Ace of Spades

by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

  “I know, I know, and I do, I just…”

  I don’t want a repeat of elementary school. I don’t want them to stare. Mom’s eyes bore into me, like she’s trying to work out what I’m thinking—something she’s never really been good at. I don’t want her thinking I dislike my hair or anything else that resembles her, because I don’t.

  I don’t.

  I look away from her, my curls brushing against my face, reminding me that they are there—forever and always, whether I like it or not. Which I do. I do like it.

  I force a smile.

  “It’s okay. I guess I’ll go to school like this.”

  Mom nods. “And hurry, you’re late.”

  I obviously know that.

  It’s only Monday and yet another week is starting to suck.

  I comb my hair as much as I can and put coconut oil in it, before rushing out of the house.

  * * *

  I get to school, wishing I hadn’t rushed so much this morning. Being here today is so different from last Monday. Last week I felt in control, like this year was going to be everything I’ve wished for. And now everything feels uncertain, like there is something dangerous lurking in the corner, ready to attack at any moment. My stomach squeezes into a ball as I walk. I keep my head up, making sure my body does not give off fear.

  Bitches can smell fear.

  I can’t help but feel itchy as their stares dig into my skin. Is it another Aces blast or is it my hair?

  I walk up to Jamie, by his locker. The sound of everyone’s voices, deep in conversation, rises to an unbearable level. He looks down at me briefly, flashing a smile as he searches through his locker, then his head whips back again and his eyes drift up to my hair, then down to my face. I can tell he wants to stare at it some more.

  “Did you just get here? You missed registration,” he says, shutting his locker. I nod.

  “I know, I woke up late.”

  He looks surprised and I don’t blame him. I’ve never once missed registration or woken up late for school before.

  “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” He grins as we start walking toward our chemistry class. I scan the hallway for signs of Ruby or Ava, but they aren’t by my locker.

  People move out the way as we walk through, their gazes fixed on my face, my clothes, and my hair. I feel uncomfortable, but I am not going to let it show.

  “Have there been any developments in the let’s ruin Chiamaka’s life show over the weekend?” I ask. “I didn’t get any anonymous texts so … wasn’t sure.”

  I didn’t get any texts from anyone this weekend, for that matter. My phone might as well have been on silent.

  “No … not since last week. I think Master Aces is done with you,” he says with a wink.

  Somehow, I know for certain that is not true. Why would they put out that stuff about Jamie, and the candy shop? It was like they were teasing. Letting me know there’s more in store for me. There’s someone behind this who has an agenda against me, and I have a body in my closet and a position at school that is always under attack. This feels like it’s only the beginning.

  “I doubt that,” I mumble as we take our seats.

  To prove my point, a swarm of buzzes fills the room. I don’t feel one in my pocket. I want to cry. First the hair thing and now this. Aces is coming for me again, like I knew they would.

  Someone says, “Jesus Christ,” and my insides feel shaky as I look up.

  No one is staring at me.

  Weird.

  “See,” Jamie says, sliding his phone over.

  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.”

  She can’t do that.

  “You can’t do that.”

  Belle wipes her face harshly. “Oh, but I can! The girlfriend is way more important than the ex–best friend,” she says, giving me one last look before storming back down the hall.

  I feel numb. My arms are frozen.

  “That was amazing…,” I hear one of the girls say.

  “She really showed her!”

  I watch Belle—her head bowed, and her shoulders hunched—getting farther away.

  I am a horrible person. I didn’t know about Belle and Jamie, but even if I had, that probably wouldn’t have stopped anything from happening between us. I wouldn’t have cared about her feelings. I just wanted him for myself, even if it meant hurting Belle in the process.

  “What a bitch,” I hear.

  And maybe if it were another time, I would have thought of a smart comeback or walked off with my head held high or found a way to put them in their place. Instead, I turn to face the three demons again, devious smiles on their cherubic faces, and my hand suddenly comes back to life. It whacks the middle one’s face hard enough that it stings my own palm. She immediately covers her cheek, and her jaw hangs open.

  I hear gasps around me as I stumble back. The girl’s expression slowly transforms into a smirk, mischief dancing in her blue-green eyes.

  She opens her mouth wide, an overexaggerated scream erupting from it.

  And in that moment, I know I’m screwed.

  * * *

  Headmaster Ward sits behind his desk, across from me, staring into my soul with his small black eyes, his long wiry fingers crossed over one another.

  “Headmaster Ward, it is not in my character to do something like that. I’ve never gotten into a fight before—things are just really hard lately. I feel like someone is out to get me.”

  I’m so over today.

  “Miss Adebayo, there are countless witnesses, most with spotless records, who say you were bullying the girl. I thought you, as Head Prefect, would know better.”

  “That’s not true!” I say, voice rising. “They are trying to make me look bad. They don’t even know me!”

  His thin lips turn inward. “And why would they do that?”

  I hesitate. Would he even believe me if I told him about Aces? I’ve watched enough murder mystery shows to know nothing good comes from telling on the anonymous bully.

  I sigh, then look down. “There’s this person, or people, texting the entire student body, spreading rumors about me and a few other students, and making school very hard to be in right now.”

  I look up at him again, and his face hasn’t changed. He doesn’t even look surprised.

  “I’ll look into it,” Headmaster Ward tells me. Even though it’s not much, and he doesn’t look like he cares, a tiny weight lifts. Something is happening.

