The Close-Up (Hollywood Renaissance)

Then

TAKIRA

High School – Senior Year

“How’s the soup coming, Kira?” my mother shouts from the dining room. “It’s done?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I lift the lid from the fish soup, drawing in a deep breath of the flavor-rich aroma and letting the steam mist my face.

“Good,” she yells. “I hope we have enough of everything. All them boys’ll be hungry.”

The last thing I want to do in the middle of the week is help my mother prepare a full Trinidadian spread for twelve immature jocks. Bad enough I live with one. Now I’m cooking dinner for Cliff’s basketball team instead of watching Vampire Diaries.

I survey the dishes, pots, and pans of food splayed across every surface in our kitchen. In addition to the soup, we have curry crab and dumpling, pelau, salt fish, coconut bread, aloo choka, rice, and every other Trini dish Mama had time to make.

“Go upstairs and check on your brother,” Mama says, the faintest lilt of the islands languishing in her words even though she’s lived in America nearly twenty years. “He lolling off. His friends be here any minute, and he not even down here.”

I grumble under my breath but turn the soup off and cut through the living room to climb the stairs.

My hand is on the handle to open the door, but I catch myself just in time.

Growing up, Cliff and I were closer to each other than to my sister Janice, who is four years older than him and five years older than I am.

Cliff and I are what some call Irish twins, born only 13 months apart.

Ain’t no child of mine Irish nothing, Mama always says. Instead we’re her “Trini twins.”

Still, the days when I could barge into Cliff’s room unannounced are long gone. You interrupt a boy’s quiet time with his bottle of lotion in one hand and his dick in the other, you learn to knock quick.

“What you want?” his newly deeper voice demands from the other side of the door.

“Um, I want to be watching Vampire Diaries, but I’m cooking dinner for your friends. Mama says come down. The team’ll be here soon.”

The door opens, and my own dark brown eyes stare back at me from more than half a foot above.

Not only are we “Trini twins,” but we could be fraternal as much as we look alike, despite the dramatic height difference.

We have the same high cheekbones, though mine are set in the rounded curves of my face and his are more pronounced.

Identical clefts in our chins passed on from Daddy.

Heavily lashed eyes under a thick, dark slash of brows.

Well, mine were thick before I experimented with wax and tweezers last week. Right now they’re what’s left.

“Help me with this tie,” Cliff says, turning back into his room, leaving me to follow inside. He holds out a tie with the word “fabulous” stitched into the burgundy and gold pattern of his private school’s shield of arms.

“Isn’t this from your school uniform?” I frown at the altered tie.

“Yeah, but we had Kenneth’s mom sew the ‘fabulous’ on for the starters, kinda like Michigan’s Fab 5.”

“Won’t you get in trouble for changing it like this?”

“We’re about to give St. Catherine’s its first state championship,” he says, his smirk cocky, his tone assured. “We could stitch suck my dick on that tie, and the headmaster wouldn’t care. Long as we bring home them Ws and sponsor dollars.”

“I still don’t get how a high school has corporate sponsors.”

“It’s a private school cranking out top athletes. You wouldn’t understand with that basic public school education you getting,” he teases.

“You cried like a little bitch when St. Catherine’s recruited you and Mama said you had to leave all your friends and accept that scholarship. So watch who you call basic, bruh.”

“I did not—”

I cut him off with a who you trying to fool look, and he grins, showing off the straight, white smile my parents are still paying for.

“Okay, maybe I cried a little at first,” he concedes. “But that was sophomore year. It was worth it. Look at us now. ‘Bout to be champs.”

I snatch the tie from him and motion for him to bend. We were the same height—five nine—until his freshman year in high school. Over that summer, he shot up in a growth spurt of more than five inches. He grew a few more to reach his current height of six feet, six inches.

“Why you wearing a tie anyway?” I ask, looping it deftly. How I know how to do this and he still doesn’t is beyond me. “For dinner at the house?”

“We’re taking some pictures. Capturing the road to our championship.” He frowns down at me, his smile flattening into a line. “You wearing that?”

I double check the fitted Gap jeans and cropped T-shirt that Mama says must be from Baby Gap it’s so short.

“I mean, yeah.” I angle a defiant look up at him. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s slutty, and I don’t want my boys checking you out. We too close to the championship for me to be kicking a teammate’s ass.”

