Uptown Dreams (17 page)

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Authors: Kelli London

BOOK: Uptown Dreams
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32
JAMAICA-KINCAID
J
amaica slid on her pants, stepped into her shoes, then tousled her locks. Quietly, she cleared her throat, not wanting anyone to hear. Carefully, she inched open the door, and looked up and down the hall. It was clear, she hoped. She hadn't been able to fully see because she couldn't open it all the way or stick her head out. As if she was coming out of the most normal place in the school, Jamaica walked out of the old storage closet, and hiked her book bag over her shoulder. Since she'd run from her parents, she'd been living in the school because she knew they'd track her; her address was somewhere in her laptop bag she'd left behind in the limo, she was sure. She'd written it on something for some reason, but it didn't matter anymore. All that counted was that she stay away from her old building, which also meant from Mateo's too. He'd insisted she could stay with him, but Jamaica didn't want to take any chances.
The bell rung, and most of the girls cleared the restroom. Jamaica walked to the nearest sink, whipped out her toothbrush and paste, and began to brush her teeth. The mirror told her her eyes were red, and that she wasn't sleeping well in the closet. But she knew that already. She could've been put up in the Waldorf, and she still wouldn't have slept. How was great sleep possible when you were on the run and on a mission?
“Are you at least
bathing
here?” Mateo asked, walking into the girls' bathroom like he owned it.
She turned her head, and paste ran down her chin. She nodded, said, “After gym.” She rinsed, then washed her face in the sink.
“Good.
You
look like—”
“Don't say it. Please. What's up, Mateo?”
He walked up behind her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. In the mirror they looked like a cute couple. But that was all. They'd never be together. She loved him like a brother, and was certain she cared more for him than her sister. “I was
only
going to say you look like you belong on
stage
. Ready?”
Her eyes went to the clock on the wall. The big round silver and white one every school had. It was time. She'd stayed up rehearsing lines all night, had slept until lunch, and now it was time for a run through of the play's lines before tonight's opening.
“Jamaica-Kincaid Ellison and
Mateo
?” Ms. Reed stood in the doorway, clearly shocked to see Mateo in the girls' bathroom.
“Ma
teo
who?” he asked, flashing out of the bathroom as if he'd never been there.
Jamaica turned. “Yes, Mrs. Allen?”
Mrs. Allen shook her head. “Don't ‘Mrs. Allen' me, young lady. Follow me to my office. We need to talk. We do not house runaways here at Harlem CAPA.”
Jamaica's heart fell, and she knew what she had to do. “Yes, Mrs. Allen,” she said, following behind the director's hard steps. She shot Mateo a look, then swept her eyes for the exit door.
Run
, she mouthed, then took off leaving nothing behind but wind and Mrs. Allen yelling for her to come back.
 
