What Goes Around (8 page)

“But remember, Syd,” Rhea offered. “Marcus never had any competition. When the two of you got together, it was like Beyoncé and Jay-Z. Who else could you have been with that was equally fly? Had Jason been around, it might have been a different story.”

“Good point,” Carmen nodded. “It's a totally different ball game now.”

“And not for nothing,” Rhea continued. “It's kinda cute that he got that worked up. I think he really, really likes you.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Sydney said, finally starting to come around.

“For sure,” Carmen said as she finished up the last of her drink. She stood up and stretched.

“You're finished already?” Sydney questioned as she slowly sipped her latte.

“You know how greedy I am,” Carmen laughed over her shoulder as she headed over to the trash with the empty container and used napkins.

“So how was volunteering today?” Rhea inquired.

“It was really good, thanks,” Sydney said. “I was a little tired 'cause we didn't get home from dinner until, like, almost eleven o'clock, but overall it was fine.”

“True. I didn't get home until almost one o'clock myself,” Rhea said. “David Harris had a bunch of guys from the team over, so we were hanging out there.”

“Sounds like fun,” Sydney said.

“It was, actually,” Rhea admitted. “At first, I was nervous because I don't really know any of the other girlfriends, but Tim stayed glued to my side the whole night, so it was cool.”

Carmen returned to the table and sat down. “What was cool?”

“The get-together at D-Harris's house,” Rhea explained. “That's where Tim and I ended up last night after I left the committee meeting.”

“Ah, I see,” Carmen said as she opened her purse and started digging around for her lip gloss. “Michael and I went back to his parents' house and watched
Iron Man
for, like, the hundreth time,” she said with an eye-roll. “I swear, that boy is such a comic book freak.”

“Back to his house, huh?” Sydney teased as she finally finished up her latte. “Is there something we should know, Carmen? Don't make me call Harold and Cheryl!”

“Girl, please. I already told you he and I are taking things very slowly. I am not trying to become the next Dara up in Brookhaven Prep,” she said sarcastically.

“I know
that's
right,” Rhea agreed as she stood up and
gestured to Sydney to pass her empty cup. “I'll be right back; I need to use the restroom.”

“Well, Carm, just keep me posted,” Sydney said as she passed the cup and used napkins to her friend. “Inquiring minds always want to know.”

“Speaking of inquiring minds,” Carmen said as Rhea walked away. “Is everything okay with your family? My mom was reading the article about what's been going on with the IRS and she said it sounds like they're really trying to set an example with Altimus. I know I was teasing you the other day, but she made it sound kinda serious.”

“Honestly, I haven't even read the stories,” Sydney lied as she pulled her Tom Ford sunglasses over her eyes to avoid Carmen's gaze. “Altimus and my mom are really confident that everything is going to be fine. So you know, I just have to trust them.”

“I understand,” Carmen said with a nod. “I don't want to stress you. I was just a little worried. You know you can tell me anything.”

Sydney paused as she thought about the IRS auditor who had set up shop in her stepfather's home office the past week, and the strict $150 monthly spending limit that Keisha had imposed on her AMEX that very morning. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Of course,” Sydney said as she reached out to pat Carmen's hand reassuringly. “Of course I would tell you.”

“My God, not again,” Donald said, flopping down on the floor while his friend queued up the music for the thousandth time. He and Lauren were in the middle of a powwow on how to make Caroline play the rear on the dance squad—a four-hour session that involved three strawberry-banana smoothies, several packages of Ritz crackers with American cheese slices, two humongous bags of gummy bears, a pack of grape Now and Laters, and at least thirty rewinds of a TiVoed episode of
106 & Park
featuring throwback videos by Beyoncé, OutKast, and Thug Heaven, meant to provide a little inspiration and more than a couple of moves for Lauren's choreography. “It's hot already, goodness. If you do the damn thing one more time, you're not going to be able to shake it fast at practice tomorrow.”

“Okay, seriously? I'm gonna need you to stop acting like you're the one doing all the work,” Lauren snapped, pushing the
PAUSE
button on her Bose stereo.

Lauren was on a mission—a righteous one, indeed. Word on the curb was that Caroline, the sophomore basketball dance squad member with the hots for Sydney's ex, was coming for Lauren's Number One spot, and she would 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: She wasn't about to go down without a fight.

