by Nikki Carter
Manny says, “Dude, that was lame!”
Dreya and Truth burst into laughter, and I struggle very hard not to join them.
Big D says, “I’ll let you know when Big D in the A Records is auditioning for new talent. Keep practicing, dawg.” Surprisingly he keeps a straight face as he says this.
Bethany grabs Romell by the arm and pulls him out of the studio. And since it’s time to go we follow closely behind.
As I walk past him, Sam touches my shoulder. “Have fun, Sunday.”
I shudder as I look down at his hand on my bare skin. Why does he have to be here? Why is he standing here with his arm around my mother and touching my shoulder? Now, I just know that I’m not going to enjoy my prom—at all. I’m going to spend the entire evening thinking of this moment.
“Thanks, Sam,” I say and turn to go.
Dilly puts his arm around me as we walk to the limo. “It’s okay, Sunday. I know I’m not the one you want to share this evening with, but I hope you have a really good time anyway.”
I stop in my tracks. Dilly is so mature for a junior in high school.
“Don’t feel like that. I’m happy to be going with you,” I reply.
He lifts his eyebrows and grins, “Yeah?”
“Yep. Let’s go and turn this prom out!”
Dilly gives me a strange look, like he doesn’t believe what I’m saying. I mean, it’s not like he was my first choice by any stretch of the imagination, but that doesn’t mean he’s a bad choice. He’s cooler than cool, sweeter than sweet, and finer than fine.
That might have sounded lamer than lame, but I’m doing me right now. Know what I mean?
Okay, wow! Our prom should be called groupie central! Not only is everybody riding hard on Dreya and Truth, but they are hamming it up like crazy for the BET camera crew. Girls dancing all hard and popping their booties like it’s a casting call for the next Ludacris video, and dudes spitting random wack rhymes.
I’m embarrassed to be a student at Decatur High.
Dreya, on the other hand, is eating this up. She and Truth are in the center of a crowd like they’re the king and queen of the world and not just our prom. I fade to the side of the room with Dilly so that I can have a moment’s rest from the cameras.
“They really diggin’ Drama, huh?” Dilly asks. “Must be that single playing on the radio.”
“Pretty much. It doesn’t take much for this crew here,” I say.
Dilly laughs out loud. “Some people are just natural born groupies.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
He pulls a chair out from an empty table, and I take a seat. He sits down next to me. “Your girl Bethany seems like she likes the attention too.”
“Man, I think she likes it more than Dreya.”
“So what about you, Sunday? You don’t crave the spotlight?” Dilly asks.
“I like it, but I definitely don’t crave it.”
He laughs again. “At least you know what you want.”
“Right.”
The principal of our school, Ms. Washburn, takes the microphone on the stage and signals to the DJ to stop the music.
“Hey there, Decatur High seniors!” she calls out.
The senior class roars, claps, and stomps in response. They so ‘hood!
“We’ve got a special treat for the Decatur High class of 2010! Epsilon Records recording artists Truth, Drama, and Sunday Tolliver are going to perform tonight at your prom!”
I stand up in my seat and nearly knock my chair over. We’re going to do what, when, and for whom? Stop the dang presses. Didn’t nobody ask me about singing at my prom. This ain’t a concert!
Before I can raise too many objections, Dreya and Truth are on the stage, and the track to “Love Is” is blasting from the speakers. They seem so comfortable with all this that I have to wonder if they knew about it in advance, and if they did, what exactly would be the point of not telling me.
Of course, they get the crowd pumped, because that’s what they do. Dreya whips around her long dress as she sings, just like she practiced this whole thing, and Truth moves back and forth across the stage as if he had one or two rehearsals as well.
Something stinks to high heaven up in this piece.
When they’re done, everyone turns to look at me. And of course they do. They’re ready for the rest of the concert.
“You going up there?” Dilly asks.
“It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice.”
