The Meltdown (29 page)

My phone rings with a general tone, and I check my cell: It’s a picture message. I hardly ever receive picture texts or use the camera on my fancy phone. As the photo becomes clearer, my heart rate increases: It’s a picture of Cameron kissing my man. As my vision predicted, they are outside
showing their affection. I don’t recognize the cell number on the sending end and I don’t care. A picture’s worth a thousand words—damn the confession. When Jeremy gets home tomorrow, I’m going to confront him once and for all. I know I’m not supposed to engage in heated discussions while healing from Esmeralda’s attack, but I can’t let this one slide. Whether it’s the new Jayd or the old one, I’m too real to ignore my man’s blatant disrespect of our relationship. I already got one broad off my back, and it looks like I’ve still got one more to handle before it’s all said and done.

A Reading Group Guide

ABOUT THIS GUIDE

The following questions are intended to
enhance your group’s reading of
DRAMA HIGH: THE MELTDOWN
by L. Divine.

T
he beautiful journal Mama and Netta presented me with to keep a record of my first year as a priestess is supposed to be filled with my spiritual transformation, not the same old shit regarding trifling dudes and the females they roll with. Instead of writing about my latest dream or other surreal experience while dressed in white from head to toe, I’m writing about my man’s indiscretions. I wonder if all newlyweds worry about their cheating boyfriends during the honeymoon phase of their blossoming love.

As strange as it may sound, my initiation two weeks ago was my marriage to my spiritual mother, Oshune. Mama says there’s nothing like being an iyawo—a wife to my head or-isha. Mama explains it as the most important relationship I’ll ever have. Now my head as well as my heart belongs to Os-hune, and because her love and devotion knows no boundaries, she also belongs to me. According to Mama, my time as a newborn is short and sweet, not only because everyone dotes on me, but also because it’s the most sensitive I’ll ever be—spiritually, mentally, and physically. Maybe that’s why my emotions are running wild over seeing a picture of Jeremy kissing Cameron. I can’t think or dream about anything else since seeing the texted photo yesterday.

Jeremy’s already left several messages to let me know he’s on his way home and wants to visit as soon as possible, but I’m not sure if he wants to see me like this. So much has changed this summer, and it’s more than my attire. I don’t know if anything will ever go back to the way it was before, but what I do know is that the truth is coming out—the good, the bad, and the hood.

A
fter my shopping excursion with my crew abruptly ended yesterday afternoon with me plotting ways to kill Jeremy and Cameron once their plane lands on American soil, I went back to Mama’s house and took a long, cool bath. It’s more dangerous now than ever for my head to get too hot. If I have a dream about Queen Califia, Maman, or another one of my powerful ancestors breaking someone down with their sight, I’m liable to bring it back with me when I wake up. I might not be able to control myself when I look into Jeremy’s eyes as he denies anything’s going on with his side trick when I have the physical evidence to prove otherwise. And Jeremy’s crippled mind is the last thing I need on my conscience right now.

My initiation has made my dreams more intense and my sight off the chain, but it’s still in the beginning stages. But so far, seeing my dreams come to fruition is the most natural feeling ever—like breathing. I’ve decided to tell my ex, Rah, about my dream of his baby mama, Sandy’s, insemination by another dude. She can try to tell Rah it’s their second baby, but I know the real story, and she needs to come correct here and now. Rah couldn’t join us yesterday, so we all decided to meet up at his place since crazy Sandy is MIA for the afternoon.
Knowing Sandy, she won’t be missing for long, so we’d better enjoy the peace while it lasts, because when she gets back, I’m going straight for the jugular.

“Your mama’s a total bitch,” Mickey says to Nigel, throwing the cloth diaper with remnants of baby formula all over it down on the table in front of the futon.

So much for a chill session vibing to Rah and Nigel’s latest beats. I remember when the garage-turned-studio was the most serene place we could all hang together. Now it’s yet another firing post for our collective drama.

“Mickey, the baby,” Nigel says, caressing Nickey’s soft hair.

She’s the only one who can get any rest in here. That girl can fall asleep anywhere. Staying asleep seems to be her main problem.

“Nickey knows her mama’s telling the truth about that evil woman,” Mickey says, sitting in the chair next to the table.

She looks better and is back to her old self. As soon as I put some color on, I’m checking Misty’s ass for giving Mickey unhealthy vitamins Esmeralda prescribed. For now, I’ll have to settle for Dr. Whitmore expertly switching the tainted pills with his healing combination in time enough to save my vain friend.

“She’s still my mom,” Nigel says, reading the sports section of the newspaper at the work desk he and Rah share. Rah’s busy counting his cash. He’s been hustling harder than ever since his mom stopped chipping in for the rent and bills. But judging from the frustrated look on Rah’s face, I’d say he’s still coming up short.

