“I wanted to look nice,” I lied.
She side-eyed me. “For your cue sheets?”
“For the children.”God, forgive me.
If I were Catholic, I’d be needing to do some kind of penance for all this lying. Taniyah wasn’t going.
“For Jabali,” she corrected, all sing-song.
I felt a blush warm my face. “Yeah, he said he was coming,” I admitted. “With Truth and Braeden after his shift at the store.”
“He better. I need him to see my girl ain’t to be played with.” She snapped three times, but frowned when I didn’t crack a smile. “You okay? You been weird since Thanksgiving.”
Thanksgiving.
My stomach flipped. Suddenly, I saw flashes of that Thursday. Jabali had come over after his family’s dinner. We sat on the back of his truck parked by the huge magnolia tree on my grandmother’s land. He’d kissed me and I… I just remembered things. The way his hands slid under my sweater. The way he whispered my name against my skin like a prayer. The way I had trusted and given him everything in a way I’d never imagined before coming to Emancipation.
Even though it was spontaneous—I told myself that, even though anyone watching us probably knew what was coming—we had been careful. There was a condom and spoken consent from both of us. He didn’t ghost me afterward like they swore teenaged boys did. He checked on me, brought me flowers and hot chocolate and a book about being a better writer. It felt good, like this beautiful, brilliant boy saw me and not just the money my last name carried in this town.
But I was an overthinker with insecurities. Now, every time my mind replayed those moments, part of me panicked. What ifI had misread everything? What if it had meant everything to me and nothing to him?
“Girl, I’m alright. I just really need tonight to go right. Mrs. Amanda been bragging to everybody that I’m the ‘assistant-stage manager’ like it’s a real job or something.”
“Itisa real job. I told you about diminishing what you do. Shine, bestie. I’m ‘bout to with this perfect solo, so stop stressing, okay?” she fussed.
I nodded. She hugged me and went to check in with the choir director. I watched her go, smiling. Taniyah was a sweetheart, one of the best things about my move to Emancipation a year and a half ago.
“Look at little Ms. Grindley, acting important,” a syrupy voice said behind me.
I knew that tone. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
Shayla.
She and her cousin Donique had somehow made it backstage even though they were not working the play. They definitely didn’t look like they were coming to an outdoor community production with their (fake) fur-trimmed coats, skintight jeans, and too much makeup. These bitches had committed themselves to making my life hell when I’d never even bothered them.
I glanced at them, twisted my lips, and looked back at my clipboard. “Y’all not supposed to be back here.”
Donique scoffed. “Relax. We just visiting. You ain’t the boss of the whole world.”
“That headset make her feel like it though,” Shayla added, laughing.
I breathed in slow. Out slower. I wasn’t about to cuss them out and get in trouble when I’d worked so hard for this play. I knew how to do this.Ignore them and move away, I told myself.
“Kyleigh, double-check the mics, please,” Mr. Floyd, the real stage manager, said, giving me an out.
I stepped to the side and checked the battery on one of the handheld mics. Mr. Floyd was across the stage, messing with the “God mic.” I swear he loved that thing; he used it like we really were on some big ol’ theater set. He had set it on a stool for a second while he adjusted some wiring. The speakers above us hummed as I did what he asked, pretending Shayla and Donique were invisible. But no one would ever accuse those two of being able to read the room. They followed me like two annoying puppies.
“Anyway, speaking of acting important… I heard you think you somebody now that you got Jabali Christopher looking at you,” Shayla taunted.
My hand froze on the mic. I turned slowly. “I do not ‘think I am somebody.’ And me and J?—”
Donique smirked. “Aww, she mad. That’s so cute.”
“I am not?—”
“Girl, calm down. We just talking,” Shayla said, leaning on the costume rack. “It’s just funny, that’s all. Watching you act like you special. Like he want you.”
“He does want me,” I said before I could stop myself. “Why else we been talking since August?”
