“Jazzy, I’m not trying to hear your anti-Tre’Shawn campaign. I need a non-biased opinion, please.”
“Um, I said all of my reasons are legitimate. Do you wanna hear them or not?”
I sigh and turn toward her, my back to the hustle and bustle below. “Fine. List ten of them. Only ten,” I say, with a warning eye. “I don’t wanna hear this all night.”
“All right, fine, let’s see. Number one: he thinks he’s all that.”
“He does not!”
“Ha! Girl, yes he does,” she says. “He walks around school like he’s God’s gift to the human race. He cute, but he ain’t fine-fine.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” I say. “What else?”
“His laugh is reason enough,” Jazzy says. “Sounds like he’s strangling on water and trying to clear his throat.”
Okay, that is a pretty accurate description. “I think it’s a cute laugh.”
“You’re brainwashed; of course you do. Three, his jokes are corny. Okay yeah, sometimes they make me laugh but dang, boy. Get better material.”
I laugh. “Quit hating.”
“All facts, boo. No hate. Four, when he smiles, his eyes light up and make him look like a total goofball,” she says. “Five, he cannot dance. He has that one lil move that he does over and over again but for some silly reason, he thinks he’s got skills.
“Six, he wears the same cologne all the time. I’m always like damn, switch it up, my dude. Nope, he only wears Ralph Lauren Polo. Every time I smell it, I think of him now. Seven, he licks his lips a lot, especially when he’s thinking hard. Eight, his hands are way too soft. Nine, that little fuzz above his lip. Grow it or cut it, please. Ten, speaking of lips, his are way too plump in the first place. And bam, there you go. Ten reasons,” she says.
“Wow,” I say, as I look at her. “You noticed all of that?”
“Yeah.” Jazmyn shrugs. “How can I not?”
How can I not?
Half the stuff Jazmyn just said, I haven’t paid much attention to. Here I am, his girlfriend, and I hadn’t realized he only has one dance move or that he licks his lips a lot. The cologne thing I knew. He wears Ralph Lauren because I love it so much.
But it’s not really bothering me that I didn’t notice all of these small details. It’s the fact that my best friend did.
It makes me think of something my mom once said. She and Daddy first met at Jackson State their freshman year. Daddy was a drum major, and Momma said he didn’t walk around campus, he strutted, as if he knew he was “all that and a bag of chips.”
“Lord, I couldn’t stand that man,” she said. “Every small thing about Freddie Simmons irked me with a passion. But one day, I realized something. All those small things irked me mostly because I was mad at myself for being attracted to them. I had strong feelings for that man, all right, just not in the way I thought. They’re not lying when they say there’s a thin line between love and hate.”
I stare at Jazmyn. For years, I couldn’t explain her disdain for Tre’Shawn, but now it’s like I finally see a part of her that she’s hidden. Or maybe it was there all along, and I didn’t wanna see it.
“We’re girls, right?” I say.
“You even gotta ask that? Of course we are.”
“And you’ll be completely honest with me, right?”
“Absolutely,” Jazzy says.
I bite my lip. “Do you . . . do you secretly like Tre’Shawn?”
Her eyes widen. “What—Kay—”
“Hold up, what you say?” Tre’Shawn snaps up ahead. He’s out of his seat and towering over Micah. Micah looks ready to rise, but Mrs. Tucker quickly scrambles over.
She pulls my boyfriend away. “No fighting!” she says. “New seating arrangement! Kayla, come sit here with Micah. Tre’Shawn, you sit with Jazmyn.”
Shit.
My night keeps getting worse.
“What did you say to him?”
“I told you, Kayla. I didn’t say much,” Micah claims.
“Okay, but what did you say?”
The bus creeps through Chinatown. Mr. Wright said it’s home to one of the best ice cream shops in the city.
I miss the days when all it took was an ice cream cone to fix everything. There’s not enough ice cream in the world for all I’m dealing with.
