What Goes Around (4 page)

“Yes, sir,” Sydney squeaked.

Coach Wiggins leaned back in the swivel chair, crossed his arms, and looked at the large, round wall clock to his left. “Well, I'm glad we were able to come to an understanding so quickly. Have a nice day, Ms. Duke.”

Sydney stammered as she stood. “Yes, sir. Me, too, sir.” And without a second look, she rushed out the door.

“Slow down, sexy, you might hurt yourself in those heels,” a familiar voice called out as Sydney rushed down the hallway.

She stopped dead in her tracks. The distinctly New York accent caused the hairs on her arms to stand at immediate attention. She listened as the squeak of what she was sure was a fresh pair of all-white Air Force Ones on the linoleum floor grew increasingly louder. Even when she
could feel the heat of his presence burning her back, Sydney still couldn't bring herself to move an inch.

“And Lord knows, we wouldn't want that,” Jason said as he gently touched her shoulder. “Right?” he asked teasingly. Sydney finally turned around.

“Hey, J,” Sydney answered softly. The two stared into each other's eyes for at least thirty seconds before Sydney cast her eyes downward. “What's going on?” she asked, trying to force a smile to hide how nervous she felt.

“Nothing really,” Jason ventured hesitantly. “I was actually chilling in the weight room when I saw your purple jacket pass by. So I stuck my head out to see if it was you. And I don't know, I guess I kinda just wanted to, you know, talk…But if you're in a rush, I won't keep you.”

“Naw, it's cool. I'm not in a rush.” She struggled to keep her voice light and even.

“True,” he responded, looking visibly relieved. “So what are you doing down here? Don't you have Fine Arts class with Mr. Wilkens this period?”

The fact that he still remembered her schedule made Sydney's heart skip a beat. “Um, I do, but Coach Wiggins needed to speak to me about tryouts for the equestrian team,” Sydney hedged as she tugged at the scalloped cuff on her jacket.

“Oh, that's right. I forgot that you were on the team last
year,” Jason responded. “Guess it's time for you to start practicing again, huh?”

“Something like that,” Sydney said as she stole a quick glance at the adorable lips she'd once so easily had access to. “Isn't your season over? Why were you in the weight room?”

“I actually lift year-round,” Jason explained. “But today I was down here with the defensive coach putting together my regimen for the Christmas break. He wants to make sure I stay on schedule even when the school is closed.”

“Oh, okay, makes sense,” Sydney said as she twisted the green leather Chanel cuff on her wrist.

“So, yeah, I had been meaning to call you,” Jason started hesitantly as he dug his hands deep down in his pockets. “I wanted to apologize…”

“You don't owe me an apology,” Sydney immediately countered.

“Yeah, I do. I was fighting up in your parents' house. I ruined your holiday party. Marcus is a jerk but my parents raised me better than that. I'm really sorry, and, you know…”

Sydney put her hand on his arm to stop him. “Jason, listen. I'm really sorry about what happened with Marcus. I should've told you—” She stopped short, took a deep breath, and looked Jason directly in his eyes. “No, actually,
I shouldn't have even gone out with Marcus. I really messed up. I put you in an awful position, and I'm the one who's really sorry. I just hope that somehow you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” Her heart pounded in her ears as she rushed to finish her words before she completely lost her courage.

Jason looked at Sydney for a long minute and then he reached out to smooth down a flyaway curl. “I really like you a lot, Sydney Duke.”

“I really like you, too, Jason,” Sydney said softly, again casting her gaze downward. “I know I didn't act like it but…I do. I just made a mistake. I don't know what else to say.”

“'Cause the thing is, Syd, if you still have feelings for Marcus, I can respect that. You guys were together for a long time. What? Like four years, right? Maybe it wasn't the right time.”

“Trust, I have no more feelings for Marcus,” Sydney retorted with a snort. “I don't think it was the wrong time, I just made the wrong decision. As far as I'm concerned the only reason Marcus and I will ever have to talk again is to plan this Sadie Hawkins Benefit Principal Trumbull is forcing us to do together.”

