The room burst into applause again.
Lauren continued to stand, doing her best Miss America wave to her fans. She gave a little giggle when her eyes locked with Caroline’s; clearly, the tragic loser could barely keep her Tater Tots down.
So sick.
Lauren practically drooled thinking about all the different ways she would make the three of them pay.
It would not be pretty.
Lauren was practically bouncing out of the heavy glass door, almost all of the laughing, energetic dance squad in tow, when she looked up and saw him, sitting on the bumper of his car, Jay-Z pumping from his speakers and rattling the windows. He looked lovely and fresh, his white tee gleaming beneath his North Face down, his new Jordans peeking from beneath an oversized pair of Red Monkey jeans. His arms were folded, but he was smiling, his brown eyes practically sparkling when they finally found their mark: Lauren.
Her heart was racing. Here she was, standing in the parking lot in front of the building erected by her stepfather especially for her, in front of every girl who had just voted her conscience and made her the leader of Brookhaven’s dance squad, in front of the tastemakers of her school, who, with the click of a SEND button to YRT, could blow up her spot to everyone who mattered in Buckhead; and there was the boy from the West End, in all his hood glory, standing there, waiting. For her.
Lauren looked to her left and then to her right; every last one of the girls following her like stray puppy dogs—even the trio of haters and their silly, useless, powerless, minions—were looking at Jermaine like he was a piece of red meat. “Damn!” she heard a few of them say. “Who’s that?”
Lauren giggled and cleared her throat. “Um, everybody?” she said loudly. “You might want to get your camera phones ready—I know some of you will want to get the YRT exclusive on this one. But do me a favor: Make sure you spell my man’s name right,” Lauren said, walking up to Jermaine and taking his hands in hers. “His name is spelled j-e-r-m-a-i-n-e. Get it right, hear?”
“You’re officially certified,” Kayo said, laughing and shaking her head. She walked up to Jermaine and extended her hand. “Hey, Kayo,” she said, introducing herself. “Nice to meet you.”
A few of the other girls sidled up to the couple, too, some introducing themselves, others staring and wondering in a not-so-discreet voice if he had any relatives as cute as him.
Jermaine, a lot embarrassed by the attention, wanted out. But who, he figured, was he to step in Lauren’s spotlight?
“I trust you’re here to take me out,” she said.
“But it’s my birthday,” he laughed. “Shouldn’t you be taking me out?”
“Not if you’re driving,” she said, eyeing his beat-up car. “Plus, a gentleman always plans.”
“Well, I am a gentleman,” he said.
“This much,” Lauren said, “I know is true.”
As she waved good-bye to her friends and her haters, she saw out of the corner of her eye a silver Saab pull into the space next to Jermaine. It was Sydney, bumping Jill Scott’s “Golden” from her speakers like she was deliberately trying to blow out the custom-made woofers. “Hey!” Sydney said enthusiastically as she jumped out of her car, her radio still blasting.
“Uh, hey,” Lauren said, peeking over her sister’s shoulder to peer at her car, and then back at her twin. “What’s up with you?”
“Oh, nothing’s up with me. The question is, what’s up with you, superstar dance squad captain? I just saw the news on YRT. Go, Lauren!” she said, giving a mock hoorah fist in the air.
Lauren cracked up at the sight of her twin, the unusually stiff and nonexcitable one—giggling and laughing and trying to do a fake cheer. “Why, thank you, sis,” she said. “But, um, you should leave the cheering to me.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that—that’s all you, baby sis,” she said as she surveyed the parking lot and took notice of how everyone was focusing on them. “Um, in case you all didn’t know? My sister is the fire.”
Lauren giggled. She didn’t know what had gotten into Sydney, but she wasn’t mad at it, either. “Hey,” she said, “say hi to Jermaine.”
