Ⅱ giselle's story Ⅱ

Giselle sat on her bed, the soft hum of an old radio playing a slow luther vandross tune in the background. The dim glow of a bedside lamp illuminated the open pages of her worn leather journal. She tapped her pen against the paper, hesitating before she finally began to write.

"july 5th, 1985

I told myself I wouldn't think about it anymore, but the memory still lingers. That night at the club changed something in me. The flashing neon lights, the thick haze of cigarette smoke, the way the music drowned out my thoughts—it was supposed to be fun. Solange and Aaliyah wanted to dance, to let loose, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The man watching me from across the room, the way my stomach twisted when I stepped outside alone for air... I don't even want to write about the rest. It was enough to make me swear off clubs for a long time. Maybe forever."

She sighed, gripping the pen tightly before setting it down. Her eyes drifted to the flyer peeking out from under a pile of papers on her desk—"Beginner's Dance Classes: Find Your Rhythm."

She hesitated, then reached for it, running her fingers over the bold lettering. Maybe she couldn't erase the past, but she could reclaim something for herself. Giselle wasn't sure what she was looking for in those classes, but she knew she had to start somewhere.

Let me call Aaliyah," I say, picking up my phone in the bedroom.

"Hello?" I hear after the constant beeping of the call.

"Hey girl, I wanted to ask if you wanted to go to this dance class thing I saw in the newspaper. I just need to work my mind away from everything," I say, twirling the cord on my finger.

"Sure, bae! Let me know what time we should go. It's going to be awesome!" she says, very excited. I've known for a long time that Aaliyah loves dancing, so I know this will be good for both of us.

"I'll let you know. I'm going to call the number in the paper and see what's up, then I'll call you tomorrow," I say.

"Ok, girl, take care of yourself. Oh, and before I forget, let your mom know that I need to get my hair done this week," she says.

"Yeah, okay, I'll let her know. Bye," I say before hanging up the phone. I take a deep breath, grab my bag and keys, and head out to my mom's hair salon in Santa Monica. Getting into my old car, I drive while listening to the radio. "Lord, it's so hot today," I say, fanning myself.

As I drive, I pass the crowded sidewalks of Santa Monica, filled with people in summer outfits. Neon signs flicker above the small shops, and the scent of salt from the ocean drifts through my open window. A group of roller skaters glides by, laughing as they weave between pedestrians. Street vendors sell sunglasses and cold drinks, their voices blending with the music blasting from a nearby boombox.

I finally pull up to my mom's salon, a cozy little spot with a bright pink sign that reads "Tina's Beauty Haven." The scent of hair spray and shampoo hits me the moment I walk in, mixing with the sound of blow dryers and the chatter of women gossiping under the dryers. Mom is at the front, curling a client's hair, her expression focused but warm. She looks up and gives me a quick nod before turning back to her work. I hesitate for a moment, taking in the lively atmosphere, before stepping inside fully, ready to get lost in the familiar routine of the shop. 

"Hello, Gigi! Long time no see. You've gotten so big—you look beautiful!" says a lady sitting under the dryer.

"Oh, thank you so much," I say shyly, walking toward my mom.

"Hey, Mama, I wanted to tell you that I'm going to join a dance class with Aaliyah," I say, a little nervous.

"Mmm, whatever you want, I don't mind, Giselle, as long as you stay away from these streets. I've been hearing things," she says, looking at me intently. "Watch out for yourself and your sister, bey bey. I'm not going to be here forever to protect you girls," she warns, her tone firm but full of love.

Before I can respond, Solange chimes in from the corner, where she's getting her nails done. "Oh, come on, Mama! Who's even behind all this? Some big bad wolf? Ain't nobody gonna do nothing to us!" She flips her hair dramatically. "If he's so dangerous, why would we ever meet him anyway? It's not like we run in those circles."

Mom's face hardens. "You think this is funny, Solange?" she asks, shaking her head. "Girls like us, we don't get second chances when we make the wrong choices."

"Whatever, I need to make a phone call," I mumble, walking to the back of the salon. I use my mom's office phone and dial the number from the newspaper.

"Hello?" I hear from the other side, a sassy male voice.

"Hi, sorry to bother, but I saw this dance class ad in the newspaper and wanted to know if there's still space. My friend and I are interested in joining," I say, talking fast.

"Alright, you and your little friend can come tomorrow at 4:30 p.m. We're located in Inglewood at the Savoy Entertainment Center. You'll see my name at the front—it's Prince," he says, then abruptly hangs up.

"Hello? Hello?" I say, confused. "Oh well." I then write down the address, planning to let Aaliyah know what time to be ready tomorrow.

I walk back out, and Solange smirks at me. "You know Mom is always on some dramatic mess. Who even is this dangerous person she keeps going on about? Like, what's he gonna do to us?" She laughs, shaking her head. "I swear, she acts like we're in a mob movie or something."

I chuckle, but the uneasy feeling in my gut doesn't fade. "Yeah... probably just some guy we'll never even meet."

As I turn to head back into the salon, I hear my mother's voice again, quieter this time, speaking in hushed tones to one of the regular clients.

"I don't want them anywhere near him. That boy is dangerous. Mark my words."

A chill runs down my spine. I don't know who she's talking about, but something tells me I'm going to find out soon enough.

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oops what will bey bey and solange find outtttt 

aint no way this cutey act as a bad boyLet me know if the book is eatin or not im worried