Jason gently raised Sydney's head so that they were looking at each other eye-to-eye. “Good,” he said. “'Cause I think there's something really special between the two of
us. Over the past couple of weeks, I've thought really hard about everything and, if you're game, I'm down to try again.”

“Omigod, yes,” Sydney squealed as she threw her arms around him. “Yes, yes, yes.” Sydney turned her face upward and met his soft lips in a passionate kiss.

After a minute, Jason pulled away and looked at her gravely. “But I need to know that you're not going to play me out again. 'Cause I won't be made a fool of again. You feel me?”

“I promise, Jason. I won't,” Sydney answered breathlessly. She was so happy, her entire body tingled from head to toe. Suddenly her whole outlook on the upcoming benefit seemed a lot brighter.

“Ever?” he questioned as his eyes momentarily narrowed.

“Ever.”

Jason sighed with relief as he put his arm around Sydney's shoulders. “Now, if I can just get your stepdad to forgive me,” he mused playfully. “Maybe I'll get an invite to this dance…”

“Please, Altimus is the least of your worries,” she answered sourly as she thought about the dictatorship her mother had established overnight in the Duke household.

Jason looked at her curiously. “Oh, so it's your mom that I need to be sucking up to, huh?”

Sydney shrugged and looked away as she tried to get her bitter emotions in check. Jason persisted playfully. “Okay, note to self, send Mrs. Duke a dozen yellow roses ASAP.”

“Hey, hey,” Sydney playfully punched him in the arm. “The only Duke that should be receiving roses is me! Do you hear me, Jason Danden?”

Jason laughed and pulled her into his arms. “I hear you, Syd. I hear you loud and clear,” he whispered as he leaned in for another long kiss.

“Welcome home, Ms. Sydney, your snack will be ready shortly,” Edwina said, greeting Sydney as she walked through the garage entryway.

“Thanks, Edwina,” Sydney responded with a smile as she pulled off her boots at the door. She skipped happily over to the table and sat down to wait for the elderly maid to prepare her daily plate of fresh fruit and glass of pomegranate juice. Still feeling extra bubbly inside, Sydney pulled out her cell phone and scrolled down to the text message that Jason had sent her moments ago: I feel like the luckiest guy at Brookhaven. XOXO J.

Sydney smiled and sighed, “My boyfriend is so cute.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't understand what you said, Ms. Sydney,” Edwina apologized as she placed the snack down in front of Sydney.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Sydney replied as she placed the iPhone down beside the plate and picked up her fork. “Everything looks great, thanks so much.”

Edwina smiled slightly. “Enjoy,” she said before heading back over to the refrigerator, where she began pulling out food to prepare for the evening's dinner.

Feeling hungry for the first time in weeks, Sydney dove right into her food. “Yummy,” she mumbled mid-bite when her cell phone vibrated against the table. Looking down, she saw Aunt Lorraine's house number pop up, and her mood immediately dissipated. Her stomach knotted up as she fought to swallow before answering the phone. “Hello?” she answered hesitantly.

“Hope I'm not catching you at a bad time, princess,” Aunt Lorraine sneered on the other end of the line.

“What's up, Aunt Lorraine?” Sydney asked, struggling to ignore the obvious bait.

“Um, I spoke with your father last night. He said that he sent you a letter, but for some reason it got returned. I guess the postman couldn't read his handwriting and took it to another house on the block. I don't know.”

“I see,” Sydney said simply. Now that her aunt was working for her parents, she refused to show any emotion.

“So he asked me to tell you that he re-sent it and it should be here within the week,” Aunt Lorraine continued as if she didn't notice Sydney's curt tone. “I guess I'll send
you a text when it gets here so that you can come over and get it.”

“That's fine,” Sydney responded as she listened to her aunt take a long drag on a cigarette. Like nails on a chalkboard, the sound made her skin crawl.

“Okay, then, I'll let you go—”

“Quick question,” Sydney interjected before Lorraine could disconnect the call.

“Yeah, what's up?” Lorraine asked suspiciously. Sydney could clearly imagine the look of distrust on her aunt's face at that moment.

