Ace of Spades

by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

  “Yeah?” he says.

  I close my eyes, feeling like I’m floating away, somewhere far from here. I sniff, thinking about what to say next. How to phrase it.

  “Something weird happened at school today, something really, really fucked up.”

  “What happened?” Terrell says, already sounding worried, which is so Terrell. He cares.

  I pull out my phone.

  “The person who’s been spreading stuff about me and that girl, they put these posters up today. I took some pictures,” I say, showing Terrell.

  He looks at my phone, eyebrows bunched up, expression growing more and more pissed.

  “Have you told anyone?” he asks, tearing his eyes away from the screen and looking at me. I look down quickly, picking imaginary lint from my pants, trying not to make eye contact with him.

  “I told Mr. Taylor, my music teacher, today. He said he’s gonna help us find out who put the posters up. Chiamaka and I are breaking into the school on Sunday to catch them in the act and stop them before it gets any worse—if that is even possible.”

  Terrell nods slowly. “Those pictures … They look scary…” His voice trails off. “Just be careful breaking in. Whoever’s doing this could be dangerous. Are you sure you guys will be okay alone? I don’t mind tagging along, if you want.”

  I nod. “We’ll be okay,” I tell him, even though I don’t mean that at all. I just don’t want to drag Terrell any deeper into this. But honestly? I’m terrified. This is our only option at this point, but the situation seems to be spinning out of control—it feels like suddenly everything is at stake. And we have no idea who our opponent is.

  “It sounds like proper CSI work,” he says, pointing his finger guns at me, coming close to my face with them. I turn his fingers toward him but Terrell pushes them back toward me, and I find myself smiling.

  I bury things. It’s how I cope. I don’t face them head-on like Chiamaka does. There’s always the risk you’ll get seriously hurt if you do that, dragging others down with you.

  “Chiamaka even wants me to wear all black, like we’re gonna rob the school or something.” I force out a laugh, but it feels strained.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re gonna do it, do it right.”

  I squint at him. “Are you trying to quote Wham!?”

  “Who’s Wham!?” Terrell asks.

  “Old white band…”

  Terrell ahhs. “I only concern myself with young, pretty brown boys, like myself.”

  I laugh out loud at the statement. “You’re not pretty,” I tell him.

  Dimples appear on both cheeks. “That’s your opinion. I think I’m very pretty; not as pretty as you, but I think I’m okay.”

  “Whatever,” I say, staring down at the picture of the posters on my phone until the screen goes black.

  “Do you guys have any theories as to who might be behind this yet?” Terrell asks, taking one of his textbooks from his desk and onto his lap.

  I shrug. “Chiamaka just says it has to be someone in our classes, who’s watching us all the time.”

  “What if it’s not?” Terrell says.

  I scrunch my eyebrows up. What does he mean by that?

  “What if it’s a teacher? Are there any teachers who might be out to get you?” Terrell continues.

  My mind flashes back to Headmaster Ward in the hallway, how he saw the posters of Chiamaka and me but clearly didn’t give a shit. I think about how quick he was to blame us for the USBs.

  “The new headmaster … He seems to have some issue with Chiamaka and me. And it makes sense. Before he came, things were fine. There was no Aces; it all started as soon as he arrived at Niveus.”

  Terrell nods. “Maybe you guys have been looking for the wrong perpetrator. You should go to the school board, get him fired.”

  I remember in elementary school, I had this white teacher. I couldn’t understand it back then, but she just felt evil. I always got this sense that she hated us—me and the other Black kids in my class. She’d be nice to Jack but would talk down to me like I did something wrong.

  At the time I didn’t understand it, but maybe this is what’s really going on. Maybe Terrell is right.

  It makes sense—Ward would have access to all our files, to the school on weekends. He’d be able to play with the CCTV, shut the lights off, create anonymous school accounts … But how do I even go about proving that type of thing?

  “We probably need more concrete evidence, though. I’m hoping that on Sunday, we’ll get that. If all fingers point to Ward, we take him down,” I say.

