In the 12 books I've authored or co-authored, I've told the people who matter most to me how much they inspire my love of writing; they continue to do so, and I thank them every day for that. But this time around, I want to reserve my prettiest words for the two people who played a much larger role in my becoming a successful writer than they will ever knowâthey are my 11th-grade honors English teacher and my high school guidance counselor. The teacher told me my writing sucked; the guidance counselor insisted that I, an A-student/VP student council rep/school radio show host, was unqualified to win a much-needed college scholarship and that I should “try” to get into the community school down the block from my house. A hearty “thanks” to you both for the rousing support; your doubt in my abilitiesâand meâmade me step up my game and become more successful than either of you suspected this little black girl could ever be. Good looking out.
For my co-author, Mitzi, the funniest, most energetic, tell-it-like-it-is girl I know: I tell you often that you need medication and Jesus, but I don't really mean it. I love you
exactly
the way you are (and I don't think pills or the Lord would help anyway). No girl could ask for a better late-night-gossiping/giggle-inducing/Crunktastical.blogspot-loving/fashion-advice-having/road dog/partner-in-crime than you.
For my agent, Victoria: All the way, baby! Attica!
And for the good folks at Scholastic, especially Andrea Davis Pinkney, Aimee Friedman, Abigail McAden, Jennifer Sanger, and Samantha Wolfert: Thank you for seeing the vision, appreciating the words, and making “Hotlanta” sizzle!
And lastly, my mom, Bettye Millner, and my sweet niece, Zenzele Thorntonâtwo angels who make a home in Heaven, but always have a place in my heart.
As a daughter of Yemaya, I am always grateful for the abundant blessings and opportunities that orisha brings into my life.
I would like to thank all of the family and friends who surround me with love and light.
Special acknowledgements are due to:
My mom, Elsa Miller a.k.a E-Dub; the rock star I've been emulating my whole life.
My dad, Guillermo Miller; who still allows me to be the Queen of Hartswood Rd.
My sister, Melissa; for always helping me find my keys and courage.
My Tia Puchi; your resiliency continues to amaze.
My Uncle Rick; may the good times in your life continue to roll.
My âfavoritest' cousin Roy & the boys; my personal militia of gentlemen.
My godfather and his partner in crime; Carlos and Israel; a million thank you's.
My godson, JJ; the apple of my eye.
My second family, Mommy Sally, Reginald, Chelsea, Pam, Maggie, Velma, Mary and all the kids; who still love me even though I used to pee in my pants.
My lifesaver, Maureen Davis; the best transplant coordinator an incorrigible noncompliant patient could ask for.
My mentors, Dr. Mitchell, Joyce and ABM; effortlessly leading by example.
The ladies on my short listâMali, Joan, Shayla, Carmen, Carla, Kenya, Lisa, Daina, Toya, Juleyka, and Rhea.
The NYC cliqueâSharae, Karina, Nicole, Bettina, KD, Takara, Christina, Melissa, Crystal, Geoff, Djena, Aliah, Tricia, Helen, Kiss, Monique, Daria, and K-Borders.
My FAMU familyâDara, Satonja, Nikki, Anika, and Kia.
My writing partner in crime (and real life superhero)âTracee, a.k.a Trace-ba-Dace.
The fantastic men who inspire me to grind harderâFrank, Anthony, Dean, Malcolm Datwon, Wes, Ilan, Lo, XL, Musa, and K-Hova.
Thank you to the phenomenal Scholastic team. Andrea, Aimee, Abigail, Samantha, and Jennifer. You ladies have gone absolutely above and beyond to make this series a success. It is a pleasure working with you.
To Victoria Sanders, thank you for making sure all the i's are dotted and t's are crossed.
To my co-author, Denene; it's so hard to believe that something this fun is considered work. Thank you for the countless hours of laughter and tomfoolery. I rest easier at night knowing that in case of emergency you possess the knowledge to spring me out of the county clink.
Last but not least, my only child, Drama; because I know you understand English and despite your stinky farts and doggie breath, I honestly don't know what I would do without you by my side.
Also by Denene Millner and Mitzi Miller
Hotlanta
(With Angela Burt-Murray)
The Angry Black Woman's Guide to Life
The Vow
Also by Denene Millner
The Sistahs' Rules:
Secrets for Meeting, Getting, and
Keeping a Good Black Man
Dreamgirls
Also by Denene Millner
(with Nick Chiles)
What Brothers Think, What Sistahs Know
What Brothers Think, What Sistahs Know about Sex:
The Real Deal on Passion, Loving, and Intimacy
Money, Power, Respect:
What Brothers Think, What Sistahs Know
Love Don't Live Here Anymore
In Love & War
A Love Story
STAY ON TOP OF THE DRAMA.