The crowd parts down the middle as I walk up to the stage, all eyes on me. I’m not nervous, because I’ve performed before. But I am wondering what people will think of my song. It’s nothing like Dreya’s, even though I wrote hers too.
Finally, I’m on stage and standing in front of the microphone. I look down and close my eyes until I hear the track start.
I hear the introductory bars of my masterpiece, and forget where I am and who’s staring at me. I just sway to the music, lean my head back, and open up my mouth.
By the time I get to the hook, I fade out of my trance and can hear my classmates clapping along with the beat.
By the second time I sing the hook, they’re singing along with me. “Can you see me? Can you see me? Tell me what you want me to do, ‘cause I wanna see me with you.”
When I finish the song, I give the Decatur High class of 2010 a tiny head nod. For a moment, there’s silence, but then they burst into applause.
And I don’t know if the BET cameras can tell the difference, but I’m pretty sure they’re cheering louder for me than they did for Dreya.
10
“So, how do you feel about going on tour with Truth and Sam after they got into the fight at the club?”
I’m in my first confessional with a BET producer named Chad. I can’t call him by name, or even act like I’m answering his question. These confessionals are supposed to sound like me giving random thoughts. And for real, why would I be willingly or randomly talking about that fight on BET?
“I feel cool about going on tour with Truth and Sam.”
I carefully choose my words. I know what happens on these reality shows. As soon as you say something halfway crazy, it ends up on the show. They’ll never catch me slipping.
“But what about their beef? Don’t you think that might be kind of uncomfortable?”
“There is no beef.”
“So are you and Sam back talking? He didn’t go to your prom, but are y’all together again?”
“Sam and I are really great friends.
The interviewer looks frustrated that I’m not giving him anything to work with. “So what about your cousin? Are you friends with her?”
I swallow and pause before answering. “We’re first cousins. She’s the closest thing I have to a sister.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Your question was stupid.”
Now Chad is frowning at me. I don’t care. He’ll have to edit that part out, I suppose.
“How do you feel about missing graduation?”
My eyes widen. “Excuse me? Missing graduation?”
“What? Big D didn’t tell you? They changed the first tour stop, and it falls on your graduation day.”
I stand up from the hard wooden stool they’ve got me sitting on and bust up out of the makeshift confessional booth.
“Sunday, we’re not finished,” Chad says.
“Later.”
I rip through the studio looking for Big D, and I find him in the lounge chilling on the leather couch with Shelly. They’re eating microwave popcorn, sipping on Coke, and watching a movie. Neither one of them look like they’re in the mood to deal with my tirade, but oh well. Big D should’ve told somebody something.
I stand directly in their line of sight to the TV and fuss. “You scheduled a concert on my graduation day, Big D?”
For a second Big D looks confused. “No, baby girl. You know that’s not how that went down. I didn’t change it. Epsilon Records found a new venue for y’all in Birmingh
am, so they moved the start date up.”
“When were you planning on telling me?” I ask.
“It just slipped my mind, I guess. I meant to tell you. It’s no biggie.”
I shake my head and feel my body tremble with rage. “What do you mean it’s no biggie? It’s my graduation! I’m my mother’s only daughter, Big D! I’m the only kid she’s gonna get to see walk across that stage with a cap and gown on. How could you?”
Big D looks irritated, but doesn’t move from his position on the couch. Shelly rolls her eyes like I’m wrecking her flow or something. Whatever! This is not a diva routine; I’m in trip out mode for real!
“It’s not like you’re not still getting your diploma,” Big D reasons. “Your mama gets to see you on stage singing for the world to see. You think she’s gonna care about some dry graduation ceremony?”
I cross my arms over my chest and nod. “I think she’s gonna care, just like I care.”
Big D clears his throat, hands Shelly the popcorn, and leans forward on the couch. He gives me that exasperated look that he usually saves for Dreya when she’s tripping on something. Well, maybe it’s time for someone else besides her to bring the drama.
