Time to Shine (17 page)

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Authors: Nikki Carter

BOOK: Time to Shine
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“You're cool with it?” Sam asks. “I thought you'd be mad.”
Ron turns off the blow dryer and I clear my throat. “No. I was mad when you lied to me about Rielle. I was mad about you making out with a random chick at the club. You're not my man anymore, so why should I be angry about you dating someone?”
Sam places a finger on my chin and tips my face up. “Nah, not angry, but sad maybe.”
“Boy, please, you need to stop feeling yourself. Can't you see that I brought DeShawn with me? We both brought our new boos.”
“So you
are
dating DeShawn. I wondered when you were going to come clean about that.”
“I don't answer to you, so it's whatever.” It's hard to keep a straight face because Ron is furiously sticking pins into my hair to pin it up.
“Hey, Sam, you're already dressed for the shoot,” Ron says. “Can you please have this conversation with Sunday after I get her all glammed up?”
Sam nods and saunters off toward Big D, Evan, and the rest of the crew.
“You are not believable at all, Sunday,” Ron says. “But, I don't think Sam is being real either. I don't think he's with Phoebe.”
“Really? Why do you say that?”
Ewww. Did I really just sound all eager and pressed like that?
“Well, I happen to know Phoebe from around the way, and Sam isn't really her type. He's not rich enough.”
“Well, Sam isn't poor.”
“The last man Phoebe dated was a Persian sheik.”
“A for-real sheik?”
“Yep. He's the one who launched her jewelry company. She's still dealing with him sometimes, but he's married, so it's on the low-low.”
I roll my eyes and poke out my lips. “If it's so on the low how do you know about it?”
“Hairstylists get all the gossip. It's like people sit in my chair and all of a sudden get diarrhea of the mouth.”
“Well, then I have nothing else to say.”
Ron laughs out loud. “Don't tell me anything else then, even though I helped you out. You still digging Sam, and I just let you know the door is still open.”
“Now, that's where you're wrong. I don't want to get back with him, but I was feeling some kind of way about him having a new girlfriend.”
“What's wrong with your cousin?” Ron pulls my head up and points over at Dreya, who runs to a garbage can in the corner and falls to her knees.
“Is she throwing up?”
I jump out of the chair with my hair half finished and run over to Dreya.
Anjelica yells at me. “Sunday! Let me tend to her. You need to get your hair finished, so we can start.”
“Yeah,” Evan says. “She'll be okay. She just partied a little too hard last night.”
I cut my eyes at him as I help Dreya to her feet. I motion across the room to Kevin and he rushes over.
“What do you need?” Kevin asks.
“Can you get her some water? She's not feeling well.”
Dreya wipes her mouth with a napkin and whispers, “I don't have a hangover.”
“Then what's wrong with you?”
She mouths the words,
You know
.
Oh my goodness. She just told me about this whole getting pregnant thing last week. Had she already done it?
“I'm okay, y'all. Sunday, I'm gonna rinse my mouth out while you get your hair done.”
Big D has a concerned look on his face, and then he frowns in Evan's direction. Big D was never for Dreya going to live with Evan in New York City. And it didn't even make sense anyway, because they are back in Atlanta every other week. I wonder if Evan is charging all these plane tickets against Dreya's royalties.
I trudge back over to the chair to finish getting glamor-fied. After Ron finishes my hair (which has enough bobby pins to set off a metal detector), the makeup artist, a girl named KiKi, sprays foundation and bronzer on my face.
“Let that dry for a few minutes,” KiKi says.
Anjelica brings me a white tube dress and red heels. The dress is over-the-top sexy, and not my style, but for some reason I feel like looking hot.
When I squeeze myself into the tube dress, I realize how little it actually is. It makes me look like I have long legs and I kind of wish I had a robe or long coat. From the way Sam and DeShawn's eyes bulge out, I'm guessing the desired effect was achieved.
DeShawn whistles. “You look smokin' hot, Sunday!”
The photographer, a guy named Jacinto, starts moving people around in poses as I run over to the randomly placed furniture. The first pose has Big D in a big purple armchair with a crown and a cane looking like Notorious B.I.G.'s twin.
“Girls, surround Big D. Make it seem like you want to call him big daddy,” Jacinto says.
Dreya scrunches her nose. “Um, but we don't want to call him that, so I'm sure I'm gonna look really fake on this picture.”
This makes me burst into laughter, and Bethany crack a half-smile. Her former self would've been laughing too, but this overly medicated person obviously doesn't have too many emotional outbursts.
Jacinto takes a few shots while we're getting ready, and then a few once we're posed. Then, all of the guys pose together. Sam and Dilly stand back to back, and Evan and Big D sit in side by side thrones.
