by L. Divine
Epilogue
It’s so nice to be back with my friends for a regular session. The entire crew is here and we are chilling hard, just like old times. Tonight we’re at Nigel’s crib because his parents are out for the evening. I was able to fix what I could, but some things—like Nigel’s parents hating Mickey and me—haven’t changed a bit.
“Personally, I’m glad that nigga’s locked up again. Some people should never get out of prison,” Rah says, throwing down the local newspaper after reading the article on Tre’s murder. Rah’s right about that, and I know he doesn’t take prison lightly since his father is locked up for life. Rah’s not about any black man being on lockdown for anything petty.
“I’m done tripping off that shit. I’m sorry your boy Tre got blasted, but none of us got hurt, and that’s the most important thing,” Nigel says, rubbing Mickey’s belly like he used to. And to think, this moment almost didn’t happen. It’s happening now and that’s all that matters.
“I have to take this call,” Rah says, excusing himself from the rotation. Chance and Nellie are cozied up in the corner like they’re really in love. I hope for his sake they are. Mickey takes the blunt from her man and passes it to me. I smile at my girl and she smiles back, knowing she’s tripping for that move.
“I’ll give it to Rah,” I say, rising from my spot on the futon and walking toward the bedroom door.
“Who’s that in the background?” I ask, hearing a female’s voice through his cell. It’s too far away for me to make out. Maybe his mom is home for a quick change between sets at the strip joint. He hangs up his phone and takes the lit blunt, looking at me pensively before answering.
“I wanted to tell you this before, but you were having your sleep issues and whatnot.” When Rah stalls in his explanation I know whatever he’s done is bad. Very bad.
“Who was that?” I repeat. He continues to avoid giving me a straight answer by telling a long-winded story that I’m not interested in hearing. I ignore most of his words, but the last thing I do hear is Sandy’s name.
“Sandy’s out of jail and in your house? Why?” I’m ready to throw the phone across the hallway. It’s bad enough I just went through hell and back, now I have to deal with his evil baby-mama drama. Enough is enough.
“Because she needed somewhere to be released to. She’s under house arrest and if she stayed with her grandparents the only way I’d ever see my baby girl is by driving to Pomona on the weekends, and I can’t have that. She needs her daddy and her daddy needs her.” I feel for Rah but this isn’t going to work.
“Wasn’t there another option? What happened to you going for full custody? Isn’t this the opposite direction? You’re the one who turned her in, remember?”
“Yes, I do, and that’s why I’ve got to help make this right, Jayd. I don’t want Rahima growing up with her mama in jail and shit.” What he’s not saying is that he doesn’t want his daughter growing up like he and his brother are now, and I can understand that. But this is not the answer to my prayers, or Rahima’s.
It sucks that going back and giving our recent past a makeover had to have consequences that I have to deal with so personally. The universe really has a sense of humor, allowing Sandy to move in with Rah so he could have Rahima twenty-four seven. Yeah, that was some real funny shit right there.
“This is some twisted mess, Rah. You know that, right?”
“One man’s twisted is another man’s normal, Jayd. I don’t know what else to say, baby. You just have to trust me on this one.” Rah’s words hit too close to home for me. Him living with Sandy is crazier than anything I’m used to, and I don’t know that I trust him enough to deal with his new dysfunctional family drama. But what else can I do?
A Reading Group Guide
Drama High, Volume 9:
Super Edition
HOLIDAZE
L. Divine
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The following questions are intended to enhance your group’s reading of
DRAMA HIGH: HOLIDAZE
by L. Divine.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Have you, or anyone you know, ever experienced sleepwalking? If so, was it scary?
Why do you think Jayd’s gift of sight is through her dreams? What are the benefits of this type of gift? What are the disadvantages?
If you could choose a gift of sight to have from the Williams women’s lineage, which one would you choose and why?
If you could change one event from your past or the past of someone close to you, what would it be and why?
When someone sleepwalks, where do you think his or her mind is? Why do you think some people sleepwalk sometimes?
If you were Nigel, how would you have reacted to being shot over Mickey? Do you think he should break up with her? Do you think she deserves being singled out by her friends as the one to take the blame?
Should Nigel get a paternity test? Until then, should he claim Mickey and her baby? Explain.
If one of your friends needed your help, would you do anything in your power to help him or her, even if it meant risking yourself? Why or why not?
Should Jayd continue dating Rah, even with all of his drama? Explain.
Do you think Jayd can trust Mr. Adewale? Do you know of a teacher like Mr. A?
Was Mickey justified in her reaction to Jayd’s reluctance to help her out with Nigel, and his reaction to Mickey’s role in his being shot? If so, what could Jayd have done differently to help her friends?
Do you think Misty deserves to have powers like Jayd’s? If so, what do you think her powers should be?
If you were in Rah’s place, would you have allowed Sandy to move in, or found another way to deal with the situation?
Do you think Jayd should entertain the idea of dating Emilio? What kinds of challenges would dating him present? Could it be a good experience for them both? Explain.
What are your daydreams usually about? Has anyone ever caught you daydreaming, and if so, how did it make you feel?
