by Nikki Carter
“I bet that looks hot on you,” Sam says.
“Yeah, it does.”
“So can you model it?” Sam asks.
I narrow my eyes angrily. I don’t know who this dude thinks he is, but his swagger ain’t all like that, where he’s gonna parade some other chick in my face and still think we’re cool. I don’t even think so.
“No, Sam. I cannot model it, because I will be returning it to the store.”
Sam hops down off the couch, tilts his head to one side, and sighs. “Sunday, don’t wreck your prom trying to get back at me. It only happens once.”
“It’s cool, Sam. I don’t really want to go.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t believe me, and it’s probably because I’m not convincing. Shoot, I don’t even believe myself. But there is no way in the world that I am going anywhere with him after he goes to prom with that Rielle girl.
I’m much too fly for another girl’s leftovers.
“So are you ready for Drama’s single to come out?”
Sam’s talking about the first song that he and I wrote for Dreya. It’s called “Love Is.” Just the mention of the song takes me back into the studio where we vibed really tough all day and night. We wrote Dreya’s entire album in one weekend, and I think that’s where the crush-like feelings began.
Well, Sam’s crush started then, but I wasn’t really on it at that time. If I had been, we’d be all boyfriended and girlfriended up right about now. Now all I’ve got is suspicions of him being lip-locked with a chicken named Rielle.
“I’m ready for the single to drop, because I’m ready to make number one and get this paper,” I say.
Sam leans on the wall, getting all comfortable again. I thought he was about to go home. I feel myself sigh out of bugaboo weariness. I’m so ready for him to go on somewhere. I’d like to go wallow in my dateless prom sorrow.
“That’s still all you care about?” he asks. “How about people hearing your music and thinking it’s fresh?”
I open my eyes wide and nod, like I’m thinking “duh!” “When people hear my music and think it’s fresh, they cop the ringtone and the MP3.”
“Too bad we aren’t collecting royalties.”
I frown. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have let you and Big D talk me out of all my rights for a piddly thousand dollars a song. But it’s whatever. Every song I write for my album, I’m getting paid in full.”
“We need to put in some more work on your record. When are you coming to the lab for an all-nighter?”
I shrug. “Maybe after prom, graduation, and all that.”
“I love your enthusiasm, Sunday. I get all excited just talking to you.”
His sarcasm is evident. But how does he expect me to be enthusiastic about being holed up in a room with him for twenty-four hours or more? He must have me confused with Rielle.
“You know what, Sam? I think you should just go now, before I say something that you’ll regret.”
Sam laughs out loud. “Always the tough one, right? You’re gonna have to let somebody in one day.”
“Maybe you’re right. But that day ain’t today.”
I walk Sam to the door and open it wide. I’m ready to get back to my peaceful, quiet afternoon. Maybe I’ll fantasize about walking across the stage at graduation or maybe I’ll dream about my first day on Spelman’s campus.
I can tell you what I won’t be daydreaming about—Sam and his raggedy, chicken prom date.
5
It is now, officially, the Saturday before prom and I still don’t have a date. Not that I’m looking for one, but I’m just saying. I’m dateless for senior prom, but maybe I’m hoping because I haven’t taken the dress back, nor have I gotten rid of my prom and after prom tickets.
But what am I hoping for?
Definitely not for Sam to kick Rielle to the curb. I wouldn’t go with him now if someone paid me. Well … maybe I would, if someone paid enough, but bottom line is no one is paying me to go to prom with Mr. Swagger America.
So maybe I’m not hoping for anything.
What I definitely am doing is chilling at Big D’s studio. Dilly and I just had a ridiculous jam session! I came with my A game, because he got his little flow on at Zac’s house, and I was too stressed to display anything I had.
He was impressed with my rhyming and singing skills, and the feeling was mutual. Dilly is super talented himself. I’m trying to figure out if he’s a foster kid or something, because he’s just too cool to be related to LaKeisha and Bryce.
