Not A Good Look by Nikki Carter Page A

to chill.”
    â€œI thought you and Big D were partners. Why don’t you go up there and help get my record deal signed?”
    â€œAre you for real? Big D asked me to soften up Aunt Charlie. You ought to be happy I did it!”
    â€œI guess.”
    I sit down on the edge of my bed and stare at Dreya. She truly looks upset. “Are you mad that you can’t stay over there at Big D’s house with Truth?”
    â€œIt’s not fair.”
    I want to tell her she sounds like Manny when he can’t eat cookies before dinner. She even looks like him, with her eyebrows furrowed and her bottom lip poked out. This is soooo not the look of a diva right now.
    â€œDreya, suck it up. You’re about to go on tour and get a record deal. Just be grateful for all this stuff that’s happening to you. Lord knows you didn’t do anything to deserve it.”
    Dreya sits up in the bed and narrows her eyes. “What do you mean, I don’t deserve it?”
    I know she didn’t just ask me that. Time for a reality check, Sunday smackdown–style.
    â€œLet me see. You’re mean, hateful, disrespectful, and oh, your attitude stinks like a sack of dirty diapers.”
    â€œYou’re just jealous! You think it should be you with the record deal.”
    I shrug. “I’ll get my own shot. And you better believe I won’t blow it by throwing tantrums like a two-year-old.”
    Dreya narrows her eyes and jumps up from the bed. She storms back up to the front of our house with me behind her. I don’t know what she’s planning to do, but it can’t be anything good.
    â€œI don’t want Sunday going on tour with me!” she announces. “She’s a hater and her negativity ruins my creativity.”
    Big D looks at Dreya and bursts into laughter. Dreya frowns. But when my mother and aunt join in on the laugh fest, Dreya fumes.
    â€œSunday is part of the package, Dreya,” Aunt Charlie says. “You’re not going anywhere without her, since you’ve proven that I can’t trust you.”
    â€œWhat if I refuse to have her?” Dreya asks.
    â€œThen this contract is going right in my paper shredder,” Aunt Charlie says. “Don’t try to play me.”
    Dreya balls both of her hands into fists, goes out the front door, and slams it.
    â€œIt’s okay. She’ll be back,” my mother says.
    â€œI know it,” Big D says. “I’ve got a signed contract that says she will.”
    I don’t know about my aunt and my mom, but a chill just ran up my spine. Dreya not wanting me to go on tour with her could definitely make my life complicated. So is all this really a come-up for me or is there drama on the next track?

13
    â€œChange me, rearrange me / got that photograph you gave me / Somebody come and save me / you got me going crazy. / You got me going crazy.”
    â€”Sunday Tolliver
    W hen you were little did your mother ever tell you that the police were going to lock you up and put you in jail when you misbehaved? That always used to work on me and get me to straighten up quickly. It also gave me an irrational fear of police officers. Even if I’m driving nineteen miles per hour in a twenty-miles-per-hour zone, I still look in my rearview mirror when I pass a police officer.
    So imagine how badly I want to run away screaming when two uniformed police officers show up at my school wanting to talk to me. They didn’t say anything loud enough for my class to hear, but clearly the words Sunday and shooting were both said. That spooked my calc teacher, Ms. Wheatley.
    â€œSunday, will you please step outside and talk to the officers for a moment.”
    My first thought is, How do we know these are really police officers? I mean, I’ve watched enough Court TV to know that people show up masquerading as officers all the time, just so they can snatch people. If you ask me, these two look pretty suspect.
    I