Caught Up in the Drama

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  “Done,” I whispered just as the bell rang. Dr. Reed walked into the room and announced that everyone should pass their homework to the front of the room. I had made two of his answers different from mine so it wouldn’t look like we’d cheated. All innocent, I put our papers on top of each other and passed them up to Xavier.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking the papers and turning around in his seat. “I owe you.”

  “I know how you can make it up to me,” I whispered behind his ear. “Stop being mad at me.”

  I knew he wasn’t trying, but a small smile crossed his face. “Deal.”

  I giggled and ran my hand over the back of his smooth fade.

  “Miss Harris, can you save the flirting until after my class?” Dr. Reed chastised.

  I rolled my eyes and leaned back into my chair.

  “And do you need to take that eye-rolling to the principal’s office?” she asked.

  “Dr. Reed,” said this pimply-faced girl named Donya, sitting in the front row, “don’t you know Camille is a big star now? She’s gonna be in a video with Sisco.”

  “I don’t care if she’s starring with Madonna, Prince and Barack Obama. She will have some respect in my classroom.” Dr. Reed stood at the front, her arms folded across her chest, the look on her face telling me she meant business.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, looking down at my book.

  I don’t know how I made it through the class, but I had never been more happy to hear a bell ring. I gathered up my things and beelined toward the door. I didn’t even wait for Xavier. I would just wait outside in the hallway. I had just reached the door when I heard Dr. Reed say, “Miss Harris, can you hang back a minute? I need to talk to you.”

  I groaned as several of my classmates flashed “better you than me” looks as they headed out the door.

  “Yes, ma’am?” I said, approaching the front of her desk.

  “One minute.”

  She waited until the last student had left the room before turning her attention back to me. “Miss Harris, do you want to tell me what’s going on? That eye-rolling? That’s not like you at all.”

  “I wasn’t rolling my eyes,” I protested.

  “Oh, so I guess I’m just crazy, huh?”

  I wanted to tell her yeah, but I wasn’t crazy either, so I remained silent.

  “Camille, you are one of my best students,” she continued. “I would be remiss if I didn’t warn you not to let fame go to your head.”

  “Huh?” I said. “I just won the talent show yesterday.”

  “I know that. I’m not saying that you have let anything go to your head yet. But you are too bright, too sweet and too levelheaded to get beside yourself, and I just wanted to give you a warning from the very beginning.”

  I gave her a reassuring, yet fake, smile. “Thank you, Dr. Reed. But seriously, me letting this video go to my head? I don’t think so.”

  “I hope so, Camille.”

  “I know so, Dr. Reed.”

  She nodded like she knew better. “Okay, go on to your next class.”

  She didn’t have to tell me twice. I hurried out the door. Me, getting beside myself? I was as grounded as they came. That was the last thing anybody had to worry about.

  5

  Alexis

  I could not believe my eyes. Camille was blinging from head to toe. She had on a cropped House of Deréon jacket, with some matching jeans. Crystals ran all up and down one leg and across the back of the jacket. She had on a tight baby doll tee with the word “Diva” spelled out in crystals across the front. She’d waltzed into the Good Girlz meeting late, with some gigantic Super Fly glasses on. But the thing that had our mouths open was the wild chestnut-colored weave hanging down her back. It had only been three days since she’d won the talent show, and she was already getting the big head. I glanced over at Jasmine and could tell she was about two seconds from telling Camille about herself.

  “Hey, you guys,” Camille sang as she slid into the chair behind me. Miss Rachel, who had been at the front of the room talking about today’s lesson, shot her a disapproving look.

  Not bothering to hide her frown, Jasmine surveyed Camille’s appearance. “Your mama called.”

  “What?” Camille asked, looking confused.

  Jasmine pointed to her head. “Your mama called. She said to tell you make sure you bring her mop home after the meeting.”

  “Oh, you got jokes,” Camille laughed. “You can’t tell me I don’t look fly.” She fluffed her weave.

