“Oh no.” I let my concern show. Drama in my own love life was all I could bear. Pam and Jake couldn’t be having relationship trouble—not now.
“Well, he is!” Pam stressed. “His parents flew back to the Philippines for a family wedding, so he and his immature brothers are trying to plan a house party sometime this week. Maybe even tonight.”
“Huh?” I was confused. “Why don’t they just wait for Friday or Saturday night?”
“Well, ’cause his parents know who they’re dealing with and they’re coming back Friday morning.”
I choked on a chuckle. “That’s hilarious.”
“Yeah, gurl,” she agreed. “And them knuckleheads are trying to enlist me and my fabulous party-planning skills. I will not be an accomplice to a bad plan.”
“Why do you think it’s a bad plan?”
“For starters, they expect fifty people to be able to party into the wee hours on a weeknight without the neighbors getting suspicious. Their parents have the Filipino community on them like neighborhood watch. Just yesterday I caught their mom’s friend cruising by the house.”
“Hilarious,” I repeated.
“But they’re not heeding my warnings because they think I’m being dramatic.”
“Well, now, little boy who cried wolf, now that the wolves are really salivating, no one believes you.”
“I know.” Pam pretended to sob and I put my arm around her for a quick hug.
“There, there,” I cooed. “Just think of it this way—you’ll get to say ‘I told you so’ when this is all over.”
That made Pam smile.
“Hey, London,” Trish, a classmate from my history class, said as she approached us. “Great styling skills. Pam’s influence rubbing off on you?”
“Of course, it is, dahling!” Pam forgot about her trouble.
“But what I’m dying to know is, what got you so upset that you stormed out on everything?”
I was wondering when that was going to come up. When I checked the site’s message boards that morning, a few people were asking the same thing.
“Uh—,” I started.
“London had to bounce for personal reasons,” a quick-thinking Pam said, beating me to the punch. What would I do without her?
“Oh, word?” Trish was too curious for her own good.
“Word,” Pam answered and kept things moving. “Coming to the game at North Side High tonight?” she asked Trish.
“No, but good luck tonight, London.” Trish accepted Pam’s answer and took her cue to move on. “And good luck this weekend at Chic Boutique.”
“Thanks,” I finally managed to say.
Once Trish was out of earshot, I told Pam, “I shouldn’t have walked out on that competition if I couldn’t stand up to the consequences on my own.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, “you can handle the next one—I promise.”
Later that evening, I was in full uniform, ready for our game against North Side High, Kelly’s high school in the neighboring town. I was hoping she wouldn’t show up to the game, because I was not ready to run into her.
Even though I was excited about the game, a part of me was heartbroken about Brent. He was so enthusiastic about watching me play. That got me wondering, What if he shows up here tonight? Like a glutton for disappointment, I scanned the crowd. But, of course, I didn’t see him. Sitting near the top of the bleachers were Pam and Jake chatting up a storm, obviously debating the house party idea. While Coach Pat gave our team one extra courtside chat in a huddle, my eyes wandered and landed on Kelly sitting a few rows back. Of all the places to sit as a North Side student, why did she choose the bleachers behind us, the visiting team?
Just then, Rick walked over and took the open spot next to Kelly. Rick had never been much of a Kelly fan, so he didn’t say hello to her when he noticed she was nearby. He beamed me a smile and I nodded in acknowledgment.
As I headed to the court, someone two rows behind Rick and Kelly caught my eye. Brent was sitting there, waving to get my attention.
When it was clear to Brent that I was looking at him, he held up a handmade sign that read OLYMPICS 2016 OR BUST.
I smiled in spite of myself. A warm sensation filled my cheeks.
It was just the mental boost I needed right at that moment. I uncrossed my arms, sat up, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Brent’s sign was a sign. It was encouragement to get right back on the track I had allowed myself to stray from. Not to mention, it was a sign that Brent was as sincere as I originally thought he was. He was here in support of me. I didn’t catch his familiar camera bag on or near him. He was here as a friend, not as a photographer. That made me feel even better.
