What Goes Around (16 page)

Sydney struggled to keep a straight face as she realized that Marcus had yet to tell his mother that the two of them had broken up, or worse, that Dara had been knocked up. “Yeah, uh, I guess we'll have to see,” she finally croaked in response.

“Well, like I always say, where there's a will, there's a way,” Ms. Green said matter-of-factly. Sydney swallowed the huge lump in her throat and smiled weakly. “Well, I won't keep you any longer. Marcus is in his room,” she offered. “When you guys finish, please feel free to come down and have some breakfast. I don't think my son has left that room since he got home from the dance last night.”

“Uh, okay, thanks,” Sydney said, staring at a small scratch mark on the wooden floor. Ms. Green quickly hugged Sydney before heading back to her study. Sydney took a deep breath, made the sign of the cross, and headed upstairs.

As soon as Sydney reached the top of the stairs she could hear Marcus's muffled voice from behind his closed bedroom door at the end of the hall. Even though she couldn't make out the exact words, it sounded like he was
involved in a heated discussion. Sydney tiptoed closer to get a better listen.

“I told you, I'm good for it,” Marcus insisted passionately. Sydney could hear his footsteps as he paced the room. “Listen, didn't I get you the first half of the money, just like I said I would? I just need a little bit of an extension, that's all. I wasn't able to get the rest out in time,” he replied to the unknown caller. Sydney glued her ear to the door and held her breath. “Listen, Sergio, I promise, you will have the other fifteen thousand. Please just leave my mother out of this. She had nothing to do with it,” he pleaded. There was a brief pause. “Okay, okay, I understand. Thirty percent interest on the remaining fifteen for the extension; that's fine, I'll take it. Just give me until the end of the week, I'll figure it out. You have my word.” Sydney's jaw dropped open. “Thank you, bye,” Marcus said before slamming the cordless phone down on his desk.

Unable to wait a second longer, Sydney burst in the door. “It was you! You stole the fifteen thousand dollars from the account!!”

“Syd, Sydney, what are you doing here?” Marcus asked, his eyes as wide as saucers. He was now standing by his desk with the laptop open.

“Answer me, Marcus, goddamn it! Who the hell is Sergio? And why did you give him fifteen thousand dollars?” Sydney fumed as her eyes fell upon what looked
like an online card game. She felt her adrenaline rush through every inch of her body at the thought of Marcus playing a damn video game while her future was going up in flames.

“Calm down, Sydney, just give me a second to explain.” Marcus slammed the laptop closed and then rushed to close the door behind Sydney before her voice carried all the way down the hall.

“Well, you better hurry the hell up, because I'm going to go get your mother in about two seconds, Marcus Green!” Sydney retorted, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

“I—I,” Marcus stuttered as he hung his head in shame. “I messed up,” he admitted quietly.

“What do you mean, you messed up?” Sydney spat back vehemently.

“I don't know. It started out as a game,” he mumbled. “It just got out of control. I didn't mean for things to go this far, but I just couldn't stop.”

“Marcus,” Sydney said very slowly as she struggled to understand. “What are you talking about? What did you do?”

Marcus sighed heavily, headed over to his bed, and sat down. “Gambling. I've been gambling online. I started about three weeks ago and I was winning and then, and then I lost. I lost big,” he said sorrowfully.

“How damn big?” Sydney pushed, needing to hear the whole truth.

“Twenty-five thousand before the interest,” Marcus admitted meekly. Sydney's mouth dropped open. “So I didn't have a choice. I had to take the money.”

Sydney felt the room start to spin around her. She grasped for the desk chair by her side. Marcus jumped up to help her down into it before her legs gave out. “Sydney, please,” Marcus pleaded with tears in his eyes.

Regaining her bearings, Sydney immediately shooed him away. “When?” she asked. “How?”

“The very first time you sent me to do the deposit; I forged a copy of your signature on a withdrawal slip. I've been making small withdrawals all along just to keep me afloat. Which were the ones you didn't recognize on the statements. Then after you gave your final quote to Principal Trumbull, I went and took out the fifteen,” he answered quietly.

“Oh, my God, who are you?” Sydney said, struggling to believe her own ears. “You set me up to be expelled?”

“No, no, it's not like that at all,” Marcus rushed to reassure Sydney. “I figured that Principal Trumbull would just think you had done the addition incorrectly. I didn't expect him to look into it so carefully,” Marcus insisted as he grabbed her hand. “And by the time you found out about
it, I figured I would've won the money back again…” he trailed off miserably.

Sydney pulled back her hand and struggled to her feet. “Do you even hear yourself right now? You would've won the money back? What are you, some card shark?” she exclaimed. “Do you even understand what you've done?”

