Kissing her teeth, “Put on a bonnet.”
I begrudgingly flung off the blanket and went to my closet to dig up a beanie. In front of the mirror, Milan wiggled a mascara wand through her lashes. I knew then that there was a guy, and this was a cover to track him down.
On the quad, boys pelted screaming girls in the dwindling sunlight. Rocking on her toes, Milan said, “Do you see a tall—FUCK!” A guy stuffed a snowball down her back. Not the guy she was looking for.
I was gathering snow in my hand to retaliate when something cold and wet struck the side of my face. The outlines of a deep, raspy voice filled out as it drew closer.
“I’m so sorry,” it said. “I was trying to hit the person behind you.”
I turned to find a guy in a green North Face vest, tall and wiry, wearing a knit scarf too small for his neck, homemade, a gift perhaps.His eyes were the same deep brown as his skin, a strange physiological pairing I’d only ever seen maybe twice before.
“Sorry,” he said again. His voice was like something being scraped from a can, weird alongside those warm eyes.
“It’s okay.”
We looked at each other before he turned away.
“Wait,” I called.
He stopped. “Yes?”
Bending down, I heaped a clump of snow in my hand and threw it in his face.
The next month, we were dating.
Chapter 6
The favor was for Tristan’s fraternity brothers from Howard. Their short film was screening that weekend at a local festival, and they were trying to draw a crowd.
Milan and I entered the theater’s red-black lobby, a dazed usher showing us to our row.
“Who invited you to this again?” she asked.
“Jay’s friend.”
At that moment, my eyes caught on Tristan at the front. He had on a short-sleeved button-down, white tank peeking through, a constellation of crappy arm tattoos that had been hidden by long sleeves the last time. He was talking to two guys who I assumed were the directors. Or rather, one of them was talking and Tristan was nodding the way people did when they were half listening.
“That’s him in the striped shirt.”
Milan craned her neck. I told her to stop being obvious. “Damn, is he single?”
I realized I didn’t know. The lights dimmed, but even in the dark I sensed where in the theater he was.
The film followed a woman named Catalina trapped in an abusive relationship. She split into two women. The first one quietly accepted the abuse; the second fought back. They were both killed when they tried to leave. She split off again and again, so many times you lost track. All of them were killed. But one of the Catalinas met a woman at a coffee shop while her boyfriend was out of town and fell in love. This was the only version where she escaped alive.
I was a snotty wreck when the lights came up. Milan blinked at her lap. One small tear slipped onto her denimed thigh, leaving a wet mark the size of a pinhole. When I tried to thumb her eyes dry, she pushed my hand back, laughing.
Tristan’s seat was empty. I told Milan I had to go to the bathroom. He wasn’t by the bathrooms or in the lobby. I found him smoking a pre-roll outside on the curb.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“Only sometimes.”
I reached my hand out. He passed me the blunt, fingers shaking.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, I just can’t watch stuff like that.”
