What Goes Around by Denene Millner Page B

between the penalties people and businesses get when they fail to pay their taxes. I swear, if I wasn’t walking with King Jesus? The devil would have won today.”
    â€œMmm, well, I didn’t want to tell you this, but since you’re already having the pity party…there was an entire conversation over chicken wraps in the lunchroom today about how much intel you had on the Dara and Marcus situation.”
    â€œSee what I’m saying?” Lauren said, snatching another Now and Later out of the package. “How am I supposed to get past all of that? I mean, we’re still on Dara? Damn.”
    â€œYou know how you get past all of it?” Donald asked without hesitating. “You go in there and you show them why you’re still the one who should be in charge. Look, your skills on the dance floor are undeniable, and no one can choreograph like you. Shoot, if you ask me, you should get back with your agent and see if you can try out for a few more video features—give those scalawags something to really talk about.”
    â€œUh, yeah, about the video ho tryouts? I’m so not there,” Lauren said. “The last thing I need is another YRT post about my after-school exploits.”
    â€œOkay, then give them something to talk about. Go into that practice tomorrow and do what you do best: Show your ass.”
    â€œI do know how to do that, don’t I?” Lauren giggled. “Okay, but you gotta pay close attention, young ’un. Should I toss in a front twist after the jump or leave this part as is?”
    â€œCome on, girl, you know I don’t know nothing ’bout birthin’ no dance moves!” Donald said, chewing lazily on another gummy bear.
    â€œWhatev, just pay attention,” she said, punching PLAY on her stereo.
    Lauren tiptoed to the tiny refrigerator tucked in the corner of the hot-pink Duke cheerleading clubhouse loungeand opened it as gingerly as possible. But still, the sound of her Nikes squeaking across the pristine white tile and the shifting of the water bottles in the refrigerator door made her headache pound even harder. She’d been fighting the migraine all day, but four bathroom passes, two Aleve, a cup of herbal tea, and a visit to the nurse’s office later, and Lauren was still rubbing her temples and sending up silent prayers to God begging him to “take the pain away, so I can show these wannabes how a true dance captain gets down.” Under normal circumstances, she would have sent a text to her mom, imploring her to put in a call to the school nurse; an early release, an afternoon nap, and an episode or two of Law & Order: SVU would have been fitting recompense for the trauma her body was going through, and Keisha, God bless her soul, would have been too preoccupied with her Wednesday afternoon nail salon visit to care if Lauren dipped out of a couple of classes. But there was no time for the zone-out.
    Lauren reached into the refrigerator and grabbed the Tupperware container full of cucumber slices she kept stashed for occasions such as these. A twenty-minute power nap in the plush recliner with the cucumber slices on her eyes would work wonders on her headache and surely take away the puffiness that had settled just under her lower eyelids; she’d wake up refreshed and ready to show thoseheifas just why she was, and needed to remain, the dance squad captain.
    Lauren settled into the recliner and set her iPhone alarm for 3:20 P.M. ; that would give her about ten minutes after she woke up to change into her gear and go over the new steps in her head before the rest of the team hit the locker room to get ready for practice. But no sooner had she placed the soothing cucumbers on her eyes and rested her head on her special pillow than she heard a stall door in the bathroom slam shut.
    â€œWho’s that?” Lauren said, bolting upright. The cucumbers tumbled between the chair’s arm and seat