Make Something of It

CHAPTER ONE

STRANGER

Shelby Grace Sharp, you keep looking at yourself in this mirror like what you see is going to miraculously change, I said to myself with attitude, wishing and hoping for a different outcome.

It wasn’t that I thought I was ugly or anything. I just wasn’t quite happy with my life. It feels like the weight of the world is always on my shoulders. I’m the oldest of five girls, and I guess you can say we’re spoiled. None of us have to share a room. We live in a freakin’ mansion, and we have a maid and a cook. Honestly, we want for nothing.

Our parents are still together and have been married for twenty years. My dad is a former NFL player, who now is an attorney in a thriving private practice, and my mom is no slouch. She’s an attorney too who works for the State of North Carolina. All the legislators go through her to get their policies tight. Life was good flying under the radar, but now my dad is changing the game. He’s running for mayor, and everything we do, everywhere we go, every word we say is scrutinized.

I’m not a star, but I’m sick and tired of the paparazzi. I’m not trying to kill myself or anything, so why do the tabloids seem to only print bad stuff? My life’s not that bad, yet I’m not a happy girl with all this pressure to be perfect. And I’ll be daggonit, I’m going to snap on the next person who says something to me.

You tied that scarf around your neck five different ways, a dude said from out of nowhere, but I didn’t have to turn around to see him.

I looked over my shoulder in the mirror, and the sight I saw stunned me. I was five six and 125 pounds. This guy had to be six feet with muscles I could see bulging from his white shirt. But why was he all in my business? And why was he walking closer? I turned around and put my hand on his chest, and it felt like a brick, but I didn’t let him know I liked the touch.

You’re just like my mom. Thinking what you see is going to change if you stare in the mirror long enough. It is what it is, girl. You better make something of it.

You act like I asked your opinion.

He bowed like a waiter, Pardon me. I was simply saying you’ve got gorgeous, caramelbrown skin that glows. Your sassy, sharp, short hairdo says, ‘You better watch me.’ Your bold, light mocha eyes command attention, and your smile is perfectly alluring. Do you not see all that in the mirror? ’Cause if you don’t see that, you’re blind.

Was he serious? I was caught off guard with his strong description. Was he coming on to me, or was he playing me? Either way he was too close, and I had to back up.

We were backstage at the largest theater in Charlotte, in a greenroom. I knew he was full of it when he started giving a sly grin. The smart aleck who was waving a white cloth napkin in his hands needed to get back to work and leave me alone. Yeah, he was cute but certainly not my type. I didn’t need a boyfriend anyway. I had one more year in high school, and I’d be out of here. I needed to stay focused on me and clearly figure out what I want. The scarf he was talking about me tying five different ways was my new creation. It was a scart—a scarf and belt in one.

I know my dad said he wanted to change the city of Charlotte and make this world a better place and all, but I hated that he needed us to play a precious sweet family to help him win. I mean, we didn’t have a bunch of issues. Even with a bunch of women under one roof, we pretty much got along. But who wanted to be heading into her senior year with life upside down?

It was bad enough that I was going to have to change high schools. Yup, there was a big scandal at my school last year. It was a private, Christian school, and the pastor was under scrutiny and charged with having sex with minors. As a result, everybody started taking their kids out of there. A teacher started telling the wrong people how the school was taking shortcuts, and the next thing you know, we lost our accreditation. There are two other private schools I’d had my eye on for a long time, so I should be okay with completing my senior year somewhere new. I just wish I knew the outcome of this mayoral race. I liked things to be in order, and right now with this campaign, things were anything but in order.

Shelby, there you are, my mom said, as if they’d been looking all over the world for me.

I haven’t moved since y’all left, Mom.

I know, but I thought you were following us. Help your sisters tie those scarves. Everybody’s got them going different ways.

It’s not a scarf, Mom. It’s a scart—a scarfbelt, I said brazenly, wanting her to use the right name for my design.

My dad’s colors were royal blue and black. He was a Democrat. The scarts shamelessly displayed those colors.

Daddy’s opponents are chumps, my outspoken, younger sister Sloan said.

Slade, Sloan, and I looked like sisters. We looked like my mom. Brown skin, mocha eyes, though Slade was a little darker. The three of us were all a year apart. Looking at our family, one would have a big question mark because Ansli and Yuri looked more like our friends than they did our family. They were mixed. Their biological mom was white, and their biological dad was black. They’re my sisters because my parents adopted them. They were my dad’s best friend’s daughters, and he and his wife died in a plane crash when Ansli and Yuri were three and one years old, respectively. Ansli is only six months younger than me. I feel so sorry for her sometimes because she would just cry missing her parents even though mine had done a great job loving her and treating her no different than Slade or Sloan or me. She still has a hole in her heart.

I’m serious, Dad. These candidates are toast, Sloan boasted.

My dad told her to shush as he looked around the room and looked over at the guy fiddling with the plates.

Don’t worry about him. He works here, I said to them, as I rolled my eyes at the help who’d come on strong when we were alone.

My mom said, Stanley, you might as well fill them in on the candidates. This is going to be their first time being around them.

My dad had won a brutal primary election to become the Democratic nominee for the mayoral election coming up in November. Now, he had to go up against the Republican candidate, Willie Brown, who the papers have labeled a snake, and Avery James, an independent who was gaining lots of momentum because he was the only white candidate. My dad gave us the quick 411 on both of them.

Sloan asked, Do you think Willie Brown is really a …

Somebody called my name! I heard my name called! the loud-mouthed, obnoxious, light-skinned Mr. Brown uttered as he strolled into the room like he was king. I was puzzled as to why he went over to the waiter and