TAKE A SNEAK PEEK AT
W
HAT
G
OES
A
ROUND
A
H
OTLANTA NOVEL
“Oh, so you think you cute,” sneered the twins' evil-looking mother, Keisha Duke, from the open doorway as Sydney stood by her desk, disconnecting her iPhone from the charger.
Refusing to make eye contact, Sydney simply looked down and shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You don't know what I'm talking about?” questioned Keisha as she stepped into Sydney's bedroom and closed the door firmly behind her. “Well, please let me break it down for you. I'm talking about that little boy sitting in my living room, waiting on you. Because for some reason, he thinks that the two of you are going on a date.”
“His name is Jason,” Sydney retorted as she turned away from her mother to throw her wallet and cell into the silver Balenciaga bag sitting on her bed. “And for your information, we
are
going out on a date.”
“Is that so? âCause it seems to me, I already done told you how I felt about that situation months ago. But maybe I wasn't clear enough,” Keisha sneered. “Here's the deal, princessâyour father and I donated a lot of damn money to Councilwoman Greene's campaign. Not just this past election or even the last; I'm talking on a continuous basis. Donation, dinners, giftsâyou name it, we gave it. And it all equals way too much for you to be âgoing out' with someone other than her beloved only son.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, no, you heard me correctly,” Keisha continued as she walked up directly behind her daughter. “Every hand greases the wheel. The security and longevity of our family business depends on making the right connections. And be clear, your little star quarterback sitting in my living room looking crazy ain't part of the program. So you can play dumb as long as you like, but at the end of the day, a winning pass ain't gonna save none of our asses from jail!”
Sydney turned around slowly and looked at her mother from head to toe with newfound contempt. “You know what? I really don't care how much money you and my
step
father donated to Marcus's mom's campaign. Everything done in the dark eventually comes to light. And there's no amount of money or greasing palms that's going to save either of you. And remember, I said you, not me!”
“Oh, please, who the hell are you kidding?” Keisha laughed. “You
are
me, little girl!”
“No, I'm not,” Sydney retorted angrily.
“Wow, I always thought you were the smart one,” Keisha mused nastily.
“Whatever, mother. You may be able to dictate what goes on in this house but you can't tell me who to be in a relationship with. And I'm certainly not about to stay with Marcus to help save you when you wouldn't even stay in your marriage to help save my father!” Sydney grabbed her bag, stepped around her mother, and headed for the door.
Jason waited nervously on the edge of the living room couch, where Sydney's mother had left him waiting. Looking at his watch, he increasingly regretted with each passing second his decision to arrive five minutes early. Suddenly, the door connected to the kitchen swung open and Altimus's figure filled the entire frame.
“Good evening, Mr. Duke,” Jason said as he jumped up to offer his hand.
“I don't believe we've met,” Altimus replied, gruffly choosing to dismiss both Jason's greeting and out-stretched hand.
“Um, no we haven't. I mean, not formally,” Jason replied nervously. “My name is Jason. Jason Darden. I'm a friend of Sydney's from Brookhaven. I was at the holiday party at Lake Lanier⦔
“I see,” Altimus countered coolly. “Well, there was a lot going on that evening. You'll forgive me for not remembering you. In my line of work, I rarely forget a face.”
“Oh, it's okay,” Jason interjected, secretly relieved that Mr. Duke didn't recognize him from the tangle of bodies involved in the melee at Sydney's holiday-party brawl.
“Yet, I've never seen you around here before.”
“Well, yeah. Sydney and I just started hanging out recently. I'm not from here⦔
“And just where would you be from, Jason?”
“Well, my folks moved down here about two years ago from New York City. So I just recently started going to school with Sydâ¦I mean Sydney,” Jason continued nervously.
“I see. And what brought your parents down to Atlanta?” Altimus asked, continuing his poker-faced interrogation without so much as a blink of an eye.
“Well, actually
I
did,” Jason explained as he ran his sweaty palms down the front of his dark indigo Evisu jeans. “I wanted to play football in an area where I could easily get noticed by the college scouts, and my coach recommended the Atlanta areaâ”
“But Brookhaven doesn't win games.” Altimus cut him off sharply with a raised eyebrow.
“This is true,” Jason concurred. “But there was no way my parents were going to let me go to a school that didn't have a strong academic program, and let's just say Brookhaven has the best reputation by far. So my hope is that over the next year, I can help turn the football program around.”
