That was Skye’s style. She designed outfits that went from the office straight to the club. I couldn’t figure out how she did that, but I guess that was the gift that God had given her.
“So, what’s up, peeps?” she asked us after we all sat down.
“Girl, nothing but drama!” Devin breathed hard like he’d been through so much. He waved his hands in the air.
Skye frowned, and looked at me, then Chyanne, before she asked, “What kind of drama?”
“This is Devin’s story, Chyanne said with her head buried in the menu. “Let him tell it, whatever it is.”
“Hmph,” was all Devin said.
Skye asked, “Would someone tell me what’s going on?”
I looked at Devin. I was like Chyanne; I had no idea what drama he was talking about. His whole life was one big drama party. Who knew what kind of story he was going to tell us today? So I just motioned for him to take the floor, ’cause I wanted to hear about the drama too.
He grabbed his napkin from the glass, swung it in the air with a flourish, and then rested it on his lap. All of that and he hadn’t said a word. See? Straight drama!
Finally, he said, “Well, your mother asked us where we were going and your father went off!”
“What?” Skye said. And Chyanne and I said the same thing.
“My father didn’t go off!”
“Yes, he did!” Devin insisted, snapping his fingers with each word. “After you told your mom that we were meeting Skye, your father went off,” he said, waving his hand like he was shooing someone away. “He went off to the office or somewhere . . . .”
“Boy, please,” Skye said.
Even though Skye laughed, I could tell she was relieved that Devin was just setting us all up and that our dad hadn’t really gone off. But after we all stopped laughing, Skye asked me, “So, what did Daddy say when you told him you were meeting me?” She spoke, but her eyes were down like she was reading the menu, like she really didn’t care.
I shrugged. “He didn’t say anything, but Mama said to tell you that she loves you and to call her.”
Skye shook her head. “I’d call her if she would just get her own phone. It’s ridiculous in this day that someone doesn’t have their own cell.” She sighed. “But that’s the only way, ’cause I’m not calling the house.”
Chyanne put down her menu and stared at Skye like she was about to give her a lecture. Chyanne and Skye were the same age–they were three years older than me–but sometimes, it felt like Chyanne was the oldest. She was always the mature, reasonable one. I always wondered if that had something to do with losing her father. A lot of the old people in church said that she’d grown up before her time, watching her dad die like that.
Chyanne said, “You know this is going to have to end soon. Why don’t you just go and talk to your father?”
“And say what?” Skye said. “He made it perfectly clear that if I didn’t do things his way, if I didn’t want to go into the ministry, then I just needed to go out on my own. Well . . .” She left it right there, ’cause she didn’t have to explain a thing. We all knew what had happened next.
We stayed quiet as the waiter came to our table and took our orders. And as I tried to decide between a salad and a hamburger, I thought about what Skye had said.
From the time I was little and realized that I had a big sister, I had admired Skye. Not only because she was older, but she was fiercely independent. She just did what she wanted to do. If my parents said that we couldn’t go over to a certain girl’s house, and Skye wanted to, she found a way to make it happen. If we had a curfew and Skye missed it because she didn’t want to leave the party, she just took her punishment. There were things that she’d done that my parents didn’t even know about, and I would never tell. Like the nights she would put her stuffed animals under the covers, shape them like her body, and then sneak out of our bedroom window. She only did that a few times, and she was never gone for too long. But I was always scared . . . and just as impressed.
It wasn’t like Skye was a bad kid. She wasn’t hanging out with gangs or having sex, she was just being Skye. I used to think that a lot of it was because we were Reverend Davenport’s kids. And people put a lot on preacher’s kids. But now, I wasn’t so sure that was it. I think Skye was just being Skye. From the time she was born, she just wanted to do things her way.
After the waiter walked away, Skye turned back to Chyanne. “So, here’s the thing,” she said, picking the conversation right backup. “I didn’t start this war. My father did. He’s the one who told me that if I thought I could do it on my own, then I should. And guess what, I did.”
“Okay, so you won,” Chyanne said, like it was no big deal. “Now, make peace and go home.”
“Why? My dad let me go all the way to New York for three years, he let me go through FIT by myself, and he didn’t lift a finger to help me. I had to struggle and fight, but I made it. All by myself.”
“It wasn’t totally by yourself,” I jumped in. “Mama helped you all the time.”
“Yeah, Mama, but not Daddy.”
“Do you think your father didn’t know that your mother was sending you money?” Chyanne asked. “Please, he knew every dollar. You know how he is. You were able to have that apartment in New York because of your mother and your father.”
Skye shrugged, but I could tell she knew that Chyanne was right. Still, she wasn’t about to admit it. The fact that Dad never supported her decision to attend the Fashion Institute of Technology made Skye ignore that he still made sure she had what she needed. There was no one more stubborn than Skye, except for my father. So with the two of them on opposite sides of this fight, the war was never going to end.
“Can we change the subject?” Devin whined. “All of this drama is making me lose my appetite. And you know, I’ve got to eat or else I’ll lose my figure.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.” Skye laughed.