“She ain’t right, Nigel.”

I wouldn’t call Mrs. Esop a bitch, but she’s not the nicest woman in the world. I’ve yet to face her after I bugged out at the debutante ball, and I know she’s waiting patiently for an explanation. But what can I say? I never wanted to do it anyway.
It’s ironic how the universe has a way of working things out, no matter how much we try and plan otherwise.

“What happened now?” I ask, leaning across the futon and touching my goddaughter Nickey’s toes. If she’s dreaming, I want her to feel my presence and know that I’ve got her back consciously and subconsciously. Rah’s daughter, Rahima, looks up at me from her spot on the carpet where she’s surrounded by toys and smiles, knowing I’ve got her, too.

“Since I’ve been staying at Rah’s house for the past couple of weeks, she’s convinced my dad to cut off my allowance, saying I’m not earning it because I’m not home to do my chores,” Nigel says.

“That’s a cold move right there,” I say, ever surprised at the depth of Mrs. Esop’s swag. She knows she’s a lot of woman to deal with and uses it to her advantage all day long.

“A bitch, Jayd. There’s no other way around that shit.” Mickey keeps it real all the time, damn the audience. “We’re supposed to be saving up for our own place, but now we ain’t got a damned thing to save.”

Nigel and Mickey aren’t even married yet, and Mickey’s already claiming his money. We all know Mickey’s not making any cheddar of her own.

“For real, Mickey—in front of my daughter, too?” Rah asks, looking up from his stacks of tens and twenties at Rahima stacking her blocks like they’re money. He’d better be careful of the example he sets for baby girl, too. “Unlike your newborn, Rahima’s talking and can repeat what she hears.”

Like her mama’s any better. If Rahima wanted to curse, she’d be a professional by now with the example she’s got in Sandy. But I’m with Rah—not swearing around the little ones is best.

“I don’t want to have to up my game, but our hustle’s all I’ve got now.” Nigel looks at his boy, and Rah recognizes the
hunger in his eyes. They go way back to elementary school before Rah’s dad went to prison. Nigel and his family were there for Rah when he had no parents at home and no food in the fridge, and now Rah’s returning the loyalty.

“Y’all can move in with me,” Rah says, throwing the last bill on the pile and leaning back in his seat. “Kamal’s spending more time at my grandparents’ house, and me and Ra-hima can chill in the den while you, Mickey, and the baby take my room.”

“For real, Rah?” Mickey asks in disbelief.

It’s not exactly what they had in mind, but it’ll have to do. Living with Rah is much better than sharing a room with her little sister and sharing a bathroom with everyone else in her crowded household. There are two and a half bathrooms in this house—a good ratio for six people. That’s the thing I miss most about being at my mom’s apartment, but I can’t go back until my time in whites is over. Luckily, it ends right before school starts, allowing me privacy to create my first-day-back outfit. I want to start my senior year off as fly as possible.

“Man, I don’t know,” Nigel says, shaking his head. “If Sandy’s living here, it’s going to be tough.”

“That won’t be a problem much longer, I’m sure,” I say.

My friends look at me, wondering what I know, but I’m not giving up anything until Sandy gets here. I want to see Sandy’s face when I confront her with the truth about her insane ways.

“Man, we’ll work it out,” Rah says. “Besides, I could use some help. My mom’s been slipping on the rent lately. I should change the locks, but I can’t since it’s her house and all.”

His mom is hardly ever here and only shows up to borrow money and weed from Rah. Sandy’s just like her, which explains
Rah’s save-a-ho attitude, but some broads should be left out in the cold.

“All right, then, man,” Nigel says, putting his hand out for his boy, who returns the gesture. “I’ll get our stuff tomorrow. And here’s something to make it official.” Nigel pulls out five one-hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and hands them to Rah. Houses in this neighborhood cost way more than that, but I know Rah’s grandparents actually own the house and only charge his mom about half of what it would normally cost to live here.

“Bet,” Rah says, making Mickey’s day. “Now, can we get this session officially started? We can leave the girls in here and move to the living room. I don’t know about y’all, but I could go for a pizza or three.”

Sounds like a plan. I’m glad our crew is somewhat back to normal, even if Nellie’s presence is missed. She’s too busy hanging with her new friend from church, who I’m convinced just wants to get in her panties, but I have to handle one broad at a time. Sandy’s first on the list and then Cameron. The poor white girl won’t know what hit her by the time I’m through. If she thinks I’m giving up my man without a fight, she’s got another think coming. Unfortunately for Cameron, she picked the wrong boyfriend to jock. No matter where she and Jeremy are from, in my hood if you want a man who’s already spoken for, you have to be willing to deal with the consequences. And I’m just the one to teach the trick how we do things in Compton.