Grown(52)

A sickly feeling takes over.

Malika rushes across the room to Sean, jamming her phone in his face.

Derrick is still talking as I watch them. His phone buzzes. He takes one look and flinches.

“Oh shit,” he mutters, eyes wide.

“What is it?”

Phones chirp and buzz around us, like that day the world saw our YouTube video. Except I know it’s not as innocent as us singing. From everyone’s shocked expressions, I know it’s something . . . more.

“I . . . I . . . fuck,” Derrick says, grabbing my hand. “Come on, we have to go.”

For a split second, I wonder if Korey killed himself like he said he would. Maybe out in the parking lot. And it would be all my fault.

Once in the lobby, I can’t take the suspense and yank away from him.

“Would you just tell me what’s going on?” I snap.

Derrick bites his fist, seeming torn. “Aight, there’s a video . . . a sex tape. With Korey.”

My stomach lurches. I blink slow. “A . . . a what?”

He stands next to me, pressing play on his phone. It’s a blurry video of Korey naked . . . with a girl in his house . . . his house in Atlanta . . . in my old room . . . naked.

Derrick studies me, sorrow covering his face when it finally hits me. And I let out a delirious deep belly laugh.

“Oh, you think that’s me? Nah, that’s not me.”

Derrick’s jaw clenches, holding a grave stare.

I shake my head. “It’s not, Derrick. That’s not me!”





Chapter 64


Group Chat




W&W Squad (w/o the Jones sisters) Malika: Well, that was a memorable Teen Conference.

Sean: Y’all. Bruh! Son! WTF!

Aisha: Some girl in the Danbury chapter said that our chapter is now known as the Porn Hub Squad.

Malika: That’s disgusting.

Sean: OK, but the real question . . . is that Enchanted or nah?

Malika: Seriously?

Aisha: Really?

Creighton: LOL!

Aisha: It ain’t funny!

Sean: I mean, I watched the video. Well, the clips I could find. And I ain’t gonna front, the girl has a striking resemblance.

Aisha: Really?

Malika: Of course it’s her! Is everyone blind? Even with that shit quality and their backs to us, I could tell it’s her.

Creighton: The girl had hair tho.

Aisha: It was a wig.

Sean: Surprised it stayed on the way he was flipping her.

Creighton: LMAO! Damn bruh, you wildin right now!

Sean: Kid, don’t act like you didn’t watch it either.

Malika: Did you?

Creighton: Dude on my soccer team was playing it in the locker room.

Malika: And you let him?

Sean: You want to see? I got a link.

Creighton: Nah, don’t do her like that. She been through enough.

Aisha: Yo, y’all parents got that email from Nationals?

Malika: Yeah. They’re wondering what kind of hood ass shit we got ourselves into, letting the Jones sisters join our chapter.





Chapter 65


Sex Tape




On the news, Korey’s publicist gives a statement in front of his condo building. “My client is extremely upset that someone would steal his personal and private property. However, we are confident that the individuals, whoever they may be, will be found and face severe consequences.”

Shea stays home from school to avoid the onslaught. Don’t know why, because it’s not me.

Louie tells us to stay quiet and keep our heads down. Let the media circus blow over. He thinks it’s me. But it’s not me.

Mom is on the phone, talking with a lawyer. Don’t know why, because it’s not me.

Daddy’s seen clips . . . and now he can’t even look at me. He thinks it’s me too. But it’s not me.

It’s not me.

It’s not me.

I say it over and over to myself until it becomes a hum in my ear.

I feel like fall.

I am a heap of dead leaves, blackened, moist, reeking of mold. Rotting apples, dying grass, early darkness chasing away the sun.

Someone printed a screenshot of the video and taped it to my locker. Even the janitors give me questioning glares.

Mr. Walker turned red when I walked into AP English. He’s seen the video. English used to be my favorite. Wrote some of my best lyrics in here. Now, I can’t think of a single word to write.

Except, it’s not me. I scribble it over and over in my songbook.

It’s not me.

It’s not me.

It’s not me.

Chasing this dream has turned into a nightmare.

Out the window, pass the grassy knoll, wind hits the flags flying high on white poles. Mr. Walker’s classroom is on the north side of campus, near the student parking lot. I strain to search for Gab’s car among the BMWs and Audis. Rich-kid cars, Gab joked. She was proud of her Toyota Corolla. I cringe at the idea of Gab watching the video, maybe with Jay, in his campus dorm room, with the rest of school.

I asked a few people in class about Gab, but no one seemed to know who I was talking about. She was the only senior in our biology class—how could they not notice her?

At the very back of the lot, sunlight glints off the tinted window of a familiar black Mercedes parked near the exit. It’s close enough for me to notice but far enough that no one would take a second glance. The jet-black opulence is unmistakable.