Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(23)
“Are you okay, Chiamaka?”
Of course I am, I want to say, but instead I say nothing.
“You seem a little down,” she continues.
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
She doesn’t look all that convinced, and I’m not sure if I am either, but her shoulders relax, and she grabs her bag from where it’s hanging on the coatrack by the stairs.
“If you want pizza, I left you some cash,” she says as she kisses both my cheeks, then moves toward the door, a rush of her strong, tangy perfume filling my nostrils. “Love you, Chi. See you later.”
The door slams shut behind her, ringing in my ears moments after. I see her figure through the blurry rose-colored glass panes and hear her heels click across the concrete path, until both disappear into the evening.
I sigh, then drag myself up the stairs and back into the cinema. I know it doesn’t seem too bad—being falsely accused of stealing, twice, and having everyone think I got rejected by Jamie—especially since the revelations about Devon feel so much more personal. But being talked about is one thing, and being mocked is another. I hate being mocked, it reminds me of middle school: being the girl everyone liked to look down on, poke at—never the girl people wanted to be friends with.
Not that people want to be friends with me now—or before Aces—but they knew that they could never look down on me.
I start picking up some of the mess we made, kicking the blankets to the side to see if any trash is left underneath. I notice a crumpled-up piece of paper with something written in thick black Sharpie. I bend down and pick it up, recognizing the writing as Jamie’s—1717. He’s always writing down his PINs and passwords on random pieces of paper.
I like to joke that one day he’ll have to write down my name, for when he finally forgets me. I remember him once saying, How could anyone at Niveus forget the great Chiamaka Adebayo? in his usual Jamie over-the-top way.
I smile at the memory. Sometimes these moments creep into my mind and remind me that our friendship is real. And I need the reminder sometimes. Especially when he does things to get under my skin. Like getting a girlfriend.
I sit on one of the chairs, pulling out my phone and opening up the Notes app.
I title the page People who hate me.
Whoever is finding this information about me and sending these texts is doing it out of spite. It’s someone who really hates me, Devon, and Scotty. And I’m going to find out who, and why.
I stare at the blank screen, the cursor blinking, and before I can second-guess it, I tap out Jeremy’s, Ava’s, and Ruby’s names in bold as my first suspects. Jeremy because I know for sure he’d love to take me down if he could; Ava because of how easily she spread the things about Jamie and me; and Ruby … Well it’s obvious, she’s Ruby. I don’t know if I actually believe that Ava or Jeremy is even capable of pulling off something like this, but I do know that whoever’s doing this, they’re not going to be doing it much longer. I’ll find them and make them wish they’d never started this mess in the first place.
11
DEVON
Thursday
It was raining heavily when I woke up this morning at six. I could hear the raindrops hitting the window, then spilling through the crack in the bottom. I would’ve closed it, but the window’s permanently stuck that way.
Some mornings I sit in this half-dreamlike state, letting the cold wrap around my body and hug me like the memory of my father sometimes does, despite the fact that he never hugged me when he was around. I haven’t asked to visit him in years—Ma used to cry when I brought it up. So, I stopped asking.
My younger brother Elijah had cuddled up to me during the night, shivering more than I was, so I wrapped my school blazer around his skinny frame. Which is why my blazer currently smells of bananas, Elijah’s ever-present scent.
As I rush past the blocks between my place and school, the rain hits my hood, dripping down my face and blurring my vision. I wipe it away, but it just keeps falling, over and over again. Both the cold and the thought of who around here has seen the video make my body shudder. I keep my head down until I reach Jack’s place. I knock on the door, hoping that he’s gonna answer today.
Instead, Jack’s uncle answers. He’s a tall, tired-looking guy, and he always wears the same stained tank top and sweats. In the background, I can hear Jack arguing with his brothers.
“Jack, your friend’s here,” his uncle yells. He never bothers with small talk—no hi, nothing. I think my longest conversation with him was the first time we met, after Jack’s ma died. He asked, “Who are you?” I told him my name, and that was that.
Jack materializes, uniform wrinkled and tie slightly undone. I’ve been replaying what he said to me in the alley yesterday, picking apart his words. I don’t know what brought me back here this morning. I guess I’m trying to hold on to my longest friendship, maybe, despite the obvious cracks in it. Or the sense of safety I get from the only face that means something to me at Niveus? I don’t know.
Jack doesn’t say anything, just walks next to me in an awkward silence. I know these silences well with Jack; but I keep holding on, knowing that on the other side of the silence there is still a friend, my friend. That’s how it’s always been. I know he still cares about me.
Niveus isn’t so far from our neighborhood. Our school lies between two worlds: the side of town where the rich people live, and then our side, where people can’t afford food or health care. Usually, I just keep my head down, regardless of where I am, but since the picture and the video got out, I feel even more uneasy in our neighborhood. As we walk, I side-eye street corners, imagining boys in dark hoods with sharp shiny objects and fists ready to beat the crap out of me. The picture took less than forty-eight hours to reach Dre, so I can only imagine how many of them have seen the video, deduced it was me, and are waiting by the 7-Eleven. Ready to remind me that there is no space for me in this neighborhood. Even though Dre said he’d deal with it, if it could get to him, it could get to anyone.