What Goes Around (3 page)

“Really, now?” Altimus said, crossing his arms. “Tell me about these, um”—Altimus paused and let his eyes slowly roll from Jermaine's face to his feet and back up to his eyes again—“skills.”

“Well, as I'm sure you know, my brother passed away last month and I've been involved in trying to find out who killed him, so my class work and my extracurricular activities suffered some, but it won't be a thing to get my weight back up,” Jermaine said confidently. His words made Lauren shiver—partly because she was impressed that her boyfriend was standing up to Altimus, but mostly because she was sure Altimus would just as soon see Jermaine join his brother in the afterlife than continue to let Jermaine disrespect him this way. She shifted from one foot to the other, searching desperately for something to say to cool down the conversational tension that went from simmer to boil in just a few sentences.

“Get your weight up, huh?” Altimus said, his eyes locking with Jermaine's. “What weight, exactly, are you talking about, Jermaine? Surely you're not referring to drugs in the presence of my daughter, are you?”

“No, sir,” Jermaine said quickly. “I don't fool with that stuff. You're from the West End, so you know how it can
get in the hood, but you also know that it's possible to leave the hood and do something with yourself that doesn't involve illegal substances. I mean, you proved that with your business selling all these ultimate driving machines, right?”

Altimus didn't bother to respond.

“I got nothing but good intentions, Mr. Duke,” Jermaine continued. “Right up until my brother died, I was always a straight-A student. I got big plans to turn that into something positive for myself—the kinds of things only a skilled, fearless driver like yourself can accomplish. You can believe that.”

Just as Altimus was about to respond, Lisa summoned his help. “Mr. Duke, sorry to disturb your conversation, but you're needed in the office. We have a gentleman who is looking to purchase a 7 Series, but Drew would like to give him some incentives to close the deal.”

“I'll be right there, Lisa,” Altimus said, his eyes still locked on Jermaine's.

“Yes, sir, I'll let him know,” Lisa said.

“But I must say, your daughter,” Jermaine continued, smiling at Lauren, who was now as close to physically ill as she could possibly get, “she's been really supportive—helping me get through the death of my brother and all,” Jermaine said, folding his arms.

Without bothering to reply, Altimus turned his attention to Lauren. “Lauren, I'll see you back at the house. I'll
be working late tonight, but you make sure you get home in time for dinner. Your mother is expecting you.” And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, without so much as a word to Jermaine.

“Okay, Daddy,” Lauren called out after him.

“Nice meeting you, Mr. Duke,” Jermaine yelled.

Lauren waited until Altimus was out of their view before she turned to Jermaine and let him have it. “What the hell were you doing? Didn't I tell you my stepdad is crazy? Are you trying to get on his last nerve?”

“Come on, Lauren, don't sweat it, okay?” Jermaine said. “And get it right: I'm the one who told you your stepdad is crazy.”

“Oh, I see—you've got a death wish, huh?” Lauren stage-whispered as Jermaine took her hand and headed toward the door.

“No death wish. I just wanted your dad to know a little bit about your man, that's all. Where's your coat? Let's get out of here.”

Lauren grabbed her coat off the showroom chair and pulled it on as Jermaine opened the door. The Atlanta winter chilled her to the bone, but she suspected her shivers had less to do with the air than what she thought Altimus might do to Jermaine for cutting up. “You know, you really ought to watch what you say to him,” Lauren said. “Altimus
usually has no problem giving me exactly what I want, but giving him lip isn't going to convince him to leave you and your family alone.”

“I'm from the West End, baby—the SWATS,” Jermaine countered. “I can handle myself.”

“Whatev, straight-A boy,” Lauren joked as Jermaine opened his car door for her. “And what was all that 'I get good grades and help in the community' bull about, anyway?”

“What, a brotha from the hood can't be smart and helpful?” Jermaine said as he climbed into the driver's seat and started his engine.

“Ain't nobody say all of that. Dang, why you gotta assume that's the way I think?” Lauren questioned defensively.

“Aw, baby, if I were making assumptions about you, you wouldn't be riding shotgun,” he said as he pulled out into traffic.

“Then why are you with me? I mean, with everything you know about my family and what happened to your brother and all the questions about how he died and who killed him, why are you with me?”

Jermaine was silent.

“Dang, you don't even have an answer? Pull this car over, boy,” Lauren demanded, punctuating her every word with a punch to his arm.

“Chill, chill,” he laughed. “You're going to get us into an accident. But then you know all about crashing into other people's cars, don't you.”

“See how you do me?” Lauren said, cracking up. “Why you gotta bring up the car wreck?”

