Uh-huh. I held still. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I knew this game, this game was mine, and normally I knew how to lose them. I’d expected to lose him. In fact, I’d wanted to lose him, to shake off whatever had been clinging on to me in the two minutes we had interacted, the gliding of energy on my skin that was making me fizz （I knew having a latte past three p.m. was a bad idea, I am mad sensitive）， but not only had he followed me, it was like he already knew where I was going. It was like we were going the same way. He shot me a half smile, sloping, something that managed to be tiny and also have the power to elevate his face, soften the steep angles. The sharp glare of the industrial lights in the hallway had nothing on it. It made its way to the pit of my belly and tugged.
Our eyes stayed on each other for a few seconds longer, as I attempted to figure out what the hell was happening, when a door clicked open somewhere in the near distance. Both of us jumped as if we’d been interrupted, as if there had been anything to interrupt, and turned to the direction of what would have been a disturbance, as if there was anything to disturb.
Zuri Isak stood at the door to flat 602 （I’d just left flat 601） in a crop top and leggings, curls glossy and loose. Cute, casual. Purposely cute and casual. Zuri wasn’t meant to be here. She was meant to be at her friend Nia’s birthday dinner at Sakura in town. I knew this because there was a social media countdown designed to make people who weren’t invited feel like they were missing out on the Groupon dinner, at a place where sugar daddies took their babies to dinner. Anyway, this was particularly interesting because Nia and Zuri had recently undergone a power shift in their clique whereby Nia had usurped Zuri as Queen Bee by organizing a group trip to Barcelona to stay at her stepdad’s villa over the summer while Zuri was visiting family in Michigan. Nia could have easily reorganized it for when Zuri returned but she didn’t want to do that. It was a power play. A coup. And judging by the light mascara, dab of lip gloss, and smidge of blush—I flicked my gaze over to Fellow Superhuman, only just now noticing that he was holding a bottle of rosé in his hand—something told me that Zuri skipping the birthday dinner to Netflix and chill was also a power play.
Zuri nodded at Fellow Superhero, who definitely wasn’t as lonely as he made out to be. “Hey you! I didn’t hear you knock so thought I’d come check—”
He smiled at her. It was interesting. Objectively, as a scientist （fuckboiologist and mandemologist）， it was different from the smile he gave me. The smile he gave her was mainstream, pop, radio-friendly. The smile he’d given me was the single released after an artist had established themselves, found their voice, could speak directly to their target audience. The smile he’d given me had more R&B to it.
He walked toward the open door. “Sorry, the lift took its time—”
Zuri nodded absentmindedly, throwing her gaze to me, “Hey Kiki, wassup?”
She wasn’t suspicious—I wasn’t a threat; I was never a threat. I was known as The One Who Didn’t Date—but that was precisely why my presence there was curious. I didn’t have a clique and I lived with my best friend. Weren’t nobody for me to visit. I’d thought this through, though. I had an alibi in a girl （not a member of the Black caucus） I had a political communication module with, and who also happened to live in flat 604.
“I was just picking up some notes from Ilana.” I patted my satchel. “Missed a lecture today. Cramps.”
I briefly wondered if the detail was overkill but Zuri had stopped listening halfway through my sentence anyway. Her hand was already curving around Fellow Superhuman’s sturdy arm and she was looking up at him, her long lashes batting. “Cool. Awesome. I’m just . . . going over a tutorial too. Can’t wait for your next show!”
She pulled him into her flat, but not before he threw me an inscrutable look. I shook my head, smiled, and pressed the lift button. Yeah, something was gonna be studied that night. A relief, really. My understanding of fuckboiology had fallen out of whack for a second. It was nice to have it reset. Whoever he was, he was just like the rest. That was comforting.
Chapter 2
I snuck into the cramped campus radio studio, hoping the fact that I’d opened the door gently would make a difference given the fact that I was late to my preshow meeting with radio tech, producer （informal capacity）， and my best friend （formal capacity） Aminah. However, as soon as the door clicked open, she whizzed around on the bright blue Office Depot chair, from where she was sat at the radio desk, twenty inches of wavy hair, swishing with the movement, a badass Bond villain with an exceptional ass.