Not A Good Look (2 page)

Part of me wants to smile because he appreciates my look, but the other part wants to dead that noise because he played me.

“Romell, I'm not getting back with you. You know what it is.”

He chuckles, “‘You da you da best / you da you da best.'”

“You can sing all the Drake songs you want, Romell. It's not gonna work. I'm never getting back with you.”

“Never?” Romell replies with a laugh. “How you gon' challenge me like that and think I'm not gonna accept?”

A challenge? Wow, I don't even know how he got a challenge out of
I'm never getting back with you.
That's crazy.

“Romell, ain't nobody trying to challenge you. Go holla at Chantelle. She's the one you with now, right? She braid your hair?”

“You like my hair, baby? Thank you, but Chantelle is just for playing—you know that. You're the one I wanna be with.”

“Yeah, well, won't Chantelle do whatever you want?”

“She's
too
easy and I'm a man, baby. I like to hunt for my food.”

I roll my eyes, flick on my iPod, and hope that Romell can't see the tiny smile on my lips. Yeah, he's a cheater and all, but dang, he's wearing that swagger like Roca-wear cologne.

Wait, did I say I was over him? Well, I am, but a girl can still appreciate fineness. I'm just sayin'.

B
ethany squeezes my arm as we get out of Truth's car in front of the studio. She had begged and pleaded with Dreya for us to be able to come, and Truth had picked us all up from school. Dreya promised us that it was the first and last time that we'd ever be in her man's ride and she threatened Bethany with a slow and painful beat down if she tried to push up on Truth.

“Y'all can sit down over there,” Truth directs us as we walk through the studio doors.

Dreya looks hesitant to let her man's hand go when we see three chicks walk by us wearing bathing suits.

“Who are they?” Dreya asks.

Truth grins and his mid-back-length locs move, emphasizing his amusement. He walks up really close to Dreya and kisses her on the neck. While he's doing this, I notice he has a new tattoo on his arm—a microphone. In a minute he's not gonna have anywhere else to add any tattoos; his chocolate brown skin is covered in ink.

“You jealous, ma?” Truth asks.

Dreya sticks her chin out defiantly, like a little kid. “No, never that. I was just wondering why they walkin' around half-naked like it's summertime, and it's cold outside.”

“They are doing a photo shoot. They're some little girl singing group. Kinda like y'all, but they can't blow like y'all can.”

Kinda like us? That's really funny. There is no way in the world anyone's gonna ever see me doing a photo shoot with no clothes on. That's for no-talent chicks.

Truth continues, “I'm gonna go 'head downstairs 'cause I'm already late. Y'all can chill and watch TV, and somebody will probably come up and get y'all something to eat. You straight with that, wifey?”

Dreya nods and returns Truth's kiss. He untangles himself from her and dashes down a flight of stairs. Dreya looks like she wants to follow him, but she doesn't. She sits down on a leather couch and we follow her.

“Y'all betta not embarrass me up here, especially you, Bethany, with your thirsty self,” Dreya says.

I guess I'm looking real lame right now, because I brought my homework, but whatever. I've got a calc test tomorrow, and I don't flunk for nobody. I don't care if they do have a record deal.

This is a pretty fly spot, for real. There's a big flat-screen TV on the wall, surround sound, and theatre chairs. Somebody spent some serious cheddar on this spot.

Just as I finish up my homework, a pretty, brown, video-vixen type walks into the room. She's got a lace front wig that hangs nearly to her waist, fake eyes, fake boobs, and probably a fake behind, but at least she's fully dressed. I wonder what she looked like before the enhancements.

“Y'all want something to eat?” she asks.

Dreya looks her up and down. “Who are you?”

The girl laughs. “You must be Truth's little girlfriend.”

“I'm his wifey.”

I have to swallow the laugh that threatens to explode out of my throat. Dreya is hilarious without even trying. As if a girl who looks like this chick would be interested in Truth's broke, on the come-up self. Dreya sounds really desperate right now.