“Sydney, please, I'm so sorry,” he pleaded.

“I'll bet you are…real sorry you got caught,” Sydney said disdainfully. “But I'll tell you what; I'm not going down for this, Marcus. You better figure something out, because come Monday morning, it's a wrap!”

“Sydney, wait! You can't tell anyone, not Principal Trumbull, not my mom, not anyone. Please, you don't understand,” Marcus begged as his voice cracked with desperation. “I turned off my cell phone yesterday to try and buy some time, and now they're calling on the landline. I don't care what happens to me, but they're threatening my mother, Syd. I don't want this to hurt my mom.”

Sydney paused. She loved Ms. Green more than her own mother at times. The last thing she wanted to do was put her in harm's way. She felt completely torn. “Marcus, I can't be responsible for this. You've got to figure this out, 'cause, for real, the cheating thing sucked, but this, this is bad,” Sydney said simply as she turned and walked back out the door. She paused. Behind her she could hear the
sound of Marcus crying. “And not for nothing, I think you should pull yourself together and call Dara. She really needs you right now.”

Sydney had barely pulled out of the Greens' driveway when her stomach staged a revolt. Quickly pulling over, she opened the car door and started dry heaving. When the spell finally passed, she sat back in her seat and closed her eyes.

“I cannot believe this,” she murmured as the sound of cars rushing by filled her ears. Sydney had no idea what to do. If she didn't say something, she was going down for the count. The idea of being expelled and possibly prosecuted made her stomach twist in a huge knot. On the other hand, if she ratted Marcus out, it wasn't just him who would get hurt. It was clear that Ms. Green would suffer as well. And from the sound of it, these people weren't just talking about emotional pain. There was no way she could live with herself if something happened to Ms. Green.

Suddenly, her cell started ringing. She grabbed it out of her bag and looked at the caller ID. It was Jason. With a sigh, she sent the call to voice mail. She couldn't deal with more of his drama on top of everything else going on right now. Sydney tossed the phone back in the bag and started her car. There was only one person she could trust enough to talk to about this—her father. Even though Altimus and Keisha had issued strict orders for her to stay out of
the West End, Sydney had no choice. She needed her dad. Now.

Sydney pulled out into traffic and stepped on the gas. Driving along, she thought about how surreal her life had become. Just hours ago she'd partied the night away with her boyfriend and two best friends, and now she'd been kicked to the curb over her gambling-addicted ex and was headed to the shadiest side of Atlanta in search of her father. Sydney shook her head as she jumped on I-85; she wondered if she'd ever have her old life back again. And if not, what was going to become of her?

Dipping in and out of traffic, Sydney reached her Aunt Lorraine's dilapidated house within fifteen minutes. As she pulled up into the driveway, she said a small prayer.
Dear God, please don't let my Aunt Lorraine be home today
, she thought to herself as she stepped out of the Saab and locked the doors behind her. She jumped over the decapitated head of a Barbie doll on her way to the front door, rang the bell twice, and stepped back to wait.

“Sydney? What are you doing here?” Dice questioned with concern from behind the screen when he finally opened the door. Sydney could see him looking past her into the street to see who was outside.

“I need to talk to you, Dad,” Sydney pleaded as her father unlocked and opened the screen door. When Sydney stepped inside she could see the uncomfortable-looking
electronic monitoring bracelet attached to his ankle. “Is Aunt Lorraine here?” she questioned apprehensively, even though the pungent odor of Newports was missing.

“Naw, she and her girlfriend Sylvia flew up to Atlantic City for the weekend,” Dice said with sarcasm in his voice. “I guess getting back on your mother's good side has its benefits, huh?”

“I guess,” Sydney mumbled as she followed him into the living room. Without her aunt chain-smoking and laying up in the E-Z chair, the room suddenly seemed more spacious to Sydney. “So, how you been?” Sydney asked hesitantly. With everything going on, she hadn't had a chance to come over and see her father since his release. And it seemed like whenever they spoke on the phone, he was really short with her.

“I've been making it,” Dice answered truthfully as he stared intently at his elder daughter. Sydney met his gaze. “I have to tell you, at first I wasn't really feeling the whole get-out-of-jail-on-Altimus thing,” he said slowly.

“Dad, I know but I—”

“Let me finish, young lady,” Dice continued sharply. Sydney immediately closed her mouth. “But I've been praying, and I understand that it wasn't an easy decision for you to make. And I guess, ultimately, I'm grateful.”