Have you ever dreamt of something and it came true? Do you think you could intentionally make this happen?
With our first super edition of Drama High we are introducing Jaydisms: simple solutions to everyday issues the way that Jayd would handle them. Here’s the first of many to come! Enjoy~
Jaydism #1
When you want to relax like Jayd, adding a small amount of lavender essential oil to your bathwater or favorite lotion, soap, shampoo, conditioner, or just about anything else can make all the difference. You can even place a few drops of the oil in your laundry to scent your clothes, or sprinkle it on your linens for a restful slumber.
Stay tuned for the next book in
the DRAMA HIGH series,
CULTURE CLASH
Until then, satisfy your DRAMA HIGH craving with the following excerpt from the next exciting installment.
ENJOY!
Prologue
This weekend was the first one in a long time I spent hanging with my crew. After our hellish holidays it was nice being back to normal with my friends. Well, all except for Rah. He’s completely lost his mind if he thinks allowing Sandy to be under house arrest at his house is the way to go. If it weren’t for his daughter, I know he would’ve had no problem letting her trifling ass be prosecuted to the full extent of the law for stealing his grandfather’s car.
I just got my conditioner set in my hair for the next thirty minutes. I feel like cooking a big breakfast this morning, but it’ll be nothing like the spread Mama made for me yesterday. My memory’s still coming back from our collective vision quest. I walk into the kitchen and check the fridge for some food. As usual, there’s nothing in here to cook. Damn. I hope there’s some grits in the cabinet. My mom loves hot cereal and so do I.
I check the cabinet and find what I’m looking for, but not before I’m interrupted by someone at the front door. Who’s this knocking so early on a Sunday morning? Maybe it’s Shawntrese, wanting to get her hair done before church.
I look through the peephole and see Jeremy looking back at me. What’s he doing here?
“We’re making this pop-up thing a habit, aren’t we?” I say through the door, unlocking the multiple bolts and letting him in. Jeremy has seen me look all kinds of ways. Now he gets to see me with my plastic shower cap on and I could care less. That’s what he gets for coming by unannounced.
“Good morning to you too, Lady J. I had to come check on you since you’re not returning calls,” he says, walking inside and kissing me on the forehead. I haven’t even checked my phone this morning. I passed out when I came home from Nigel’s last night, and put my phone on silence to make sure I stayed that way.
“You want some grits?” I ask, sashaying back into the kitchen to finish cooking my breakfast. I open the freezer and find some protein to accompany my meal. Thank God for frozen food. Who knows how long these turkey sausages have been in here. In my opinion they look good enough to eat.
“What’s a grit?” Jeremy asks, as serious as a heart attack. I turn around and look at him, shocked he’s unfamiliar with one of our staple foods. I guess he’s not familiar with chitlins and pig’s feet either, although I haven’t had either one of those since I was a child.
“How can you not know what grits are? Your mother’s from the South.” I gesture for Jeremy to sit at the dining room table while I get out the necessary tools needed to cook. I put water in both the pot and the skillet, ready to heat this small kitchen up.
“Yeah, but she doesn’t cook everything southern. My dad’s Jewish, remember? Some things we never got accustomed to, a grit being one of them.”
“It’s not ‘a grit.’ You don’t eat just one,” I say, smiling at my silly friend. “And it’s like porridge made out of ground corn. Interested?” I begin pouring the white grains into the measuring cup, waiting for his response. From the look on his face I’d say the answer is no.
“I’ll pass.” His loss. I pour the cereal slowly into the boiling water and check on my sausages cooking in the skillet. This is going to be a slamming meal. “So, how was the dance?”
“It was okay. I didn’t stay for long,” I say, mixing the cereal until it’s thick and smooth. I reach back into the refrigerator and pull out the butter. I take a knife out of the dish drain and put about a tablespoon of butter into the grits and then sprinkle in some salt. All I need now is brown sugar to make this meal perfect. I have about twenty minutes before I need to rinse the conditioner out of my hair. I hope Jeremy wasn’t expecting my undivided attention this morning, because I’m all about me right now.
“And how was your Valentine’s Day?” Jeremy asks while I pour the grits onto a plate and then place the sausages next to the cereal. I sit across from Jeremy at the table and dig in.
“It was cool. I chilled with the crew, nothing special. And on Friday night I was busy with my family, so I was glad too for the session last night.” I offer Jeremy a sausage and he takes it. Something about Jeremy’s eyes tells me that I’m missing something here.
“You were so busy you couldn’t respond to my text about plans we had for the holiday?’ His text? I forgot all about him asking me to be his valentine and about the stupid movie he wanted us to go see. But I can’t tell him why I didn’t remember until just now.
“You seem to pick and choose your holidays, Jeremy. I’m sorry I was caught up and I told you I didn’t want to see a horror movie anyway, especially not one as demeaning as the one you chose.” I continue eating without apology. If I told him that me, my mother, and my grandmother were busy fighting off Esmeralda and Misty in the spirit world because they were trying to steal my dreams, I don’t think he’d believe me.
