I nod, wanting to reassure him, even though I’m not exactly sure how I can stop something that’s out of my control. His boss is this older guy in our area. A guy who trusts people like Dre to do things for him, no questions asked. I’ve only seen him a handful of times, but I’ve heard enough to know that he isn’t a good person.
There’s more silence.
My face naturally pulls into a smile. It’s funny when Dre tries to be serious. It makes him look like he’s got a stomachache or something.
I move closer, leaning in again to kiss him. I’d bet on my right hand (my dominant hand when I play) that he’s smiling now too. I miss this past summer when I was over at his place every other day, sharing moments like this. Moments when the world would fall away, all our problems would dissolve, and it would be just the two of us.
“Love you,” he says quietly, pulling back.
I pause, looking up at him for a few moments, locking this memory away for later. For when I’m up at night and my brain is filled with worries and doubts, and I need the reminder that someone loves me.
“Love you too,” I tell him, feeling warm inside.
I’m hoping Aces doesn’t take that away from me somehow.
* * *
Because I get to school early, there aren’t many people around, so it isn’t as bad as what felt like hundreds of faces judging and whispering in the crowded hallway yesterday. Maybe I should start coming to school earlier all the time, especially since it seems I’m not walking over with Jack at the moment.
I take some blank music sheets from my locker and head up to my first-period music class, where Mr. Taylor is, as usual, by his piano—which is basically his desk. Sometimes I come here instead of registration. Registration is all done electronically anyway, so Mr. Taylor says it’s fine and marks me in.
He nods at me with a friendly smile and I head off to my corner, switching the keyboard on, plugging my headphones in, then closing my eyes and picturing blue.
Bzzz.
My heart sinks as I reach into my pocket.
Don’t let anything else get out. Dre’s words ring in my ears.
[1 new message from unknown]
Just in. Looks like Chi’s not so sweet. Sources say she got caught trying to steal candy. Careful, Chi, don’t want a record Yale will see …—Aces
My heart settles a little.
Chiamaka Adebayo, a thief? Why would she need to steal anything? Like almost everyone else at this school, she probably has enough money in her piggy bank to buy two sports cars and still have some left over to last several lifetimes.
Plus, she seems way too uptight to steal anything. But then again, I don’t know her.
And I don’t care …
I glance at the message again, then chuck my phone back in my pocket.
I check that my headphones are still in, then I breathe.
Drown.
And play.
8
CHIAMAKA
Wednesday
“It’s all over school,” I whisper to Jamie during biology. Thank God there are only a few periods left after enduring people eyeballing and muttering about me all morning.
“It sucks,” he replies, like I just told him the cafeteria is out of fries.
“But no one believes it’s true. Doesn’t take a genius to know you aren’t that kind of person,” Belle says.
I narrow my eyes at her. What is your angle here, Belle? She’s probably trying to look good in front of Jamie, but I see through her.
Like yesterday, Jamie says nothing, and it makes me feel funny inside. Like I should feel guilty for an offense I didn’t commit.
“I’m sure it will blow over,” Belle reassures me.
Again, I ignore her.
“Yesterday evening, one of the science technicians noticed that the science resources storeroom was left open, and unfortunately, some materials we need for today’s experiment were taken,” Ms. Brown says.
That’s … impossible. I always lock the resources storeroom.
“Fortunately, Niveus has plenty of backup materials available. But the theft of these items and the carelessness demonstrated by our Science Rep will be dealt with, and there will be major repercussions.” She pauses. “We want you all to know that we take this sort of thing very seriously,” she finishes, briefly shooting me a severe look.
I feel my face burn as others glance at me too.
“Aren’t you the Science Rep?” Jamie whispers, not so subtly.
I ignore him.
There’s no way I didn’t lock the storeroom. Someone else must have gotten the key and done this. I’ve been Science Rep for years, and not once have I left the room unlocked. I start to raise my hand, ready to clear my name, but I get interrupted by the slimy voice of Satan’s child, Jeremy Hearst, in the corner.
“Well, we don’t want Chiamaka near those spare materials either—you know, since they’re so scarce. Wouldn’t want those to go missing too,” he says, triggering light, awkward laughter. Jeremy’s an ass, that much is public knowledge. We’ve been in the same classes since freshman year, and he’s always thought of himself as the funniest guy in school. The funniest thing about him is his face.
It’s going to take a lot more than fake news to shove me off the top. You’d think after three years he’d know that.
“You can all proceed with the experiment. Chiamaka, can you come up to the front, please,” Ms. Brown says.
I push myself out of my seat, shrugging off the nosy gazes that follow me.
“Chiamaka,” Ms. Brown starts when I get to her desk, her voice low and serious. “I’m only going to ask you once. Did you take the materials?”
I feel offended she’d even ask something like that.
“No, and I didn’t leave the storeroom unlocked either.”
Ms. Brown nods, but, like Jamie, she looks at me as if I’m some crook.
“You of all people know how serious this is. I’ve had a word with some of the other teachers, and they think it’s best that you give the key back,” Ms. Brown says.
