What Goes Around

by Denene Millner

  “Why would I know where your sandals are?” Sydney snapped.

  Lauren took a deep breath and tried her best to keep her voice even-keeled. “I can’t find them in my room.”

  “And you’re surprised by this?” Sydney smirked.

  “Look, I didn’t come in here for your stank-ass attitude—I want my damn shoes, that’s all. Then you can go on about your business, and I can go about mine.”

  “Lauren—watch your mouth!” Keisha demanded.

  “Ma, I just want my shoes.”

  “I swear, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Sydney shot back. “The last time I walked into that mess of a room of yours, I was on blank stare mode for a week. Why don’t you check under the three-week pile of dirty clothes on your floor, or behind your junky couch, or…”

  “Wow…just, wow,” Lauren said softly, glaring as she walked over to Sydney’s perfectly organized closet. She plucked her sandals off the second shelf.

  “Whatever,” Sydney said weakly. “I don’t have time for this. I have to get over to Carm’s to get dressed, and all this foolishness…”

  Lauren shushed Sydney; she heard her phone in the other room—D’Angelo’s “You’re My Lady” ringtone was blasting. Jermaine. “Later, Syd,” Lauren snapped, rolling her eyes. “Do me a favor, though. Next time you’re thinking about wearing my stuff, don’t.”

  Lauren disappeared into her bedroom and slammed the door before Keisha and Sydney could say another word, then she dove for the phone. “Hey! Where are you?” she demanded.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” Jermaine said slowly. “How are you? I’m fine.”

  “Come on, don’t play with me,” Lauren said, peeking out her window. The car was waiting for her in the circular driveway. “Are you ready?”

  “My day was great. How about yours?” Jermaine continued.

  “Jermaine!” Lauren yelled. “Now’s not the time, seriously. The car is here. Are. You. Ready?”

  “Lauren, it’s me. Calm down.”

  “I am calm,” she said, slipping on her sandals. “I’d be calmer if you gave me an ETA on when you’ll be ready to go. I need you waiting outside.”

  “Are you at least going to let the car stop or am I going to have to hop on the bumper while you drive by?” Jermaine laughed.

  “Blah, blah, blah—just be ready to go when I get there,” Lauren insisted. “Your ex didn’t exactly make me feel like I’m welcome in her neighborhood, so…”

  “Who, Brandi?” he asked. “What, you think she’s just going to be hanging outside my house waiting to see what I’m doing?”

  “Who knows what Brandi’s doing?” Lauren snapped. “I do know it just seems like she’s always around. I hate to bring up old stuff, but…ahem.”

  “That’s exactly what it is—old,” Jermaine said, sounding annoyed.

  “All of this is getting old,” Lauren said. “Look, I’m leaving in the next five minutes. Are you going to be ready or not? Because I can just go by myself and we can hook up another time…”

  “I’ll be ready,” Jermaine snapped. “Seriously, what’s wrong? What’s going on, Lauren?”

  “Nothing. Nothing’s going on,” Lauren said. She saw a shadow beneath the crack of her bedroom door. Keisha, for sure. “I’ll see you in a few.”

  She didn’t bother hearing his response—she just hung up.

  “Damn, babe, if I’d have known you were going to look this good, I would have sprung for the disposable camera,” Jermaine said, giving Lauren the once-over. He put his arm around her shoulder and tried to pull her closer to him, but she stiffly resisted.

  “Yeah, um, thanks,” she said, taking in Jermaine’s shiny gold Sean John jacket and dark jeans. He was wearing a tie, which Lauren supposed was a good thing, but still, he had on sneakers. If he leaned in a little, he could have felt the fever she was giving him for dressing like he was going to his cousin’s prom.

  “You look nice, too, Jermaine,” he mocked in a high voice. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Ha-ha, very funny,” Lauren said, staring out the window.

  “Yo, what’s the problem, L?” Jermaine said. “You’ve been snapping at me all evening. What did I do?”

  You actually showed up, and now I have to introduce you to my friends, Lauren screamed to herself. “Nothing, I just got into a little beef with my sister, is all,” she said to him. “It’s no biggie. I just need to be quiet for a minute—get my mind right.”