That good feeling was short-lived. As soon as she noticed her good fortune of being seated near ex and future boyfriends, Kelly seized the golden opportunity. She made herself known to both of them. And then, in the biggest WTF moment, she introduced Rick to Brent. I wondered what she was saying to them, because she was talking a mile a minute and gesturing to me.
Then it was Rick who took over the conversation. From the way he was smoothing down his invisible goatee and nodding in my direction, I could tell he was posturing—big time. Now he was bumping his fist to his heart and gesturing to me. It didn’t take a lip reader to know that Rick was trying to get Brent riled up. I was sure he was bragging that we recently got reacquainted with each other. But there was bound to be some exaggeration in anything he was saying. The showy Rick was back in all his big-headed glory.
Rick’s plan appeared to work. Brent’s jaw tightened and he lowered the sign he’d made for me.
I sucked in air so fast that I choked on it and started coughing.
“You okay, L?” the team captain asked me.
I wasn’t okay. Rick played me again. Just because his relationship failed, he was out to sabotage mine. How could this be happening? I coughed a few more times before clearing my throat.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
The whistle blew in the next second and I sprang into action. I punched the ball like it was Rick’s face. But the true person I was mad at was myself. I was the one who allowed Rick to take me for this ride, knowing he could not be trusted. I was the one who was gullible.
The passion that I was playing with wasn’t a good thing. A few times, I hit the ball so hard, I knocked it out of play.
“C’mon, London,” I heard Coach Pat bark. “Focus!”
It was my turn to serve. North Side High’s cheerleaders led the crowd in an annoying chant in their effort to break my concentration. I threw the ball in the air, raised my right arm above my head, and swung my balled fist at it, sending the ball straight to … the net. I couldn’t shake off the betrayal I felt and it was screwing with my game.
“Let’s go, London,” Pam screamed at the top of her lungs.
For my second serving attempt, I got the ball over the net, but it landed out of play.
“Damn!” I shouted to myself.
The crowd cheered my mistake. My teammates got into position in preparation for North Side’s serve.
Our opponents nailed their serve, which kick-started a volley. I managed to hit the ball over when it came to me, but the next time it headed my way, I dove for it and missed. The crowd roared for North Side’s point.
Because of my mistakes, we ended up losing that first set.
Coach Pat had me sit out the next set. I’ve sat out sets before, but never for this reason. It was clear that I’d lost my cool out there and my choices were costing the team. After working so hard to be recognized as a key player this year, I’d blown it by getting all reactionary and emotional.
Even after Rick publicly dumped me, I didn’t truly let loose the anger and hurt I felt. I just kept things moving, for fear of how other people would react to my reaction. I didn’t want to feed the rumor mill in any way, shape, or form. It made me even more of an expert at burying my feelings. To think, after holding in my emotions so well and for so long, Kelly
played a role in my releasing them two times in four days!
I scolded myself. My arms folded across my chest, I silently fumed and watched my team struggle not to lose the second set.
By the time the next set started, Coach Pat had me continue to sit the game out. I didn’t blame her. The game was tied right now and I had proven to the team that I was a risk to them today. This just motivated me to work harder next time.
I looked over at Brent again. Now Kelly was talking to him. Rick, meanwhile, was sitting back with a smug look on his face. My heart started racing.
If only life, like school hallways, came equipped with a “break glass in case of emergency” feature. Only a fire drill would save me from what Brent was about to hear. Think, London, think! There was nothing I could do from where I was sitting. And to run over there and stop them from meeting would just turn this moment into a bad classic-TV sitcom.
Instead, I mapped out the worst-case scenario. The worst that could happen was Kelly telling Brent that I was just a competition junkie using him for info.
I felt like a sitting duck. It was a good thing Brent seemed to have the patience of a saint. Either that, or he was all about gamesmanship—not letting anyone make him lose his cool. But I didn’t have a clue how far Kelly or Rick would take this. They were double-teaming him.
