Creighton: Everyone except the Jones sisters.
Shea: Chant?
Enchanted: My mom is dropping the money off on Friday.
Malika: Right. Well, until then, we’ll assume you won’t be attending.
Enchanted: Or . . . you can assume we are going since I just told you my mom will drop off the money on Friday.
Malika: Which is six days away.
Sean: Damn girl, can’t you borrow some dough from . . . somebody? I was looking forward to us dancing.
Enchanted: Why borrow when we have it?
Malika: But you don’t.
Aisha: We can’t go too guy heavy. We need more girls!
Creighton: Hey, don’t worry about it, Enchanted. I’ve added y’all to the count and I’ll square up with your mom on Friday.
Shea: Thanks, Creighton.
Malika: Anyways, like I was saying . . . the rental van to New Jersey will leave at seven thirty a.m. sharp from the town shopping center. No CP time. My mother, Mrs. Woods, and Mr. Stevens will be our chaperones. Enchanted, Mrs. Woods volunteered you to sing the black national anthem. You need the words?
Enchanted: Nah, I’m good.
Malika: Good at what?
Sean: Nah, she means she good like she cool. Straight. Gucci. She got it covered. You keep forgetting she didn’t grow up in the ’burbs like us.
Malika: Whatever. Here, everybody. This is your packing list and the schedule. We need to wear business suits on the last day.
Shea: Chant . . .
Enchanted: Relax, you can fit into my old one. I’m wearing Mom’s.
Sean: Y’all! First night, party in my room! I already talked to my boys from the Brooklyn and Philly chapters and they’ll be—
Aisha: I don’t think Warren will like that.
Sean: Who’s Warren?
Malika: Aisha’s boyfriend.
Sean: Yo, that clown that dropped you off in that hoopty?
Aisha: Shut up, Sean! We all ain’t lucky enough for our daddy to buy us a BMW after he crashed the first one.
Sean: Man, whatever. So, what y’all drinking? I can have my boy from the Danbury chapter bring some bottles from his brother’s army base.
Malika: Look. I’m not trying to sound like . . . well, like a mom or something. But everyone has to be on their best behavior this year.
Creighton: Meaning?
Malika: No sneaking off to girls’ rooms or partying. No getting drunk at the teen social.
Aisha: Our chapter already has a scarlet letter on our backs. Let’s just not give them . . . anything else to talk about.
Sean: So we gotta be mad basic? That’s wack.
Enchanted: Is there anything else? I have to head out early.
Sean: What for?
Malika: We haven’t even gone over the schedule yet. We have a presentation to prepare!
Enchanted: Going to see Korey Fields tonight.
Sean: Oh, dope! I heard that joint was sold out. How’d you get tickets?
Shea: He gave—
Enchanted: Parents lucked up on tickets! That’s all.
Malika: Well. Have fun in the nosebleed section.
Chapter 9
VIP Stands for . . .
VIP stands for Very Important Person. I looked that up on Wikipedia.
When we picked up our tickets from will call at Madison Square Garden, the attendant gave us bright green VIP badges, with the words Backstage Access.
Mom, Daddy, and I wore them proudly to our seats in the front row. I’ve never felt more important or more seen. I want this feeling for the rest of my life.
The moment he stepped onstage and uttered that first note, screams echoed through the building.
Korey Fields is a giant shirtless god.
I try to keep my chin off the floor, to keep from drooling down my pink sweater.
And for a split second, I think he notices me in the crowd and winks at me. But no, I must be imagining things. I do that every now and then.
Except I wish it was real.
After the show ends, we make our way to the backstage entrance, nearly swallowed by a crowd trying to finagle their way in. But they don’t have badges like we do. We’re VIP. An attendant waves us on.
“Guest of K’s? This way.”
We’re led through the maze of hallways to a door with a sign that says Greenroom, which really isn’t green but dressed in black curtains wrapped around the walls. Chilled champagne bottles and trays of hors d’oeuvres sit on tables while white leather sofas cradle music stars.
“Wow,” Daddy whispers to Mom. “Can you believe this?”
“Oh my God,” Mom says, slapping Daddy’s arm. “Terry, look! Don’t look look, but look. That’s Usher!”
Celebrities spill in, all wearing the same VIP badge. We’re as important as the celebrities!
This could be my greenroom someday. Maybe someday soon.
“Enchanted, when Mr. Fields come back here, remember to thank him for the tickets!”
The thought of seeing him again, really seeing him, makes me bounce on the balls of my feet. But it’s dark back here. What if he doesn’t see me? Chill, I tell myself. Gab wouldn’t act this . . . silly. She would be effortlessly cool. Need to draw from that power.
“Pull down your shirt, baby,” Mom mumbles, yanking my top. “Don’t want these grown men looking at what you got.”
There’s a flurry of activity before Korey steps inside, surrounded by a swarm of cameras, security, and . . . women. Gorgeous model types, the kind you’d see on Instagram with over a million followers, in tight bodycon dresses, weaves down to their snatched waists. I step back, nauseous and ready to leave, when he spots me from across the room. Without hesitation, he charges right over, his swarm following. Madison Square falls silent.
“Hey,” he says, his voice sultry, extending his hand. Soft, just like I remember, his fingertips tickle my palm ever so slight and I’m tangled up in his eyes.
And he still doesn’t have his shirt on.
After a beat, he turns to Daddy.
“You must be the father. Korey,” he says. “No offense, sir, but your daughter definitely favors her pretty momma.”
“Aight now, don’t be trying to steal my wife,” Daddy laughs, shaking his hand. “I’ve heard stories about you!”
“All lies, I swear!”
Mom nudges my arm and I remember my one duty.
“Um, thank you for the tickets.”
“Anytime.”
“Your show was amazing,” Mom gushes, clapping her hands. “Our little girl here thinks the world of you.”
Mortified, I wince at the word little. Korey notices, offering a sympathetic grin.
“Well, I think your daughter has an amazing voice,” he says with a wink. “Hey, have y’all met Charlie Wilson yet?”
Mom’s and Daddy’s eyes light up.
“Charlie Wilson?” Daddy gasps. “THE Charlie Wilson?”
“Yeah, he’s right over there. Hey, Tony? Take these good folks to meet Uncle Charlie.”
The bodyguard I saw the night I Korey him gives a silent nod. I start to trail behind Mom before Korey catches my hand.
“Hey,” he coos. “Where you going, Bright Eyes?”
My heart does that fluttering thing again. He called me by my name.
“Um, nice show,” I squeak.
“So, you approve?”
“I mean, I don’t think you need my approval.”