Rumor Central

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t know how she was going to take the photos. Besides, I was too upset to talk anyway.

  “Seriously, Maya,” Bryce pleaded. “I don’t know how—”

  “Shut up, you liar!” I screamed before Tamara grabbed me to keep me from going at him again.

  Mrs. Young was on her walkie-talkie radioing for help. I guess she didn’t want to get in the middle of a fight because she didn’t jump back in the middle of us.

  “Maya, you are on the verge of superstardom,” Tamara whispered in my ear. “What in the world are you doing? Have you lost your mind? What about the Maya brand we’re building? Are you trying to throw that away?”

  Those words stopped me in my tracks. I looked at the crowd that was gathered around, laughing hysterically—of course a few of them were recording the whole thing on their camera phones. I’d probably be on YouTube before I got off campus.

  Valerie eased up beside Tamara. “This is what has her so upset,” she said, sticking out the phone to show her the photo. Who asked Valerie to get involved?

  Tamara glanced down, but then looked back up at me. “Okay, and?”

  I was a little stunned by her reaction. I’d expected her to light into me.

  “They’re naked photos of me,” I cried. “They’re probably all over Twitter and Instagram now. He sent them out to everyone.” I jabbed my finger in Bryce’s direction.

  “I didn’t do it,” Bryce protested. “I swear. And I never showed them to anyone.”

  “Whatever, Bryce,” I shouted. “You were the only person I sent those to.”

  By this point, two gym teachers came racing over. They immediately went to Bryce, who started trying to explain what was going on.

  Mrs. Young walked over to me, anger all over her face.

  “Young lady, you have caused so much trouble on this campus recently. I don’t understand what—”

  “Please,” Tamara said, stopping her. “Just let me talk to her a moment.”

  Mrs. Young hesitated, but then must’ve decided she’d much rather Tamara deal with me, because she said, “Fine,” before stepping aside.

  Tamara grabbed my arm and pulled me off to the side. She lowered her voice and whispered, “Maya, do not do this. You are too fab to be acting like some kind of hood rat.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Maya Morgan and hood rat didn’t even belong in the same sentence. But then, I looked down at my shoe in my hand and thought she had a point. I quickly eased my stiletto back on my foot. I tossed my hair over my shoulders and inhaled deeply to calm myself down.

  “Let me tell you something,” Tamara said. “First of all, they’re not naked pictures. You have your panties on.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. Really? Was that supposed to make me feel better? She ignored me and kept talking. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘no publicity is bad publicity’? So what, he sent the picture out. The bottom line, think Kim Kardashian, Paris Hilton. What are they all famous for? How bad did some video and pictures hurt them?” She didn’t give me time to answer. “It didn’t hurt them. If anything, it’s the reason that you know their names.”

  “So, I’m supposed to be okay with this?”

  “Of course, if we had our way we wouldn’t put this out there, but it’s out there now. Don’t ever do this again. But when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. I’ll have our PR team all over this. We can even spin this and have you become a spokesperson for the dangers of social media.” She seemed to get excited. “This isn’t bad at all!” She held up Valerie’s phone, which was still clutched in her hand and pointed it at me. “Look at that body. How many of these busted-looking chicks around your high school would kill for a body like that?”

  I looked at the picture and I couldn’t help but smile. I did look good. The Pilates had really paid off.

  “This could be an album cover,” Tamara continued. “You don’t sing, but you’re still a star. And this kind of stuff doesn’t hurt stars. Shake that mess off. We’re here to handle business. Don’t let these peons at this school get to you.”

  I wanted to throw my arms around her neck. She was so right.

  “Maya,” Bryce said, approaching me. “I didn’t—”

  I held my hand up to stop him, but this time, I didn’t yell. “Don’t,” I said. “Save it.” I straightened my shirt and composed myself. “I should be used to people trying to ride my coattails to get a little fame,” I snapped.

  “I know you don’t believe me, but I didn’t send this out,” he said.

