Chapter One

Board Bully

Let my daddy tell it, I came out the womb with rhythm, and if you really get him to talking about it, he’ll tell you that my first cry was the sweetest staccato his ears had ever been blessed to witness. He’ll say that he knew—even then—that I was destined to be a musician, and that it was no surprise to him when I began showing a propensity for recognizing notes and immediately playing them back on the various instruments crowded in the front room of our home from his years in a band way back before he met my mama. While other babies and toddlers were banging on pots in the middle of the kitchen, Marvin Thomas had me mashing on the pedal of a bass drum and plucking at the strings on an electric guitar. Although both of my brothers were musically inclined, the art of making music was only shared between me and my daddy. It was our thing. He instilled in me a deep respect for composing and gave me room to allow music to just...be.

And then, on my tenth birthday, he presented me with a drum machine, and that’s when everything changed for me.

Creating became an integral part of my day. It became a part of me, making up the foundation of who I was. Being a musician was who I was just as much as being a lesbian was, though I knew music sooner than I realized my sexuality. With music at the heart of our bond, it came as no surprise to anyone, let alone my mama, that I was a daddy’s girl. And because my daddy and I were so close, he was the first person to know the most important revelation. I was nine when I came home from a long, draining day of being a fourth grader and rushed through my homework to meet him in the front room.

That was our routine. Before I could lay hands on a single instrument, I had to finish my tasks and check with my mama to see if she needed help with dinner. The rules were the same for my brothers, and oftentimes I would check in with my mama to find that Caleb was already chopping vegetables or sifting flour.

We were tuning the guitars when I spoke up.

“Daddy,” I said.

“What is it, Star Shine?”

Star Shine was the nickname he’d given me at my infancy. He always said that my mama was the sun in his solar system and I was the brightest star. It was the only way he addressed me, and it brought a smile to my face whenever I heard him say it.

“I got in a fight at recess today.”

In my peripheral, I watched as he stopped twisting a tuner and looked at me.

“Who did you fight?”

Sighing, I stared at the guitar across my lap. I didn’t want to look at him because I could already hear the disappointment in his tone.

“Britney Berry. She’s a girl in my class.”

“Why were you fighting?”

“Because she’s stupid,” I muttered, kicking my foot against the carpet.

“Excuse me?”

When he infused bass into his voice, I knew he wasn’t accepting any nonsense from me. In the Thomas household, using the word stupid was a capital offense. I should’ve known better, but I wasn’t thinking.

Eyebrow quirked, he gave me a firm stare. “Do you want to try that again, little girl?”

Nodding, I lifted the guitar from my lap and placed it on its stand. Then I went to stand in front of my father as I explained everything.

“Today is Britney Berry’s birthday and she wore a really pretty dress to school. I told her that her dress was really pretty and she said thank you. And her hair was in these braids with beads on the ends that were the same color as her dress, so I told her that her hair was pretty too.”

“Did she say thank you that time?”

I nodded. My daddy was always big on manners. “She did! So then we were in line to get on the monkey bars and she was in front of me, but then she turned around and asked me if I want to be her girlfriend! And I said no!”

“You said no?!” His eyebrows had shot up and he looked perplexed.

I offered another vigorous nod. “I said no, Daddy! Because Reina from Mr. Williams’s class had already asked me to be her girlfriend at recess on Monday, and remember when you told Caleb that he could only have one girlfriend at a time, Daddy? Well, I told Britney Berry that you said that and that’s why I couldn’t be her girlfriend.”

Daddy sat back on his stool and stroked his chin. “Well, what did she say when you told her that?”

I took a deep breath. “She said I was lying!”

“She what?!” His voice rose, the show of outrage fueling me.

“She said I was lying, Daddy! But I wasn’t, so I told her that she could ask Reina herself, so we went and found Reina on the jungle gym. She was hanging upside down and her braids looked like the beaded curtain at Nana’s house. So then Britney Berry asked her if I was her girlfriend and Reina dropped down from the top, and it was really cool because she did a back flip, and when she stood up, she flipped her hair back over her head and she told Britney Berry that I was her girlfriend. And then she kissed my cheek.”

“She kissed you?”

“Yeah, Daddy. On the cheek.” Tapping my cheek, I took another breath and got to the point. “So then, Britney Berry got mad and pushed Reina down and then told me I wasn’t invited to her birthday party anymore. And that made me mad because she was having it at Celebration Station and Mommy had already sent the r-s-v-p that I was going, and we bought her a gift and everything! Actually, it was two gifts, because we bought her a Barbie and a Ken!”

Daddy tilted his head to the side. “And what did you do when you got mad, Star Shine?”

