Can't Stop the Shine (4 page)

“
No,
of course not,” Kalia lied, knowing she'd been thinking the same thing for months. “They're just going through it like they always do. There's nothing really wrong. They'll snap out of it soon enough, and things will be back to normal.”

“Okay. If you say so,” said Mari, not really as comforted by Kalia's reassuring as she wanted to be. “I just really worry about them sometimes. They're never together really and when they are, they're either ignoring each other or screaming and yelling.”

“I told you they'll be fine,” said Kalia. “They've just got a lot going on. Ma just finished with the Black Arts Festival and she's nervous about that application for the loan to get her yoga studio. Daddy's opening a new restaurant, and you know how he gets all crazy when he's doing that. Plus, they were helping us plan our last party, and school is starting and all…you know, they're just stressed.”

“Umm, hmm, but I thought that married people were supposed to be happy. They always look happy on TV, even when they're fighting. They always end up working it out, you know, and laughing about it,” said Mari as they pulled up to the house. “Our parents haven't seemed happy to me in at least the last year.”

“That shows how much you know about marriage, silly. TV is fake, okay? Married people are happy sometimes, and they argue a lot of the time. That's just how it is,” said Kalia authoritatively.

“Umm, hmm. Whatever you say. I hope I don't have a marriage like that.”

“Don't worry. Nobody's gonna marry you because you're too messy.”

“Shut up, neat freak.”

 

A few weeks later Kalia saw just how serious things were getting between their parents when the night before school started, she got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and caught her father sleeping in the guest bedroom. On the ride to school that morning, while Mari chattered away about her first day of tenth grade, Kalia debated about whether to tell her sister about her parents' new sleeping arrangements.

“Tenth grade better be fun. I mean, aren't your high school days supposed to be the best days of your life?” asked Mari. “Well, if ninth grade was any indication of what the rest of high school is going to be like for me, I might as well quit now and work at the post office.”

“I think you have to finish high school to carry mail,” said Kalia. “You've just gotta find something that you'd like to get involved in at East Moreland—some kind of activity or club or something.”

“I don't want to be in their boring old clubs. I wanna kick it.”

“Too bad for you 'cause you sure don't go to a kick-it school.”

“Shut up. I know that.” Mari pouted. She hated going to private school—or at least the lack of people who looked like her at East Moreland.

“You shouldn't be so smart,” teased Kalia.

“Well, smart and boring is the last thing I wanna be. What good is all this brainpower if I'm bored to death? You're lucky. All kinds of stuff is going on at your school.”

“I can't help that I get to go to Williams. Like I said, you shouldn't be so intelligent.”

“I'll trade you my brain for your talent,” offered Mari, getting out of the car.

“Never.”

“Why not?”

“Because creativity will take you farther than intelligence any day,” said Kalia, putting the car in Drive to pull out of the parking lot.

“Thanks for the ride, chauffer.”

“Later.”

As Kalia drove toward Williams, she realized she had not told Mari about seeing their father sleeping in the guest room. “I guess I'm not supposed to tell her,” she said out loud. She watched the landscape of the city changing as she navigated her way downtown. Mari's school was near the governor's mansion, where there were gated estates and several country clubs with meticulously manicured grounds. She bypassed the upscale shops and boutiques that she'd only been in a few times with her mother, when Elaine was splurging on an outfit. The closer she got to Williams, the more skyscrapers and concrete she encountered. Sure, there were landscaped city parks carved out here and there, but the lush greenery of the East Moreland area was not duplicated downtown, and being that it was the last week in August in HotLanta, the heat was so stifling that steam was rising off the street at seven-thirty in the morning.

Only in Atlanta could it be nearly eighty degrees first thing in the morning, Kalia thought, looking at many of her schoolmates mixed in with the throng of mostly businesspeople pouring out of the Five Points MARTA train station. As a senior, Kalia was finally going to get a space in the school's parking deck, and she couldn't be happier. She hadn't ridden the train in from their Southwest Atlanta neighborhood since tenth grade, but now she would no longer have to hunt around for parking on the street.

“Good morning,” said Dewayne, nearly scaring the life out of Kalia, opening the passenger door of her car and sliding in as she was stopped at a streetlight. “What did I tell you about locking your doors, girl?”

“I know…I know,” said Kalia. “Somebody's gonna jack me one of these days.”

“And then whose house am I going to hang out at?”

“'Cause it's all about you, right? Who cares that somebody's just grabbed your girl and probably hauled me off somewhere?”

“They'll bring you right back as soon as you open your mouth. Nobody but me can take all of that bossing around.”

“Get out of my car, right now,” ordered Kalia.

“See. You just couldn't wait to tell me what to do.”

“Shut up.”