“Try not to look like y'all are in prison,” Jacinto says. “Can I have some softer facial expressions? I know y'all are hip hop and everything, but just don't give me criminal.”
Jacinto's commentary is hilarious, and so on point, because I was totally thinking that they looked like one of those photos people take with their family members in prison. Especially Dilly and Sam with that back-to-back thing.
“Now, I want Sunday and Drama together. I want Sunday to wear a crown and give me all that bubbly happiness she always brings, and Drama, you give her the side-eye whatever kind of look.”
Dreya frowns. “Everyone always wants me to play the hater role. I don't hate on Sunday.”
Jacinto pauses and taps the side of his camera. “Just this once, I will accept feedback. Switch. Sunday, you play the hater in this one.”
I smile, and hand Dreya the crown. I give so much attitude in my poses that Jacinto actually squeals. He's loving it.
“See, I told y'all Sunday was just a big ol' hater!” Dreya says. “Look how well she does this.”
“It's called acting,” Big D says, “and Sunday is good at it. I think I'm going to have you audition for a few roles.”
“I want to get the Reign Records Romances,” Jacinto says. “So, I'm going to pair Sam and Sunday, Evan and Drama and Bethany and Dilly.”
“But Bethany and I aren't together at all,” Dilly protests.
“Sam and I are broken up,” I say, “so I don't think that counts as a romance either.”
Jacinto taps his camera again. “Bethany and Dilly will stand in a ‘baby, baby, please' type of pose.”
“What?” Dilly asks.
“Get down on one knee and gaze up at her like you're begging. Bethany, I want you to look indifferent. You don't care about what he's saying.”
Well, that's going to be easy for Bethany. She looks like she doesn't care about anything at all right now. Dilly is fuming, but he plays along anyway.
“Now, Dreya, I want you to sit in Evan's lap, looking toward the ceiling with your back arched and one leg kicked up. Evan, you stare at her with longing in your eyes.”
Evan laughs out loud. “She should be staring at my pocket with longing in her eyes.”
“Are you saying I'm with you for your money?” Dreya asks.
“Maybe not
just
for the money, but yeah. If I was a regular dude you wouldn't have given me any play.”
Dreya laughs. “You're right. But I don't date regular dudes—only bosses.”
Jacinto snaps photos through their entire conversation. I want a photo album of his candid shots!
“Right before the group photo, I want Sam and Sunday together. It should be a profile shot, and I want Sam standing with his hands in his pockets looking down at Sunday. Sunday, kick off your high heels, place both hands on Sam's chest, and stand on your tiptoes. Part your mouth, like you're in awe of him.”
I clear my throat and look at the sky for a second. Then, I give myself a pep talk. I'm a professional, I can do this. It's just Sam. I really liked him once, so I should be able to do this.
I glance over at DeShawn to see if he even cares, but he's chatting it up with Kevin and playing with his cell phone. He's in the business, so he knows that a photo shoot is just that—a photo shoot. It's not real.
So, I shake off my issues, and kick off my shoes. “Come on, Sam,” I say. “Let's give them some Reign Records romance.”
Is that a glimmer of hope I see on Sam's face? I'm not sure, because as quickly as it came it disappeared.
I play up my part and lift an eyebrow as I gaze at Sam with parted lips. Sam's expression is nothing but melancholy and sadness. It is the opposite of romantic. But I guess it works because Jacinto is squealing again about how hot these poses are.
Sam jumps when I place my hand on his chest. My touch seems to make him nervous.
“Hold that!” Jacinto yells.
And Jacinto snaps away, capturing this awkward moment between me and Sam. While everyone else cheers about what great models we are, I know that neither one of us is acting. Sam is tripping so much on us not being together that he pretended to have a girlfriend.
And I pretended not to care.
18
I
t's early in the morning when I get the call to go to the dean's office. I can't think of a reason why Dr. Whitacre would want to see me, other than me paying Piper's tuition bill. That was supposed to be a secret, though, so that's probably not it.
I quickly get dressed in a knee-length skirt, cardigan, thick tights, and boots. It's nearing the end of winter, but this morning there's a chill in our room letting me know that it's even colder outside.
Ten minutes later, after a brisk walk across campus, I'm in Dr. Whitacre's waiting area trying to warm my nose and hands.
I notice that there are three other girls here, dressed in similar outfits and looking as confused as I am. The one sitting next to me is shaking and has tears rolling down her cheeks.
The crying girl asks me, “Did you get a phone call this morning to come here?”
“Yes, did you?”
“I did. My mother's going to kill me if I lose my scholarship.”
Both my eyebrows rise in surprise. “Wait a minute. You know what this is about?”
“You don't? This girl on campus got busted for selling papers. Dean Whitacre is calling in anyone who's associated with it.”
