Star Power (7 page)

S
he was not swallowing her pride or eating her words. Those were two things that crossed Charly's mind as she called out to stop Heaven in her tracks. When the morbid-looking girl paused midstride, then turned and locked eyes with Charly, the other thing that plagued her was there was no way she was going to kiss this girl's butt for a ride either. If it were up to her, she wouldn't be talking to her at all. Her phone vibrated in her hand, and she relaxed a little, hoping it was Liam or the camera crew returning one of her calls. She looked at her cell, and knew God was paying her back for something. It was only an e-mail alert.

“What is it? I'm off,” Heaven said, crossing her arms and looking about as excited as a pallbearer.

Charly silently counted backward from ten to calm herself before she snapped. Since she wanted a ride, the last thing she could do was tell Heaven where she could go and how fast to get there, and the destination was opposite of the girl's name. “Aren't you supposed to have like an extra shot of energy or something?” Charly asked, trying to make light of the situation. “I thought everyone felt that way when they got off work. At least I do.”

Heaven just raised her brows.

“So . . .” she began, not knowing what to say. She and Heaven kept bumping heads, and asking her for a ride was the last thing Charly wanted to do. She didn't want to give Heaven the opportunity to reject her, especially when she needed her. She decided that honesty was the best policy. Truth and the almighty dollar would hopefully work. “Listen, Heaven, I know I'm not your favorite, and that's fine. But I really need you—the show needs you. And I'm willing to pay.”

Heaven's eyebrows rose. “Need
me?
For what?” Her arms were still crossed, but her tone held interest.

Charly gulped. Pride was hard to swallow. “I need a ride.” Heaven started to shake her head no. “It's not out of your way, according to him,” Charly said, pointing back toward the hotel worker who'd directed her to Heaven.

Heaven lifted herself on tiptoe, following Charly's finger toward the guy. She resumed her position, then adjusted her attitude a bit. “Oh, Mike sent you to me. That's different . . . it changes things. What's up? Where do you need to go?” Heaven asked.

Charly didn't know what made it so different, and she dared not ask. All she cared about was getting to Rory as quickly as possible so she could get to Nia. She scrolled through her contacts until she reached Rory's name. “Here. I need to go to this address,” she said, handing Heaven the phone.

Heaven's eyes stretched. “Really? You want to go to this address? You sure?” She drew her brows together and nodded with each question, then closed her eyes and shook her head during the brief pauses in between, then began the nod and shake again, as if she were answering each inquiry the way she wanted Charly to.

Charly almost asked Heaven why it was such a big deal and why she kept nodding and shaking her head like Charly needed her to answer for her, but thought better of it. The less Heaven knew, the better, she thought. She did have to admit though, the line of questioning piqued her interest. What was the big deal about going to Rory's? She nodded. Whatever it was about the address just was. She didn't have time to explain why she needed to go, she just did. “Yes, I'm sure.”

Heaven pressed her lips together, then looked over to where Mike was standing. She shrugged. “Okay, come on, but don't complain about my ride. It gets me where I need to go.” Her words were still as dry as she was dreary. She reached down, took a set of keys off a pocket chain, then walked.

Charly followed behind her, trying to keep up and swallowing her distaste for the pocket chain. She shook her head, wondering who still wore those, then remembered Heaven was a little different. Everyone she'd met in the town was unusual compared to what she was used to. “Are we almost there?” she asked Heaven, who was speed walking. They'd rounded the corner, walked a block, and didn't seem like they were stopping soon.

Heaven only nodded, then crossed the street. She zoomed into a gravel parking lot that had seen better days. Holes and debris were everywhere, along with a couple of homeless people whom Charly was surprised to see. It wasn't that she wasn't used to seeing them. New York and Chicago were filled with them, but she didn't expect a small town to have outside residents. Heaven waved her hand in the air, then made her way to the back of the odd-shaped space, stopping in front of a stack of boxes. She looked around like someone was after her.

“You're good, Heaven. I've been watching out,” a voice said from somewhere Charly couldn't pinpoint.

