The Other Black Girl(61)



Nella flinched. Hearing the phrase “these people” in reference to a mostly white group of people was strangely satisfying. She wondered if Hazel felt the same way, but she was seated too far to the left to show up in Nella’s periphery.

“I think that’s a fair question to ask,” Josh said. “And I also wonder—and I’ll happily be the warlock to your witch, Amy”—a few overly generous chuckles—“do we think the public has had enough of this story line? The opioid epidemic has come and… well, it hasn’t gone, exactly, but frankly, it doesn’t feel like the news cycle cares as much about it as it once did. This means that we’ll really need to think hard about how we market this one.”

Opioids still sexy? Nella jotted. She’d translate it into something less cheeky when she typed it up for Vera later.

“I agree, it will be a bit tricky,” Vera said, adding a bit of bass to her voice. “And no doubt about it, Colin is aware of that, too. But he’s planning to do a lot of Q and As on the process of writing this book, which media platforms will really appreciate. And he’s really willing to go after young adult audiences. Maybe speak at some high schools out in middle America.”

A few seats down from Vera, Maisy—a conspicuous shade of bronze—cleared her throat. Since returning to work a few days earlier, she’d told everyone that she’d “simply needed an extra-long vacation,” although Nella had not forgotten the brief cameo Maisy had made, hustling in and then out of the office with all of those bags. “I’d just like to chime in here, too, if I may,” said Maisy.

The right people sitting at the table nodded that yes, it was okay.

“I read some of this—” She readjusted her position so she could make eye contact with Vera. “Like Amy, I was touched, and I told my son that I love him, and to always make good decisions—although he’s still figuring out how to say ‘mommy,’ so we’ll revisit his choices in sixteen years, I guess.” A few more overly generous chuckles; Nella gave Maisy half a titter. “And I think one thing that’s really special about Needles and Pins—and stop me, Ver, if you were about to touch upon this—is that it shows various demographics that have been hit by the opioid crisis. Not just white people, but Black people, too.”

“Yes,” Vera said, “I was going to speak on that. Thank you.”

Nella stiffened. It was one thing to talk about Shartricia in Vera’s office, but to have to sit through it with two dozen of her coworkers was another thing entirely. She did not want to listen to Maisy and Vera wax poetic about how good of a job Colin had done presenting diverse characters. She did not want to watch everyone respond enthusiastically. For a fleeting moment, she considered going to the bathroom, even though it would be terribly conspicuous for her to do so.

Then, she remembered: She had an ally now. If any other coworkers happened to cast a glance in her direction to see if she’d exhibited any opinion on what was being said, it meant they would also be looking at Hazel, too. How had she forgotten she wasn’t the only Black girl in the room?

Nella inhaled. The burden wasn’t gone, she realized. Not by any means. But at least it could be shared and laughed about later. Maybe she’d even invite Hazel to drinks with Malaika the next time they went out, and they could hash it all out together.

She felt the tension leave her lower back again, rising through her shoulders and evaporating up to the ceiling.

But it was a mistake to let her guard down. Because it left her unprepared for what happened next.

First, Vera said Hazel’s name. And then Richard did, too, venturing to turn his attention toward Assistants Alley.

“Would you mind sharing some words, Hazel?”

Nella froze. She’d never seen Richard ask any entry-level employee to speak at one of these meetings before.

“Sure. I asked Vera if I could take a look at Needles and Pins. I’ve been a big Colin Franklin reader for a while, and I was curious.” Hazel’s voice, an audible jolt of youth and ardor, was perfectly loud and clear and crisp. Everyone in the room had turned to get a good look at her, as though it were commonplace for an assistant to pick up the mic at a marketing meeting.

Didn’t Hazel say Vera had asked her to take a look? thought Nella, as Oliver leaned over to whisper something in Alexander’s ear at the big table. Alexander nodded his head in the direction of Maisy.

“And I’ll say this, if I may,” Hazel continued. “I think the Black protagonist and her family will really resonate with audiences of color, particularly those who are struggling with addiction. My parents came of age during the crack epidemic in the city in the 1980s, and it brought back memories of stories they’ve told me—and how little anybody white seemed to care.”

Some people nodded. Amy hummed a note befit for a church choir.

“I’ll be honest. There are a few things about Shartricia that some people might call attention to…”

If Nella had any doubts that Hazel had cast a very direct glance in her direction, the pointed gaze of the balding production editor who was sitting in front of her confirmed it. She could feel everyone else staring at her, too.

“But overall, Colin did a really good job of bringing it home in a way that I think will connect with all readers. It’ll be fun to see how it all comes together.”

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