Page 62 of Grown

Korey slouches in his seat, hands folded across his stomach. The most defeated I’ve ever seen him. This is the third show canceled this week. After the news dropped about the case, fans are demanding refunds.

Richie tries to inject optimism into the room. “Don’t let this get you down, bruh. You know all this me-too shit is just a phase. You’ll bounce back, baby. You always do! Yo, you know what we should do? We should get you onLove and Hip Hop! My homeboy is an executive producer on the show. It would tie in well with the release of the doc.”

Korey twists up his mouth with a snarl.

“Man, that show is for has-beens! D-shit celebrities. What you take me for?”

Stunned, Richie tries to smooth the waters. “Calm down, playboy. I’m just messing with you. Lighten up.”

The door to the suite opens, and in walks Derrick with two trays of Starbucks.

“What’s good, everybody! Order up! Here you go, Pops,” Derrick says, passing Richie an iced coffee. He notices me at the table and waves. “Hey, Enchanted!”

“Hi,” I say in a quiet voice, keeping my eyes down.

Korey raises an eyebrow, toggling from me to Derrick. “You two know each other?”

“Yeah! We met at your afterparty in LA,” he says, and you can almost hear theduhfollowing it.

Richie rubs his knees, cracking a stiff smile.

“Aight, son, let’s get out of their hair. Help the team load up the gear.”

“Cool. See you later, Enchanted!”

As everyone leaves, Korey glares at me.

“Get in your room,” he growls under his breath.

I shuffle across the suite to the connecting door. Jessica’s voice eases through the thin wood on the opposite side.

“Maybe we should send Enchanted home.”

“Why?”

“Well, ’cause she’s... just think how it’ll look to people. Having... another young singer around while you are going through all this might not be the best idea.”

“Yo, why are you always trying to get rid of her? You jealous?”

“No! But consider what the lawyer said. Think of the optics. Also, I’m worried about you. Enchanted... she has trouble following the rules.”

“She’s not going anywhere. She’s staying here. With me.”

The thick Miami humidity creates a muzzle of sweat around my neck, holding me back from what I want most. To jump, to fly, to glide... right into the ocean. The yearning is physically painful, like holding in a sneeze.

I sit outside on the balcony, and can’t remember the last time I sat so close to the ocean.

Or maybe I can. Maybe it was that time on the boardwalk, right before climbing into the back seat of Dad’s truck as wedrove away from Grandma’s house. I clung to the memory like a lifeline, the last ounce of hope that Mom would change her mind about moving to the suburbs. That maybe they would see we weren’t meant to live in the shadow of some damp woods. We were made to live by the sea, in the sun.

“You ain’t leaving,” Grandma said from her recliner, shaking her head even as the last boxes were carried out.

“I am, Ma,” Mom barked.

“You take them, you’re gonna be sorry! You can count on that!”

Their voices clapped like seashells, and Mom vowed to never come back. You can try all you want to control the wild sea, but in the end, it’ll always do what it wants. And Mom was done with Grandma’s stubborn irrationality for good.

So here I am again, sitting by the beach hoping that someone’s claim is a lie.