“Baby girl, you’ve got a great opportunity right here that you’re trying to mess up. You can’t have it all, you know. Sometimes you gotta give to get.”
I feel hot tears stinging my eyes. I know what it means when Big D starts reasoning with me like this and calling me “baby girl.” It means that ain’t nothing gonna change, so I might as well suck it up.
“At least you got to go to prom,” Shelly says. “I was at a photo shoot on my prom night.”
My eyes dart over at her. “Do you regret missing it?”
She shrugs. “Maybe I did for a minute, but after a while I really didn’t care about it.”
“See,” Big D says, “You’ll forget all about this when you blow up. Matter of fact, we’ll have a graduation party while you’re on the road. How ‘bout that?”
How can I explain to Big D that while his offer is thoughtful, it’s not enough?
When I don’t reply, Big D continues, “You could always not go with us to Birmingham. You could meet us in the next city. It’s going to cost Epsilon Records money, and they’re not going to like it at all. It’s your decision.”
“My decision?” I ask in a tiny, tiny voice.
Big D shrugs and leans back into the couch cushions. “Yeah, so you do what you feel you gotta do. Now, can me and Shelly please finish watching this movie?”
I move out of their way and head back downstairs to finish my confessional. I’m on the verge of tears now, but I’m sure that Chad will parlay that into some drama-filled TV moment. It’s whatever.
Once I’m back sitting on the stool, Chad asks, “So, where were we? Graduation. How do you feel about missing it?”
“I don’t know how I feel about missing graduation, Chad. I don’t know if I’m going to miss it.”
Chad’s eyes light up as if I’ve given him something juicy to work with. I guess this will make for good reality TV. Too bad it’s my life we’re talking about here, and not a desperate housewife.
I know I’ve got to make a decision—and soon. Missing my graduation was nowhere on my agenda, but missing out on the tour and maybe even my music career? That’s not where I want to be either.
Why do I wish I had a friend right about now? Where my peeps at? It sure is lonely at the top.
I stumble out of the confessional booth, and Sam is standing right there, like he’s waiting on me. He’s got a really sympathetic look on his face, like he already knows what’s up. When he holds his arms out to me for a hug, I burst into tears.
I melt into his embrace and listen to his soothing whispers in my ear. “You know graduation isn’t really all that important, right? I’ll skip mine if you have to skip yours.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say as I look up into his face. “It’s bad enough I have to miss my own.”
“It’s called solidarity. Something friends do for each other.”
I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face if I tried. I do have some peeps after all.
Sam continues, “You never did give me one of your prom pictures.”
“You want a picture of me and Dilly at prom?” I ask.
“I want a picture of you in that green dress.”
11
I‘m having a marathon recording session at Zac’s house with Mystique, Sam, and Dilly. The plan is to get at least half of my songs completed before we go on our six-week tour. Then I’ll record the rest right before I start my freshman year of college.
Sounds like a lot, doesn’t it?
Sam and I have already worked on some melodies and hooks and created tracks to fit them. Mystique wrote me a song, too. It’s all right, not exactly what I’d call a hit, but I knew she’d leave her mark on my album. Now, it’s all on me to come up with the rest of the lyrics, and that’s easier said than done.
“You need water or something, Sunday?” Dilly asks. Since I’m working on a ballad today, we don’t even need him here, but I’m glad that he is. Any friendly face is welcome when I’ve got to deal with Mystique cracking the whip.
“Sing me the hook again,” Mystique says. She’s in all work mode now. Totally serious, hair weave tied back in a scarf, no makeup on.
I swallow, take a deep breath, and let loose, “You’ve got a need/to just believe/so just believe in you/A dream deferred can still come true/A dream deferred can still come true.”
“I like the way you sound on the hook. You sound so inspirational, like an old Whitney Houston song.”
“Thanks,” I reply, “but I’m having a problem with the verses. Everything I come up with sounds corny.”
“Let me take a stab at it,” Mystique says. “Play the track, Sam.”