“Hmm, I'd have to agree with your parents. Reputation is very important,” Altimus said simply. “Sydney has worked very hard to build and maintain her outstanding reputation both academically
and
socially.”
Jason cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to the other. “Sydney's definitely a great person. I, uh, I'm looking forward to getting to know her,” he started awkwardly.
“So it goes without saying that both Mrs. Duke and I have great expectations for our daughter. None of which will be achieved if she becomes sidetracked.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And while neither her mother nor myself would ever propose to choose who our daughter spends her time with,” Altimus continued, “I'm sure you can understand
my
concern after years of walking into this room and greeting the Honorable Councilwoman Greene's son, Marcus. You do know Marcus Greene don't you?”
“Yeah, I know him.” Jason bristled slightly at the mention of Sydney's ex-boyfriend.
“Well, then, I'm sure you can understand how I might feel about finding you here now,” Altimus continued unapologetically.
“Understood,” Jason responded from between clenched teeth.
“As long as we're clear,” Altimus concluded just as Sydney bounded down the staircase into the living room. She paused at the end of the staircase for effect. Altimus reflexively clenched his teeth.
“Hey, J,” Sydney said, rewarding Jason with a huge smile as she unknowingly interrupted the tense moment.
“Hey, Sydney. You look nice,” Jason responded, grateful for the opportunity to escape from Altimus's thinly veiled scare tactics.
“Thanks. So do you.” Sydney paused for a moment to take in Jason's jeans, buttoned-up shirt, and fresh pair of Nike Air Force Ones. Even though the jeans were much baggier than his infamous uniform pants, Jason still looked really good.
“Altimus, did you meet my friend Jason?” Sydney inquired, oblivious to the tension in the room.
“Yes, I did,” Altimus responded. “As a matter of fact, Jason and I were talking about future prospects when you came down.”
“Of what? The Brookhaven team?” Sydney asked, looking quizzically at Jason for a clue to what her stepfather was talking about.
“Something like that,” Jason answered vaguely with a slight smile Sydney couldn't figure out. “You ready to go?” he asked.
“Yeah, my shoes are at the door,” Sydney answered as she headed to the front door in search of her black-and-silver Gucci ballet flats.
“Cool,” Jason said. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Duke,” Jason said, offering his hand again.
“I'm sure,” Altimus responded, and walked away.
Lauren practically tiptoed to the tiny refrigerator tucked in the corner of the hot pink Duke cheerleading clubhouse lounge and opened it as gingerly as possible. But still, the sound of her Nikes squeaking across the pristine white tile and the shifting of the water bottles in the refrigerator door made her headache pound even harder. She'd been fighting the migraine all day, but four bathroom passes, two Alleve, a cup of herbal tea, and a visit to the nurse's office later, and Lauren was still rubbing her temples and sending up silent prayers to God begging him to “take the pain away, so I can show these wannabes how a true dance captain gets down.” Under normal circumstances, she would have sent a pleading text to her mom, imploring her to put in a call to the school nurse; an early release, an afternoon nap, and an episode or two of
Law & Order: SVU
would have been fitting recompense for the trauma her body was going through, and Keisha, God bless her soul, would have been too preoccupied with her Wednesday afternoon nail salon visit to care if Lauren dipped out of a couple of classes. But there was no time for the zone-out. Word on the curb was that a sophomore on the basketball dance squad was gunning for Lauren's No. 1 spot, and migraine be damned if she was going to just let somebody come in and steal her head-cheerleader-in-charge title. About this much Lauren was clear: Lauren Duke wasn't about to go down without a fight.
She reached into the refrigerator and grabbed the Tupperware container full of cucumber slices she kept stashed for occasions such as these. A twenty-minute power nap in the plush recliner with the cucumber slices on her eyes would work wonders on her headache and surely take away the puffiness that had settled just under her lower eyelids; she'd wake up refreshed and ready to show those heiffas just why she was, and needed to remain, the dance squad captain.
Lauren settled into the recliner and set her iPhone alarm for 3:20
P.M.;
that would give her about ten minutes after she awakened to change into her gear and go over the new steps in her head before the rest of the team arrived at the locker room to get ready for practice. But no sooner had she placed the soothing cucumbers on her eyes and rested her head on her special pillow than she heard a stall door in the bathroom slam shut.
“Who's that?” Lauren said, bolting upright. The cucumbers tumbled between the chair's arm and seat cushion.
There was no answer.