What Goes Around (17 page)

“Come on, Lauren, I didn't mean to upset you,” Jermaine said as softly as he could so that Lauren wouldn't think he was still yelling.

Lauren didn't bother answering—just kept run-walking. She made a left—more houses.

“Lauren!” Jermaine called.

For some reason, this street looked familiar—really familiar. But what would Lauren know about it? Almost every time she'd been in the West End, it was in the dark, via MARTA or in a car with her navigation system and a prayer. Still, she recognized the pink shotgun house with the wooden fence, and the blue house next to that, lined
with green shrubs that flowered well into December. She kept walking but looked back at the corner, her eyes searching for a road sign. She was on Peeples Street, near Uncle Larry's house.

“Yo, what up ma—what's the rush?” she heard the voice say just before she crashed into the body from whom the voice came. “Whoa, whoa, easy there.”

Lauren reeled back and her eyes focused on the man, a young twenty-something dripping in goose down, his hood obscuring almost every inch of his face. Lauren was so distracted that she'd seen neither him, holding court in the middle of the sidewalk, nor his friends, three guys, similarly dressed, lounging on and standing next to an old sky-blue Cutty with the motor running and music blasting from the speakers. “Oh, God, my bad—I'm sorry. I didn't see you.”

“It's cool, don't sweat it, shorty. What's—”

“I'm sorry,” Lauren said, cutting off the man with a raised hand. “I'm really in a rush. I have to—”

“She has to get to her uncle's house, right over there,” Jermaine finished, taking Lauren's hand into his. He stood taller than the man in the goose down, cutting an imposing figure, but the man didn't seem the least bit fazed.

“My bad, bruh, she with you?” the man asked.

“Yeah, man,” Jermaine said, pulling Lauren along. “It's cool. Let's go, L.”

“Yeah, run along, L. Enjoy your Sunday,” the man said, moving out of the way just in time to avoid a shoulder brush from Jermaine. “Oh, and, um, Jermaine, right?”

Jermaine looked back at the man quizzically but kept moving.

“Tell Uncle Larry I said whassup,” the man said.

In Lauren's ears, he was snarling.

“Come on, Lauren,” Jermaine said, giving Lauren's hand a little tug.

She held on, but the moment they got to the foot of Uncle Larry's driveway, she snatched her hand away. “You can leave now,” she said. “I don't need an escort.”

“I know you don't, Lauren, just listen to me—”

“I've heard enough, Jermaine,” she said, climbing the front steps. She pushed the doorbell. As if he had already been standing there waiting for the bell to sound, Uncle Larry snatched open his front door.

“You two get in here right now!” he demanded, opening the screen door so that the couple could push past him. He glared at them as they passed by. “What in the world are you two doing stomping up my stoop hollering and screaming and cackling like you're crazy?”

“Jermaine was just leaving,” Lauren insisted.

“Oh, no, he's not,” Uncle Larry said, pushing the two of them out of the way so he could close his front door. He rushed over to his window and looked out in the direction
of where the man and his friends were standing. And then he quickly lowered his blinds. “You're going to stay right here until I say it's okay to leave.”

Lauren frowned. Jermaine folded his arms. “What's up—something going on we should know about?” Jermaine asked.

“All you need to know is that neither one of y'all need to be out there on that street right now,” Uncle Larry said.

“What, you think I'm afraid of some dough boy?” Jermaine asked, squaring his shoulder. “Ain't nobody studying them.”

Uncle Larry glared at Jermaine and sucked his teeth. “You know what? Sit y'all's behinds down,” he snarled. Lauren hopped to it. Jermaine—not so much.

“I'm good,” he said.

“You good, huh?” Uncle Larry asked. “Well, I'm not, youngblood. I'm not at all. I told y'all to leave that drama for somebody else. And now here y'all are up in my living room with him right there on the corner.”

“Who is he?” Lauren asked. “I don't understand.”

“Somebody you do not want to know, Lauren. You don't want no part of him.”

“Well, if he's so bad, how you know him?” Jermaine asked.

Uncle Larry wrung his hands and started pacing.

“How you know him?” Jermaine demanded forcefully.