I glance back. The moonlight just barely reveals Tre’Shawn with his jaw set hard and his eyes in our direction. Jazmyn sits straight as a board at the very end of the seat they share, as far as possible from my boyfriend as she can be.
She’s sent me a bunch of texts. I haven’t read any of them yet.
Micah watches Chinatown pass by. “It’s dope how there are all these different pockets in the city that are so unique. Which neighborhood do you think you’d live in?”
“Stop trying to change the subject and answer my question,” I say. “What did you tell Tre’Shawn?”
Micah shrugs. Nothing ever seems to bother him. As someone diagnosed with anxiety, I envy it, even admire it. At the moment it’s frustrating as hell.
“I said the truth, Kay,” he says.
My heart pounds. “Which is?”
“That it was really shitty of him to lie to you just to hang with his friends, and that he better watch out or someone else may scoop you up.”
Holy—“You didn’t. Micah, you didn’t.”
He shrugs again. “I keep it real. Didn’t you say that’s one reason you like me? Even highlighted it in your piece in the school paper.”
I did. It was one of the main reasons Micah’s track teammates said they made him captain—he’s honest to a fault and he expects honesty right back. The guy you can trust with just about anything. I once wondered if hearts were included.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him and myself. “It wasn’t your place to say that.”
“I have no problem speaking up for someone I care about,” Micah says.
I glance away. It’s hard to look at Micah when he talks like that. Best way I can describe it is like staring into the sun. You know it’s not good for you, but part of you wants to stare because of the warmth it gives.
“It still wasn’t your place to say that,” I mumble. “Now he’s mad.”
“Let him be. You were mad when he lied and ghosted you.”
“I forgave him earlier,” I say.
“Did it take lying to yourself to do that?”
“What do I have to lie to myself about?”
“You tell me,” Micah says.
I shake my head, ’cause that’s easier to do than respond. “Just stop, Micah.”
“Fine,” he says. He turns to watch the streets below.
Micah first transferred to our school last year, right after Christmas. Until then, I didn’t know it was possible for someone to turn my life upside down with so little effort. He’d catch my eye in the hall, and my whole face would get warm. He’d scoot his desk near mine when our teacher put us in a group together, and I’d secretly hope that our arms might brush or our feet might touch. After every encounter, I’d beat myself up for having those feelings.
Sitting so close to him now, I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. I wish they’d drop dead.
Out of nowhere, Micah goes, “You notice how in New York, people can be here and not be here?”
I look at him. “What?”
“Like over there.” He nods at this couple who are clearly tourists. They point out the buildings, even in the dark. “They’re here-here. Noticing everything around them. But then you got somebody like that dude.” He points at this guy whose eyes are completely on his phone as he walks. “Chinatown is just a sidewalk to him. He knows it so well, he doesn’t even have to look where he’s going.”
“Probably a native New Yorker,” I say.
“Probably. But even if I was from here, I’d rather be like them.” He points out the couple again. “In awe of all the things instead of not appreciating them because they’ve always been there.”
&nbs
p; He looks at me as he says it.
“What are you trying to get at?”
He leans a little closer to me. “Who said I’m trying to get at anything?”
Fact: Anytime Micah gets close to me, I get goose bumps, as if my skin comes alive at the thought of him touching it. Anticipation can be torture if you let it.
I scoot away and glance back. Tre’Shawn watches, but I can’t read his face in the dark, which is worse.
“I didn’t mean to piss him off,” Micah claims.
I look at him again. “Oh really?”
“Promise. I never said I was trying to scoop you up. Homie got mad at the idea of me saying somebody might.”
“Because you don’t say that to another person about their girlfriend, Micah.”
“Even though it’s true?” he asks. “He’s damn lucky to have you, baby girl.”
Logic says that having a girlfriend who purposely tries to hang out with another boy isn’t exactly luck. “That’s sweet of you to say, but you don’t really know me, Micah.”
“Then let me get to know you.” He turns all the way toward me. “Let’s play twenty questions.”
“What?”
“Twenty questions. We gotta do something to pass time.”
