We look stupid sitting on the curb with our faces smashed together and my phone up to hers, but I don’t care.
I nudge Cree in her side and she bucks at me while rolling her tortured blue eyes.
She chokes on a cloud of smoke. “I’m—I’m in Houston.”
“Houston? What the fuck is in Houston? Are you still fucking that mysterious high paying client?”
Cree takes another long toke and then looks up at the sky. “Ace. Ace is in Houston.”
She blurts it in one big gust.
The only sounds left between them are the static on the phone and the valet staff shouting in Spanish. We move closer together, pushing our heads into each other until our foreheads touch. Cree closes her eyes.
“Oh.” Cheyenne huffs. “You’re fucking Ace?”
“What? No!” Cree shakes her head.
“Oh, I was for sure going to say he’s so not your type. How is he, anyway? I saw him on Insta with his new girlfriend.”
She laughs at the last part. Her voice is relaxed and easygoing with that privilege still controlling everything she says. She talks like she didn’t destroy his life.
“He—he...” Cree stumbles over her words until I nudge her again. “Wait, you’re not mad that I’m here?”
“Babe, he’s old news. It’s been two years.”
I’m not Tarana Burke, Cheyenne, or an expert at how victims should respond in these delicate situations, but I’m a human in love that knows when something’s not right.
“Old news? What do you mean?”
“I mean like nobody’s checking for him anymore. He plays for a freaking no-name school, he’s punching agents, and dating some basic ass black girl who probably can’t afford the lipo she desperately needs.”
She’s talking like a scorned ex-lover now.
Cree tries to lean away like a good big sister would, but I want to hear it all before the world does. I want to be the first to know about something for once. I want to know it all before Blake Harvey can use it for his own gain, before Coach Williams can use it to justify his disappointment in his own son. I want to digest it before I can play it for Ace.
Cree blows out deep breaths with her joint dangling between her fingers. “Are you faded?”
“I’m completely sober thanks to Mom. She’s here, hovering as usual. Anyway, why didn’t you tell me you were down there? I would’ve taken you off the guest list.”
“I didn’t realize you’d be so okay with me being here, considering what happened.”
“What happened is water under the bridge. My curiosity was killed already, alright? Unfortunately, the rumors about him were true.”
“Rumors?”
“C’mon, sissy. Don’t act like you didn’t use to hear about him only fucking the ghetto bitches from Crenshaw and the mini Michelle Obamas that hung out in the BBRC on campus. He’s sexy, but a complete asshole that likes to remind you of what and who he likes. One time he told me his dick only belonged to black girls.”
She laughs even harder at that, as if it were hilarious that Ace could only be interested in black girls. She laughs like her privilege has turned plenty of boys like Ace away from us.
Her words are hard to swallow. I want to call up Blake and ask him if this is how the most protected species in America thinks. Are they always so shallow, ignorant, and casually racist? Would they always prey on Ace and try to climb their way into our world? Would they always want to destroy us?
“Chey...” Cree breathes hard, tangling her hand in mine and bringing her phone closer to mine. “I want to ask you something, but I want your permission before I ask.”
“You’re being weird.”
“I’m—I’m not trying to be. I just had a mimosa on an empty stomach, so I’m a lil’… queasy.”
“Makes sense,” she chirps. “Stop being lame and ask me. You know I’m like a complete open book, even though Mom and Javi hate it.”