  I swear I’m starting to sound just like Chiamaka.

  * * *

  Friday

  It’s Friday, and I’m at school a little earlier than usual because Chiamaka finally wants to speak to me.

  As I walk through the hallway, I can feel the glares of people, the patronizing smiles, shaking their heads—like I give a fuck.

  There are no more posters of Chiamaka up—the walls are blank, with the exception of the posters for that ball we’re all required to go to next week.

  I’m assuming the janitor probably took care of it, but the way everything is so spotless, it’s like yesterday never happened.

  I reach for my phone to check if Chiamaka’s messaged again. I was at Terrell’s place until really late, so I only remembered to charge my phone this morning, which is when Chiamaka texted.

  As I walk into the music classroom we’re meeting in, my screen flashes.

  Okay, guys, this one’s a biggie! Strap on your Gucci belts, and get your popcorn while I tell you a story about a girl who couldn’t wash the blood off her hands. Because if she could, maybe I wouldn’t know so much about it …

  The fuck …

  Our favorite mess … I mean, Head Prefect, would KILL for some attention from Aces. It must be hard going from Queen status to pauper overnight, so I thought I’d help her climb up the ladder again. So, the big question:

  What’s the sentence for murder? Ten years … fifteen … life? Who can help a girl out? More to come soon on this KILLER story.—Aces

  My mind flashes back to the file on the USB.

  The door of the music room bursts open, and I jump back as Chiamaka storms in, tears running down her face.

  “Devon, I think something bad is going to happen to me.”

  24

  CHIAMAKA

  Friday

  [A few minutes before]

  Whispers are like snakes; they slither into your ears and threaten to poison your sanity with their venom.

  I heard Jamie knew …

  I can’t believe she hasn’t been expelled yet …

  I hope Jamie doesn’t go down too, for being associated with her …

  I spot Jamie with some of the football guys by his locker, laughing.

  I approach him confidently, striding forward.

  “Hi, Jamie,” I say, patting his shoulder, which stiffens immediately. I notice some of his friends look at me like they are scared of what I might do to them. The fear in their eyes makes me feel a little unnerved. Even when I was on top, no one looked at me with genuine fear, like they’re doing right now.

  Jamie turns, and when he sees me, his face darkens.

  Then he swivels back and says, “I’ll see you guys later,” and they pat him on the back before rushing down the hallway.

  “What?” he asks.

  I fold my arms to hide my shaking fingers. I haven’t stopped shaking since yesterday.

  “Thank you for what you did yesterday, with the posters,” I say quietly.

  I heard Jamie and some of the football team took the posters down. It was a nice but random gesture. He’s still an ass, but I want to thank him.

  “No problem. Is that all?” he replies coldly.

  Why is he acting like I’m his enemy again, after his so-called apology on Tuesday?

  “About the posters … I w-wanted to ask.” I clear my throat. “That was from your party last year, wasn’
t it? I’ve only worn that dress once,” I say.

  He shrugs. “Maybe.”

  “Do you know what happened that night? The picture was really … weird … I don’t remember a lot.”

  Some people enter the hall, glaring at us and walking away quickly, like they don’t want to be too close.

  “Nope,” he says brusquely.

  The picture from that night makes me feel strange. I’ve never seen it before, and I have no memory of it. Those dolls … they remind me of those dolls from my dreams, the ones that look like her.

  Why would someone release this picture now, if they’ve had it for an entire year? What else happened that night?

  “Are you done with your questions?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Has there been another blast? I might just be being paranoid, but—”

  “They’re talking about you and the accident,” Jamie says smoothly.

  I feel a punch to my stomach.

  “What!?” I squeak out.

  “Aces is hinting at it, at least…”

  “What about you?” If Aces is talking about it, they can’t only be speaking about me.

  “Why would they mention me, Chi?” Jamie says casually.

  I can’t breathe. The pain in my stomach worsens.