“And you can't stop. It's a good thing it's all love between us,” said Dewayne. “So how do you feel being a senior and all? This is it. We've got one more year of frivolousness, then we'll be thrust into the world as starving artists.”

“I don't know about you,” said Kalia, “but I'm not trying to miss any meals. I've got a plan.”

“Oh, do you really? Tell me about this grand scheme, and of course don't forget to include where I fit in. You know it's all about
moi!
”

“Look,
moi,
my plans are just that right now—my plans. I ain't ready to share yet. I'll let you know when I am.”

“All right, OO7. Keep your little secrets to yourself. I've got some secrets of my own. Maybe one day we can rendezvous for a clandestine meeting and exchange classified information. You know the Chosen One is always down for adventure.”

“Okay, you're trippin'. Get out,” Kalia said, pulling into a parking space. “You need to disengage yourself from that creepy comic strip world and concentrate on some real art.”

“How many times to do I have to tell you that the universe of the Chosen One is real art? People get major recognition for these types of illustrations. Plus, there are new ways that I'm finding to combine some Web stuff with animation and…” said Dewayne.

Hustling down the steps of the parking deck, Kalia shook her head at her friend. “Boy, I just don't want to see you end up at one of those comic book fairs with all the overtattooed, over-pierced grimy guys who only leave their mother's basements to go to those weirdo conventions.”

“You just don't understand what I'm trying to do.”

“Yes, I do. You're trying to create some X-Men-Spider Man thingy, and I still say that's not real art. What's up with the styles of Romare Bearden and Jacob Lawrence? I'm sure if you worked at it, you could create art like theirs.”

“But that's not me, K. I don't want some sterile, museum exhibit-type art style,” Dewayne insisted.

“Well, you're never gonna get recognition from the important people in the art community,” said Kalia as they entered the halls of Williams, which was teeming with a mix of urban hip-hop kids and alternative artistic teens.

“Who says I want their recognition? Who cares what they say? I'm doing my thing, just like you,” said Dewayne, swooping around a dancer stretching against the wall and swerving to nearly miss getting clipped by a guitar case slung over the shoulder of another student.

“What do you mean, like me?”

“I know how well you can sing classical like Denyce Graves and jazz and stuff, but to me you're more like an Alicia Keys. You're always trying to appeal to the highbrow crowd, singing traditional stuff, but you've got some Jill Scott funk in you or something. You can create your own style with your talent. I know you wanna do it anyway. You blew everybody away at your birthday party.”

“What the hell are you talking about, D? The only reason I sang that song is because Mari didn't think I could,” said Kalia, quickening her step. “I'm a serious singer—a trained musician. I work hard on my voice and my playing. I do not…hold up…will not be pimped out in some skimpy outfit grinding on some man talking about how I can do it to him better than the next chick can!”

“Slow down, mama. You're missing the point. What I'm trying to—”

“I know what you mean, and I'm not trying to hear it. I gotta find my first class, so I'm out,” said Kalia, turning on her heels and marching off down the hall, leaving Dewayne to make his point to himself. She hated that he knew how to break her down so well. How did the conversation get turned around to be about her anyway? she wondered. Weren't they talking about him and his comic book obsession? She didn't want to admit it to herself, but she did enjoy singing that song by Alicia Keys, who
was
a classically trained vocalist and pianist. So if she performed more Alicia Keys-style music, would she really be turning her back on years of serious training?

Two weeks later, Kalia, Mariama and Dewayne were on the way home after Mari's cross-country practice.

“We need another car in this family,” said Kalia, “'cause I'm sick of hauling your stinky butt around.”

“You were the one who was rushing me after practice. If you'd given me ten minutes, I could have taken a shower,” said Mari, stretching out across the backseat.

“I think you're gonna have to fumigate this car,” said Dewayne to Kalia.

“Whatever, man,” said Mari. “You know you love my natural fragrance.”

“If that's natural, then you need to visit a doctor because that's the worst body odor I've ever smelled,” said Dewayne.

“Cut it out, you two,” said Kalia. “I'm serious. I think we should ask Elaine and Ronald for another vehicle.”

“Now you know Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson are not going to get me a car,” said Mari. “They hardly let me drive with them. It
so
sucks that I've got to have like a kazillion hours of driving with them before I can drive by myself.”

“I had to do it, and you certainly need the practice,” said Kalia. “I've seen your skills. Daddy is still trying to get the grass to grow back from where you ripped it up. Remember when you almost backed into the bushes? Ooh, he was hot!”

Dewayne and Kalia burst out laughing.

“Shut up,” Mari said.

“If you get better, they might get you a car.” Kalia chuckled.

“You ask Daddy and see what he says,” Mari said, twisting up her face. “That old cheapskate is going to launch into that story about how he didn't have a car at this age and how he was able to do everything he had to do on public transportation,” said Mari.

