Hollywood High (24 page)

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Authors: Ni-Ni Simone

BOOK: Hollywood High
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“What is all that noise out there?” I heard and almost fainted.
Ohmygod, Daddy's here.
I felt the floor open up and suck me in. I could hear him walking down the hall headed toward the foyer. I jumped.
Genevieve pursed her lips, raising her bushy brows. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was sinking into a deep, dark hole. And this time I wouldn't be able to get my way out of it. “Genevieve, please don't say anything,” I said, no, begged, putting my hands up as if I were praying to her.
She eyed me. “I won't. But you know better.” Her tone sounded as if she were trying to scold me. But right now I needed her on my side, so checking her wasn't in my best interest at that moment.
I lowered my head. “I know. Please.”
I held my breath.
“Mr. Phillips, sir,” she said, swiftly walking toward the direction of my father's footsteps. “Sorry for disturbing you, sir. It won't happen again.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes, sir. Everything's fine. Would you like me to bring you a light snack or something?” Daddy told her that wouldn't be necessary, then headed back down the hall and back into his study.
I exhaled.
“He's not good for you, Miss London,” Genevieve said the moment she returned. “That boy means you no good. He's nothing but trouble.”
I frowned. See, now she was crossing boundaries. Her job was to dust, mop, wax, and clean up behind me. Not dole out opinions, or any damn unsolicited advice. “He's not trouble. And I didn't ask you for counsel on the matter. I just asked you not to say anything.”
I narrowed my eyes for emphasis.
“My lips are sealed, Miss London.”
“Good.”
I took a deep breath, breaking my stare from her long enough to glance back at the door, hoping like hell that Justice would miraculously come to his senses and walk back through that door, scoop me up in his arms, and tell me this was all a bad dream. That he hadn't meant any of those cruel things he said to me.
He never came back.
I raced back to my room, horrified. My man had just cursed me out. My daddy was home. Genevieve saw. And only God knew who else. I could only hope that the surveillance cameras hadn't been recording. In a state of panic, I started crying, and ended up in the bathroom, crouched down on the floor between the bidet and toilet. Glad no one was around to hear me boo-hooing like a two-year-old, but I couldn't hold it in any longer. I was overwhelmed. I knew Justice loved me. And I knew he wanted to secure his future, and mine, so that we could be together,
forever
, like we'd promised one another. But everything had changed. Not because I wanted it to. Not because I didn't want to follow through. But because I had allowed someone else to come into my space, besides Justice. I allowed Rich to become my best friend and I knew—in the end—someone was going to end up getting hurt.
I felt desperate and crazed.
Everything in me ached. I needed to see Justice. Needed to hear his voice. Needed to feel his touch. I picked up my cell and called him. Fifteen minutes later, I sent him a text. Then I sent another and another, each one more desperate than the one before, begging him to please call me. But, two hours and thirty-seven text messages later, he still hadn't called.
And I was alone.
31
Rich
A month later
 