  “O-kaaay, then,” Jermaine said, removing his arm from around Lauren’s shoulders. “Well, you looking good, girl, don’t sweat it. Besides, your man is here now. I went in to work late just so that I could buy this jacket, and we look good together fo’ sho’. I’m ready to have a good time.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Lauren said weakly, leaning into Jermaine in hopes that her action would help mask her reticence.

  “Well, do that, and I will love you long time,” Jermaine joked, getting his first genuine giggle from Lauren. He smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek.

  Just then, her phone rang; she grabbed it from her clutch to see who was calling, sure it was Donald checking up on her arrival status.

  It wasn’t Donald.

  It was Dara.

  “What the hell?” Lauren said, wrinkling her brow. “She can’t be serious.”

  “Who is it?” Jermaine inquired.

  Lauren sucked her teeth. “Nobody,” she said, tapping IGNORE. Before she could get it back into her purse, the phone rang again. Lauren looked at the caller ID: Dara, again.

  “Man, whoever that is, he sure is blowing up your phone. Should I be jealous?”

  “First of all, it’s not a ’he’ calling me, it’s a ’she,’” Lauren said. “And I don’t know why she’s calling me—she lost that right when she dissed my sister, although I’m starting to wonder why I’m cutting off my friends for her sometimey behind.”

  “Alrighty, then, sounds like you got a lot on your hands tonight,” Jermaine said.

  “Nothing at all,” Lauren said, making a show of tapping IGNORE again and putting her phone on vibrate. Her nerves got worse as the car made its way up the block leading to the mile-long entrance to the school.

  “Sir, could you turn on the radio, please?” Lauren called up to the driver. The music would calm her and, perhaps, would give Jermaine the signal to use his ears, not his mouth.

  “What station?” he asked.

  “107.9 would be great,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the driver said, punching the buttons on his stereo. OutKast blasted through the speakers. Lauren nodded her head to the beat and kept staring out the window, each streetlight on their journey making her more nervous than the last. The school loomed in the distance, the searchlights beckoning them closer to what promised to be the gala of all galas if Sydney had anything to do with it. Lauren wasn’t ready.

  Her iPhone vibrated. It was Dara, this time, texting.

  Lauren read the message once, then again. Now, why on earth would Dara be asking for her help? After everything that had gone down? Lauren frowned; she could feel Jermaine’s eyes burning a hot hole into the side of her face.

  “Let me call this girl and see what she wants,” Lauren said, speed-dialing her former best friend. “Honestly, I’ll put five on it that it’s something dumb as hell.”

  The phone barely rang once before Dara picked it up. “Lauren?” she said, breathless.

  “What’s up, Dara?” Lauren said, clearly annoyed.

  “Lauren, please, don’t hang up,” Dara insisted.

  “Dara, why would I hang up on you—I called you, didn’t I?” Lauren snipped. “What do you want anyway? I’m almost at the Benefit.”

  “I…I…oh, God,” Dara screamed.

  Lauren shot up straight. “Dara? Dara! What’s going on?” Lauren shouted. Jermaine shifted in Lauren’s direction and looked at her quizzically.

  “Lauren, please, I need you to come to my house,” Dara cried.

  “Dara
, what’s wrong?” Lauren insisted as the car drew closer to the school. Lauren could make out glittery pockets of partygoers milling about the red-carpet entrance leading down the long stretch from the grassy, parklike island to the decked-out front door.

  “Please, Lauren. I tried calling Marcus, but his phone is going straight to voice mail. He won’t return my calls,” she said.

  The car drew closer. Lauren could make out Meghan and Caroline and Lexi. And there were Sydney and Jason with Carmen, Rhea, and their respective dates. YRT would be dripping with juice the next morning, for sure.

  “Everything okay?” Jermaine asked, reacting to the look on Lauren’s face.

  “Sir? I need you to keep driving,” Lauren said sternly.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am?” the driver said quizzically.

  “I said I need you to keep driving.”

  “But we’re here, I don’t underst—” Jermaine began.

  “Just—just listen. We’re not going to the party,” Lauren insisted. “Keep driving!”

  “What do you mean we’re not going to the party?” Jermaine said, reeling back. “We’re already here! I got dressed, I left work early, and we’re here. Lauren, what’s going on?”

