Drama High: Second Chance

by L. Divine

Genres: Young Adult

Synopsis

Back for another dose of high drama, Compton's sassiest, Jayd Jackson, is about to discover it really is a different world when she starts dating South Bay High's finest white boy. . . All Jayd Jackson wants is a drama-free year at South Bay High, a.k.a. Drama High. But it doesn't seem she's going to get it. It's only the second week of Junior year and already, Misty, her nemesis, has almost gotten her killed after instigating a fight between Jayd and KJ's girlfriend, Trecee. But it goes with the territory. She's a fire child, and granddaughter to Lynne Mae Williams—Mama—and Mama says that means the drama will follow Jayd wherever she goes. Even so, Jayd just wants to chill, still hoping Junior year can carry on, drama-free. And with Misty and KJ reportedly "hanging," Jayd is ready to move on. But the brother won't stop blowing up Jayd's cellie, and the text-messages keep coming; and the message is clear: KJ wants Jayd back bad. But Jayd couldn't care less. She's got a new man to kick-it with now—a half-Jewish white boy from Palos Verdes whose parents are loaded with a capital "L." And Jeremy Weiner's no ordinary white boy—he listens to East Coast rap, he's got a sweet ride, and he's got it bad for Jayd Jackson. But no one at South Bay High will just let a sistah be happy. Misty's back to her usual foolishness, KJ's all over her jock, and the notoriously anti-black teacher Mrs. Bennett is tripping. Jeremy's got her totally sprung, but she's going to have to rely on her brains—and some of Mama's magic, of course—if she's going to survive another week at Drama High. L. Divine is at the top of her game in this superb follow-up to the power-packed Drama High: The Fight . Look for the next juicy installment, Jayd's Legacy, coming soon.

Release date: March 1, 2012

Publisher: Dafina Young Adult

Print pages: 242

Sample

My weekly hair routine is like a ritual. When Mama gets her hair done, she calls it a rogacion de cabeza or a cleansing of the head.

I love the way my hair looks and smells when it’s pressed. I like to use Pantene and sometimes Thermasilk. My other tools include a Gold ’n’ Hot blow-dryer and flat iron, two hot combs and an oven, five silver clips, a comb, a scrunchie and some Smooth as Silk hair spray. My girl Shawntrese’s mom does hair and works for the guy who makes this spray. It’s the bomb.

I lightly press my edges before separating and straightening my hair. It’s kind of pretty, the way my hair shines and smokes when I press it. It shimmers like ocean water in the afternoon sun. I’m basically frying my hair, but I still love the way it smells. Almost like sweet, burnt cantaloupe.

“Jayd, why do you press your hair when you know you just gone braid it up tomorrow, like some little thugette,” my mom says, while retrieving her manicure set from under the bathroom sink. It’s her night to do her nails, before her very social weekend officially begins.

My mom hates having a daughter who wears cornrows in her hair. She’s ultrafeminine, and I can be too. But, I also like to wear baggy jeans and boxer shorts sometimes. It’s just more comfortable to me. Same with my hair. It’s cool to wear it out sometimes. But, truth be told, it’s just easier to braid it up.

“Mom, now you know I can’t be going to work with school hair. I got to be fresh for the weekend, just like you,” I say, smiling at her. She’s standing in the bathroom door, holding her big Tupperware container full of nail stuff: cotton balls, polishes, polish remover, tissue, cuticle cream and clippers, nail files and buffers of all shapes and sizes, a stick-on design booklet, some lotion with a box of plastic wrap to make her feet extra soft, and baby oil for her pumice stone. Her heels are hella rough, just like mine. She tosses me the evil eye before stepping into the living room to tend to her feet and toes.

“Jayd, me doing my hands and feet is totally different from you doing your hair.” She sits on the living room floor and dumps the Tupperware contents onto the carpet. She comes back into the bathroom and fills the container with warm water and soap to soak her hands and feet in.

“You go through this entire three-hour production every Friday night to wear it like some little dude on the street all week. I just don’t understand it.”

“Mom, lots of sistahs wear their hair in rows.”