“But I didn’t—”
“I’ve heard you. But unfortunately, we just can’t let a careless mistake like this fly. Some of those materials, if found in the wrong hands or in the wrong place, would be a real health and safety issue for the school. I’ll still give you your reference for Yale, but I think it’s best we find someone else to take over managing the resources storeroom. I’m sorry.”
I bet she is.
I nod, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself by arguing back.
“I understand,” I say.
“Good. Drop the key off before the end of the day. I’ll either be in here or the science library.”
Why not now if I’m the criminal they claim I am?
She tells me to go back to my group, and so I turn, trying to make my face as expressionless as possible despite wanting to scream.
“Are you okay? Your face is red…,” Belle says when I sit back down.
I look at her pretty heart-shaped face and kind eyes and then I look away, grabbing the instructions and focusing on them.
Jamie starts telling a bad joke and Belle laughs, and I really want to hit something.
She isn’t even meant to be here. Jamie is my lab partner, but of course, given my luck so far these past few days, Belle was conveniently transferred to this class. Her old teacher is on sabbatical for the semester, so the students in that class got divided up.
“Oxygen and potassium went on a date…”
Oh god, make it stop.
“Ask me how it went?”
“How?” Belle asks.
He told this same joke at my sixteenth. No one laughed.
“It went … OK.” And then he’s laughing and she’s smiling, giving me a side-glance.
I look down at my notebook, tracing over the words written on the experiment instructions sheet. I don’t want to share mocking looks. I don’t want to be friends. I already have a best friend.
I’m just waiting for them to break up, like I predict they will. I’m not sure how but it will happen, I’m certain. Belle is beautiful, but she’s not me. She doesn’t know Jamie like I do. He needs me just as much as I need him.
Their flirting continues for most of the class, and it’s like being slowly tortured to death. I’m relieved when the clock shows that it’s almost time for the bell, as I’ve reached the end of my tether at this point.
“Jamie, are we taking your car or walking to my place later?” I ask, despite not really needing to. I just want it—them—to stop. “For our Marvel binge.” Every second Wednesday of the month, we go over to each other’s house, eat junk food, and watch superhero films.
Belle frowns. “I thought we were hanging out today.”
I squint at her.
Jamie looks between the two of us, a torn expression on his face.
“Chi and I have this tradition … Sorry, babe.”
Babe. That’s new.
The bell rings. “AP Calculus with Mr. Duncan or Mr. Calhoun?” he asks her.
“Duncan,” she says.
I smile.
“Calhoun for me and Chi.”
What a pity.
They kiss and I look away again.
“See you at lunch?” Belle asks, looking at Jamie, then me.
“Sure.”
I say nothing, studying my nails for imperfections. I find none.
“Look at you, all loved up,” I say after Belle goes. We make our way down the marble hallway.
“Belle is great, isn’t she?” I can literally see the hearts in Jamie’s eyes as he says this. The way he’s acting, you’d think they’d been dating longer than a few weeks.
“Great is an adjective, I guess.”
Jamie wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I side-eye him.
What game are you playing, Jamie?
He kisses my forehead. I whack him.
He wipes his mouth. “Why’s there water in your hair?”
I snort. “It’s coconut oil.”
“Smells good,” he tells me, smirking.
I hold his gaze for a moment. A plan starts forming in my head. “Let’s invite Belle today,” I tell him.
His eyes go wide, eyebrows rising.
“Really?” He sounds so excited.
“Yeah, I would love for her to join us.”
“You’re the best, Chi,” he says as we enter Mr. Calhoun’s classroom.
I know, I think, even though I’m not sure how much I believe it. If I were the best, he would have chosen me first.
I learned a long time ago that the key is to make others think you know you’re the best. But what happens when the cracks start to show? When those around you don’t always believe what you feed them? And how can they, when you don’t even believe it, not fully … You pretend that you don’t cry sometimes when you see your reflection, that you don’t stare at other girls and wonder what it would be like to be anyone else but yourself. The real Chiamaka. The person I’m always trying to run away from.
This year I was finally meant to have the perfect boyfriend. I was supposed to leave a lasting impression, make sure everyone at Niveus never forgets me, then move on to greater things.
But it’s not too late. I won’t let these small defeats get to me.
There is a chorus of buzzes and text sounds, and I scramble for my phone, fingers trembling as I clutch it. A text notification from anonymous appears on the screen.
It’s a video.
[1 new message from unknown]
Just in. Porn is easy to come by these days. You either search for it online or it falls right in your lap when you least expect it to.—Aces
I don’t click on the video. The thumbnail is enough to know this isn’t about me. But I can hear the sounds of it playing from Jamie’s phone.
“Can you turn that off?” I tell him, before pocketing my phone and moving to take my usual seat at the front of calc class.
I listen to the sounds of people laughing, and feel agitated. Aces is clearly not holding back.
I’m a careful person, but I’m not perfect. There are things I’ve done, things that could ruin me. Blond hair. So much blood. And things I can’t remember. A disjointed memory of the night I first kissed Jamie sears my mind …
What else do they have on me?