  “You’re right, I don’t believe you.” I took a step closer. He flinched, like he was preparing for me to hit him again, but my hands went to my hips as I poked my chest out. “Take a good look, because this is the closest you will ever get to me again. Honestly, I understand. If Sheridan and her itty-bitty committee is all you have to work with, I’d be pulling up old pictures and salivating over them, too.”

  I glanced over at Tamara, who smiled her approval.

  I knew Sheridan would hear about that flat-chested comment, but I didn’t care.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” I said. “I have real business to go handle.”

  “You dropped something,” I heard Valerie say to Bryce as she passed him.

  “What, nerd?” he snapped. He was obviously upset about the whole scenario.

  “Your face. It’s on the floor.” Valerie giggled as she followed me and Tamara into the building.

  Chapter 22

  I’d finally pulled myself together and was now back to my fabulous self as we stood in front of the principal’s office. I still didn’t know how Tamara planned on working her magic and convincing Mr. Carvin to let us do anything. He’d made it clear that he despised Rumor Central.

  “Keep the faith, honey,” Tamara said confidently as Mr. Carvin’s secretary gave us the go-ahead to go on back to his office. “This is what I do.”

  The minute we set foot in his spacious office, Tamara immediately turned on the charm. “Good afternoon, Mr. Carvin,” she said, extending her hand. “Tamara Collins, WSVV-TV.”

  Mr. Carvin stood and shook her hand. He was wearing his usual bowtie and khaki slacks. “Ms. Collins, my pleasure.” He eyeballed me. “Miss Morgan, were you just involved in some altercation?”

  I looked at him innocently, but Tamara interjected. “It was all a big misunderstanding. Everything’s fine.”

  “Yep, everything’s fine,” I replied with a fake smile. I’m sure he’d get all the details later, and he definitely wouldn’t be happy. That’s why Tamara needed to make her spiel, then we needed to keep it moving. Honestly, I didn’t see why we were wasting our time. Mr. Carvin belonged to the Maya Morgan Hater Club.

  Tamara took a seat in front of his desk and I sat next to her. “Mr. Carvin, I am here on behalf of the station. As you know, Maya is representing you well as host of our highly popular show, Rumor Central.”

  He squeezed his lips together, not bothering to look my way as he said, “I would’ve preferred that you found another capacity that Maya could represent us in.”

  Tamara didn’t break her smile. “Understood, but know that Maya is doing an awesome job”

  He lost his smile, like he was tired of playing nice. “Ms. Collins, what is it I can do for you? You said you only needed about ten minutes.” He looked at his watch. “And that’s about all the time that I have.”

  She crossed her long, curvy legs. I was surprised that Mr. Carvin didn’t seem to notice.

  “Well, let me get straight to business. Since Maya is an integral part of our show, we’d like to include Miami High in some of our promotional activities.”

  Mr. Carvin laughed, almost like he was insulted. “With all due respect, Ms. Collins, Miami High is a prestigious school. And neither our parents, nor our staff would take kindly to being associated with a show such as Rumor Central.”

  “Have you seen the show?” Tamara asked.

  “I can’t say that I have, but believe me, I’ve hear
d a lot about it. And I’ve done my homework.”

  “Well, if you did your homework, you’d see Rumor Central has the highest ratings of any debut TV show in Miami. That means that people are watching. And what better way to garner publicity for your school than partnering with us?”

  This woman was my she-ro. She wasn’t about to be intimidated.

  Mr. Carvin laughed again as he leaned forward onto his desk. “I guess you’re not hearing me, Ms. Collins, so let me repeat myself. Miami High speaks for itself. We don’t need the publicity.”

  “Miami High might not. But Mr. Russell Carvin could.” She stood up and walked slowly around his desk, running her finger slowly over the desk, then walking over to his large bay window. “I understand you’re nearing retirement,” she said with her back to him.

  The smile immediately disappeared from his face.