“Thanks, Oracle,” Heaven said. “You always do, but since I didn't see you, I wasn't sure if you had gone to save the world.” Heaven looked toward a broken-down van that looked like it had been borrowed from a Scooby-Doo movie.

The back door slid open, and a woman stuck out her head. Like Heaven, she had dreadlocks, but hers were wrapped in fabric to the top of her head, then cascaded down like a weeping willow. Her gray hair framed a soft face that looked like it'd been formed out of red Georgia clay, and shiny lips spread into a smile when she looked at Charly. “Oh, company? That's unusual,” she said, then locked eyes with Charly. “They call me Oracle,” she introduced herself. “I'm from the Sky family.”

“Oracle? That's nice,” Charly said, not knowing how to respond, and almost afraid to. If the woman was called the Oracle that meant she was insightful, well, at least according to the old
Matrix
movie she'd watched over and over. Dr. Deveraux El, an older gentleman from back home in Illinois, who'd been schooling her on history and culture had urged her to watch it, encouraged her to wake up. He'd said life was not what everyone was programmed to believe—it was much more. Charly nodded. That was the same thing the woman called the Oracle in the movie had said too.

Heaven looked at Charly, then Oracle. She shrugged, then began moving bricks and boxes.

“Yes, my name is Oracle, and thank you. And you're Charly.” She informed Charly of her own name as if Charly didn't know her parents had named her Charly, then Oracle turned to Heaven. “This one is here to save the world.” Oracle pointed to Charly. “So I get a day off.” She laughed, then winked at Charly. “I know who you are.”

“Okay,” Charly said, then began helping Heaven move the last remaining boxes, revealing an older motorcycle that Charly assumed had to be Heaven's ride.

“Let's go,” Heaven said, unlocking a helmet, then strapping her bag on the back of the motorcycle. She straddled the seat, then waited for Charly to mount it. “Here,” she said, handing Charly the headgear. “Hopefully, we'll get where we're going without getting pulled over. I only have one, but I don't like to wear them anyway. My hair doesn't fit.” She turned on the ignition, revved the engine with a twist of her wrist, then took off. She pit stopped next to the old van, dug in her pocket, then pulled out a sandwich bag and handed it to Oracle. “Your herbs. Echinacea, organic rose petals, and lavender.”

Charly thought she was going to die. D. I. E. She was on the back of Heaven's raggedy motorcycle, holding on for her life. She closed her eyes and pressed her helmeted head against Heaven's back, feeling her body angle right, then left, as they zoomed at top speed, rounding curves. The engine roared, deafening her, then it backfired, sounding like gunshots blasting. She almost swallowed her tongue, she was so afraid. They rounded a corner and drove down a winding street for what seemed like forever before Heaven finally took a sharp turn onto a dirt path, then shifted into a lower gear until they began gliding. The motorcycle slowed to a stop.

“That's it over there,” Heaven said, pointing to a house out in the distance. “This is as far as I go.”

Charly got off, then unstrapped the helmet from her chin. “Okay,” she said, then looked in the direction Heaven was pointing. “Serious? You can't take me a little farther?” She slipped her purse off her shoulder and dug inside. “I told you I'm paying.”

Heaven laughed. “It's not the money I'm concerned about, it's the cost,” she said, working her head into the helmet. “You'll see” were her last words before she revved the engine, turned the bike around, and sped off.

Charly watched Heaven disappear down the drive, then looked down to her shoes. Her heels were almost four inches high, and her toes were exposed. Her eyes traveled to the dirt road that served as a driveway, then took in all the rocks that were scattered along the way. She shook her head and tried to swallow the pain that she was certain was going to set in. She hadn't even walked one step, and already her feet were hurting.