Brent’s face suddenly dropped as Kelly and then Rick yammered on and on. “Are you okay, London?” a teammate asked me. I was gnawing on my lower lip and wringing my hands in anxiety. People must have thought I’d straight-up lost my mind today.
“Y-yeah, thanks,” I managed to get out.
“It’s gonna be okay—everybody has a bad day on the court sooner or later,” she said, her voice coated with kindness. It was sweet of her to try to cheer me up. I looked away from the car wreck for a few seconds to give her a smile of thanks.
When I looked back at Brent, he was mouthing off something to Rick, who obviously took offense to what was said. Rick sprang up and grabbed Brent’s homemade sign, held it up, and ripped it in two. Intending to rush over to put an end to this, I got out of my seat at the same time Brent did. The guys stood there mean mugging each other, waiting for the other to take the first swing. I got as far as the bottom row of the bleachers before someone grabbed my arm.
“Where the heck are you going, young lady?” It was Coach Pat wearing a scowl on her face. “Have you lost your mind?” Slowly coming to my senses, I glanced around and saw my teammates on the bench staring at me, waiting for an explanation. When I searched the stands for Brent, he was gone. Only Kelly and Rick stood there looking tickled, like they were at a comedy show. It was clear that the joke was on me.
At the referee’s whistle, the game continued on as if nothing had happened. For once I was glad for North Side’s loud cheerleaders. They distracted the crowd with some hometown cheer that everyone in the bleachers chanted along with. Coach Pat benched me for the rest of the game. Mortified, I sat there in miserable silence and watched our team lose.
Aside from Coach Pat’s stern earful to me, my teammates didn’t bring up my foolishness on the school-bus ride back to Teawood. I guess they could tell that I was distraught enough over everything.
When we got dropped off at school, Rick had the nerve to be there waiting for me. As soon as I stepped off the bus, I marched right to him.
“What do you want?” I demanded to know. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”
“Yo, L.” He actually looked surprised by my anger. “I just wanted to make sure you had a ride home.”
“Oh, c’mon, Rick. Why don’t you be honest for once? We both know that what you really wanted was to screw me over with Brent.”
“It’s not even like that,” he lied with a straight face. “Anyway, I was hoping that me and you could get back together—”
“What?” I cut him off. “Let’s not even go there. First of all, I’m over you. I’ve moved on and now I really like someone else. And secondly, even if there was a chance, do you really think you deserve to get back with someone you cold disrespected? Uh-uh. That’s not the way things work with me.”
Rick had nothing to say. He looked embarrassed, like a child in time-out.
Just then, my dad’s car pulled up next to us. Perfect timing.
“You really need to check yourself,” I told him. There was nothing more to say. I turned around and stepped into the car. Rick stood there and watched us drive away.
Sixteen
I didn’t hear from Brent until the next day. After obsessing all night about what it was that he found out, all I got was a short, cryptic text from him: Tha judges know evrythg. B careful.
I didn’t know exactly what that meant.
“Maybe the judges know that you have a crush on Brent,” Pam said during our powwow that evening in my room.
“I would die,” I wailed, burying my face in my pillow.
“Now who’s the one being dramatic here?”
“I know—how did I get this way?”
“First, you’re styling better than you thought possible, and now you’re believing that the sky is falling. I do believe Trish is right—I’m rubbing off on you.”
“How do you think the judges will react to the crush news?” I couldn’t think about anything else.
“Well, I don’t see how they didn’t expect it. The guy’s a cutie and he’s in the same age group as the contestants. Maybe they’ll just slap you on the wrist and call it a day.”
I hoped Pam was right. It was bad enough that news about my feelings was probably being broadcast all over Teawood, but for it to be picked up as some behind-the-scenes competition story would be unbearable.
“Gurl, need I remind you that you are one of the three finalists?” Pam sprang up from the window seat full of energy. She was done with helping me drag out the pity party. “You just strut your long legs in there on Saturday and keep doing what you’ve been doing. Represent and be yourself! There are mad people rooting for you.”
