I zipped my dress, laced my J’s, and put on my lip gloss, kind of feeling myself. The dress hugged me snugly, showing off my shape. The sneakers said I wasn’t here to wobble. I looked at the mirror and had to admit—the girl was fine. Not for the world, but for myself. Maybe for one innocent spin too.
“Okay, okay. I see it,” I murmured, half-blushing.
“Mmhmm. Don’t act new when the world stares,” Mel sang, snapping a picture on her phone.
“Girl, please. Ain’t nobody checking for lil’ old me. Let me check on Nan right quick, and we can roll out.” I grabbed mysmall black crossbody and rolled my eyes to keep from rolling my hips.
In the living room, NanNan had on her favorite show and a blanket over her lap. She looked me up and down again and clapped once. “Go on now, child.”
“You sure you’re good?”
“I’m grown and blessed. I’m gon’ lock that door and set the alarm like always. I’ll call you if the house disrespects me.”
“You’re so extra,” I said, grinning.
“And you’re gonna be late. Leave, ’fore you piss me off now and raise my pressure up.”
“Bye, Nan!” I laughed, blowing her a kiss.
The drive to the arena felt like a pregame with the music up, windows cracked, and city lights stretching out like another kind of front row. We talked through lanes and stoplights about our future tutorial center: funding, flyers, branding colors.
“Lavender and slate?” Mel offered.
“With a pop of red. Something warm.”
“And a slogan. ‘Where effort meets elevation.’”
I snapped. “Okay, Ms. Marketing.”
We parked, straightened our clothes, and did a last mirror check half vanity and half pep talk. Then we joined the line scanning our tickets. The stadium swallowed us in a rush of voices, bass, and the smell of popcorn and possibility.
I felt eyes. Not in a creepy way, just a shift in the field. Heads turned. Mel grinned like she predicted it, and I pretended not to notice as my cheeks warmed, because even at twenty-nine, being looked at felt like an assignment.
Mel whispered, elbowing me. “Girl, you fine as hell. Don’t argue with me. Accept the ministry.”
Biting back a smile, I said, “Stop. You’re gonna make my clumsy ass trip.”
“As long as you fall into a rich man’s lap, I’ll catch your purse.”
“Please.” I giggled, guiding us toward the lower-level concourse.
That’s when I saw him, not a rich man but a headache—one of my students’ fathers who always found a reason to be at pickup with a compliment that didn’t understand what boundaries meant.
He clocked me before I could pivot around him. Here he came, arm wrapped around a woman with a bob and a cute dress.
“Ms. Stevens!” he said with a smile full of audacity. “How you doin’, pretty lady? This is my cousin from Chicago.”
I put on my teacher’s face—polite, firm, noncommittal. “Good evening. I hope y’all enjoy the game.”
I didn’t stop walking. He did.
“Hold up. You ain’t gon’ introduce yourself? Don’t be rude,” he said, stepping in front of me like an interception.
Mel intervened. “We’re just trying to get to our seats.”
Hiscousinsized me up and smirked. “He’s obviously trying to hook up with the girl. You should mind your business,” she told Mel.
Mel leaned forward so fast I put a hand on her shoulder. “Baby girl, my businessisthis girl, and trust, if it wasn’t, security would be,” she said sweetly in a tone I knew all too well.