“Well, I'm the receptionist, baby girl, and the hospitality committee. Do you want something to eat or not? We've got lasagna and pound cake in the kitchen.”

My eyebrows lift involuntarily. She just said the magic word for me. Lasagna is one of the world's most perfect foods.

“I don't know about her,” I say while holding on to my grumbling stomach, “but I'm hungry. I would love some lasagna.”

Dreya cuts her eyes at me like she wishes they were a knife. It's whatever. I haven't eaten since lunch and it's dinnertime.

The vixen smiles at me. “Well, come on then. Big D said to roll out the red carpet for y'all.”

“Who's Big D?” Bethany asks.

“He's the man who owns this studio.”

“Are you his girlfriend?” Dreya asks.

“Something like that.”

I don't wait for Dreya to make up her mind about whether or not this girl is a threat. I'm hungry and the scent of freshly baked lasagna has made its way to my nose.

When Bethany stands up, too, Dreya reluctantly joins us. We follow the vixen down the hall, and for real, her butt has to be fake. Each cheek is moving like it has its own personality. Those kinds of booties don't grow naturally, do they?

The vixen girl shows us to the kitchen nook area where we slide into a booth. Dreya's mean mug is slowly evaporating as the girl serves us hot, steaming plates of cheesy lasagna.

“What's your name?” I ask the girl, tired of thinking of her as the vixen in my head.

“It's Michelle, but everybody calls me Shelly.”

“Nice to meet you. I'm Sunday, and this is Dreya and Bethany. We're a singing group.”

“That's cute,” she says. “I used to sing, too, but that was a long time ago.”

“So what do you do now? Dance in videos?” Dreya asks.

“No, sweetie. Big D takes good care of me. I don't have to shake my behind in videos to make money.”

Bethany's eyes widen. “That's what I'm talkin' 'bout. I need a man like that.”

Michelle laughs out loud. “You're a baby. You don't need a man at all.”

Thank you, big-donk girl, for spitting knowledge in the atmosphere! Sometimes I really don't know about Bethany. Some of the stuff she says is twisted.

“If y'all want some more, it's on the stove,” Michelle says. “I'm going back downstairs.”

“Are we allowed down there?” Bethany asks.

“Maybe. I'll ask, and if they want y'all to sit in on the session, someone will come upstairs and get you.”

Michelle jiggles out of the kitchen and leaves us there to finish our food. Stripper or not, she knows what the heck she's doing in the kitchen. This lasagna is the bomb, for real!

“She looks like she stinks,” Dreya says.

“Hi, hater,” Bethany replies with a giggle.

“Seriously!” Dreya exclaims. “How can you wipe a booty that big?”

“Ewww, you nasty,” I say. “Leave me alone so I can eat my food.”

“I don't want nothing that booty girl fixed,” Dreya says.

“Okay, you can starve then.”

Bethany and I scarf down our lasagna and soda like we haven't eaten in weeks, while Dreya watches.

“Didn't she say something about some pound cake?” Bethany asks.

Just when Bethany and I are about to go in search of dessert, a teenage boy comes into the kitchen. He stops in the doorway of the kitchen, leans on the wall, and checks each one of us out.

“Y'all wanna come downstairs?” he asks.

Dreya stands up. “Yeah. It's about time.”

The boy looks at Dreya's untouched plate of food. “You didn't like the lasagna?”

“I don't eat food cooked by strippers.”

The boy looks offended. “I'm not a stripper!”

I burst into laughter. “I don't know who you are, but, boy, you put your foot in that lasagna.”

“I'm Sam, the studio engineer and junior producer. I also like to cook.”

“I'm Sunday, this is my girl Bethany, and the hungry chick over there is Dreya.”

Sam smiles at me, and I smile back, although he's far from a hottie. His clothes are fresh and his haircut is nice, but he's barely cute with his big nose and lips. He's got a great smile, though, and since I'm not looking for a boyfriend, that's good enough for me.

We follow Sam downstairs to the studio area. Shelly is chilling on a couch reading a book. Truth is in the booth with a headset on, and I guess Big D is the one at the control panel. I've never met Big D, but the giant medallion of the letter
D
across his chest is a giveaway.

