Yolk's on Me (2)

Tonight’s going to go well for at least two reasons. Like, a good athlete I have replayed my blunder and seen where I went wrong. This time, I’m not wearing purple. I thought purple was a good sign, but it’s obviously a curse. When I came to school wearing a coordinated purple tennis dress, leggings, and sneakers, I should have known it was an omen. It’s way too on the nose. The girl with the name for one of purple’s shades, wearing purple. God, just write tryhard on my forehead.

The other reason I won’t mess up this party: I’ve got my entrance planned. Less is more with me. I’ll swoop in wearing my not-purple, super cute silver romper with glittery slip-on shoes. My hair is straightened right now, so I pinned one side behind my ear with a butterfly pin. My outfit is the epitome of “I look great, but I didn’t spend too much time planning this.” Effortless. That’s the word of the day.

“Mauve baby, are you getting ready to leave yet? Y’know how long it takes to get across town,” my mama says, knocking on my door frame. She’s holding my younger brother in her arms. His name is Sienna, a shade of reddish orange. My mama named us after the color she was feeling after her pregnancy. What type of feeling is purple? I’ve never asked.

I reach for my keys on my dresser. It would be too awkward to give myself a pep-talk in the mirror with Mama standing right there. Even worse, she might try to join in.

“Mama, I’m leaving now.” I kiss her cheek and high five Sienna. High fives are his favorite thing right now, so he’s easy to please.

“Bye bye, Mauveee,” Sienna yells after me. I take that as a parting blessing. Daddy waves me off while sitting at the kitchen table, looking over scripts. Through our kitchen window, I can see the sky is a blackened-purple like it got a sucker punch from the sun on its way out. It’s beautiful. Before I close the kitchen curtains, I can tell stars are about to make their appearance too.

I stall, jumbling sweaty keys in my hand and letting the familiar sounds of the house distract me. Jade’s upstairs having a long shower, which would usually result into a fight if I didn’t have other plans. Mama’s got the TV on, and there’s something heating in the microwave. I ate earlier, so I wouldn’t come to the party full and sluggish or breath smelling like tonight’s dinner.

Mama enters the kitchen without Sienna in tow and raises an eyebrow. She pushes my back in the direction of the living room door.

“Go now. Get outta your head and this house before I ask you to update my SuddenlyGram and Twotter.”

“Whatever will your 693 adoring fans do if you don’t post an update?” I say, fanning my face dramatically as if I’m seconds from fainting in horror. “Y’know they are waiting with bated breath to see if you ate meatloaf tonight.”

Mama rolls her catlike eyes; they are her most striking feature next to her smile. Her pretty eyes hooked both Daddy and a role on Remington’s Worry, a soap opera where the title character Remy keeps cheating death and getting resuscitated more times than medically possible.

“Behave. Those same fans have kept me in a role for over 15 years. They would raise hell if they ever wrote out as Nurse Clara.”

My Mama is by no means Hollywood, but her recurring role has given her a dedicated fanbase and two completely paid off cars, one which is mine.

Mama squeezes my shoulder. “I’m serious now. I’ve got DMs that need checking if going to the movies seems like such an ordeal.”

I shudder. Mama prefers for me to help run her social media instead of her team. Most of the time it’s well-meaning fans waxing poetic about my mom’s acting. But if I can go without seeing someone beg my mama to post foot pics, or an idiot talking as if they know my mama’s life better than I do, then I definitely will. Besides, it’s showtime.

I’m readjusting the rearview mirror in my car when I get a notification on my phone. Rashonda is doing a quick 7-second loop of a panorama shot, showing all her attendees and a huge table filled with presents. Ms. Williams is camera-ready with her arm draped over her daughter’s shoulder. From her shot, I can make out Gracie hugged to Joel’s arm in the crowd. Looks like the movie just let out.

Deep breath. I can feel my lips curling into a smile.

----

I can tell it’s not his day. His thick moustache can’t cover his frown, and it only highlights the crease in his forehead. He stares into my soul, and I pretend I don’t see an imaginary countdown on top of his bald head, signaling how quickly his patience is running out.

“One more thing,” I say, running back to the refrigerated sodas. I plop more 24-ounce sodas on the counter. Lemon. Cherry. Coke. Anything carbonated. They join the two six-packs and the other liter of soda.

“Will that be all?” the clerk, less than dutifully, asks me. I get it. It’s Saturday night, and he’s got to wait on an indecisive me. But I don’t care! I won’t see him again, but I will see everyone at the party on school Monday. Last thing I wanna be is the chick who didn’t bring enough drinks.

“These aren’t flat, right?” I gesture to my sodas.

