Grown(51)

“We belong together, remember? Like Tammi and Marvin.”

“Tammi died.”

“So did Marvin. Is that what you want me to do? Die?”

For a bristling moment, I almost say yes.

“Just . . . please, you can’t be here.”

“Aight, one more question, then . . . I’ll leave you alone.”

I swallow. “OK.”

“Did you ever love me?”

It’s the same question I’ve been asking myself for weeks. Did he ever really love me? Because I loved him. Our love felt deeper than the ocean, endless and beautiful.

“Yes. But . . . I can’t be with you anymore.”

He pulls me into his arms again. “I’m sorry, baby. We’ll . . . we’ll try again. It’ll be better this time. I’ve changed. I saw you sing the other day. You were so beautiful.”

He was there. I knew it!

“I . . . I have to go.”

“Bright Eyes, you’re eighteen now. We can be together like we talked about.”

“Please, Korey,” I sob, grabbing the door handle. “I can’t.”

His face darkens. “You leave me again, you’re going to regret it. You need to come back where you belong.”

A small flame flickers in my belly. Something I’m not used to. Water and fire don’t mix. But now, I’m made of both. Thinking quick, I grab my phone, opening up the maps.

“What are you—”

I hold the phone up to his face. “There’s a locator on my phone that shows my exact location. I was supposed to be at dinner ten minutes ago. If you don’t let me out, they are going to come looking for me. Right here.”

Korey glances at the screen then back at me.

Shea is standing in the lobby of the convention center when I arrive, arms crossed.

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling!”

“Sorry,” I mumble, still stunned my bluff worked.

She frowns. “You OK?”

“Yeah,” I squeak. “Ready for dinner?”

Three exits, no windows. Bathrooms on the left.

The evening’s welcome party is held in the convention center’s ballroom. Another dance with a trash DJ and strobe lights. Except there are over a thousand affluent black kids here, smashed together in the shadows. Shea is kicking it with Aisha, taking Snapchat selfies. Sean is dancing with some girl from the Miami chapter in the corner. Creighton doesn’t leave his seat at the far end of the ballroom.

Three exits, no windows. Bathrooms on the left.

How can I be so numb but can feel every atom floating through my body?

Worse, I’m craving my purple drink. Bad.

A few other Will and Willow members recognize me, or heard of me, but with the bald head, I no longer look like the girl I was with Korey. I’m back to my old self but somehow new.

Three exits, no windows. Bathrooms on the left.

Can’t stand facing one direction too long; need eyes on every door. What if he shows up, another surprise performance? What if he’s already here? What if he finds Shea first?

“Shea,” I gasp, spinning around to search the crowd. Across the room, my eyes refocus on a familiar face, chest tightening.

Derrick gives me a slight wave, and I let out a relieved laugh, maneuvering through the crowd. We make our way toward each other, meeting in the middle.

“There you are! Like, the REAL you. Not that chick I met on the road.”

“Hey, that chick you met still has horrible taste in TV,” I shoot back with a smirk.

Derrick nods. “It’s good to see you.”

“Surprised I’m here?”

“No. I’m glad, though! How are . . . things?”

“‘Things’ are OK. For now.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m mad proud of you. I know that . . . took a lot.”

I press my lips together to keep them from trembling. “Thanks,” I say, voice cracking.

“Yo, that Creighton guy,” he says, nodding in his direction. “He ever come clean about what happened between you two?”

“What? How’d you know about that!”

Derrick rolls his eyes. “Man, dummy confessed to one of my boys, saying how guilty he felt but afraid of getting kicked out of W&W. It’s why he wanted to help you.”

“Oh. Well, it’s whatever. And he did help me get away from Korey, by sending me you.”

Derrick’s face turns up into a snarl, his voice stern.

“Yo, you can’t keep burying what happens to you, thinking it’ll solve itself. Your voice ain’t just for singing, you know? You gotta speak up. If not for you, then for the next you, ’cause there’s gonna be one if you let people think they can get away with hurting you.”

Guilt pulses up my spine. I nod my head. “You’re right.”

Derrick takes a relieving breath before his eyes light up. “Yoooo! Did you watch last week’s episode?”

Within minutes, the mood shifts, and we’re back to shit-talking, debating which we like more, Love and Hip Hop NY or ATL. I’m always a fan of NY but ATL has some characters. I laugh, like really laugh with my whole chest, for the first time in months. Feels good. Almost normal.

From the corner of my eye, I see Malika—hard to miss being the only person in the middle of the room not dancing, a bright phone screen reflecting off her face. Hand to her mouth, she gapes in horror before her head pops up, looking dead at me.