“Well, if it weren't for that car wreck, I would never have found you, so I'm glad you took a brother's bumper out,” he said quietly as he put on his signal and slowly pulled into the right lane. He turned into the parking lot of a Kroger shopping center and slowly came to a stop next to a large red minivan.

“What, we going shopping now?” Lauren said, eyeballing the shopping center; she and Jermaine watched as a mom struggled to get her two children and all of her groceries into a car just across the way from Jermaine's.

“Though I'm quite aware of how much you like the pastime, we're not going shopping,” Jermaine said, shifting his body to face Lauren. “I have something much more fun for us to do.” And with that, he leaned in and kissed Lauren on her lips so gently, she felt herself get a little dizzy. “I've been waiting for way too long to do that,” he finally said after a long kissing session.

“I dreamed about this so many times,” Lauren said, smiling. “I'm so glad we're back together again.”

“Look,” Jermaine said, his face turning serious. “You should know this much about me: I'm still real upset about
what happened to my brother—I don't think he deserved to die that way. But I don't want to be like him, either. See, his problem was that he didn't want to leave the hood. That's the mentality of a lot of the people I live with. But there are some of us who want to leave and do something with ourselves, and then bring back what we earn and learn to help make the neighborhood better. People outside the hood don't ever see people like me getting good grades, staying out of trouble, trying to do right. And I don't care if they see it in me. What counts is I see it for myself.”

Jermaine leaned in and kissed Lauren again. He ran his fingers over her eyebrow and took one more look into her eyes before turning back to the steering wheel. He put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the street.

Lauren rubbed his arm and snuggled into the passenger seat. Every time she got with Jermaine, she learned something new about him—and herself. She turned each of his words around in her mind as she watched the ATL skyline rise before her and then rush by.

“Okay, seriously, Sydney, you and your sister need to write a freakin' book,” Rhea commented randomly.

The three girls leaned against the student lockers outside the entrance of their Fine Arts classroom, watching students pass by as they waited for the second-period bell to ring.

“What are you talking about, Rhea,” Sydney muttered in reply as she examined the damaged cuticles on her left hand. Those last couple of weeks of hardcore punishment had wreaked havoc on her normally flawless fingers. And from the looks of her chipped polish, it was going to take several honey and warm paraffin treatments to undo the damage.

“I'm just saying, if a melee ever broke out at one of my parties, please believe it would take more than two weeks for me to convince my parents to let me off punishment,” Rhea began as a crowd of boys heading toward the girls came into view.

“Shoot, it would probably take me another lifetime,” Carmen co-signed. “The way my parents are about all their precious homes, I'd probably be sleeping in the garage until the day I died.”

“Don't get it twisted,” Sydney said, measuring her words carefully. She didn't want to give away more than she was willing to explain about the repercussions of the property damage and public humiliation of the entire Duke family that had happened that night. “Altimus and Keisha were not pleased. It took some pretty fast talking and a whole lot of begging. But at the end of the day, it's not like what happened was either of our faults.” Sydney's voice faded out as she remembered the betrayed look on Jason's face when Marcus put her on blast for going out on a coffee date with him. Even though at the moment Jason had pretended that Marcus's accusation of Sydney not being over their old relationship didn't faze him, there was no hiding that he was no longer speaking to her. Or even worse, that thanks to the blow-by-blow YRT recap of the night's events, the entire school thought she was a cheater. She immediately began
to tug on the diamond stud in her right earlobe. “I mean, who knew…”

“Duh, it definitely wasn't your fault,” Carmen quickly reassured her best friend. “That's not what we're saying at all.”

“Omigod, not at all, Syd,” Rhea said as she shook her head. “Don't think that. It's so obvious Marcus is totally jealous of Jason. He was just looking for an excuse.”

Sydney smiled warmly at her friends' valiant attempt at damage control. They always managed to make everything seem okay—even when it was so not.

“What's good, ladies,” a voice called out from the group of guys that had finally made its way down the hall. The three looked over at Rhea's newly minted boyfriend, Tim, as he sidled up to Rhea for a quick kiss and squeeze of her booty.

“Ugh, Tim.” Rhea feigned disgust as she swatted his hand away.

“What? Can't a brother get a little somethin'-somethin' to get him through the day?” he questioned playfully as he wrapped his arms around Rhea's tiny waist. He nuzzled his nose into her neck. “You smell good, babe.”

Sydney felt a slight twinge of sadness as she remembered how Jason used to compliment her all the time on the scent of her favorite L'Occitane Green Tea with Mint perfume.

“Lloyd, will you please come get your boy?” Rhea pouted playfully toward Tim's best friend.

“Hey, don't blame me, Beyoncé. You're the one that's got him actin' all crazy in love,” Lloyd joked as he yanked Tim back by the collar of his varsity baseball jacket.

