Grown(25)

“So I’m grown enough to watch your kids but not grown enough to live my life? That’s not fair! I’m missing out on being a kid watching YOURS! Damn, how much do I have to give up?”

The car grows painfully silent. In the back seat, Shea sits with tears in her eyes, not waiting for the car to stop before jumping out into the driveway. Mom turns off the ignition, leans her head against the steering wheel. She’s been working extra hours since Daddy’s strike started.

“Chant, I can’t keep fighting with you. I’m . . . tired.”

“You have to let me go,” I plead. “I know the money for tuition is due soon. You can use what I make for Shea.”

Mom lowers her head farther to hide her shame.

“But if you don’t let me go . . . I won’t be the same. I promise you, I’ll never ever be the same. Please, Mom!”

Mom looks at me, understanding flooding her eyes.

One thing I know about fish: you keep them on land too long, they’ll die.





Part Two





Chapter 31


Beet Juice 2


NOW



“Police. Open up!”

My toes are covered in beet juice and piss. They clash with my pedicure.

I should clean up, before anyone comes in here. Korey will be so mad if people see the place a mess.

Wait.

Wait.

No.

I look back inside the room. At his slumped-over body. His eyes are closed. Maybe for good. I hope for good.

No! Don’t think like that.

He loves you, remember?

Another three hard knocks again.

I’m frozen. A statue.

What have I done?





Chapter 32


On God


THEN



Korey presses record on his camera. Now when I go to the studio, I make a point to wear my cleanest shirt and gloss my lips, never knowing what’s in store.

He sits behind the piano, playing the familiar keys, and smiles.

“Ready? Practice makes perfect, Bright Eyes.”

I pat my new mini fro, unaccustomed to the tight dark brown coils slipping through my fingers. Daddy hasn’t given me a shape-up in a while since he isn’t exactly talking to me.

“You look beautiful,” Korey says with a wink. “Relax.”

Korey’s words are always so sweet, thoughtful. Not like boys. Boys fumble, word vomiting wants, attacking my lips and hips like feral dogs. But men, men like Korey? Men are patient.

Why would any girl want a boy after she’s had a man love them?

“Like sweet morning dew,

I took one look at you . . .

you were my destiny . . .”

His words caress my cheeks and I almost forget my lines. I squeeze up to the mic, my new soul mate.

“. . . I sacrifice for you,

dedicate my life to you . . .”

Of course the perfect song for us would be “You’re All I Need to Get By” by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell, crafted in the stars just for us.

Every time I sing, I turn into a new kind of animal. The kind that loses all its dense bones and just floats. I’m flying above myself, because I can’t imagine any girl in the world being as lucky as I am. To have the hottest singer in the world in love with her. To be going on tour. To have all her dreams come true.

Korey plays back the track while writing notes on a loose sheet of paper. He can be so focused, it’s no wonder they call him a musical genius.

“Aight, I’m thinking we open with that number, yeah? Then, maybe do ‘The Closer I Get to You.’ Followed by your solo.”

Blood drains from my head and I wobble.

“You . . . want me to do a solo?”

“Of course. Like I said, baby, you’re talented. And beautiful.”

Korey’s eyes darken, gliding down my body before shooting a glance at the door, hopping up to lock it. Turning the music high, he drowns out the world, wrapping me in his arms.

“You are my destiny, Enchanted,” he whispers, nuzzling my neck. “It was no accident that you walked into my life. It was fate.”

Korey goes into a tangent about God, Jesus, the devil, and church. He preaches, his voice shrilling, full of twists and turns, and I’m nauseous from the ride.

“And your daddy out here talking about y’all come from fish,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Pfff! God brought you to me. Without me, no one would know who you are. Fish didn’t do that. God did.”

I never know what to say in these one-sided conversations. Saying nothing seems like the best idea. Because otherwise, he might let go, and there’s no place I’d rather be than wrapped up in his arms. So I bite my lip, something I read that girl did in Fifty Shades of Grey. Hoping maybe, just maybe, he’ll kiss me again.

There’s a bang on the door. Mom stands behind it, next to Jessica, holding her purse, face tight.

“You didn’t hear us knocking all that time?” she snaps at me.

I wiggle under her stony gaze. “It’s kinda loud in here. We were rehearsing.”

“For her solo,” Korey adds, leaning against the door.

Mom regards him, and there’s a slight flicker in her eyes. Like she knows. My lungs squeeze shut.

“Then why was the door locked?” she says in that familiar accusatory tone she gives my siblings when something is broken or missing.