Time to Shine

by Nikki Carter

  “I thought y’all wanted to do everything in excellence!” There’s a pleading tone in Gia’s voice that makes all three of us stop for a moment.

  “Come on, Gia. What are you really stressed out about?” I ask. “It can’t be this dance. I mean, it’s really not that serious, you know?”

  Gia sighs and wipes her sweat drenched brow with a towel. “It’s Ricky. I don’t know what he’s tripping on, but ever since that Gamma Phi Gamma party, he’s been acting some kind of way toward me.”

  “What do you mean?” Piper asks. “Ricky is the perfect boyfriend.”

  “There’s nothing specific,” Gia says. “It’s just a general feeling that we’re drifting away from each other, and that there’s nothing that I can do about it.”

  “Do you think it’s another girl?” I ask. I’m hoping not, because Ricky was giving me hope that there were some good guys still left on the planet. If he’s playing Gia, I won’t know what to believe anymore.

  “No. Ricky wouldn’t do that. He would break up with me before he played me for somebody else. That’s our rule.”

  After a long moment of silence Meagan asks, “Do you think that you’ll marry Ricky?”

  Gia nods. “I can’t see myself without him. That would be all kinds of crazy to me if he married someone else.”

  “Then you should probably see what he’s buggin’ about,” Piper says. “Don’t let it sit for too long without you saying anything.”

  Gia packs all of her dance gear into her bag, takes a long sip of water from her water bottle, and wipes the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “I’m out, chickadees. Please do not forget that choreography. The Black History Month program is next week.”

  Piper says, “It’ll be fine, Gia. If we get up there and don’t remember the moves, we can always just freestyle.”

  “Uh, no. You cannot. Not unless you want to feel my wrath. Deuces, y’all.”

  Gia jogs out of the dorm’s common area, dialing her phone with one hand and struggling with her bags with the other hand. She’s one of the most impatient people I’ve ever met. She was so in a hurry to know Ricky’s malfunction that she couldn’t even wait to get back in the privacy of our bedroom.

  “So are we dismissed?” Meagan asks. “I’m going on another date with my Morehouse man.”

  “This will be the third date, right?” Piper asks.

  Meagan’s grin brightens her entire face, and makes her sharp features look soft and warm. “This will be the third date. After tonight I’ll know if he’s the one.”

  “What’s so magical about the third date?” I ask.

  “The first date is always super-duper awkward,” Meagan explains. “On the second date, you’re still wondering if the person is going to do something crazy. But by the third date, you both are a lot more relaxed. If we do well on this date, he is definitely husband material.”

  “You said he was pre-med, right?” Piper asks.

  “So, what if, just for giggles we imagine that he never finishes medical school . . .”

  Meagan frowns deeply. “Of course he’s going to finish medical school.”

  “But what if he doesn’t,” Piper says. “What if he goes to work for a company that sells tennis balls and golf balls?”

  “I would never marry a man who worked at a company like that. Maybe if he owned the company, we could talk.”

  Meagan continues to amaze me with her focus on getting her Morehouse dream guy. But, I guess we’re somewhat alike. We’re both all about goals. Mine involve my music and getting this money, and hers are all about love and marriage.

  Meagan gives me and Piper her signature air kisses and leaves us sprawled on the floor. I wonder if Piper is feeling as lazy as I am. After Gia’s insane workout, I don’t feel like moving, even though I’ve got more than enough things to do. I’ve got so much to do that I don’t know where to start.

  “Are you excited about going to the Grammys?” Piper asks after taking a huge swig of water. “I noticed you didn’t ask us to backup dance for you this time. Are you hiring other people?”

  I stand to my feet and stretch my limbs. “I’m not having dancers. I’m singing a ballad, so it’s just gonna be me onstage. We thought it would be a good way to save money on dancers, travel, and all that other stuff, you know?”

  “Y’all selling millions of records, but y’all penny pinching like that?”

  I don’t feel like explaining to Piper how all of these expenses are subtracted from my royalties—my cash at the end of the day. And I am determined to stay paid. I haven’t forgotten the miniature check Dreya got after having a hit record. That is soooo not gonna be me.

