by Nikki Carter
When we get to the tropical fish exhibit, Sam clears his breath. He wants to sit down on the leather bench in front of the biggest tank, and so I sit next to him.
“You in pain?” I ask.
“No. Just tired. Walking on this cane takes a lot of energy out of me.”
“How long did the doctor say you’d be on it?”
“Just a few weeks.”
I kiss Sam’s lips and smile at him. “What was that for?” he asks.
“You got hurt trying to save me. You didn’t even know you were hurt until after.”
Sam reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. “For you.”
“What is this?”
“Open it!” Sam says with a laugh.
I open the box and inside lies a key. It’s not a jewelry key, or a car key. It just looks like a regular key to someone’s home.
“What is this the key to?” I ask.
“My new condo, in Atlanta.”
Now I’m confused. “But Sam, I have my own house. I’m not moving in with you.”
“I know. But I want you to know you can come in any time of the day or night. You don’t have to call. You can just show up.”
“But why would you want me to do that?”
“I want you to trust me. I’m opening my home to you, just like I’ve opened my heart. I’m wide open, Sunday, and I want you to know how much you’ve got me in the palm of your hand.”
Sam closes my hand around the key and then he squeezes tight. “Let’s never break up again,” I say.
“I don’t ever want to, Sunday. If your mother wouldn’t totally take my head off, I’d marry you today and start filling up the world with little musical babies.”
“And you’re sure I’d say yes?” I ask teasingly.
“I’m sure.”
“You’d want me even if I’m not a pop star anymore?”
Sam smiles again and traces a finger down my face. “You didn’t know? You’re always gonna be a star to me. You’re the biggest star in my universe.”
I give Sam a smile that starts from the inside and emanates out. I feel myself shining brightly once again, but this time it has nothing to do with a number-one record, platinum sales, or hot lyrics wrapped around a tight beat. It’s because I’m loved and I love someone back. And no one can take this shine away from me.
“You think anyone will be mad that you walked away from the industry?” Sam asks.
“If they are, they can get over it. I don’t live for them. My dreams aren’t for anybody but me!”
I think if Dr. Brooks, the dean at Spelman, could see me right now, she’d be exceptionally proud. I sound just like that free-thinking woman that all my Spelman sisters are striving to be. Free to live, free to learn, and most definitely free to love.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
GET OVER IT
Nikki Carter
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The following questions are intended to
enhance your group’s reading of
GET OVER IT.
Discussion Questions
1. This book is full of romance! What do you think about Sunday’s love triangle? Did she make the right choice? Were you Team DeShawn or Team Sam?
2. Do you think Dreya is too young to be married or is this the right move for her?
3. Sunday’s friend dynamics are interesting. Would you give Bethany another chance after everything she’s done?
4. Were you surprised to learn about Kevin’s crush? Should he pursue it or should he keep searching for his one true love?
5. Do you think Sunday has truly made the right decision for her life? Do you think she’ll change her mind or regret her decision? Why or why not?
Don’t miss Nikki Carter’s
Time to Shine.
Available now wherever books are sold!
1
“Sunday Tolliver! Are you on your way to Mystique and Zillionaire’s wedding?”
The paparazzo catches me off guard by jumping from behind a building as I exit my parked car in front of Mt. Pleasant Baptist Church in downtown Atlanta. Really? This bird is hiding at four o’clock in the morning trying to get the scoop? I mean who is checking for Mystique wedding details at four in the morning? And anyway this is not the location for Mystique’s wedding. It’s actually one of the decoy spots. I will be picked up by another car to take me to the final location.
“I’m on my way into this church,” I say.
The annoyed almost-reporter cocks her head to one side and sucks her teeth. She looks like she doesn’t know whether or not to believe me. I certainly don’t look like I’m going to a wedding. I’m wearing sweatpants, and my hair is in a loose bun on the top of my head. But there’s a full wardrobe and makeup crew at the real venue, so I don’t have to worry about looking glam right now.
