All the Wrong Moves

by Nikki Carter

  My mother says, “Charlie, I don’t think you should open that. What if it’s one of Dreya’s birthday presents? She wouldn’t appreciate you opening that.”

  Aunt Charlie looks like she is considering my mother’s warning. Then, she lifts the box up into the air and shakes it.

  “This don’t sound like no present,” Aunt Charlie decides. “It sounds like cards or something.”

  “Isn’t opening someone else’s mail a federal offense?” I ask my mother. She should know, since she works at the post office carrying mail herself.

  “Yes, it is, but since Dreya is her minor daughter, I don’t think anyone would be able to press charges.”

  “That’s right! So mind ya bidness, Sunday, and hand me a knife so I can cut this tape.”

  I slide Aunt Charlie a butter knife from the table and have a seat. As long as she’s the one who’s opening Dreya’s mail, I want to see what it is too.

  “What in the …?” Aunt Charlie pulls a postcard out of the box.

  Aunt Charlie’s got such a crazy expression on her face that my mother and I both reach into the box and pull out a card too.

  Immediately, I see why Aunt Charlie is looking crazy. The cards are invitations to Dreya’s birthday celebration at Club Pyramids. She’s standing on some kind of platform wearing a very skimpy bathing suit. Her hair and body look wet in the black-and-white photo, and the only streak of color is red lipstick.

  Dreya looks like a video vixen in this photo. It’s waaay too seductive for my taste, and apparently for Aunt Charlie’s too, because she looks ready to explode.

  “Oh my, she sure looks sexy,” my mother says.

  “She looks like a stripper,” Aunt Charlie replies. “I’m breaking my foot off in somebody’s behind.”

  “Whose behind? Dreya’s? She’s the one who took the picture,” I say. “You can’t blame anyone else for this but her.”

  Aunt Charlie shakes her head and waves a stack of postcards in the air. “Nah, this here ain’t my baby’s doing. This was Truth and Big D. They trying to pimp my baby out.”

  “I doubt if Big D has anything to do with this,” I say.

  “What makes you think that?” Aunt Charlie grills. “It ain’t like he’s a saint or something.”

  “Oh, I didn’t say that. But I know that Big D is real pressed about our tour sponsors. He would’ve nixed that with a quickness.”

  “Give me some scissors, Sunday,” Aunt Charlie says.

  “Why? What are you gonna do?” I ask.

  “Just hand me the scissors!

  I walk into the kitchen, reach into the utility drawer, and retrieve my mother’s craft scissors. I walk back toward Aunt Charlie with my hand outstretched, but I’m almost afraid to hand them to her while she’s looking so angry. Her face is wearing a scowl that makes her look like a pit bull.

  When I continue to hesitate, Aunt Charlie snatches the scissors from my hand. She picks up about ten cards from the box and begins to cut them every which way. Then she grabs another stack and does the same thing. She looks down at the cut pieces on the table and stabs at the picture with the scissors.

  “Hey!” shouts Dreya as she and Bethany walk through the front door. “Are those my invitations?”

  Fortunately, Dreya got here before Aunt Charlie de- stroyed the whole box of postcards. Unfortunately, the BET crew is following her and getting all of the action on film.

  “They were your invitations,” Aunt Charlie replies. “You aren’t handing out these filthy-looking things.”

  “Filthy? What do you mean filthy? This picture is fly as what!” Dreya pulls the box out of Aunt Charlie’s grasp.

  “Fo’ sho’,” Bethany says. “You look hawt on this postcard. All them chickens gonna envy you when they see it.”

  “Dreya, why would you want to have your body exposed like that?” my mother asks. “My sister raised you better than that.”

  Dreya rolls her eyes and sucks her teeth. “There you go, Auntie Shawn, being all dramatic. My mama mighta raised me some kind of way, but I’m ‘bout to be grown. It’s a whole lot of changes going down once I turn eighteen.”

  “What kind of changes?” Aunt Charlie asks.

  Bethany clears her throat and looks away like she doesn’t have anything to say. She sure was bumping her gums a few seconds ago, and now she’s all speechless.

