Malakai’s eyes dropped quickly to our hands, and he gave me a small, weakly reassuring smile. “Thank you. It’s fine, though.”
I shook my head, my eyes surprising me by stinging slightly. “No. It isn’t. It’s fucked.”
Malakai swallowed, and I realized his eyes were slightly glassy too. “It’s fucked. Which is why I don’t get the bullshit debate the ACS is doing next month. Black Lives Matter versus All Lives Matter? Who signed off on that? Zack really is a prick, man. What does he even get out of that?”
I removed my hand from Malakai’s and swallowed hard. “I have no idea.”
A waiter came over to take our order and the ordering process gave me sufficient time to try and digest the new version of Malakai forming in my head, a version of him that roamed the roads at night trying to capture the light of a chicken shop because he found it beautiful.
“Sorry,” Malakai said, leaning forward as the waiter walked off to hand in our orders. “I don’t usually talk about institutional racism on first dates.”
I relaxed again. “Really? Weird. I thought it was standard.” I let my eyes drift over to a booth where a boy was playfully serenading a girl along with the Pharrell and Snoop ditty playing from the speakers. She was pretending to hate it, slapping his arm just to touch him. My gaze returned to his with a twinkle. “So, this is a first date?”
The corner of Malakai’s mouth ticked slightly upward. “Thought this would be the perfect place for a chill preliminary meeting to get to know each other as project partners. Also, this place is a hot date spot. There are about eight couples here right now that would be perfect for the film.”
I looked around and saw that he was right. The pair I had just seen were one of many. A few were our age, some were clearly sneaking out, and one was closer to Meji’s age. All of them looked like they were at various stages of romance: a couple that was sitting so close to each other and looking so lustful that there was a possibility that they were violating several health codes under their table; another sharing a plate of food; one in which the woman was commanding a man to read some texts back to her, irately.
I nodded at him. “So, you must have brought a few girls here, then?”
“You’re the first, actually.”
I couldn’t help but cackle. “Malakai, what do I look like? This place is sexy and opens late. We’re here to be real, remember? Tell me the truth. You take them here, have the same routine with Meji, tell them to order the plantain waffles, drive them back to campus, fool around in your car, and fire off a ‘Good morning, beautiful’ text in the morning.”
Malakai met my gaze, eyes totally devoid of irony. “Seriously. You are the first girl I’ve brought here. This is my spot. Maybe I’ll come here with Kofi, but I also come here alone quite a bit. To work, to chill with Meji. Whatever. I’ve made friends here. . . . Don’t you have a spot?”
I flicked my eyes across him in quiet deliberation before leaning forward, resting my jaw on my fist. Dr. Miller said I had to learn to work with others. He’d shared with me so it was only fair that I shared with him. I inhaled deeply.
“Alright. It’s extremely nerdy but there’s this spot in the library I like. African histories. Because no one’s ever there.” I laughed. “It’s in the far corner, away from everything. I smuggle a coffee in and I just chill. Think. Sometimes there’s a book involved, sometimes I’m just listening to a playlist I loaded up. It gives me . . . space.”
Malakai released a slow smile. “Wow. That is extremely nerdy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Shut up. I knew I shouldn’t have told—”
“And extremely adorable.”
I shook my head and hoped it would force down the fierce flush of blood rushing to my face.
“How did it become your place?”
Growth, Kiki. You can’t die from being personal. I stared at the menu once more for fortification, before looking back up at his gentle interest. “Um . . . okay, so there was a period where my family was going through . . . a lot, and I had to take care of my little sister sometimes, pick her up from school. I knew the house would be empty when we got home and the thought of that was just . . . I couldn’t deal with it, you know? She was about nine and I was about sixteen, seventeen. I’d take her to the bakery on the high street and get us two slices of Tottenham cake. I love Tottenham cake, it’s still my go-to comfort treat. Anyway, I’d get us the cake and a cup of hot chocolate that we’d share and smuggle them into the local library. We’d read books next to each other and I’d ask her questions about what she’s reading, and she’d ask me questions about what I’d read, and we’d just . . . escape into these different worlds and forget for an hour or so. I guess when I came to Whitewell, I just gravitated toward the library because it felt safe. And then I found that spot.”