  “I need you to take us to 3241 Murray Street immediately,” Lauren said, settling into the shadows of the car.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the driver said, practically screeching past the crowds.

  Jermaine watched the crowds until he could see them no longer—well after the driver pulled the car out of the fortress that was Brookhaven Prep.

  Not another word was exchanged between Lauren and Jermaine.

  Not one.

  Lauren’s hand had barely touched the knob, but the heavy wooden door creaked open as if she’d pushed it. Just beyond the large, round mahogany foyer table decked with a fresh arrangement of bloodred poinsettias was Dara, posted up on the steps, bent over with her head in her lap. She lifted her head when she heard Lauren’s heels click on the immaculate white marble floor.

  “Lauren?” she asked weakly.

  Lauren reeled back when she saw Dara’s bloodshot, eyeliner-rimmed eyes. “Dara? What—what’s going on?” Lauren asked, walking slowly toward her ex-BFF.

  “I tried to call Marcus but he wouldn’t answer his cell phone,” she said, struggling to get the words out.

  Lauren moved a little closer. “What were you calling Marcus for, sweetie? Dara? What…”

  As wide open as Lauren’s mouth was, the words refused to come. Dara had stood up, and all Lauren could see was the red on her hands and her winter-white Grecian minidress and the step she had just been sitting on.

  “I think I need to go to the hospital,” Dara said, bursting into tears.

  “Omigod, omigod, omigod!” Lauren screamed, shaking her hands like she’d just touched something hot. “Oh, oh, we should call—we should call someone,” she began.

  “Call Marcus…” Dara said weakly.

  Lauren rushed up to Dara—her arms outstretched; she could feel Dara’s tears on her bare shoulder. “Baby, we don’t have time to call Marcus,” Lauren said gently, trying her best to sound calm, even as her heart thumped against her chest. “We have to get you to a hospital.”

  “But if I just wait a few more minutes, and he sees your phone number, he’ll come…” Dara cried.

  “I’ll call him, I promise,” Lauren assured her. “But right now, we have to get out to the car.”

  “The car?” Dara asked, seemingly confused.

  “Jermaine is outside waiting for us in the car. He’ll help us, okay?”

  “Oh, Jermaine is here? Oh, I ruined your date,” Dara said.

  “No, no, honey, it’s fine,” Lauren whispered. “Want to meet him? Come on, he’s in the car,” she said, putting Dara’s arm around her shoulder. “It’s a little cold, but it’s warm in the car. I have a jacket there.”

  “Okay,” Dara whimpered. “Lauren, I need you to know that I’m sorry. I miss you so much…”

  “Not now, honey, not now,” Lauren said.

  “But I need to hear you say you’re okay with me—that we’re good,” she said, forcing each word through her lips.

  “Dara, it’s okay. Jermaine!” Lauren yelled as she ushered Dara down the stairs. “Jermaine! Help us!”

  Jermaine opened the door and hopped out of the car in one quick motion, followed by the driver. “Oh, shit, what happened?” he yelled.

  “This is Dara,” Lauren said, practically carrying her friend on her back down the stairs. “Don’t just stand there, help us!”

  Jermaine rushed up the stairs and put Dara’s other arm over his shoulders, and together they dragged Dara down the staircase. When they got to the bottom, Jermaine took Dara into his arms and carried her to the car, where the driver was waiting with the door open. The three of them piled into the backseat.

  “Please,” Lauren said to the driver, “get us to Piedmont Hospital as fast as you can.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Right away.”

  No matter that he rushed through the stop signs, past the red lights, down the quickest side streets like a bullet in the night; to Lauren, it seemed like the driver could not make it to Piedmont fast enough.

  15

  SYDNEY

  Sydney entered Principal Trumbull’s dimly lit office hesitantly. “Have a seat, Ms. Duke,” the imposing-looking man with thick glasses instructed brusquely from behind his desk. A strong wind blew the door closed with a loud slam as soon as Sydney sat down on the uncomfortable, brown pleather armchair. She almost jumped out of her skin with fright. “So do you have the money,” the principal demanded as he leaned forward over the desk.