“Yeah, and they’re all gay.”

“Mom,” I say. She can be so stereotypical sometimes.

“So, you saying me, Alicia Keys, and Queen Latifah are gay,” I say while pressing the first layer of my hair. I start at the back of my neck and work my way up to my crown, which takes at least a half hour. I have to be careful not to burn my shoulders and chest. I use a thick washcloth under the hot comb while I pull it through my hair. If I do it right, I can get a little bump at the ends without having to use my hot curlers.

“I don’t know about them other girls,” my mom says while trying not to spill the water from her Tupperware-container-turned-foot-soaker onto the carpet, “but you better not be. It’s a wonder you got any little boys running around after you at all, especially KJ.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” That was more than a little insulting. My mom can stab a sistah when she wants to. I don’t know why she gets like that, especially with me.

“Oh, Jayd, you can be so sensitive sometimes. All I’m saying is that dudes usually like sistahs who wear cute, girly stuff all the time. And girls who wear their hair like girls, not like Snoop Dogg.”

“But, Mom, women in Africa have been wearing their hair like this since the beginning of time.” As my mom rolls her eyes again, quickly losing interest in the conversation like she does any time I disagree with her, the phone rings.

“Hello-o,” my mom coos into the phone. “Oh, hey, baby. You know I’m doing my nails tonight. What’s up?”

That must be her main dude, Ras Joe. He’s a big dude with long dreads hanging down his back. He’s hella light-skinned with them funny-colored eyes. And, he’s got money. I don’t know how he gets it, but he got it. And he loves spending it on my mom.

Maybe there’s some truth to what my Mom’s saying. I’ve never had a dude buy me stuff before like she has. Maybe if I showed a little leg on the regular, dudes would treat me more like a lady.

What am I saying? I sound like Misty now. Besides, all that glitters damn sure ain’t gold. Ras Joe is cool, but he don’t hang around all the time. My mom has to sit by the phone and wait for that fool to call. That ain’t treating nobody like a lady, or even a friend for that matter.

I also think Ras Joe got a family at home, but I ain’t sure. My mom don’t tell me stuff like that. She talks to her girlfriends, my play aunties, about her personal life. But, I do know she ain’t never been to his house, and I don’t think she ever met any of his kids.

“Baby, now you know Friday night is my night to beautify myself for the weekend. I’m nowhere near ready for you tonight.” I don’t even know why she play like she ain’t going out with him. She’s already taking her feet out of the water and picking out polish.

“All right, baby. See you in a little while.”

See, what I say? Now I’m gone have to speed up my pressing process to get out of her way. I know she’s going to want to shower before polishing her nails. But pressing don’t take too long, and that’s all I need the bathroom for. I can style my hair in her bedroom mirror.

But I can’t decide how to do my hair. I want to put some cornrows in, but I’m too tired, and I have to get up to go to work tomorrow morning. Granted, it ain’t as early as my 5:30 A.M. wake-up call on school days, but 7:30 A.M. is still early to me.

Don’t slip up and get caught, ’cause I’m coming for that number one spot. There’s Ludacris announcing a phone call from somebody right in the middle of my hair session. Everybody that knows me knows Friday night is hair night. And, depending on if it’s just a simple press and curl or something a little more sassy, it could take all night long.

“Hello.”

“Hey, Jayd,” says a male voice I don’t immediately recognize, though something about it does sound familiar—and White. Who’s this dude? And then I remember.

“It’s Jeremy. What’s up?”

“Hey, Jeremy,” I say, sounding shocked as I don’t know what.

“You sound surprised to hear from me. You didn’t think I’d call you, huh?” He got that right. With all that went down today with Trecee and KJ, I’d kinda forgot I exchanged numbers with Jeremy in class the other day.

“Nah, actually I didn’t. What’s goin’ on with ya?” I say, trying to sound like I’m happy to hear from him. But honestly, I don’t want my combs to get cold or burn because I’m talking to him.

“Did I catch you at a bad time? You sound a little busy.” He sounds so cute when he’s nervous.

“Well, Friday night is my hair night,” I explain.