Sydney twirled around and focused on Jermaine—the first time she’d set eyes on him since Rodney’s funeral. A wry smile crossed her face as she switched her focus between Jermaine and Lauren and then to Jermaine again. “Well, I see somebody’s trying her best to be the official YRT cover girl of the year,” Sydney laughed. “But I’m not mad at you. What’s up, Jermaine? Good to see you again. Good to see you here,” she added.
Jermaine smiled and nodded.
“It’s Jermaine’s birthday, and we were just about to go and celebrate. Wanna come with?” Lauren asked.
Sydney looked at her watch and considered all the things she had lined up for the evening—she had to study for an Econ quiz, start researching her Western Lit paper, start planning the spring calendar for Jack and Jill—the list went on and on. “I don’t know,” she said. “I have a ton of work to do…”
“Come on, “Jermaine pleaded. “It’s my birthday. One cupcake.”
Sydney hesitated and giggled a little. “If you get Lauren to spring for two cupcakes, I’ll go,” she laughed.
“That’s a bet,” Jermaine said. “I’m driving.”
As Sydney collected her purse and locked her car doors, Lauren waved good-bye again to her friends and her haters and to the remaining gawkers, then walked to the passenger side and waited for Jermaine to open her door. It creaked open; Jermaine reached in and swiped at the seat.
“All set,” he said. “Climb on in.”
Then he rushed to the other side of his car and lifted the lever on the front seat so that Sydney could climb into the backseat.
“Turn that up a little,” Sydney said as Jay-Z’s “Dirt Off Your Shoulder” pumped through the speakers. “That’s my song,” she said as she settled into the hard leather seat.
Jermaine obliged, then put the car in drive, pulling out of the parking space as his charges, Sydney and Lauren, shouted the words to the rap and bounced in their seats. Jermaine laughed as he watched the twins flick invisible dirt off their shoulders—their bouncing and yelling rattled as loud as his speakers.
In Jermaine’s rearview mirror, Sydney could see the girls of Brookhaven Prep standing there, mouths agape, wishing, no doubt, that they could be riding shotgun, too. Lauren was thinking the same thing as she caught sight of the girls in the side-view. Above their heads, in the distance, ever imposing, gleaming against the rich, blue sky, the squad building struck an impressive pose—THE DUKE HOUSE letters making it clear that this was still, and always would be, Lauren and Sydney’s world.
Acknowledgments
DENENE
For God, who keeps opening windows for me when it seems all doors are closed—without His grace, I am surely nothing.
For my husband and darling daughters, Mari and Lila, and my son, Mazi: Thank you for encouraging my writing, even on the hard days when we’d all rather hit the park or watch ANTM than watch me bury myself in my MacBook again. You guys and the very furry, very sweet, extremely cute Teddy help me keep my eyes on the prize. For my Daddy, James Millner; my brother, Troy Millner; and my Mom, Bettye Millner: Thank you for loving me like no other. And for Angelou, James, Miles, Cole, and my in-laws, Migozo and Chikuyu: Thank you for your friendship, your laughter, your intelligence, and for providing us with the family structure we crave and love.
For Victoria Sanders, my agent extraordinaire: Thank you for using your beautiful mind to keep me working and constantly challenged.
For our editor, Aimee: Thank you for the encouragement. And for Andrea Davis Pinkney: Thank you for creating opportunities for me to keep writing; you are an extraordinary author, editor, and mentor, and I’m so happy to have worked with you.
And for Mitzi, my partner-in-crime: We wrote a helluva series, didn’t we? We grew those girls up, didn’t we? We’re going to work together again, aren’t we? We better. Bec
ause you rock.
And finally, thank you to Lauren and Sydney, for creating two years’ worth of good times. I’ll miss you.
MITZI
Every step forward begins with faith; so I thank God, Yemaya, Chango, and all the orisha and guides that remain by my side at all times.
Mommie, the phrase “thank you” isn’t nearly enough for all that you have so selflessly given to me over the years. I am so blessed to be your daughter.