“His name is Richard,” Uncle Larry finally said after sitting and holding his head in his hands. “His mama calls him Ricky, but on the streets, they call him…”

“Smoke,” Jermaine said. “I've seen him around.”

“I figured you had,” Uncle Larry continued. Jermaine cocked an eyebrow; Lauren folded her arms. “I mean, not because I think you've got any dealings with him. He knew your brother.”

“Rodney? How he know him?” Jermaine inquired.

“I don't know, youngblood. But I reckon you can take a guess. You knew your brother better than anybody else—figure it out.”

“You still haven't told us how you know him, and why you're so afraid right now.”

Lauren's eyes danced between Jermaine's and Uncle Larry's; she was confused and couldn't quite follow just what in the hell the two were talking about.

Uncle Larry took a deep breath and sighed. “I know Ricky because I damn near raised the boy,” he said. “His mother is my ex-girlfriend. She lived with me for a few years, and Ricky stayed between here and his aunt's house.”

“Go on,” Jermaine urged.

“Look, Ricky's got a big mouth and a bad temper, and ain't too much that goes down around here without his dumb behind mixed up in it. That's why they call him
Smoke, because wherever he goes, there's usually a fire not too far behind,” Uncle Larry continued. “I thought he would calm down a little when Chere had his baby, but fatherhood ain't changed him none.”

“Chere?” Jermaine asked, wincing.

“Yeah,” Uncle Larry said. “Chere.”

The two men locked eyes. Lauren didn't understand what was going on, but now Uncle Larry and Jermaine were on the same page, the same paragraph, the exact same sentence.

“Chere Wilkins?” Jermaine asked slowly.

“Yes,” Uncle Larry whispered.

“That was my brother's…”

“That was your brother's girlfriend,” Uncle Larry said. “Now you see why I don't need you here? With my niece? Shoot, Keisha finds out she's here, or, God forbid, I let something happen to Lauren here at my house knowing what that boy Smoke is capable of, that's my ass, don't you see? I'm all in the middle of this mess, and y'all keep coming around here pouring more hot sauce on the stew.”

Uncle Larry's words pierced Lauren's heart—each one like a cut from a highly sharpened blade that sliced with a surgeon's precision. Everything she'd thought about Jermaine's brother, her stepfather, her mom, Dice—it was all wrong, all of it. Or maybe it wasn't? Uncle Larry was practically raising his hand and giving an oath to say
that none of them had anything to do with Rodney's murder. But it was because of his murder that she'd learned all of her family's dirty secrets, and even the truth about her real dad—that perhaps he wasn't the bad guy she'd made him out to be all these years. And could it be that she'd just had a run-in with a stone-cold murderer? And he was standing right there outside Uncle Larry's door? Possibly waiting for her and Jermaine?

Jermaine looked at Lauren; she was hugging herself and rocking back and forth. “I need to get out of here,” she yelled, standing suddenly, a move that made both Jermaine and Uncle Larry reel back.

“You're right about that,” Uncle Larry said. He walked over to the window and peeked outside. Smoke was still holding court. “But he's still outside, and I really would prefer you not walk through that crowd again. He knows full well who you are.”

“Well, if he knows who I am, then he knows who my stepfather is, right?” Lauren said, wiping a tear from her eye. She squared her shoulders. She had no time for a weak-kneed approach. For the first time, Lauren was recognizing—and acknowledging—the power that came with being a Duke. “He is aware that I'm Altimus's daughter.”

“I'm sure he does, but…”

“But, then, there shouldn't be any problems. My real
father is not too far away from here. I can call him and ask him to pick me up, or I can get Altimus on the phone.”

“Wait, Dice is out of jail?” Jermaine asked. “You didn't tell me.”

“As I recall, you were too busy wondering about my friends to be concerned about my father,” Lauren snapped. “But he's out on bail—you have my sister and Altimus to thank for that.”

“Altimus?” Jermaine asked.

“Yes, Altimus and Sydney. Now, I don't know what this Smoke guy has to do with all of this, but I'll bet he's not crazy enough to raise his hand to my stepfather. Neither one of them.” Lauren reached into her purse and pulled out her phone.