  “Yes. I am a penny pincher. You see I’m still driving my Camry.”

  “Yeah, but you’re paying off people’s tuition bills.”

  I give Piper a half smile. I keep telling her that she doesn’t have to keep thanking me for helping with her tuition bill. Her situation is kind of jacked, so I was happy to do it. It was the best thing I’ve done so far with my money.

  “Did you get everything straightened out with your financial aid?”

  She nods. “Still haven’t located the mother unit, but my foster mom’s lawyer was able to get me declared as financially independent. So, I should be straight as long as I keep my grades up.”

  “I have to keep my grades tight too,” I say. “I didn’t come to college just for show, but I didn’t know it would be this hard.”

  I got a paper back from my composition class that was a C+. I don’t remember the last time I got a C on anything. I remembered writing the paper. It was a marathon session, powered by Starbucks coffee after a Reign Records listening party for Bethany’s album. It wasn’t my best work and I wasn’t proud of what I turned in. Apparently, my professor agreed.

  “Yeah, it’s hard,” Piper agrees, “but I don’t have a choice. Why you playing, I need to go study instead of sitting here with you.”

  “I know, right! You want any coffee? I’m gonna do a quick Starbucks run.”

  She shakes her head and frowns. “Ewww! No. And you need to stop drinking all that coffee.”

  “It’s my energy source.”

  “If you do yoga with me in the morning, you’d have enough energy all day. You’d feel invigorated! I promise!”

  My response to this is silence and a blank stare.

  Piper and I part ways as she gets straight to our dorm and I rush out, looking a straight-up sweaty, hot mess.

  Of course, because I’m riding the hot-mess train, I run into DeShawn on my way to the car. From the way his eyes do a quick sweep of my non-matching dance ensemble and high fuzzy ponytail, I can tell that I look worse than I think I do.

  “It’s the Grammy-nominated Sunday Tolliver,” DeShawn says with a grin.

  “Hopefully, soon to be the Grammy-winning Sunday Tolliver.”

  DeShawn gives me a fist bump in agreement. “I would hug you,” he says, “but you look stankadocious.”

  I sniff my armpits and laugh. “Naw. I’m straight.”

  Then, I bumrush DeShawn with a surprise hug. His subsequent attempt to escape causes us both to erupt in a flurry of giggles.

  “Speaking of the Grammys, Mystique says I should ask you to escort me to the awards show.”

  “Mystique says?”

  “Well, she suggested.”

  “And you agreed with the suggestion.”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “So, why are we talking about it?” DeShawn looks genuinely confused. I guess this isn’t making much sense.

  I shrug. “I’m just throwing it out there, in case you’re busy that weekend. So, I can, um . . . know.”

  DeShawn strokes his barely there goatee. “Well, if you happen to decide you agree with Mystique, I would cancel every hot date with every fine girl to escort you. It would be great for my career.”

  His career? That’s why he wants to go with me?

  “You do not have any hot dates,” I say.

/>   “What? You betta recognize. A modelesque brotha like me? Why do you think I’m on the Spelman campus? I’ve got a study date.”

  The twinge of irritation I feel at DeShawn’s revelation catches me completely by surprise. He smiles as he watches my reaction.

  “Excuse me,” I finally reply after a long pause. “I didn’t realize you were so popular. It must be because of being in my video.”

  DeShawn staggers backward as if I’ve punched him. “Dang, Sunday. That was below the belt.”

  “I’m just sayin’.”

  “Where are you going anyway? Don’t you know the paparazzi are lurking in the bushes waiting to get a picture of your celebutante self?”

  I didn’t think of this. Mystique’s head would probably explode if she knew I was going out in public less than runway ready.

  “I’m getting coffee. Got a date with my laptop.”

  “You might want to comb your hair first.”

  I groan. Fixing my hair will take at least an hour.

  “Or,” DeShawn continues, “I could pick it up for you.”

  “I thought you were on your way to a date. Won’t she be mad that you kept her waiting?”

  “Oh, I was just playing. I was coming by to see you. I haven’t heard from you in a week.”