“R
ich, wake up . . .”
I opened my eyes slowly and for a moment I couldn't place where I was.
I felt awful.
I'd been sick for about three weeks. Throwing up in the morning, at lunchtime, and again at eight o'clock in the evening—on the hour—without fail. I barely ate, had nightly bouts with the chills, and for about a week straight I thought for sure that I had a stomach virus.
Until I checked the calendar and realized I was close to two weeks late.
I knew then this wasn't a stomach virus and this was nothing that antibiotics would cure.
I was pregnant.
And the double lines on my EPT test confirmed it.
Problem was, I didn't know what to do about it... or if I wanted to do anything about it . . . .
This situation was not new to me. The last one ended on the doctor's table with my feet in cold stirrups and me counting backward until I drifted into a forced sleep, and woke up with my mother instructing me that this had never happened; I didn't know if I wanted to relive that.
“Rich, come on baby, you got to get up.”
“I just need another hour of sleep.”
“Babe, you don't have another hour. We overslept.”
“Overslept?” My eyes popped open and I sat straight up in Knox's full bed. “What time is it?” I asked in a panic. My eyes scanned the room and landed on the clock; 9:30
A.M.
My heart dropped to my stomach and my mouth started to water. I was delirious, nervous, scared as hell, and about to throw up at any minute.
“Rich,” Knox said as he stroked my back. “You a'ight?”
You need to tell him.
“I don't want no babies... We need to use condoms...”
“What if I was pregnant . . .?”
“I'd be pissed off. Neither one of us are ready for any kids. I'm eighteen and you're only sixteen. No haps. I got too much to do, which is why we'll be using condoms from now on . . .”
Too late...
I shook my thoughts, doing all I could to erase the conversation that Knox and I had last night before we made love. This time with a condom. If only he knew it made no difference.
I flew from the bed and into the bathroom. Before I could close the door I was bent over the toilet throwing up my guts into the water.
“Are you all right?” Knox came to the door, dressed in loose basketball shorts.
“Yeah, I'm fine. Just the pizza from last night didn't agree with me.” I stood up and washed my mouth out over the sink. I glanced at his reflection in the mirror and saw that he was studying me. We clashed gazes. “You sure you a'ight?” he asked.
I shifted my eyes, scared that he was reading my mind and was uncovering my dirt. “I just gotta get out of here.” I rushed past him and back into his bedroom. “I am in so much trouble!” I panicked, snatching my clothes off of the chair next to Knox's bed. “This is crazy, how did I oversleep?” I bit my lip as my heart thundered. I couldn't help but think about my parents' morning routine:
Up by six.
Breakfast together by six thirty.
Daddy calling my name by seven to say, “Have a good day, baby girl.”
And by eight my mother knocking on my door telling me it was time to wake up and get ready for school.
“OMG! Of all days, this is the day I had to oversleep, this would be the one that my mother convinced my father to have Drake perform and we give out invitations to the Pampered Princesses party!”
“What party?” Knox asked, looking at me like I was crazy.
“It's nothing,” I said, tossing my clothes on like a whirlwind.
“What do you mean it's nothin'? A party is more than nothin'.”
I stopped for a moment, turned around, and looked at him. He had to be crazy. “Are you serious right now? Really? I don't have time for you questioning me about a party!” I slipped my heels on.
“No, you don't ever have time. The only time you have is eleven thirty, twelve o'clock at night, for a late night creep. You don't think I notice that? You're never here on Saturday or Sunday. I never see you during the day—”
“What do mean, you don't see me on the weekends? I have things to do. My mother has me doing things—”
“Now you're lying to me. According to
Teen Weekly
, TMZ, and Popsugar you were at a party, no, two parties, last weekend. And one of 'em was in New York. And when I texted you and asked you what you were doing you told me nothing. The same damn nothing that you just told me about this Pampered Princesses party. What kind of crazy is this? I don't even know why I'm doing this! This is too much! Yeah, go 'head home.”
What did he just say?
“Oh really? You don't know why you're doing this? This is too much?! I'll tell you what's too much. It's too much that I'm lying to my mother just so I could be with you! That I'm going to school, no, that I'm messing up in school because I keep creeping down here every night to be with you!”
“Obviously, it can't be too much because as soon as you get here you stripping out of your clothes ready to get busy. And that's all we do, stay up in here laid up in the bed, like that's cool. And every time I ask you to go out you always have some excuse. And then the one time we do go out I had to drive fifty, no, sixty miles out of the way just to get some damn pizza and a movie. And if that wasn't effed up enough you spent the whole time ducking and dodging cameras, worried about who was going to snap your picture. You don't think I notice that. So yeah, it's too much. You go home. And I'll hollah.”
“Oh you'll hollah. Okay. So when will you hollah? Before or after this baby is born? Because based on my calendar in about eights months you'll be a daddy. So you put your condoms back in the drawer because you're two weeks and two days too damn late!”
I stormed out and slammed the door behind me.
 
I pulled up in the driveway and according to my cellphone I had ten missed calls: seven from Logan, one from Daddy, and two from London.
I had to find a way to get in and out of here quickly and the only way to do that was through the servants' entrance and tiptoe up the back staircase to my room. I eased in through the French doors and did all I could not to make eye contact with the house manager. The last thing I needed was her opinion.
The kitchen was clear and I was practically home free until I stepped onto the staircase and there was Logan—not smiling—waiting for me.
“Where. Have. You. Been?”
I hesitated. “Umm, Ma, I was at London's and she—”
“No you weren't.”
What is he doing here?
I swallowed. Hard. That was my father. He looked at me coldly. “Your mother asked you a question. And don't lie again. Because you weren't at London's.”
“Yes, I was, you can call London right now.”
“Really,” Daddy said. “Do you really think I would call your cell mate and ask her if you spent the night with her, knowing that she would lie for you? How about this. I called Turner and he told me that you weren't there. Now, who do you think I'll believe, my lawyer or my lyin' daughter?”
I felt like I was about to pass out at any moment. I could feel my stomach bubbling and I knew that I was seconds away from throwing up again. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Go on,” my mother said. “And while you're in there, take that pregnancy test that I left on the counter. Because you are about two weeks and two days late. And the last time this happened I didn't know what the problem was. But this time I do. Now do you still have to go to the bathroom or do you have some explaining to do?”
“Run this by me again?” my father said as he turned to my mother. “The last she was what?”
My mother looked toward me. “Tell him, Rich. And you better not lie. Or you will be down the rest of those stairs and the last service we had will be for free.”
Tears poured down my face.
“Don't cry,” my mother said. “Little girls cry. Grown women own their behavior. Now square your shoulders, stand up right, and tell your father what happened this summer when we were in the Hamptons. And made the mistake to believe that you were responsible enough to be here alone. Tell him how you had your legs all up, spread wide. How you were far from Daddy's little girl. You had a different kind of daddy. You laid up here where your father pays the bills and the only two who are supposed to be getting action is us. Not you. But explain to your father. Better yet, tell me if I left anything out. And you still haven't said where you've been.” She walked down two steps closer to me. “Now speak.”
I grabbed the rail as I took a step backward and almost lost my balance. My heart felt as if it were jumping out of my chest.
“Logan,” my father interjected. “Forget all this talking. Rich, get up these stairs and take that pregnancy test. And Logan, you stand in there with her. And it better be negative or it will be a problem.”
I looked at my father with a river of tears falling from my eyes. “There's no need to take the test.”
My mother lifted her hand in the air and as it landed across my face she said, “Just as I thought.”

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