  “Number one, I’m moving out. When our tour is over, my own crib is gonna be waiting for me. Number two, ain’t nobody handling my money but me. I’ve already opened up bank accounts in my name only.”

  Aunt Charlie has this dumbfounded look on her face like Dreya just slapped her or something. I’m not surprised at all about this. Like who didn’t know that she was moving out? She’s probably moving in with Truth.

  “You’re moving in with that lowlife, aren’t you?” my mother asks.

  “If you’re talking about my boyfriend, he is not a lowlife. He is a platinum recording artist,” Dreya argues.

  “I don’t care how many records he sells, he’s a lowlife to me.”

  Dreya puffs her cheeks out and then blows the air out of her mouth like a whistle. “For your information, I’m not moving in with Truth. Bethany’s coming to stay with me so I won’t be by myself.”

  Wow. Dreya and Bethany as roommates? Talk about keeping your enemies close.

  “Are you moving out too, Sunday?” my mother asks. “Let me know now.”

  How did I get in this conversation? I’m an innocent bystander here!

  “I’m not moving out, until I go to Spelman. I’m not spending my money on an apartment.”

  Dreya lifts her box under her arm and motions with her head toward the door. “Come on, Bethany, let’s be out.”

  The BET film crew gets one last shot of Aunt Charlie as she sits down at the table still holding the scissors in her hand. Little bits of postcard are littered all around.

  “She’s getting her own place….” Aunt Charlie says as Dreya shuts our front door. “I thought we would all move together. That Sunday and Dreya would get our whole family a house in Buckhead or something when the money started coming in. But she’s leaving us here.”

  Dreya is on some other kind of foul stuff. Her mama has been ride or die for her since before a record deal. I mean, Auntie Charlie would fight anybody for Dreya. She’d do the same for Manny, me, and my mom too.

  Dreya said that a lot of things were gonna change when she turned eighteen, but I think the biggest change of all is that she’s forgetting that she’s a Tolliver. That’s not a good look, at all.

  13

  Everybody should’ve known that Dreya was going to find a way to make her eighteenth birthday party unforgettable. Even if that means making it full of drama. As soon as Aunt Charlie and I step inside Club Pyramids, we already know what’s up. My mom didn’t come for the obvious reasons, but surprisingly she didn’t get on me and Auntie Charlie for coming to Bryce’s club.

  We came late so the party is already going on. Dreya’s music is booming from the speakers, and she’s strutting around the place in a bustier, booty shorts, and lace pantyhose. Bethany is dressed exactly like her except with different colors. Can anyone say swagger jack?

  I feel kind of underdressed in my khaki miniskirt, baby tee, and jean jacket. At least my hair is down, and I’m wearing heels. Aunt Charlie is doing the do, though! She is not about to be outdressed by the lame chicks! She’s got on a platinum blond, mid-back length lace front wig, and a Deréon sundress. It would be messed up if she didn’t look young in the face too. Aunt Charlie looks good for thirty-six years old! Young guys try to push up on her all the time.

  “All right, Sunday, meet me by the door at midnight, if you’re riding home with me,” Aunt Charlie says. “I’m about to go over here and make sure none of these goons are running up on my daughter.”

  “Okay, Aunt Charlie.”

  I scan the jam-packed club, looking for someone to chill with. I see the BET camera crew and definitely know I want to st
eer clear of them. I’m in chill mode right now, and not trying to watch what I say because it might end up on TV.

  Since I don’t see anybody I know who’s within shout-out range, I take a seat in the VIP area. It’s pretty dead in here, because Dreya’s out on the floor with her adoring fans. It’s her party so everybody wants to be where she is. Except me!

  The last person I want to see walks into the VIP section as soon as I sit down. Truth has his locs tied back, and he’s got on a nice Sean John jean hookup. I’m against skinny jeans on boys, but Truth has the swagger to pull it off.

  “This where you hiding? Why don’t you come out here and join the party?” Truth asks.

  “Naw. Go ahead.” I reply. “I’ma just do me right here. Get me a soda and chill.”

  Truth laughs. “Why you come to a party and you don’t want to participate?”

