“Didn’t you read the post? He’s a guy I game with.”
“Where did you meet him?” Devin’s expression was more shocked than angry.
“In game.”
He frowned. “How did you get this picture?”
“I took it,” Aimee said. Devin’s head whipped to look at her.
“Who posted it on that account?” he asked.
“Earl’s Whispers is anonymous,” Cass said.
Devin scowled. He was jealous. Devin had never been a possessive boyfriend. At least not when we were actually together. But this. This was new.
And completely uncalled for.
I stepped closer to him, going for menacing. “What, am I not allowed to date? You’re allowed to practically impregnate Hana Dawar in the hallway, but I can’t meet up with a guy I’ve been gaming with almost daily for months?”
“Samaya, I wasn’timpregnating Hana. I have no idea who took that picture of her and me.”
“Are you dating her?”
He didn’t say anything. Just blinked at me with those coal-black lashes.
“So, if youaredating her, then why amInot allowed to move on, too?” I asked.
When he still didn’t speak, I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself before I made a scene. The last thing I needed now was a photo-hungry bystander. “Who I associate with is no longer your concern,Devin Kapadia. You and me, we’re not a thing, remember? You told me that in the last week of grade eleven, and I repeated it back to you two days ago.” I turned around and started walking away. “For the last time ... goodbye.”
I didn’t see Devin for the rest of the day, which was great. Mostly. But still. I felt really weird about that whole conversation. I’d dated Devin for more than two years. Old habits die hard, and that seemingly genuine upset look on his face when I told him we weren’t a thing was burned into my brain. I kind of understood his outburst. Hell, I’d also had a mini meltdown when I saw him with someone else. But I’d accomplished my goal. I’d wanted to upset Devin—the best revengewasliving well. But that didn’t mean it felt good.
As the day went on, it was clear the picture was not just successful at upsetting Devin but was also doing wonders for my reputation. It felt likeeveryonesaw the Earl’s Whispers post. Or spoke to Hana. And everyone wanted to say something to me about it. I got congratulations in class, high-fived in the hallways, and a standing ovation in functions. (That may have been a bit of a joke.) Anyone I was slightly acquainted with asked me who that mystery guy in the picture was.
I told everyone the same thing. Just a guy I met gaming. Yup, he’s into math, too. Nah, we’re not serious. Just having fun!
It was a 180-degree change from the day before. No more sideways looks in the hallways. I feltrespected.
I could get used to this.
I didn’t stick around after school to bask in my newfound glory. It was Thursday, and I needed to get to the New Beginnings Family Shelter formy first volunteer shift. The shelter was about a twenty-minute bus ride west from school on the edge of a residential area, near a large, forested park on the bluffs. It was a large two-story gray building with a grassy yard in front of it that was surrounded by a black iron fence. The yard had a little patio with outdoor furniture on one side and a large kids’ playground on the other. That must have been the playground kids from my school built. I went through the gate and walked up to the heavy-looking front door. Was I supposed to knock, or just walk in?
“You look like a fairy,” said a small voice.
I turned, startled. A cute little girl sat on a tricycle near the playground. She was Black, with hair pulled into puffy pigtails, and was wearing red pants with a pink T-shirt.
I looked down at her. “Why do you think I’m a fairy? I don’t have wings.”
She looked at me solemnly and pointed to her shirt. It had a faded graphic of that old Disney cartoon with Tinker Bell and her fairy friends on it. She pointed to a fairy with dark purple hair and winged eyeliner. “Your eyes are like hers.”
I made a mental note to tell Aimee that her makeup lessons had impressed a preschooler.
“My hair isn’t purple, though,” I said. “And it’s short.” I touched the ends of my black hair.
She shrugged, then pointed to the token Black fairy. “I want to be this one, but I don’t have a yellow dress. I’ve never seen a real fairy before. Have you?” she asked.
“No. I thought fairies were make-believe,” I said, then cringed. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I hope I hadn’t crushed the belief system of a child living in a shelter. I was so not used to talking to little kids.
She shook her head. “Mama says fairies are pretend, but she’s wrong.” She leaned in close. “You have to be careful. Fairies don’t like people. Unless people bring them candy. Then they let you see them.”