“No, no—don't call, Lauren, please,” Uncle Larry implored. “We'll go through the garage; I'll drive.”

Sydney sat in her car and watched the students make a break for the school building as the first warning bell sounded before the Brookhaven Monday-morning announcements. With a sigh, she leaned over and grabbed her black Gucci-logo tote full of books that she should've been studying over the weekend. “You can do it, you can do it,” Sydney muttered repeatedly to herself as she took a last look in the vanity mirror, popped the trunk, and hopped out of her car. After closing the door, she headed around to open the trunk and grabbed her dirty pink Nike gym bag. With a firm slam, she was on her way.

There are eighty-three steps from the front entrance to the principal's office.
Sydney made a mental note as she stood in front of the open door, willing her stiff limbs to take
another step forward. A gaggle of freshman boys rushing down the hall on their way to class almost knocked her over. “Hey, my bad,” the pimply faced one on the end apologized over his shoulder as the group kept moving.
That was just God's way of pushing me
, Sydney thought as she squared her shoulders and finally stepped inside the receptionist's area.

“Good morning, Mrs. Tisdale, I'd like to speak with Principal Trumbull,” Sydney greeted the elderly woman with a determined look on her face.

“Good morning, Sydney. Principal Trumbull is speaking with another student right now. Would you like to have a seat?” Mrs. Tisdale responded, motioning toward the stiff, overstuffed, burgundy leather couch behind Sydney.

“Yes, ma'am,” Sydney said as her heart pounded in her ears. When she sat down, her foot tapped nervously on the floor. She twisted the diamond stud in her right ear and looked out the door at all the students hurrying to get to class before the final warning bell sounded. More than anything, she wished she was one of them. Sydney closed her eyes and tried to envision the look of confidence on Dice's face when he assured her that she was in the right. “Yes, I can. Yes, I can,” she murmured softly. Her eyes snapped open at the sound of the principal's inner office door opening.

“You should go clear out your locker immediately,” Principal Trumbull instructed gravely as he rested his right hand on Marcus's left shoulder.

Marcus nodded sadly in response. “Yes, sir, I will.” Sydney finally stood up from her seat. For a moment, Marcus made direct eye contact and then cast his gaze downward.

“Good morning, Ms. Duke,” Principal Trumbull said. “Step into my office, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Sydney replied immediately as she picked up her bags and walked toward the inner office.

As Marcus stepped aside to let her pass, he reached out and touched the sleeve of her black Calvin Klein button-up. “I'm so sorry, Sydney,” he whispered softly. “And thanks for telling me about Dara. I really appreciate it.”

Sydney didn't respond for fear of falling apart. Instead, she rushed inside the inner office and sat down without a backward glance. Principal Trumbull closed the door behind them and headed over to his desk. Sydney placed her tote on top of her gym bag, and sat back in the chair anxiously.

“Well, Ms. Duke, I'm happy to inform you that the missing money has been located,” he said quietly. “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't discuss the details of the return with you, but as the co-chairwoman you have a right to know.”

“Don't you mean, since I was being accused?” Sydney corrected.

Principal Trumbull raised his eyebrows. “Well, yes, and as I'm sure you can understand, I apologize for my hasty misjudgment. But as I said, the good news is that the money has been located. Apparently, your co-chair has developed some bad habits and personal issues that compromised his integrity. And in light of this, his mother will be returning all the missing money as well as making a generous donation to the teachers' retirement fund.” Principal Trumbull stopped to take a swig of water from the Crystal Springs bottle on his desk before continuing. “Since the nature of the issue is so personal, we think it's in his best interest for Marcus to take the next semester off and spend some time at a rehabilitation facility.”

“Wait, you're sending Marcus to rehab?” Sydney asked incredulously. “Are there actually rehabs for thieves or isn't that just jail?”

The principal cleared his throat and tugged uncomfortably at his Hermès tie. “Again, because of the nature of the illness and out of respect for Councilwoman Green, we have decided not to press charges.”

Sydney shook her head in disbelief. “Wow, okay,” she said softly. She bent over to pick up her tote and gym bag.