“Which one of you young ladies is Truth's girl?” Big D asks.

Dreya pipes up, “That would be me.”

“Well, you betta talk to your man. He needs to finish up this album and he ain't belting out this hook the way I need him to. Sing it again, Truth, while your wifey's down here.”

Big D hits some buttons on the control panel and a loud, pulsing beat blazes through the room. My head involuntarily starts to bob, and a melody forms itself around the bass line.

Truth opens up his mouth and sings in a gravelly tenor. His singing voice isn't bad, but the melody is lacking. The one I'm thinking of is a lot hotter, and more fitting for the beat. Obviously, Big D isn't feeling it either because he turns off the music.

He fusses into the microphone leading to the booth. “Truth, man. Come on.”

I clear my throat and tap Big D on the shoulder. Dreya's eyes widen like she wants to strangle me, but it's whatever. He needs to hear what I have to say if he wants to make this track hot.

“You interrupting me, right now?” Big D asks.

He sounds irritated, but I'm not scared, because I know he's gonna be pleased when he hears what I have to say.

“I think I can help. The hook you've got him singing doesn't really fit the track.”

“You got something better?”

I nod.

“Then let's hear it.”

Big D turns the track back on, but waves at Truth to let him know he shouldn't sing. I close my eyes, open my mouth, and sing the lyrics I just freestyled to the track.

“You say I'm the best now show and prove / If I'm the one then make your move / I'm a lady, I'm not sweating you / now what ya gonna do, what ya gonna do?”

I repeat the hook a few times while the track plays, and on the second time, Dreya and Bethany harmonize with me. We sound hot! I'm so proud of them, especially Dreya, because she doesn't go flat even though she does a little run at the end.

Big D claps his hands together. “All right, baby! Now we talkin'. That's gonna be a hit right there. Wifey, go get in the booth with your man and belt that out.”

What? Did everyone not hear me freestyle and lead that hook? Is it my imagination or does he really want Dreya to sing on the track? What in the…

“She's got a little bit more flava to her,” Big D explains. “You look kinda Disney, sweetheart. We can use her in the video. But you and this whooty right here can sing backup.”

Disney! I look
Disney?
I am beyond annoyed as I watch Dreya sashay into the booth and put the headset on. Big D hits the track again and she nails it on the first time. Her soprano sounds pretty good, like Ashanti with a little bit more soul.

“Can I at least get a songwriter credit on the track?” I ask.

Sam grins and Bethany's eyes widen. I wonder if I'm asking for too much. Well, it's too late now. I can't take it back.

“Naw, baby, this is a jam session, so it's like a collabo. But I'll put your name in the thank-you's. How 'bout that?”

Okay, I know how it works in the industry. I know on my first few hits I probably won't get any songwriter credit, or money for that matter. But once I get known for being a hit maker, the paper will come.

Still, I don't like the idea of coming up with an idea and someone else putting their name on it. That sucks, for real, especially since I can't even sing on the track except in the background.

Big D gives me a fist pound. “What's your name, lil' mama? You a real business woman, ain't you?”

“Sunday Tolliver.”

“All right then, Ms. Sunday, you keep doing what you doing, and I'ma be writing you checks. That's fo' sho'.”

I give Big D a nod and a tight smile. “That's what's up.”

“Come on over here, Sam, and do your magic,” Big D says.

Sam sits down at the controls, makes a few adjustments, and then gives Dreya and Truth the signal to start again. They go through the entire song, and the track is bumping. Dreya's vocals leave a little to be desired, but it's whatever. Me and Bethany are dancing like we're in the club, and even the laid-back Shelly is getting her groove on.

“That's it right there, Daddy,” Shelly says to Big D.

Big D pats me on my back and gives me a fist pound. “I think we've found a little gold mine.”

Is he talking about the song or is he talking about me?

A
fter the recording session, Dreya decided to play wifey and stayed with Truth at the studio, leaving me and Bethany to find our own ride to the house. Luckily, Sam is on his way out.

