As soon as I hear the water in the shower shut off and the bathroom door open, I dash in with all my Bath & Body Works toiletries and my outfit. Before all these people moved up in our crib, I could leave my stuff in the bathroom. Not so, anymore. Aunt Charlie and Dreya used up a whole bottle of Sweet Pea lotion in one day. What do you know? The water is cold. It’s okay, though, because I love taking cold showers in the fall. Sarcasm in full effect.
Strands from Aunt Charlie’s platinum blond yaki weave are all over the shower curtain and clogging up the drain, causing the chilly water to rise up around my feet. I let out a long sigh and wash myself quickly, because I really am running late.
After I’m dressed in a bebe tee and Apple Bottoms jeans, I slick my hair into a bun with a long, curly side bang in the front. My gold hoop earrings and grape lip gloss complete the look. Yes, my gold hoop earrings.
When I finally emerge from the bathroom, my best friend, Bethany, is in the living room harmonizing with Dreya on a song that I wrote. I should say that they are attempting to harmonize, because Dreya doesn’t harmonize. She can sing the mess out of a solo, but getting her voice to blend with other voices is a pretty tough task.
Bethany must be able to tell that there’s something not right about their vocals because she twirls her thick, brown cornrows between her fingers. Nobody likes to tell Dreya she hit a wrong note, especially not Bethany. She looks away from Dreya and slides her hand over the words on her baby tee and into her snug jeans pocket.
Bethany is cool as what. We’ve been girls since elementary school. We have the occasional beef, but she’s a down type chick, and she can sing.
Even if she competes with me over boys.
Dreya, Bethany, and I are a girl singing group called Daddy’s Little Girls. The name was Dreya’s idea, and since I do write all the songs, the least I could do was let her name the group.
“You’re flat, Dreya,” I say, as my cousin tries unsuccessfully to hit another string of notes.
Dreya puts her hand on her hip and gives me the stank attitude look. “Hi, hater. You’re just mad because my runs are off the chain.”
“I don’t know about off the chain, but they are off. Actually, every time you do a run, you go flat. You’ve got to learn better voice control, Dreya. When was the last time you sang scales?”
“Whatever, Sunday. Who made you vocal instructor? Oh, and I see you conveniently found your earrings,” Dreya says as she flicks one of my earrings with her hand.
I reply, “Imagine that.”
Bethany laughs. “As if she’d ever lose them. Her boo gave her those.”
“Romell is not my boo,” I protest.
“Yes, he is,” Bethany teases.
“No. Romell is a cheater. And that’s why you look like Ice-T’s wife, Coco, with them cornrows to the back.”
Clearly, I’m trying to deflect attention away from the conversation about cheater Romell and onto Bethany’s hip-hop look. Although I just clowned her, the cornrows actually suit her dainty, pretty face, pulling her wide eyes into slants that make her dark eyelashes even more striking. Glitter lip gloss completes her look.
Bethany giggles. “I love it when you get all angry, Sunday. Anyway, Coco’s boobs are bigger than mine.”
“Are we rehearsing after school or what?” Dreya asks as she grabs her backpack. “Truth is outside.”
“Yeah, because y’all most definitely need it,” I reply.
Carlos chuckles from the kitchen.
“What are you laughing at?” Dreya asks.
“You could use a lil’ work, Dreya,” Carlos replies. With his thick Puerto Rican accent, he almost rolls the r in Dreya’s name.
“Ugh. Why don’t you just make your pancakes?” Dreya says with attitude.
The fact that Dreya and Carlos don’t get along makes him even cooler in my book. He laughs her off and flips a plate-sized pancake on the skillet.
My mother storms up the hallway from her bedroom. She looks really mad about something as she snatches her keys and purse and walks toward the door.
Carlos calls from the kitchen, “You not gonna say ’bye or wish me luck on my class?”
Maybe after dating my mother for two years, Carlos still can’t read her moods. But I wasn’t even about to trip about her leaving without a word, because I can tell she’s heated about something. I’d help a brotha out, but I ain’t trying to get in my mama’s warpath.
She spins around with fire in her eyes. “Carlos, you really need to check your baby mama.”
He blows breath through his lips in an irritated-sounding whistle. “Did LaKeisha call you again? What did she want?”
“The same thing she always wants, Carlos. Money. She said your son needs some new sneakers.”
Carlos sighs. “Okay. I’ll call her back.”
“When you talk to her, tell her to lose my number.”
Carlos walks over to my mother and pulls her into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Shawn. I’ll handle it.”
Just like that her anger melts away and the fire leaves her eyes. Carlos’s got some serious skills, because I thought she was going to flip out on him.
My mom looks at the three of us girls all up in their business. She narrows her eyes at Carlos, like she wants to say more but doesn’t want to say it in front of us.
“I’m going to work, Carlos. We’ll talk about it when I get home.”
My mom slams the door as she leaves and Carlos goes back to fixing his breakfast.
“Come on, Bethany,” I say. “This is too much drama this early in the morning.”
Bethany, Dreya, and I walk outside. Me and Bethany are on our way to the bus stop, but Dreya’s grown, nineteen-year-old boyfriend, Truth, is waiting for her in his tricked-out Impala. You would think they’d offer us a ride since we’re all going to the same school, but nope—they’re not even cool like that.
As Bethany and I start down the street, my cell phone rings. “Hello.”
“Sunday, it’s Dreya.”
I whip my head around to see if they’re still parked in front of the house, but they’ve already pulled off.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I can’t practice after school because I’m going to the studio with Truth. He’s almost done with his album and he wants me there for inspiration.”
“All right then. Me and Bethany will practice without you.”
Bethany looks at me with questions in her eyes as I press End on my phone.
“What?” she asks.
“Dreya’s not practicing after school.”
“What’s new? She hardly ever practices—that’s why she sounds a mess.”
“I know. We’re never gonna get a record deal, messing around with her.”
“You’re going to college anyway. It’s not like you’ll be able to go to school and be a star.”
“If we get a record deal between now and the time we graduate, I can help my mom pay my college bills.”
“Or you could not go to school,” Bethany says. “Then we could kick it hard on the red carpets and go on tour and…”
This is the part where I tune Bethany out. Truth is, I