“You’re doing your hair? I thought that’s what girls said to get rid of guys they don’t want to talk to,” he says, only half joking.

“Not Black girls. Depending on what we’re doing to our hair, it can be an all-night production,” I say, taking the two pressing combs out of the oven. I use a white washcloth to set them on. If the imprint from the comb is black, it’s too hot. But, if it’s light brown, the combs are just right to get my kinks straight.

“So what you’re saying is you really do have to do your hair and you can’t talk to me now.” God, he sounds so sexy over the phone.

“I can call you back a little later.” I glance over at the clock radio to see what time it is. “It’s about eight-thirty now. So, give me until about nine-thirty or ten o’clock and I’ll be done,” I say, touching my hot combs to the palm of my hand. They’re cooling off now. I got to go.

“Well, actually, me and my friends are going to hang tonight. I wanted to know if you wanted to join us.”

What! No plans. No warning. Uh-uh. A sistah got to finish her hair and get some rest. It’s been a rough first week of school, and I need to chill out. But damn, I want to hang with him and his crew too. I want to get to know this boy. I got to be smooth, but not rude or desperate. And quick. My hair gets dirty from all this airplane pollution by my mom’s house. The damn planes going into LAX fly right over her building, and I know they leave all kinds of crap in the air. And speak of the devil, here comes a plane now.

“What the hell is that loud-ass noise?” Jeremy asks, sounding almost annoyed.

“I’ll tell you when it passes,” I shout into the phone. Folks that don’t live near the airport just don’t understand. My mom’s immune to the noise. When she hears one coming she just turns the TV up. I’m kinda used to it too. But it can get annoying, especially on the weekends when it seems like a plane passes every ten seconds.

“That was a Boeing 747.”

“Did it land in your backyard?”

“No. I don’t have a backyard here.”

“Where is here?” Jeremy says, sounding a little confused.

“I’m at my mom’s house in Inglewood.” Now I really have to go. My hair is cold, so are my combs, and the oven’s baking. Electricity ain’t free. “Can I call you tomorrow?” I say, trying to sound unhurried.

“Yeah, sure. Well, do you want to hang out tomorrow night, or will you be doing your nails then?” Oh, I see he’s going to be a funny one.

“So, you got jokes? Well, let’s see how funny you are tomorrow night. Are you going to Byron’s party?” I ask, momentarily forgetting all about Mickey and Nellie wanting us to make an entrance together.

“I wasn’t planning on it. But, if you want to go, we can cruise by,” Jeremy says. Is he always this easygoing?

“I already told my girls I would be there, so I should make an appearance. I’ll call you after I get off work.”

“Work? What time will that be?”

“About six o’clock.”

“All right then, I’ll see you tomorrow, Jayd.”

“Have fun, Jeremy, and I’ll give you a call tomorrow—nails done and all,” I say.

“Later, funny girl.” I hang up my phone and put it on the counter.

I have a date with Jeremy the White boy tomorrow night. What am I going to wear? How should I do my hair? Well, I could row it. I mean, he must think it looks cool like that, right? Or should I wear it a little different, show him another side of Miss Jayd Jackson? I don’t know. My mom got me wanting to change up my stylo now.

Whatcha doin’, man? I’m coming for that number one spot. There’s Luda again. Who’s this now?

“Hello,” I say, sounding hella irritated.

It’s a private number. What’s the point of Caller ID if people can still block their numbers?

“Hey, girl. It’s your daddy. Why you sound so snappy?” Why is he calling me this time of night? Usually by now he’s asleep on his couch in front of the TV.

“Oh, hey, Daddy. I was just doing my hair and the phone keeps ringing. What’s up? Shouldn’t you be asleep on the couch by now?” It ain’t like me and my daddy chat all that much, so something must be up.

“What are you doing the last weekend of this month?”

“I don’t know. Working, I’m sure,” I say, a little snidely. He don’t break me off no money. He gives my mom the court-mandated child support, which she then splits with Mama and Daddy, leaving nothing left over for me.

“Well, can you get the afternoon off that Sunday? We’re having a little barbecue for your uncle Willard. He’s moving back to Mississippi with his new wife, and I want you to be there.”

