by Mitzi Miller
“Damn,” Lauren said, pouting.
“Uh, you gonna be all right?” Jermaine asked, only half joking.
Lauren sucked her teeth. “I wanted those shoes. She could have just got them for me right quick.”
“But the store is closed, Lauren.”
“Whatever. That’s why she sells shoes for a living, evil ass,” Lauren huffed at the woman, but not loud enough for her to hear it, of course.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jermaine asked, reeling back.
Lauren, lost in the moment, didn’t catch on right away that she’d offended Jermaine; she was too busy mumbling under her breath about how she was going to find time in the next few days to get back to Lenox, seeing as she had dance-squad practice for Homecoming, a Homecoming Dance decorations committee meeting, and, of course, no dibs on her sister’s ride.
“You know my moms used to sell shoes,” Jermaine snapped.
Now that she heard. “Damn, my bad, Jermaine, I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“Of course, the shoes my moms was selling were much more practical than a pair of overpriced pink shoes that probably look a lot like all the other pink shoes you got in your closet,” Jermaine continued, still fuming.
Hold up, Lauren thought—is he dissing me? Oh, hell to the no. “Practical? What you know about practical, with your pair of hundred-dollar tennis shoes? That look a lot like all the other tennis shoes you got in your closet?”
“There’s a big difference between my sneakers and your shoes, trust me,” Jermaine said, readjusting his tone.
“How you figure? You wear yours to get attention, and I do the same with mine,” Lauren said, still upset.
“Now that’s where you wrong, shawty.” Jermaine laughed. “I wear my expensive sneakers to keep attention off of me. Ain’t no way I could hit the block with the cheap shit and not catch crap from the dough boys, you feel me? But you, you could be in a hoodie and jeans and ten-dollar shoes from Payless, and I’d still think you fly.”
Lauren wanted to giggle, but she felt like she still needed to give him some grief for talking about her shoe game. “Boy, what you know about Payless? That’s the kinda chicks you roll with?”
“Nah,” Jermaine laughed nervously. “My moms shops that way—got to. ‘Cause selling shoes don’t exactly pay all the bills.”
Lauren closed her mouth. She gave herself an imaginary kick in the ass and said a silent “damn” for good measure. Thing is, Jermaine wasn’t embarrassed about this.
“I help her out a little—you know, I got this job down at the community center helping with the neighborhood kids over there. That’s until I get some bigger stuff bubblin’.”
Just as Lauren was trying to figure out something to say to pull them out of this extremely awkward conversation, someone shouted an “oo-oooh” call as a group of teens sidled up to them. Instinctively, Jermaine looked up and threw a hand signal at them—a gesture that made Lauren just a little nervous. She’d never, after all, dated someone who threw up what might be considered gang signs.
“Yo, what up, gangsta,” one of the guys said to Jermaine, leaning in for a pound and round-the-way man hug.
“It’s all good, you know,” Jermaine said, massaging his chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Getting ready to go check out a flick.”
“Aight then,” the guy said as his friends crowded Jermaine and Lauren. One of them, a girl dressed in an ill-fitting jean jacket and stretchy jeans that looked like they’d been painted on, looked Lauren up and down like she was two seconds off of skinning her alive. “Yo, I seen your brother out on the block,” the guy continued. “Glad to see he home. Lookin’ all beefy and shit.”
“Yeah,” Jermaine said, wanting desperately to change the subject. He had no intention of explaining to Lauren where Rodney had just come from, at least not that night. “Listen, this is my girl, Lauren. Lauren, this is everybody.” Lauren gave a quick wave; Jermaine’s friends’ response was tepid, at best. “We gotta get going—our movie’s about to start.”
“Aight then, nephew, we’ll see you round the way,” Jermaine’s friend said.
“I’ll get at you, man,” Jermaine said, grabbing Lauren’s hand. “Later, y’all.”
Neither Lauren nor Jermaine said a word until they got inside the theater doors, and even then the conversation was strained at best. “Popcorn?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Soda?” he said, pulling what appeared to be a wad of crisp twenty-dollar bills out of his pocket.