“It’s not slutty. Boys get on my nerves expecting us to dress like nuns because they get hard every time we wear clothes that show our shape.

If your boys are disciplined enough to be in that weight room at the crack of dawn and practice every day, they should be able to see a little bit of ass fully covered by jeans without getting it up. And if they can’t? Not my problem.”

“I’m just saying I don’t want them getting no ideas.” His scowl deepens. “And I don’t want you getting any either.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that. Your teammates are the boyest boys I ever met. I know them all except that new guy.”

“Don’t get any ideas about the new guy. Not that he’s that new. He’s been on the team all season.”

“He ain’t been to the house.”

“He’s kind of a loner.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t like you,” I offer sweetly.

He turns to the mirror and checks out my handiwork with the tie. “Everybody likes me.”

Arrogant, but accurate. The boy’s charisma rivals his jump shot. Which makes him charming to everyone, but sometimes unbearable to his younger sister.

“What kind of name is Naz?” I ask. “Like Nas the rapper?”

“Pronounced the same, but short for Nazareth. Who names their kid that?”

“His mama, I guess,” I laugh, leaning against the dresser and watching as Cliff removes his wave cap and brushes his hair. “I think it’s kind of sexy.”

“Tee, what’d I say?” Cliff shoots me a glare. “Stay away from my teammates—especially that one. He’s gunning for my spot.”

“Your spot? He’s a two-guard?”

“He plays the two or the three. He’s my backup, but Coach Lipton ain’t taking my ass out ‘less he has to. Got good old Naz riding that bench,” he says with obvious satisfaction. “Scrub ass.”

“Sounds like you got beef with him.”

“Nah. Long as he stays in his place.”

“Which is where?”

“Outta my way and on that bench.”

“Well, you’re the star,” I say dryly. “Everyone stays out of your way, right?”

He narrows his eyes, brows lowering. “You being sarcastic?”

“No. Derisive. See the big words my basic public school education taught me?”

He huffs out a laugh and hooks an elbow around my neck, pulling me in close. “You’ll be at the championship game, right? It’s beat up you didn’t make at least one game this season.”

“Excuse me for having a life,” I say, my brows peaking at his nerve and self-centeredness.

“What you doing that’s so important you missed my games?”

I pull back to peer up at his handsome face. “Do you really not know I’m working at Ms. Hattie’s shop every day after school?”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever she tells me to do. Sweeping. Washing and drying towels.” I beam with pride. “I just started shampooing.”

“You still thinking about skipping college to do hair?” he asks, grabbing his school uniform blazer from the back of his desk chair.

“I’m thinking about going to community college to do hair.

I need training. Just because it’s not a four-year degree doesn’t mean it’s not what’s right for me.

You’re planning to skip college to ball in the league as soon as you can, right?

” I wait for the nod I know is coming. “What’s the difference?

We both know what we want and see the path to get us there. ”

“Well, I’m guaranteed one and done. I’ll be drafted after my freshman year.” He slips Air Force Ones onto his feet. “I just don’t want you to settle and be stuck here all your life.”

“What’s wrong with Houston?”

“Nothing, I guess. It’s just where we grew up. What we’ve always known. If I had to stay here forever, not see anything else, not be anything else, I’d suffocate. It’s the dream of getting out that keeps me motivated.”

“What if you get drafted by Houston and your butt ends up staying right here after all?”

“If I’m playing ball, even here ain’t here.

I’ll be at a different place in life. Traveling all over the country, all over the world.

Nothing but money and opportunity. You think I’m being scouted now?

Wait’ll we win the big game.” His mouth hardens.

“So Naz can forget playing time. I need every minute on the floor I can get.”

“Well, I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. You the best, right?”

“Damn right.” The irritation clears from his expression. “You know wherever I end up, there’s a place for you with me.”

“What? With your groupies? No, thank you.”

“I’m serious, Tee.” He pulls me in for a side hug. “If I’m good, you good. I mean that. I’mma always make sure you straight.”

“I know.” I loop an arm around his waist. “You may be a pain in the ass.”

“Excuse me?” he asks, pulling back to glare/grin down at me.

“But you’re my pain in the ass,” I finish, giving him one final squeeze.

“Kira!” Mama’s voice booms from downstairs. “Cliff! Get down here. Somebody just pulled into the driveway.”

“Here we go,” he mutters, heading out the door and down the stairs.