Chyanne and Devin laughed, too, but I didn’t. I chuckled, ’cause I didn’t want them to think that anything was wrong, but I never laughed when people made jokes about their bodies. Because that just made me look at mine, and I didn’t want to spend too much time doing that.
As we chatted, I glanced at Skye. With her smoky eyes, pouty lips, and perfectly applied makeup, she was the beauty of the family. Always had been. People said that we looked alike, but I couldn’t see it. Maybe it was because she was so much smaller than me. I was three times the size of her size-six frame.
But that was not the only way we were different. Skye was determined to live her dream and become a fashion designer. Even if that meant doing it on her own, even if that meant losing her family, she was going to be who she wanted to be. And for that I so admired her. But if I told the whole truth, while I admired her, I was mad about it, too. Because that left a lot of pressure on me at home to make my parents, especially my dad, happy.
“So, sis, what’s up with you?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. Just school. Glad to be graduating, I can tell you that.”
“And after graduation, you’re really going to work for that accounting firm?”
I nodded. “Yeah. That’s what Dad . . .” I stopped, but everyone knew what I was going to say.
Skye shook her head. “I just can’t believe it. So you’re not going to give your singing a try at all? You’re just going to let your dream die?”
The great thing about having people in my life like Skye, Chyanne, and Devin was that I could share all of my thoughts and dreams with them. And the bad thing about having them in my life was that I had shared all of my thoughts and dreams with them. For the last couple of years, the three of them had been after me to do something about what I wanted. But what was I supposed to do?
“Tell it, Devin said, holding up his hand like he was about to testify. “We’ve been trying to tell the girl that she needs to do something with that voice she has. Try out for American Idol or something.”
“I don’
t know about American Idol,” Skye said, “but you should do something. I mean, girl, we’re in Atlanta. Do you know how many record producers are here?”
“Not to mention that we’re young.” Now, it was Chyanne putting in her two cents. “This is when we should go after our dreams.”
I liked it better when we were all ganging up on Skye. I didn’t want my friends looking at me. Because, if they looked too hard, they might see the real reason. But I hid behind the same old excuse.
“Daddy would never let me go out and sing all of that secular music.”
I knew what Skye would do when I said that, and she did it. She just waved her hand, like my words and our dad didn’t matter.
But Chyanne surprised me when she said, “You can’t live your life for your father.”
Skye and I both raised our eyebrows.
Chyanne continued, “What I’m saying is that you have to do you, but in a respectful way.”
Skye rolled her eyes.
“I agree with Chy,” Devin said. “Didn’t you hear your father this morning?”
Skye asked, “What did he say?”
“Girlfriend, Daddy preached!” Devin sang. “He talked about how God knew us before we even came to earth and so He had plans and dreams that He wants us to achieve.”
“And I think,” Chyanne said, “that God is the one who puts certain desires in our hearts. So, if He wants it for us, He’ll make a way. And if He wants it for us, then your father shouldn’t have anything to say.”
“Preach, counselor!” Devin said, and we all laughed again.
I agreed that was a good argument. One day, Chyanne was going to make a great lawyer. That was her dream.
As the waiter came back with our food, I looked at my friends. Talk about dreams and living them. Skye was an intern with Anne Barge, who got her start working under the head designer of Priscilla of Boston. Chyanne was in her third year of law school at Georgia State. She already had six-figure offers for three major law firms in New York. And Devin–he was a drama queen–still not sure of what he wanted to do, though he was really into hair styling and fashion. But I had no doubt that once he decided, no amount of drama would ever stop him from going after what he wanted.
Then there was me.
“Here you go,” the waiter said, dropping in front of me the plate with the huge hamburger and stacked of fries. I glanced across the table. Devin and I had ordered the same thing, but Skye and Chyanne had both opted for salads.
For a moment, I pushed my hamburger aside. Maybe if I started today, if I ate a salad right now, this could be the beginning of me making some changes. And if I changed, maybe I would get the same kind of guts that Skye had. And if I got some guts, who knew what could I do?
But then I took a bite of my burger. And it tasted so good. I decided right then that I would make some changes. I would start with my weight.
But I would start tomorrow.
Chapter 4
I couldn’t believe the number of boxes that we had stacked inside this truck.
“I told you, Jaylen; we should’ve gotten a dolly,” Miles said as he hoisted a carton onto his shoulder.
All I did was grab the last box; I wasn’t about to admit to my frat brother that he was right, even though he straight-up was. This job would have been quicker and easier on the back if I had sprung for something to help us. But when I rented this truck back in Berkeley on Wednesday, all I could think about was saving as much money as possible. This 2,500-mile trip was already putting a hurting on my empty wallet.
“So, what’s up for tonight?” Quintin purred into his cell phone as Miles and I struggled up the two steps that led to the porch. Then, with one hand, Miles held the screen door open while I kicked in the front door. As I struggled inside, I glanced back. There was Quintin, just as he’d been since we arrived, leaning against the banister with his cell phone looking like it was growing out of his ear. Quintin hadn’t helped us lift one box, or carried one computer from the truck. My boy was acting like he didn’t have a single thing in these boxes, though straight up truth, probably half of this stuff was his. So now, not only had Miles and I driven Quintin’s belongings across the country while he had relaxed in the friendly skies, but now he had us hauling his stuff inside like he was the king and we were his servant.