  “Really, I can,” Jasmine said, turning back around in her seat. “As if the outfit isn’t bad enough, how many horses had to die for you to get that hair?”

  Camille patted her hair again. “Number one, it’s one hundred percent human, and number two, I’m trying a new look,” she said. “I sewed it in myself.”

  “I would hope you didn’t pay anyone for that,” Jasmine said. “If you did, let me know who they are so I can make sure I never go to them.”

  Camille was starting to get a little testy. “It’s not like you go to the beauty shop anyway. All that pretty hair and you keep it up in a ponytail,” she muttered. “But maybe if you save up all year, you can get a weave like this.”

  No, she didn’t go there. Camille knew Jasmine was sensitive about being poor. I needed to stop her before she said something that really set Jasmine off. Luckily, I didn’t have to, because Miss Rachel stepped in.

  “That’s enough, girls,” Miss Rachel said. “We only have an hour, and we are not going to spend it bickering.”

  We’d been in the middle of our weekly Good Girlz lesson when Camille had come strolling in. The meeting had started twenty minutes ago.

  “Nice of you to join us, Camille,” Rachel added.

  “No problem.”

  Rachel paused, then motioned toward Camille’s glasses.

  “Oh,” Camille replied, “you like?” She fingered the glasses. “My future is so bright I gotta wear shades.” She laughed.

  “You are soooo corny,” Jasmine huffed as me and Angel giggled.

  Miss Rachel sighed heavily. “Girl, take those glasses off. It’s bad enough that you come up in here late, then you want to act like you’re some kind of diva.”

  “Miss Rachel, haven’t you heard?” Angel chimed in. “She’s about to be a superstar.”

  “About to be ain’t the same as is,” Miss Rachel snapped as she walked over and removed Camille’s glasses herself. “And even if you are a superstar, show some respect for the House of the Lord.”

  We all giggled as Miss Rachel got on Camille. She needed it. She’d been trippin’ at school for the last two days. I knew she was loving all the attention she was getting, but I hoped this was just a phase she was going through.

  “Anyway, where were we?” Miss Rachel asked, returning to the front of the room.

  Angel raised her hand. “We were talking about how you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”

  We’d actually been having a good discussion before Camille had sauntered in.

  “That’s right,” Miss Rachel said. “And Camille is a prime example of that. If you didn’t know her but just looked at her outer appearance, what would you think?”

  We all turned to Camille.

  “Why you gotta use me as an example?” she whined.

  “I would think she’s a prima donna,” I said.

  “I would think she thinks she’s better than everybody else,” Angel added.

  “I would think she’d been playing with her Bedazzler again,” Jasmine said, referring to the arts and crafts gun they sell on late-night TV.

  “Shut up,” Camille snapped.

  “All right, Camille,” Miss Rachel warned.

  “Well, they’re the ones picking on me,” she said.

  “No one is picking on you. If you had been here, you would’ve known we’d been talking about how it’s necessary to look beyond what you see on the outside.”

  “Yeah, because if we didn’t, everyone would
think you’re a broke-down Beyoncé,” Jasmine offered.

  “Jasmine, that’s enough,” Miss Rachel snapped. “Stop antagonizing Camille. You’d be the main one ready to fight if the tables were turned.”

  “Yeah,” Camille echoed.

  That seemed to quiet Jasmine.

  “Sorry, Camille,” Jasmine mumbled.

  “It’s okay.” Camille patted her back. “I know you didn’t mean anything.”

  Jasmine looked at me and whispered, “But her hair is jacked up.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh as Miss Rachel continued talking.

  6

  Camille

  This was a dream come true. I was actually standing on the set of a real live video shoot. People were running back and forth, and the scene looked just like something out of Hollywood. We were filming in this club in the Galleria area. Alexis, Jasmine, Angel and I had come here straight from school. Luckily they let my friends come, because I was nervous as all get out.

  “Camille! Looking good, girl,” the producer said as she walked my way. Taraji didn’t sound genuine, but it was better than the funky attitude she had been giving me the night of the talent show.

