Caught Up in the Drama by Reshonda Tate Billingsley Page B

new fans. I knew I was definitely going to hear about this later.

16
    Camille
    After the crowd died down, I tried to talk to the director about why he kept the scene with Sisco feeling on me. He’d looked at me like he’d no idea what I’d been talking about. I knew right then that Sisco hadn’t said a word to him.
    â€œCamille, you know I am not happy,” my mother said. I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t even heard her come into my bedroom. She was on the phone when I’d gotten home. I was about to knock on her door, but then I’d heard her say into the phone, “I know, I am just so ashamed. Did Christi tell you everything?”
    I had eased away from her door. She’d been talking to her friend Mrs. Judy from church. Of course, Judy’s bigmouthed, messydaughter Christi had run home and told her mom everything.
    My mother was dressed in a yellow flowered housecoat. Half her hair was adorned with pink hair rollers, like she’d started rolling her hair and gotten sidetracked by the phone conversation. I was hoping she would just finish rolling her hair and go on to bed. Of course, I had no such luck.
    â€œMom, it’s no big deal,” I said.
    She stood with her hands planted firmly on her hips. “If you were someone else’s child, maybe it wouldn’t be. Do you know I barely got in the door before Judy was calling to talk about that horrible video my child was in? I know she’s called half the folks in the church by now.”
    â€œThat’s all you care about, how you look to your church members,” I mumbled as I stepped into my lounging pajamas.
    â€œOkay, you’re about to get smacked in the mouth,” my mother said. Despite always threatening to, she had never actually hit me in the mouth. Still, I had no doubt that she would.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I muttered, looking up at her. “It’s just that this was supposed to be the best day of my life. Now you’re mad, Xavier is mad. It’s just a disaster.” I plopped down on my bed.
    My mother sat down on the edge of my mattress. She hesitated a few moments before saying, “Camille, why do you think I’m upset about that video?” Her voice was remarkably calm.
    I shrugged. “Because I’m kissing a boy?”
    She nodded sadly. “Yes, but most of all because you’re better than that. It’s bad enough that they have you looking likea hooker in those clothes, but then you allow that boy to feel all over you in a video that’s going to play all over the country. That is just disrespectful.”
    â€œMom, I was acting,” I protested. She was making it seem like I was just out on the street letting some guy do me any old kind of way.
    â€œNo, you were allowing someone to disrespect you. It’s about having standards that say, ‘I’m not going to let you degrade me or my body’—even in the name of music.” She sighed like she couldn’t understand why I wasn’t getting it. “You know, think about the young girls you mentor at that elementary school—what is it?”
    â€œKennedy,” I said, wondering where this life lesson was going.
    â€œWhat type of message do you think those young girls will walk away with if they see you up on that screen like that?”
    I thought about it. They’d understand that it was just a video. I mean, I didn’t really like it but I figured Sisco’s fans would understand.
    â€œBut videos are images. And images shape perceptions—how people see you.”
    My mom must’ve known I still wasn’t getting it, because she continued, “Why do you think I hate most rap music?”
    I frowned. “All parents hate rap music.”
    She exhaled in frustration. “No. I hate music that disrespects and degrades our women. That’s what that video did. I’m working hard to raise you into a smart young woman who respects