“Maybe we should ask Dreya if we can come to the studio tonight. You never know what might happen,” Bethany says.
“You can ask her. She’ll tell me no.”
The bus stop is packed, as usual, because everybody is too lazy to walk to school and it’s starting to get chilly. October is hit-or-miss down here in the A. It’s either warm and sunny or chilly and rainy. Since it’s a week away from November, we’re getting some of the latter.
I see my ex-boyfriend, Romell, chilling with some of his boys, and butterflies dance in the pit of my stomach. As much as I can’t stand him anymore, I still have to admit that he’s fine. He’s deep, dark chocolate with a pretty smile. His cornrows to the back look good on him, too. But I wonder which new chick put them in for him. His playa tendencies are what made me sideline our teenage love affair.
“Look at your boy,” Bethany whispers.
“I ain’t thinking about him.”
“Then why you still rocking those earrings?”
“Maybe because they’re the only piece of jewelry I own that doesn’t come from Claire’s.”
Bethany grins at me like she knows something that I don’t. “Whatever, Sunday. You still dig Romell.”
I shake my head and click on my iPod. I let the smooth vocals of Chrisette Michele drown out the noise. This girl can blow, for real. Not like these pop princess divas who need Auto-Tune to make a record. My eyes close and my head bobs as I let the music take me to another place where cheating ex-boyfriends don’t reside.
Bethany taps me on my shoulder, snapping me out of my trance. “The bus is here.”
I nod and follow the rest of the group to the bus. I just listened to a sad song, and it’s sticking with me right now. Music does that to me. I can listen to a Jay-Z track and get pumped about my career, or listen to a Biggie track and have to dance no matter what. Seriously, can you hear “Hypnotize” in the club and not get up and dance? That’s for real.
Bethany usually sits with me on the bus, but today it’s packed and we have to split up. I end up sitting in front of Romell, and next to someone who’s on their way to work. It would be nice if our school had actual school buses. They just give us bus tickets and expect us to share the public transportation with all the grown people who don’t have cars.
I get ready to flick my iPod back on, when Romell leans forward and whispers, “You looking real nice today, Sunday. When’re we getting back together?”
Part of me wants to smile because he appreciates my look, but the other part wants to dead that noise because he played me.
“Romell, I’m not getting back with you. You know what it is.”
He chuckles, “‘You da you da best / you da you da best.’”
“You can sing all the Drake songs you want, Romell. It’s not gonna work. I’m never getting back with you.”
“Never?” Romell replies with a laugh. “How you gon’ challenge me like that and think I’m not gonna accept?”
A challenge? Wow, I don’t even know how he got a challenge out of I’m never getting back with you. That’s crazy.
“Romell, ain’t nobody trying to challenge you. Go holla at Chantelle. She’s the one you with now, right? She braid your hair?”
“You like my hair, baby? Thank you, but Chantelle is just for playing—you know that. You’re the one I wanna be with.”
“Yeah, well, won’t Chantelle do whatever you want?”
“She’s too easy and I’m a man, baby. I like to hunt for my food.”
I roll my eyes, flick on my iPod, and hope that Romell can’t see the tiny smile on my lips. Yeah, he’s a cheater and all, but dang, he’s wearing that swagger like Roca-wear cologne.
Wait, did I say I was over him? Well, I am, but a girl can still appreciate fineness. I’m just sayin’.
3
Bethany squeezes my arm as we get out of Truth’s car in front of the studio. She had begged and pleaded with Dreya for us to be able to come, and Truth had picked us all up from school. Dreya promised us that it was the first and last time that we’d ever be in her man’s ride and she threatened Bethany with a slow and painful beat down if she tried to push up on Truth.
“Y’all can sit down over there,” Truth directs us as we walk through the studio doors.
Dreya looks hesitant to let her man’s hand go when we see three chicks walk by us wearing bathing suits.
“Who are they?” Dreya asks.
Truth grins and his mid-back-length locs move, emphasizing his amusement. He walks up really close to Dreya and kisses her on the neck. While he’s doing this, I notice he has a new tattoo on his arm—a microphone. In a minute he’s not gonna have anywhere else to add any tattoos; his chocolate brown skin is covered in ink.
“You jealous, ma?” Truth asks.
Dreya sticks her chin out defiantly, like a little kid. “No, never that. I was just wondering why they walkin’ around half-naked like it’s summertime, and it’s cold outside.”
“They are doing a photo shoot. They’re some little girl singing group. Kinda like y’all, but they can’t blow like y’all can.”
Kinda like us? That’s really funny. There is no way in the world anyone’s gonna ever see me doing a photo shoot with no clothes on. That’s for no-talent chicks.
Truth continues, “I’m gonna go ’head downstairs ’cause I’m already late. Y’all can chill and watch TV, and somebody will probably come up and get y’all something to eat. You straight with that, wifey?”
Dreya nods and returns Truth’s kiss. He untangles himself from her and dashes down a flight of stairs. Dreya looks like she wants to follow him, but she doesn’t. She sits down on a leather couch and we follow her.
“Y’all betta not embarrass me up here, especially you, Bethany, with your thirsty self,” Dreya says.
I guess I’m looking real lame right now, because I brought my homework, but whatever. I’ve got a calc test tomorrow, and I don’t flunk for nobody. I don’t care if they do have a record deal.
This is a pretty fly spot, for real. There’s a big flat-screen TV on the wall, surround sound, and theatre chairs. Somebody spent some serious cheddar on this spot.
Just as I finish up my homework, a pretty, brown, video-vixen type walks into the room. She’s got a lace front wig that hangs nearly to her waist, fake eyes, fake boobs, and probably a fake behind, but at least she’s fully dressed. I wonder what she looked like before the enhancements.
“Y’all want something to eat?” she asks.
Dreya looks her up and down. “Who are you?”
The girl laughs. “You must be Truth’s little girlfriend.”
“I’m his wifey.”
I have to swallow the laugh that threatens to explode out of my throat. Dreya is hilarious without even trying. As if a girl who looks like this chick would be interested in Truth’s broke, on the come-up self. Dreya sounds really desperate right now.
“Well, I’m the receptionist, baby girl, and the hospitality committee. Do you want something to eat or not? We’ve got lasagna and pound cake in the kitchen.”
My eyebrows lift involuntarily. She just said the magic word for me. Lasagna is one of the world’s