“Can we ride with you?” Bethany asks.

“Sure, but I have to make a stop first.”

My face tightens. “What kind of stop?”

I'm not about to get caught up in anyone's illegal activities. So if he's making
that
kind of stop, I'll catch a cab.

“I need to get an apple juice slush at Sonic. Is that all right with you?” There's a little gleam in Sam's eye that makes me think he knew what I was thinking.

“Yeah, an apple juice slush is cool.”

Bethany and I follow Sam to his car. I watch Bethany graze his body with hers every opportunity she gets. She stays in groupie mode all day and all night. Sam's not even a star, but something on him must smell like swagger.

Sam walks around to the passenger side of his car, a red Explorer SUV, and opens the front door for me. I guess he's not impressed by Bethany and all that junk she's carrying in her trunk, because clearly he wants me riding shotgun. And the door-opening gets him extra points with me.

Bethany looks a tad bit salty, but she climbs in the backseat when Sam opens the door for her as well. I give him the eye as he walks around to his side, and on second appraisal, he's not that bad looking. He's wearing black-framed glasses (not sunglasses, regular glasses) and now has on an Atlanta Falcons cap pulled down low. It's a quirky look, like Lupe Fiasco or somebody, but he working it.

“So where do y'all stay?” Sam asks as he starts the SUV.

“Decatur, off of Candler.”

He nods and pulls out of the driveway. I wait to see if he's got any opinion about where we stay. It's not the hood, but it definitely ain't the lavish life. But Sam's face isn't giving anything away, so if he's got an opinion, he's keeping it to himself.

Sam drives into the Sonic at the end of the street and pulls into a parking spot. “Y'all want something?”

“Yeah, I want a cherry limeade slush and Tator Tots,” Bethany says.

“And for you, Sunday?” Sam asks.

“Nothing. No, thank you.”

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah, I'm sure.”

Sam shrugs and says, “Okay, fair enough. Maybe next time.”

Next time? There's going to be a next time?

Sam orders the drinks and Tater Tots for Bethany. I almost change my mind and order a drink, too, but I'm really not thirsty.

“Sam, how'd you start working for Big D?” Bethany asks.

“A friend told him about my skills, and I went into the studio one day and showed him what I was working with. Next thing you know, I'm the main studio engineer and I'm producing tracks.”

“You're so good at it,” Bethany says. “I bet you could be making a lot of money if you had your own spot.”

“One day, I guess. Right now, Big D pays me well and I'm making a lot of connections.”

The Sonic girl brings the order out to the car, and Sam pays her. He watches the girl as she walks away.

“You like what you see?” I ask.

Sam laughs. “I'm sorry. In the summer she always wears short shorts. I guess I was just reminiscing.”

I shake my head. Boys are disgusting. Even if they do know how to open car doors and bake lasagna.

I lean back in my seat, intent on being quiet the rest of the way to the house.

“How's it feel to make your first hit?” Sam asks when we stop at a red light.

“It was easy.”

Sam chuckles. “That was easy to you, coming up with a hook? Where have you been all my life?”

“I don't know. Are you working with some artists?”

“A few, but nobody with that
it
factor, you know. Just the same ole same ole. Nobody that's gonna blow up. Except Truth. He's gonna be off the charts.”

“Do you think we can blow up?” Bethany asks from the backseat.

Sam glances in the rearview mirror and nods. “Y'all definitely could.”

“You still in school?” I ask Sam.

“Yeah. I'm a senior at DSA.”

“DeKalb School of the Arts?” I ask. “That's hot. You must be talented for real.”

Sam blushes a little. I guess I'm embarrassing him. The fact that he's blushing is actually kind of cute, because at least he doesn't have a big head.

“I sing and play piano and cello,” he replies.

“Cello?” Bethany falls out laughing in his backseat. “Are you serious?”

I roll my eyes. “Don't listen to her. I love stringed instruments. That's cool.”

“Do you play?”