  “I, um, I don’t know where the money is,” Sydney stammered.

  “I didn’t ask you that! I said, do you have the money?” Principal Trumbull now glowered. His eyes seemed to glow with a supernatural-looking, fiery red.

  “No—no, sir, but I didn’t take the money,” Sydney stuttered as she tried to move back from the principal’s burning eyes. She could feel her feet pushing against the cheap industrial carpet that covered his office floor, but for some reason the chair seemed to be moving closer and closer toward his desk. “I swear to you, I looked and I looked,” Sydney insisted frantically, when out of nowhere handcuffs locked her into the seat.

  “I told you what would happen if you didn’t get me my money,” the principal roared like a wild banshee as his entire face morphed into a werewolf-like creature and he leaped over the desk, mouth agape, at Sydney.

  Completely terrified, Sydney struggled against the handcuffs and screamed for her life, “No, please, noooooo!” Sydney screamed so loud, she finally woke herself up.

  “Omigod, omigod,” she panted as her chest heaved in and out. Completely tangled in the sheets and dripping in sweat, she sat straight up in the bed. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, Syd,” she said, trying to talk herself off the ledge. Despite the reassuring words, her heart felt like it was going to explode at any moment. She slowly surveyed the semidark room as she tried to bring her heart rate down. When she was finally convinced that she was in her own bed and not about to be eaten alive by the angry werewolf Brookhaven principal, she allowed herself to lie back down on the mattress with an audible sigh of relief.

  She turned her head and looked at the iHome clock. Its digital numbers read 10:45 A.M. There were still two hours before she was supposed to meet Jason and some of his boys from the football team for a post-party brunch at The Flying Biscuit. And considering she’d only gotten home at three A.M., her achy body could definitely stand another thirty minutes of rest. Sydney closed her eyes and tried to conjure up some of the deep-breathing techniques she learned in yoga class. “Om,” she murmured to herself, desperately trying to erase all the scary flashes of the nightmare from her mind. The sound of her exhaling through her nose filled the room. And still, she just couldn’t relax. Sydney flexed and wiggled her toes under her comforter. The balls of her feet throbbed fr
om dancing the night away in her gold Christian Louboutin evening shoes. Despite the gel pad she’d inserted beforehand, it was obvious her little piggies were in need of some serious TLC. Finally, giving up all hopes of falling back to sleep, Sydney sat up and started massaging her right foot softly.

  As she surveyed the room, her gaze fell on her dress hanging across the back of her desk chair. A small smile momentarily played on her lips. As expected, the Sadie Hawkins Benefit was a success—the decorations were lovely, the food was delicious, and DJ Kiss was on point from beginning to end. Aside from a couple of unfortunate wardrobe choices—China Hayworth’s bedazzled sea-foam taffeta ball gown, which made the naturally curvy girl look a thousand pounds heavier—Brookhaven’s young, rich, and sexy student body turned it out with their designer frocks and accessories. By the end of the night, everyone who was anyone had showed up with their boy of choice in tow. There was not a single thing amiss except the missing fifteen thousand dollars. And every time Sydney accidently made eye contact with Principal Trumbull, the searing side-eye he shot at her wouldn’t let Sydney forget it. It was probably those beady eyes that caused my nightmare, she thought bitterly, switching feet.

  Someone else that seemed a little shady to Sydney was Marcus. His phone had been off, and he hadn’t returned any of the voice mail messages that she left before the party started. But she figured he was probably busy getting ready and reassuring Dara that she didn’t look like a beached whale. And then, he had arrived late, alone, and looking extremely stressed out. Normally, Marcus made it a point to arrive on time to any school function where there was going to be a red-carpet arrival, especially when he had been a part of the planning process. Not to mention, while the entire student body couldn’t seem to stop complimenting Sydney’s appearance, Marcus said nothing.

  Sydney had hoped she’d find a moment to pull him aside so that they could compare notes on the missing money, but it never happened. Sydney wasn’t sure if it was because Jason was stuck to her side like glue or what, but Marcus went out of his way to make sure that he was never anywhere near Sydney all night. And to that effect, as soon as they had finished saying their official co-chair welcome to the guests, he disappeared into the crowd, not to be seen again for the rest of the night.