The panties, the freaking crotch riders were riding up her rear and cutting into her skin. Jamaica now knew why the other actress was upset, had showed out, and lost her spot. If she wasn't performing in front of hundreds of people, she'd hook her index finger inside the elastic on her butt cheek and pull out the wedgie, and tell Talia to wear them. Nah, she told herself. No, she wouldn't. This was her moment. The first major play of her life, and she wouldn't trade it for the extra breath it would take for her to live forever.
“It's a shame, really ...” she began her lines, then trailed off when she saw her parents in the second row. How did she not see them earlier? “... the way they make these undies,” she continued, catching herself before the audience sensed her hesitation and that she'd almost messed up. She smiled. Although she was scared, and hated that she'd obviously been found, the pause in the lines made them stronger. It was an artist's license to enhance the scene, and that's what she'd done. Her other lines came off without a problem, and she'd said them as if they weren't rehearsed or memorized. Then she quickly made her exit off stage right.
“Bravo!” her father said, meeting her around the back. “So this is what you were doing? You've been here in New York all along ... and
alone
, because this is your dream.” He was in motivational mode.
“Dah-ling, why not tell us? Why rough it? Jamaica, I'm very disappointed in you. Very.” Her mother chastised her, then drew her into a big comfortable hug. “But you were good. Very good.”
“How did you know?” Jamaica asked, her face pressed into her mother's shirt.
“Me, of course!” Talia said.
Jamaica turned, and was face-to-face with the director. “You?”
Talia smiled, then walked over to Jamaica's mother. The two linked arms. “We go way back. College buds.”
Jamaica's eyebrows crinkled. Now she was angry and embarrassed. She wanted to make it on her own merit. She wanted to land the part because she was good, not because she was her parents' daughter. “How could you do that? You set me up, and made me think I was good enough.”
Talia laughed. “Jamaica, my dear, you are good. One of the best young actresses I've seen in a long, long time.”
She looked at her father. “So this means I can stay in New York, right?”
“No.”
33
LA-LA
“Y
ou know I'm going to beat this, La-La,” Remi said as the cab pulled up to their project. “I don't know what you're so scared of.”
La-La looked at her sister in awe. “You're not even a little scared, Remi?” She paid the driver, opened the door, then helped Remi out.
Remi laughed. “Scared of what? I've already been through the worst, and, truthfully, I wasn't afraid then.” She shrugged, then walked toward the building. “I mean, really, I only had two choices, right? Chemo or death. I was more afraid of the needle.”
La-La choked on air and Remi's confession. How could she be so strong? “So you never considered ... ?”
Remi shook her head. “And you shouldn't be afraid either.”
“Afraid of what, Remi?”
Remi stopped and looked La-La in the eyes. “Of Nakeeda. Of going after Ziggy when you like him so much. You shouldn't be afraid of making it, La-La. I think that's what you're scared of, becoming a big star and having to face what you want more than anything. It has nothing to do with your teeth.” She put her hands on La-La's shoulders. “If you were afraid of people staring at you, you wouldn't have cut your hair to make me feel better about not having any.”
All La-La could do was nod. Her sister was right about her. She was afraid. She feared that she wasn't strong, good, pretty, or talented enough to go head-to-head with her competition, win the boy, and become as famous as everyone said she would. “I love you, Remi.”
Remi rubbed her hand over her head, and batted her eyes. “Of course you do, La-La. How couldn't you, with all this beauty and brains, and this crystal ball?”
 