A
scream cut through the air, followed by a barrage of curse words. Charly paused, and tried to keep her uncomfortable stance. She'd walked the long drive with her weight on the front of her feet because her heels kept getting stuck in the dirt. A crash made her eyebrows rise, and she wondered what was going on. She gripped her bag to her side, then looked on the ground for something she could use to protect herself if she had to. She'd come too far to turn around, but she wasn't certain about moving forward. But what else could she do? She was in the middle of nowhere, and had no other way to leave except by foot, and hers were hurting too much to accomplish that without her soles catching fire. A crash similar to dishes hitting a wall sounded through the opened windows of the eyesore of a dilapidated house. It was two stories high, painted an awful lemon yellow, and had baby blue shutters. Suddenly, all was quiet. Charly stood in place waiting to see if it was safe to approach. She reached into her purse and retrieved her cell phone. She shook her head. It still had no reception. She exhaled, put it back, then walked on tiptoe toward the now-quiet house.

She'd just passed a broken-down car that was supported by bricks instead of tires, and was almost to the porch when a larger girl burst through the screen door at top speed, then leaped off the porch. Her hair was wrapped around her head, held in place by gobs of silver duckbill clips, and shoes were in her hands. She paced back and forth, swinging the low heels back and forth like weapons. “Bring it! Come on out here, so we can do this. It was an accident, and you know it. Now you wanna act stupid after I just got my feet and hands did?” She threw up her hands, pointing the tips of the shoes toward the sun. She was still moving. “Really? You just want to mess up me getting my pretty swag on. I got things to do, so hurry up and come get this beat down,” she invited, stopping and facing the front door. “ 'Come on, bring it. My nails are messed up now, so ain't no sense in wasting it. Bring it. I got something for you.”

Charly took it all in, and hoped the angry girl in front of her wasn't Rory, but, deep down, she knew it was. Who else talked about getting their pretty on? “Rory?” she said, much lower than she'd expected to.

“Yayer!” The girl moved back and forth like a bull getting ready to charge, then started hiking up her fitted hot pink sweats. “Come on. I'm waiting. I been wanting to connect my foot to your butt all week.”

“Rory?” Charly called out a little louder.

The girl turned and looked at Charly. Fire was in her eyes and her nostrils flared as her chest rose and dropped with every breath. Every heave could be heard, making Charly question if she had asthma. When the girl took a step forward, looking like she was ready to pounce, Charly wondered if she'd have to fight. The rage in the air was thick enough for Charly to feel it, and, for seconds, time froze. Everything disappeared as Charly's survival instinct kicked in. Charly no longer cared that she was in the middle of God knew where or how mad the girl thought she was, Charly was ready and skilled. She'd learned how to hook with the best of them back in Illinois, and would've been more than willing to introduce the girl to two fists and a head split if needed.

“Charly?” the girl asked, and time ticked again. “What you doing here?” she asked, switching personalities and cutting off her anger. “Charly, my girl. Whazzup?” She smiled, making her way over to where Charly stood.

“Rory? I thought that was you—” Charly began, then pointed. A large woman was making her way down the porch steps at top speed. In one hand there was a cast-iron frying pan, and in the other was a bat. “Rory, look out.”

Rory turned around and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, no,” she said, then picked up speed, moving toward Charly, then grabbing her hand. “I hope you can run, Charly. She's big, but she can move!” Rory yelled as the two of them made tracks through the grass, then over the dirt path that served as the driveway.

Charly felt like she was in the middle of a low-budget film, pushing her way through tall trees and bushes, unable to feel the branches scrape her skin or the rocky terrain pressing against the bottoms of her feet. A shotgun cut loudly through the air, and her heart caught in her throat. “Where did that come from? I thought she had a bat! What did you do?” she asked Rory, who was still pulling her.

Rory rounded a wooden shack, then stopped. Her eyes moved left and right as she took in their surroundings. “That wasn't no bat, that's her shotgun. Now hurry up. Sit down,” she instructed Charly, then crouched. She shielded her eyes from the sun to survey the bushes, then finally sat. She stretched her legs in front of her, then held her hand to her chest until her breathing softened. “We have about five minutes before she realizes which hiding spot I'm in.”

Charly tilted her head. She couldn't have heard right, she told herself. Not now, not when her feet felt like someone had shot nails through them. “Serious? Rory, what did you do?”

