The Other Black Girl(116)

These thoughts must have been dancing across Nella’s face. Because a victorious grin was settling across Hazel’s.

“Wait. You haven’t been using it, have you?” She laughed. “Whoo-hoo-hoo! The fight is in Nella Rogers, after all. How thrilling.”

“I… no. I’m still—”

“Face it, Nell. You gave up on your convictions a long time ago,” Hazel whispered. She pointed at Nella’s reflection in the mirror. “Look at yourself, and think about it. Have you really been yourself over the last couple of months?”

This time, Nella did venture to see what was staring back at her in the mirror. What she saw was someone who hadn’t checked Facebook in weeks—a feat that wasn’t too unusual. But she also saw a girl who couldn’t remember the last time she’d shared a link on Twitter about any Black issues. It’d been weeks. Months, maybe. She saw a girl who’d declined her boyfriend’s proposal to go see a documentary about wrongful incarceration at BAM, citing too much work as an excuse.

She moved away from the wall, approaching the sink once more. A closer look at herself revealed someone who barely saw her best friend anymore, and the few times she did, they talked about her job—not about the video of the Puerto Rican teenager who’d been shot in the face eight times by a shop owner who’d wrongfully accused him of stealing; not about that Fortune 500 CEO who’d been outed just the week before after it was revealed he’d worn blackface to a party while Obama had still been in office. Just her job.

But perhaps the most telling thing she saw—the nail in her coffin of irresponsible Blackness—was a girl who hadn’t sent Kendra Rae Phillips one iota of proof that Hazel and Richard Wagner were up to foul play, even though she had all of the evidence at her fingertips. Even though, she suspected, she held the key to freeing Kendra Rae from hiding.

Nella looked over at Hazel. She was still staring at her expectantly through slitted eyes, as though she were seeing all of the things Nella was seeing.

“I don’t know,” Nella whimpered, wiping away a tear.

At this, Hazel knitted her eyebrows together in pity. Her mien possessed not just a sadness, but a knowledge that she could rescue Nella from the hole she’d found herself in, if only she were allowed to. Shivering, Nella held her gaze right back. She should have been thinking about herself—What was she going to do? Who was she going to be?—but instead, she was thinking about the years Hazel had spent doing what she’d been doing. Had Hazel chosen to convert herself, or had she been manipulated the way that she’d manipulated Nella?

She didn’t remember asking this out loud, but she must have, because Hazel was nodding confidently. “I was an Involuntary, too. Why do you think they pulled me out of Boston and assigned me to you, Nell? We’re alike, I said. I know you. You wanted to get along to get along, just like I did. Even when I publicly annihilated you, you didn’t crack. They told me you were tough and smart, and I saw that. I see it now, too. You understand where I’m coming from. You hear me. I can tell.”

It was difficult to decide whether the confidence that had always emanated off Hazel was manufactured, something that the Smooth’d Out had instilled within her. Or if it was a push she’d always had within, from the day she’d first learned that it would not be enough for her to simply go to college, get good grades, and get the interview. That it wouldn’t be enough to simply show up to work; to simply wear the right clothes. You had to wear the right mentality. You had to live the mentality. Be everyone’s best friend. Be sassy. Be confident, but also be deferential. Be spiritual, but also be down-to-earth. Be woke, but still keep some of that sleep in your eyes, too.

“Breathe in, Nell,” Hazel cooed. “Breathe in.”

Nella nodded. She hadn’t taken a breath in some time.

“Good, good. Now take this. It’ll be helpful for when you start at a new publishing house.”

“But, why do I have to leave?” Nella heard herself whimper.

Hazel shrugged. “Because there can only be one of us per office. One per office guarantees maximum results, obviously.” She pulled at one of her loose locs. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. I also recommend using these greases for a week or two before your first day. It’ll take a little bit of time to really settle in. Especially since you haven’t been using it,” she added.

Nella must have hummed some tune of assent, because Hazel had clapped her hands once and was now bowing her head, Amy-style. Unrestrained satisfaction danced across her face. “It won’t be an easy transition… although it won’t be as bad as it could be, either. But we should really get back to the meeting.” Hazel smiled, a throwback to the Hazel she was when they’d first met. “We’ll talk more after. Does that sound good? Maybe we can even ask Jesse to give you some pointers, too.”

Jesse.

I’ve already won this one, Hazel had all but said just minutes earlier, at the table. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Nella had thought it meant what she’d already suspected: that there was no way the social media mogul would pick any other editor over Hazel. His shiny scalp, his sweet new demeanor. He was gone.

But he’d seemed happier. He’d even seemed… freer.

When was the last time Nella had felt free? Really, truly, wholly free? She couldn’t remember. Was it when she chopped off all her relaxed hair? When she moved to Brooklyn? When she graduated from college and realized she never had to return to the South again?