What I really wanted to do was leave Quintin’s stuff right in the truck, but there were two problems with that. One, we hadn’t done the best job marking the boxes, so we had to open them to find out what was inside. And two, the truck was due to the Atlanta U-Haul office in just a couple of hours, and it was in my name. So I needed to get that sucker back before the hourly overage charges kicked in.
Inside the house, I dropped my box onto one of the dozens of others stacked high in the living room, then fell onto the sofa that was still covered with a sheet. Miles dropped down onto the other end, both of us still huffing and puffing like we were ready to blow this house down. But even though I was exhausted and pissed at Quintin for not helping, I wasn’t all that mad. These were the first hours of my new life in the ATL. And as I glanced around at the stone fireplace in the living room and the chandeliers, I realized that this wasn’t a bad way to start.
Leaning back, I closed my eyes. Hearing Miles breathing next to me, I knew he had done the same thing. I didn’t have to look at him to know that he was as exhausted as I was. Our cross-country journey had begun before the sun had risen on Thursday. Miles and I, with that twenty-six-foot truck, tried to turn the thirty-six, hour trip into something closer to twenty-four. We made it through three states–California, Arizona, and New Mexico–before complete fatigue had set in. I had to talk Miles into that no-name motel off Interstate 40 because it wasn’t like we knew anyone in Amarillo, Texas. Our plan had been to sleep for two hours, but six hours passed before we opened our eyes and hit the road again. The next part of the trip we planned better. We drove in two-hour shifts through Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Tennessee. Whoever wasn’t driving was sleeping. Still, with just one more rest stop in Alabama, it had taken us forty-eight hours.
But we were here–my Kappa brothers, Quintin and Miles, and I–ready to make our presence known in the music industry.
The sound of the front door slamming made me sit up straight. Miles did the same.
“So, what’s up?” Quintin asked, standing under the arch that separated the entryway from the living room. “Y’all taking a rest break?”
If Quintin weren’t my frat brother, I would’ve hit him upside his head the way my mother used to do me when I was a kid and said something stupid.
“Yeah, we’re resting all right,” I said. “From driving across the country and then unloading that entire truck by ourselves.”
Quintin’s eyes got wide, like he couldn’t believe what I was saying. “Y’all finished?”
“As if you didn’t know, Miles said in his quiet manner.
“Ah, man, sorry ’bout that,” Quintin said. Then, with two steps, he jumped over a couple of boxes and plopped down in one of the chairs across from us. “But y’all won’t be mad at me for long.” He grinned, as if his dimpled smile and charm would work on us the same way it did the ladies. “I hooked up a couple of things for us to do tonight. I wanted us to do it up right your first night in the ATL.”
The way he said it, I guess he thought Miles and I were supposed to stand up and applaud. But if I had the energy to stand up, I wouldn’t have been clapping.
I didn’t say a word, but Miles said what I was thinking. “I ain’t going nowhere but to bed after the last two days.”
“Bed?” Quintin frowned at first, but two seconds later, he was grinning again. “Oh, you got some honey lined up here in Atlanta that you didn’t tell us about.” He reached over like he wanted to bump fists with Miles. “My man!” he said.
But Miles ignored him and so did I.
“What’s up with y’all?” he asked, serious now.
“Miles just told you. We’re tired.”
&nbs
p; “From just that little bit of driving?” He sucked his teeth. “Man, we’re young, and this is your first night in Atlanta. I’ve been scoping, trying to find all the happenings, and y’all just gonna flake out on me? What’s up with that? You can’t handle a little driving?”
He was asking us what was up, but I was just about to ask him the same thing–about all that “y’all” stuff. What was Quintin now, Southern gentleman? But I forgot about his newfound southern drawl the moment he started talking about what we couldn’t handle.
“You try driving like a maniac across the country and see how you feel,” I challenged Quintin.
“I would’ve felt just fine. If I’d known that you were going to bring all this drama, I would’ve driven with y’all.”
My boy was straight-up lying! Quintin didn’t believe in anything that was considered hard work, and driving all those miles and then lifting boxes was definitely hard work and against my man’s religion.
But before I could call him the liar that he was, my cell vibrated on my hip. Peeping at the screen, I answered with a smile on my face.
“Uncle Matt, what’s up?”
“Just checking on you,” my uncle said. “Did you make it here yet?”
“Yeah, just a couple of hours ago. I was gonna call you later,” I said, feeling a bit guilty. My mother’s brother had been so excited about me coming to Atlanta, from the moment my mother called him to tell him that I was breaking her heart. I knew my mom and pops expected me to come right home to Los Angeles once I graduated from Berkeley, but by the time I finished my freshman year and had hooked up with Miles and Quintin, I knew I wasn’t going back to L.A. Although many of the big record companies were still there, a lot of independent labels were rising up in places like Minneapolis and Atlanta. During our sophomore year, when we decided that we were going to be the next hot thing, we’d decided that there was no need to compete for talent and time with the big boys.
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