“Oh, Dad,” Sydney exclaimed in relief as she hugged
her father's lean frame. “I just wanted you to be home. I didn't mean to upset you or anything. I just figured that you might be able to find something out about Rodney's real killer if you were out…”

“It's okay, Ladybug, you don't have to explain anything else,” Dice reassured Sydney as he stroked the top of her head. “I know you love me and that's all I'm gonna focus on. The rest will fall into place.” Sydney leaned her head on her father's shoulder and exhaled heavily. “So what brings you over here?” Dice asked after a moment. “You seem upset.”

Sydney raised her head to look at her father. “I'm in trouble,” she said plainly. Dice's eyes immediately narrowed.

“What kinda trouble, Syd?”

“I've been accused of something I didn't do,” she continued. “And I know who did it. But if I tell, a lot of people that I care about will get hurt.”

Dice nodded slowly. “I see,” he responded with a bitter smile. “Sounds like déjà vu to me.”

“There are going to be really serious consequences for whoever takes the fall, Dad. I just don't know if I can stand tall like you did,” she admitted.

“Listen here,” Dice said as he pulled away from Sydney slightly. “You are too young to get yourself involved in
anyone else's drama. When I stood tall for that crime, it's because I knew my hands weren't clean. But you're not me. Ya hear? And you don't owe anybody anything…ever.”

“I guess I just—” Sydney started when Dice put a gentle finger to her lips.

“Don't guess, know.”

It was incredibly beautiful outside, particularly considering it was only a few days before Christmas. That's Atlanta in the wintertime—everywhere else, it's snowing or freezing, and in ATL, it's sixty-five and sunny. Still, standing in the shadows of the church bookstore and cultural center, Lauren pulled the collar of her white Bogner ski jacket tight around her neck to block the chill. Jermaine cupped his eyes as he peeked through the window—his breath steamed up a patch of the glass. “I know she's here,” he said, checking his watch. “She always comes here after the Shrine service lets out.”

“What is this place, anyway?” Lauren asked, stuffing her hands into her jacket and peering through the display window.

“It's someplace really special to me.” He smiled, moving toward the door. “Here she is now.”

Lauren and Jermaine stood back as a regal-looking woman with an Afro adorned with a colorful wrap opened the storefront door. Loud bells clanked against the glass, announcing the couple's entrance. “Come on in here, boy,” she said. “How you been? And who's this lovely young lady?”

“Hey, Ewa,” Jermaine said, meeting her embrace with open arms and an ear-to-ear grin. “Good to see you. This is my friend Lauren. Lauren, this is Ewa.”

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Lauren,” Ewa said, extending her arms to pull Lauren in for a hug.

“Likewise,” Lauren said, awkwardly returning the gesture.

“Thanks for letting us in, Ewa,” Jermaine said. “I wanted to show Lauren around—sit and talk for a while.”

“Anything for you, Jermaine,” she said.

“You wouldn't happen to have any leftovers from Sunday dinner, would you?”

“Already made two plates—they're sitting on the table near your favorite spot, sweetie,” she smiled.

“Ah, good looking out,” he said.

“You know I got your back,” she said, walking around the register counter to grab her purse and keys. “Young lady, you sure must be someone special to be with
someone so special,” Ewa continued. “Jermaine doesn't just bring any ole body to the Shrine. He's a fine young man—a soldier—got a good head on his shoulders, he's about something. One of the good ones. But I'm sure you already knew this.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Lauren giggled, tossing a “yeah, right” side-glance in Jermaine's direction.

“Huh? Huh? What'd you say?” Jermaine said, cupping his ear. “Did you say you know I'm a good brother?”

“Whatev,” Lauren laughed. “You can't just take the compliment, huh?”

“Aw, big head or not, he's still a good boy,” Ewa sighed as she headed for the door. “Okay, baby, you know the drill: Lock up when you're done; leave the key in the mail drop at the sanctuary.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Jermaine said, extending for another hug.

“Nice meeting you, Lauren,” Ewa said, stepping out onto the sidewalk. Again, the bells rang out as they smashed against the glass door pane.

“So, you going to tell me where I am and what we're doing here, or what?” Lauren insisted, tapping her fingers on the top of a beautifully carved African drum. She stood in the middle of the foyer and took in the place, part bookstore, part African market, with display after display of colorful mud cloth, elaborate masks, sculptures, walking sticks,
and other trinkets. Lauren almost lost her breath when she caught sight of a beaded belt she instantly envisioned wrapped loosely around the waist of her Joe's jeans.

“This is the bookstore at the Shrine of the Black Madonna,” Jermaine said. “The church is next door, and this is where they sell all kinds of stuff imported from different countries in Africa. I come here sometimes, mostly on Sundays, though. Ewa lets me come in and read. They got a lot of books you can't really find in the mainstream bookstores—stuff on black leaders, African-American history, theory, religion, science. They got novels, too, a nice teen selection. Sometimes I buy my moms jewelry from here, on special occasions. Actually, I was hoping you could help me pick out a Christmas gift for ma dukes.”