  “What?” I say a little louder. “I didn’t do anything!” Jamie was there. Jamie was driving the car; he was supposed to be watching the road, and he hit her—

  “Didn’t you hit her? Leave the body? That’s called a hit-and-run, Chi … People go down for that.” Jamie’s voice burns my ears.

  I see blood, I see her blond matted curls, I see her wide eyes, I see her limp body—I want to cry.

  “You knocked her down, Jamie, you did that! You drove away, you didn’t let us call an ambulance or the cops—”

  “Sure about that, Chi?” he asks with a smile, giving me a look that crumples everything inside. It was a look I always thought meant mischief. But now … it feels like hate.

  The candy store … Aces knowing so much … The way Jamie is speaking. Before it seemed impossible, seeing as he claimed to love Belle, but maybe he would jeopardize their relationship just to hurt me. Like I said, love and hate are twisted versions of each other. Maybe his secret hatred of me outweighed whatever he felt for Belle.

  Jamie turns, stopping in his tracks when I stammer:

  “I-it’s you, isn’t it?” There’s a slight tremor in my fingers as I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “You’re Aces. You set me up in the candy store; you’ve been spreading my secrets around school. You’re the only one who could have known all those things about me. You, for whatever reason, sabotaged your own relationship with Belle … But what did Devon ever do to you?”

  Because Jamie is—was—my best friend. Sometimes best friends mess up, fall out. Sometimes we make each other so angry it turns into resentment, and from resentment, hate. The way he looks at me now, I can see it is definitely hate. For whatever reason, Jamie hates me … But Devon …

  “Is it because we’re Black?”

  There is nothing except Jamie and me. No hallway. No whispers. Just us.

  “Calling me a racist?” he asks.

  Growing up, I realized quite quickly that people hate being called racist more than they hate racism itself. Which is why I’m not surprised when Jamie pauses, places a hand in his pocket, and slowly swivels back around as he speaks. On his face there is this unsettling smile that grows wider the longer I stare at it.

  He steps forward. “Would I have touched you if I hated Black chicks?”

  My body vibrates, anger boiling my blood, vision blurring. I push him, hard, and he stumbles back. Laughter escapes his grinning mouth as he catches himself.

  Why the hell is he laughing?

  “I’m not Aces … but I’m a bit confused here, Chi.” He steps closer, the smirk replaced by furrowed eyebrows. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Since freshman year?”

  “What?” I ask. I can’t stop staring at Jamie’s face, at how easily he makes such drastically different emotions appear. It’s like he’s got a switch somewhere on his body.

  “For people to know your name, for everyone to talk about you. Popularity?” His confused expression morphs into pity. “Now you have it, Chi.” He moves forward again, so close to me I can smell his strong cologne. “How, after all of this”—he gestures around the now almost-full hallway, a grin plastered to his pasty face—“could anyone ever forget the great Chiamaka Adebayo?”

  He reaches out and lightly touches my hair. I want to throw up, the tears in my throat making it worse. I look up at him. He’s so focused on my hair, eyes concentrated the same way they are whenever we do work on the Bunsen burners. Like my hair is a … science experiment.

  Abruptly, he lets my hair go, letting the strands that fall from his rough fingers brush against my face.

  Then, without another word, he turns and leaves.

  The girl who haunts my mind wraps her hand around my neck and starts squeezing, her scream echoing in my brain as I rush through the double doors, up the stairs, and into Devon’s music class, where I told him I’d meet him. But when I get there, he’s staring down at his phone.

  He’s seen it too.

  “Devon, I think something bad is going to happen to me,” I cry out, letting myself go, unable to stop.

  The emotions pile up on top of one another—how scared I felt yesterday, how terrified I feel now. Everyone looking at my passed-out body, laughing at it. Jamie watching my body, using it, laughing at it.

  “That’s Yale gone—my future. I’m going to work in a fast-food restaurant; I can’t be a doctor with this—”

  “Chiamaka—”

  I cry harder. “Everything’s ruined—”

  Richards’s voice startles me as it rises. “Chiamaka!”

