He inclined his head, levelled his gaze, squinted. “Yes, you are. That brain of yours is whirring, I can see it on your face. You’re doing your overthinking thing.”
“I’m not!”
Malakai straightened up and let out a knowing, lopsided smile. “Relax, Scotch. I know this is our first proper time in public, but we’re the only ones who know what we know. We got this.”
The “we” whizzed around in my brain like a breeze picking up speed while on speed when a “next” beckoned us forward to the till: it was our turn. I gathered myself and smiled at the barista. “Could I have a skinny latte with one dash of vanilla, one dash of caramel syrup, and, like, a splash of hazelnut, please?” I turned to look up at Malakai, who was already looking at me, the corner of his mouth flicked up. “What you want?”
“Do they have Mocha Malakai on the menu?”
“You’re so annoying.”
“Kai Tea Latte?”
I snorted.
“Okay, good. See, now you’re relaxed.”
I shook my head. “So, you want tap water or . . . ”
“An Americano, please.”
“Oh. You’re one of those.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Pretentious.”
“How is having regular coffee pretentious? I’m drinking it how it’s supposed to be drunk. Why ruin it? No frills no fuss. It is what it is.”
“We get it. You’re a deep filmmaker who doesn’t want to tamper with the purity of coffee by actually enjoying it.”
“Oh, because I don’t have dessert for breakfast? Vanilla and caramel? Really? You want a cone with that? That’s not a coffee that’s—”
I nodded and turned to the barista. “Hey, Tomi, do you have anything hard enough to knock someone out with? Like a fruit scone or something?”
Tomi—one of the London Gyaldem—smiled knowingly. “You know what? Scones crumble. An apple might work, though?”
“Perfect. I’ll take . . . an almond croissant and an apple. Knocking someone out will make a girl hungry.”
Malakai laughed. “Cute.”
“I am, aren’t I?”
Malakai rolled his smile in his mouth, his eyes dancing. “Let me get this.”
I pushed his hand away, as I tapped mine on the card reader. “You’re getting my waffles next time we go eat.”
Tomi released a little squeal. “You guys are adorable, man. I can’t lie. I thought you were moving a bit mad, Kiki. I mean, no one ever sees you with anyone and all of a sudden you’re with this one? But I can see why this happened. Shanti’s just gonna have take this L.”
It was at that moment that I remembered Tomi was a sweet girl who also just happened to be one of the biggest gossips on campus, a fact that earned her the nickname of Tell-All Tomi. And though Malakai and I had been being normal, normal could be interpreted in any way once people thought you were a couple.
I let out a breezy smile. “There ain’t an L for Shanti to take. Malakai and I just . . . happened. It isn’t a competition. And he definitely isn’t a prize—”
“Hello? I’m right here,” Malakai interjected, and I shrugged.
I took my plate with the croissant and picked an apple from the basket by the till.
“You should be flattered. It means I want you because I want you. Not because I think other people want you.” I tossed Malakai the apple and he caught it in one hand, bit into it, eyes glinting into mine.
Tomi breathed a “hot” and I turned to her with a mock shudder. “Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone I said that, please.”
Tomi laughed. “Who am I gonna tell?”
Right.
Apparently my girl just preed Mocha and Brown Sugar bein all couple goalz in Beanz. They’re official guys. It’s legit. I think I stan, you know. #SugarMocha
I read the tweet out loud to Malakai with satisfaction—it was posted approximately eight minutes after Malakai and I had left the queue. While on my phone, I hastily swept the notification from Rianne Tucker away. Out of sight, out of mind.
Malakai put his coffee down and choked out a laugh. “Shit, already?”
I shrugged and put my phone down on the faux-marble table. “The Blackwell Gossip Industrial complex moves fast, and romance is entertainment. I guess it’s anthropologically exciting that me, a weirdo who doesn’t date, and you, a guy who does date—a lot—are now locked into a relationship. It’s almost like it propels us into celebrity status. People forget about the individuals involved and look at the projection of romance instead. Hence the couple name for us.” I paused. “Wow, that was good. Lemme write that down.” I got my notebook from my satchel and scrawled my observations for my application essay until I began to feel the—now customary—weight of Malakai’s eyes on me. I looked up.