“But I didn't buy any . . .” Of course. The
gift
that
Dreya gave me has come back to haunt me. Dang, dang, dang!
The crying girl bursts into tears again. “There's just so much pressure, you know! I have to get good grades or I lose my scholarship.”
I try to shush her. With a thing like cheating, admitting that you succumbed to the pressure of college life isn't really a good argument. She needs to come up with a better story than that.
“They don't have any proof, do they?” I ask.
Crying girl shakes her head. “Only Natalie's word on who she sold the papers to.”
When the door to Dr. Whitacre's office opens, a girl walks out looking completely devastated. There are tears rolling down her face, and she can't stop sobbing.
“But I want to be a Spelmanite!” crying girl number two wails. “I can't go to community college!”
The first crying girl jumps up from by my side and runs out the office like she's being chased by brain-eating zombies. Leaving me as the next person to enter Dr. Whitacre's office.
I take timid steps into Dr. Whitacre's office and stand in the doorway, trying to gauge her mood. She looks furious, like her head is going to spin right around on her neck. Her glasses are perched right on the tip of her nose, and her bun has so many stray hairs hanging loose, that she looks like she got up and kicked the last girl's behind.
“Close the door behind you and come sit down,” Dr. Whitacre says.
I do what she says, and slowly take a seat in the hard wooden chair in front of her desk.
“Do you know why you're here, Ms. Tolliver?” Dr. Whitacre asks.
I shake my head, although now I have an idea. “I don't think so.”
“Last week, there was a report about a young woman on campus who was selling papers to her sister Spelmanites. When I brought her in for questioning, she admitted her wrongdoing and named you as one of the recipients of the purchased compositions. What do you have to say about this?”
First of all, can I just say that I understand now the whole purpose of the interrogation room on
Law & Order
and every other cop show my mother loves to watch on TV? I feel as if Dr. Whitacre already knows all of the answers and that her only job is to try to catch me in a lie.
“I did receive one of the papers, however, I did not purchase it, nor did I turn it in. I am not a cheater.”
Dr. Whitacre narrows her eyes at me as if she's trying to see right through me. I can tell that this is not the answer she expected.
“Really? Then how do you explain this?” Dr. Whitacre slams my most recent assignment from Mrs. Due's class on the desk in front of me. “Your professor says that this is the first paper you've submitted that wasn't mediocre.”
“That is true. This is the first paper in her class that I spent time and effort on. I even had to rewrite it from memory two days before it was due because my computer crashed.”
“Even if this is your work, there's still the matter of you purchasing one of the papers.”
I clear my throat and exhale calmly. “I did not purchase the paper. My cousin, who doesn't even attend Spelman or any other institution of higher learning, bought the paper and sent it to me as a gift.”
“That is a very convenient story, Ms. Tolliver.”
“Convenient and true.”
“You're dismissed, Ms. Tolliver. Send in the next girl.”
“That's all?”
She nods. “Yes. I don't have proof that you purchased this paper. All of the other girls have admitted to their cheating.”
I stand from my seat. “I'm sorry to even be associated with this, and I told my cousin that I did not appreciate her purchasing a paper for me.”
“You should also know that I not only take cheating very seriously, but lying as well. If you are not telling the truth, it would only help you to come clean right now. If I find out that you're lying, you will surely be expelled.”
In this moment, I understand suspects who lie and say that they committed a crime. I almost feel compelled to make up a story so that Dr. Whitacre can be right.
Instead, I say, “I understand.”
A chill runs down my spine as I walk out of Dr. Whitacre's office. I can't believe how close I came to using that paper. If it hadn't been for Gia talking some sense into me, I might be getting kicked out of school right now. Talk about something not being a good look!
When I get back to my room, Gia is already awake and fully dressed. “Where did you go so early?”
I sit down on the Gia's bed and scoot back to the wall. “I had to meet with Dr. Whitacre.”
“What for?”
I fill Gia in on Dreya's misdeeds and the subsequent drama that ensued. She just sits on the bed shaking her head in shock.
“Your cousin always causes trouble for you, doesn't she?” Gia asks after hearing the entire story.
I shrug and let out a big sigh. “It seems like she can't help it. As crazy as it sounds, she really thought she was doing me a favor when she bought that paper. I think we're friends again.”
“That's not what friends do,” Gia says.
Sometimes, someone will say something that immediately makes me want to write song lyrics. Gia just totally did that. I grab my journal off of the desk and start writing.
“You're weird,” Gia says.
“Hush! I need quiet.”
I scribble furiously.