I pouted and continued finger combing the long tassels on the edge of the pillow in my lap.
“Now let’s go lie to your parents about why we need to leave the house at this school-night hour. I have to get there early to help Jake make the party punch.”
I nodded.
“You know y’all are crazy, right?”
“Crazy in love like Beyoncé and Jay-Z, gurl.” She yanked me off my bed.
Week five of the competition was minutes away. My dad drove me to Chic Boutique at 7:45 a.m. on Saturday morning. My mom sat beaming in the passenger seat the whole short ride to the shopping district. “Go get ’em, baby girl,” my dad said as I climbed out of the car.
I took a deep breath before walking into the store. My reflection in the glass door showed a determined girl. My hair looked extra funky in the faux-hawk—my new favorite steez. I was rocking my maroon cable-knit sweater dress with the cowl neck. I was getting the hang of wearing a dress more than four times a year. Besides, I’d come to learn that feeling good about how I look is a confidence booster. And I needed all the help I could get today.
The breezy October morning called for a pair of ribbed black tights. I was grateful my kitten-heeled ankle boots were low enough to manage. I couldn’t let anyone catch me taking clumsy steps if I was planning to walk out of there with my dignity intact.
All I had to do was make it through the day and then I could go back to my regular life. The last time the judges saw me, they’d watched, puzzled, as I exited the boutique without so much as a “peace out” to them. I had given up, which totally wasn’t my style. I couldn’t go out like that. No matter how bad things got, I wanted to finish what I’d started. The last thing I had left was my character and I wouldn’t let anybody’s wicked prank take that away from me.
There was more activity than usual inside the boutique. Lights were set up around the judges’ station and there were four chairs instead of three lined up behind it.
Kelly was there already, and so was Pix
ie. I was usually the early one, so I was sure they were wondering if I’d show up at all.
A superbright light turned on just as I took my usual place next to the leather jacket fixture. I looked over to see Brent adjusting the silver lighting umbrella over the center counter. He seemed focused on his job and oblivious to my presence. He didn’t look my way. I didn’t want to be caught staring at him so I returned to people watching.
There were folks there that I didn’t recognize. A sophisticated woman who wore her tan trench coat like a dress was directing a crew of three people carrying large video cameras on their shoulders.
Lawd, don’t let me find out this thing is gonna be televised or something.
A tiny dancer in clown-face makeup must’ve been krumpin’ on my nerve endings because they felt all out of whack. It was one thing to be photographed—you could play off your aversion to spontaneity. But no one could hide in moving pictures. I am horrible at making speeches in front of crowds. As nerdy as it sounds, the only time I don’t mind public speaking is in math class. I can go on for days explaining my journey through word problems or algebraic equations. Talking about myself in front of a crowd and in front of cameras is something I can’t do.
“Good morning, good morning” rang out Didier’s cheerful greeting. It was a relief hearing a familiar voice in all of these surprises. He approached us from behind and walked briskly in the direction of the center counter. The strong aroma of his morning latte wafted to my nose as he rushed by. When he got to his seat, Didier took a slow gulp of his drink before addressing the three of us.
“Welcome, Maya, Kelly, and London, to this final week of the Chic Boutique Model Search.” Didier was obviously putting on a show and acting extra formal for the cameras. “We’re gonna get started in just a minute.” He maintained eye contact with Maya and Kelly but barely looked my way. That awful outsider feeling crept back. “We’re just waiting for the lovely Miss Cynthea Bey to join us. She’s on her way.”
An audible gasp escaped from both Maya and Kelly. As for me, I couldn’t have been hit with more of a reason to panic. But instead, I controlled my breathing and reminded myself that I was a top finalist and would behave like one. In just under two hours, it would all be over and I could head home knowing that I didn’t let anyone push me out of the competition. No matter how uncomfortable things got, I promised myself that I would not run away from this. I would woman up and end this thing properly. If they asked me to leave, then I would leave. But not a moment before.
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