“You're going to need me to walk into practice and show those girls a thing or two if you want to continue riding on the team bus to the games,” Lauren snapped at Donald, who, though he'd graciously agreed to watch and give feedback, was now too overloaded with sugar to put in critical work. “Stay. Focused.”

“True,” Donald said, popping a red gummy bear into his mouth. “You know how I feel about the backseat of the squad bus. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside when I'm bouncing around back there.”

“Easy,” Lauren laughed. “That was a mental image I just don't need.”

“Okay, okay,” Donald giggled. “Let me fix the mental, then. Caroline? With the squad captain's bullhorn? Not good.”

“I know, right?” Lauren said, huffing and rubbing her sore knee. “I'm going to need to do a little bit more than go in there with jacked Beyoncé moves to get the team to vote for me—that much I know.”

“Come on,” Donald insisted. “They'd be fools not to vote you captain.”

“That's the problem,” Lauren said. “They
are
fools. Haven't you read YRT lately? My entire existence is under question now that stories about Altimus's business are being downloaded directly onto the site. I swear, don't people have anything better to do than get in my family's business?”

“Um, not really,” Donald deadpanned.

“Exactly,” Lauren said. “Just today, Elizabeth Chiclana raised her hand in Econ and asked Mr. Siegret to explain the difference between the penalties people and businesses get when they fail to pay their taxes. I swear, if I wasn't walking with King Jesus? The devil would have won today.”

“Mmm, well, I didn't want to tell you this, but since you're already having the pity party…there was an entire conversation over chicken wraps in the lunchroom today about how much intel you had on the Dara and Marcus situation.”

“See what I'm saying?” Lauren said, snatching another Now and Later out of the package. “How am I supposed to get past all of that? I mean, we're still on Dara? Damn.”

“You know how you get past all of it?” Donald asked without hesitating. “You go in there and you show them why you're still the one who should be in charge. Look, your skills on the dance floor are undeniable, and no one can choreograph like you. Shoot, if you ask me, you should get back with your agent and see if you can try out for a few more video features—give those scalawags something to really talk about.”

“Uh, yeah, about the video ho tryouts? I'm so not there,” Lauren said. “The last thing I need is another YRT post about my after-school exploits.”

“Okay, then give them something to talk about. Go into that practice tomorrow and do what you do best: Show your ass.”

“I do know how to do that, don't I?” Lauren giggled. “Okay, but you gotta pay close attention, young 'un. Should I toss in a front twist after the jump or leave this part as is?”

“Come on, girl, you know I don't know nothing 'bout birthin' no dance moves!” Donald said, chewing lazily on another gummy bear.

“Whatev, just pay attention,” she said, punching
PLAY
on her stereo.

Lauren 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 Aleve, 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 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.

Lauren 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
heifas 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 woke up to change into her gear and go over the new steps in her head before the rest of the team hit 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.

“Who's there?” Lauren demanded, her heart racing. She stood up slowly; her eyes darted around the room in search of something—anything—that could serve as a fitting weapon against whoever was creeping around in the bathroom. She settled on a baton that lay on a counter not too far from where the noise had come. She grabbed it and headed for the bathroom, half scared, half amped to beat down any intruder.

Holding the baton like a bat behind her left shoulder, Lauren pushed open the bathroom door with her foot; it slammed against the wall. “Whoever you are, you better come out now!” she yelled.

“Just give…me…a sec.” A girl's voice came between breaths from behind the adjacent stall. And then she hurled. Hard. And coughed. “If you didn't notice, I'm…a little…preoccu—” She couldn't finish. More hurling.

Damn. Gross. Dara.

Lauren rolled her eyes at the mere thought of her former best friend. What was she doing here anyway? She'd quit the squad and then embarrassed both Sydney and herself by showing up with a megaphone to the twins' holiday party to announce her baby bump. Specifically, Marcus's baby bump. And she still had the nerve to show her face in the House that the Dukes built?

Dara flushed the toilet and slowly walked out of the stall, making a beeline for the sink. Without so much as a side glance in Lauren's direction, she splashed cool water into her mouth and then dried her hands with one of the crisp flowered hand towels in the basket gracing the counter. And then she picked up her purse and started heading for the door. “Excuse me.”

