On Rotation(13)

It was always me with the wrong idea. Always me somehow “reading into things”—

“But I’m already seeing someone.” He looked away, chewing at his inner cheek. “Sorry.”

Even expecting it, I felt like I’d been slapped.

Ricky had the nerve to look put upon, like I had done him a disservice by daring to define what we had in romantic terms. To think that I’d thought of him as sweet, childlike, even, when he was really just another fuckboy wasting my time. Old Angie would have given him what for. How would your girlfriend feel knowing that you spent all this time and money on some random chick? The fuck is wrong with you?

But I wasn’t Old Angie anymore. Being with Frederick had taught me restraint, and I knew that cussing out the boy who, only seconds ago, I had been prepared to make out with in the middle of an art fair on Halsted probably wouldn’t make me feel better. So, instead, I bestowed him with my most dazzling smile.

“On second thought,” I said cheerfully, “please lose my number.” I shoved the rest of the funnel cake into his hands.

“Angie,” Ricky started.

Too bad for him. I’d already heard every excuse in the book, and despite his creative talent, I doubted Ricky could come up with an original one. Turning on my heel, I found a space in the throng and practically dove through it, marching my way toward my car. Over the music, I could hear Ricky call after me again. The audacity.

Turning on my phone, I scrolled to Nia Johnson and hit “call.”

She picked up after one ring.

“About time, girl,” she said. “You coming home?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way,” I said, gritting my teeth. “But I have to tell you about my day. Because you will not believe this shit.”





Four




“In conclusion, you are way more reliable than any man will ever be,” I said to Nia, stomping up the stairs to our shared apartment. On the other side of the door, I could hear Nia cackle.

“Yeah, well, I could have told you that,” she said. “I can hear you, hang up.”

I unlocked the door, toeing my shoes off and flinging them in the general direction of our shoe rack. The moment I crossed the threshold, I felt a warmth settle into my bones. Momma hated that I called my apartment in Hyde Park my home. “This house right here is your home,” she liked to say, but I hadn’t felt like myself in Naperville in a long time. Home was a cheap two-bedroom walk-up that I shared with my best and oldest friend and occasionally a foster kitten I would try to convince said friend to let me keep. Within its walls, I was no one’s eldest daughter and no one’s older sister and I didn’t have to prepare a tray. I could just be Angie Appiah, without edits.

“Honey, I’m home!” I shouted, throwing my hands into the air.

“Wifey!” Nia yelled from the kitchen. She hustled to the door to greet me, her T-shirt dusted with flour, and pulled me into her arms. I sank into her softness like a best friend–sized marshmallow.

“You’re like a puppy, you know that?” I said. “You always act like you’re scared I won’t come back.”

“I know what your parents are like,” Nia said, kissing her teeth. She deepened her voice to a surprisingly accurate imitation of my father’s. “Angela! What is this B+? Clearly you are off playing the fool in the city. Come study at home; we definitely won’t lock you in your room with your books. Maybe you can even find a nice husband under your pillow.”

“Ha,” I said humorlessly, remembering the realities of Step again.

Nia pulled back and held me at arm’s length, her eyes flitting over my face in concern.

“Oh, honey,” she said. “You’ve been through it, haven’t you? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. I wasn’t, not entirely, but the thick cloud of misery I’d waded through yesterday had lifted over the course of the day. It was as though my mind had simply decided that it was tired of being sad. Or, I thought, as if that stupid cheating cute boy hit a hard reset button in your brain.

“Every day I thank the Lord that he made me a lesbian. Liking straight men is a curse,” Nia continued. “I’m sorry about Frederick. And about this new guy, too.” She zeroed in on my neck. “Though I’ve got to admit that Water Tribe necklace is dope.”

I’d forgotten I still had it on. Swiveling the chain around my neck, I unhooked the latch and held the necklace out to Nia.

“You want it?” I said. “You can have it.”

Nia laughed, wagging her head.

“Nah, girl, keep your trophies,” she said.

“Fine,” I whined. I wandered into my bedroom and dropped it unceremoniously into my pile of tangled costume jewelry. “At least Frederick’s trophies all died. Small mercies, I guess.”

“All those fucking flowers,” Nia said, rolling her eyes. I snickered as I walked back into the living room; Nia had seen the genius behind my flower pranks, even if Frederick hadn’t.

We settled at the dining room table, and I sprawled out across it, inhaling deeply. Against all odds, I felt . . . relieved. Regardless of the disastrous result, Step study block was now officially behind me, leaving me with three precious weeks off with no commitments, no lectures, no exams. It was the most freedom I would see until my fourth year. Whenever I said this out loud, Nia would scoff and inform me that some people have jobs and haven’t had a summer since college. I would remind her that she had once complained to me that she’d binged all the good shows on Netflix and now had nothing to watch, and that she hardly went a day without reminding me how glad she was that she’d never have to study again. Oh gross, she’d say, pointing at my computer screen. What is that? Half the time “that” would be a harmless histology slide, which for all intents and purposes consisted of amorphous pink blobs, but she’d insist that the dark purple nuclei triggered her trypophobia and skitter away squealing. Once, for fun, I’d shown her what schistosomiasis of the eye looked like, and she’d nearly reintroduced both of us to her lunch.