“Micah, stop trying to—”
“Get to know you a little more without any ulterior motives?” he asks. “No funny business. Promise. Like I said, it’s just a game to pass time.”
We are moving slow again—I could probably walk faster than this bus is going. It wouldn’t hurt to do something to keep me from getting worked up. This could easily become the tour bus ride from anxiety hell any moment.
“Fine,” I say. “I start first though.”
“Of course. Shoot.”
“All right. What’s your biggest fear?” I ask.
“Dang. Trying to make a dude vulnerable from jump,” he says. “Drowning. I fell into a pool when I was two. Still remember it in flashes. I’ve hated water ever since. What’s yours?”
“Can’t come up with an original question? Wow,” I tease, and he rolls his eyes. “Losing everyone I love is my biggest fear. I cried like a baby when my sister moved overseas and my brother went to Dallas. Stupid, because they’re still alive. But it hit that fear, I guess.”
Micah nods slowly. “I can get that. I’d probably feel some kinda way if I had siblings and they moved away.”
“I forgot you’re an only child.”
“Proudly,” he says. “We catch a lot of flak but we’re dope as hell. Just don’t like to share much.”
“As the baby of my family, I was spoiled and didn’t like to share either, so I get it. Okay, next question: cat or dog person?”
“Dogs all day. Cats are demons.”
I gasp. “What? How dare you!”
Micah puts his hands up. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, all right? One scratched me up when I was eight, and I haven’t trusted them since. I won’t ask your preference. It’s real clear. So my question: Morning person or night owl?”
“Morning easily. You?”
“Look who’s being unoriginal now,” he says. I roll my eyes. “Morning too. I always get the best runs in first thing in the morning. Chocolate or vanilla?”
“Chocolate for sure,” I say.
“That’s why you’ve been staring at me so hard? All this chocolatey goodness over here?”
My mouth drops, and Micah cracks up. “You walked right into that one,” he says.
“Jackass,” I say, and he only laughs more. “PlayStation or Xbox?”
“Play. Stay. Tion. All day, every day, forever,” Micah says. “You play?”
“Yep. I’ve got Call of Duty on lock. My brother, Junior, and I play online a couple of times a week. My sister joins every now and then, but the time difference makes it hard.”
“Damn,” Micah says, with a small smile. “I should start calling you New York.”
“New York?”
“Yeah. I keep discovering new things I like about you, just like I do with the city.”
My cheeks get warm, and it’s got nothing to do with the heat wave.
This is the problem. I can easily fall into a “normal” with Micah before I realize it, which is a disaster waiting to happen when my boyfriend is only four seats away.
No, I can’t do this. I can’t. I hop up. “Um, you know what? I should probably . . . I should probably find a new seat.”
Micah frowns. “What? Why?”
I grab my backpack. “I just need some space.”
Someone takes a gentle hold of my arm. “Kay?” Tre’Shawn says. “You all right? He ain’t messing with you, is he?”
“Wow. You really bugging,” Micah says. “You act like you scared I’ll scoop her up.”
“Ain’t nobody worried ’bout your nosy ass,” Tre’Shawn says. “You need to stop speaking on things that don’t concern you.”
Mrs. Tucker is out of her seat and stepping between me and Tre’Shawn and Micah. “Everyone, back to your seats!”
“I care ’bout Kayla, so this does concern me,” Micah says.
“Kayla ain’t your concern!” says Tre.
I break away from his grasp and I put my hands up. “You know what? You two can figure this out on your own. Mrs. Tucker, I’m going downstairs.”
Micah and Tre’Shawn both call after me, but I ignore them and climb down to the main level of the bus.
It’s deserted down here. I’m not surprised. Like I said, all the other tourists got off a while ago and walked. Only the driver, Mr. Wright, is down here now. He nods and hums with an old R&B song on the radio. Hard to believe this is the same man who cusses people out so easily.
“Ah! Hello, my dear,” he says, with that thick Jamaican accent. “Did that bossy woman up there send you down here to check on me now?”
