Make Something of It

  Text copyright © 2014 by Stephanie Perry Moore

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

  Darby Creek

  A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

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  Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA

  For reading levels and more information, look up this title at www.lernerbooks.com.

  The images in this book are used with the permission of: Front Cover: © Andreas Kuehn/Iconica/Getty Images; © SeanPavonePhoto/Shutterstock.com (background).

  Main body text set in Janson Text LT Std 12/17.

  Typeface provided by Linotype AG.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Moore, Stephanie Perry.

  #1 Make something of it / by Stephanie Perry Moore.

  pages cm. — (The Sharp sisters)

  Summary: After witnessing abusive high school and adult relationships, seventeen-year-old Shelby must decide how to respond, especially considering that one of the abuse women is the wife of the man opposing Shelby’s father in the mayoral race.

  ISBN 978–1–4677–3722–7 (lib. bdg. : alk. paper)

  ISBN 978–1–4677–4657–1 (eBook)

  [1. Abused women—Fiction. 2. Dating violence—Fiction. 3. High schools—Fiction. 4. Schools—Fiction. 5. Family life—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.M788125Mai 2014

  [Fic]—dc23

  2013040856

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  1 – SB – 7/15/14

  eISBN: 978-1-46774-657-1 (pdf)

  eISBN: 978-1-46777-430-7 (ePub)

  eISBN: 978-1-46777-431-4 (mobi)

  For

  Jackie Dixon

  If I had sisters, you’d be one I’d choose.

  Even as my college roommate,

  you have always taught me to push to

  be great.

  I love your strength and your heart.

  May every reader be a go-getter and

  care as deeply as you do.

  You’re at a new chapter. I know you’ll

  make it great … I love you!

  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 brought him toward us. “You guys have met my son?”

  “Stepson,” the young guy blurted out.

  “Son … stepson … don’t correct me again,” Mr. Brown harshly said to him. “So, Spencer, I sent you in here to spy. I’m sure this family the media portrays as so sweet has a bunch of issues. Tell me you got the dirt?”

  My parents’ eyebrows rose. Mr. Brown licked his lips like he had us. My sisters glared over at me like I was the bad guy who’d let in a snake. At that point, I felt sick. Feeling betrayed, I looked at the jerk and dashed out of the room, feeling completely humiliated.

  I couldn’t get into the bathroom fast enough. How dare that jerk play me like that? I couldn’t remember what my family had said. I don’t think there were any traded secrets or anything, but at the same time, I didn’t want the opposition having any ammunition they could use against us. That was just sneaky, sly, and dead wrong. I was pacing back and forth so hard in this ladies’ room, you would have thought I was trying to tread a hole in the tile.

  “Not now, Ansli,” I said as soon as my sister followed me. “I’m not even trying to talk.”

  “Why are you getting mad at me? I’m just coming in here because Mom and Dad told me to come get you. You need to settle down. So what the hottie isn’t who you thought he was? He’s cute as he …”

  “Okay, don’t even go there,” I said to her, knowing lately she’s been a potty mouth.

  “I’m just asking what’s up with you, Shelby. You never let a guy get under your skin like that.”

  Pissed, I said, “I’m not used to being misled either.”

  “Did he tell you he was a waiter?”

  Not wanting to answer, I slowly said, “No.”

  “Did you ask him if he was a waiter and he lied?”

  “No.”

  Ansli threw up her hands in disgust and said, “Okay, so you just assumed, and since you assumed wrongly and he didn’t correct you, you got a problem with the situation.”

  “He was being manipulative.”

  “We weren’t even saying anything important. He was on the other side of the room stuffing his face with food when you thought he was bringing new food in. He got you. I think it’s cute, charming, and what a fun way to start a relationship.”

  “Are you delusional? If I never see him again, it’ll be too soon.”

  “You like him. I know you,” she said in a coy voice.

  “How can I like somebody I don’t even know? I actually liked him better when I thought he was a waiter. I definitely don’t like him now that I know he’s the son …”

  “No, stepson,” Ansli corrected me, acting silly.

  “Ha-ha-ha, but exactly. Did you see how rude that Brown man was when he corrected him like that?”

  “Yeah, they have a horrible relationship. I’m glad Dad doesn’t treat me like a stepchild.”

  “Why do you keep saying that, Ansli? Dad loves you and Yuri just like he does me, Slade, and Sloan.”

  “I don’t even want to argue with you,” she said as she looked in the mirror, pulled out some makeup, and layered it on.

  “You know Mom doesn’t want you wearing it that thick.”

  “I’m lighter than you guys. I need more to look cute.”

  “That is such a crock. Don’t put on all that. The last thing we need to do is get the folks all wound up at this debate.”

  “Really,” she agreed, as she put it away.

  “And have you seen that schedule we have to be on now that he’s the true Democratic candidate? Almost every day we’re going to be doing an appearance.”

