesty.”

  “What it lacks in finesse?” I launch another pillow at Sam.

  “I’m joking, I’m joking. It’s a good letter,” Sam says.

  Bethany snuggles in closer to Dilly on the bed.

  “Um . . . ain’t no freakiness about to take place in my room,” I say. “Y’all getting a bit too cozy on that bed.”

  Bethany deserts Dilly and plops her inflated behind down at the end of my bed. “Is this better?” she asks.

  “It’ll do for now. How’s it going with Regina? She’s a cool roommate, right?” I ask.

  Bethany nods. “Yeah, she’s great, but she’s like ten years older than us, so we really don’t have much to talk about.”

  This is, I guess, the time when I’m supposed to invite her to stay in my room. She’s giving me a sad puppy-dog face. Then, her cell phone buzzes in her pocket and she jumps as if it startles her.

  “Are you going to check that?” Dilly asks.

  “Um . . . no. I’m straight,” Bethany replies. “Everybody I want to talk to is right here.”

  The silence in the room is so thick and heavy, it’s like someone dropped a bag of wet sand in the middle of the floor.

  Bethany being all secretive makes me happy that I didn’t put her back in the friend box. Obviously, she’s still on some mess, or she would’ve just answered the text. I’m sending her mental signals to just open the text message! Read it aloud or something. Anything to let everybody in this room know that she is not shady anymore, and that she’s worthy of Dilly’s ever-growing crush.

  But Bethany does nothing but stare at the chipped polish on her nails.

  So much for turning over a new leaf.

  20

  You have got to be kidding me! I knew that Dreya was going to pull something ridiculous with her and Truth’s so-called plan, but this is just . . . well, Dreya is just out of control.

  After we ate dinner, Sam pulled out his laptop and opened up Sandrarose.com. I wish he hadn’t, because the spicy Bajan food is now turning in my stomach.

  Sam reads, “Epsilon Records artists and first cousins Drama and Sunday Tolliver are beefing again on the verge of Sunday’s album release. Drama reached out to us personally about the reality show that they filmed for their summer tour. The show debuts tonight on BET. This is what Drama had to say to her fans: ‘Everything you’ll see on the show is completely edited beyond recognition. Mystique and her mother . . . well . . . they all have a vested interest in seeing Sunday blow up, so they turned a show that was supposed to be about my come-up into something that’s all about Sunday. I’m never gonna hate on my cousin, because that’s blood. And I want everyone to go out and buy Sunday’s album—if you like that Disney pop sound. She’s a sweet girl, but I’m hot. Heat always rises to the top.’ Sounds like a battle in the making! My snitches tell me that the whole Epsilon Records crew is on their way to Barbados to film a video for Sunday’s single ‘Can U See Me.’ With leading man, and high school senior Dilly, maybe Drama isn’t too far off with the Disney assessment. Only time and record sales will tell!”

  “Is that all of it?” I ask Sam.

  He nods. “But it looks like she gave similar interviews to Bossip.com, Theybf.com, and Mediatakeout.com.”

  Dilly, now sitting up on the sofa with Bethany next to his feet, says, “She’s foul. Just foul. I know she’s just trying to keep her name in print, but dang, you don’t nuke your own blood.”

  “Exactly!” Sam says. “She’s only here because you begged Epsilon to let her come and she’s gonna play you out like that?”

  I shake my head and pace the sitting room. “I don’t know why she would try to mess up my album release. I would never do that to her.”

  Bethany says, “I think you should stop being stupid, Sunday. Just confront her. What’s she gonna do?”

  I take out my cell phone and call Dreya
.

  “What’s up, Sunday?” she says.

  “Can you come to my room? I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Yeah,” she says, and then hangs up.

  “Sam,” I say, “can you get the BET video guy back in here? We’re about to settle this for once and for all. She wants to call me out on the blogs? Well, I’m gonna call her out on TV. It’s about to be on.”

  A few minutes later, the BET cameraman is back in the room.

  I tell him, “I want you to get this entire conversation. Make sure the camera angles are good, because I don’t want this edited. I want this whole showdown to be on TV.”

  He nods. “Okay. But how late are y’all gonna be? I’ve got to get up early to shoot breakfast at Mystique and Zac’s villa.”

  “This won’t take long at all.”

  Finally a knock on the door. I take a peek to make sure it’s Dreya before I swing the door open.

  She comes into the room and takes notice of the four pairs of hostile eyes staring her down.

  “What’s wrong with y’all? What y’all looking all crazy for?” she asks.

  “We went on the Internet today,” I say.

  Dreya bursts into laughter. “Oh, you’re talking about my little interviews? Did you like them?”

  “No, I didn’t,” I reply. “Why would you try to say my album is Disney when I’m the one who wrote all of your music?”

  Dreya glances over her shoulder at the cameraman and chuckles. “Oh, so this is how you’re gonna try to get a retraction? You’re really funny.”

  “I did write every song on your record though. So if mine is Disney, then what does that make yours?”

  “The songs are good. The Disney part comes from your goody-goody behind,” Dreya says. “Nobody wants to see that bubblegum stuff you’re putting out there. All that pink and khaki you be wearing is nauseating.”

  “So you’re straight with trying to play me to the bloggers?” I ask. “Because this is not what family does, Dreya. Family sticks together.”