Dilly takes a huge swig from his bottle of water. His eyes close while he guzzles, and those long, dark eyelashes brush against his cheek. He’s got little pieces of fruit floating in his water bottle, kind of a girly thing to do, I think. Even though he’s hot, I actually subtracted swag points for the strawberries in the water.
“You are so lucky to be working with Mystique,” Dilly says. “My album has been on hold forever, but your stuff will be out soon.”
“Is that because of Mystique?” I ask, not exactly sure what he’s getting at.
“Heck yeah. Zac’s label has like fifty artists all trying to put out albums. And everybody just can’t come out at the same time.”
“And that’s holding you back?”
“Yeah, like there’s not enough promo money for everyone to come out at the same time, so we gotta wait. I’m like last in line.”
I guess this makes sense. “But can you get moved up in line? What if Zac thinks you’ve got something really hot?”
Dilly grins. “Yeah, that’s why I’m hoping you’ll collaborate with me. You’re what’s up right now.”
“Nah, Dreya and Truth are what’s up. They’re still trying to figure out what to do with me.”
Dilly shakes his head. “You are like a quadruple threat, ma. You’ve got to know that. Drama won’t be around for a long time, but you will.”
“That’s what they keep telling me. But enough shop talk. Tell me something about you.”
He shrugs and gives me that sweet grin again. “Like what?”
“Tell me how you came up with Dilly for a rap name?”
“Girls always be calling me silly when I’m tryin’ to holla. They be like, you so silly! So I just picked something that rhymed.”
I get tickled, even though I don’t want to. I don’t really want to like this guy. I keep remembering who he calls family. It’s not hard to hate them, but it’s getting really hard to hate Dilly.
As if he’s reading my thoughts he says, “Listen, I know you’re feeling some kind of way about working with me. I get it. I would feel crazy about this too.”
“So you’re saying your brother and sister really did have Carlos shot?”
He throws both hands up. “Naw. I ain’t sayin’ that. But I know that’s what you think.”
“So what are you saying? Because for real, helping you blow up means helping them blow up, and I can’t sleep at night if I’m giving a hookup to Bryce.”
Not to mention that chump still has my college tuition money. But I’m not going there with Dilly. They’re already way too deep in my mix.
“What I’m saying is, Carlos isn’t all that innocent.”
“You saying he had that coming to him?”
Now this dude is about to really make me mad. I know that everything Carlos does isn’t necessarily on the up and up, but he’s good to my mother, and just a good person all around. He’s not the villain of this story.
“I’m not saying he had it coming to him, but I know for a fact, he’s done some dirt.”
We sit quietly for a moment, while I let this sink in. I’ve never thought Carlos was a saint, but for him to be dirty like Bryce and them? I can’t see it.
“Can we just not let their drama have anything to do with us?”
“Like the Montagues and the Capulets?”
Dilly nods and smiles. “Exactly like them. You like Shakespeare?”
“Romeo and Juliet. Required reading, dude,” I say with a c
huckle. “I’m more into contemporary African American writers.”
“Gotcha. But, for real, I don’t care about the beef our families have. I think you’ve got mad vocal skills, and your lyrics are fiyah. I want to work with you.”
“You got skills too, boy. I ain’t gonna lie.”
“So let’s do this.”
His cuteness has just inspired me to ask him something that I’ll probably regret, but I’m doing it anyway.
“Do you want to go to prom with me? I know it’s last minute, but I’m dateless.”
Dilly’s eyes widen with what looks like shock. “A hottie like you? Dateless for prom? That’s messed all the way up.”
“It’s a long story. You down or what?”
“I’m only a junior. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, that’s cool.”
“You a cougar?” Dilly cracks up.
“Right. I’m a cougar! Boy, I’m wearing green, so find yourself something that matches.”
“I can do that.”
For a long moment, Dilly and I stare at each other as if we’re waiting on birds to sing or something. What I see on his face is innocence, I think. Did I mention that it’s really hard for me to hate him?
Our moment is interrupted by Big D, Truth, Dreya, Sam, and Bethany, who burst into the studio room completely uninvited. And noisy too. Just rude.