“Nah, but I wish I did. I took a few piano lessons when I was little, but my mom couldn't afford to keep them up. I think it would really help me with my songwriting if I knew how to play.”

“I give lessons.”

I laugh out loud. “Are they free lessons? I'm trying to go to college, so I don't have a lot of extra cash lying around. Actually, I don't have
any
extra cash lying around.”

“For you, they're free.”

“Are you flirting with me?” I ask. “Trying to get at me with some piano lessons?”

“Nope. I just think you're talented.”

I'm cheesing now, from ear to ear. “Okay, then. Oh, wait. Turn right—this is Bethany's street.”

Sam turns onto her street, and asks, “Which one is your house?”

“Second one on the left,” Bethany replies. “The red one.”

Why is her voice dripping with attitude? Obviously Sam is not checking for her, so she might as well get dropped off first. But I know I'm gonna hear about this tomorrow. She has this thing about claiming boys, whether they're digging her or not.

Sam pulls into Bethany's driveway and she gets out. “'Bye, Sam. It was nice meeting you.”

“Same here.”

“See you tomorrow, Bethany,” I call as she walks away without saying good-bye to me.

Sam waits until she gets into the house and then backs down her driveway. “She mad at you about something?” he asks.

“Probably. It's whatever, though. She'll get over it.”

“So which way do I go to get to your house?”

“Oh. Take a left at the stop sign, and then down the hill.”

At the bottom of the hill, in front of my house, are about six police cars. Lights flashing and everything. There's an ambulance and a fire truck, too, which puts me in straight panic mode. I almost lose it when I see my mother standing in our yard crying, with Aunt Charlie holding her up.

“This your house?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, let me out.”

I run toward my house and a police officer grabs my arm and tries to stop me. “Young lady—”

“This is my house! That's my mother!”

“It's all right, officer, sir. She lives here.” This is Sam talking. I didn't even know he followed me.

“Well, move it indoors, then. There's nothing to see out here.”

Sam nods in agreement. “Yes, sir.”

The police officer lets go of my arm, and Sam and I run over to my mother.

“Mama, what's wrong?”

My mother opens her mouth to say something, I guess, but then she just breaks down crying.

“Someone shot Carlos.”

My eyes open wide. “What? No way!”

“I'm riding to the hospital with him, Sunday,” my mother says between sobs. “Just go in the house and stay inside, okay. In case they come back.”

“In case who comes back?” I ask frantically. “Do you know who did this?”

My mother kisses my cheek and runs to the ambulance to ride with Carlos to the emergency room.

I turn to Aunt Charlie for answers. “What is going on?”

“He was meeting up with some guys to buy into a club. One of the guys is LaKeisha's brother.”

“His baby's mother, LaKeisha?” I ask.

“Yeah. I guess a fight broke out and they followed him back here to finish things off.”

“Finish things off? Is Carlos…”

Tears well up in Aunt Charlie's eyes. “They shot him so many times that I don't see how he can make it. But God is able.”

It must be bad if Aunt Charlie is talking about God. She's one of those people who only thinks of religion, God, and church when she's in some kind of trouble. My chest tightens at the thought of us losing Carlos.

Aunt Charlie looks Sam up and down. “Who are you? And where is Dreya?”

“Dreya stayed with her boyfriend, Aunt Charlie—and this is Sam. He just gave me a ride home from the studio.”

“What do you mean, Dreya stayed with her boyfriend?”

I shrug. “I don't know, Aunt Charlie. Where's Manny?”

“Will you go in the house and check on him for me? I'm gonna drive your mother's car to the hospital.”

Even though I want to go to the hospital to be with my mother, I nod and obey Aunt Charlie. Sam follows me to the door.

“Are you going to be all right?” Sam asks. “Do you need me to stay?”

Wow. He looks like he's concerned for real, and I've only known him a few hours. I'm touched.

“Could you, please? Just for a little while. I don't know if I want to be here by myself.”

“I can stay for as long as you need me to stay.”

“Do you have to call someone?” I ask. I don't want him to get in trouble trying to make sure I'm okay.

