“Cute pajamas.” Aminah ran her eyes across my tartan shorts and slouchy gray sweater. “Have you changed out of them in the past three days?”
“I love you guys, but please. I . . .”
I pinched the skin at the bridge of my nose and attempted to close my door. Aminah stuck her pink fluffy socked foot in the door frame. “Absolutely not. This, my dear, is an intervention.”
I opened my mouth to say I didn’t need one, but all that escaped was a sharp sob.
Aminah’s face immediately slackened. “Oh, baby.”
And that was all it took for me to burst out crying and collapse into her.
It had been almost two weeks since Zack’s broadcast and a week since what I now recognized was my breakup with Malakai, and I was forced to admit that my method of trying to preemptively avoid hurt by cutting ties with him had possibly been shortsighted. It had caused acute physical chest pain and every time I thought of him, I had a sweet, sharp soreness, like I was comprised entirely of a tangle of ulnar nerves.
I missed him so much my stomach twisted with it, the grip made tighter by what we had said to each other, precise shots fashioned from intimate knowledge, constructed to maim and fashioned from our own pain. They replayed in my mind like a horror movie, and familiarity didn’t lessen the sting. Not only had I potentially lost my show, my admission to the NYU program, and the respect of Blackwell, but I had also lost one of my best friends again, and this best friend happened to be a very good kisser. I missed the fact that I felt like I had my own personal sun when he looked at me.
“I said some really horrible stuff to him, guys,” I said as I sipped at my six-pound rosé, cross-legged on my bed. Aminah was cuddled up with me, Shanti was sat by my desk, and Chioma was busy strategically positioning crystals around the room. “Really, really mean—”
“Okay and he said shit to you too. You were mad at each other. So what? You’ll figure it out,” Shanti muttered as she scrutinized the contents of my makeup bag.
“Doubtful.”
I wanted to apologize, but every time I tried to type it out, his words of dismissal weighed on my fingers. We just met two months ago pressed on my thumb till it backspaced the whole message. We got lost in the game; it was an idiotic fantasy. That was all. I was still angry too. That he saw the relationship instead of me, that I was a tool to rectify daddy issues. It was for the best. I shook my head as if to rid myself of the now familiar pinpricks of hurt and loss.
“Anyway, it’s not just the Malakai thing. It’s the elections. I’ve messed it up for everyone contesting against Zack. Everyone who I stood with is sullied by association. And I really want to apologize to you guys for being an emo bitch this week. I was embarrassed. By everything. Embarrassed by Zack, embarrassed by how sad I feel about Malakai, embarrassed that I’ve messed things up for Blackwell.”
Aminah released me and sat up. “First, I don’t mind you being an emo bitch if you let me into your room. Second, there is nothing to be embarrassed by. Zack is a prick who shall be dealt with—and you and Malakai have broken each other’s hearts.”
I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly into my wineglass. “Malakai’s heart is not broken. I granted him his freedom. I’m sure he’s grateful he dodged a bullet.”
Aminah waved a hand in the air and kissed her teeth. “Please. Kofi told me that Malakai’s been a moody prick since you last spoke and refuses to talk about what went down. He just keeps saying, ‘It is what it is,’ which, like . . . what does that even mean? Because what is it?”
I digested this alongside a spoonful of cookie dough ice cream. It paired oddly well with the wine. I would, though, need some Pepto-Bismol later. Aminah was biased. Malakai being in a bad mood could easily have stemmed from a dent in pride. I refused to entertain the sadistic glimmer of hope that he was as cut up about us being over as I was.
“And as far as Blackwell goes”—Chioma sat and stretched herself along the foot of my bed—“you didn’t mess anything up. Everyone thinks what Zit did is dark.”
My mouth curled genuinely for the first time in a while. “Zit?”
Shanti nodded. “If you checked the group chat you would know that’s our new name for him. And exactly. People mass reported his account and Aminah’s pretty much scoured the Blackwell socials to check that nobody’s sharing the image. She’s convinced everybody that it would bring shame to them and their families to keep hold of it.”