Time to Shine (11 page)

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Authors: Nikki Carter

BOOK: Time to Shine
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11
“W
ho are you wearing?” The extra perky red-carpet reporter smiles at me and shoves the microphone in my face. This is only the second time I've done this, and I'm not at all used to the flashing lightbulbs and rapid-fire questions coming my direction like bullets.
I blink a few times, as if I didn't hear the question. It's crazy, I'm on the red carpet at the Grammys and all I can think about is the paper that I didn't finish writing for my composition class. I blink a few times and reply. “The dress is vintage Versace and the shoes are Jimmy Choo.”
I've coupled my pretty-in-magenta gown with a roller set pinned to the one side and cascading over my shoulder. DeShawn is incredibly dapper. I was clutching to his arm for dear life until he gently slipped his arm around my waist to move me down the red carpet.
“Well, you look fabulous!”
And just like that, the reporter is attacking another celebrity. DeShawn says, “Why didn't she ask me who I'm wearing?”
“Maybe she didn't recognize you.”
DeShawn chuckles, “Well, she better Google me or something, 'cause I'm somebody too.”
“Yes, you are,” I say. “Tonight, I'm glad you're here with me.”
Right behind us on the red carpet is the rest of the Reign Records posse. Sam has his arm around his mother, who looks pleased as punch to be on the red carpet. We briefly make eye contact as I turn and watch them talk to the reporters. I look away first when I see the sadness in his eyes.
I stop in front of another smiling reporter. “Are you excited about your Song of the Year and Best New Artist nominations? Do you think you'll win?”
I chuckle. “I am very honored to be nominated, and I certainly hope that I win.”
“And you're performing tonight too?” the reporter asks. “You've had quite a busy year haven't you?”
“Yes, I'm singing my current single, and it has been ridiculously busy for me, but I'm excited. I love the thrill of it all.”
“Even competing against your cousin for the Best New Artist crown?” The reporter smiles from ear to ear, so I grin right back.
“Of course. She deserves it as much as I do. Drama is an amazing singer. We've sung together our entire lives.”
DeShawn nudges me forward when Sam and the rest of the Reign Records artists are basically on our heels, but not before I see the angry glares exchanged between Sam and DeShawn. Boys having testosterone battles.
Finally we're inside, and the seating arrangement is crazy. DeShawn is on one side of me and my songwriting partner ex-boyfriend is on the other side. I don't know if this is someone's idea of a joke, but I'm not laughing.
“You want me to move?” Sam asks when he sees the little sign with his name on it.
“No. I'm straight. They probably did it because we're nominated for an award together. It's all good.”
“What about your boyfriend?” Sam asks. “You okay with that dude?”
I quickly reply, “My date does not care who I sit next to. He knows that I'm here with him.”
I'm not so sure that DeShawn's response would've been the same as mine. But I can't let him get into an argument with Sam at the Grammys. That would be all bad. He'd end up on every blog on the Internet in the morning.
Dreya and Evan have, I guess, decided to let the world know about their romance. The two of them are completely embarrassing. I don't think the second row at the Grammys is the place to make out. I know the show hasn't started yet, but my insides cringe with each slurping sound.
Big D, Shelly, Dilly, and Bethany are seated a row behind us, and there are chairs marked for Mystique and Zac in the front row. The only one missing from Big D's original crew is rapper Truth. According to the bloggers, since he was not nominated for any Grammys, nor was he asked to perform, he was staging his own personal boycott of the show. I'm not sure if anyone even cares.
Mystique's entrance into the auditorium is an event in and of itself. She's wearing a fitted silver gown that glimmers and clings in all the right places. Zac is debonair in his tuxedo, but he has on sunglasses inside. It really annoys me when people do that.
“Mystique looks incredible,” DeShawn whispers. “If she wasn't with Zac, I would so try to holler at her.”
“What! I thought you were trying to get with me!”
DeShawn laughs out loud. “So, when I tell you I want to get with you, the answer is no, but you're still jealous of another chick? How's that work?”
“That's how girls are,” I say. “We're pretty selfish.”
“I'll tell you a secret. Guys are pretty selfish too. I think we might be worse than y'all.”
Sam grunts under his breath. I wonder if he wants to contribute anything to my conversation with DeShawn. I'm sure he could shed lots of light on guys being selfish. Outside of Dreya, Sam has to be the most selfish person I know.
I lean forward and look down the aisle to get Dreya's attention when she comes up for air from Evan's vacuum lips. When she finally looks up, I mouth the words,
Good luck
. She smiles and winks at me, but doesn't wish it back. I know Dreya, so this is good enough. She doesn't really want me to win the Best New Artist Award, but I think she'll be okay with it if I do.
Mystique turns around and smiles, “You look gorgeous, Sunday. Where did you get that vintage Versace dress?”
“Evan sent a stylist for me.”
She lifts an eyebrow and bites her heavily lipsticked lips. “He did?”
“Yeah. I think she was from New York.”
“He's pulling out all the stops, huh? Good luck on your categories.”
“Good luck to you also.” Mystique is nominated for Best R & B Performance and Album of the Year. She's expected to win them both, since the competition this year is not really that strong. Mystique pats Sam on the knee affectionately before she turns back around in her seat.
Over the next hour, we watch everyone who's anyone in the music industry walk in and take seats. The positions of the seats let you know how relevant each person is in the industry right now. With the front-and-center seating of the Reign Records crew, I guess we're some of the most important in the building—not bad for a bunch of kids from Lithonia.