  I laugh out loud. “Okay, since you’re coming clean, I should too. I do agree with Mystique. I’d love it if you’d be my date for the Grammys.”

  “You paying?”

  “Of course. Well, Reign Records is paying.”

  “Cool. Then, I’m treating on your coffee. Venti, caramel macchiato, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, be right back.”

  DeShawn jogs away, but I don’t move. All I have to do is wait a moment. Wait for it.... Okay, now he’s stopped jogging. He turns around and jogs back.

  “Can I borrow your car?” DeShawn asks while trying to catch his breath.

  I dangle the keys in front of his face. “I wondered why you didn’t ask.”

  “I was so pumped about going to the Grammys that I kind of forgot.” He takes the keys from my hand. “I’ll be back. Then we can hang.”

  “I gotta study.”

  “Okay, you study. I’ll hang.” DeShawn winks at me and trots off toward my car.

  My heart flutters just a little bit that DeShawn was coming to visit me for no reason at all. Dang! Why do I like him totally against my will?

  My head knows that I’m fresh off a breakup with Sam, and that DeShawn will most probably end up discarded like the majority of rebound guys. But, the warmth in the pit of my stomach is very real. And the anticipation of us having a good time together without the crew at the Grammys makes me feel even warmer.

  I spin on one heel and skip back to the dorm. Yeah, I actually am skipping. I do believe this might be my favorite day of this week.

  And it’s all because of DeShawn and his fine self.

  7

  Ugh! This is the worst day I’ve had all week, and it’s all because of Sam’s irritating, cheating, weed-smoking behind.

  We’re in the lab, Big D’s studio, the place where Sam and I have come up with most of our songwriting magic. Big D is here too, I guess to act as a referee, and to make sure that I don’t scratch Sam’s eyeballs out. But even Big D in all his cuddly warmth, can’t make me and Sam get along. We’ve been snapping at each other all morning, and I’m ready to go. There are other things I can do today besides get fussed at by my ex-boyfriend.

  After a third time of me singing the same line, Sam says, “Come on, Sunday, let’s get this melody down. You’ve sung it differently each time. How can I decide how to do a track if you keep singing it different?”

  Sam’s tone is really getting on my nerves. “You are on level ten right now, Sam. You need to bring it down a notch.”

  “You act like we’ve got all the time in the world to finish these songs. All you’re writing on this one is a hook anyway. Dreya is rapping on this song.”

  I stand to my feet. “Big D, I’m sorry. I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”

  “What you trippin’ on?” Sam asks. “Oh, you can’t work with me now?”

  Part of me wonders how Sam is okay with this situation. Is he not the least bit upset that we aren’t together? Maybe I really didn’t mean all that much to him to begin with. With all the lies he’s told, and games he’s played, that’s probably the case.

  Sam’s phone buzzes on the edge of his keyboard. He flips it over and hops off the bench.

  “I gotta take this. Be right back.”

  “Who is that? Your new chick?” I ask the question before I can stop myself. I sound so jealous right now, and that is not even the case.

  Sam rolls his eyes. “No. It’s Zac. But what do you care anyway? I heard you’re gonna be boo’ed up at the Grammys.”

  I roll my eyes back at Sam, ease down into my seat, and cross my arms over my chest in a huff. I’m feeling a mixture of embarrassment and fury. Big D gives me a long, concerned, fatherly gaze.

  “Boo’ed up?” Big D asks. “With who? You were just with Sam at the American Music Awards. What message do you think it will send to show up with a new guy?”

  “The message that Sam and I are absolutely not an item. I’m going with DeShawn.”

  “Model dude from the video? I bet that was Mystique’s idea.”

  I nod. “Yeah, it was, but I happen to like DeShawn so it’s all good.”

  “Watch Mystique,” Big D says. “I feel that she doesn’t want you and Sam together for selfish reasons.”

  “Like what? What does our relationship or lack thereof have to do with her?”

  “You and Sam are a team. A darn great team. You are nominated for a Grammy on your very first project for Song of the Year. No matter how much Mystique claims to be on your side, you are a threat to her. Don’t diss her or cut her loose, but don’t ever forget.”

