Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(68)

“Love you too, Chiamaka. There’s rice and stew in the kitchen for dinner, if you get hungry,” she tells me, and I nod. Then she leaves me—like she always does—her footsteps echoing in the hallway.

A heaviness weighs me down as I watch the door silently. I sniff, letting my eyes blur and watching the now-quiet room disappear.

The sound of two distinct buzzes, sharp and clear, draws my attention.

It doesn’t seem possible, but I swear my brain rattles, like it’s quivering in my head. I close my eyes, clutching my chest as my breaths gets shallow.

I walk toward my phone, the only thing in focus on my bed, and pick it up like it’s an explosive.

I know this is kind of forward, but my house is empty.—B

The feeling of dread slowly washes away. Its remains filter into the edges of my bones, another feeling taking its place.



* * *



I put on a beanie to cover my hair and rush over to Belle’s place, knocking on her white door before she drags me inside.

“Want juice or something?” she asks. I nod and she gives me this green juice. We sit at her kitchen table and awkwardly sip in silence. Then she goes, “Nice hat. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear a hat before…”

“I do … sometimes,” I answer pathetically.

There’s more silence, me drumming my fingers against the table. I put the empty cup down and she smiles at me. It’s the first time I’ve been inside her house. It feels very cold and clinical, but not as cold as Jamie’s house. His feels like a museum rather than a house; Belle’s just feels more modern.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a frame. A family photo. I notice it because it’s the only one I’ve seen in her house so far. Usually, people have photographs of themselves hanging all over, but Belle’s walls are blank—there are no signs that tell me she lives here at all, just the fact that she has the key. I smile at her slyly, getting up and walking toward the frame. She gets up too and moves in front of me, covering the photo with her body—her eyes panicked.

“I want to see what a young Belle looked like!” I say, trying to peer over her shoulder, but she blocks me again.

“She’s ugly and has no front teeth. Wanna go to my room?” she asks, her eyes lighting up, panic dissolving. “I have a bunch of movies I haven’t watched yet, if you’re interested.”

I raise an eyebrow, trying to peer over again—everyone has photos of them as a kid that they’re embarrassed about—but she places her hand on my cheek and kisses me. Then before I know it, we are in her room, lips locked, my fingers in her blond curls and her arms wrapped tightly around my waist.

I kicked my shoes off when I entered her house earlier, so now I can feel her soft, stringy rug through my socks, bunching up my toes, then releasing. I can smell her perfume, rosy and light like her.

Suddenly, Belle’s mouth is away from mine, and her face is pink. Her arms release from around me as she steps back, slowly, before sitting heavily on her bed, eyes glued to mine. It’s not cold, but something rushes through me, my hairs sticking up, goose bumps on my neck, my arms, my legs.

Belle is all I can think of, all I can see. I follow her path to the bed and place my hand on her pale cheeks, lifting her face up so that the blue stares into my brown. Placing my head on hers, I breathe her in again, her scent making me want to dissolve forever and forget about everything. The mission tomorrow, how scared I am, how my future is hanging in the balance.

Our lips touch, and move, deeper and deeper, and I feel myself falling forward. I feel her falling, and then we collide, her back springing off the mattress.

I break our connection when I feel her hands rub my scalp.

Where’s my hat? I panic as I move away a bit.

“What?” she asks.

“My hat…,” I say weakly.

“It’s hot in here, you don’t need it on … and besides, I like your hair, it’s nice. I do my hair in French braids too, but I’ve never seen tiny French braids like those before,” she says, inspecting my hair.

French braids. I laugh.

“They aren’t French braids, they’re cornrows.”

Pink dusts her cheeks again. “Ah … sorry, didn’t know.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay, really.” I’m just glad you don’t look at me like I’m other or something, I think to myself, but I don’t say it, because I’m not sure if she’ll get that completely.

Belle nods, a sly smile on her lips as she reaches up to her shirt and starts to unbutton it.

“Want to continue not talking?” she asks, the yellow of her bra making everything inside tingle.

“Not talking is my favorite thing to do,” I tell her.





27


DEVON

Sunday


I knew she was serious when she said, “Wear all black,” but I never thought she meant Dress like a criminal too.

Chiamaka waves to me by the back entrance of our school, with a set of jangly keys in her hand and a balaclava covering her face. I got in through the back gate, usually left open for cleaners to come through. It’s one of the rare places in Niveus without any CCTV. I kept watching my back on the way here, looking for scary masked figures with sharp knives ready to kill us both. But the streets were empty, with no sign of anyone following me at all.