“I appreciate your understanding the delicacy of this matter, Ms. Duke. And it goes without saying that none of
the details of this conversation should leave this room,” Principal Trumbull stated solemnly. “And again, I apologize for any unnecessary anxiety this may have caused you over the weekend.”

Sydney stood up. “Understood,” she said as she turned and headed toward the closed door.

“You may leave the door open,” Principal Trumbull requested gently.

“Yes, sir,” Sydney mumbled as she walked out.

“Do you need a pass to go back to class?” Mrs. Tisdale asked as Sydney passed her desk, heading for the hallway. “We wouldn't want you to get into any unnecessary trouble now, would we?”

“No, no, we wouldn't,” Sydney confirmed.

Sydney stood in front of her open locker facing her books. For the life of her, she couldn't remember what class she was supposed to be going to at the moment. In fact, the only thing she could think about was that Marcus was being sent away to rehab. Principal Trumbull's words echoed in her mind: “We think it's in his best interest for Marcus to take the next semester off and spend some time at a rehabilitation facility.” Sydney shook her head; life was becoming more surreal than Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon's crazy wedding.

Finally, Sydney grabbed her Global History text and
shut the locker. She checked her Cartier tank watch; there were still twenty minutes left in the period. As she opened her tote to drop in the book, her phone vibrated twice, signaling the arrival of a new text message. Wondering if the news about Marcus had already hit YRT, she nervously pulled out her cell. Thankfully, the text was from Lauren: FYI, talked to Uncle L. OMG, U R so not going 2 believe this—Rodney got killed by some wack corner boy. L

Completely stunned, Sydney stopped dead in her tracks. She punched in her reply as fast as she could: Whaaat? Dish! She leaned up against the nearest locker to wait for a response. Finally, her phone buzzed again. To her dismay, Lauren's response was far from informative: Can't. Got the crazy Chem teacher breathin down my neck, we'll talk at home later. L

“May I see your pass?” the heavyset hall monitor with a head full of blond-and-black microbraids asked from down the hall. Sydney quickly dropped her phone back in her bag before the monitor saw it and gave her a detention. She pulled the pass out of her back pocket and waved it in the air. “Alrighty, then, perhaps it's time for you to keep it moving,” the monitor suggested.

“You're absolutely right; it's time for me to keep it moving,” Sydney replied and walked away.

“Great job this morning, Ms. Duke.” Sydney's riding instructor, Jackson Harper, complimented her as they led their horses back to the stables. “Your form has really improved. This upcoming spring season should be very promising for you,” the tiny, green-eyed man continued as they reached the entrance to the stall of Sydney's filly, Thunder.

“Thanks,” Sydney said simply as she gave Thunder one last rub before the stable boy took her away. Still a little shell-shocked from the early morning double drama, she found it hard to process the praise. “I know I kinda slacked off for a while…” Sydney admitted as she removed her riding helmet and tucked it under her arm.

“Well, as I've explained to the athletic director numerous times, sometimes having the lessons first thing in the morning is difficult for the busier students. Luckily for you, your schedule includes a double study twice a week. So we were able to insert your lessons.”

“Yeah, it totally made a difference,” Sydney agreed with a nod. “My days feel much shorter now that I'm not waking up at five o'clock for our workouts.”

“And as long as you stay on top of things from here on in,” Jackson replied as he stroked his own mare, “you should be more than ready for competition.” Another nondescript stable boy headed over to retrieve Jackson's reins.
“Speaking of getting ready, will you continue riding over the break or is your family headed out of town?”

Memories of past Christmas breaks spent sunning on the white sand beaches in St. Lucia or hitting the powder slopes at Tahoe immediately flooded Sydney's mind before she remembered Altimus's upcoming tax-evasion trial. “No, unfortunately we're not going anywhere this year,” she said somewhat bitterly as she kicked at a pile of loose hay.

“Well, then, I certainly hope to see you for at least two or three lessons over the week,” Jackson responded with an enthusiastic smile. “We'll dedicate an entire day to your jumps.”

“Sure, sounds like a plan,” she responded flatly. For the first time, it occurred to Sydney that both of her BFFs were leaving Atlanta with their respective families for the holidays and she'd have absolutely nothing to do but feel bad about getting dumped by Jason—for a second time.