  Everyone keeps telling me not to trust Mystique, but the only ones that keep hurting me are the ones close to my heart. Sam’s betrayal stings more than Mystique’s possible jealousy at our rapid rise to fame. And my cousin Dreya tried to get me dropped from my record deal, yet I’m in the studio writing hits for her project. It sounds like there are lots of people I shouldn’t trust and Mystique is the least of these.

  “Me and Sam not being together has nothing to do with Mystique. He’s a liar, and he played me. Plus, it wouldn’t benefit Mystique for us to not be a songwriting team. We wrote a hit record for her too, remember?”

  Big D shakes his head wearily. “Listen, I don’t know for sure if she’s out to get you. I’m just saying watch your back.”

  “I thought you had my back, Big D? What’s up with that?”

  He gives me that slow and infectious smile that makes the women forget that he weighs over three hundred pounds. “I always have your back, baby girl. Me and your mama are probably the only ones you can trust.”

  Sam comes back into the room and sits down on the keyboard bench. He’s frowning now, but I can’t bring myself to ask why.

  “Since you can’t seem to get the song right,” Sam says, “why don’t we work on our Grammy acceptance speech?”

  I scrunch my nose into a grimace. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that I would have to walk up and receive the award with Sam. Song of the Year is an award for the songwriter, not the artist, so this is another moment that we’d share.

  “If we win, we should just give our own separate acceptance speeches. You have different people to thank, and I mean we are two separate people.”

  Sam nods slowly. “Okay. By the way, I’m taking my mom to the Grammys.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “So who are you going with?” Sam asks, but his question sounds like an accusation or a demand. He’s straight-up tripping.

  I look Big D straight in the eye and ask, “Who does this dude think he’s talking to?”

  Big D bursts into laughter. His entire body jiggles when he laughs, a
nd his face lights up too. He loves a good joke, and I know Sam has got to be joking coming at me like that.

  Sam now seems irritated by the laughter, and there’s a reddish undertone to his caramel-colored skin, indicating a bit of embarrassment.

  “You know what? I don’t even care who you’re going with. It ain’t with me, so whatever,” Sam says. He starts banging out chords on the keyboard like he’s lost his ever-loving mind.

  “Oh, calm down! I’m going with my friend DeShawn. He’s not my boyfriend, so you can stop tripping.”

  “I saw how that dude was all on you in that video. We weren’t even broken up yet. Why you talking about me playing you? It looks like you were doing some playing too,” Sam says.

  Okay, now I’m about to be on anger and fury level ten. I know he’s not about to sit up here and accuse me of being unfaithful. Not when I was the one who was holding on to us for dear life.

  “Don’t do that, Sam. Do not do that.”

  “Don’t do what? Don’t throw your past dirt up in your face? Why not? That’s how you do me. I can’t live anything down.”

  “Oh my goodness! You kicked it with someone behind my back, took her virginity, and then bought her a computer! Not to mention the girl you slobbered down in the club. I haven’t done anything to you, Sam.”

  Dreya picks this moment to bounce down the stairs and into the lab. “Ugh. Can y’all stop fighting and finish my songs?”

  “I’m in agreement with Drama,” Big D says. “Let’s take this one song at a time. Can y’all agree to bury the hatchet for the rest of the day?”

  Sam and I both tentatively nod. I don’t know if I have a hatchet. It’s more like a sword. But I do want to get back to my dorm. Today is the last day of the weekend, and I’ve got a paper to finish up for my composition class.

  “Let me hear what y’all been working on,” Dreya demands.

  “Hold up,” Big D says as his currently on-again girlfriend Shelly descends the stairs daintily carrying a tray with glasses of lemonade and slices of cake. Shelly is like the hood Martha Stewart. She’s always baking or cooking something. How she does it in five-inch heels, acrylic nails, and ten pounds of hair weave, I’ll never understand. She smiles at Big D like he’s the only one in the room. I could never be like her. Big D plays her for sideline chicks all the time. They get into arguments, she storms out, and he begs her to come back. She always does. That is crazy to me.