“Whatever,” she says a little too quickly. “It could never work.”
Holden and Kiana grew up next door to one another and used to do everything together. Right before high school, Kiana’s family moved an hour away from Grand Rapids to Lansing, but he’s found ways to stay in touch with Kiana, despite it all. She insists they just have a play-cousin vibe, but it’s way more than that, and I think she knows it.
“Just don’t be surprised when he tries to make a move on you tonight.”
“Can we talk about something else? This is making me anxious. Lemme see your dress. I’m dying to know what you and Juniper picked out to wear.”
“OK, OK. I’ll show you, but I’m not putting it on until after I do my makeup.”
I run to the hallway closet and grab the bags from Stella’s. Then I prance back around the privacy screens into my room holding a strapless, sweetheart-neckline, gold jumpsuit.
Kiana gasps. “Bitch, is that see-through?!”
I give a wicked grin, because it’s my favorite detail—the legs of the jumpsuit are a sheer gold tulle that swishes when I walk, creating a slight peekaboo of my figure underneath. “Oh yes,” I confirm. “The body is going to be bodying in this. I’m going to need some boob tape for extra support, and don’t worry, I have skin-toned undies to wear under the pants. You’ll see, Ki, it fits like a glove.”
“I mean, you’re going to look fucking stunning in it. I love it—it’s funky meets vintage glamour,” Kiana says. “Aww, look at us! I’m so proud. I never thought I’d see the day we’d both be going to a school dance—together—with dates!”
“I mean,youhave a date,” I say, putting down my outfit and starting to prep my vanity with the products I need to film my GRWM. “I have Juniper, my portable ring light and selfie stick, and a bestie who is going to help us get the perfect footage tonight.”
“Boo,” Kiana says. “Just call it a date, OK? Going to a dance with someone you’ve coordinated outfits with is notnota date. Just promise me you’ll have some fun too. We’ll get you your content, but damn, girl, let’s enjoy the night!”
“Fine. I am a little excited. About a night out,” I clarify quickly.
“That’s the spirit!” Kiana grins. “Now, I don’t mean to be a total Capricorn stereotype, but we only have an hour and a half before we need to leave. Get to filming, woman. We’ve got places to be.”
“Right—shit. OK. It shouldn’t take me more than forty-five minutes, promise.”
“Cool. I’m gonna go see what Ms. Viv is watching while you film. Just get me when you’re done, and I’ll do my little fifteen-minute makeup routine and throw on my shoes. Then we can go scoop the others.”
Fifty minutes later, I hit post on my Winter Formal GRWM and stand up from my vanity, which is littered with dirty makeup wipes, brushes, and eye shadow dust. As promised, I’ve done a smoky eye with a pop of black glitter on the lids, a dewy foundation sits effortlessly on my skin, and I’ve added a dusting of mauve blush on my temples to create a flushed effect. But my lips are the best part—covered in a sultry berry lip stain called Vintage Queen.
“Ki!” I yell down the hall. “It’s your turn to do your makeup. I’m done.”
Then it’s all a whirl of the two of us adding the finishing touches to our looks. Kiana dabbing foundation and concealer onto her already impeccable skin, then adding a sharp gold wing to her lids followed by a red lip to match her dress. I get all my undergarments sorted and then slide into my jumpsuit, loving it even more with my makeup and hair and shoes. Plus, I used the $50 Grammy gave me to buy a small cream clutch from Stella’s, the perfect size for my phone, bank card, Vintage Queen lippie, and keys.
“Lyric, baby!” Grammy calls from her room. “Come on in here and let me see you. Making all that noise in there. Betta not leave without saying goodbye.”
Kiana follows me into Grammy’s room, and when we enter, Grammy lets out a long, low whistle. “Now, ain’t you something.” And then, after a beat, “You look just like her sometimes, I swear. It’s like a mirror image.”
I feel my neck tense. We never talk about HER, even though she’s the elephant in the room. Even though I know I look like her—soundlike her even. And though she’s never really been there for me, I feel a stab of grief. Of anger. That she’s missing all of this—my life—the life we could have all had together.
“Thanks, Grammy,” I say, clearing my throat. “Ki did my hair. I think it’s perfect.”
“Good job, Kiana girl.”
“Oh, it was my pleasure. And I just can’t wait to see what Juniper is wearing.”
At the mention of Juniper, I feel my stomach dip a little. Juniper picked out some amazing pieces to match my look, and I hope she feels as confident in them as I do.
“It’s nice that you both got lil dates to this dance,” Grammy butts in. “Have fun but keep it cute. I don’t want to get no calls from the police station tonight.”
“Grammy! We are not going to get arrested.”
“Well, now, that’s what I thought when I went to my junior prom. But then guess what? It happened, and my daddy had to come get me at two a.m. from the station looking like a busted Cinderella. I nearly got the Black whooped offa me when I got home. I never did forgive my date, trifling ass. Didn’t matter that I didn’t know he was selling drugs at the dance. Police came and scooped both of us up anyway.”
I am speechless. Grammy is famous for this: telling me a story from her youth as if she’s told it to me hundreds of times, but it’s always new information. “Grammy—what on—you havenevertold me that story before.”
“Ms. Viv!” Kiana says with mock horror. “Scandalous! So, what happened to the guy?”
