“Oh.” Aminah’s voice had changed, still amused, but lower, more ominous.
“What? What was that last oh?” I hissed. Was the mere sight of the avocado and matcha milkshake making my stomach bubble, or was it the nervous anticipation of what my best friend was about to s—
“They’re crossing the road and . . . yeah. Yup. Kofi has clocked me. They’re coming over. I’m so sorry, babes.”
I threw the napkin on the table and sat up. “I’m not ready for this. Is there time for me to go to the bathroom?”
Aminah pulled a face. “I don’t know. You’d have to walk past Shanti’s table and while she isn’t going to come up to you because that would look like she cares too much, if you pass by, she will pull you into it with her, and likely ask you why you made out with Malakai five seconds after you saw her get into it with him. Your call, I guess.”
I pressed two fingers against my temple and inhaled deeply. I was trapped between a rock （diamanté, encrusted on Shanti’s pearly pink pinky） and a hard place （Malakai’s chest）。 It was fine. When I really thought about it, running away from Malakai Korede wasn’t an option. Yes, I was technically in the wrong for throwing a watery rum and Coke on his lap, but he was also—and this was crucial—an arrogant prick who admitted that he’d used me to prove a point. Admittedly, there is the fact that I also used him to prove a point but that was not the point. He was aware of the point I was trying to prove. He was in on it. I hadn’t played him. Also, I was—
“Kikiola Banjo. You are Brown Sugar herself. You do not run away from boys. Remember who the hell you are and boss up. Beyoncé didn’t drop ‘Bow Down’ for this,” Aminah said, pointing a manicured finger in my direction and raising a brow. This was our boilerplate mini pep talk when the other needed a figurative cold splash of water on the face. Aminah’s deployment of it meant this was an emergency. I needed to get myself together as a matter of urgency.
“Yeah. Yeah. You’re so right. Thank you.” I grabbed my champagne flute and poured Prosecco down my throat for fortification. After a scintilla of a moment I reached out to Aminah just as she instinctively passed her own quarter-full glass of mimosa over to me. A little more wouldn’t hurt.
I downed it just as a growingly familiar scent wafted under my nose, a buttery sweetness of whatever moisturizer he used, tempered with a heavier, muskier fragrance, sexier; something that smelled like night-time drives to slow R&B through the City. I hated how it curled into the base of my stomach, reminded me of how his lips felt against mine. I hated how I recognized it. My body was truly unruly.
Aminah tilted her head up at them. “Hey, boys. You thirsty for mimosas or what?”
“Actually, yeah, but we better not,” I heard Kofi say as I concentrated on a fleck of black pepper on my last bit of egg. “We’re going to Prince’s Park. Basketball.”
I looked up then, but miscalculated, my gaze landing on Malakai, not Kofi. And he was looking directly at me. The slip gave me the freedom to clock he was wearing loose black shorts that hung to his knees, a white tee, upon which a thin gold chain lay, and a gray zip-hoodie. He looked good. Of course, he looked good, and why wouldn’t he play basketball, a certified Hot Guy sport? Predictable. Couldn’t he have played golf or something?
Malakai didn’t look mad or unmad. Just vaguely amused, the corner of his mouth pulled up. I didn’t know if this made me mad or unmad. It would seem that we were going to pretend that everything was normal. Cool. I could do that. In fact, I welcomed that, especially knowing how many eyes were on us right then. I turned my attention to Kofi.
“Why are you coming all the way to town for basketball? We have a court at uni.”
Malakai laughed, and it forced me to look at him again. “Last time we tried that, we drew too much attention. Beckies and Billies slowing down to stare as they walked past. It was as if they’d never seen Black people playing sport in real life.” He shuddered. “You ever heard the word ‘nigger’ from a look? One of them actually came up to me on my way out and asked if I got in because of a sports scholarship—”
A disgusted snort jumped out of me and Malakai’s eyes leaped to mine in surprise. I cleared my throat. “That’s fucked up. What did you say?”
Malakai’s face was straight. “I was scouted by Scientologist missionaries while living in my small village in the nation of Africa. They knew of my prowess when I saved their camp from a lion with my bare hands. I have big dreams. I am so blessed to be the first one in my family to not herd warthogs.”