Carmen giggled as the boys finally headed off down the hall with Tim in tow. “Not crazy in love! Lloyd Chesquire is a stone-cold fool.”

“Girl, yes, he is. Every time we go out on a double date with him and whatever girl of the week he's dating, he has me in stitches,” Rhea confirmed.

“I can only imagine,” Carmen said with a shake of her head.

“But anyhoo, Sydney, will you tell me how you ever managed to do this whole relationship thing for four years?” Rhea questioned as she smoothed out her fitted pink-and-gray Nanette Lepore sweaterdress. “'Cause I swear, Tim's crazy behind is straight killing me and it's barely been a month.”

Sydney nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders in response. The way her relationships were turning out—Marcus knocking up Dara, and Jason acting like he was never going to speak to her again—she felt totally unqualified to offer anyone relationship advice.

“Whatever, Rhea, you love it,” Carmen said with a smirk.

“Well, sorta,” Rhea giggled as she dug in her silver Cole Haan bag for lip gloss and a hand mirror. “I mean when you get past the whole butt grabbing, he is really cute…”

“So have you asked him to the Sadie Hawkins Benefit or are you still playing hard to get?” Carmen asked Rhea curiously.

“I'm totally making him wait,” Rhea giggled in response as she slathered on a sparkly layer over her heart-shaped lips. “You should hear him, hinting hard about it every chance he gets! It's so cute!”

“Is that a new gloss?” Sydney questioned in a subtle attempt to change the increasingly uncomfortable conversation. Considering she didn't have any prospects for a date to the upcoming dance, she really didn't want to hear much more about it.

“Um, actually I bought it a while ago,” Rhea responded as she looked at the tube's label. “I think I picked it up that day we went underwear shopping after the pep rally.”

“Oh,” was Sydney's only response.

Carmen reached over and took the tube out of Rhea's hands. “NARS,” she said, reading the label aloud, “very cute. You know that bright red lipstick that Michael absolutely loves on me is also NARS.”

“Really? I had no idea,” Rhea commented. “And I meant to ask you where you got it the other day. It's really hot.”

“Well, I heard NARS is, like, number one on PETA's animal-cruelty list and no one who's remotely conscious is wearing it anymore,” Sydney snapped, reaching her breaking point with all of the 'whose-boy-likes-what' talk. Carmen and Rhea stopped short and exchanged guilty looks. “I'm just saying,” she continued, knowing full well that her little lie would curtail the boy-relationship-related convo pronto.

“Here you go,” Carmen mumbled as she handed the gloss back to Rhea like it was infected.

“Damn, my bad,” Rhea replied, shoving it back in her bag.

“Anyway, what time is it?” Sydney questioned, attempting to move on. She glanced at her Cartier tank watch, then down the hall. “I wonder if Mr. Wilkens is out today.” She pushed off the locker, stood up straight, and turned to face her friends. “He's never late for class.”

“Um, actually I think that's him coming now,” Carmen countered just as the burly older gentleman, who looked more likely to coach a football team than instruct students on the intricacies of the fine arts, turned the corner.

“I always love his outfits,” Rhea mused, of the tailor-made chocolate-brown suit, bright yellow tie, and spitshined wingtips Mr. Wilkens wore that morning. “I wonder where he gets them. I just might buy my dad a few of those
ties to help soften him up enough to upgrade the sound system in my Lexus…What do you think?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Carmen said. “I know anytime my mom wants something new, she just buys my father a new set of golf clubs. It's like an unspoken agreement—new clubs equals a new dining room set.”

“I swear your mom is addicted to new dining room sets,” Sydney joked. “She goes through at least three a year.”

“Who are you telling?” Carmen agreed. “Parents are so crazy.”

“Seriously,” Rhea said with a good-natured smile. “But you know, the apple never falls far from the tree,” she added forebodingly.

“I guess,” Sydney said.

Just then, Mr. Wilkens arrived at the entrance to the classroom. “Good morning, ladies. I believe that classes are held inside the rooms, not in the hallway. No?”

“Yes, sir,” the three intoned as they turned to walk inside the noisy classroom.

“All right, students, settle down. That was the final bell just a moment ago. I'd like everyone in their seats,” Mr. Wilkens announced authoritatively as he reached his desk at the front of the room and placed his briefcase on the chair. “Today we're going to review pages…” He paused mid-sentence to read something on his desk. “Actually,
Ms. Duke, would you please head down to the athletic director's office?”

Confused, Sydney stopped unpacking her bag to face her teacher. “Is there something wrong?” she asked, wracking her brain to remember the last time she'd ever been called out of class.