I smirk and take the seat behind him. Bossy is an understatement when it comes to Mrs. Tucker. She power trips to the highest degree. “No, sir. I wanted a different view, I guess.”
“But the best view of the city is up there!” he says. “We’re about to pass City Hall, in fact. You tourists love to see that place.” He picks up his mic and tells the whole bus.
I shrug. “It’s just another building to me.”
He chuckles heartily, and I smile. His laugh reminds me of my dad’s.
“You’ve got that right,” he says. “It’s just another building at the end of the day.”
I settle into my seat and stare out the window. The blanket of darkness hasn’t lifted from the city, yet it seems like everyone’s already made good with the new normal. That’s one thing I like about New Yorkers. They roll with the punches like they never feel the contact.
I take a deep breath. The situation with Tre’Shawn, the possibilities with Micah, the reveal with Jazmyn, they’ve all been suffocating me. Never thought I’d almost feel relieved to be by myself. Now the question is: What do I do?
“You wanna know something?” Mr. Wright says. “Tourists fawn over the city. Manhattan, Manhattan, Manhattan,” he mocks. “But you haven’t seen New York City until you’ve visited Brooklyn.”
“You sound like my uncle. He lives there.”
“Eh, is that so?” he says, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. “Which neighborhood?”
I shrug again.
“Oh no, no, no. You gotta know the neighborhood. Neighborhoods make all the difference, my dear. I live in Bed-Stuy.”
I tilt my head. “Like that old rapper?”
“Old rapper? Oh, no, no, no.” He shakes his head. “You can never step into Brooklyn and refer to Biggie Smalls in that manner. No, no, no.”
“Biggie. Right.” My bad for not remembering the name of a rapper who died before I was born. “I think my uncles and my cousins live in Bed-Stuy.”
“And they didn’t teach you no better than that? Bomboclaat!”
That sounded like a curse word. “I haven’t seen them since I was a kid. I hoped I’d get to visit them during this
trip, but that’s probably not happening.”
“Why not? You could catch a train.”
“Mr. Wright, you’ve met my teacher,” I say.
He laughs again. “Understood. If I could, I’d drive you over the bridge myself right now. There’s supposedly a big block party in Bed-Stuy tonight. It’d give you southern kids a real taste of New York.”
“Yeah, if only,” I mutter, and sigh. My life is full of “if onlys” at the moment.
In the rearview mirror, I see Mr. Wright tilts his head while staring at me. “Something on your mind, dear?”
“I’m okay, but thank you,” I say. This man has to navigate a double-decker bus through Manhattan. He doesn’t need to hear about my problems.
“Child, you may as well spill it,” he says. “It’s written all over your face. Is it a boy? Or a girl? Or a nonbinary person?”
I’m impressed at his openness. Back home, I probably wouldn’t get that benefit. “It’s a boy. Two boys, actually.”
“A love triangle,” he says. “Those can be messy.”
I hold my forehead. It’s starting to ache just at the thought of this mess. “Yeah, and I’ve got an inkling it may actually be a love square.”
He winces. “Ohhhhh. Quadruple messy.”
“Right. I don’t know what to do.”
Which is a foreign feeling. I always know what to do to solve a problem. It’s part of being an expectations meeter—nobody expects me to end up in bad situations because I always make the right choices.
This is totally different from choosing to not get pissy drunk at a party or picking an elective that will look good on my college applications. Hearts are involved. But unfortunately, I don’t even know what mine wants. Tre’Shawn and Micah have both wiggled their way into little compartments inside of it.
“I may not know details, dear, but I have some advice if you’d like it,” Mr. Wright says.
“I’ll take whatever advice I can get, to be honest.”
“If only my children started saying that.” He chuckles. “Now, I’m going to assume that you don’t know which of these young men you should be with, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s been a long time since I was around your age, so I may sound like an old man by saying this, but why do you have to choose?”
Umm . . . I know New York is a bit more eccentric than Mississippi, but is he saying what I think he’s saying? “So I should be with both of them?”
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