Daddy, even when I know that you don’t have the slightest clue where I am or what I’m doing, I do know you love me. I’m a lucky girl.
Melissa, in choosing your own path, you constantly provide me with a true example of courageousness. Thank you.
To all my family and relatives who continue to support and encourage me to pursue all of my wildest dreams—especially Tia Puchi and Mommy Sally—X’s and O’s.
To my beautiful godchildren—JJ and Sydney—you inspire me to create material that will be worth talking about when you become old enough to understand.
To my mentors—Dr. Ivy Mitchell and Joyce E. Davis—thank you for guiding me to the career of my dreams.
To my amazing and incomparable friends, every single one of you provides me with inspiration to create better stories and, more important, be a better Mitzi. Thank you for your patience, compassion, and encouragement.
To my dizz-ope writing partner, Denene, thank you for helping me create a phenomenal teen series. It is always a pleasure, my dear!
To Victoria and the diligent Scholastic team, thank you for seeing this series through all the way to the end. It’s been a memorable ride!
And, of course, Drama. Through thick, thin, dark parks, and even stinky doggie farts, not a day goes by that I am not grateful for your companionship.
Last but not least, the success of the HOTLANTA series would not be possible without the support of countless unknown readers over the years. I am so appreciative of all those who have followed my byline from Honey Magazine to The ABW Guide to Life and forward. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Also by Denene Millner and Mitzi Miller
Hotlanta
If Only You Knew: A Hotlanta Novel
(With Angela Burt-Murray)
The Angry Black Woman’s Guide to Life
The Vow
Also by Denene Millner
The Sistahs’ Rules:
Secrets for Meeting, Getting, and
Keeping a Good Black Man
Dreamgirls
Also by Denene Millner
(with Nick Chiles)
What Brothers Think, What Sistahs Know
What Brothers Think, What Sistahs Know about Sex:
The Real Deal on Passion, Loving, and Intimacy
Money, Power, Respect:
What Brothers Think, What Sistahs Know
Love Don’t Live Here Anymore
In Love & War
A Love Story
READ ON FOR AN EXCERPT FROM
WHEREVER NINA LIES
ANOTHER RIVETING NOVEL
Outside the sky is weirdly dark and the air thick and humid, the way it gets before a storm. Sean leads me over to a navy blue Volvo. “Ta-da!” he says. The paint is scratched and the back bumper is covered in the remnants of bumper stickers that someone tried to tear off, but eventually gave up on—a piece of light blue with a lacy-looking white shape in the corner, a dark green sticker with everything torn off except for a white UR. Sean unlocks the passenger side and opens the door, then walks around to the driver’s side and gets in. I get in, too.
There are four different plastic cups in the cupholder, and cups scattered all over the floor. On the backseat there’s a black leather messenger bag closed with a shiny brass lock. The car smells like pine trees.
“Sorry about all the cups, you can just kick them out of the way,” Sean says. “Iced coffee is my crack.”
“What a coincidence,” I say. “Crack is my iced coffee.”
Sean laughs. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he says. He shakes his head a little bit. He starts his car. “So where am I taking you?”
“I’m in the Sunrise Village condo complex,” I say, “behind the A&P on Grays Avenue.”
Sean starts his car, starts driving, neither of us says anything for a while. I watch his hands as he turns the steering wheel. I cannot recall ever having any sort of opinion about a guy’s hands before, but his are beautiful.
“So…I have to confess something.” Sean reaches up with one of his beautiful hands and pushes his hair out of his face. “I didn’t really come here to tell you the rules of hide-and-seek.” He pauses. “The truth is, Ellie, it’s really not that hard of a game. And besides, you could just look it up online.”
“The Internet is good like that,” I say. My heart is starting to race. “Then why are you here?”