“Here y’all are,” Big D says. “We’re waiting on y’all so we can have our summer tour meeting.”
I watch as Sam narrows his eyes and glares at Dilly. I hope he doesn’t think he’s got anything to say about anything! I’m not his chick.
“We weren’t hiding,” I reply. “Are we gonna meet down here?”
Truth says, “We don’t need Dilly for this, though. Were y’all finished?”
“Actually, he can stay,” Big D says. “He’s not going on tour with us, but he needs to hear this news from BET.”
Truth looks twisted, but straddles one of the keyboard benches. Bethany and Dreya move across the room together, like Dreya’s on a catwalk and Bethany’s her shadow. They even sit down on the leather couch like two synchronized swimmers. The only difference I see is that Bethany is beaming over at Dilly. Dreya’s looking all nonchalant like she wishes the meeting was over already.
Sam chooses to stand I guess, because he puts his back against the wall and posts up. He gives me a little head nod, and I return the gesture. There’s all kinds of tension up in this spot, and none of it is coming from me or Dilly. We’re cool as what.
Big D says, “Y’all should be pumped at how excited BET is about this reality show. Since Sam and Truth’s fight video on YouTube is up to a hundred thousand hits, they upped the number of episodes.”
Truth grins and shakes his locs out of his face. “That’s what’s up,” he says.
“Now they want to do a countdown to the tour special,” Big D continues. “They want to follow y’all around in the weeks before the tour. We’ve set it up so that the cameras can come into the costume fitting at Ms. Layla’s boutique. They’re also going to hang around here at the studio for rehearsals, and they’re sending a camera crew with y’all to prom.”
Sam lifts an eyebrow. “You going, Sunday? If it’s gonna be on BET then you have to go.”
“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do,” I reply, “but it just so happens that I am going to prom. Just not with you.”
Big D laughs. “Hey y’all, save it for the cameras!”
Bethany says, “I don’t know if my dress is fly enough for TV! I might have to pick something else out.”
“As long as you don’t try to pick something platinum. That’s my color,” Dreya says, with a strong dose of evil side eye to let Bethany know she’s serious.
“We should all go in the same limo,” Truth suggests. “And have the cameras posted up on the inside.”
“I thought we were renting a Lambo!” Dreya whines. “I can’t be seen going to prom in an average limo.”
Big D frowns. “Everyone can fit in a limo, including the BET cameras that they plan to mount on the ceiling. That ain’t going down in a Lambo.”
Dreya shrugs and asks, “But isn’t it going to be weird with Sunday not having a date?”
“She has a date,” Dilly says. “I’m going with her.”
Truth frowns. “Then dead what I said about us all riding together. I can’t be seen chilling with the competition.”
So Truth is looking at Dilly like he’s competition? Wow. We’re all on the same record label, so shouldn’t they be like partners?
“I can’t touch you right now, Truth. It’s all you,” Dilly says.
I can’t tell if Dilly is being sincere or if he’s just stroking Truth’s massive ego. Me personally, I think that Dilly can rap circles around Truth. But since nobody is asking me, I’m not bringing up my opinion on the matter.
Big D nods. “Listen, the limo thing is a good idea. I like it, and Dilly can roll too. But before y’all start planning a little prom night spree, let me give y’all the scoop from Epsilon Records. No underage drinking. Not champagne, not a wine cooler, nothing. No cussing. No hooking up on camera.”
Truth laughs out loud. “Then what am I gonna be doing? You just took out my major activities.”
Big D glares at Truth. “I’m not kidding on the underage stuff. Until you’re twenty-one, I better not see you drinking.”
“You ain’t my daddy!” Truth blurts, and then cracks up laughing.
“Epsilon Records has sponsors for the tour, and they’re more worried about them than your swagger, so keep it clean,” Big D says.
“Not trying to be funny,” Dreya says, “but isn’t this gonna be a boring reality show?”
“It doesn’t have to be. Just be yourselves when the cameras are rolling,” Big D advises. “Dreya, Sunday, and Bethany, Mystique will be here soon to pick y’all up to go to Ms. Layla’s boutique.”