  I look at him properly now. He doesn’t even look like he’s wearing a uniform, with that black alien hoodie and his sneakers.

  “Chiamaka, we’ll find them and stop this. Colleges probably don’t care about petty gossip, okay?”

  Devon is a bad liar. Of course they care, but I nod anyway.

  Sunday needs to go off without a hitch; we need to be on top of our game. No one can know about what I did.

  * * *

  Before Aces hinted that I’m a murderer, I thought the whispers and the judgmental gazes were the worst feeling. I was wrong. The silence is much worse. Now, whenever I walk into a hallway or step into a class, everyone goes silent, even the teachers. The silence is a lot louder and more suffocating than their low voices.

  I barely made it through today. It’s hard trying to pretend I’m okay when I’m not. I finish detention, after doing a double shift for missing yesterday’s, and waiting for me outside is Belle. She has this huge smile on her face—like I haven’t been accused of murder, like my whole life isn’t falling apart, like someone isn’t trying to ruin me. Belle hasn’t seemed fazed by what Aces said; I don’t know if that makes her naive or perfect.

  She hugs me, but I can only feel like this hug is a goodbye. I’m just waiting for the next message from Aces now—their story, their evidence. What are they going to say? That I was the one who drove the car, hit the girl, and left her there? In reality, I’m an accomplice at most, but that doesn’t matter. Aces has twisted everything. And who’d believe me over legacy kid Jamie Fitzjohn?

  No one.

  My power has only ever been in the hallways, in what people thought of me. How can that compete against someone whose parents are Niveus alumni and donors, people who hold actual power?

  Belle links her arm through mine, and I hold on tightly as we start walking, leaving the school.

  “Can I walk you home?” I say, hoping she says yes. I don’t want to be left alone in my room.

  “Sure, and on the way, I’ll tell you about how Jamie tried to tell me he has changed. He even said you guys are on speaking terms.” Sarcasm laces her words.

  My stomach turns, and I remember our con
versation from earlier. How Jamie looked at me like I was so beneath him. How confident he seemed that he wouldn’t be implicated in all of this. This whole time I was convincing myself that Jamie was as scared as for his future as I am for mine, but truthfully, he’s a white man and they are able to get away with murder.

  “He has a weird definition of ‘speaking terms.’”

  Belle laughs. “I can’t believe anyone would be best friends with someone like him for that long…,” she says, side-eyeing me. I nudge her softly, laughing a little too.

  “I know, right? And to the girl who dated him—wow, I could never.”

  “Lucky we aren’t those people, right?” Belle asks, her fingers threading through mine naturally—which I try to act casual about.

  “Right,” I say.

  “Anyway, I told Jamie that I have no interest in him, that there’s another person I’m hoping to see.”

  My eyebrows rise, but I try not to look hopeful.

  “Did you tell him who?”

  She shakes her head. “I didn’t know if you’d want him to know.”

  I stop in my tracks and she stops with me.

  On Wednesday we kissed, and then Ward came in and I had to pretend Belle was giving me my homework, praying to God and all other gods that Ward hadn’t seen us. Belle rushed out and we didn’t get to speak about it, especially after yesterday, when I just wanted to be alone.

  Until now.

  We start walking again.

  “Sorry Wednesday got cut short. I wanted to talk after,” Belle says.

  “Me too.”

  I don’t know exactly what it means or why Belle is the only girl I have ever thought about in that way, but I don’t want to examine my feelings; I just want to like her and not think about my parents or the people at Niveus and their judgments and opinions.

  “I’m bi,” Belle tells me. “And I’m out, but I wasn’t sure about you—I mean, everyone sort of knows all the things about you … like the guys you dated—and I didn’t want to assume anything! But you pretty much hated me while I was with Jamie, so I thought the most we could ever be is good friends … until Wednesday.”

  She says “Wednesday” with a playful smile.