  “Hi, Taraji,” I replied. “I’m so excited about being here.” I turned toward my friends. “By the way, these are my frien—”

  “So come on, we have to get you in hair and makeup,” Taraji cut me off, not giving my friends a second glance. She grabbed my arm and pulled me away. I looked at them helplessly while I tried to keep from stumbling as Taraji tugged on my arm.

  “Just one second, okay?” I told her, easing out of her grip. I hurried back over to my friends. “I’m sorry, guys,” I whispered.

  “Girl, don’t sweat it,” Alexis replied, waving me off. “This is your day.”

  I could tell Jasmine was POd by Taraji’s rudeness, but judging from the irritated look on Taraji’s face, I really didn’t have the time to be pacifying her. “Jasmine . . .”

  “Camille, time is money, baby,” Taraji said before spinning around and walking off.

  “Girl, go. She’ll be all right,” Alexis said, pushing me.

  “Yeah, I’m straight,” Jasmine finally said. “Go, go, go.”

  “Okay,” I said, breaking out into a big grin. “I’ll see you all in a bit.” I wished my girls could’ve come back in the dressing room with me, but Taraji had made it clear that while they could come to the set, they had to stay in a certain area. But they still had a full view of everything, so I’m sure it was all good.

  Taraji led me back to something called the green room. There she introduced me to a few people before sitting me down in the makeup chair. She went off to talk to some other people as the two women went to work on me.

  It was awesome to have the stylist fussing over my hair while the other woman applied my makeup.

  “All right, Camille. Did you have a chance to go over the song?” Taraji asked after she walked back over to me.

  “I sure did,” I said. I held up the CD she’d delivered the day after I’d told her my mom was going to let me be in the video.

  “I know it’s short notice, but tell me you have your verse down.”

  “Oh yeah, my verse and every other verse in the song.” I only had a couple of verses, but I had literally stayed up all night practicing that song. It was so tight. After I’d learned my part, I’d learned the whole song. I knew it by heart.

  “Good, that’s what I like to hear.” She clapped her hands together. “Tammy, where’s wardrobe?” she asked, looking around the room like she just realized the wardrobe person wasn’t there.

  “I don’t know. She was supposed to be here,” the makeup artist replied.

  Taraji huffed. “We are on a schedule. Why do you people not get that?”

  Before she could continue ranting, the door swung open. A young Asian woman with long blond hair came in holding a bunch of outfits.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she mumbled. “I just—”

  Taraji shot Tammy such a chastising look that Tammy didn’t bother finishing her sentence. Taraji snatched the clothes from her and held up a shiny fuchsia minidress. “No,” she said, tossing the dress on the floor. “No, no, and no,” she said, throwing three more items on the floor. She paused. “Yes.” She spun around to face me. “This is perfect.”

  My mouth fell open at the sight of the skimpy gold skirt. The skirt was super-mini, and it was connected to two wide, suspender-like straps. I took the dress and held the straps up.

  “These suspenders are kinda wide, huh?”

  Everyone chuckled as Tammy quickly scurried over to me. “No, that’s the top of the dress,” she said.

  “This is a dress?” I asked, my eyes wide.

  “The straps crisscross in the front and tie around the neck,” Tammy said, demonstrating for me.

  I scrunched up my nose in confusion. “What do I wear under this?”

  “Nothing, silly,” Tammy said, like I was just playing around. “The straps cross over your chest. We’ll tape them down.”

  “Excuse me?” I said. I’m sure the look on my face told her I was dead serious. “I . . . I can’t wear that.”

  “And why not?” Taraji said, turning her attention back on me.

  “It’s . . . I mean, there’s barely anything there,” I stammered.

  “And? Good grief, there’s not an ounce of fat on you. Why can’t you wear this?” Taraji snapped.

  “It . . . it’s just so skimpy.”

  “What did you think you’d be wearing? A turtleneck and a floor-length ruffled skirt?”

