Sort of unedited, but whatever y'know?
Normani Kordei Hamilton.
"You wrote this?" Jordin asks, her eyebrows nearly meeting her hairline as she runs her tongue over her parted lips, as she was reading with her mouth moving - annoying.
I didn't know if I should be offended or not, or what she was implying, but I instead settled with a nod and tight, forced smile.
"It's good. Insanely good." She comments, her words accompanied with a low whistle as she holds the page against her chest. "Did you ever think of becoming a song writer?" She asks, and I shake my head no, a warm sensation running up to my cheeks from my neck at her indirect compliments. "Or better yet, ghost writer?" I shake my head slightly. "No?" She asks, making sure, and this time, I shake my head more firmly, looking a little more certain of myself, my life, and my doings. "Well they get paid a lot more than regular songwriters." She informs me as she puts the page down. "Ask Keri Hilson."
I raise my eyebrows, but make a mental note to ask Kehlani later.
"So have you recorded this yet?" She asks, adjusting her high waisted jeans so that they remain... high waisted, as she nods towards the page.
"Not yet." I shrug as I sit down, my feet aching from the shoes I was wearing. Apparently, according to Kehlani and Tinashe, I was going to have to get used to wearing high heels everywhere because that's what "superstars" did. But who was I to argue with two dancers?
"Good." The curly haired woman hums, her mouth stretching into that wide smile. "Because it needs some work."
I open my mouth to protest, because that whole sentence contradicts what she said earlier, but I close it again because, unfortunately, she was the mentor here, the "one with all the experience". As much as I dislike her, I can't take the fact that she knows more than I do around here, away from her.
"It's not that there's something majorly wrong or anything." She sits down as well, holding her hand out to me as she wiggles her fingers. "Different coloured pen?"
I fumble around, looking for a pen other than black that I wrote in. I locate a blue one that doesn't belong to me, and hand it to her, watching as her hand closes around it, and she positions it as if she's going to write.
"It's just that... even though the song has a..." She pauses, her eyes glued to the ceiling as she thinks of the proper way to express herself. "It has a deeper meaning right? Cheating and insecurities and all of that, it still sounds a bit formal and a bit... churchy." She pulls her mouth up, wrinkling her nose.
"Well I am a preacher's kid." I remind her. "But what'd you have in mind?"
----
"Come on, you can't say ass?" She asks, her expression neutral as she sighs before rubbing her hand down over her face from the top.
"I can say it, I just choose not to." I correct the singer. Or ex singer?
"Why?" She asks, her patience clearly becoming thinner as she places her chin in her hand.
"Because I don't see how it's applicable." I answer, building up my argument. "You don't have to say it there. It isn't a must."
"Jesus help me." She mutters, but the Hamilton in me jumps out.
"Jesus won't help you sin." I inform her as I study my nails, frowning at the peeling polish. I'll ask Tinashe where she gets her nails done.
"You're right." She sighs and shifts in the chair. "Evil spirits, please help me." She corrects herself in something almost close to a whisper - but it isn't as someone else hears her.