  “We got to be like the Brady Bunch and stuff.”

  “Right,” I agreed with my sister. “He is running for mayor. I didn’t know we were running for mayor.”

  Ansli laughed and said, “Alright, well, I’m going to be out there. Hurry up in here.”

  “Can I go to the bathroom?” I said to her, tired of the short leash.

  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I hope you don’t have to do number two because we need you out there.”

  “Girl! That’s TMI! Way too much information!”

  “You said we’re real sisters, right?”

  “Oh, see … cute. Get out!”

  Thankfully, I was feeling okay and didn’t have to have an extended stay in the restroom. However, it was that time of the month. I did need to freshen myself.

  I thought I came into the bathroom upset, but right after Ansli left, a lady wearing the cutest expensive heels came rushing in. She was crying. I didn’t want to open the door because, clearly, she needed privacy. I mean, she could’ve looked under the stalls to see if she was alone, but she was, clearly, distraught.

  I certainly didn’t move when I heard her dial her phone and yell, “I can’t take this anymore. If he hits me one more time, I might kill him!”

  I knew I heard her right. I so wanted to leave the stall, hug her, and say, “Let’s go to the nearest police station right now.”

  She continued, “I knew he was crazy before I married his tacky behind, but now I’ve got to go to appearances and act like everything is okay. He put his hand on my face and arm. I didn’t even say anything to set him off, and now we got this debate. I can’t do it … Wait, he’s calling me now … No, I’m not going to leave him. I love him.”

  Oh, you’re a fool. I said to myself, as I listened in.

  I searched in my purse to try to find my phone because I needed to text my sister to let her know what was up. Then I realized I left my phone in the greenroom. I wasn’t trying to rush this lady or anything, but I really did need her to move on so I could move on. I mean I was sympathetic and all, but if she was saying she was still going to stay with the jerk who was hitting her, why should I worry?

  Finally, when she left, I went to the sink, washed my hands, and rushed into the greenroom. As soon as I opened the greenroom door, those same striking shoes caught my eye. The lady who was just in the restroom crying her eyes out because she’d been beaten was the wife of the Republican candidate Willie Brown. She was Spencer’s mom.

  “Can we have some privacy, young lady?” Mr. Brown rudely said to me.

  “This greenroom is for everybody,” Spencer told him impudently.

  Mr. Brown looked at Spencer like he wanted to sock him. Spencer glared back like “I dare you.” I appreciated his spunk.

  “I just came to get my phone,” I said throwing my hand in the air.

  I didn’t need Spencer coming to my defense ’cause I didn’t care what Mr. Brown thought. Now, I didn’t just think he was a jerk because of his crude, obnoxious behavior. I knew he was an imbecile and certainly not someone who needed to be elected to run the city. I went over to where I�
��d been standing, and I didn’t see my phone. Had my sister gotten it? Had someone else picked it up?

  Spencer came over to me and touched my back. “I’m sorry about all that earlier.”

  I looked at him like, “Are you serious? Really?” I kept looking for my phone.

  His stepdad was getting a little loud with his mom. He needed to be over there paying attention to that, but as soon as the door opened, I turned because I thought it was going to be my dad looking for me. Our family needed to stick together and keep up appearances. I was well aware of that, but I had to find my phone. The last thing I needed was for it to be in the wrong hands. It’s not like it was a diary or anything, but with Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter, someone could hack into my account and copy a picture of me in a bathing suit from being at the beach last week and say I was a stripper or something.

  Thankfully, my dad was not at the door. It was the independent candidate, Mr. James. Mr. Brown acted so nice with him. So fake and phony.

  “Are you looking for this?” Spencer asked holding up my phone. “I shouldn’t give it to you with you being mean to me and all.”

  As he dangled it in my face, I snatched it out of his hand and started walking out. The greenroom was way too crowded. I wanted to be a part of the Brady Bunch rather than being in that stuffy room.

  “Wait a minute, Shelby,” Spencer said as he touched my arm real aggressively. “Why you keep running out on me?”

  “Why do you insist on talking to me? Can’t you read body language?” I jerked my hand away.

  “Don’t get mad. The polls have my stepdad leading, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. I didn’t even get a thank-you for finding your phone.”

  Going off, I said, “I didn’t ask you to find it either.”

  “Come on. Don’t be mad at me,” he said as I continued to walk away. “We’re not even old enough to vote. Or are you eighteen?”

  “I’m so sick of the small talk, okay?”

  I wanted so bad to tell him that if I were able to vote, there would be no way in the world I would vote for his stepdad. Hitting a woman? He would be the type to cheat on taxes, steal from the city, blackmail people, and hire his pitiful friends. As mad as I was that Mr. Brown was hitting his wife, there was no way I could tell Spencer—a guy I didn’t like but who I barely knew—that his stepdad was a monster. However, Mr. Brown broke the silence when he came out of the greenroom, grabbing his wife by the front of her shirt.