“I was just wondering…Did you ever manage to tell Dice that you're back in business with Altimus?” Sydney asked sweetly.

“You're the genius, Sydney—you tell me,” Aunt Lorraine snapped sourly before slamming the phone down right in Sydney's ear.

“Look, as much as I wish I had the time to stand here and consort with the fans, I really have to run along,” Lauren said, pulling her arm away from Cole Waters, who'd practically snatched her off her feet as she sprinted toward the lot where her car was parked.

She peeked at her iPhone: ten minutes before the first basketball dance squad practice, and she still had to pull her hair into a ponytail, slip into her cheer gear, and set up the music for the new number she'd created for the team; but none of this could happen until she actually got into her car and drove to the field house. Walking was not an option—and neither was being late.

On any other day, Lauren would have tossed Cole a little action; she'd had designs on him since before
Homecoming and had thrown enough hints his way to make it more than obvious that she was interested, but he was so tragically distracted. Boys.

Lauren couldn't imagine why she was rating so much attention on this particular day: a couple of the girls from the dance squad were (finally!) showing her the respect due their captain by doing the obligatory lunchroom swarm around the Queen B; the e-mail notifications on her Yahoo account signaled that the comments on her MySpace page were racking up; and now Cole was trying to holler. For sure, Lauren had to admit it felt good to be noticed again. After the whole Thanksgiving holiday debacle and subsequent posts on YRT—many of which made a point of reminding everybody that Altimus was crazy and deranged and that Lauren was all booed up with a ne'er-do-well from the West End—you would have thought Lauren was the president and CEO of the Society of Losers.

If nothing else, Cole was doing a helluva job reminding Lauren of her hot girl social status, which had, in Lauren's mind, taken a tragic dive.

Pleased by the attention, Lauren put on her most seductive smile. “If you didn't catch on by my running, I'm kinda in a rush,” she said, looking down at Cole's hand clinging to her wrist.

“My bad,” Cole said as he let his fingers linger. “Anything I can do to help ease the day? You lookin'
stressed and all, but I can think of a few ways to make it better.”

“Is that right?” Lauren smiled, soaking in Cole's words and the muscular legs peeking out from under his basketball shorts—he was on his way to practice.
Have mercy
, she said to herself. As tempted as she was to play, Lauren willed herself to focus. “Well, in case you've been living in a foxhole for the past month, let me clue you in: I got a man. I mean, this is cute and all, you trying to make me late for practice. But I tossed you the ball a while ago, and you fumbled.”

“In case you didn't know,” Cole replied without hesitation, “I'm really good at rebounds. Maybe you can work that into one of the cheers you'll be doing for my team.”

“Oh, is that what you think we're doing out there, cheering for you?”

“I don't think, I know,” Cole said.

Lauren looked at her iPhone again. “Look, I gotta go,” she said, unable to contain her smile. “You're making me late—and if you don't stop kicking game, you're going to be late for your practice, too.”

“All right, then, I'll holla. Here's my number,” he said, grabbing Lauren's phone.

“Boy, give me my phone back,” Lauren said, futilely reaching for her cell, which Cole, at six feet three inches,
easily held out of her reach as he started tapping at it. “What,” demanded Lauren, “are you doing?”

“Chill—I'm just making sure you know how to get at a brother when you get bored slumming on the West End,” Cole said, finally holding the phone at a height Lauren could reach.

“Slumming? What's that supposed to mean?” Lauren demanded, snatching her iPhone out of his fingers.

“Give me a call, and I'll explain it. Gotta go—Coach trips if we're late. Use those digits,” he said, jogging away before Lauren could respond.

Lauren looked at the phone: It was 3:25
P.M.
“Damn, I'm going to be late,” she yelled. She watched Cole turn the corner of the hallway toward the gym, shook her head, and took off in the opposite direction, running out the door and into the winter chill.