“I’ll take a bottled water—thanks,” Lauren said, trying hard not to stare at the wad, lest Jermaine catch on that she was wondering just how a guy whose family was clearly low on cash came by that big of a money nut.
Frankly, Lauren didn’t know what to say—what to think about this boy who’d hunted her down, invited her out, and made her feel all at once fascinated by and fearful of him, who seemed to be alternately impressed with and repulsed by her. So she just kept her mouth shut—a first for her.
“Oh, come on, that one’s easy—Denzel!” Jermaine groaned at the movie screen, which was tossing up quizzes on movie stars. This question asked which African-American actor had won two Academy Awards.
Lauren looked at Jermaine, then back at the screen as she popped another piece of popcorn into her mouth. He’s one of the highest-grossing actors in history, but he’s never cruised to the Oscars stage to pick up a statue. Who is he?
“Oh, good grief,” Lauren said, exasperated. “Tom Cruise. Who makes up these questions?”
“You’re cute when you’re agitated,” Jermaine said, shifting his body to face Lauren’s.
“Who said I was agitated?” Lauren said, popping another kernel into her mouth.
“Well, you didn’t look too comfortable earlier.”
Lauren took a swig of her bottled water, unsure what to say.
“Look, my bad for saying those things earlier. Can we forget all that happened and start over again?” Jermaine asked. He leaned into Lauren, turned her face toward his and planted a soft kiss on her lips. “Please?” he asked, going in for another kiss. “With sugar on top?” Another kiss.
Lauren looked into his eyes and melted all over again. Despite that her mind was crowded with all sorts of random thoughts about who this boy might be—gang member, drug dealer, welfare statistic, general all-around thug—her heart was speaking a whole different language. And when he leaned in for another kiss, this time, Lauren leaned in, too, parting her lips slightly to take in his tongue.
The lights dimmed, and the movie began.
11
SYDNEY
“Carmen. Rhea. For the last time, I’m just fine. There’s nothing going on that I need or want to discuss,” Sydney snapped irritably as the pounding in her temples threatened to reach a crescendo of epic proportions. She gingerly lifted her head off the ruffled pillow duster to look at the iHome clock on her bed stand. “Now, let me go. It’s already seven-thirty at night, and I haven’t even started to review those trig equations, let alone prepare for the weekly committee update I owe Principal Trumbull first thing in the morning. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” And without waiting for a response from either of the two, Sydney hung up her phone.
Blessed silence immediately surrounded Sydney like the summer-weight down comforter she’d been camped out underneath since she arrived home from two hours of an after-school chemistry tutorial. For the past couple of days her phone had been ringing nonstop. If it wasn’t her best friends trying to stage an A&E-worthy intervention for what they’d wrongly diagnosed as an SAT stress-induced meltdown, then it was Marcus repeatedly calling on the super damage-control mission for the “lack of attention” he’d been showing her lately. Funny how a little jealousy could get a brother back on track.
The scene in the cafeteria played itself over and over in Sydney’s mind. Even though she could no longer recall everything word for word, the intensity of her anger when she spied Dara’s hand lazily touch
ing Marcus’s knee under the table still made the hairs on her neck stand at attention. Not to mention the astonished looks on the faces of everyone within earshot of her final comment as she walked out. It was painfully obvious that her outburst on Tuesday had exposed everyone to a new side of Sydney. Granted, she may have been completely justified on every count of her behavior, from the elbow jab to the slick final comment, but at the end of the day, this was not a good look for the girl who had built her rep on maintaining perfect poise under pressure.
To make matters worse, despite the flowers, phone calls, and little love notes he left in her locker, something still didn’t sit right with Sydney about Marcus’s relationship with Dara. Which further complicated what was supposed to be a very discreet reconciliation process. Instead of spending quality time together, reestablishing their bonds of trust, she found herself ducking him at all costs. Which led to more questions from Carmen and Rhea. Like the small thread in that favorite hand-knitted cashmere scarf, one good yank and the entire thing just falls apart.