“Well, I'll let you go so you have time to shower before your next class,” Instructor Jackson said as he patted her on the shoulder. “Again, great job today.”

Sydney had just finished throwing the last of her dirty riding gear into her gym bag when Jason's cryptic text message arrived: I think we should talk. Meet me behind the gym before next period. J. Completely caught off guard, Sydney
hesitated. More than anything, she wanted to clear the air about everything that happened on Saturday, but today had been bizarre enough. The last thing her nerves needed now was an argument. Sydney started to toss the cell back in her bag but stopped. “Oh, what the hell,” she muttered with a small grin. Throwing caution to the wind, she sent her BFFs a quick text: Gotta meet J behind the gym 4 a sec. Might be a couple mins late for Spanish, so cover for me, por favor? Taking a deep breath, Sydney checked her tote for her Spanish notebook, slipped into her coat, and slammed her gym locker closed. After a quick spin of the lock's dial, she grabbed her stuff and hurried out of the girls' locker room.

As she rounded the corner, Sydney could see Jason leaning against the back of the building, looking at his cell phone.
Wow, he is so cute,
she thought as she watched the sunbeams play off his chiseled profile. The butterscotch trim on his Louis Vuitton leather jacket complemented his complexion perfectly. Sydney paused to smooth down the front of her hair before walking over. She was almost in front of him before he noticed her approaching.

Jason immediately straightened up to greet her, “Hey! I wasn't sure you got my message in time.”

“Yeah,” Sydney replied softly. “I, um, didn't bother to reply since I was already down here.”

“That's cool,” Jason nodded. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Sydney responded as she looked down at the black-and-white Calvin Klein swing coat she was wearing. She shifted from foot to foot as a million emotions ran through her. She felt like she should say something, but she just couldn't figure out where to start. “So, um, how was your weekend?” she asked lamely.

“Let's just say I've had better,” Jason laughed bitterly as he tugged at his navy Yankees cap.

“Yeah, me, too,” Sydney admitted. She started twisting her right earring as the uncomfortable tension hung between them. She looked both ways at the deserted parking lot.

Finally, Jason cleared his throat. “I called you back, you know, after everything,” his voice faded away.

“Yeah, I guess I was driving and missed the call,” Sydney responded as she switched the bag to her other shoulder. “You didn't leave a message, so I wasn't really sure you wanted me to call you back.”

Jason sighed as he scuffed the bottom of one of his all-brown Nike Air Force Ones against the pavement. The thumping sound pierced the air. “I guess I called to apologize,” he mumbled as his eyes remained downcast. “I didn't mean for things to go so far. But when my call went straight to your voice mail, I just assumed that you were still with Marcus and I just hung up.”

Sydney was surprised how little his words did to make her feel better. Maybe it was the whole Marcus drama, but
for some reason, she just wasn't in the mood for another sorry apology. “Yeah, well, I wasn't,” Sydney said with a shrug. “But it's cool.”

“Is it?” Jason questioned, his voice rising just a tad. “ 'Cause I'm really messed up about this whole thing and, I don't know, you seem pretty okay.”

Sydney tried to conjure something really reassuring and positive to say to get the two of them back on track, but she drew a complete blank. “It's not that I'm okay, J, it's just that it's a lot,” Sydney answered slowly and truthfully. “There's so much going on with me. And I want to tell you. But I never really know what I can and can't say, because I never know how you'll react.”

Jason's head snapped back slightly as an expression of disbelief clouded his face. “What are you talking about? You can tell me anything,” he retorted, clearly offended. “You make me sound like some kind of…I don't know, some kind of monster!”

“Can I tell you anything, Jason? I don't know what it is, but I feel like no matter what I say or do, you won't ever really trust me. And seriously,” Sydney paused and took a deep breath before she blurted out the question that'd been on her mind since Saturday. “What is the point of
us
if you don't trust me?”

“You don't know what it is?” Jason snapped as he pushed off the wall and stood over Sydney menacingly.
“Weren't you the same broad who went behind my back and had a date with Marcus the last time we were dating?”