“My mother works nights. She doesn't come in until after I've already gone to school.”

“Okay, well, I just wanna warn you, this isn't a mansion. We're just a regular hood family.”

Sam shakes his head. “Sunday…why do you think I would care about that?”

“I'm just sayin'.”

Truth is, I'm embarrassed about our little house. It's clean and everything, but it's definitely not ready for entertaining. I never have company. In fact, the only people at school who've been here are Bethany and Romell.

I show Sam into the living room, where Aunt Charlie's blankets are still on the couch in front of the television. Her ashtray is filled with several smoking cigarette butts, which I snatch and throw in the garbage.

“You can have a seat here,” I say, pointing to the love seat that is blanket free. “Aunt Charlie would trip if she came back and you were sitting on her bed.”

Sam sits down. “This is better anyway, because you'll have to sit closer to me.”

“Look at you getting fresh!” I say with a tiny giggle. “I could always sit at the table.”

“Or we could sit in your bedroom,” Sam suggests.

“Now you're tripping,” I reply, my tone now all business.

Sam raises two hands in defeat. “I'm joking, Sunday. Calm down.”

Manny walks up from the back hallway with a frown on his face, and all that mean mugging is directed straight at Sam. Manny takes that whole “don't talk to strangers” rule to a whole other level.

“Who are you?” Manny asks. He looks angry but his face is streaked with tears.

“I'm Sam. What's up with you, lil' dude?”

“I ain't yo' lil' dude. You don't even know me like that.”

I stifle a laugh at the look on Sam's face. He obviously didn't know that Manny was gangsta wit' it.

“Sam, this is my cousin Manny. He's Dreya's little brother.”

Sam smiles. “Oh, I'm sorry, sir. You must be the man of this house.”

“Yeah. Don't get it twisted, knucklehead. What you doin' here and ain't no grown people home? My auntie don't let no boys be all posted up in her spot like that.”

Sam laughs out loud and looks at me. “How old is he?”

“Four going on thirty-five. He watches way too much TV.”

“Hey, I can hear y'all,” Manny fusses.

“I'm sorry, little man,” Sam says. “Some scary stuff happened tonight, and I'm just staying here with y'all until your mother and auntie come back. Is that all right with you?”

Manny gathers his blanket around his shoulders. “It was scary. I heard a gun.”

“I'm scared, too, Manny.” I scoop Manny up and hug him to my chest.

Manny throws his arms around my neck and squeezes hard. He might think he's four going on thirty-five, but he's just a baby. I kiss his forehead and lay him down on the couch.

Suddenly, I feel kind of open, like Sam is up in my personal space way too quickly. He's got a caring look on his face, but it kind of makes me nervous because we just met.

“Do you want something to drink?” I ask.

Sam holds up his Sonic cup. “No thanks. I still haven't finished my apple slush.”

“Okay.” I grab the remote control and turn on the TV, hoping that the noise is a distraction.

Sam pats the seat next to him. “Chill, Sunday. You seem completely stressed out. Everything's gonna be all right.”

As I sit down, he takes the remote from me and changes the channel to
Meet the Browns.
Even though I never watch sitcoms, I totally could use the distraction.

“Looks like there's a marathon on. Six back-to-back episodes. You down?” Sam asks.

“Sure, whatever.”

I try not to laugh, but the combination of Mr. Brown and Sam imitating Mr. Brown gives me a serious case of the giggles. It's definitely helping me to not think about Carlos getting shot.

I stretch my arms toward the ceiling and yawn. I'm tired, but I don't want to go to bed and leave Sam sitting up here by himself watching TV, so I force my eyes to stay open for as long as I can.

 

I guess Sam and I watched the show until I fell asleep. The only reason I know I fell asleep is because Aunt Charlie taps my leg to wake me.

“Wake up, Sunday. Walk your friend out.”

“Wh-what happened with Carlos?”

“They don't know if he's gonna make it. His mama and sister are up at the hospital, too.”

I shake my head. “How's my mother doing?”