“Oww,” Sydney whimpered as she gently dragged herself up and pushed the covers back. Using a technique she had learned from Jean-Claude during her last Reiki session, Sydney slowly massaged each temple to relieve some of the pressure as she walked across her bedroom into the adjacent bathroom. Working only with the dim light from the star-shaped nightlight, Sydney searched her medicine cabinet for any type of pain-relief medication. Finally locating the bottle of Aleve, she closed the medicine cabinet. Sydney paused for a moment to take in her reflection in the mirror. “It’s fine. Everything is going to be fine…even Jackie O had to deal with Marilyn. You’re Sydney Duke and you were built for this.” The words of her little pep talk rang hollow in her own ear. Sighing, she opened the bottle and quickly popped two pills into her mouth. A gulp of tap water and Sydney turned back toward the beckoning bed. Just as she eased back into the warm spot under the covers, the sound of the front door being slammed closed echoed through the entire house.
“Can you believe that mess JV wants to call a routine?” Sydney couldn’t help but hear Lauren screech incredulously. Her question was promptly followed by the sound of high-pitched laughter that could only belong to one person—Dara. Sydney grabbed one of her extra pillows and slammed it over her head to try to block the noise from below.
“I mean, seriously…And not for nothing: Is Jazmin putting on weight? ‘Cause your girl ain’t been hitting her herky jumps at all! And those knees are looking a little Beyoncé big, if you know what I’m saying?” Lauren proclaimed to the obvious enjoyment of Dara, whose laughter became increasingly shriller by the second.
“Ohmigod, I was thinking the same thing!” Dara half shouted between the laughter as the two moved through the house.
“I swear to God, those greedy little JV tramps must be stealing all of Varsity’s snacks. It’s like I can’t win. The squads are like Nicole Richie before and after,” Lauren continued just as loudly.
Unable to stand the grating sound of their voices a moment longer, Sydney sat straight up in the bed. “To hell with this,” she muttered angrily as she slipped her feet into the pair of purple fuzzy slippers Marcus had given her when she caught the flu last year, and stood up. This was her friggin’ house and Dara might be screwing her over elsewhere in the world, but not here.
Migraine forgotten, it took Sydney no time to get downstairs and into the den, where she found Lauren and Dara lounging comfortably in the stadium-sized seats watching a TiVo’d episode of Tyra undercover as a homeless woman on the theater-sized big screen. As she stood in the doorway, looking at the back of both weaved heads, Sydney felt her blood pressure rapidly rise to the boiling point.
“Would you lower your voices, please?” Sydney commanded more than asked. Both girls did an about-face so fast, Sydney thought it a wonder that some of the tracks didn’t come flying out.
“Excuse you?” Lauren asked angrily as Dara looked behind them to see if there might be someone else in the den who Sydney was addressing.
“You heard me,” Sydney hissed, standing her ground. “I said: Lower. Your. Voices!”
“Okay, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but you need to stop. We’re not even that loud,” Lauren responded with a neck roll as she returned to watching Tyra and effectively ignored Sydney’s request.
“Yeah, you are. And I’m trying to sleep upstairs,” Sydney retorted.
“No, you ain’t. Shoot, it’s barely seven-thirty. What you’re doing is being a miserable bitch. And I don’t have the patience for it right now. So why don’t you go ‘head and get outta here,” Lauren stated dismissively and turned up the volume.
“No, Lauren. Actually why don’t you and your girl get the hell up outta here!” Sydney screamed out hysterically, finally losing her cool.
“What’d you just say?” Lauren asked as she turned off the show completely and stood up to face her sister.
“I said turn down the volume or take your girl and go!” Sydney yelled again, this time looking dead at Dara as she stepped into the den. Lauren paused. She rarely saw her sister this angry, let alone at a friend of the family. She glanced over at Dara, who was clumsily rising to her feet.
“Sydney, I don’t know what I have to do with…” Dara began, trying to steady the stammer in her voice.
“Oh, is that so?” Sydney was incredulous. She advanced menacingly on Dara, who was trying her best to get from between the row of seats before Sydney cornered her. “Well then, Dara, maybe you can tell me…” Sydney hesitated as she saw a familiar look of a deer caught in headlights pass over Dara’s face. She realized that if she actually asked, there’d be no turning back.