La-La pushed open the chorus room door and entered the hall. To her left, Nakeeda and Hammerhead-Helen were talking loudly as usual, and La-La decided it was now or never. She was tired of being Nakeeda's target, and thought it was time she checked her. If Remi didn't fear dying, why should she let Nakeeda intimidate her? The answer was she wouldn't. Not anymore. She was no longer afraid of anything, and it was better to do something while scared than not do it at all. Pivoting, she turned and walked toward hell to face Lucifer and her she-devil.
“Well, look who it is. Baldilocks number two,” Nakeeda said to her flunky.
Hammerhead-Helen laughed. “Where's Ziggy? Oh, I forgot ... sorry.”
Before La-La knew it, her hands were wrapped around Nakeeda's throat, and she was pushing her against the lockers. “Let me tell you something, Ms. Get Down and Around With Anyone. You will never use those words again. Are we clear? My sister is not a baldilocks, she's a better person than anyone you know. And you won't talk to me like that either. I'm not afraid of you.”
Nakeeda pushed La-La off her. Her action said strength, but her eyes gave away her inner feeling. She was scared. “Get off me.”
La-La pushed her back. “I'll tell you what, since you want to test me, test me.”
“Hunh?”
Hammerhead-Helen crossed her arms, then stepped back. It seemed that, like Nakeeda, she was all mouth too. All words and no action.
La-La stepped so close to Nakeeda they were exchanging breath. Her exhale became Nakeeda's inhale. “You want to be me so badly, want to beat me so badly, want my boyfriend so badly that you'd go trick off your baby's Similac money to buy him dance shoes”—she flinched toward Nakeeda like she was going to hit her—“but you won't sing against me.”
Nakeeda rolled her eyes, but was looking the other way. “Whatever.”
“No ‘whatever.'
Wherever
. I'm ready when you are. We can do this right here, right now.”
The hall thickened with teenagers, and their appearance seemed to fuel Nakeeda's fake swagger. “All right. We'll sing then, and the winner gets Ziggy and the school.”
La-La reared back her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean whoever wins gets to date Ziggy and stay at the school, and the loser has to transfer.”
La-La closed her eyes, and gulped. She had once been sure she could beat Nakeeda, but was she possibly wrong? There was no way Nakeeda would make such a bet unless she had a trick up her sleeve. But she was tired of being afraid, sick of running. If Remi wasn't scared of anything, neither was she. “Deal.”
Nakeeda and Hammerhead walked away laughing. “Guess she don't know you've been taking lessons and joined the choir,” Hammerhead-Helen said loudly enough for La-La to overhear.
She hung her head and shook it. She knew there was a catch.
34
REESE
T
he music room was filling up with students as Reese walked around it to the soundproof studio housed in the back. The teacher cleared his throat, calling out for Reese's attention. Without thought, she reached inside her pocket, pulling out her permission slip before she reached him. She had clearance, even against her mother's wishes. It was her supplemental time, and she was free to create any way she liked. That was school policy. He looked at the paper, scribbled something on it, then handed it back to her.
“You must be pretty good to know how to work that board,” he said, a slight smile on his face. “I may need to hear what you're working on one day, and maybe you can show some of the other students how to use the equipment.”
She smiled pleasantly. He could check on her now if he wanted, he could even engineer as far as she was concerned. But she knew what she was doing. She'd been sneaking and doing it forever, so she was even better when she was able to be all that she could be and not worry about getting caught or a watchful eye.
Pulling open the door, she flicked on the lights and set down her bag. She cleared her throat. “You can come out now,” she whispered. “It's all clear.”
“You sure?” Broke-Up whispered from behind the shelves where the old reels and other equipment were stacked.
“Yes. I got clearance, and the music teacher signed off. Come out. We don't have much time.”
He crawled out on his hands and knees, and had some sort of cover on his back. From a distance, he resembled a piece of moving furniture. “You know how long I've been in here? Seems like hours.” He jumped off, dusting himself off. “Time to get to work. By the way, what are we working on?”
Reese smiled. If she couldn't count on anyone else, she could count on Broke-Up. She'd called him, begged him to sneak into the school's music production room, and hadn't told him what for. Still, he showed. “I thought we'd put together a mixtape. It'll be good to shop, and we can use it to raise money for the school. More specifically, we can use it to raise money for a production program.”
“Cool, Star. Let's get it poppin'.”
They plugged in plugs, adjusted volumes, sequenced, mixed, and created. Together, they were fantastic. Music pumped out of the speakers, making them both bounce their heads. Reese knew there was nothing they couldn't do. Yes, they'd caught the hip-hop bug, but who knew what other sounds they were able to master? Rock. Pop. Country. Blues. Reese was ready to do it all. She wouldn't limit herself, that's the oath she'd taken. If she could've dug Mozart up from the grave, she would've remixed his work until he danced to it in clubs. Her phone vibrated on her hip, and she ignored it. She didn't have time to talk. She only had time to do. Again, it buzzed, and wouldn't stop.
Finally she answered, “Hello?”
“Reese. Messiah here.”
She reached for the board to turn down the volume so she could hear him. “One sec, let me turn this down.”
“Nah. Reese, turn it back up. I like what I'm hearing.” He paused. “And obviously so does someone else.”
“Hey, Reese. I see you're still making those hot tracks,” the superpower artist she'd had the pleasure of working with said. “Who's it for? I told you my album isn't complete.”
Reese smiled, then elbowed Broke-Up. She offered him part of the phone so he could hear. They stood head to head while she told Messiah and Ms. Superpower what they were doing.
“Really?” Ms. Superpower asked. “Mind meeting me at the studio later? I'd like to sing on that ... if you don't mind. I always wanted to go to that school, but I was in Texas then, on the road.”
Broke-Up jumped up and down, swinging his arms, and his leg was popping. Reese covered the mouthpiece of the cell. She didn't want Messiah and Ms. Superpower to know how open and excited she was. Yes, they could come down. Yes, she could sing on the track. And, yes, she and Broke-Up had just made it. They were official, and, if the school did nothing else, it'd have to allow music production.

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