Free Doing My Own Thing by Nikki Carter

or not.
    â€œOkay, Sunday. Don’t play up the crush thing with Dilly. Epsilon Records will be disappointed, but I think I can convince them that you’re doing it for a good reason,” Mystique says.
    â€œI don’t know how that was gonna work anyway,” Dreya says. “Dilly is dating that backstabbing Bethany.”
    Mystique nods. “Yes, I was going to try to get him to put that on pause for the show. But he and Bethany are talking about doing a song together.”
    Dreya lets out a snort. “She’s is such a jock rider. She just couldn’t let me and Sunday be successful without trying to latch on. I can’t stand her.”
    Okay, I want to change the subject, because I haven’t exactly broken it to Dreya that I’m working on Bethany’s music. I try to communicate to Mystique with my eyes that we should ixnay the Bethany conversation, but she’s still talking....
    â€œActually, she’s got a nice song. I heard one of the tracks that Sunday did and it was hot. She’s got a raspy, soulful sound. You don’t expect it coming from her! It’s like you look at her and think you’re gonna get a Taylor Swift sound, and it’s more Alicia Keys.”
    Dreya narrows her eyes at me. “Sunday . . . for real? Why?”
    How can I even explain this now in a way that makes sense? For me to tell Dreya the truth, I’ll have to admit that I knew Bethany was messing around with Truth on the tour. And that, I think, will be an even bigger betrayal.
    â€œShe asked. . . . I said yes. End of story,” I say curtly.
    Ms. Layla interrupts any additional commentary by Dreya by showing me two white sundresses—both long.
    â€œI think I’d like to see you in one of these at the end of the video,” Ms. Layla says. “You can wear your hair in a pretty spiral curl updo, with minimal makeup. You’ll be gorgeous.”
    I nod. “I’d wear either of these dresses.”
    Dreya says, “So, I’m trying to figure out how you came to be writing songs for Bethany behind my back. It’s not like y’all are friends, since she dated your ex-boyfriend.”
    â€œGive it a rest!” I reply. “It doesn’t matter how it came about. Even if me and Bethany aren’t really all that close anymore, we came up together, and the least I could do is write her a song or two.”
    Mystique laughs out loud. “You girls kill me with these loyalty rules! Why does it matter if you came up together? What does that have to do with anything?”
    â€œIt means a lot,” Dreya says. “Don’t you have any home girls from back in the day? Wait . . . do you have any girlfriends at all? I only see you in the tabloids with your mama or Zillionaire.”
    â€œThey’re all I need. Girlfriends get in the way. Most of them were always jealous and hated on my success. Had to cut all of the haters loose.”
    Dreya and I exchange glances. I don’t know what Dreya’s thinking, but I’m feeling like Mystique doesn’t really believe her own hype. She sounds kind of sad about not having any friends besides her mother and fiancé.
    Big D pulls up in front of Ms. Layla’s boutique so abruptly that his tires squeal as he hits the brakes. He jumps out of the car and jogs inside.
    â€œWhat’s going on, Darius?” Ms. Layla asks. “You drove up like a bank robber leaving the scene of the crime.”
    Big D takes big gulps of air, as he tries to catch his breath. “I need to talk to Sunday. Outside.”
    Now I’m alarmed. “What’s up? Why can’t you just say it in front of everybody?”
    â€œI can’t.” Big D shakes his head. “It won’t take long, baby girl. I promise.”
    I’ve never seen Big D look this twisted about anything. “All right.”
    I follow Big D out of Ms. Layla’s boutique. His body language is weird and nervous.