Authors: Nikki Carter
Cool Like That (15 page)
- Coke or Pepsi?
Pepsi. - What are your favorite TV shows?
Friday Night Lights, Smallville, Grey’s Anatomy,
and
Heroes.
(Save the cheerleader, save the world!!! Yeah!) - Bath or shower?
Both. - What’s your most embarrassing moment?
I was at a house party in my good friend’s basement. I went upstairs to get a snack and when I headed back downstairs, I slipped and fell down the flight of stairs. The music stopped, but I just hopped up and started dancing. Trust…it was ALL bad! - Who’s your favorite actress?
Sanaa Lathan!
Love & Basketball
is one of my favorite movies! - Who’s your favorite actor?
I have more than one. Johnny Depp, Denzel Washington, and Idris Elba! - Who’s your favorite singer?
This changes a lot. Right now I’m feeling Beyoncé, Alicia Keys, and Jennifer Hudson. I also like fun gospel artists like KiKi Sheard. - Have you ever been in love?
Yes! - If you could be a celeb for a day, who would you be?
Hmm…Kimora Lee! She is running thangs. So fabulous! - Flip-flops or Crocs?
Umm…neither. - What should readers learn from the So For Real series?
The lesson is that it’s okay to be unique and fearless! You can be a Christian and fab. Also, the people who appreciate you for doing YOU are the ones you want in your life!
Want more?
Don’t miss these other novels in Nikki Carter’s
So For Real series.
Available now, wherever books are sold!
From
Step to This
T
he telephone wakes me. Actually, my alarm clock
tried
to wake me, but I hit that snooze button four times.
“Talk to me,” I say into the phone in my husky, man-sounding, morning voice.
My best friend, Ricardo, answers. “Gia, wake up. I know you’re still in bed.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you sound like James Earl Jones. You’re going to miss your audition.”
“Okay…I’m up. See you at school.”
I throw my body out of my bed, my feet landing with a
thud
. I don’t smell breakfast cooking, so that must mean my mother, Gwendolyn, is out with the street ministry team and I’m on my own.
I open my bedroom door, take two steps, and I’m standing in front of the refrigerator (yes…our duplex is that small). Gwendolyn has left me a note. It reads:
God morning, baby. I’m with the evangelism team. Eat some cereal and have a great day.
Why do I have the corniest mother on the planet? She says “God morning” instead of “
good
morning” because, and I quote, “This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.” It’s a wonderful scripture and a great thought by my mother, but nobody ever thinks it’s funny—not even her friends on the evangelism team.
Gwen will go straight from street witnessing to her job as an LPN at Gramercy Hospital. An LPN is like one step below being a
real
nurse, but my mother couldn’t afford to finish the rest of her college degree. She blames that on my deadbeat father, who hasn’t paid a nickel in child support since I was a baby. I’ve only seen him a couple of times, actually, but I don’t think it bothers me much. You can’t miss what you never had, right?
I think about my audition and feel a little bubble of excitement in the pit of my stomach. My cousin Hope and I are trying out for the Hi-Steppers. It’s a drill team/dance squad that is full of the most popular, prettiest, and desired girls in the school.
Hope is one of those popular, pretty, and desired girls. I am their polar opposite.
So why did I let Ricardo talk me into auditioning? Because we will be sixteen this year, and I’m tired of being lame. Don’t get it twisted—I’m happy that I have straight A’s and proud as I-don’t-know-what to be in advanced placement classes, but my social life is the pits.
By the end of this year, my sophomore year, I want to accomplish three things. First, I need to talk my mother into letting me get a relaxer for my hair. Second, I need to have a guy ask me out on a date, even if my mother doesn’t let me go. It would be especially cool if that date was to the Homecoming dance. And third, I need to get a job, so that I can upgrade my entire social situation.
What am I going to wear? After one quick glance around the closet that I share with Gwendolyn, I see it’s going to be the usual. A Tweety T-shirt and jeans. Today, I’m going with the red Tweety and faded blue jeans. Hope begged me to borrow one of her little Baby Phat couture outfits for the Hi-Stepper audition, but I refuse to walk up in that piece, sparkling and bedazzled. If they can’t see past my faded jeans and Tweety T-shirt, then they are just not ready for me. Plus, Hope only offered her clothes because she’s embarrassed of mine.
My cell phone is ringing again. I dash back into my room to answer it before it goes to voice mail.
“Talk to me.”
“You really need to stop saying that. It’s not cute.”
I smile, because I know that my phone etiquette gets on Hope’s nerves. I do not care. “Hey, Hope. What’s crack-a-lacking?”
“Also not cute. Are you dressed?”
“Somewhat.”