“Yes, excuse you,” Lauren snapped. She didn't budge from her position in front of the door, leaving Dara little room to squeeze by. “Maybe next time you can keep your nasty baby business in the main building and out of
my
locker room.”

“Look, I came here because I didn't think anyone would
be here,” Dara said, her eyes stuck on the baton Lauren rested on her left shoulder.

“What'd you do—throw up all over the bathroom stall so we have to tiptoe around your mess?” Lauren demanded. “You're not slick.”

Dara shook her head and looked down at her Cole Haan ballet flats. “It wasn't supposed to be like this,” she said quietly.

Lauren gripped the baton a little tighter; her former best friend was really trying to test her today, and she was so not in the mood.

“You do understand that, right?” Dara questioned.

“Understand what, Dara? That you deliberately slept with my sister's boyfriend, bragged about it to the entire school, and crashed my holiday party with the news that you and Marcus are about to become proud, teenage, unwed parents? What else is there to understand, sweetie? Oh, hold up—I know: You're a tramp-ass hooker who has no idea what it means to be a true friend. But I didn't need you to come here to tell me that.”

Dara rubbed her hand over her brow; Lauren noticed that it was shaking. Dara's tears were inescapable.

“Look, I know I deserve everything you're throwing at me and then some,” she said, swiping away the tears.

“Uh, you think?” Lauren snapped.

Dara started to answer back but instead let out a sob.

“Are you kidding me, Dara?” Lauren seethed. She could feel her head getting hot. “You know what? You're pathetic.”

“You're right,” Dara said. “I'm not going to argue with you about that.”

Lauren cocked her head to the side and looked quizzically at Dara. What in the world was she up to?

“I betrayed your trust, your family, and, above all else, our friendship,” Dara continued, swiping at more tears. “I lay awake at night thinking about what I've lost—how important you are…were to me. How much I miss us. I'm carrying around this baby, and everytime my stomach flutters or I get nauseous or I see you in the lunchroom, I'm reminded about how my hooking up with Marcus so wasn't worth it. You, Sydney, even I deserved better than this. I just wish…” Dara continued and then stopped herself.

Lauren stared at Dara, gape-jawed. She wasn't quite sure how to respond—what to say. Her anger was still palpable, but another emotion subtly and unexpectedly started creeping in: empathy. Lauren didn't know what was coming over her.

“You know, all the character flaws you said made him a crappy boyfriend—his sneakiness, his lying, his better-than-thou/playa attitude—are all of the things that he used to convince me that
I
was the one he wanted,” Dara reasoned. “I fell for the hype. I really believed him, Lauren. I
guess a big part of me still wants to believe it,” she added, rubbing her burgeoning belly.

“But that was my sister's man,” Lauren said quietly.
“My sister.”

Dara nodded and, after a beat, said just as quietly, “But you always made it seem like he didn't matter—like what they had didn't matter. And honestly, I didn't think it was going to go this far.” Lauren shook her head and looked away. “I'm about to become someone's mother,” Dara said, her voice trembling. “And, quite honestly, I don't know what to do, who to turn to, how to get through this. And I'm too tired to fight anymore. I miss you,” she added quietly. “I miss us.”

Lauren loosened her grip on the baton and slowly placed it on the counter. She looked hard into Dara's eyes, unsure of what to do—what to say. She had to admit that she missed her best friend, too. Nobody, after all, knew as many of her secrets—well, except Donald and her sister.

Just as she got a mental image of Sydney in her brain, Lauren's iPhone pierced the silence, startling both her and Dara; Lauren looked in the direction of the ringtone. Keisha Cole's “Let It Go,” bounced off the concrete walls. It was Sydney.

Lauren gave Dara a slow, toe-to-head once-over with her eyes and sucked her teeth.

“You know what? That's my sister calling,” Lauren
snapped. “I'm going to take that. But I want to thank you for sharing your come-to-Jesus tale. It was, um, inspiring. Do me a favor, though, will you? Save the talk about how Marcus talked his way into your boomchickiwawa for someone who gives a damn.”