“Before we get started, we have some administrative items to take care of,” Coach Piper said as she fumbled through a stack of papers on the table before her. She looked up just as Lauren, working overtime to position a brown elastic band over her thick hair, clumsily scooted past a few of her dance squad members in search of one of the last of the empty metal folding chairs. “Well, so nice of you to join us, Ms. Duke,” Coach Piper said, glancing down at her watch. “Practice started seven minutes ago.”

“Sorry,” Lauren said, trying not to wince as her bare legs hit the chair's cold metal. “I got tied up.”

Coach Piper didn't bother to respond—just tossed Lauren a side-eye and got on with it. “As I was saying, a few administrative things before we get started. As you all know, the vote for captain is coming up next week, and I need you all to start thinking about who should lead the squad. To that end, I thought we should review the standards for being the squad leader, so that you can have it in mind as you all make your decision about the person who will be the face of Brookhaven Prep's basketball cheer team.” She got up from her table, a stack of papers in hand. “Pass these down,” Coach Piper said, handing the stack to Assistant Coach Pearl Maddie.

A hum moved through the room as the squad members, about a quarter of them newbies who, for the first time, were old enough or good enough to join the team, read through the “Standards of Conduct.” Lauren sat back confidently in her chair; she placed the paper on her lap and took the time she was supposed to be reading to text Donald: You still there?

Donald's text came back almost instantaneously: Ugh, these sorry heifas in the yearbook club are going to be the death of me. I'm trying to make my light shine bright today, but they're slowly…making…it…dim.

Lauren giggled as she typed. Stop it! Focus. And then tell me all about it after school. You need a ride home?

Does Tyra rule the world? He responded in eight seconds flat.

“Okay, everyone, settle down. I'm going to run through this quickly so that you can really think about this before the vote,” Coach Piper said. Her eyes settled on Lauren, whose fingers were flying so fast over the phone, she didn't notice the coach staring at her. “Um, Ms. Duke—care to stop texting and join us, or should we just wait until you're finished?”

Lauren tapped
SEND
on her phone and then balanced it on her lap. “Sorry, Coach. I'm all ears.”

Coach prolonged her stare-down for a couple of extra seconds for emphasis, and then turned her attention back to the “Standards of Conduct” memo. “'Number one: The team captain must possess leadership qualities and devotion to the squad,'” she read. “'Number two: She must be highly motivated to the improvement of the squad. Number three: She will oversee the team at all times and be capable of organizing fund-raising, charity events, Homecoming, clinics, and banquets…'”

That's new,
Lauren thought. Prior to now, those duties were carried out by the team manager.
Oh, well, I'll just delegate.

“'The squad captain must also show maturity, emotional stability, and responsible leadership,'” Coach Piper continued. “'And she must be an adequate role model for her teammates, lead the way in being cooperative with guest teams, and maintain an unimpeachable reputation that represents herself, the squad, and Brookhaven Prep to its fullest potential.' Any questions?”

Meghan Robichaux's hand shot up like a pop rocket on the Fourth of July. “What's the nomination process for squad captain?” she asked.

Lauren's head popped up. The room fell silent.

“Good question,” Coach Piper said. “We have a long tradition of great squad leaders, all of whom are vetted by the coaches with the recommendation of the outgoing squad's captain. The coaches and captain then nominate three people, and then the team gets together and decides who should be captain and co-captain. Now, in the past, the outgoing squad captains have always been seniors, so the process was fairly cut-and-dried. But because this past season's captain is now a junior, she has to negotiate the tricky terrain of nominating herself as well as two others who will compete against her for the position. Anyone who is interested in becoming squad captain or co-captain can come into my office and submit your name before we head out to the practice gym. Any more questions?”

Meghan looked at Caroline and Elizabeth, and they
started chattering like three old ladies at a Bingo game. Lauren tried to lean in but between Kayo cackling in her ear and Coach Piper rambling on and on about the fees for the banquet, she couldn't make out what they were saying. But she had the sneaking suspicion that it was a lot of things—none of them good.

“All right, everyone, let's settle down. We have about forty-five minutes to practice the new routine Ms. Duke so graciously coordinated for our first game, which is in two weeks. That is if Ms. Duke had the energy, between texting and all the other wonderful social skills that consume her time, to put it together?” Coach Piper asked, directing her attention to Lauren, who was still a tad dumbstruck by the prospect of having someone compete for her Number One spot.