  “No, but—”

  “But nothing. Sam, hurry up with her hair. Mona, that lipstick is too bright. I need Camille on the set in fifteen minutes.” Taraji spun and walked out of the room.

  I fingered the outfit. There was no way I could wear this. Even if I was bold enough to wear it, my mom would so lose her mind when she saw it.

  Mona, the makeup artist, must’ve read my face. She said, “Girl, just wear the dress, or else they’ll think you’re difficult. And you don’t want to get on Taraji’s bad side.”

  “Yeah,” Tammy whispered like Taraji was still in the room. “They got rid of the last girl they called difficult.”

  Everyone in the room nodded their heads in agreement.

  Mona wiped the bright lipstick off my lips. “Just put the dress on, tell yourself it’s not as skimpy as it is, and do your thing. Taraji don’t play. She will pull you from this video in a minute.” She dabbed a darker pink gloss on my lips.

  “Maybe I can talk to Sisco,” I said after she was done.

  “Yeah, if you want to make her even madder,” Tammy said.

  “For real, the last thing you want to do is go over her head, number one,” Mona said. “And number two, if you go in there whining about the outfit, it’s not gonna be pretty.”

  I sighed, knowing they were right. I would have to suck it up, wear the outfit and pray my mom didn’t kill me.

  Fifteen minutes later, I walked out onto the set. Jasmine, Angel and Alexis were standing around the buffet table nibbling on snacks. Xavier, who had told me he didn’t know if he’d be able to get out of basketball practice, was standing next to them.

  “Oh, my God,” Angel said when I approached them.

  “So now you’re a video hoochie?” Jasmine asked. They were all staring me up and down.

  “Come on, guys,” I said, covering myself up with my arms. “I feel self-conscious enough as it is. They’re making me wear this.”

  “Well, at least your body is slamming,” Alexis said. Leave it to her to always try to find the positive in a situation.

  “Yeah, your body looks good, but does everybody have to see it?” Xavier snapped. His face was clouded with anger. “I mean, I haven’t even seen all of this, and now you’re getting ready to show it to the whole world?”

  Even though his basketball teammates had been giving him a hard time, Xavier and I hadn’t slept together. He respected my decision t
o wait and never pressured me to do anything I didn’t want to. So I could understand his anger at seeing his girlfriend half-clothed.

  “Are you for real? I mean, really, Camille?” he asked again as he continued to take in my outfit.

  “Babe,” I pleaded with him, “they’re making me wear it.”

  “Camille,” Taraji called from across the room.

  “I gotta go,” I said sheepishly. I needed Xavier to be with me on this, but judging from the look on his face, that wasn’t happening. I made my way back over to the set.

  “Dang, girl, I didn’t know you had it going on like that,” Sisco said as I walked up.

  One of the cameramen whistled and I felt so—I don’t know—cheap.

  Seeing my expression, Sisco asked, “What’s the matter?” He was sitting on the edge of one of the props, drinking a Red Bull as some man tried to adjust the lighting over his head.

  I shrugged, glancing back toward Taraji, who was standing right behind me. “I’m okay.”

  “She’s fine,” Taraji said. “She’s a professional, not some little high school girl.”

  “No, I can tell something’s wrong.” Sisco noticed me covering myself. “Oh snap, you all self-conscious?”

  I covered myself tighter. “Well . . . this dress. It’s kinda revealing. I’m a little classier than this.”

  “You don’t like the outfit? Why didn’t you say so?” He turned back to Taraji. “Get baby girl something else to wear.”

  “What?” she snapped.

  “I said, find her something else,” he said casually.

  “Sisco, we don’t have time for this,” Taraji protested. “The director is on a tight schedule.”

  “Come on, Taraji. If the girl ain’t comfortable, she’s not gonna do her best, and I need her game to be tight.”

  Taraji gritted her teeth and shot me an evil look, which Sisco noticed right away.

  “And don’t start trippin’ with her. She didn’t ask me to change it. I could just tell she was uncomfortable.”