Pop Princess Read Online Free Page B

phone calls every two seconds—was way better than the scene back home. If I had spent the week at home, I would have been stuck hovering over a black-and-white TV with bad reception to catch my soaps while hordes of townie kids reclaimed the beach outside our windows, and I would have passed that time hoping and praying that Mom and Dad didn’t start a fight that would send Charles and me hiding out in my room and eating cold pizza for dinner.
    A surprise awaited me at Tig’s house on the second day. When I walked to the back of the house toward the studio, Trina Little was sitting on a lawn chair.
    â€œGirl!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. She inspected me head to toe. “Look who seriously filled out that bikini top!”
    My mom, her mom, and their sisters had passed on a distinct genetic breast code. Since growing into a C cup in the last year, I had become uncomfortably used to crossing my arms over my chest and looking down when people’s eyes strayed across my new upper body. But Trina was like a long-lost sister, and I didn’t care that she’d noticed that I was growing up—and out. I ran to Trina and gave her a giant hug.
    She was wearing a Boston University tank top with side-button workout pants that swamped her tiny body. Trina Little was little—maybe five feet tall on tippy toes—but with a giant singing voice that could tear the church down. Just because Tig was her stepfather’s nephew did not mean it was nepotism that had almost landed Trinity a record deal—the girl was a powerhouse singer, Whitney plus Mariah times a million. She had the most beautiful dark skin I’d ever seen, coal black eyes, and long black cornrows hanging halfway down her back. When she moved, the click of her cornrow beads seemed to have their own rhythm, so even her walk was musical. I had never understood why B-Kidz fan mail always favored Kayla. To me, Trina had always been the coolest-looking and the best singer, and Lucky the nicest and most genuine.
    Trina held me tight. We hadn’t seen each other since shortly after Lucky’s death. I was glad Mom wasn’t present. The sight of Trina—and the remembrance of Trina wailing out “Amazing Grace” at the church funeral and the entire congregation shuddering in awestruck tears—would likely have caused Mom to break down on the spot.
    When Trina let go of me, we sat down on the lawn chairs, a luscious Indian summer ocean breeze filling the air. Trina said, “So, you gonna be a pop princess?”
    I laughed. “Yeah, right! Nah, Tig just keeps me here for his entertainment, and I just need to get the hell outta my house! Once that divorce of his is final, Tig’ll go back to his fancy Manhattan life and get lost in Kayla-ness and forget all about ole Wonder Blake singing customers’ orders in the drive-thru at Dairy Queen and failing Algebra 2 at Devonport High on Cape Cod.”
    Trina said, “If that were true he wouldn’t have asked me to come out here today to work with you. He wants me to work on some harmonizing and vocal exercises with you, and check out your dance moves.”
    This was a shock. Having Trina as voice coach was like getting Michael Jordan for a basketball teacher.
    â€œYou’re so lying,” I told Trina.
    â€œI’m so not,” she said. “C’mon, let’s go get some lunch, and when we come back I am going to put you through some serious paces. Tig had to go into Boston for the day to sign some papers, but he’ll be back later to check our progress.”
    We hopped into her cute little Honda. I recommended the local pizza place—just guess why. Hint: serpent tattoo. On the drive over, Trina told me about life in college. Trina was a sophomore at BU, a music major, and when she fulfilled her promise to her mom to get her college degree, she was going to go after that record deal for real—only she didn’t want