  “So that no one can say I didn’t come! I’d rather be at the house honestly.”

  Truth sits down in the booth across from me. I do not recall inviting him to sit down. This is how drama pops off.

  “You ready for the tour?” he asks, like we’re just buddies having a normal conversation.

  “Yeah, Mystique and I have been practicing my show and what not. It’s tight.”

  Truth smiles. “Mystique is one hundred percent about her business, so I know y’all get along.”

  “Yeah, we do. She and Dreya—not so much.”

  Truth shakes his head and sighs. I can barely hear him over the loud music, but his body language tells me he’s frustrated.

  “I keep telling Drama to listen to Mystique, but she ain’t hearing it.”

  “That’s your girlfriend. You need to let her know what’s up.”

  “Or I could just stop dealing with her altogether.”

  Instinctively, I look from left to right to see if there’s a camera crew anywhere. I don’t see one, but I notice the small microphone taped at the top of Truth’s shirt. He’s tripping if he thinks I’m about to say something about my cousin while he’s wearing a mic!

  I play along, though, and don’t let him know I see his microphone. “If you stop dealing with her that would be messed up. We’re going on tour together, so if you plan on breaking up with her, I’d appreciate it if you’d do it after the tour.”

  Truth laughs. “Yeah, that would probably be the easiest thing for all of us.”

  Since Truth is determined to have a conversation with me, I ask, “Have you seen her new apartment yet?”

  Truth sits back in the booth and makes himself comfortable—too comfortable if you ask me. He doesn’t look like he plans on getting up anytime soon.

  “Yeah, it’s nice. It’s got three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Drama’s got her bedroom tricked all the way out with animal prints and leather. Bethany’s room is tight too.”

  I chuckle. “How is it that she’s getting the money to pay for all of this?”

  “You know Epsilon and Big D got that on lock. Epsilon’s been a little bit more generous since her single came out and got gold iTunes sales the first week.”

  I feel sick to my stomach. I sold Big D that song for one thousand dollars, and they’ve already sold five hundred thousand downloads. I can’t help but feel played.

  “So when does she get a check?” I ask.

  “Why does she need a check when the bills are paid?” Truth asks.

  I shake my head. He can’t really be this stupid. I think he’s playing with me, trying to get me to say something crazy into the microphone.

  “She needs a check, so she can know exactly how much money she has and pay her own bills.”

  “Drama isn’t like you, Sunday. She never has to see a check, as long as she’s got money in her pocket.”

  That’s one thing Truth and I agree on. Dreya is nothing like me.

  “You better get back to the princess of this party before she comes looking for you and finds you over here in VIP chilling with me,” I say.

  “No doubt. You want me to tell Sam you’re over here?”

  I shake my head and smile. “He’ll find me if he’s looking for me.”

  Truth laughs out loud. “I see you, Sunday. Maybe you want me to tell Dilly to come over to VIP and hang with you.”

  “Hahaha. That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t want anyone to be told to come and hang with me.”

  Truth gives me a fist bump and walks away from the table, and he can barely get across the room without people stopping him to say hi, congratulations, or whatever else. I do find it really strange that Bethany is waiting near the door to the VIP area. I watch her whisper something in Truth’s ear, and then I watch him snatch off that little microphone that he thought I didn’t see.

  Then, Bethany pulls him out of the VIP area and off somewhere else, so I can’t see the rest. Something is up with that, I just don’t know what.

  Instead of one of the boys finding me, Mystique pops up into the VIP area. It’s a good thing she showed up, because I was just about to find myself a ride home from this party.

  She and Benji slide into my booth. Benji’s long, loose curls flow over his shoulder and across the T-shirt he’s wearing. Mystique’s wearing a tiny, black dress that is way too classy for this crowd.

  “You look bored,” Mystique notes. “Why are you sitting in here, when the party is going on out there?”

  “I’m camera shy. Don’t feel like being a TV star tonight.”

  Mystique pokes out her bright red, glossed lips. “I can get with that. But we’re taping the countdown to the tour show! You don’t want it to be all about Drama’s birthday party, do you?”

