Chapter 9. Lyric
Lyric
LIP OF THE DAY: Creature
I’m hoping that some of the footage from the ice rink is salvageable, but as I scan through the files early Thursday morning, I can see that we really didn’t get one single moment from last night that I can use or send to the brand.
My stupid anger shut things down before we could even snap any still photos, so I’m out of luck there as well.
“Ugh!” I groan into my pillows.
“That you, Lyric? You up? Lemme make you some cinnamon toast before school.” I hear Grammy Viv slowly moving in the kitchen. Toast is about the only thing she can still make on her own, but even still, I get worried she’ll burn herself pulling the bread out.
I jump up and pull on a sweatshirt, then emerge from my room.
“Morning, Grammy,” I say, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Here, lemme help.”
Grammy swats my hands away as I try to take the bread bag from her. “Go on now and wash your face, do all your lil beauty routines. I can do this. I’ll call if I need help.”
“You sure?” I say, eyeing her shaking hands.
“I’m not dead yet, girl. Let me do something for you for once, OK? In here acting like you the grown one. You need to learn to let go a bit, Lyric. Be a kid.”
“Grammy—I’m almost eighteen—”
“Hush. I know that! But still, let me make you breakfast. Now go on.”
I sigh and make my way to the bathroom, keeping the door propped so I can hear her every move in case she needs me.
I hurry through washing my face, brushing my teeth, and applying my moisturizers and serums. I’ll do my makeup from the kitchenette counter after I eat.
I know Grammy means well, but I wasn’t really that kind of carefree kid even when I was one.
I think she feels guilty about that sometimes, all the ways I had to grow up in a hurry, and now here she is, unable to do daily tasks like cook, drive, bathe, or get fully dressed on her own.
On my long days—when I can’t get home between school and work—our friend Ms. Mills stops by to check on Grammy and hang out for a bit.
Ms. Mills is about ten years younger than Grammy, but the two get on like sisters.
But besides her help, there’s no one else I’d trust. I know this is going to have to change one day, but for now, I can make it work.
Once my skin is all washed and moisturized, my teeth brushed, my braids pulled up into a high bun, edges snatched, I head back out to the kitchen.
There are three pieces of cinnamon toast waiting for me on the counter.
I grab the stool next to Grammy and inhale the first piece.
It’s so buttery and warm, and has just the right amount of cinnamon so that my tongue tingles.
“Soooooo good,” I mumble, mouth half full. “Thank you!”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Lyric!” Grammy snaps. “But you’re welcome. Go on and eat the rest before it gets cold.”
I nod and take another bite, chewing a bit slower now. I think if I had to describe what love feels like, it would be this: fresh hot cinnamon toast and Grammy chiding me one moment, then getting all soft and sweet the next.
“So, you had a date last night?” Grammy asks, eyeing me slyly. “Was it that lil light-skinned model you stay running around with?”
I laugh, and then choke on some crumbs. “Jamison is not a model, Grammy.”
“Well, he looks it.”
“Well, he’s not, and no, I don’t mess with him anymore. I had a friend thing—well, I had to shoot some content at the skate rink for something, and this new girl at school, Juniper, was helping me.”
“Uh-huh. But you want to be dating her?”
“No! She’s just a friend. A business partner, really.”
“OK, OK. Just seems like you got all dolled up and were excited last night, and then you came home all—I don’t know, dejected. Thought maybe—”
“I’m fine, Grammy. Really, I was just tired, and we got what we needed so I came home. I don’t have time for a relationship, OK?”
“Well, who says it has to be a relationship! You’re seventeen, have some fun, Lyric! Now don’t go and get yourself pregnant—oh well, I mean, I guess if you with a girl that’s not so much of an issue, but you know what I mean. Be smart, but have some fun.”
“Grammy! I—I do not want to talk about this with you.” My face is flushed.
“I may be a godly woman, Lyric, but I wasn’t born yesterday.
I know what teenagers get up to, and all I’m saying is that you can enjoy this time, live a little, and still be responsible.
I’m just saying—stay open to all the things this world has to offer you, don’t box yourself in—isn’t that the whole point of being part of the LGBT community? ”
My mouth is hanging open. What is happening?! my head screams.
“Close your mouth, girl. And what kind of name is Juniper, anyway?” Grammy continues. “Sounds like a lesbian, but is she also white? Because you know I don’t have any problem with you being a panda-sexual—”
“Pansexual, Grammy! Not panda, oh my god!” I yell.
“But if you bring home a white person, I’ma have a little difficulty with that.”