Lauren walked toward a shelf of books and flipped through the pages of a paperback with a cartoon character of a little African-American girl named Ruby. “Wow, I've never seen this many books about black people all in one place,” Lauren said, her eyes taking them in as if she were gazing at a feast.

“Yeah, Ewa does a great job making sure all the bookshelves stay full,” Jermaine said, following behind Lauren.

“How do you know her?”

“Who, Ewa? Her son plays ball down at the community center where I work. I guess I'm his mentor, or at least that's what Ewa says. He was in a little trouble a while back,
and I helped him get out of a jam, so let's just say she's grateful.”

“Must be, hooking you up with Sunday dinner and everything,” Lauren said as she came upon the table where Ewa had laid out two plates, each piled high with mac & cheese, roast chicken, fried fish, collards, candied yams, and corn bread.

“Oh, yeah, well, when she's not running the bookstore, she helps out in the kitchen when they have special after-service events at the Shrine,” he said. “I just give her a call and let her know if I'm coming through, and she puts a little something aside for me.”

“You called for both of us?” Lauren asked, peeling off a piece of the crispy fish and popping it into her mouth. “This fish is crazy!”

“Mos def,” Jermaine said. “They hooks it up. And, yes, I told her I'd be bringing you here because I wanted to show you where I like to hang. Pride ain't the only spot in town.”

“I wouldn't go to Pride if you beat me all the way there with one of those walking sticks,” Lauren said, tossing in a halfhearted laugh.

“Yeah, um, about Brandi and them…”

“No, no, it's cool—it's cool. I've just decided that when I come here it's best to wear my running sneakers, 'cause I never know when I'm going to run into the ex.”

“Running shoes, huh?” Jermaine said, looking down at Lauren's feet. “So then what's with the tight, high boots?”

“Oh, well, who needs sneakers when I'm with you?” Lauren said, walking up to Jermaine and wrapping her arms around his waist. She kissed his lips once, and then again. He returned her affection with a kiss of his own, this one more passionate, deeper. Tongues were definitely involved.

“Hmm, how about those candied yams?” Lauren said nervously, pulling away and wiping the corner of her lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jermaine said, laughing and pulling out Lauren's chair. “Let's eat.”

“Good idea,” Lauren said, rubbing her hands together.

Jermaine took his seat, bowed his head for a quick prayer, and got to grubbing. “So, what's up with your girl Dara? She all right?”

Lauren swallowed hard and let her fork linger in the greens. She'd talked to her just moments before Jermaine came to Grace Temple AME to pick up Lauren for their Sunday afternoon date; Dara was home resting—still too weak and, moreover, upset to be around anyone other than her mom. She'd asked Lauren to come by her house, but she'd already committed to hanging with Jermaine and decided, after all of the drama of Friday night, she really
had some making up to do. But Lauren promised to check up on her when she got back in.

“Dara's getting better, but it's not easy. She didn't go into the eleventh grade wanting to be somebody's mother, but she's pretty hurt that she lost the baby,” Lauren told Jermaine.

“Damn, that's rough,” Jermaine said, biting into his chicken.

“Yeah, and then Marcus isn't helping any,” Lauren continued. “Even though he called, he still hasn't gone to visit her. I swear, I always knew he wasn't nothin', but this mess right here? I have no words. But you know what? That's Marcus. Acceptance is the first step.”

“Sounds pretty trife,” Jermaine offered.

“Not as trife as what was on YRT,” Lauren said. “I refuse to even repeat some of the mess they were saying about her. I swear somebody ought to just hire a private detective to see who keeps making up that mess and then send a secret bat signal to her computer that'll blow it to smithereens. That would make a lot of people happy.”

“You included, huh?” Jermaine said, between crunching on his fish.

“Hell, yeah,” she said without hesitation. “Down with YRT. I'm printing that on a sheet of iron transfer paper as we speak.”

“'Cause you really care about what they say about you on there, huh?”

“Who wouldn't?” Lauren demanded. “Some random person is dissecting your life, making up half-truths and big lies, and putting it on the Internet for the entire world to see?”

“They ever put anything on there about me?” Jermaine asked. “Wait, that would be impossible, because none of your friends or enemies know I exist.”

Lauren put the piece of fish she was about to pop into her mouth back down on her plate and wiped her fingers on the napkin resting in her lap. She seriously contemplated whether to take the bait or just go on ahead and change the subject—move on. She chose the former. “What's that supposed to mean, Jermaine?”