“How is a movie about voodoo dolls and shit demeaning to you, unless you’re a voodoo witch?” I stop in mid-bite and look into Jeremy’s blue eyes, now full of anger. He’s about to piss me and the women in my lineage off, if we don’t end this conversation right now.
“It’s priestess, not witch.” Did I just say that out loud? From the look in Jeremy’s pretty blues I guess I did.
“What’s the difference?” he asks, taking another sausage from my near-empty plate. I can feel the conditioner in my hair losing it’s minty tingle, indicating it’s about time for my rinse.
“What’s the difference? I know you know better than that, Jeremy,” I say, finishing the last few bites of my breakfast. “A witch stems from European Wicca beliefs. Voodoo is African and we are priests and priestesses, not sorcerers, witches, or any other name you might want to call us by.” I know Jeremy loves a good debate, but he can save it for our fourth period class tomorrow afternoon. This is not a conversation I want to have with him right now.
“We? Us? Is there something you’re not telling, Jayd?” Some things he’ll never understand and I’m not in the mood to teach him.
“Yes, there is, and I’m going to continue not telling you as long as you have an attitude about it.” I look at the wall clock and realize I’ve gone over by one minute on my conditioner. “I have to rinse my hair. I’ll be right back,” I say, wiping my face with a napkin before rising to head back into the bathroom where I’ve set up hair shop.
“Whatever, Jayd. Call me when you’re ready to be straight with me, without the attitude.” Jeremy gets up from the table and walks out of the apartment. What the hell just happened here? And why is he accusing me of having an attitude when he’s the one acting like a three-year-old? Whatever the reason, it can wait until tomorrow, unlike my hair. I should’ve never answered the door. Maybe I can rinse away some of his negativity with my conditioner and start fresh tomorrow—no attitude included.
1
Black Girls
“Light skin, dark skin, my Asian persuasion/
I got them all that’s why these girls out here hatin’”
—JANET JACKSON
For once, it’s good to be back at school. Stepping out of my car I notice the air feels new this morning. I guess it’s because all of the bad things Misty did, including trying to steal my dreams. All that was undone when I took back my sight and snatched her weaved head up while trying to undo her evil spell. It’s nice to have received the benefits of the mandatory week of anger management counseling I had to endure without suffering the consequences. It’s also nice that Nellie, Mickey, and I are speaking again. I need my girls to make it through these long days.
“What’s up, bitch?” Nellie asks as I approach my girls in the main hall. Now that I’m driving myself instead of taking the bus, I’ve managed mornings better, so I don’t arrive on campus so early. And Nellie’s back to getting a ride with Mickey, as it should be.
“Who you calling a bitch?” I ask, looking around for someone else. I know she’s not talking to me or Mickey, because those are definitely fighting words where we come from.
“You, bitch.” If it weren’t for the smile on Nellie’s face, I would think she was serious.
“We don’t do that,” Mickey says, correcting our girl. She rolls her eyes at me and smiles, knowing how bougie Nellie can be.
“But Tania and her girls say that to each other all the time.” I wish we could have changed Nellie associating with the ASB clique permanently, but being crowned Homecoming princess changed Nellie. Then Misty lost her damned mind after Mickey busted her out for having the clap. So much had changed with my crew. “It’s a term of endearment.”
“Not for us it’s not,” I say, walking with my girls from Mickey’s locker to mine. The warning bell for first period rings in the hall, putting the fear of detention in everyone present, especially me. With Mr. Adewale as my new first-period teacher, my days of excused tardies from my former Spanish teacher football coach are over. Mr A is serious about his shit and I’m serious about staying on his good side.
“What’s so bad about calling your homegirl a bitch if it’s said with the utmost love and respect?” Mickey and I look at our girl and shake our heads in disbelief. Nellie’s clueless on certain subjects, and the black girl code of etiquett
e is one of them.
“Look at Tania and her girls and then look at us,” I say gesturing to the bitch crew entering the hall from the main office. “Now you tell me what’s the difference,” I say, opening my backpack and switching out my books. I need to clean my locker, but I’m afraid of throwing anything away, especially after what happened last time: Misty went through my trash and found a note, then used it to try to incriminate me when Mickey and Nigel ditched class, which is what got us into trouble in the first place. I’m glad that’s all behind us, but I’m not putting anything past Misty after what we just went through.
“They’re rich and we’re not. Well, y’all aren’t, but you feel me,” Nellie says, flipping her straight hair over her right shoulder.
“You ain’t balling either, Miss Thang,” Mickey says, checking Nellie. I’m so glad we’re back to us, I don’t know what to do. Dealing with them one-on-one was too much for a sistah to handle.
“We’re black, Nellie, and they are not. We don’t go around calling each other bitches, hoes, or any other derogatory term, because of the history attached to the words for us and our ancestors.” I slam my locker door shut and begin speed walking toward my first period class, with my girls in tow. They can afford to stroll their class late, unlike me.
“Jayd, you really should let go of all that negativity. History’s in the past. Leave it there.” I stop in my tracks and stare at my girl. Mickey laughs at my reaction, but I know she feels part of what I’m saying. My ancestors are probably crying right now they’re so mad, and so are Nellie’s.