“Grammy!” I say. “You can’t just say stuff—I mean, no, she’s Black, but she has a white mom. But none of this matters, we are not dating, we are just friends, and I am doing just fine without a love life, OK?”
“Fine, fine. I’ll stop bothering you now.
But it can’t just be you and me forever, Lyric.
You deserve all the love and joy this world has to offer.
Don’t hide from it.” With that, Grammy gets up, pats my head, and goes back to her room.
I hear the TV snap on. A sex-positive breakfast talk with my grandma was not on my bingo card for this day.
But before I have too long to sit with what just occurred, I look at the clock and see I’ve got forty-five minutes to get out the door to school.
I finish my toast quickly and make sure Grammy is all set for her day.
Then I rush through my routine: I pick a classic but simple black turtleneck and jeans outfit, add my Docs, and then throw on some foundation, a winged eyeliner, mascara, and a matte vampy purple lip.
I need an armored-up look today—and bold lips always make me feel like I’ve got an extra layer of protection against bullshit and self-doubt.
I’m feeling all raw after my outburst last night and I would never admit it to Grammy or Kiana, but something about Juniper throws me off my game a bit.
I need to figure out fast if this whole business arrangement is worth it, because if not, I need to keep doing what I do best—keep it pushing, alone.
I snap a quick selfie of myself snarl-smiling, post it on BeautyStarz with the caption: Let’s fuck up the day, beauties.
Then I yell bye to Grammy and stomp my way out to the car.
At lunch, I walk into the cafeteria to find Kiana talking to Juniper as she stands awkwardly over our table with her lunch box.
Shit, I whisper. I was so dejected after the ice rink fiasco that I didn’t even text Kiana about what happened.
I hurry over to save Juniper from the nosy clutches of my BFF—and Jamison, who is sitting next to Kiana with a curious smirk on his face.
“What’s going on?” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as I slide up next to Juniper.
“Well,” Kiana starts, a little gleam in her eyes. “We saw Juniper headed to sit with some of her cross-country friends, and invited her to sit with us instead. I figured we’d better get to know one another, now that the two of you are … friends.”
The way Kiana says friends makes it abundantly clear she still thinks there’s romantic potential between Juniper and me. Jamison, on the other hand, looks at me with a furrowed brow, like he’s trying to put together a puzzle.
Juniper stands stiffly next to me and shrugs her shoulders. “I told them I wasn’t sure you’d want me at your lunch table … after yesterday’s—”
I laugh loudly and pat Juniper on the back before she can say any more. “Of course you can sit with us. I’m good.”
“Really?” Juniper says.
“Really,” I say with a gritted-teeth smile.
“You’re welcome anytime. And please stop harassing my new friend,” I continue, sitting down next to Juniper and giving Kiana a sharp look.
“Ki, you are not cute or subtle. Stop reading into this. Juniper and I are just friends—except on BeautyStarz, were we might be portraying a fake but whirlwind holiday romance.”
I say this last part in a syrupy-sweet voice, and then flutter my eyes and pretend gag. “You know I don’t do relationships,” I say. “No time, not worth it.”
I take a bite of a chicken finger as I finish this thought, and chew hard.
Jamison clears his throat and stands up abruptly. “Uh—I gotta check in with Coach Simon before the bell,” he says, not looking at me anymore. “Catch you guys later. Juniper—we should, uh, run together sometime, get in some extra training outside of practice, if you want.”
“Yeah, that would be great,” Juniper says with a small smile.
“OK, lemme AirDrop you my number,” Jamison says, pulling out his phone.
“Got it,” Juniper says, “I’ll hit you up this weekend.”
“Bet. Alright, later,” Jamison says to the rest of us as he walks away. Not sure how I feel about my ex and Juniper hanging out, but I guess it makes sense for them to train together if they’re on the same team, and plus it’s not like I’m jealous—or—
I’m lost in my thoughts until Kiana kicks my shoe under the table.
“Lyric!”
“Ow! What?!”
“That was cold.”
“What was?”
“What you said about not doing relationships—in front of YOU-KNOW-WHO.”
“Are we not allowed to say his name?” Juniper asks innocently. “Jamison, right? That’s who you mean?”
“Yes, Jamison.” Kiana sighs.
“Oh my god, Jamison is fine,” I say. “He’s moved on and appears to be happy. I don’t think fake dating someone and focusing on my career affects him at all.”
“I’m just saying,” Kiana continues, “maybe at least acknowledge that y’all have a history. Even if he has moved on, the boy’s gotta have feelings.”