“And how we should be grateful that we have one car to share…yeah, yeah, yeah…I know the speech…but we might as well ask,” said Kalia. “Nothing beats a failure but a try.”

“You are so corny,” said Dewayne to Kalia.

“You can walk, ya know?” said Kalia.

“Yeah, put his skinny butt out,” encouraged Mari.

“I'll put both of you out of this car, then you'll both be walking,” said Dewayne.

“I'd like to see that,” said Mari, thumping him in the back of the head.

“Stop playing, girl,” said Dewayne, catching Mari's arm. “See, you just can't leave well enough alone.”

“You better quit before I put my stank on you,” Mari said, threatening him with an armpit.

“You win,” said Dewayne, letting go. “That skunk funk has the power to kill, but the Chosen One knows how to avoid smelly evil.”

“Ahh, shad up. Hey, did y'all hear about that talent contest?” asked Mari.

“Yeah, I heard something about Fire Records doing some type of show,” said Dewayne.

“It's supposed to be open to anybody in high school in the metro area. They're going to have the preliminary contest in October when they'll pick twenty people to compete again in December, where they'll narrow it down to eight. Then the last eight will be in one more contest in March and that's who they'll pick the winner from,” said Mari.

“You sound like you work at Fire Records,” said Dewayne.

“I don't, but that would be cool,” said Mari. “Hey, Kalia, you should enter.”

“Umm, yeah. I'll enter, right,” said Kalia.

“That would be tight,” said Dewayne. “I could be your manager. That would be a perfect alter ego for the Chosen One.”

“Shut up, Dewayne,” said Kalia. “I'm not entering any singing contest. They probably don't even have a good prize.”

“How did you know it was singing?” asked Mari. “I said it was a talent contest.”

“So you heard about it, too, huh?” said Dewayne to Kalia.

“I didn't hear what you get for winning,” said Kalia.

“Well, I think I heard something about a record contract,” said Mari.

“That settles it. We're entering,” declared Dewayne.

“What do you mean ‘we'?” asked Kalia.

“So you do want to enter,” said Mari.

“I didn't say that,” said Kalia. “Contests are stupid anyway. I've got more important things to do with my time. I've got to write a song for my music theory class and the chorale is doing Handel's
Messiah
again this year. We're going to be practicing like crazy. Plus, I just found out that a large part of my grade in my piano class this year will be based on me being able to play some really complicated pieces. I'm not entering a dumb singing competition, just to get all stressed out about it. Nope. Not me.”

“Umm, hmm,” said Dewayne and Mari, both eyeing Kalia.

“For real. I'm not doing it,” Kalia insisted.

“Well, you'll be the dumb one if you don't,” said Mari. “A record contract? Do you know how great that would be? I'd be the sister of the new Beyoncé. Just call me Solange.”

“Now see, that's why I'm not going to enter right there. You won't catch me shaking my behind like that,” said Kalia.

“Shake, bake, whatever. Every time I see her she's strutting like she's on a catwalk or something, in Dolce & Gabbana, Armani or Gucci. And look who she's with. Jigga is the ultimate baller.”

“I thought you were a Lil Jon-T.I.-Ying Yang Twins girl,” said Dewayne.

“I am, but ain't none of them rollin' like Jay-Z,
okay?
”

“Right, right,” agreed Dewayne.

“I can't wait for you to win,” said Mari, returning her attention to her sister.

“I can't believe we agree on something, Mari,” said Dewayne, “but I think you're right. I think Kalia could win.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said Kalia, “but you're wasting your breath.”

“That is shocking that we agree on something, but we do,” said Mari. “Kalia, if you don't enter this contest, you'll be making a mistake.”

“Good thing I'm old enough to make my own decisions, ain't it?” Kalia said, huffing.

“You don't have to get all snotty about it,” said Mari.

“Well, I told y'all I wasn't doing it, and you're still talking about it. Give it a rest, okay?” snapped Kalia.

Mari and Dewayne got the picture. Dewayne turned up the radio, and the rest of the ride home was spent in silence, each one thinking of how they'd be affected if Kalia entered the contest.

 

The next day at cross-country practice, Mari ended up being the pacesetter for the team. As she was leading them through a winding path in the lush green forests around the campus of East Moreland, she noticed someone gaining on her. Looking sideways, she realized it was, of all people, Asha Wright, the only other black sophomore at her school. When she reached Mari, Asha began keeping Mari's exact pace and breathing. This had never happened to Mari before. It was kinda weird, and she tried to speed up and change her breathing a few times, but that was weird, too, because it wasn't natural.

“So what? You're running cross-country now?” Mari breathed heavily to Asha.