“Well...” I rubbed my hands against my thighs, using the denim to dry the sudden dampness on my palms. Shrugging, I bounced my eyes around the room as I stated, “I pushed her.”

The room was quiet for a moment, long enough for me to realize that it was serious. The front room was never quiet. There was always some sort of noise emitting from one of the instruments, or the metronome, or the hum of the amp. But this time, everything had gone silent, as if every particle in that room had bated breath while we waited for my daddy’s reaction. Marvin Thomas was a lot of things, but a violent man was not one of them. He was the epitome of being a lover, not a fighter, and because of that, he’d always tried to impress upon me and my brothers the importance of problem solving without raising our fists.

Unfortunately, the other half of our DNA derived from a woman who was known as Killa Carissa around her neighborhood. Carissa Thomas née Woodson would whoop a trick just for staring at her too long, and me, Caleb, and Cody definitely took after her in that vein, fighting like cats and dogs throughout our childhood and teenage years.

“What happened then?” asked my daddy.

“Well, after I pushed Britney Berry, she pushed me back and then we started wrestling. Then Reina ran to get Mr. Williams and he put us in time out for the rest of recess.”

“I didn’t get any calls from the school today,” he mused, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully.

“I think Mr. Williams gave Mommy a paper about it when she came to pick me up, because she asked me why me and Britney Berry were fighting and I told her that Britney Berry had uninvited me to her birthday party, but I didn’t tell her why. That’s when she said she didn’t know what to do with me.”

“So she sent you to me.”

I nodded, even though it wasn’t a question.

“You know what I’m going to tell you, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. So, tell me all of the things you could have done with that anger instead of pushing Britney.”

“Britney Berry, Daddy. We have four Britneys in our class, so you have to say her whole name so everyone can know who we’re talking about.”

“Okay, Star Shine. What could you have done with that anger instead of pushing Britney Berry?”

Releasing a long-suffering sigh, I dropped back down onto my stool. “I could’ve gone for a walk or run.”

Nodding, he pointed across the room. “Mmhm. Pick up that guitar and finish tuning it while you talk.”

Doing as he said, I cradled the heavy instrument in my lap and rattled off a list of ways I could have managed my emotions. It was a list Daddy had ran down for me and my brothers countless times. He always said that he made us recite the list to him so that when we were in situations with heightened emotions, at least one alternative reaction would likely pop into our head and we could make better choices. It didn’t occur to me then, but years later, I realized that in that moment—my coming out—my father had chosen to focus on my bad behavior instead of the possibly jarring news that his only daughter had a girlfriend in the fourth grade. He normalized it by not spotlighting it, and when I was old enough to learn how that usually went for many people, the memory of that moment stuck with me forever.

I hadn’t even questioned whether or not to tell him the whole story. Where Mommy might’ve fussed at me, I knew that my daddy would hear me out first and tell me what I did wrong without making me feel bad. It was the way he was with everything, especially music. Whenever I made something new, he was the first person I went to, my stomach knotted in anticipation as I watched his face intently while he absorbed my creation.

Twenty-three years after receiving that drum machine, I still experienced butterflies in my belly when I got ready to play new music for someone. It wasn’t nerves, not really. That’s just how deep the love that I had for what I did was. It was excitement. Pure, unfettered exhilaration fluttered around inside of me ahead of the aural perfection that I was preparing to unleash unto some unsuspecting being. I wouldn’t classify Xeno in that way, but even though we’d been rockin’ since my senior year of high school, and she knew better than anyone—other than my daddy—of my capabilities, she was never not impressed when I presented my latest creation.

I hadn’t seen her in a minute—hadn’t seen anyone in a minute, for that matter—because I’d spent the last six weeks in L.A. working with Naima and other legendary songwriters to complete a full concept album for a popstar who was ready to try a different sound. I’d had to sign an NDA before even receiving the information about the album camp, and I still wasn’t informed who I was making music for until I arrived to the mini mansion in Beverly Hills. Due to the secretive nature of the artist, none of us were able to use our phones the entire trip. While the experience was unmatched and priceless, going no contact with my loved ones had been hard.

Less than a week since I’d been home, and Xeno and I had slipped right back into our routine like only a weekend had passed. We were three songs into our weekly listening session when I queued up the only track that already had vocals laid down. While rap tracks were my bread and butter, the lovey-dovey RB stuff had my heart. Seemingly sweet songs with melodies that wrapped around you like a warm blanket—just before the sexy undertone snuck up on you like a double shot of Hennessy mixed into a tall glass of lemonade—were some of my favorite projects to create. Maybe I was lowkey a lover rather than a fighter like my daddy after all.