Hope sucks her teeth. “That means no. Have you even showered?”
I run down the hallway into the bathroom and start the water. “I will be ready in ten minutes.”
“Sure you will. Me and Daddy will pick you up in twenty minutes. Do you want me to bring my flatiron?”
“Nope.”
“Well, I’m bringing it anyway.”
“I’m wearing a ponytail.”
Hope sighs. “It better not be a nappy ponytail, and you better not be wearing one of those Tweety T-shirts.”
“Okay! Bye.”
I slick my dark pro style gel on the front of my ponytail, tie it down with a scarf and jump into the shower. The warm water feels good splashing my body. I close my eyes and imagine myself wearing that red and black Hi-Steppers uniform and the cute white boots with the tassels on the front. The thought makes me smile.
I can do this.
After my shower is done, on goes my jeans and on goes my boy Tweety. A lot of people think that Tweety is a girl, but he is a boy. Right now, Tweety is my boyfriend. Anyway, I don’t care what Hope says, I’m wearing my shirt and I’m wearing my ponytail. I top off my whole look with a short jean jacket and gold hoop earrings.
It’s a good look—well, as good as I can come up with on my limited budget.
The horn on my uncle’s Benz tells me that it’s time to go. I take one last look in the mirror, slick some baby hair (or baby hurrr if you’re from the south) on my forehead, and give a little pat to my afro puff.
I’m not really mad at Hope for suggesting that I flatiron my hair. It always looks great when I do, but my hair is long and thick and as soon as I take one step out the door and into the humidity—it’s back to the giant curlfro. So, until I can break Gwendolyn down and convince her that a relaxer is very necessary, I’m rockin’ rough and tough with my afro puff.
On the way out the door, I grab a snack-size bag of Doritos. Do Doritos count as cereal? They’re made out of corn, so I’m thinking maybe.
I open the door, take a deep breath, and smile up at the sun. Even though it’s September, it still feels like summer. All that will change in a month or so, because here in Cleveland we get snow in October.
“Gia! Quit soaking up the sun and come on!”
I squint angrily at Hope, who has her window rolled down and her shiny lips puckered. “I’m coming!”
I run down the raggedy walkway and, as usual, trip over a loose piece of gravel. I don’t fall, but I do drop my book bag and spill out some of my folders. I don’t know what it is, but lately, I’ve been super clumsy. It feels like I can trip over air sometimes. It’s just something else about me that drives Hope crazy.
Hope gets out of the car to help me. She rolls her eyes at me and says, “Dang, Gia. If you can’t even walk to the car, how do you think you’re going to be a Hi-Stepper?”
“Whatever, Hope.”
I roll my eyes right back at her, snatch my book bag, and get into the car. I could’ve said so much more than “Whatever.” Like the fact that Hope has no rhythm and how she can’t even snap her fingers and step at the same time, so how does she think
she
can be a Hi-Stepper? I’m gonna leave it alone, but she better not make me go there.
“Good morning, Gia,” my uncle says.
“Hi, Pastor.”
Okay, I see the question mark on your face, so let me explain. My uncle Robert is also my pastor. I never call him Uncle Robert, even though he’s my favorite uncle. Everybody calls him Pastor Stokes or just Pastor, even my mom, and he’s her little brother.
Hope gets back into the car too, and slams her door. “Gia, I thought I asked you not to wear one of those Tweety T-shirts.”
Pastor Robert answers for me. “Hope, you are not the boss of Gia. She can wear whatever she wants.”
Hope whines, “But, Daddy! She is going to embarrass me. We are trying out for the Hi-Steppers today and she comes out the house looking a mess.”
I shout from the backseat, “I don’t look a mess!”
“You’re right. You don’t look a mess—you look a
hot
mess,” Hope hisses. “You did this on purpose.”
“Whatever, Hope! You act like I’m thinking about you when I pick out my clothes. I’m just that into you, right?” I say sarcastically.
“You
are
that into me! Obviously. You only wanted to be a Hi-Stepper after you heard I was trying out. Why don’t you get your own thing?”
“Hi-Stepping is not
your
thing. If you had a thing it wouldn’t be Hi-Stepping! It would be looking in the mirror all day counting your pimples!”
Hope cries, “Daddy!”
I can’t believe that Hope used to be my favorite cousin. We had “Best Friend” everything—bracelets, necklaces, earrings, folders, and purses. But something happened when we got to ninth grade at Longfellow High School. All of a sudden, she was ashamed to be seen with me because my mom couldn’t afford to buy me Baby Phat and Juicy Couture.