“I just thought I'd give you a little competition,” said Asha, quickening her pace. Mari noticed that Asha was not nearly as winded as she.

“Whatever,” said Mari, speeding up as well.

They almost killed themselves running the final half mile, trying to outdo each other. Both came flying down the last hill, arms flapping and legs looking like spinning spokes on a ten-speed. Instead of tapering off into a warm-down, each flopped out on the front of the gym steps, spent. Mari hoped it would go unmentioned that, if they were racing, she didn't come in first place.

“That's quite a stride you've got there, Miss Thing,” said Mari, resting on her hands.

“I've been running all summer,” said Asha, flipping her nearly waist-length braid back over her shoulder as she bent over stretching.

“So you like these long distances? It's just not my thing.”

“They're not too bad if you know how to run them.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, get your breathing right, your stride right. My trainer, Pierce, used to work with Jackie Joyner Kersee, and he said the three most important things in track are being strategic, becoming one with your body and you've gotta have a lot of heart.”

“Oh yeah. I've heard that before,” lied Mari.

“Really?” Asha smirked. “He told me he got that from Jackie's personal coach, so I don't know how you would have heard it.”

“Well, you know I watch a lot of ESPN,” said Mari, lengthening the lie. She wasn't going to let Asha think she didn't understand what she was talking about. She'd already beat her at her thing. Knowing more about it would be unbearable.

“Umm, hmm,” said Asha, rising to her full five foot ten. “I hear we're running the horse trails tomorrow. I hate them. You never know what kind of smelly, unpleasant surprises those beasts will leave behind.”

“That's why you can have this cross-country mess,” said Mari, getting up, too.

“Oh, I'm just doing this so I can run track in the spring,” said Asha, walking into the gym.

Mari didn't know what to say. Track was her thing. Only one person in the whole school—a senior—could run as fast as her. Why was Asha running track? she wondered.

Following Asha into the locker room, Mari felt her anger rising.

“So I thought you did plays and stuff in the fall,” she said. “Aren't you going to join that theater group this year?”

“Well, yes, I am. They have auditions this week,” said Asha, grabbing her shower caddy. “I know I'm going to make it, too. Professor Ritchie said he wanted to cast me as Eponine in
Les Miserables,
which is great because you know I speak French, and I went to a theater camp this summer where I boned up on my projection in
A Raisin in the Sun
playing Beneatha. I was great—got a standing ovation.”

“That's lovely and everything, but how are you gonna do cross-country and theater?”

“Coach Little said he'd work it out with Professor Ritchie. When he called me this summer, he told me he really needed some more speed on his team.”

But I'm the speed,
Mari thought.
Coach called her this summer? He's never called me at home.

“Oh well, I guess I'll have to show you the ropes,” Mari tried to say nonchalantly, realizing that Asha was recruited for the track team while she'd had to try out last year.

“I think Pierce knows what he's doing. He's had me doing aerobics and weight training to prepare, and Coach told me that I needed to run cross-country as well,” said Asha. “Thanks anyway. I'll let you know if I need some of your help. If I keep beating you like I did today, you might need my help. I'm hitting the showers.”

“Be careful,” Mari yelled after her. “Wouldn't want you to fall in there and break a leg or anything.”

Her spoken wishes didn't make her feel any better, especially since Asha didn't respond. She didn't even know if Asha heard her. Sitting on the bench in front of her locker, Mari daydreamed about an ambulance pulling up to the gym and hauling off an injured Asha, who'd slipped in the shower and fractured her leg. A grin spread across her face.

Walking outside to wait for her father to pick her up, Mari spotted Randall Davidson, a guy from her Early World Literature class. She wasn't normally the intimidated type, but Randy was different. He and his family were entrenched in East Moreland. His parents and grandparents had attended the school, at least one relative sat on the board, and the fine arts building was named after his great-uncle, who'd been a huge benefactor forever. But that wasn't what really got Mari about Randy.

What bothered her was that Randy had been getting the best of her in class lately. He had a good answer to every question their teacher, Mr. Wills, asked and all of his comments were insightful. Mari had liked the class immediately. It had most of the elements to engage her competitive nature. The subject matter they were going to cover was interesting. She'd always liked Greek mythology and stories set in faraway places, and she was ecstatic when she found out the grade for the class would be heavily based on papers and participation in class discussions as opposed to pop quizzes and tests. This was just the type of class she not only enjoyed, but in which she knew she could perform well.

Looking around the classroom one day as class was nearly over, she wondered if any of the other students felt the same way—that Randy was just taking over the class. But unlike Mari, no one else looked or acted like they felt overly competitive with him. The class was having a deep discussion about the myth of Hades and Persephone. Randy was intensely defending his interpretation of the myth. Mari told Mr. Wills that she had a different understanding.