Even when Simi wasn’t there, Simi was there. She had eyes everywhere in the form of First Years desperate to please her and Second Years who thought that the closer they were to her the less likely it was that they’d be stung. She had an army of spies, and of course, she would have had someone watching me, waiting for me to slip. It was stupid of me not to think about that. She saw my show’s popularity as a threat to her power even when I clearly had no interest in said power. All I wanted to do was get my fellowship and play bops. Her surveillance had never been a problem before because nothing I did gave her minions any grip. But now I had actively antagonized her and given her something to hold against me: Malakai.
“Fuck.”
Aminah nodded grimly and placed her phone back in her bra with the same gravitas that a lawyer would have had snapping her briefcase shut.
“Fuck, indeed. Keeks, we have an image problem. It doesn’t look great when the campus romantic advisor, the one who told girls to reclaim their time and play players, not only made out with one of the most eligible players on campus but is also cuddled up in the Cuffing Corner with him. Do you know what I mean? That affects your credibility. Which affects our show. You know if we consistently dip below a certain number of listeners, we lose it right?
“Simi is a snake and I know she has it out for you, but you know her clout. She has connections in nearly every girl group on campus. They’re going to mobilize and boycott and we’re going to drop listeners. I need a media extracurricular for my internship, and if I don’t get it, I’ll have to go to Nigeria and work for my dad this summer while he tries to set me up with his best friend’s son, who wears a sovereign ring on a pinky finger, trilby hats, and too-short trousers. Kikiola, I cannot . . .”
And it would cost me New York. I had no clue how I would grow the show, but I had no chance if there wasn’t a show to grow. Besides that, the idea of losing Brown Sugar freaked me out. It anchored my university experience. I needed it to keep me moored. I put my drink on the coffee table, swallowed my own rising panic, and rubbed my hands up and down my best friend’s arms. “Breathe, Minah. Countdown from ten—”
“Regular ten or Beyoncé ten?”
“Beyoncé ten.”
Aminah shut her eyes and nodded, exhaling air through tightly pursed lips, reciting lyrics from the Beyoncé song “Countdown.”
Malakai leaned forward and peered at me over my best friend’s meditating form. “Sorry—am I missing something? This seems kind of ridiculous. Is this a real problem? We just kissed. It’s no one’s business. Who’s going to believe the dumb theory that the radio thing was just a ploy to get me? I mean, I get it. I’m a catch, but . . . ”
Aminah’s eyes flickered open and she looked at him like he was scuff on brand-new heels, her panic making her snap: “I’m sorry, is this a joke to you?”
Malakai blinked. “No, I just—this seems like an overreaction.”
Aminah glowered. “Oh yeah, because of course we hypersensitive, emotional women would be overreacting. It’s not like we understand the inner mechanisms of the social ecosystem of our school because we’ve been here for a year and are integral cogs to its functionality—”
Malakai’s eyes widened. “Wait, I didn’t mean—”
Aminah raised a hand. “Of course it matters, newbie. The girls run shit here. Simi is a cow, but she is a cow with clout. She is the ex–ACS president. She’s like the anti-Kiki, and people listen to her almost as much as they listen to us. Even if they don’t think they believe her, the suspicion is enough. Reputations are at stake, and reputations are currency here. I mean, think. Kiki doesn’t date and a week after she issues a PSA telling everyone to basically back up off you, she’s suddenly doing tongue twerks in your mouth?”
I exhaled deeply, swallowing. I was so stressed I couldn’t even interrogate my best friend’s use of “tongue twerks.” She was right. This was bad. And irresponsible. I didn’t even really know Malakai and I still hadn’t actually received a feasible explanation for him making two of the baddest girls in school trip for him simultaneously. If anything, sitting with him—shit, kissing him—sanctioned his actions. I sat back, looked up, and realized that narrowed, frosty glares were being thrown my way from various points in the room. Reality descended on me, eroding the last remaining light and warmth from my time with Malakai. I went cold.