Honey and Spice(32)
“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.”
My smile slipped out. Traitor.
Malakai regarded me a fraction longer than was necessary as Kofi responded, causing both our gazes to jump apart. “Yeah, it was real zoo vibes. Made me feel like we were playing for massa.”
Aminah’s eyes narrowed in glittering ire. “They’re lucky I wasn’t there. The cussing I would cuss would make their bodies and souls shrivel up on the spot. All that would be left is a pile of Barbour gilets on the floor.”
Kofi grinned. “I love it when you go off.”
Aminah caught herself and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Look, Keeks and I are going food shopping right now and we were going to cut through the park to get to the market. We can walk along with you. We were just finishing up—”
I kicked her shin under the table, but Aminah’s face remained unmoved. She was looking placidly at Kofi, my discomfort obviously of no consequence to her. I knew she thought that the best way to deal with the situation was to confront it head on, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. The best way to deal with it was to pretend it never happened. The best way to deal with it was for Malakai and me to extricate ourselves from each other’s orbits. My stomach tightened as Kofi’s face relaxed further, his smile widening goofily at the invitation.
“Yeah? Okay! I mean, yeah okay. Cool. Calm. Let’s bounce, beautiful.”
Aminah shook her head, but I detected the smile she was trying to bury under the surface. “You talk like a tween sitcom character,” she muttered, while making eye contact with a waiter for the bill.
Kofi laughed. “Be my leading lady.”
Aminah rolled her eyes. “You’re a clown—”
Aminah and Kofi descended into a back and forth that made the awkward silence between Malakai and I louder. Eventually, Malakai looked at the table in careful study, stepping back a little, as if to allow him the full scope of it. I hadn’t fully intended on talking to him properly yet, but somehow, I found myself asking the weirdo what he was doing.
Malakai straightened up and shrugged, swerving his gaze back on me. “Just making sure the glasses on the table are completely empty. You know. For my safety.”
Dick.
Chapter 9
Prince’s Park was the largest verdant space in Whitewell, slapdab in the middle of town; so big that it also served as the divider between west Whitewell and east Whitewell. West Whitewell was where our campus was, complete with sprawling suburban gated houses, artisanal coffee shops, cat cafés, and yoga studios owned by white people with blond dreadlocks.