Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(35)
Niveus Academy, it just keeps getting better … Rumor has it, our favorite music student is doing more than just “visiting” his drug dealer. Oh, Dev, didn’t anyone tell you ecstasy is a harmful drug?—Aces
My heart is still pounding.
Why didn’t I get the blast?
I reach into my pocket, taking my phone out.
It’s dead. I must’ve forgotten to charge it last night, what with Dad and his never-ending stories.
I breathe out, my chest still aching.
“I’m not surprised,” Jamie says, still looking down at the text. Something about the way he says that gets under my skin.
“How come?” I ask.
He shrugs. “He just seems like the type, right? I mean, he’s from that neighborhood—”
“Yeah, but still, he goes here,” I say, not really liking Jamie’s tone.
He pauses, smiling at me. “You’re right. He goes here.”
His expression tells me he doesn’t fully believe that Devon’s going here changes things. His expression tells me he doesn’t think that Devon belongs here. And even though I belong, I don’t look like my dad; I’m not white, and that becomes so apparent on days like this when my hair curls up and I have to brace against the stares and the confusion.
I don’t straighten my hair because I hate it; I straighten it because everyone else hates it for me.
They ask me, “What are you?” And I want to be sarcastic and tell them human, but I don’t. I tell them I’m Italian and Nigerian. They raise their eyebrows at the Italian part, like they are surprised whiteness can produce me. Some days, it really bothers me. And other days, it doesn’t.
It makes me wonder if my resemblance to my mother has anything to do with this—with Aces. Whether Devon and his Blackness and myself and mine are the reason this creep is picking on us. I feel sick at the thought of it.
“Chi, I don’t want to sound paranoid or anything, but people are staring at us,” Jamie whispers. I look up and they are. A wave of heat washes over me, my insides churning.
“It’s probably nothing—”
He shakes his head. “Weren’t you listening? I heard a bunch of phones go off again … Mine wasn’t one of them.”
I look around again. Judgmental glares surrounding us.
I want to pretend people aren’t staring. Just be normal, feel normal. But I can’t, and it’s driving me crazy.
Jamie and I have so many secrets together.
I grip the edge of the table, looking down, eyes blurring. I try to let the air in, but invisible hands wrap themselves around my neck, strangling me. They are cold and tough and beat at my chest, daring my heart to go faster. She shakes my head, dizzying me: the dead girl who haunts my sleep.
In the background, I hear the teacher asking us to settle down.
I close my eyes, and she’s staring up at me with her mouth hung open, hair stained red—
“Poor Belle,” I hear someone say.
I stand, quickly marching over to a random guy in the class, trying to look calm as I hold my hand out. I can hear the teacher yelling at me to sit back down. The guy hesitantly hands his phone over.
Belle Robinson, you have a problem. I’d ask your boyfriend and his bestie, Chiamaka, what they were doing this summer. Hint, it involves no clothes and a lot of heavy petting. Looks like Chi might have someone to take to the Snowflake Ball after all. Once a thief, always a thief. Sorry, Belle.—Aces
* * *
The gawking follows me into lunch. I haven’t seen Belle all morning, and since chemistry, I haven’t seen Jamie either.
Three freshman girls approach me, eyes excited and wild. It’s scary.
“Yes?”
They look at each other.
“Is Jamie a good kisser?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I say.
All their eyebrows rise together.
“Aces never lies.”
“Yeah,” another says.
“They always tell the truth.”
Is it wrong to hit a freshman?
“If Aces had the guts, they’d stop hiding behind a screen like a coward, and come and tell me what they need to say to my face. Anyway, whatever you read about Jamie and me, it’s made up—”
“Is it?” a voice interrupts.
When I turn back around, Belle is standing there. She looks angry; her eyes squinted, her arms crossed.
“Is it really made up?” she asks.
“This is gonna be so good,” I hear one freshman mutter.
“Yes,” I answer, looking Belle in the eye, trying to seem confident.
“Oh? Because Jamie told me it’s true.”
My stomach drops. “What’s true?”
She shakes her head, looking like she wants to hit me.
“The rumor that you liked him and kept trying to pursue him, even after he told you he wasn’t interested.”
What?
“That’s not true—”
“So you didn’t sleep with him? Or tell him you liked him, after he told you he was dating me?”
I become aware of people lingering, listening in on our conversation.
“Belle—”
“I came here to tell you this—this whole Lola’s situation, you and him and your traditions … You and him, full stop, are over.”