“Uh, yeah, it's all set,” Lauren said. “Ready when you are.”

“Okay, then, if there's nothing else, I'll accept nominations in my office; everyone else can go with Lauren out to the gym.”

Lauren did everything she could to linger so she could see which traitor was heading to Coach Piper's office; she was trying not to be obvious about it, but that was challenging, considering it was down the hall, in the opposite direction of the doors leading to the gym. Standing in front of the gym doors facing the coach's office, Lauren pulled out
her ponytail holder and fiddled with her hair, like she was getting it ready for practice. Then she retied one shoe…slowly, then the other. And then, there was the imaginary lint on her Nike gym pants that just needed to be removed, right then, at that moment.

Just when she was about to get a sip of water from the fountain, her iPhone rang—a text from Sydney. The girl had a way with timing. Lauren pulled up the text and read slowly. Her eyes grew larger with every word of the story Sydney had forwarded from an online
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
bulletin:

Breaking news (Atlanta): Prominent Buckhead businessman Altimus Duke, owner of several of Georgia's most successful high-end car dealerships, is under federal investigation for tax fraud and tax evasion. Sources say Duke is accused of bilking the federal government of hundreds of thousands of dollars over the past four years. A spokesman for Duke Enterprises, the parent company of Duke's eleven dealerships, said the businessman would have no comment, except to say that he intended to fight the charges vigorously.

Mortified, Lauren started to text Sydney back but instead made a detour to YRT. The site was prime time for gossip updates—they always made their way to the site
just a few hours after school, when all the juicy mess that happened during the day hit the fan. Sure enough, there it was in all its glory; whoever posted the Duke business debacle didn't even bother to put any spin on it—just posted the AJC story with one simple line following:
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, namaste.

Lauren's eyes shot up when she saw Meghan, Elizabeth, and Caroline walking her way, huddled over Caroline's phone. The three of them were whispering and cackling and acting like fools as they tumbled down the hallway, heading for Coach Piper's office. Lauren steeled herself for the madness.

“I mean, really, the 'must maintain an unimpeachable reputation' part alone disqualifies her for the job,” Caroline insisted. She didn't make any kind of effort to lower her voice. “A father who rips off Uncle Sam? Cavorting with hood rats and pushing them off on friends and family? Really?”

“Well, maybe she was taking the 'being cooperative with guest teams' part literally,” Elizabeth chimed in, peering into a compact mirror to slather gloss on her lips.

“Yeah, whatev,” Meghan snapped as the three walked slowly down the hallway. “I don't care if this is the house the Dukes built. I don't see it written anywhere on these walls that Lauren has to be the team captain. That whole Thanksgiving party? Total fiasco. And the gangster tax
thing with the dad? Hot mess. And as much as she thinks she's Beyoncé's long-lost sister, she could use a little extra direction on how to cheer off some of those hips and thighs.”

“You ain't never lied,” Elizabeth laughed as the three walked into the coach's office, one after the other.

Not even the slamming door could snap Lauren out of her shock.

Lauren paced back and forth across the lobby, trying really hard to look like she wasn't fazed by what was going on. But it was clear to anyone watching that she was a wreck—and best believe, everyone was watching.

“All right, then, Lauren, um, see you around,” said Eunice Blake as she and her BFF, Chere Baker, tumbled past her and out the door, both of them giggling. Lauren had seen them whispering all the way down the hallway—who were they kidding, like they weren't talking about her? Lauren wanted desperately to reach out and slap them or else melt into the wall. And just where the hell was Donald anyway? He knew she needed to get out of Brookhaven, stat.

“Okay, first of all, breathe,” Donald insisted, rushing up to Lauren and putting his arm around her shoulder. “Here, let me take your bag. You lookin' a hot mess.”

“Well, wouldn't you have a fever if you found out your father was about to go to the clink?” Lauren snapped.
“Dammit, I got one in jail; do I really need another one there?”