When you left, you said it wasn't the end/Said you needed a little time/That you had to just make up your mind/When you left, you said we'd always be friends/But you're talkin' 'bout me all over town/Telling your boys I've been messin' around/I'd never do that to you/Wouldn't put you in that position/That's not a friend to me/But tell me what's your definition?/That's not what friends do/That's not what friends do/Lovin and leavin/lyin' and schemin'/Breakin' my heart/When you say that you're leavin'/That's not what friends do/That's not what friends do/If you're supposed to be a friend to me/ Then give me an enemy.
When I look up from my writer's haze, Gia is staring at me. “Are you back now? Because you totally just went to another planet right then.”
“I'm sorry, girl. When the muse strikes I have to listen to it. I think I just wrote my first country/western song.”
“For real? What you gonna do with that?”
“Sell it, I hope. Country artists sell a lot of records. Way more than R and B. Evan would probably bust a blood vessel if he heard this song.”
“He wouldn't like it?”
“No, that would be from excitement. He would love it, and that's the problem. I don't want him liking my stuff too much. He might start thinking he owns me.”
“That's not good.”
“Nope. All bad.”
I haven't been a part of Evan's “camp” that long, and already I feel myself pulling away from him and protecting myself. Not that I think he's out for anything other than success, or anything, but maybe he's
too
ambitious, and I'm scared for my cousin.
“Gia, can I tell you something that is super top-secret?”
Gia makes a zip-her-lips motion. “You can tell me anything.”
“This is take-it-to-the-grave secret.”
“Got it!” Gia sounds irritated, but I am dead serious with this.
“Okay . . . so I think Dreya is pregnant.”
Gia's mouth opens wide. “Shut the heck up. Why would she want to get pregnant? Y'all are just about to blow up!”
“She overheard that Epsilon Records wants Evan to drop her from the Reign Records label. They are our parent company, and they really make all the decisions.”
“So, then she goes to another label! What does that have to do with a baby?”
“I really think that Dreya wants the fame and the money without actually doing any work for it.”
“But she's so talented. I mean, getting pregnant by a baller is what groupies and non-factor chicks do.”
“I tried to tell her that. I wish she believed in herself as much as we do.”
My phone buzzes so I pull it from underneath my bra strap to check the text message.
Gia rolls her eyes at me. “You do know that cell phones have low levels of radiation right? You're going to get cancer of the shoulder or something with your country self.”
“Country? Just 'cause you from the Midwest, you don't get to call me country. I am a Southern belle, honey.”
“Southern Boo Boo,” Gia says while holding her nose.
I crack up laughing at Gia as I open a picture text. Ooh! It's pictures from the photo shoot. Jacinto says, I wanted you to see these first.
The pictures of us all together are really, really cute. I think they'd make a wonderful cover of
Vibe
. The one of me and Dreya screams record sales. When I get to the ones of me and Sam, I drop the phone on the bed.
“What?” Gia asks. Then she doesn't wait for me to answer, she picks up my phone and looks for herself.
“Oh my goodness. These look good. Sam . . . he's so, so intense. He's looking at you like you're the last woman on earth, Sunday.”
“No, not the last woman. He brought a girl with him to the photo shoot and let me think she was his new boo, but the hairstylist knew he wasn't telling the truth.”
“So, he was trying to make you jealous, because you keep flaunting DeShawn everywhere. You took him to the Grammys for crying out loud. Sam's gotta have some dignity.”
I throw one of Gia's pillows at her. “Whose side are you on?”
“I'm not on anybody's side. I just think that you still care about him, even though he's a cheater.”
“Not just that! He smokes weed now, too. I don't like that.”
Gia throws one hand into the air. “Uh, okay! Illegal drugs are whack.”
“Right.”
“But you
still
care about him, Sunday. And you need to address those feelings.”
I scrunch my nose into a frown. “You know what you need to do?”
“What?”
“Stop giving unsolicited advice.”
Gia shrugs and chuckles. “I'm just saying.”
I so don't care if Gia is right about my feelings for Sam. I have to admit that the photo shoot had me a little twisted, and having Sam in my personal space trying to make me jealous was a bit much. But she's dead wrong about me needing to deal with anything. The only thing I need to do is let the feelings fade, because that's what feelings do with the passing of time.
There is a light knock on our door. Gia pops up to answer it. It's her cousin Hope and Piper—an unlikely combination. Piper is in tears and her hair is disheveled. Hope has her arm around Piper as she leads her into the room.
“Look who I found wandering around the campus,” Hope says as she guides Piper to the bean bag chair.
Gia says, “Piper, you look a mess, girl. You gotta pull yourself together. Linden was a total dog.”
Piper looks up and fresh tears roll down her face. “I-I totally get that. Linden was a dog, but Meagan . . .”
“Is as bad as he is, . . .” I say. “She should be mad that he was playing her too, but she's not. I don't understand why you're so sad. Kick them both to the curb.”

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