“You’re one of her bridesmaids, aren’t you?” the reporter girl asks.
I lean in closely and whisper, “I’ll never tell.”
The frustrated reporter rolls her eyes again and storms off, perhaps looking for someone more willing to spill their guts about the so-called wedding of the year.
I won’t share the details because, as a pop star myself, I don’t like my business in the streets (or on the Internet) either.
I stride away from the irritated blogger chick. She can be camped out here for the next few hours and she won’t be any closer to the truth than she is now. The plan is for members of the wedding party to be picked up by shuttle bus at four-thirty in the morning. Then we will be taken to the top-secret wedding location. The wedding party doesn’t even know where it is.
I can’t believe Mystique was able to pull off something this complex when she and Zac (Zillionaire) only decided to get married a few weeks ago. News of Zac’s love child hit the blogs and the next thing you know those two are going to the chapel, getting married.
When she asked me to be her maid of honor, I was kind of shocked. It’s not like we’re really close or anything like that. She gave me my first record deal and basically introduced me to the world as her protégée, but something happened in these past few months. All of a sudden she got competitive, and did a couple of things that could be construed as hateration.
I duck into the church and hand my car keys to a security guy standing at the door. He will be in charge of driving my car from the church to another parking area—not where the wedding will be held—but another fake location to throw off the paparazzi. Yeah, it’s super cloak and dagger up in this piece.
Then I see him.
The new ex-boyfriend of mine. Sam.
Ugh.
Like, can I ask a side bar question? Why do boys have to lie all the time? Sam told me that he didn’t hook up with Rielle on prom night, and that was a big, fat, gigantic lie. He says he only lied because he didn’t think I’d be his girlfriend if I knew, and he’s probably right. I would’ve soooo kept it moving. But now, I really like (almost kind of love) Sam and he’s hurt me.
Maybe I would’ve believed that he was all done with Rielle after prom, but apparently he’s still dealing with her. He even bought her a laptop! Do I care that he did it because she’s poor and her grandmother heard that he got a million-plus-dollar check? Um, no. We do not do good deeds for side pieces.
And why is he smiling at me? Ugh. I can’t stand him.
He’s Zac’s best man, for some ridiculous reason. They aren’t even friends. At all. Sam is his employee. Zac and Mystique are probably trying to orchestrate a reunion or some stupidity like that. But I don’t care. Not trying to hear that.
Sam crosses the church sanctuary to where I’m standing in the back. He’s still smiling like an idiot. I roll my eyes.
“So, they’re sending a car for us,” he says. “It should be here soon.”
I give him a tight nod and start playing with my iPhone. I make a huge production out of putting my earbuds in, so he can tell that I’m listening to my music.
I wish my girls Gia, Piper, and Meagan
were here with me. They didn’t rank high enough on the celebrity list to get an invite to Mystique’s wedding. They’re not celebrities at all—they’re my friends from Spelman. Gia is my roommate.
Mystique told me that I could invite one of them as my guest since I don’t have a date, but I decided against it. The two I didn’t invite would inevitably be mad at me, and I’m anti-drama right now.
So, I invited DeShawn. He’s a hottie who goes to Georgia State and plays on the football team with Gia’s boyfriend, Ricky. DeShawn also models and was in one of my music videos. He’s cool, he’s a friend, and he flirts with me. It doesn’t matter that I’m not in the boyfriend type mood. Having DeShawn with me at the wedding will, at least, keep Sam out of my face. I hope.
The wedding guests have to park their cars at a different location, and then they’ll be driven to the top-secret wedding location by another shuttle bus. Mystique has sold exclusive rights to her wedding photos to People magazine, so it’s, like, imperative that nobody take any pictures—paparazzi or guests. They’re even hijacking people’s cell phones at the door.
It’s that serious.