About a third of the way through the show, they announce the Best New Artist award. In fact, I'm backstage preparing for my performance when they announce the winner, a country artist named Shay Graham. I didn't realize that I was holding my breath until I exhale. I also realize how much I wanted to win. I blink back a tear as I watch Shay accept her award from backstage.
My reaction to losing is nothing like Dreya's. She had stood from her seat as if she was anticipating them calling her name. The camera captures her shocked and angry reaction, her mouthing the word
What?,
and Evan pulling her back down to her seat. The whole exchange is only a few seconds long, but etched into history.
I have no choice but to shake off my disappointment, because it's time for me to sing. Prior to the show, Big D and Evan tried to convince me to use a vocal track, just in case anything went wrong with the performance, but I was totally against it. I want every performance to be one-hundred-percent me singing. If I ever get to the point where my voice doesn't sound good on stage, I'm throwing in the towel. I refuse to be a studio creation.
Dilly and Bethany introduce me for the performance. It makes me laugh that the two of them have to have fake, jokey banter on stage when they are exes. At least they have a better relationship than me and Sam.
Once I'm on stage in my fitted blue minidress, I sing my heart out. “The Highlight” is probably my favorite song off the record, but I've added some extra embellishments for this show. I have the band stop playing on the last note, so that I can hit it a cappella. The note is so high and so clear that when I stop singing there is a huge pause, as if everyone in the room has sucked in their breath. But after the pause, the applause is incredibly and thunderously loud.
Everyone is clapping, but for some reason, I focus in on Sam, who is on his feet clapping and whistling like he doesn't have any sense. DeShawn is standing too, but Sam's reaction is straight-up foolish.
I don't start calming down until I'm back in my seat and next to DeShawn. He gives me a one-armed hug when I sit, and Big D pats me on my back.
“Great job,” Big D says.
DeShawn whispers, “You were incredible.”
Sam says nothing, but I do catch him glancing at me a couple of times out of the corner of his eye. It's a shame that we've deteriorated to the point where he can't even tell me that he liked my performance.
They get to the Song of the Year award, and I don't even feel myself get nervous again. I don't expect to win in this category—I never did. There are too many songwriting veterans in the mix this year. My best chance of winning my first Grammy was in the Best New Artist category. I'm so relaxed that my shoes are kicked off in front of me. I get my hands ready to clap for whoever the winner will be.
Then, KeKe Palmer and Justin Bieber say, “And the winner is ‘Can U See Me.' ”
Oh my goodness! Am I in the cotton-picking Twilight Zone or something? I jump up from my seat, and Sam starts pulling me to the stage, but then I realize I'm not wearing shoes! I snatch away from Sam and run back to my seat to put my shoes on. Everyone in the crowd seems to think this is funny, and even though I'm super embarrassed, I have to laugh too.
Sam waits for me to get on stage before he starts saying his thank-yous, so I dash up the stairs holding up my dress like I'm Cinderella racing back home before the clock strikes midnight.
When I get up to the podium, I pick up the Grammy and look at it. Then I look at the audience and say, “For real? Song of the year? I so didn't expect this award, so y'all know I don't have a speech prepared. I do know that I need to thank God, my mama, and everybody in the Reign Records crew, Evan, Big D, Drama, Dilly, and Bethany. All of y'all. I want to thank all of my friends at Spelman for keeping me grounded. Of course, I can't forget my mentor, Mystique. And I have the best songwriting partner on the planet!”
I move out of the way and let Sam step to the microphone. “Um, I'm shocked at this award too, but Grammy committee, thank you very much. I'd like to thank my mother, and um . . . I want to thank you, Sunday. You are my muse.”
Except for the rapid blinking of my eyes, my body is frozen in place with shock. Is he serious with this? I'm his muse? He is so being Captain Uncomfortable right now, because I don't even know how I should react to this.
So, I give him a half smile and rush off the stage, holding the Grammy. I hear Sam's steps behind me, and I hear him whispering my name, but I don't want to stop. But of course, I have to stop and do the press room interviews that you do after winning an award. This halts my escape from Sam and his unchecked, embarrassing emotions.
“Sunday's your muse?” I could choke this reporter right now. Why would that be the first question she asked?
Sam smiles and nods. “She is. Before I met her, my songs were just okay, but the day she walked into our studio and told Truth his song wasn't tight, I was taken by her. We've created some beautiful music together.”
“How do you feel about that, Sunday? Is Sam your muse too?”
Grrr! I clench and unclench my fists at my sides and give her the fakest smile ever. “Sam is the best songwriting partner I could've dreamed of having. He totally rocks.”
“What's next for the two of you? Any projects in the works?”
Sam says, “We've got several Reign Records projects. Bethany's album drops in the spring, and we're currently in the studio with Drama on her sophomore release. Then, we'll get to work on another Sunday Tolliver album.”
“Wow, that's a lot,” the reporter says. “How in the world do you have time for school work?”
“It's challenging,” I say. “Right now I have a paper I need to write by Tuesday, so ask me when I get my grades if I'm handling it well.”
“I'm sure you'll be fine,” the reporter says. She nods to the cameraman, signaling that she's done.
When I see Sam opening his mouth to say something to me, I make a mad dash toward the exit. I need to get back over to DeShawn before Sam tries to declare his love for me again. I'm not trying to hear that tonight.
“You aren't even gonna congratulate me?” Sam asks.
I stop and turn toward Sam. His jaw hangs open, giving him a surprised look. “Congratulations.”
“You said that like you meant it,” Sam replies sarcastically.
“What do you want me to do, Sam? Jump up and down and give you a hug? It's not going down like that.”

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