The Other Black Girl(109)
“That was terrible,” Malaika complained. “Even worse than I thought it would be.”
Nella remained silent as she took a seat next to Malaika on the row of cold, dirty benches to wait for the train.
“They don’t care about anything other than getting jobs and working in ‘this’ industry and ‘that’ industry,” Malaika continued. “And hair… like, do they not have any other concerns? I love being natural, too, but you don’t hear me talking about it every two minutes. Do you?”
Nella still didn’t say a word.
“And, speaking of hair—you should have seen homegirl’s face when I leaned forward and tried to touch one of her dreadlocks! She practically—”
“Please, Mal. Stop,” Nella snapped, the sound of her voice startling herself. The entire walk from Hazel’s front door to the subway, she’d been too stunned to speak. She’d even had a hard time walking. She didn’t feel like she could trust her mind or her body.
Nella scanned every face on the train platform. Once she was sure none of Hazel’s girls had followed them, she pulled out her cell phone. “And you’re sure nobody suspected anything?”
“I showed them some dumb hair video on my phone the minute you went upstairs. C’mon, now—tell me what you sleuthed! You were up there for, like, days.”
Nella narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
“I just…” Could she trust Malaika? She studied her best friend, wondering if Hazel had somehow managed to get to her, too. Malaika studied her right back, visibly concerned. “You good, Nell? You looking like you took a trip to the Sunken Place and back.”
Nella nodded once. Malaika, she could still trust. She had to.
“What did you find?” her friend pressed.
“I took as many photos as I could.” Nella pulled up the pictures, then handed her phone to Malaika. “These pieces of paper were in her room.”
“Jeez.” Malaika pinched the screen for a closer look. “Is that Ebonee?”
“It’s Ebonee and Camille and Kiara. It’s all of them. Mal,” Nella said, her voice shaking, “I didn’t have a chance to tell you this before, but those girls—all of those girls at the party—I’d seen their names before.”
“You had? Where?”
Nella told her about finding them on the printer one morning, all the while keeping her eyes trained on passersby.
“And you think—”
“Well, I thought they were candidates in the running to replace me at work. ‘Diversity hires.’ But now—now I don’t know what their deal is. I overheard them call me ‘an Involuntary.’ As though I’m being, like… converted to something.”
Malaika looked at the photos again before answering her own question. “Well, see, that explains a lot. They’re sipping that Crystal Light, too, right? Hold up. What are these words next to their faces? They look like bios.”
She was about to say more when she abruptly cut herself off. Nella looked around to see what had brought on the heavy silence. A brown-skinned girl with locs that had been rubbed with pink hair chalk wheeled a bicycle by them, humming softly to herself.
Nella watched her, too, until she was a good fifteen feet away. Just to be safe. When she was out of earshot, Malaika began to read. “?‘Kiara is an amazing writer and great at picking up social cues. Pretty shy, though, with a lower-than-usual understanding about the classics.’?” She scrolled down. “?‘Ebonee’s blaccent is so thick you can hardly understand every other word that comes out of her mouth.’ ‘Camille brought such great vibes to the workplace. But word got around that she was feeling less than pleased with how we were “treating her.” Good attitude, but overall ungrateful.’
“What the fuck—what is this?”
Nella snatched her phone back, did some scrolling of her own. “This page is dated as having been printed on March 4, 2017—which makes sense, because Ebonee doesn’t have a blaccent at all now. Not to me, at least.”
Malaika shook her head as Nella pulled back from that photo and started swiping to the right, skipping over the other photos she’d taken until she got to the page with her face on it. “Here’s the worst part of it all, though. I’m in here, too. With entries dating back to my first few months at Wagner. Way before Hazel got there.”
Malaika’s eyes widened. “What? Lemme see!”
Nella held up a solitary finger and cleared her throat. “?‘June 2016. NR seems smart, quirky. Has white boyfriend, Owen, which could be useful. Is from CT and proud of it.’?”
She flinched, but read on.
9/3/16. NR sent Jesse Watson link to external email. Apparently subscribed to his channel.
1/4/17. Cop shooting. Temporary Diversity Town Halls put in place; NR seems complacent.
“Seriously, what?” Malaika said. “?‘Complacent’? What kind of bullshit—”
Nella continued on, trying her hardest to separate herself from the person she was reading about.
7/14/18. BookCenter article about black grief in a white space published. NR sent article from SK; according to emails back & forth, this was NR’s first time seeing it (said she agreed w/ article’s content but said she did not write).