Mystique closes her eyes as the music fills the room. Sam has created a lush, melodic piano track, and like me, Mystique can’t stand still while she listens to it. She rocks back and forth while her head bobs in time with the slow beat.
She sings, “Have you ever had your dream deferred and your life stays the same?/Have you ever woken up to find that nothing seems to change?/Did you just give up, just give in?/Think that you can’t win?/Or did you realize that tomorrow, your destiny can begin?”
Sam chimes in, “Just hold on/Don’t stop now/’Cause just around the corner there is a chance for you …”
I come back with the hook again, “You’ve got a need/to just believe/so just believe in you/A dream deferred can still come true./A dream deferred can still come true.”
Mystique claps her hands and jumps up and down. “I love it! Dilly, why don’t you help us on the second verse?”
Dilly? Does he sing too? Nobody mentioned that to me!
He clears his throat and closes his eyes, causing those gorgeous eyelashes to brush his cheeks. “I know it seems like tomorrow/might not ever come./But a champion might lose some games/before ever winning one.”
I jump back in, “Keep pressing on/keep going strong/Victory is in sight./You can only know what the end will be/if you step out on faith and try.”
Sam sings the bridge again, and then we all sing the hook. Mystique’s contralto, my soprano, Dilly’s alto, and Sam’s tenor make a wonderful sound. The harmonies are easy and perfect—just like a miniature choir.
Mystique says, “We might want to clean up the lyrics a bit, but I think I like it for the most part. Dilly and Sam, I want y’all to sing backup on this track. I like the sound of male voices on here. It makes it sound more soulful.”
When Dilly doesn’t say anything, we all stop and stare. He’s got a pained look on his face that seems so sorrowful that I reach out and touch his hand.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods. “It’s the words to this song. I mean, y’all are living out the dream, but mine, well, it’s kind of on the back burner. I guess it hit home a little bit.”
I swallow over t
he huge lump in my throat. He sounds so sad that it makes me want to cry!
“It’s coming soon, Dilly,” Mystique says. “You’ve just got to hold on a little bit.”
“I know. I’m cool. It was just the song, and Sunday’s voice I guess,” he replies.
Sam’s eyebrows knit together in a frown, but he doesn’t make a response. He taps a tune out on the keyboard, and looks at the floor.
Mystique’s eyes light up, and her mouth forms a little ‘o’ as if she’s just struck gold. “How about this, Dilly? Why don’t you go on the summer tour with us? You’d be a roadie, of course, but since Sam is the assistant music director now, we kinda need an extra one.”
“Are you serious?” Dilly asks, jumping to his feet.
“I am! You’ll learn a lot, and I’m sure you’ll end up on the reality show.”
Sam stops tapping the keys and looks up at me. I shrug and give him a confused expression. What am I supposed to do about Mystique inviting someone on the tour? She’s the princess of Epsilon Records, not me.
“Y’all cool with that?” Mystique asks. She looks from me to Sam as if she’s trying to read our unspoken signals.
“I’m cool with it,” Sam says. “But it’s not like anybody cares about my opinion anyway.”
“Everybody on this team matters,” Mystique says. “And that’s for real.”
I bite my bottom lip, because I’m deep in thought. Dilly going on tour with us is all good, and it’ll probably help move up his record release date, but what about Bryce and LaKeisha? Are they going to try to come too, and maybe even mug it up for the cameras on our reality show?
I know one thing. They haven’t built a tour bus big enough for me to ride on with that drive-by shooting Bryce.
12
Dreya’s eighteenth birthday is on this coming Wednesday, the day before we leave on our tour, and of course, she plans to have an all-out bash. She and Bethany have been planning for over a month, and I’ve caught a few snippets here and there, but pretty much everything has been top secret.
We just got a box in the mail addressed to Dreya. I’m thinking it’s either a gift or something related to her party. Since she isn’t here and Aunt Charlie is, my aunt feels it is her duty and right to open up mail addressed to her daughter.