“I'm not sure,” Mr. Wilkens responded, raising the note that he had been reading toward her. “But it says 'immediately.' So you should probably get a move on.”

“I wonder what it's about,” Rhea whispered as Sydney grabbed her purple suede Moschino jacket.

“No clue, but wish me luck,” Sydney muttered in response as she headed to the front of the room and out the door.

The sound of her hunter green Hogan knee-high boots sounded like rifle fire as Sydney hurried toward the athletic director's office. Even with a pass, she hated being in the hallways between classes. It reminded her of all those scary movies where the unsuspecting beautiful starlet is always getting her throat slashed by a serial killer lurking in an old janitor's closet. She sighed in relief as she finally neared the entrance to the office.

“May I help you?” the middle-aged receptionist sitting behind a huge computer screen inquired sweetly as soon as Sydney stepped into the front office.

Sydney raised her hand to show the note. “Yes, um, my name is Sydney Duke and I was asked to come down to the office immediately. I assume Coach Wiggins…”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Duke,” the kindly woman said with a nod. “Have a seat, sweetie; I'll inform Coach Wiggins that you're here.” She picked up the phone to announce Sydney's arrival.

“Thank you, ma'am,” Sydney replied as she took a seat on the cracked black leather couch against the wall. She looked around the room at all the different championship trophies and plaques. Her eyes inadvertently fell on one with her own name from last year's Young Equestrians Championship. With all the drama going on, Sydney couldn't remember the last time she'd been down to the stables to spend time with Thunder, the championship filly her parents had bought her for her fifteenth birthday, let alone lap the ring.

“Ms. Duke,” the receptionist called out, breaking Sydney's depressing train of thought. “Coach Wiggins is ready to see you now.”

“Thanks,” Sydney said politely as she headed to the large office in the back.

“Have a seat, Ms. Duke,” Coach Wiggins instructed gruffly from his seat behind the large metal desk.

“Hey, Coach Wiggins,” Sydney greeted the bald-headed, heavyset, former All American football player
hesitantly. Although she saw him regularly when she was working out in the gym and weight room for her gym credit, she had never actually been called to his office before.

“Ms. Duke, I received a very interesting phone call this afternoon.” Coach Wiggins started slowly as he tapped his two pointer fingers together.

“Is that so?” Sydney replied as she wondered what that had to do with her being urgently called out of class.

“Mmm-hmm, it was from your mother,” he continued with a straight face.

“For what?” Sydney asked, completely shocked. In the three years she'd been at Brookhaven, Keisha Duke had never called the school about anything besides updating Lauren's portrait in the cheerleaders' clubhouse. “I mean, what did my mother need to speak to you about?”

“Well, it seems that the instructor down at the stable hasn't seen you for your equestrian practice in the past couple of months. And he was concerned that you were no longer interested in riding. So he contacted your mother directly.”

Sydney gulped audibly. Had it been months? “I—I mean of course I'm still interested. It's just that a lot of other things have come up.” She struggled to find an appropriate excuse for her absence from the early morning private sessions at the stable. The only things she kept coming up with were late nights spent talking on the phone and early
morning breakfast dates with Jason when she should've been down at the stable.

“I'm sure I don't have to tell you, but your parents have donated a lot of money to the Brookhaven athletic programs over the last three years,” Coach Wiggins continued. “And let's just say your mother made it very clear that if the school wants to continue seeing those generous donations, she expects her daughter to not only be on the equestrian team but to be named captain this spring.”

Sydney's mouth dropped open at her mother's not so thinly veiled threat. It was one thing for Keisha to throw her weight around when it came to airbrushing Lauren's picture in a clubhouse, but this was unbelievable. “Oh, my God, Coach, I would never expect…”

“Now, don't get me wrong. Based on your show performances last spring, there's no doubt that you were a shoo-in for the spot even before this morning's call. But, as I'm sure you can understand, it's going to be very difficult for the instructors to keep you on the team, let alone make you captain, if you don't start attending your winter lessons immediately.”

“I understand,” Sydney said as she hung her head in shame.

“While it's the first time I've had the, um, pleasure of speaking with your mother on the phone, let's just say she didn't come across as the type of person afraid to back up
her words with action. Am I right?” he asked. Sydney nodded in agreement. “Well, that's just fine, 'cause neither am I. So let me put it to you straight: I assured her that there was no reason to believe that you wouldn't be named captain. And you will—but not because she called over here. Because, as of tomorrow morning, you're going to have your butt down at the stables at seven
A.M.
sharp, and you're not going to miss a lesson from now until competition season ends. Am I clear, Ms. Duke?” Coach Wiggins stopped tapping his fingers and gave Sydney a very hard look.