Silently, I watched Xeno bob her head as she stared at the soundboard, waiting patiently for her to give me something. As long as I’d known her, I understood that she needed a moment to process the music, so I gave her that because her opinion was on the short list of those that mattered to me. When the song ended, she pointed at the board.

“Aye, run that back.”

Grinning, I pressed the button that would replay the song. Her desire to give it a second listen was a great sign. I mean, I knew the song was good—the beat was immaculate and Ray’s vocals were on point—but it always felt good to get that confirmation from outside sources. When the song faded out for a second time, Xeno turned her pleased expression my way.

“Yo, you know that was dope, right?”

I nodded. “Thanks, bro.”

She blew out a breath as if she were winded and shook her head. “Who is that singing?”

“A lil shorty named WundaGirl Ray. I found her on YouTube.” As I talked, I fiddled with the knobs on the board to queue up the next track. “Well, actually, she found me. She commented on a video of me creating a track from start to finish and said she’d love to work with me and lay some vocals down. And you know me.”

Tossing her head back, Xeno laughed. “Yeah, I know you. Extra friendly ass.” She cut me a knowing look. “She pretty?”

“Yeah, man,” I chuckled. “She cute or whatever.”

“Mmhm. Or whatever. Right.”

Her tone and the way she dragged that “right” were clear evidence that she thought I was downplaying it, and I got it. I had a firm rule about not sleeping with anyone who came into the studio to work with me, but I had eyes. There were so many fine-ass women in the music industry that I could kick it with a different one every day for a year and still never touch one of the dozens I’d worked with over the years. But this situation wasn’t like those others.

“Nah, it really is whatever. Baby girl is straight.”

Xeno lifted an eyebrow. “How you know that? I know damn well your mum’s-the-word ass ain’t discuss sexuality with a woman you’d just met! Hell, you barely discuss it with the women you hook up with. Got these women out here just goin’ off vibes and that lil backpack you be carrying.”

Dragging a hand down over my head, all I could do was laugh at the facts she was spittin’. Since the moment I realized that I was a lesbian—long after having that first conversation with my father—I pointedly did everything I could to avoid having “the talk.” The way I saw it, if the straights didn’t have to announce themselves, then why the fuck did I?

The simple answer was that I didn’t. I mean, I got why so many queer people chose to do so but, personally, I was good on all of that. I also had the benefit of looking gay, so it wasn’t too hard to go off “vibes,” as Xeno put it. And the lil backpack was a bonus as far as I was concerned. When people saw me, a five-foot-ten, dark-skinned, three-hundred-pound, masculine-presenting woman with a taper-fade and a bottom grill, the assumption was almost always that I was a carpet-muncher and not just a fat tomboy. And the assumption was one hundred percent correct. I mean...genetics made me fat, but I did indeed love to eat.

Turning to Xeno, I shook my head.

“Nah, I didn’t have to say a word. Shorty showed up with her dude in tow, but I wasn’t trippin’ ’cause he was mad cool. He kept quiet while me and Ray worked, and when we took a break he would talk music. The problem is that when he went to the bathroom, Ray got super flirty with me, talmbout she ain’t never been with a girl before but had always wondered what it was like.” I rolled my eyes and shot Xeno a look. Her lips were pursed and she looked disgusted. Thankfully, she got the point.

“So, ole girl was—”

I nodded. “Yup. Bicurious George.”

“Damn,” muttered my friend, echoing my sentiments. “And not just that, but a fucking cheater.”

“Hmph. I can tell you right now that she def thinks it doesn’t count ’cause I’m a woman.”

Xeno groaned. “That’s that bullshit!”

“That’s what I’m saying, man. So, yeah.”

Nodding, Xeno shrugged. “Or whatever.”

There was nothing left to say on the matter. This was unfortunately something I’d experienced multiple times over the course of my life. Apparently, hooking up with a lesbian—especially a stud—was like a bucket list item for many a straight woman, and that was a lesson I learned the hard way. One too many times had I thought I was dealing with a bisexual woman, only to get burned by a het shorty who “don’t really do that” when it was time to Uno reverse some head or pop out for a little date situation in public.

“So, what you doing with this?” she asked, swiftly changing the subject and thankfully keeping me from going down a long mental road that led to a painful memory. “You sending it to the radio stations or throwing it up on streaming sites?”

“Eventually. My daddy already said it was impressive, so now I wanna see how it goes over at Sanity. I sent it to Jucee a couple of days ago, and she’s gonna dance to it tonight, which will give me the opportunity to watch the crowd.”

Xeno grinned, swiveling around in her chair to face me. I could already tell from the mirth in her eyes that some nonsense was about to spew forth from her mouth.

“Ah, I shoulda known you’d send it to your bestie first.”

