Honey and Spice(102)
I missed him so much my stomach twisted with it, the grip made tighter by what we had said to each other, precise shots fashioned from intimate knowledge, constructed to maim and fashioned from our own pain. They replayed in my mind like a horror movie, and familiarity didn’t lessen the sting. Not only had I potentially lost my show, my admission to the NYU program, and the respect of Blackwell, but I had also lost one of my best friends again, and this best friend happened to be a very good kisser. I missed the fact that I felt like I had my own personal sun when he looked at me.
“I said some really horrible stuff to him, guys,” I said as I sipped at my six-pound rosé, cross-legged on my bed. Aminah was cuddled up with me, Shanti was sat by my desk, and Chioma was busy strategically positioning crystals around the room. “Really, really mean—”
“Okay and he said shit to you too. You were mad at each other. So what? You’ll figure it out,” Shanti muttered as she scrutinized the contents of my makeup bag.
“Doubtful.”
I wanted to apologize, but every time I tried to type it out, his words of dismissal weighed on my fingers. We just met two months ago pressed on my thumb till it backspaced the whole message. We got lost in the game; it was an idiotic fantasy. That was all. I was still angry too. That he saw the relationship instead of me, that I was a tool to rectify daddy issues. It was for the best. I shook my head as if to rid myself of the now familiar pinpricks of hurt and loss.
“Anyway, it’s not just the Malakai thing. It’s the elections. I’ve messed it up for everyone contesting against Zack. Everyone who I stood with is sullied by association. And I really want to apologize to you guys for being an emo bitch this week. I was embarrassed. By everything. Embarrassed by Zack, embarrassed by how sad I feel about Malakai, embarrassed that I’ve messed things up for Blackwell.”
Aminah released me and sat up. “First, I don’t mind you being an emo bitch if you let me into your room. Second, there is nothing to be embarrassed by. Zack is a prick who shall be dealt with—and you and Malakai have broken each other’s hearts.”
I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly into my wineglass. “Malakai’s heart is not broken. I granted him his freedom. I’m sure he’s grateful he dodged a bullet.”
Aminah waved a hand in the air and kissed her teeth. “Please. Kofi told me that Malakai’s been a moody prick since you last spoke and refuses to talk about what went down. He just keeps saying, ‘It is what it is,’ which, like . . . what does that even mean? Because what is it?”
I digested this alongside a spoonful of cookie dough ice cream. It paired oddly well with the wine. I would, though, need some Pepto-Bismol later. Aminah was biased. Malakai being in a bad mood could easily have stemmed from a dent in pride. I refused to entertain the sadistic glimmer of hope that he was as cut up about us being over as I was.
“And as far as Blackwell goes”—Chioma sat and stretched herself along the foot of my bed—“you didn’t mess anything up. Everyone thinks what Zit did is dark.”
My mouth curled genuinely for the first time in a while. “Zit?”
Shanti nodded. “If you checked the group chat you would know that’s our new name for him. And exactly. People mass reported his account and Aminah’s pretty much scoured the Blackwell socials to check that nobody’s sharing the image. She’s convinced everybody that it would bring shame to them and their families to keep hold of it.”
Aminah put the bottle of rosé between her legs and twisted it open to pour herself a glass. “Shame is a powerful tool. Anyway, people are just confused because you disappeared. It just doesn’t seem like you.”
Chioma shrugged. “Maybe she just needed to align herself.”
Aminah snorted. “If aligning herself was only running out the room to get pizza from the door.”
Something was bothering Aminah, I could tell; her chuckle was soft and sad, but before I could press, Shanti interjected with a point of the tube of eyeliner that she’d procured. It was then I realized that she was examining every piece of makeup I owned before tossing those she deemed unacceptable into my wastebin.
“There are some dickheads, but I think mostly people just wanna know what’s going on. We’ll all be pissed if Zit’s fuckery actually does manage to affect the election and permanently fuck with Brown Sugar’s ratings, but I don’t think it will. Before this, our campaign was going great, and the other candidates are really putting the work in with their social media campaigns, which is good for us because it means legitimate competition and enthusiasm for things to change. Also, I feel like the whole Blackwell setup had shifted. Like, you get to uni and you just gravitate to the people who are most like you on paper, right? But I’m more than just bundles and perfect brows.”
I laughed. “Your brows really are perfect though.”
“Thanks, babes. I’ll do a tutorial just for you.” Shanti took a sip of her wine as I tried to figure out the exact ratio of insult to kindness. I figured it was exactly equal. Equal meanness and kindness tipped friendship into sisterhood.
“But seriously,” Shanti continued, “you enter into these groups and they become cemented and you feel like you can’t leave them, and then you’re hanging out with people who you don’t even really like.”
Chioma shrugged. “Honestly I really don’t vibe with a lot of the vegan girls; one time I switched to regular deodorant because the natural shit made me smell like . . . well, shit, and they acted like I was single-handedly murdering the planet. Also, they’re not that fun. I realized that I have a lot more fun hanging with you lot. I love you guys.”