  Maybe I should have just told a teacher all along.

  “We have a zero-tolerance policy for violence. You’re lucky the girl’s parents have decided not to press charges against you. As this is your first misdemeanor, I won’t add it to your permanent record, but this is your first strike. Another, and there will be serious consequences.”

  He dismisses me and I leave his office, passing through hallways where there are still people lurking, even though school finished half an hour ago.

  I’m staring at my dead phone, not bothering to keep my head up and feign confidence. I feel too dejected to pretend. I knew Aces wasn’t finished with me.

  I bump into a soft figure. His cologne and the familiarity of his form make me look up.

  “Oh, hi,” I say awkwardly. Jamie’s hair is pushed back by a bright-red headband, which clashes with the light blue of his football uniform.

  “Hey, Chi,” he says, avoiding looking at me straight.

  “We need to talk—”

  “I think we should distance ourselves for now…,” Jamie says, staring at a locker behind me. “I want to be friends, but I also love Belle and don’t want to lose her.”

  Love. Wow.

  “I’m gonna convince her that you don’t even like me like that and that it didn’t mean anything.”

  I laugh, mostly in disbelief. “Sure, after you told her otherwise.”

  He looks taken aback by the fact that I know that. I raise an eyebrow at him, waiting to see what lie he’ll tell next.

  “She’ll listen to me,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “You can’t just say something and then convince someone you didn’t say it, or that it didn’t happen.”

  This is what Jamie does. He talks about everything that happened like it meant nothing. Rationalizes things, carves out new memories for you.

  I like you a lot, Chi. For real, he’d said that night.

  The past ripples between us, pulling me back in—the night of his party flashing by in broken fragments.

  I remember arriving, meeting Jamie, feeling on top of the world. I remember Jamie handing me a drink, wrapping his arms around me, asking me to meet him in his bedroom. I remember thinking He likes me as he pulled away.

  Then time winds forward. I remember stumbling, his arms wrapping around me, holding me close, and me thinking He likes me, us kissing, He likes me, my eyes still wet, heart beating fast for no reason.

  My head stings and the memory pauses abruptly.

  He’s acting like he didn’t tell me he liked me that night, and then every other night we slept together since. He told me before he left for camp too.

  How will he rationalize that?

  Maybe he’ll say I misinterpreted what he meant. That he didn’t mean he liked me. He meant he liked my body, my flesh, my bones—which he probably thought he could have, whether he saw us as platonic or not.

  Silly me for misconstruing that.

  Now everyone keeps looking at me like I have this giant red A embossed on my school sweatshirt like Hester in The Scarlet Letter.

  Jamie thinks the world is his to control. That he can tell me, convince me, how to think and how to feel, like I’m some puppet. I used to believe it—get swept up in it. But it’s getting harder and harder not to see past his lies; that he’s anything other than selfish; that he cares.

  “It did happen, Jamie. You can’t just make it ‘unhappen.’ Belle’s smarter than you think. She won’t believe you.”

  Jamie laughs. “That’s ridiculous. Of course she will.”

  “It’s not! And I’m so tired of you pretending things didn’t happen!” My face heats up. I hate the way he looks at me, so unbothered by everything. “Things like the accident.”

  His eyes darken, eyebrows knitting together.

  “What accident?” he asks, his tone changing, deeper than before.

  That shuts me up.

  He leans in close, whispering, “You should think before you open your mouth, Chi. People might start to think you’re making things up for attention.” His voice drips with venom.

  We stare at each other for a few moments, his lips tugging up a little. Almost like he’s smiling at me.

  No.

  Mocking me.

  “See you aroun
d, Chiamaka,” he says, his voice slithering back to its neutral state.

  Then he moves past, and I watch his figure compress as he walks away, until it is no longer discernible. The cold in the hallway sweeps into my body.

  There are moments when something happens, and puzzle pieces that didn’t connect before now fit together perfectly. Maybe the piece I’d failed to connect was the one where I thought that Jamie was any different from Ava or Ruby. That he ever really loved me or valued our friendship.

  Nothing he ever told me was true. I was stupid not to have realized that sooner, blinded by the idea that someone could actually love a person like me.

  Maybe what I thought was Jamie’s love was never love at all.

  They say love and hate are the same, just at different ends of the blade.

  I hesitate, before drawing up the list of suspects in my mind and adding Jamie’s name to the spot beneath Ruby’s.

  15

  DEVON

  Monday

  Home, lately, has been the highlight of my day.

  Before Aces, I used to avoid it as much as I could. Despite how much I love my ma and my brothers, I wanted to avoid the reminders of all the bad that happened within those four walls, from my dad leaving, to my ma struggling, to having to live and sleep in the box I share with my brothers, constantly wishing for an out.

  But now I run to the bad for comfort.

  I walk out of the school, along the polished streets and past perfect homes, until I reach the unpolished parts of town, where I can’t afford to look down anymore.

  I cross the road and put my hood up, not wanting the boys in front of Dre’s place to see me again. A lot of the pain and bruising from Friday has subsided. My eye still kills, but I can manage—plus I’ve been somewhat high on the pain meds Ma got from work. They numb everything.

  Everything but Dre.

  They can’t distract or make me unlive Dre breaking up with me. It doesn’t feel like we broke up—it feels like I’ve been banished. Like we can’t be friends anymore. I don’t even need to kiss him or love him if he doesn’t want me to; I just need to be his friend. But even that’s not an option.