  Tamara turned around, leaned against the window, and smiled. “I do my homework, too. And all I’m saying is what better way to go out than with a media blitz.” It was obvious Tamara was getting through to Mr. Carvin because his face had turned red as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “By allowing our partnership you can boost your enrollment,” Tamara continued, walking back to the front of the desk, “bring attention to your school, raise money, and get round-the-clock media coverage.”

  Mr. Carvin was quiet for a minute, then finally said, “And just how would you do all that?”

  Dang, Tamara was good. And she must’ve known it, too because she wasted no time, jumping right into her presentation. “We’d like to bring in a popular artist for a concert and list the school as a sponsor.”

  “Who are you trying to bring?” Mr. Carvin asked.

  “Drake,” Tamara replied.

  Mr. Carvin looked horrified. “Isn’t that a gangsta rapper?”

  “He is a platinum-selling rapper,” Tamara said. “But I assure you, he doesn’t do gangsta rap.”

  I felt the need to add my two cents. “Mr. Carvin, Drake is one of the hottest rappers in the country right now.”

  “And anything he does here would be clean,” Tamara added.

  Mr. Carvin shook his head. “I’m not sure about this.” “Trust me,” she said confidently. “Tell you what. I’ll send over a package that gives you some info about the artist, as well as a detailed strategic plan on how this will benefit you. After you see that, you can make a final decision.”

  That seemed to alleviate some pressure, because his shoulders relaxed.

  “Okay, I can do that,” he said.

  Tamara picked up her purse, which she’d set on the floor near her seat. “I’ll have those sent over first thing in the morning. And I’m sure you’ll be satisfied.”

  He finally smiled at her. “You sure are the confident one.”

  Tamara returned his smile. “What other way is there to be?”

  They shook hands and I stood awkwardly to see if Mr. Carvin was going to say anything to me. Of course, he frowned when he looked my way. “Miss Morgan, have a good day. And please, try to stay out of trouble.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled as I followed Tamara out of the office.

  “Dang, you handled him,” I told her once we were heading out to the parking lot.

  She shrugged like it was nothing. “Oh, he’s small potatoes.”

  “Well, you served him up, fried and smothered in cheese,” I laughed. I stopped suddenly when I saw Bryce heading toward me. The look on my face must’ve made him think twice because he paused, then turned around and walked in the other direction.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” she asked as she watched me watch him walk away.

  I nodded, exhausted from all that had jumped off. The look on my face must’ve concerned her because she said, “I told you, don’t sweat those pictures. They really aren’t that bad.”

  I felt myself getting angry again, but quickly pushed it aside. “It’s cool.”

  “Unh-unh,” Tamara said. “That sounds like an ‘it’s cool, I’m gonna get him back.’ ” She squeezed my arm. “Remember something my mom used to always tell me: ‘Don’t worry about getting back at those who wronged you. Success is the sweetest revenge.’ ”

  I heard what she was saying, and I definitely planned to succeed, but I also planned to exact a little revenge of my own. I just didn’t know how right now, but it was only a matter of time before Bryce learned the hard way what happened when people messed with me.

  Chapter 23

  Thoughts of revenge were fresh on my mind as I filed into my last class of the day. I was so ready to get home. I’d thought about skipping seventh period altogether, but I didn’t need Mrs. Watson calling my parents and giving them something else to trip about.

  “Settle down! Settle down!” Mrs. Watson said, ushering everyone into the room. Once we were all settled in our desks, she continued talking. “Now you know we’re nearly at the end of the first semester. Some of you are fine and doing well with your grades. Others”—Mrs. Watson made a strange face—“well, you’re not so fine. And remember, graduation may be months off, but every grade counts.”

  I groaned because she had to be talking about me. Her class was needed for graduation, and every chance she got, she reminded us of that.

  She walked around her desk with a stack of papers in her hands. The papers were our fifteen-page research term papers that counted for more than half of our grades. As she moved to the left corner of the room, I remembered the stress I’d felt over that report.

