Needy Little Things(11)

I barely recognize myself when she’s done with me and I kind of like it, even though I’m weirdly conscious of every minor movement of my eyeballs. I’ve never worn false lashes and the two twists Winnie left dangling to “frame my face” keep swinging into my periphery and startling me. They’ll be bobby-pinned to my head before the end of the night, so I take a few selfies to preserve the look.

“Girl, if you don’t come on!” Malcolm yells from downstairs, where he stands holding the front door open. He wears a chestnut-colored wide-brimmed hat with a poncho of assorted earth tones and ivory pants.

“Will you stop rushing me if I tell you you’re beautiful?”

“No, but I’ll smile while I do it.” And he does, white teeth gleaming against his flawless dark skin as he continues to fuss.

I finish lacing up my pearlescent boots, grab my noise cancelers, and run outside, nearly plowing down Jude. He helps me find my balance, but his hands linger on my upper arms long after I’m steadied.

“Wow,” he says, a little breathless.

“Wow yourself,” I say, laughing off his intensity, but I mean it. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without his glasses, and he has a cute constellation of dark brown freckles across the bridge of his nose. His curls are popping, too. Hydrated and freshly finger-coiled.

He offers his hand to help me down the front steps, and I wonder how obvious it is that I never wear heels. Not even one-point-five-inch block heels.

“Thanks,” I say.

“My pleasure,” he replies, grinning like a complete fool.

“Can y’all stop flirting or whatever the hell it is you’re doing and get in this car?”

I drop Jude’s hand. “Nobody is flirting, Malcolm.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jude says as he jogs to the driver’s seat, leaving a delicate trail of cologne in his wake. He slips on a pair of dark sunglasses once he sits down and I try not to stare at him in the rearview mirror.

It’s a quick ride to Deja’s place. Malcolm texts her as we pull up outside and catcalls when she appears in the doorway. “Ladies and gentlemen and all the magnificent folks outside of and somewhere in between the binary: Deja Nelson!”

We all hop out of the car as she gives a curtsy in her platform sneakers. She’s adorned her already glorious braids with a flower crown. Her outfit is a white, off-the-shoulders romper that contrasts with her complexion beautifully. A bandanna with QUEEN printed across it in cursive is tied neatly around her neck.

Malcolm goes to her while Jude and I wait by the curb. “?a va?” He air-kisses her cheeks.

“Bien. Joyeux anniversaire!”

“Merci. You’re killing it, as always.”

“Y’all take one semester of French together and think you’re something special,” I shout.

“Maybe, or maybe you are just a hater,” Deja says, putting on her best French accent.

Malcolm escorts her across the weedy yard, both looking like Black royalty. As soon as she’s in my range, I’m bombarded.

Pepper spray. Pepper spray. Pepper spray.

It puts my stomach on spin cycle. Why the hell would Deja need pepper spray?

When Jude asks her about her sunglasses, I use the opportunity to pull Malcolm to the side.

“Hey, I’m getting a weird need off Dej.” I scan our surroundings, like some creep might jump out from behind a bush any second.

“What even qualifies as a weird need?”

“Pepper spray,” I say plainly. “It’s making me really nervous. Especially after … you know.”

His eyebrows pinch together like he’s trying to figure out a complicated test question. “Pepper spray? As in back-up-off-me pepper spray?”

I nod and run my tongue along the back side of my teeth, anxiously fixating on the small gap between the front two. “Mal, maybe we should just go inside her place and chill. We can order pizza.”

“Pizza? For my eighteenth birthday? Are you kidding me? Ri, Deja and I have been wanting to go to this festival for years. Half the time people don’t even use what you give them in the way you’d expect. What happened Wednesday night is a perfect example.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Don’t get your panties all bunched up. She’ll probably use it to … season her food.”

I frown. “One, pepper spray is not an aerosol flavor enhancer and two, we’re going to a Black music festival. The food is seasoned, Colmy.”

“Okay, regarding point one, you’ve clearly not found yourself deep down into the depths of YouTube at three in the morning.”

“Malcolm, I’m serious.”

He sighs. “Do you have some on you?”

“Yeah.” I turn so he can see Santa Bag perched on my back like a turtle shell. It would never get through the security check, but my plan is to hide it in the woods and jump the blockades to grab it once we’re in.

“Well, there you go. Nothing horrible is going to happen while we are all together. Give it to her later and don’t make a big deal over it.”

I think it over, trying to convince myself he’s right. “Okay, but she doesn’t leave our sight all night. I’ll tell Jude, too.”

Malcolm pulls a face like he can’t understand why this has me so stressed.