Needy Little Things(38)

Jude passes me the box of signs and a mallet. Someone has set up a tent with grocery store glazed doughnut holes and orange juice. I never understood why those two items are so often served together in minimal continental breakfast spreads, but I fuel up on sugar and head to the edge of the field to get to work. When I finish, the parking lot is crowded with cars. Students, teachers, school admin. Random folks taking flyers and buying T-shirts. I pause to check all my socials, typing #FindDeja into the search bars. There are hundreds of posts made within the last hour. Dozens of people tagging Afro Alt, asking them to share. I go to their page and I’m greeted by the beautiful picture of my friend I sent them via DM. Deja poses with Malcolm’s birthday cupcake, toothy grin plastered on her face. Shared only two minutes ago, the post reads: This queen disappeared from our Atlanta Fest Saturday night. Like. Comment. Share. Let’s bring her home fam. #FindDeja. I watch in real time as the likes jump by the dozens. When I look up, Malcolm and Winnie are sprinting across the field toward me, grinning.

I meet them halfway. “Did you see?”

“Yes!” Malcolm answers, thumbs flying a hundred miles per hour on his phone. “They posted on all their platforms.”

“I made a short video that’s getting a lot of hits, too,” Winnie says.

“I’m going to tell everyone to keep posting and sharing,” Malcolm says. “If we can get her trending, maybe she’ll get some national attention.”

They trot off as quickly as they appeared, straight by Ms. Jasmine who stands alone in an oversized #FindDeja T-shirt—Nurse Rincon is making them to order with his heat press machine. She raises her hand to the height of her face, but doesn’t quite wave at me. I take my chances and approach her. She’s probably still angry with me and I don’t blame her. But if I want to know for sure if Deja was hiding something, I need to get into her bedroom. That requires making nice with her mother first.

My head fills with her need for a sleeping aid as I get closer. “Hi, Ms. Jasmine.”

She looks at me, but her bloodshot eyes don’t seem to focus, and she sways on her feet. I’d think she was under the influence of … something, if her need hadn’t revealed her sleep troubles. “Appreciate you organizing this, Sariyah.”

There’s an unspoken it’s the least you could do hanging in the air, so I offer more. “I was wondering if there’s anything else I could do to help? Even little things. I could run errands for you or bring some meals by.”

She scratches the dry skin of her forearm and toes anxiously at the soft ground. “I’ve been meaning to have you and Malcolm over. Chat with you two for a bit.”

There’s nothing aggressive in her words and I wouldn’t care if there were. I just want to get into her house.

“Can y’all come by for an early dinner tomorrow?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll be there.”



* * *



I go to the student parking lot to wait for Jude by his car. On the way, my phone lights up with an incoming call. Fitzgerald Davis.

“Hello?” I answer, not even trying to hide my shock.

“Hey, Atlanta.”

I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder, grinning. “It’s so wild you called. I’d actually been meaning to reach out, but it’s got to be breaking some cardinal rule of the universe for us to speak to each other outside of summertime.”

“Maybe, but I heard from your dad that you’re going through it right now. Consequences for rule-breaking are suspended under such circumstances.”

“Guess that means he told you about Deja?”

“Yeah. Me, Ella, and my boy Jed helped him put some flyers up around town.”

“Thanks for that. We’re actually just wrapping up a rally to help spread the word about her.”

“Oh yeah? Anything else we can do to help from down here?”

“I know social media isn’t your thing, but if you have friends who are active, could you get them to share Deja’s posts? We’re using #FindDeja. Trying to get it to go viral.”

He sighs. “Seems like the only way to make sure people get found these days.”

“I hate it, but we need to do everything we can.”

“I’ll let folks know.”

“Thank you, Fitz.” I lean against Jude’s car. “It’s been forever. How have you been? How’s post–high school life?” I ask, happy to change the subject.

“Not what I expected, to be honest. Fall semester was rough. I’m taking a break. Working. But it ain’t all bad. I’m gonna ask Crystelle to marry me.”

“Wow. My dad mentioned it, but I thought he had something mixed up.”

“Nope. Sounds like he had it right,” he says with a chuckle.

“You’re only nineteen. What’s the rush?”

“You ask what’s the rush, I ask why delay?”

“I can give you a hundred reasons, but I’m going to guess you’ve heard them all.”

“Probably. But you know this is how we do down here. Your mom and pop jumped the broom young, didn’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“And look at them. Marriage tight enough to survive years of distance.”

I appreciate that he sees that as a strength. Most people assume it was relationship trouble that led to our move. “Got me there, I guess.” I spot Jude making his way toward me. “How’s your sister?”