  It may not have been my very best work, but I’d managed to get it in, and I thought it had turned out pretty good considering I’d waited until the last minute and been up until nearly three in the morning trying to get it done.

  “So, if you have any questions about your grade, comments, or anything else, email me for an appointment,” she said.

  The chatter had started back up and nearly drowned out her voice.

  “Quiet down, and when you get your paper back, you may leave,” she said, raising her voice.

  That announcement was met with cheers. I sat quietly because I needed her to hurry up. There were tons of things for me to do with the show and even though I understood the importance of this class and the others, I was already getting on-the-job, hands-on experience in my field, so it was hard to stay focused on this mess.

  Mrs. Watson began to flip through the stack. She looked down the row as if she was counting the students seated in front of her. She fingered the edges of the papers; then she separated the ones she needed and passed them out one by one.

  “Score!” a student yelled enthusiastically.

  “Awesome! Dude, what’d you get?” another student asked someone else.

  I watched all of this while I prayed. I knew I needed at least a B, but I could manage with a C. A D would cause major problems.

  Slowly the teacher moved from the first row, to the second. After she passed papers back to students in that row, she moved on to the third row. I sat in the last row near the end.

  When she walked over and stood at the front of my row, I suddenly wished she was just starting at row one. All of my confidence in the work I had done instantly disappeared.

  I watched in absolute horror as the student in front of me reached the papers back. With a trembling hand I grabbed them before they fell to the floor.

  My throat went dry and I felt my eyes begin to burn. My vision was blurred, and it wasn’t until I heard the voice behind me that I realized I had stopped and stared for too long.

  “Heeello!” the girl behind me snapped.

  “Oh, my bad.” I quickly passed the last three term papers over my shoulder. I didn’t even bother looking back because the girl behind me was one of the smartest kids in my school, so I knew that she’d aced the report. I took a deep breath, then looked at my paper.

  Never in all of my years in school had I ever seen an F on a paper. The room began to spin, and I wanted to puke. Didn’t an F mean you’d done absolutely not
hing at all? How could I have gotten an F?

  People around me began shuffling out of their chairs and it seemed like everyone else was happy with their grades. I didn’t have any friends in class anymore that I could ask or confide in, so I had to assume that I was the only one who had flunked.

  The word didn’t even sound right swimming around in my head.

  Maya Morgan flunked a class.

  Maya Morgan flunked a grade.

  Maya Morgan flunked.

  “Eh-hem!”

  Mrs. Watson’s voice shattered my daze and that was when I realized we were alone in the room. I glanced around and wondered how everyone had left the room and I had never even noticed.

  “Are you shocked by your grade or something?” Mrs. Watson asked.

  I glanced back down at the paper and tried to find my voice. I couldn’t understand why we even had to do this crap. Shakespeare, really? That man died like a trillion years ago and I didn’t need to know anything about Shakespeare to be an entertainment mogul.

  Okay, so the paper sucked. I still didn’t deserve an F because I had turned the assignment in on time. That, alone, should’ve given me at least a D. Yeah, I know I had waited until the last minute and had to stay up nearly all night, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to review the work before I’d turned it in, but I still didn’t deserve a freakin’ F. Mrs. Watson wasn’t fooling anyone. She’d done this because she hated me. Even the teachers were hating on me.

  “What? You, Miss Chatter Box, are suddenly at a loss for words?” Mrs. Watson said. It was like she was enjoying my pain.

  “Ummm, I kinda am,” I muttered.

  “Oh, no, don’t whisper now,” Mrs. Watson said.

  Her voice was peppered with sarcasm and I didn’t have the energy to fight with her or anyone else. I didn’t have time to be worried about a stupid grade. There was a red-carpet event in a few days and that’s where all my focus was. That, and trying to figure out how the heck I was going to make Bryce pay.

  “When you’re doing your TV show, you’re a very confident and outspoken voice. Where’s that voice today?” Mrs. Watson asked with her eyebrows raised.