Rory threw back her head and laughed from deep down in her belly. She grabbed her midsection, and tried to pull down her white tank top over her exposed stomach, but there was just too much stomach to do so. “Sis, last night I accidentally dropped Skittles in the sink, and today I ate the last piece of cake. That's it and that's all.” She shook her head.

“
What?
” Charly began, then was interrupted by the sound of a shotgun cutting through the air. She was on her feet before she knew it, running to wherever. She wanted no part of Rory and her sweet tooth or the problems that came with them, but felt like she needed to hide.

“This way,” Rory said, running around the shack, and heading toward a car. She dug in her bra while her feet were in motion, pulled out a key, then cried out in pain.

Charly watched as Rory's almost two-hundred-plus pounds flew through the air as if she had sprouted wings, then closed her eyes when she saw Rory headed toward the ground. A th-thump noise let her know that Rory had landed and, more than likely, had bounced. Charly opened her lids, then held her breath. Rory was spread out on the ground, facedown with her legs splayed. She moaned. Charly ran over to her. “You all right?”

Rory tried to shake her head, but stopped midway. “I think I broke my toe and my head,” she began, then stopped when another shot was heard. “Man, we gotta go, Charly, or my auntie will shoot both of us.”

Charly laughed. She couldn't help it. The whole display had been more than she could stand, and she was sure someone somewhere was filming her. What was going down just couldn't be for real. “No, she wouldn't,” Charly said. “That's your family.”

Rory held out her arm, then turned her wrist. There was a small circular scar on the inside of her bicep. “Yes, she would. Again.”

Another gunshot cut through the summer day, and was louder than before, a sign of Rory's aunt being closer to them. Charly reached down and pulled up Rory, then helped her hop to the car on her one good foot.

“You're gonna have to drive, Charly. I can't.”

Charly gulped. The last time she drove, she'd pulled directly into a ditch. “I don't know . . .” One more shot rounded off. “Okay. Give me the keys. Give me the keys!” Charly said twice, then helped Rory into the passenger seat. She'd closed the door and was around the car in the driver seat before she knew it. She stuck the key in the ignition, but it wouldn't turn.

Rory shook her head, then pressed the key farther into the ignition until they heard a slight click. “Here. Hold this in place. It doesn't fully work, meaning it won't turn. I really don't think it ever has. But if you keep it pressed in . . .” She reached over, fiddled with some wiring under the steering wheel, and the car came to life. “Tah-dah, it'll make it start.” She shook her head. “Ghetto, I know, but nobody has money around here to get locks and ignitions changed. We just rewire it,” she said, looking around.

Uncertainty was tugging at Charly. The car wasn't parked at Rory's, so maybe it wasn't hers, but she did have a key. “Are you sure it's okay for me to drive? You were stuck before, so that means it can't be yours.”

Rory shook her head, looking around. “It's cool, Charly. I don't always have access to it. Besides, everyone else has driven it, so why not you? I drive it, Nia has, Mya has. You name 'em, they've whipped it.” Her eyes widened. “Now go. Go! She's coming. Hurry and hang a left.”

Charly threw the car in
DRIVE
, then sped off, leaving a trail of dirt floating in the air as she made her way to the end of the driveway. She strapped on her seat belt, then turned onto the street. With her foot pressed on the accelerator, she tried to figure out what had just happened. How had everything gone from bad to worse in a matter of seconds? Sure, she'd gone through some tough times, but she'd never had someone shooting at her. She was just about to speak when she felt her purse vibrating against her side. She exhaled, glad that she finally had phone reception. It had to be Liam or the camera crew, she believed, reaching into her bag and grabbing the cell to answer it. Liam's name floated across the screen, and Charly's adrenaline slowed. Finally, a break, she told herself, then accepted his call. “Hello?” she began, then noticed the blue lights flashing behind her. She dropped the phone in her lap. She hoped the cops didn't see her talking on the cell while driving. “Don't hang up, Liam! Five-oh's behind me!” she yelled.

“It's the Po Po, Charly girl. You better pull over, 'cause I don't feel like going back to jail,” Rory demanded, slapping her palm against the dashboard.