“The truth? I looked for you after the party and when I didn’t see you I got worried. I thought maybe the fire ate you up. The fire department said everyone got out okay, but you just never know, I guess.” He glances at me and then looks back at the road. “I remembered you said you worked at the coffee place, so I figured I’d just come by and make sure you were alright. I hope that doesn’t seem stalkery or weird seeing as we only talked for like thirty seconds…”
“No, it’s nice of you,” I say. “I’m okay, thanks for checking.”
“You don’t look that okay actually…When I came in to Mon Coeur, you looked really sad. And at the party, too.” Sean pauses. I don’t say anything. “So did you ever find him?”
“Who?” I feel myself blushing.
“Whoever you were looking for at the party. Was it that guy with the bad tattoos?”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah. Sort of. I mean I thought so, only it turned out no.”
“He isn’t like your boyfriend or something, is he?”
“Ha!” I say. “Definitely not.”
“Okay, good. I didn’t think so. I mean, he didn’t look like the kind of dude I’d imagine you usually date. He looked kind of like a loser.”
And I’m oddly flattered by this comment, as it implies that I have actually ever dated anyone before. Which, of course, I haven’t.
“So, tattoo dude didn’t deliver?”
“He delivered his hand to my ass,” I say. “So I delivered my knee to his balls. And that was it.”
“Good for you,” Sean says. “But why were you looking for him?”
I take a deep breath. And as I breathe in, I realize something, that I’m going to have to tell him the truth. It’s not that I’ve somehow decided this is a good idea or anything, it’s just what I’m going to do.
“I was looking for my sister,” I say. “I haven’t seen her in over two years.” There’s no going back now. We’re stopped at a stoplight. I glance at Sean again. He turns toward me, nodding ever so slightly. I hope telling him isn’t a mistake. “I didn’t think she’d be there at the party exactly, I just thought…” I get the story over with as quickly as I can, just spit it out so it’s out and I don’t have to have the words in my mouth anymore. “So I showed her picture to tons of people but no one knew her but I thought if I found the guy who brought in the box, he might know something about where she was, or that someone at the party might.” I look over at Sean but he’s watching the road again. “But I was wrong.” I feel my eyes filling with tears, but I blink them back. “So I guess that’s why I looked sad.”
“That’s a pretty understandable reason,” he says.
“My best friend Amanda thinks I need to get on with my life now. Stop focusing on my sister so much and just act, I don’t know, like she never existed or something. It’s been two years since she disappeared and nothing has changed.” I inhale and exhale slowly. “I don’t know, Amanda might be right, it might be time to give up now.” I look down at my hands. “But I just don’t know how to.”
Sean is silent. And we both stare straight ahead at the rain pounding down.
“I think I know why I met you no
w,” Sean says finally. And then I feel Sean place his hand gently over mine on the seat between us. “There are some things a person just never gets over, that the phrase ’get over’ doesn’t really apply to,” he says. “And when one of those things happens in your life, it doesn’t matter how much time has passed, or if you’re sitting alone in your room or at a party surrounded by a hundred people, and it doesn’t even matter if you’re actually thinking about it or not because no matter where you are or what you’re doing, it’s still there. It’s not just something that happened. It’s become a part of you.”
And then he shuts his mouth and keeps driving. This is it so exactly. And no one else I’ve ever talked to has ever really gotten it before.
He turns toward me, our eyes meet, and I’m just sitting there blinking. He grins, shrugs his shoulders, and tips his head to the side, all casual now. “Or, y’know, whatever.” And I burst out laughing and it’s a real hiccuping, doubled-over laugh, the kind of laugh I haven’t had in a long time. And he laughs with me. Things are the funniest when they are a mix of sad and absurd and true.
“So you know what I’m talking about, then,” I say.
“Something like that,” Sean says.
“How do you know all of that?” I ask. “I mean, what happened to you?”
But as soon as the words are out, I wish I could take them back. The last thing I want him to think is that I’m mining him for his tragedies, the way I’ve felt so many others do to me. “Sorry,” I say. “You don’t need to answer that.”
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