And there went the nonsense. Groaning, I rubbed my forehead.

“Technically, I sent it to my—”

Xeno waved her hand. “Aht aht! That don’t count. Sending it to your pops is like sending it to an extension of yourself. That’s basically a part of your creation process. This though? That’s different and you know that.” Her grin was silly as fuck and mildly annoying.

“You gotta chill, man. It’s not even like that.” It was pointless to explain why I needed to see first-time reactions to the song, because Xeno knew better than anyone. This moment was simply about her giving me a hard time.

“Nah,” Xeno teased, shaking her head, her pencil-thin locs swaying from left to right. “That’s exactly what it’s like. But it’s all good. I’m not offended.”

Xeno and Jucee were my homies and I regarded them both as my best friend, but that didn’t go over well with either of them. They claimed it was all in good fun, but neither of them missed an opportunity to tease me about my “other best friend.” The two were my closest friends for completely different reasons. Xeno was my day one. I’d known her since before I even knew what it meant to be a stud and I just thought I was tomboy.

Back when I was making beats in high school for whoever was willing to drop a few Benjamins into my hand. Back when Cyn Tha Starr was thought up as homage to my dearest daddy and attached to an AOL email. Back when the only fight I had in high school was when a boy called me a “fat bull dagger” during our grade level lunch because I declined to give him a free beat after his sob story about having his money stolen on the walk to school that morning. That time, my daddy did get a call from the teacher, but when we sat in the principal’s office and he heard what had been said, he grabbed me by the arm, carted me out of that school, and just before we got in the car, he called my name.

“Cyndi,” he said, breaking my heart and instantly bringing tears to my eyes. I looked across the roof of the car at him, lip trembling with shame at having disappointed him. “You did the right thing” was all he said before opening the driver’s side door and climbing behind the wheel.

I stood there, crying like a baby, because my daddy the pacifist had shown me understanding, and while that wasn’t uncommon of him, he tended to be more strict when it came to physical altercations. He was, once again, showing me what mattered.

At that time, Xeno and I hadn’t met in person but were already pretty close after connecting on Tumblr and talking damn near every day. I remember detailing the incident to her that night, and even back then she was always cool-headed and mellow. She was also incredibly goofy, then and now.

“Am I even still invited to the barbecue on Sunday,” Xeno asked laughingly, “or is it a one-best-friend limit this time around? Let me know now before I get my hopes up.”

Laughing, I pushed back in my chair, shaking my head in amusement. “Does Trisha know you got this mean jealous streak?”

Trisha was Xeno’s girlfriend and I was curious to know if this was something I needed to share with her asap. A half-empty water bottle flew through the air, aimed right for my head. I ducked, cracking up as the bottle hit the wall and fell to the floor.

“Whatever, man!” she laughed. “Just tell me what you’re about to do with this track, ’cause it’s too good to sit on.”

“Uh huh,” I muttered, cool to let it go if she was. “I’m thinking of just uploading it to the streaming sites and letting radio catch wind of it organically.” I had a large enough following on social media to get a buzz going without paying for a spot in the rotation during peak hours on the radio. If enough people liked it, they’d call the stations and tag them online enough that it’d be in rotation without me having to do a thing.

That was also where Jucee came in. Her sets were damn near legendary among the city’s club scene, and someone was bound to post a clip of it online. The song was guaranteed to go viral if that happened. And even if I discouraged her, Jucee was bound to help it along. It was one of the things I loved about her. I’d met her three years ago, just when I was starting to get national recognition for my work behind the soundboard. I already had a name for me in Houston, and the work I did with local artists was enough for me to live comfortably and never have to ask my parents for money. It wasn’t until a clip of Xeno performing went viral that so many eyes turned onto her, and by extension, as her producer, onto me as well.

Houston has a vibrant strip club culture—something that I loved about my city—and the women I encountered there showed me love because they recognized my name. Jucee never tried to get at me after finding out who I was. Before we’d even officially met, she would make videos with my music playing in the background, tag me, and never ask for anything in return. Her support was because she respected the music, and that fueled me to meet her in person. Even when I reached out in her DMs, she was never on no flirting shit, and she stayed that way when we met up for lunch. It was unexpected but refreshing, and I knew from the moment she first hugged me and kissed my cheek that she would be the homie.

And a year later when my daddy suffered a heart attack, she was right by my side, along with Xeno, giving me support and helping me take care of myself when I felt like I couldn’t do anything. After that, we became attached at the hip. When she broke up with her boyfriend, I extended her that same care she had shown me, pulling her and her son into my family to offer them community since the only blood relatives she had were back in Dallas.

With my two best friends, my family, and my music, my life was fantastic, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.