I thought about my girls. My silly, easily distracted, incredibly sweet girls. They talked to one another daily, either in person or through text. They’d come to our meetings venting about their problems with loneliness on campus. Their experienceswith microaggressions. Struggles with dating people who want them for themselves and not as part of some weird college experiment. BWD gave them a safe space to be themselves, free from judgment, in a world that would always hold them to ridiculous standards.
“I’ll put you down as a hard no,” I said.
Olivia sighed as if to say, ‘you’re not getting it.’ She looked at me with a patronizing smile as if I were some kid who once again skipped a few letters in the alphabet. “How about this? STEM will host the ball. Your board will be in charge of set-up and fundraising. We’ll put both our names on the flyers — obviously, ours will be larger, but you’ll still get credit. Your mom will find it respectable. Hey, she might even have you in the bragging section on her lunch agenda.”
My chest caved in. Olivia was one of the few people who knew that being president of BWD was my attempt to make up for the harm I’d caused, to prove I could offer something more than derailment and shame to my family.
“No,” I said gently, though the storm in my brain raged on. “We’ll do it on our own.”
Olivia’s face fell. It’s childish, but I felt vindicated at the sight. She wanted this ball because she knew it had the potential to work. It could be something that’d have the entire campus vying for a ticket. Her poorly concealed desire was enough to motivate me to press forward.
“Alright, then.” Olivia nodded and even tried to smile as she accepted my refusal. “Good luck, Yara. You’ll need it.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
9
I hurrieddown the staircase of the student center, heels slamming against the carpeted floor. Because of my frustration and annoyance, everything around me blurred. My mind raced with new ideas for how to ensure this ball was an undeniable success. I had a list of ways to make Olivia regret ever thinking of giving me a pitiful stare.
In my blind fury, my shoulder knocked into someone else’s. As soon as the familiar scent of summer linen hit my nose, I swallowed my impending apology.
“Took you long enough,” David said, mouth turned down in disapproval.
“Shut up,” I muttered and continued toward the doors.
He didn’t hesitate, falling into step right after me. David caught the heavy door that I had failed to hold up for him. His chuckle made me shoot him a hard, piercing glance.
“I see your meeting went well.” He wore baggy gray sweats and a loose white tee. His sneakers looked as if he’d dragged them through the mud one too many times. And one of them had duct tape wrapped around the toe.
“Went just as planned.” I itched to rant and complainabout Olivia and my failure to establish a better reputation for BWD. Instead of spilling my guts to a guy who didn’t give a damn, I continued down the sidewalk. My hips switched, and my chin tilted upward as I channeled a newfound determination.
“Perfect, even,” I continued, only half-talking to David. I wanted to hash things out myself. But it was frowned upon to talk to myself in public (something I learned the hard way). So, his presence was helpful for once.
“Sure sounds like it,” David agreed. He was so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. The chill of fall lingered in the air, the wind coaxing orange and red leaves from the branches above.
We walked underneath black iron lampposts, heading toward my bus stop. Only a handful of students were outside. Most people found themselves in warmer places like the library or dorms.
“Uninteresting?” I grumbled. “Her last event was a dinner themed after the periodic table. No speakers. Just cupcakes and scientific notation. And I’m uninteresting? A whole ball on a college campus is uninteresting?”
David blew against my hand. I didn’t realize I’d reached for my hair, twisting the strands tightly around my index finger. I winced and pulled away. He was supposed to be a silent observer.
“I can guarantee without knowing what you’re going on about that you’re stressed over something that won’t mean a thing in the next year,” David said.
I scowled. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Since when do I care whether you asked?”
“Can you be quiet for once and just pretend to be my friend? Lord knows I’ve done it enough times for you.”
He chuckled. “When was this? Was I there?”
My stop was abrupt. So was his. Those goddamnreflexes.
“When you called me up after midterms last year—” I crossed my arms over my chest. “—whining about your water bottles.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I don’t whine.”
I laughed at his inability to deny what had happened. “You whine all the time. It’s your second language.”