“It's exactly what you think it means,” Jermaine said without hesitation. “None of your friends would know who I was, even if I showed up in the clubhouse parking lot with a front seat full of flowers, looking for you.”

“You know, for the record, you shouldn't just pop in on people unannounced and then expect somebody to drop what she's doing to follow behind you,” Lauren snapped.

“Follow behind me, huh?” Jermaine said, frowning. “Well, for the record, I wasn't planning on asking you to follow behind me—I was going to ask you, my girlfriend, to come out with her man.”

“I was with my friends,” Lauren said simply. “Unannounced can be cute sometimes, but mostly it's rude.”

“You weren't with your friends,” Jermaine said, leaning back in his chair.

Lauren wrinkled her brow. Did he know something? “Yes, I was. It was after squad practice, and we were leaving when you called.”

“You were all leaving, yes, but you were alone. I saw you.”

Lauren's heart skipped a beat.
Damn, he saw me
, she said to herself. She didn't know what to say, but that, of course, didn't stop Jermaine from continuing his inquiry. “So what happened? You were afraid we'd end up on YRT? What, me with my beat-up car, in my baggy jeans and tennis shoes—I threw you off or something?”

“That's not it, Jermaine. It's just that…”

“Your friends are expecting more, and here I come—ole boy from the SWATS. I get it.”

“You get what, Jermaine? What? You don't know what it's like to be in my shoes—you have no idea. People running all around Brookhaven Prep thinking my stepfather's freakin' Marlo Stansfield from
The Wire
, and my real dad is some kind of low-life prison rat, or that Altimus is a thief who doesn't pay his taxes, and my mom is a ghetto queen who just happened to marry into money, and, oh—don't let me leave out that I'm some wannabe video ho well on
her way to becoming the next Karrine Steffans. What do you know about all that?”

“I know that when you have something real in front of you, you don't dis it for fake-ass people who don't give a shit about you!” Jermaine shouted. “The same people you were too afraid to introduce me to—the same people you damn near had the driver run over rather than get out of the car with me on your arm at the gala—are the same people who talk about you and your family behind your back. That's real, Lauren—open your eyes.”

Lauren shook her head and pushed herself away from the table. She grabbed her purse and jacket and headed for the door. “I don't have to listen to this, and I'm sure not going to let you stand here yelling at me like I'm a five-year-old who needs to be checked,” she said, stomping toward the door.

Jermaine looked down at his plate and took in a deep breath. “Damn,” he said softly. Then louder, “Lauren, wait up—I'm sorry.”

The bells slamming against the door made clear Lauren was waiting for no one. She ran out onto the sidewalk, pulling her jacket on and shoving her purse tightly under her shoulder while she tried to figure out exactly where she was. Because Jermaine had driven her here and she was so busy riding she didn't really pay attention to the directions he had taken to get them there, she hadn't a clue about even
what the name of the street was that they were on. His car was in the back parking lot—that's about all Lauren could remember.

Jermaine burst through the door and ran out onto the sidewalk. “Come on, Lauren, I didn't mean to get you upset,” he shouted.

“Well, you did, and you know what? I'm not going to stand around being ridiculed and judged by my boyfriend,” she yelled. “No, wait, as a matter of fact, ex-boyfriend. Why don't you go box with Brandi since you're in the mood to fight.”

“Come on, Lauren,” Jermaine said, grabbing her shoulder. “Can't we just talk about this?”

Lauren snatched her arm away and stomped down the sidewalk. “We just talked. I'm done.”

“Yo, wait up, Lauren—where you going?”

“Somewhere away from you,” Lauren insisted. “I just need to get out of here.”

Lauren rushed into the street, walking against the light; a car speeding through narrowly missed her. The driver honked. “Get yo' ass out the damn street!” he yelled, practically hanging out of the driver's side window.

Startled, Lauren lurched back and ran down the sidewalk to her left, past a series of small storefronts and then houses, Jermaine on her heels. “Leave me alone, Jermaine!” she yelled, not at all concerned about the Negro theater she
was performing for the various homeowners who, having just returned from church, were making their way from their cars to their houses with one wary eye on the couple running and screaming down their street. Indeed, there was drama to be had in the West End, but on a Sunday afternoon—the Lord's Day? It was much too much. A few of the ladies shook their heads and grabbed their children's hands and stared as they shut their gates and front doors. Lauren could practically bite into the shade they were throwing, it was so thick. She tried her best to avoid their gazes—walked a little faster to get away from it all. She got to the end of the block and, after looking up and down the street for cars, went left. Still, she had no idea where she was, but that didn't stop her.