  I want to tell Mystique that I don’t really care what it’s about at this point. But I don’t. Because she’s sitting here looking at me, and something in her eyes reminds me that she gave me this opportunity so I better not mess it up.

  “Come on,” she says. “I’ll go with you. You can make your entrance with me. That’ll take some of the attention off of Drama.”

  I open my mouth to give a weak protest, but Mystique is already pulling me out of the booth and leading me to the door.

  She appraises my look. “Cute outfit. I don’t know if it’s party material, but it’s too late for me to pick something out for you.”

  I don’t respond to Mystique’s dissing of my outfit. Number one, I don’t care, and number two, I know she’s not trying to be mean.

  Benji stays a half step behind us as we make our way over to the DJ booth. Finally, I see Sam. He’s standing with Truth next to the door of the booth. He looks good in an all black tee, black jeans, and black boots. The only thing to break up all the dark color is a silver chain on his neck. He’s even wearing his black rimmed glasses, looking like the nerd that he is.

  Mystique swings open the door to the DJ booth and lets herself in. Nobody stops her. Maybe it’s because she’s a platinum-selling national recording artist. Or maybe it’s because Benji’s giving everyone evil, “I wish you would” glares.

  I don’t know whether I should go with Mystique into the booth or just stay outside with the crowd. I decide not to follow her, in case Dreya is in there or there’s any other potential for mess popping off.

  “Sunday,” Sam calls from a few feet away where he and Truth are still standing. “Come here.”

  I don’t know who he thinks he’s talking to. Come here? Really? I’m so tired of people getting me confused.

  When he sees that I’m ignoring him, he decides to walk himself over. That’s his best be if he’s trying to have a conversation with me. I wouldn’t walk over to him now if I was starving to death and he had a bunch of Cinnabons hanging around his neck.

  “Hey, Sunday. You lookin’ good, ma.”

  “Thanks, Sam. You too.”

  “You want to dance?” he asks.

  I give him a little confused frown. “Here? You want to dance here?”

  “It’s a club, right? They do have a dance floor.”

  I lift an eyebrow toward the BET camerama
n. “Nah, I’m good. I’m not in a dancing mood.”

  “Is he going to be getting in my way for the entire tour?” Sam asks.

  “Who?”

  Sam jerks his head in the cameraman’s direction. “That dude.”

  “Yeah, probably so. And what do you mean getting in your way? What are you trying to do?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know yet. Maybe I’m trying to pick up where we left off.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I do need a road dawg on this tour. I was hoping we’d be cool again by the time we left.”

  Sam nods slowly. “You already got a road dawg. Your boy Dilly is coming.”

  “Yeah, I forgot about him. So it looks like I’ve got two homeboys, right?”

  Sam laughs out loud. “Nah, you need a boyfriend, ma. And a roadie. Dilly’s the roadie.”

  “Well, you could be my boyfriend if I could just stop thinking about Rielle. You still with her?”

  “I wasn’t ever with her, and you already know that. She was my prom date. I’m free as a bird.”

  “You’re free, and I’m free. Look at that.”

  I like teasing Sam. He deserves it anyway for that whole prom fiasco.

  Everyone’s eyes go to the DJ booth when Mystique’s voice comes over the speakers. “Hey y’all, it’s Mystique. I want to wish Ms. Drama a very happy birthday! We’re also celebrating the launch of Epsilon Records’ summer tour. This next song is the first single from Sunday Tolliver’s album. It’s called ‘Inbox Me.’ Hope you like it.”

  I cringe and want to run and hide somewhere. “Inbox Me” is the only song from my album that I didn’t write. Mystique did. It’s my least favorite song on the whole record. I only recorded it because I felt like I didn’t have a choice. I sure didn’t have any say in picking it as a single.

  “Why is your face all twisted?” Sam asks. “They’re playing your new song! You should be pumped.”

  I don’t respond to Sam because Mystique is walking out of the DJ booth with a huge grin on her face.

  “I thought ‘Can U See Me’ was going to be the first single off my record,” I say to Mystique. It’s real hard to keep my voice low and my tone free of attitude, but I think I manage to pull it off.