After a few minutes, I hear another car pull up outside the church. Sam and I are given dark jackets and baseball caps to put on, as we exit the back of the building. We look like some ghetto spies.
Once we’re in the car, I notice that the driver is one of Zac’s security guys. He drives us through Atlanta to a beautiful castle on Peachtree, called Rhodes Hall.
“I can’t believe they’re getting married here. Right in the middle of everything!” I exclaim to no one in particular.
Sam replies, “This is the perfect location. No one would even suspect that they were getting married this close to downtown Atlanta.”
I narrow my eyes in Sam’s direction. I was not talking to him. Okay . . . so I know there are only two other people in the car besides me, and since I don’t know the driver, it’s pretty logical for Sam to assume that I’m talking to him.
But, since he also knows that I can’t stand his guts right now, he shouldn’t assume anything.
We’re dropped off at the back gate of the castle, but since it’s still dark outside no one can see us. Amazingly, there are no paparazzi hiding here. Maybe, it’s because we took a roundabout way to get here. The church where we got picked up from is like ten minutes from the actual venue, but it took us forty minutes to get here.
When Sam and I walk into the building . . . wait. I do not like “Sam and I” put together in one sentence. That is so . . . ugh!
When I walk into the building (we don’t care what Sam is doing) I see Mystique barking out orders like the Bridezilla from the pits of Hades.
“Mother, please tell me that my veil is here. The custom-made diamond-encrusted veil that cost three million dollars to produce is here, right? Because if it’s not here, someone’s head is gonna roll.”
Ms. Layla, Mystique’s mom, puts a hand on her daughter’s back. It’s a calming move, but it doesn’t seem like it works.
“Honey, the veil is here. I just unpacked it. It is with Zac’s security team now. Try to stay calm. You don’t want to look frazzled in your wedding photos.”
“Okay, mother . . . I’m trying. I’m really trying. Where’s Sunday? Is she here yet?”
“Present and accounted for,” I say from the back of the room.
Mystique flies back to greet me and embraces me with a bear hug. Who is this? I’m afraid I have not met this emotional and affectionate person masquerading as Mystique.
“Sunday, I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t have anything else going wrong.”
“I’m here too,” Sam says.
Mystique smiles at Sam and then says to me, “Sunday . . . can you please, please be nice to Sam today? I want you smiling in my pictures.”
I reply through clenched teeth. “I’ll try.”
Mystique seems to accept my reply. I’m glad because it’s the best I can do. She rushes off to fuss at the florist, who apparently has brought an incorrect flower.
“Does this look like a calla lily?” Mystique asks in a high pitched roar.
I take a seat and wait for someone to tell me what to do. I don’t want to get in Mystique’s path. Not today.
I know that if I ever get married (and that is so not in the plans any time soon), I don’t want it to be like this.
2
By the time the wedding begins, this castle is jam-packed with everyone who’s anyone in the music industry. From my post on the upstairs balcony landing, I can see people as they arrive. I can barely move since I’m poured into this form fitting rose colored gown. It’s a good thing I didn’t eat that pizza last night, because my stomach bulge would definitely show! I can also still hear Mystique’s insane barking of orders, but I got into hair, makeup, and my dress over an hour ago, just so I could stay out of her way.
I watch as the entire Reign Records crew shows up in a Hummer limo. Leave it to Evan Wilborn to make a spectacle of himself on someone else’s big day. He steps out of the car and helps my cousin, Dreya, out of the car. They are both wearing white, from head to toe. Dreya’s dress is floor length, fitted, and covered in something sparkly. She’s also got on jewel-encrusted shoes. She’s traded in her usual spiky hairdo, for a long flowing wig that’s pinned up on one side.
She looks nothing like Drama the R & B-slash-rap star. She looks like a Hollywood starlet on her way to a red carpet event. It is a good look for her.
