With the Fire on High(27)

He must hear her through the phone because he answers before I repeat the question. “Tell Mami I’m not leaving my home. This is where I was born. This is where I live. This is where I’ll die, whenever God decides that should be. You gotta make your home better; you don’t just run because you can. The community needs as many people organizing as possible.”

I nod into the phone even though he can’t see me. And we sit still like that for a while, listening to each other breathe.





Part Two


The Savory





EMONI’S


“No Use Crying Over Spilled Strawberry Milk”

RECIPE



Serves: Your ego when you’re full of regret.

Ingredients:

As many strawberries as you can find Sugar to taste

Enough water to cover the sugar A glass and a half of whole milk Three drops of Caribbean vanilla extract infused with mint Directions:

1. In a saucepan, heat strawberries, water, and sugar until it boils. Water will begin to evaporate and the mixture will thicken until it looks like jam. Keep on the stove for the duration of three listens to a Cardi B song.

2. Strain the mixture so that the cooked-down strawberries are separated from the leftover syrup. Let the syrup cool.

3. Pour a large glass of milk and mix the equivalent of three mouthfuls of syrup into the milk and the infused vanilla. Stir until the milk is evenly pink.

*Best enjoyed while playing hide-and-seek with your toddler and listening to Rihanna’s top hits.





Skipping


I don’t go to Culinary Arts the following Monday. I sneak into the library through the back entrance instead. The library is nice and quiet and teachers rarely look for students here.

When Wednesday afternoon rolls around, I still don’t go to class. Malachi somehow sneaks off a text asking me where I am. I send him a smiley-face emoji but nothing else. He shoots me questioning looks during Advisory every morning, but I shake my head, and he finally stops asking me about class and we talk about other things. I spend the whole week doing assignments in the library and ignoring the absences I’m racking up. At some point Ms. Fuentes will receive a notice letting her know one of her students isn’t attending a class. And I know that I’m also setting myself up to fail the class. But although I never want to go back to Culinary Arts, I also can’t bring myself to drop it completely, and it doesn’t seem ready to drop me, either; in fact, it confronts me at the Burger Joint.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

I move to the assembly line and grab the order of burgers and fries, juggling them on the tray before handing them to my customer. She wishes me a nice day and moves off, and the next customer moves forward. I pull my visor tight around my ponytail and look up.

Malachi. It’s Friday afternoon and I’ve missed an entire week of Culinary Arts classes. I’ve also only responded to his texts with one-word answers and emojis. He keeps asking me if I’m coming back to class, and if I’m okay, and honestly, I don’t know the answer to either of those questions, so it’s easier to keep it light and simple with memes and song lyrics.

But now, Malachi is here, in the Burger Joint, with Pretty Leslie next to him. If he’s surprised to see me he doesn’t let on, but she smiles, her red-painted lips like a curtain parting above her teeth. And I can almost imagine her greeting me in a circus conductor’s voice. Ta-da! Here’s me taking another shot at embarrassing you, bitch!

“Emoni,” she says, like we’re old friends, making the last syllable last three seconds. “Hey, giiirl.” She bats her long fake lashes at me and I want to pluck each one from her face.

“Welcome to the Burger Joint. Can I take your order?” I ask them with the same tone I use for every customer. I know I owe Malachi more than this, but I just don’t have the energy to pretend to be nice to Pretty Leslie or to wonder why he’s here with her at all.

“I’ll have a number two, extra cheese, the pickle on the side, the fries extra crisp, and barbecue sauce. Oh, and one of those apple-pie pockets. They’re so good . . . maybe I should get ice cream to go with it.” Pretty Leslie taps a long red nail against her chin. It matches the color of her lip stain exactly. I click in the order and wait for her to decide. I can’t tell if the ice-cream thing is real or if she’s trying to allude to Malachi’s and my ice-cream date. “No, no ice cream. I have more than enough without it.”

I raise an eyebrow at Malachi but don’t say anything.

“I’ll have a number five, with a cup of tap water.”

I punch his order in. “Together or separate?”

Pretty Leslie giggles. “Together. Oh, Emoni. It must be so nice to work with food even though you quit our class. I’m sure you learn a lot here.”

Malachi raises an eyebrow at her and moves toward the far wall but she doesn’t budge.

I smile at Pretty Leslie. “I appreciate your concern. When your order is ready it will be handed to you over there.” I point to the receiving counter.

She walks away, making sure I see the smirk on her face.

“Emoni, stop fraternizing with the customers. Even if they are your friends from school,” Steve says from behind me. I sigh and look at the next customer.

“Welcome to the Burger Joint. Can I take your order?”