Silence. Then, his thick mustache lip makes a movement.

“It’s soda, Miss.”

“Yeah, but y’know when you open a soda and there’s no carbonation, you can tell it’s been sitting in a warehouse all day. That type of taste? I’m tryna avoid.” I pull out my wallet from my crossbody purse and count my dollars. A few people gather behind me, and I hear the clerk curse underneath his breath.

He scans the added items, ready to announce my total when BBQ chips catch my eye. What’s the use of soda without anything to go with it? Free chips are way better than pay-for movie popcorn. That’s a surefire way to gain favor with a bunch of mostly broke teenagers.

I toss two family-size BBQ chips on the counter. I don’t wanna overdo it. I’m eager to please, but I’m not the foodbank either.

“Will—”

“This will be all,” I beat him to it. I smile brightly, hoping my good mood rubs off on him. It doesn’t.

The extra twenty I slide him makes him double-bag my sodas and offer to take my bags to my car.

I decline, but when he tells me have a good night, I can hear the sincerity in his voice.

“I am!” I yell back.

I pat the sodas sitting in my passenger seat and get ready for my performance.

-----

When I pull into the movie theater parking lot, I can hear music blasting. Scattered teens and some adults are everywhere trying to mooch up to Ms. William’s C-List friends, popular enough they have a meme, hit song, and booking info but not seriously on anyone’s industry list. A group of guys are goofing on each other and trying to start up a game of flag football between the cars. Gorgeous girls in clothes running the gamut from expensive to cheap yell at the guys to grow up, though by some it’s done flirtatiously.

Yeah, total amateur hour. Gracie was right. Someone needed to draw the attention—uh, liven up the party.

I only carry one of the six-packs because I’m sure I can find someone to help me cart the rest inside. It’s tightly packed, and I’m amazed at how wonderfully they revamped the theater. Streamers and balloons are hanging from the walls. The movie theater snack counter has a huge banner, HAPPY SIXTEENTH RASHONDA WILLIAMS, on all four sides though not obscuring the glass display of movie snacks. A VIP section has been roped off for Ms. Williams’ adult guests. I don’t know how long social media money runs, but it was enough to have all the movie theater employees decked out in Rashonda’s black and gold theme.

I spot Dawn at the arcade games. She’s leaning on the pinball machine, chatting with some girl. Even though there’s a buttery smell in the air, I can catch a strong, earthy scent from Dawn’s companion as she leaves.

“Hey Dawn,” I say, unable to wave due to the sixpack in my arms.

She looks me up and down. “Oh, heyyy juggling girl. Rashonda invited you?”

“I brought the drinks” is all I answer. I set the six-pack on a nearby table. “Help me?” I ask her cutely.

“I’m not lifting anything, but Kendra and Kennie can help.” Dawn flags down a pair of freckled twins I have never seen before. They follow us to my car.

“So… how was the movie? Is Brenda here?” I ask while passing off sodas to the twins to take inside.

Dawn stares at me some more before answering. “Well, you saw it. It wouldn’t be Zombie Bats without someone coming back from the dead. I think I saw Brenda somewhere earlier.”

I smile at her. I didn’t see a doggone thing.

“Why’d you bring soda? The alcohol’s underneath the snack bar counter. Rashonda’s mom doesn’t care if we drink. You might have to slip the worker some money though.” She looks at me confused. I’m not sure by what? That I brought non-alcoholic drinks, that I showed up, or that I dared to show my face after juggling eggs?

“Gracie told me to.”

She immediately nods her head. “Figures. Girl can’t stop guzzling Coke for nothing.” She checks her phone for a minute while I give the twins the last of the drinks. Hopefully, we can use the theater’s cups and ice.

“So…” I begin, leaning on my car.

She stares at me once again. I didn’t take her for the awkward type. Her staring is almost unnerving.

Joking, I say, “You can tell me if you think I’m cute.”

“Oh, yeah yeah. I’m surprised you actually wore that,” she smiles, giving a pull at my silver romper. It’s sleeveless and shows off my legs. Dawn’s brunette curly hair is pulled into an updo, and she’s wearing one of those fast-fashion tracksuits. You look overdressed and tacky, ho is what I think she might be telling me with her eyes. I remove my butterfly pin and place it in one of my pockets.

I smile back. All attention isn’t good, and I’m prepared for some passive-aggressiveness. As long as I don’t make a fool of myself, I’m fine.

“So, Dawn, I have a surprise for Rashonda tonight. Can you keep a secret?”

Her eyes light up.

Yes, yes. Thank you, easily-impressed Dawn.

I lean close to her ear.