Wind rages against my skin, yanking at my hair and clothes. My hand searches for Malcolm’s, but it’s like trying to grasp smoke. I can’t feel him. Is he still here? Panic splashes up to my throat. Then I hear Malcolm gasp, so I know he’s somewhere in the dark abyss that surrounds us.
A beam of light shines through the darkness. It grows, spinning into a dizzying blur of blinding light and vertigo-inducing motion. I close my eyes to steady myself. Everything stops.
When my lashes part, I find myself standing on marble floors. “Did we time-travel?” I ask.
Malcolm shakes his head no and motions over his shoulder. I still see the people in the dingy white section of the diner behind us. In front ofus, opulent gold chairs surround a shiny blue countertop edged in gold. Girls of all colors sit laughing at the counter wearing poodle skirts and saddle shoes, sipping Coke floats. Boys wear rolled-up jeans and leather jackets as they surround the big red-and-white jukebox picking out songs and sneaking looks at the girls at the counter. The scent of sugary treats flows through the air. It’s like I’ve stepped into a dream—a luxurious soda shop straight out of a fairy tale.
The walls are cotton-candy blue with shimmering gold trim. Crystal chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, refracting beams of light and casting the round gold tables sprinkled in the center of the room in extra shine. The edges of the room are lined with royal-blue booths surrounding gleaming gold tabletops. The space is alive with joyful chatter and smiling faces—some beige, some brown, some white—all united in laughter.
“H-how?” I sputter. “How is this possible?”
Malcolm takes my hand and leads me to one of the vinyl booths that hug the walls. He says, laughing, “Welcome to the colored section.” He adds, “All the restaurants around here gave Black folks the less desirable parts of the building. They put them near the kitchen or bathrooms, or in some cases, outside the restaurant altogether.”
Malcolm slides into the booth opposite me. “The white sections are always better equipped, usually cleaner, and more comfortable,” he says. “That didn’t feel fair, considering that the Black folks in this town work harder than everybody else. So my sisters and Charles and I combined our powers, like we do for shows, only this time we used magic to redecorate.”
I laugh. Beaming.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“I love it.”
“Cool.” A satisfied smile slides onto his face. “The place is spelled so that racist people and people with ill intent can’t see or experience none of this. They see the ragged furniture and substandard service that they think we deserve, and they get the bubble guts if they stay on our side too long, so they get outta here quick.”
I laugh harder, imagining Klansmen in hoods racing for the bathroom.
“But,” Malcolm says, “in our section, we treat people like the kings andqueens they are. It’s safe too. Those that can see the beauty of this place are spelled so they can’t tell about it.” A crooked grin lights up his face. “Black folks went through hell in the past. There’s not a time in history when America was great for us. Therefore, as a time traveler, it feels like a privilege to spread a little joy to my people.”
I look around. At the counter on a tall stool there’s a mother who lovingly glances at her precious daughter, a toddler with brown skin, bright eyes, and plaits on either side of her head. She giggles, shifting in a yellow dress before licking a chocolate ice cream cone and happily kicking her shiny black shoes as they dangle below the counter. Her innocence and infectious joy radiate, and her cuteness makes me grow warm with happiness inside. Wait! She looks like—I feel a pang of sadness. Is that one of the four little girls who are gonna die when the Klan bombs that church in Birmingham? “Is that…?”
Malcolm nods. He whispers, “She was one of the ones I couldn’t save. No matter how many times I tried. But at least we could make her smile before.”
My chest tightens. I want to hold her, shield her from a tragic fate. This perfect child shouldn’t die before she’s even old enough to drive. No one should. Moving backward in time hurts. I hate knowing bad things are coming when some are impossible to change. I wish my family would help people like this, but my parents fear changing the past because they think we’ll break the future.
“The fifties weren’t an easy time,” Malcolm says. “Emmett Till is gonna be murdered soon… We tried, but we couldn’t change that either. But this?” He knocks on the table with his knuckles. “This we can do. We can give good memories, a little respect and joy to the poor and the people that need it most.”
“I love that.” My pulse quickens, and I feel another surge of warmth in my chest. Instinctively, I slide my hand across the table, wanting to hold his. Seeing what Malcolm does for the community makes him so much more attractive to me. And his eyes are so… so kind. The hazel is full of browns, greens, and gold—like the sun and autumn leaves. The way they sparkled when he spoke about helping people made me want to see theworld through those eyes. And his smile. That beautiful dangerous smile makes my pulse react. A girl could fall in love with a guy like Malcolm Davenport. Sure hope I’m not that girl.
I snatch my hand back and fiddle with a napkin as he holds up his menu. On the cover, a vivid display of fireworks erupts in a dazzling funnel of bright blues, pinks, and golds, shooting into the sky like a live-action movie. “I have to tell you something,” he says. “That psychic that we saw at the fair—”
“You used to date her?” I ask, uncomfortable with the hint of jealousy in my voice. “Is that why you were whispering with her?”
His face contorts with disgust. “Aww hell, naw.” He laughs, covering his perfect mouth with a fist. “She’s my little sister. I was mad at her for being there.”
My cheeks get warm, but my shoulders relax. “Was she spying on us?”
“Sorta,” he whispers conspiratorially. “She really does see the future. So she’s always in my business. Both my sisters love to meddle and try to parent me. It’s irritating as hell, but I try not to get too mad about it because I know it’s done out of love. But Imani’s cool. She won’t snitch to the rest of the family. And she really is trying to help. I kinda feel like we might need her now. So that’s why I wanted you to meet me here.”
“Okay, I’ll take all the help we can get,” I reply, looking around for her.
Malcolm waves at a server, and she glides toward our booth on roller skates adorned with rhinestones and blue sparkling lights. Her pink poodle skirt sways, and a navy scarf knotted at her neck flutters behind her. She stops at our table, toying with her long silky pink and blue ponytail. Wait. I remember now. Dark lipstick, black fingernails, ponytail matching her outfit. She must be…
“This is my sister Imani,” Malcolm says.
“Hello, Emma,” Imani says.
“Hi, psychic,” I reply.
Imani chuckles nervously. “Thanks for being a good sport about everything, car thief.”