He’s always trying to make me go to family stuff, and I can’t stand it. Them people don’t like me or my mom. And they’re afraid of Mama. The Jacksons are good, Southern Baptist folks. They have a fish fry every Friday night, play Dominoes, Bid Wiz, and Spades every Saturday night, and go to church all day long on Sunday.

“Daddy, I can’t miss work. I need the money, remember? Besides, Sundays are no good for me anyway. You know I got to go back to Mama’s and get ready for school.” He don’t know nothing about my life.

“What if I pick you up from work and give you a ride back to your grandmother’s on Sunday?” This must be big. He don’t usually make me offers like that.

“Why you want me to go so bad? I barely know Uncle Willard, and I don’t know his new wife. I didn’t even know he wasn’t with the first one anymore, to tell you the truth.” My mom’s standing in the bathroom door again, looking at me from the corner of her eye as if to say, “Hurry up and finish in the bathroom so I can get ready for my man.” I better wrap this up without too much protesting. Family is family, as Mama says.

“Jayd, don’t be difficult. Just come. You may have some fun. You could even invite your little girlfriends, what are their names?” he says, acting as if he really ever knew.

“You mean Nellie and Mickey?”

“Yeah, them girls. How’s school going anyway? Didn’t you start back this week?”

“Yes, Daddy, but I really gotta go finish my hair now. I’ll talk to you later.”

“So, will I see you in a few weeks,” he asks, not letting me off the hook.

“Yes, I guess so. Now, I need to finish my hair.”

“Oh, yeah, and wear it pretty, not in them thug braids you always have in your hair. You’re such a pretty girl, Jayd, with good hair too. You need to take advantage of that and stop trying to be so hard all the time.” He doesn’t even realize how badly he just insulted me. My parents are enough to warrant me a couple of episodes on Dr. Phil.

“Bye, Daddy.”

“Bye, baby.”

Now maybe I can finish my hair. I’m too tired to put any braids in it now, that’s for sure. I guess I’ll just go with a simple press and curl and worry about the finishing touches tomorrow.

“Welcome to Simply Wholesome. What can I get for you?” I’ve been sweating the clock all day. It’s almost time for me to get off, and all I can think about is my date tonight with Jeremy.

“May I have the spinach enchiladas, a small green salad hold the sprouts, with a wheat germ and ginger root smoothie?” She’s going to be on the toilet all night long.

“That will be thirteen eighty-five.” I can’t believe how high the prices are here. Man, if I didn’t work here, I don’t know how I’d be able to eat this food.

I know it’s some soldiers in here. Where they at? There’s Destiny’s Child again announcing yet another text message from KJ.

If he only knew that I got a new man to kick it with now. I can’t wait to get off work and call Jeremy. I know everyone’s gone trip when we show up at the party together. I’ve been looking forward to it since last night. I couldn’t even sleep, I was so excited. And, I can always get my sleep on, even on my mom’s little couch.

Should I text message this fool back? Nah. Let him sweat, like he’s been doing since yesterday. For real, though. Last weekend I didn’t have a man at all. KJ broke up with me and I was dreading going back to school. Now I got two dudes on my jock, and the first week of school is over. Life just keeps on going.

Speaking of which, I look at the clock and see it’s finally time for me to roll. I can call Jeremy while I’m waiting at the bus stop. I would ask my mom to pick me up, but I know she’s still sleep from her late night. She walked in the door as I was leaving for work this morning.

“Later, y’all. See you in the morning,” I say to no one in particular. Everybody around here is real laid back.

“All right, Jayd. You take it easy.” Shahid always speaks to me, even if he’s in the middle of taking a customer’s order. He’s the coolest boss ever. He doesn’t even look like the owner; he blends in with everyone else wearing dreads, tattoos, and low-key jeans and T-shirt. You’d never know he was a baller unless you saw him roll up in his black Jaguar. It’s his only indulgence.

After cashing out my drawer and clocking out, I walk out the side door and down the stairs toward the bus stop across the street. It’s anothe. . .