The summer before we entered the ninth grade, Hope’s mom, Elena, gave her a makeover. She took her to the salon and got her hair straightened and her eyebrows waxed. When my mother saw Hope’s new look, all she said was, “She looks grown and fast. No daughter of mine is going to look like that.”
I think the fact that I’m growing up scares my mom. She had me when she was seventeen, and she thinks that I might end up like her.
She’s got me messed up.
Ain’t no way in the world I want a baby or an STD. A sista like me is going to college, for real. You feel me? Plus, I see how hard my mom has it and I’m not trying to go through that too.
Besides, right now, I don’t even exist to boys.
I keep wondering when puberty is going to start for me. Hope has been wearing a bra since we were in the sixth grade. I still don’t need one, although I wear one on principle. I can’t wear an undershirt in the tenth grade.
When we pull up in front of our school, Hope quickly dashes out of the car so that she doesn’t have to walk into the audition with me. I fight back the tears that want to come, because there is no way I’m going to let her see how much she hurts me.
Pastor Robert turns around in his seat. “Don’t worry, Niecey. I’ve always liked your T-shirt collection, and your hair is unique. Hope doesn’t know everything.”
“Thank you, Pastor. See you later, crocodile.”
“Bye, alligator.”
That’s an ongoing joke between us. When I was little I couldn’t get that “See you later, alligator, in a while, crocodile” saying right. I always said, “Bye, bye, alligator.” My uncle is so cool, even though he is a pastor. He goes out of his way to be a father figure for me because my dad is not around.
As I walk over to the gymnasium, where the auditions are being held, I see my friend Ricardo waving at me. I wave back and smile. Ricardo being there (even though he’s supposed to be at football practice) makes me feel so much better.
“Hey, Ricky. Does Coach Rogers know you’re here?”
“Yeah, he said it was cool,” Ricky replies. “Plus, I’m not starting this week anyway.”
“Seriously? Why not?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Some college scouts are coming to see Lance. He could get a scholarship.”
Everybody, including Coach Rogers, knows that Ricky should be the starting quarterback for the Longfellow Spartans. But since he’s only a sophomore, he doesn’t get to play as often as he should. Their senior sensation, Lance Rogers, is the coach’s son, so you already know what it is.
“What about the college scouts seeing you?”
Ricky says, “God is going to open a door for me, Gi-Gi. Don’t worry about it. Right now, you need to get your head in the game and remember that step we came up with.”
Ricardo’s older brother, Jordan, is in college and in a fraternity. We used some moves from the Q-dog step show and hooked up a slammin’ routine for my audition. Now, I just have to get it right.
Ricky and I walk confidently into the audition. He sits at the top of the bleachers with the other spectators, and I sit in the front row where the other future Hi-Steppers are waiting. Hope pretends to not see me come in.
Hope’s friend, Valerie, who is captain of the Hi-Steppers, smiles at me. I smile back and try to make it not look super fake. I know she only pays me any attention because she likes Ricardo. A lot of the girls here are nice to me for that very same reason.
What they don’t know is that Ricky would never holler at any of them. He’s saved and wants to be a virgin when he gets married, after college. Some girls think that’s weird for a guy, but not me. These little trifling girls are always writing notes about the nasty things they want to do to him, but he’s not even on that. Plus, two years ago, when he had braces on his teeth, thick glasses instead of contacts, and more bumps on his face than a pizza has pepperoni, none of these girls even said hello. Especially not Valerie.
Hope is the first one up to audition. She hands Valerie a tape with her music on it and then walks to the center of the gym. Hope looks really scared, but she’s smiling anyway.
The music starts and Hope does her little routine. It’s obvious that Valerie helped her choreograph it because there are a few signature Hi-Stepper moves that Hope could never have thought of on her own. If she smiles any harder I think her face might crack and all her icy pink lip gloss will run down her shirt. Seriously, Hope looks like she tripped and fell lips first into a tub of Vaseline. She finishes and takes a bow, and all of her friends hug her as she comes to sit down.
I’ve got to admit that it was better than I’d expected. Much better. Hope might actually have the potential of being a decent Hi-Stepper. She gets on my nerves, but I gotta give props where props are due.
After a few really, really bad auditions, it’s finally my turn. I give Valerie my tape and walk to the center of the gym with a cane in my hand. The cane was Ricky’s idea.
The drumbeat of Destiny’s Child’s “Lose My Breath” blares from the speakers and I start my complicated routine. My stomps and claps are perfect, and everybody gets pumped when I tap my cane, toss it in the air and catch it with ease.
When I’m done, I get a standing ovation from the entire Hi-Steppers squad. Ricardo is also yelling and clapping like he’s lost his mind. This is a good moment—the stuff of legends. Okay, maybe not legends, but it’s really, really great!