“So we’re going to start filming our reality show tonight?” I ask.
My hand self-consciously goes to the high ponytail on the top of my head. I mean, I look cute with a round-the-way-girl kinda swag, but this look is definitely not made for TV.
Big D says, “Yes, tonight. It’s gonna go quickly. We’ll be filming the countdown to the tour show for two weeks, and then we’ll film the entire six-week summer tour. BET will stretch it out and make it last the whole fall TV season.”
“They’re gonna be at graduation too?” Dreya asks.
“Yeah. Are you graduating?” Big D asks.
This is a very valid question. Last time I heard, Dreya had a solid D+ average, and was ranked in the bottom five percent of our class. The only people below her were the juvenile delinquents. Even the kids in special education outranked Dreya.
Dreya gives Big D the hand. “Yeah, I’m graduating. All of my teachers signed my final grades.”
Truth walks over to where Dreya is sitting, throws his arm around Dreya’s neck and pulls her close. He kisses her on the neck and says, “That’s what’s up, baby.”
“For real? Aunt Charlie is gonna be pumped,” I say. “Congratulations, Dreya. I didn’t think you were gonna make it.”
“Shut up, Sunday. Don’t try to act like I’m stupid. I don’t do well in school, but it’s by choice. I’m not stupid.” Dreya rolls her eyes and pouts like I’ve really hurt her feelings.
I blink about one hundred times while giving her my tight-lipped stare. Not doing well in school on purpose. Isn’t that the definition of stupid? She said it, not me.
Big D stands up from his wooden stool and stretches like he’s been working on the railroad somewhere. “One more thing, y’all. This is really important. Don’t ever, ever, make any reference to the cameras while you’re filming. You can only look into the camera when they do those confessional things.”
“So we pretend that the camera isn’t there? Isn’t there gonna be like a whole crew?” Bethany asks. “The camera loves me, so how am I supposed to just ignore it?”
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Can somebody please ice this chick? I mean, really. Too absurd that she has a comment about this reality show. She’s lucky to even be on there.
“Bethany, you better not say anything stupid on camera, or you’re off the show,” Dreya says. “And yeah, I can fire you, because you’re only doing this because you’re my personal assistant. Speaking of which, can you fetch me a beverage? My throat is parched.”
Everyone looks from Bethany to Dreya and back to Bethany. I’m wondering if she’s ever going to stand up for herself! Dreya wouldn’t get out on me like that. I wouldn’t care how many record deals she had. She’s clowning for real.
Big D says, “You need to stop with that diva act, Drama. She ain’t on the clock right now.”
“Why I gotta be acting like a diva?” Dreya asks. “I’m thirsty for real. She’s supposed to be my assistant.”
Bethany stands up from the couch. “It’s cool. I’ll get it. You want Sprite, right?”
“Yeah.”
Bethany starts to walk away, but then she turns to Dreya and asks, “Don’t you have anything else to say?”
I cover my mouth to keep from giggling. If she’s waiting for Dreya to say the magic word, she’s gonna be standing there until the end of days.
Dreya bites her lip as if she’s thinking really hard. Then as if the light finally went on in her brain, her eyes widen, and she smiles.
“You’re right,” she says. “Make sure you put it in a tall glass with ice.”
Dreya pulls out her iPhone and starts texting or whatever she’s doing, like she didn’t just treat Bethany like her name was Kunta Kinte.
Bethany narrows her eyes into little slits and glares at Dreya, like if she wasn’t trying to get a record deal herself, she’d be smacking Dreya all upside her head. I really wish she would, because that would be super funny. And the best part is that Dreya would fire her if she did that, and then I wouldn’t have to see her backstabbing face every time I turn around.
Big D frowns at Dreya too, and shakes his head. “Truth, Dilly, Sam, it’s a wrap. Y’all can hang if y’all want to, but I’ve got to take Shelly to a concert.”
“Look at you, Big D,” Bethany purrs on her way out of the room. “Taking your lady out like a true don is supposed to. I wish I had a man like you.”