Other Reign Records artists, Bethany and Dilly, also emerge from the limo, also wearing white. Big D, my manager and one of the head honchos of Reign Records and his girlfriend, Shelly, get out on the other side of the car, and they all have on white. Big D has really outdone himself with a white top hat and cane, with his plus-sized white suit, and Shelly’s barely there dress stops right underneath her bottom. She covers the rest of her legs with fishnet stockings and thigh-high leather boots. All three of the ladies are wearing fur, since it is wintertime, and cold as all get out in Atlanta.
They all look out of pocket with this white on, like it’s a summer wedding. Reign Records is tripping right now. Isn’t there a rule about wearing white after Labor Day? I don’t think it’s allowed. And everybody knows that you don’t wear white to someone’s wedding. I don’t think anyone told Evan or anyone else from Reign Records.
The flashiest accessory to their entire ensembles is the Reign Records medallion that everyone wears around their necks. My hand absentmindedly touches my neck, where my medallion would be if I was wearing it. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to buy into the whole “family” thing that Evan has envisioned for his record label. We might all be label mates, but the bottom line is we’re all competition. Dreya isn’t fooling me one bit with this unity act, especially when it comes to Bethany, who she pretty much hates for hooking up with her ex-boyfriend.
The only people in the limo not wearing all white are my mom, Shawn, and my aunt Charlie, Dreya’s mom. My mother is wearing a very elegant, long-sleeved, navy-blue gown that I bought her, with shoes to match. Aunt Charlie has on a skin-tight red suit with red stockings and gold shoes. I shake my head at the sight of her. Who wears red to a wedding? But nobody can check Aunt Charlie’s style without hearing a mouthful of holleration. Since I don’t feel like hearing her mouth, I will keep mum on the subject of her outfit.
I smile when I see DeShawn get dropped off by the valet at the front door of the castle. He was surprised when I asked him to be my date for the wedding, and of course he said yes. Number one, he’s been trying to get with me for a minute, and two, he’s a model, always looking to network and land a gig. Along with his football scholarship at Georgia State, he models to pay his bills. I am not mad at him for that.
I asked DeShawn to be my date, so that in no uncertain terms can Sam understand that I am no longer his girlfriend. Sam started out being someone I totally vibed with on every level. Our music was perfect, he got me and I got him too. We had a little drama in th
e very beginning, when another rapper, this guy named Truth, was trying to push up on me too. I thought that once we made it past all that, we would be together forever.
Then, I found out a whole string of lies that he told me, starting with him getting high on drugs at a party and hooking up with a groupie. But that wasn’t even the worst thing! When I learned that he was basically caking this girl named Rielle, buying her computers and who knows what else, I was done. Sam’s lies are beyond the level of acceptable, so he’s been kicked to the curb.
I can’t say that it doesn’t hurt me. It hurts like crazy. He’s the first guy I ever let myself fall all the way for, and I’m the type of chick who doesn’t fall easily. I let him in, with his music and his witticism, and he paid me back with a bunch of lies. So, now I have a new mantra. Love is for suckas.
I’m about to get mine, money and career wise, and let all romance come second, if at all. Matter of fact, I don’t even need romance. Who needs boys when they don’t do anything but tell lies? Even DeShawn, as cool and as fine as he is, is suspect as well.
It sucks that the rest of my friends can’t be here to offer their support. My crazy roommate Gia would know exactly what to say to make me laugh in spite of how insane this all feels. Piper and Meagan would be a distraction with all their bickering about the sorority they plan to join and the husbands they plan to land before they graduate from school. But of course, they were not invited to Mystique’s wedding, because they’re not industry people. My world is divided between the music industry and my college crew. Sometimes the two groups mix, and sometimes, like today, they do not.
Music starts in the main room of the castle, a signal to everyone that this show is about to be on the road. Ms. Layla steps out onto the landing, looking regal in her silver two-piece gown with a knee-high split. She is fly for an older woman. She winks over at me as she holds the arms of her escorts, two of Zac the Zillionaire’s artists.