9
DEVON
Wednesday
Since lunch, I’ve been getting stares.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the latest Aces blast was about me, but the question is, what about me? And why do I receive blasts about others only, and not myself?
It’s probably this “Aces” person’s twisted way of adding to the sick feeling in my stomach as much as they can.
“Hey, Richards!” some guy shouts as I walk down the hallway. I stop to look at him. He smirks before wrapping his arms around himself, kissing the air and making smooching noises.
It’s not even been a full week and already senior year is sucking on a level I never imagined it could.
Exiting the double doors of the school brings me a sense of peace. Because at least now, the school day is over and I can go home.
A hand grabs my arm and jerks me into an alley by the main school building. I’m thrown against the brick wall and I hiss, my back throbbing in several places as I collide with the rough surface.
“Do you want to get killed?!” Jack shouts.
“No—”
“Then why the fuck is your fucking sex tape floating around the fucking school?”
My what?
Oh my god.
I might throw up. I can’t breathe … My legs are shaking … My head is spinning.
“I need to find Scotty,” I manage. I need to kill Scotty. A part of me wants to ask to see the video, see how bad it is, but I don’t know if I can handle that.
Jack says nothing. His face is scrunched up, and he’s breathing hard. I don’t know what it is about his expression, but it makes me feel like I should be ashamed of myself.
Like I should feel dirty.
Before he knew I was gay, Jack didn’t look at me like that. He was the first person I told, back when we were still in middle school. Before I came out, life was us having each other’s back, sleepovers, and video games, while Ma was away at work, when we had no one but each other. Now it’s this: Jack hating me for something I can’t change. The both of us wishing things could go back to the way they were before I said those words.
We stare at each other. I have to stop myself from apologizing—because what would I even be sorry for? Existing too loud?
I break eye contact, pushing off the wall, my legs unsteady as I run back into the school, a place I’m starting to hate more than ever. Girls giggle when they see me, and I get it now. I get the mocking from earlier. It’s all making sense.
I’m so embarrassed.
My sight blurs and I try to catch my breath, but I keep choking on air. I sniff, rushing forward, bursting into Crombie, high on adrenaline.
I’m gonna kill Scotty.
I jump onto the stage and tear through the curtain to where the girl from Tuesday is sitting next to Scotty’s slumped figure, rubbing his back. His blue letterman jacket is draped over the back of his chair.
I try calming my breathing before I speak.
“Scotty,” I say. No response.
The girl looks at me with an annoyed expression plastered onto her semi-plastic face. Her nose, which I now notice is a little slanted—I assume from a botched surgery—scrunches up at me.
“Scotty,” she whispers, and he looks up and then looks away.
“My career is probably over,” Scotty says.
My chest is still heaving.
“All the successful people these days have sex tapes. This is a step in your favor,” says the girl. I want to hit her.
Scotty nods. “True.”
I want to hit him.
“Scotty,” I say again.
“Can�
�t you see this is hard for him?” the girl tells me.
I want to laugh. “Hard for him? He’s the one who made the video, and he was the only one who had that video.”
“You’re barely in the video, and Scotty said he deleted it. Besides, do you know how easy it is to hack into anyone’s cloud?” she huffs.
“What?” I say, because I’m so confused. What the fuck is she going on about? I don’t care if I’m barely in it. The fact that I am, and everyone saw it—
I scrunch that thought up like it’s written on a mental sheet of paper. If this gets back home, if Ma sees this, she’s going to be so disappointed in me; she’ll see me differently. And Dre—he said …
“Well, I mean … I guess everyone knows it was you because we heard your voice and Scotty says your name; you guys are pretty vocal—”
“I know it’s you doing this, Scotty,” I say, face burning. “I know it’s you sending the messages, leaking stuff.”
Scotty stares at me, blond hair messy and covering his eyes as a smile slowly appears on his lips. The girl next to him watches us hungrily.
“You think I’m Aces?” he asks, feigning offense.
He’s the only person I can think of with the motive to hurt me and maybe even Chiamaka. We both dumped him.
“It makes sense. You and I aren’t friends anymore, and you’re the only one who could have sent out that video…”
His smile falters a little. I must be imagining it, because surely someone as self-centered as Scotty couldn’t care less about what I think of him.
“That’s right, we aren’t friends, or anything close to that—so why would I waste my time? Why bother with someone no one here cares about? Chiamaka, maybe. People actually want to read about her, but why would I bother with you? What would I get out of that?” he asks.
There’s a tiny pang as his words hit me.
Scotty looks down at his lap, pulling his phone out of his pocket and scrolling like I’m not here anymore.
I used to be able to tell when Scotty was lying. When we were dating, I’d always get this twisting feeling in my gut, something telling me he wasn’t being a hundred percent honest. When he’d admit to cheating on me, what would hurt me most was the fact that I’d known deep down he wasn’t being truthful. He’d confess, I’d cry, we’d kiss and make up. Until the day I broke the cycle and finally stopped letting myself be treated like that. Now, though, I can’t tell. There’s no twisting in my gut, nothing to tell me whether he means it. Whether he had anything to do with this.
Ace of Spades Page 6
