Not A Good Look Read Free

call her back.”
    â€œWhen you talk to her, tell her to lose my number.”
    Carlos walks over to my mother and pulls her into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Shawn. I’ll handle it.”
    Just like that her anger melts away and the fire leaves her eyes. Carlos’s got some serious skills, because I thought she was going to flip out on him.
    My mom looks at the three of us girls all up in their business. She narrows her eyes at Carlos, like she wants to say more but doesn’t want to say it in front of us.
    â€œI’m going to work, Carlos. We’ll talk about it when I get home.”
    My mom slams the door as she leaves and Carlos goes back to fixing his breakfast.
    â€œCome on, Bethany,” I say. “This is too much drama this early in the morning.”
    Bethany, Dreya, and I walk outside. Me and Bethany are on our way to the bus stop, but Dreya’s grown, nineteen-year-old boyfriend, Truth, is waiting for her in his tricked-out Impala. You would think they’d offer us a ride since we’re all going to the same school, but nope—they’re not even cool like that.
    As Bethany and I start down the street, my cell phone rings. “Hello.”
    â€œSunday, it’s Dreya.”
    I whip my head around to see if they’re still parked in front of the house, but they’ve already pulled off.
    â€œWhat’s up?” I ask.
    â€œI can’t practice after school because I’m going to the studio with Truth. He’s almost done with his album and he wants me there for inspiration.”
    â€œAll right then. Me and Bethany will practice without you.”
    Bethany looks at me with questions in her eyes as I press End on my phone.
    â€œWhat?” she asks.
    â€œDreya’s not practicing after school.”
    â€œWhat’s new? She hardly ever practices—that’s why she sounds a mess.”
    â€œI know. We’re never gonna get a record deal, messing around with her.”
    â€œYou’re going to college anyway. It’s not like you’ll be able to go to school and be a star.”
    â€œIf we get a record deal between now and the time we graduate, I can help my mom pay my college bills.”
    â€œOr you could not go to school,” Bethany says. “Then we could kick it hard on the red carpets and go on tour and…”
    This is the part where I tune Bethany out. Truth is, I don’t really want to be a star. I want to be rich, not famous. And as far as being an artist is concerned, I want to write songs. I couldn’t care less about being a performer.
    But it seems like the way to make all that happen is with a girl group. Here in ATL there are so many retired and semiretired R & B stars looking for the next group to manage or sign. We’ve been approached by more than one bootleg producer, but I refuse to go out like that.
    â€œMaybe we should ask Dreya if we can come to the studio tonight. You never know what might happen,” Bethany says.
    â€œYou can ask her. She’ll tell me no.”
    The bus stop is packed, as usual, because everybody is too lazy to walk to school and it’s starting to get chilly. October is hit-or-miss down here in the A. It’s either warm and sunny or chilly and rainy. Since it’s a week away from November, we’re getting some of the latter.
    I see my ex-boyfriend, Romell, chilling with some of his boys, and butterflies dance in the pit of my stomach. As much as I can’t stand him anymore, I still have to admit that he’s fine. He’s deep, dark chocolate with a pretty smile. His cornrows to the back look good on him, too. But I wonder which new chick put them in for him. His playa tendencies are what made me sideline our teenage love affair.
    â€œLook at your boy,” Bethany whispers.
    â€œI ain’t thinking about him.”
    â€œThen why you still rocking those earrings?”
    â€œMaybe because they’re the only piece of