“You need to stop screaming on my girl like that!” Lauren interjected, suddenly stepping forward to place herself between Dara and Sydney.
“Actually, all y’all need to stop this damn screaming in my goddamn house,” thundered Altimus, suddenly appearing in the doorway to the surprise of all three girls. “I’m on the phone trying to conduct business and I can’t even hear myself think. So I don’t know what the hell is going on, but each of you has me very confused if you think any cussing and fighting is about to pop off up in here!”
Shocked back to her sensibilities, Sydney immediately turned back to face her furious stepfather. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were home…”
“Clearly,” he glowered.
“I was just trying to take a nap. They’re too loud and I have a headache,” Sydney continued now, holding her head for emphasis. She sincerely hoped he’d buy the “poor little sick girl” role because Altimus looked more than ready to put everyone in the room on an indefinite punishment.
“Altimus, she’s bugging,” Lauren countered. “We were minding our business, watching Tyra, and here she go talking about Dara has to leave!”
“Is that so? ‘Cause last time I checked, I was the only one who has the right to throw folks out of this house.” Altimus cocked his head to the side as he stared at the now much-subdued Sydney.
Sydney cleared her throat, “Yes, sir.”
“That’s what I thought. Now, tell you what. Lauren and Dara turn down the television and keep the noise to a minimum. Ain’t no need to be screaming and carrying on like that unless you’re working some corner. And, Sydney, you take your smart behind back to your room.”
“But, but…I didn’t do anything,” she complained.
“Sydney Duke, I do not need the back talk. I said what I have to say, and you’re keeping me from my money. Now go!”
“Fine,” Sydney huffed as she stormed out of the room. She cut her eyes as she noticed Lauren triumphantly turning Tyra back on.
Sydney paced the length of her room in frustration. The last thing she expected was Altimus to pop up like that. As a general rule, he never conducted dealership business from the house because he said he wanted his house to feel like a home, not a satellite office. She didn’t know if she was more upset about Altimus sending her to her room like a
little kid or because her pride wouldn’t allow her to ask Dara exactly what was going on with Marcus. She’d had the perfect opportunity right before bigmouth Lauren jumped in, but she just couldn’t bring herself to say the words. But Dara’s look spoke a thousand words. And, while a guilty facial appearance didn’t constitute grounds for a breakup, she’d most definitely have to teach Marcus a lesson.
Of course, there was no way she was willing to come off like the woman scorned. That was so played out…and public. Carmen, Rhea, and anyone who knew her would lose all respect. Even in her worst moments, there was a limit to the stupidity.
Honestly, the Marcus solution was easy enough—now that she’d already planted the seeds of doubt in his head about the nature of her friendship with Jason (talk about perfect timing), she’d just continue to cozy up to the star football player. Maybe even attend a football game or two just to drive home the point. No need to come off as sluttish or cross any actual lines, just enough to show Marcus that if he didn’t remember where his bread was buttered, there were others happy to eat.
And even though Sydney knew that Marcus was the only person she should be holding responsible for respecting their relationship, neither Dara nor Lauren were about to receive a get-out-of-jail-free card. Those two simply required more thought. They were so self-consumed, it was going to take a sledgehammer to make a dent. It’s not like Sydney had anything that either wanted; in fact nobody did. The only thing Lauren or Dara cared two cents about was their untouchable image.
The sound of her phone beeping interrupted Sydney’s thoughts. This time it was an e-mail blast from YRT notifying her that the latest posting was online.
As she reached for the button to silence the cell, it hit her. What better way to get back at Lauren and her snaggle-toothed sidekick than dropping a juicy little tidbit on YRT? How would little Ms. Dance Squad feel if the entire county knew that in her free time, Lauren continuously auditioned for low-budget uncut videos? And even worse, obviously didn’t make the cut ‘cause she ain’t ever mentioned it? What about Dara? Wouldn’t she love the world to know that she convinced her mother to use the child-support payments to pay for her to get a boob job? Granted, the boob job was actually a reduction for medical reasons, but still…didn’t Lauren literally have to beg Altimus to pay for half of Dara’s tuition last year because of it? Otherwise her ass would have straight been attending a public high school somewhere!