“Let’s go. The smell of bitch-ass liar is nauseating.”
When we get back to my house, I’m expecting it to be empty, like it is at this time most days of the week, but when we walk through the door, Dad is in the kitchen making dinner.
“Chiamaka?” Dad calls out.
“Should I wait here?” Devon asks.
I shake my head. “Just follow me,” I tell him.
“Coming, Dad!” I shout, walking into the kitchen, where he’s standing in an apron, stirring a pot.
“Come and taste this,” he says, holding the spoon out at me.
I make a face. “I’m not hungry.”
He raises an eyebrow but nods, lifting the spoon to his mouthinstead. “It needs more salt,” he mutters, pausing, then looks past me at Devon standing behind me.
“You brought a new friend over,” he says, sounding surprised. I don’t usually bring over new people. He wipes his hands on his apron before moving toward Devon, who physically tenses up.
Dad holds his hand out and Devon timidly shakes it.
“Hi, I’m Chiamaka’s bank account, occasionally known as Dad,” he says with a wide smile. Devon looks even more uncomfortable. Dad’s humor is only funny to him. His glasses are fogged over and he looks a bit like a creepy scientist—what with all the smoke coming from the pots and everything.
“Anyway… Devon and I need to work on a school project tonight,” I tell him, grabbing Devon’s arm and pulling him toward the stairs.
“Okay, just keep your door open,” Dad calls out as we leave.
“I will!” I shout, even though I’m pretty sure Dad has nothing to worry about.
We go up the stairs into my room, and I close the door behind us, leaving it only slightly ajar.
“So,” I say, diving right in as Devon sits back on my bed. “When I went to the library, I found this yearbook from 1965. I saw it on Sunday while we were hiding but didn’t get the chance to check it out… There’s this picture in it: ‘Camp Aces.’” I tap onto the photo I took earlier, shoving my phone into Devon’s hands.
He scans the picture and looks unsurprised.
I zoom in on a young face. “Doesn’t that look like Ward?” I ask.
His eyebrows bunch up. “Holy shit…”
“That’s not all. I found out how the ‘dead’ girl is connected. She’s the sister of a girl I was close with. Belle Robinson, whose housewe were just at. Apparently, her family all went to Niveus and are involved in Aces. Somehow, they staged the car accident. Aces was set up to ruin our futures; to invite two Black students who showed exceptional promise to join the school, then to break them down. Stop them from achieving what they should.”
Devon just stares at my phone, a vacant expression on his face. It’s like he’s not fully here. He’s still shaky; not as much as this morning, but it’s like he’s a human-sized Chihuahua.
I click my fingers in front of his face. “Hey, Devon?”
His head snaps up, his eyes glazed over. “Sorry… Yeah, this is fucked up,” he says.
It’s more than fucked up. These people are evil. But I can tell he’s had to take in a lot in the last twenty-four hours; I can’t expect him to be fully present. I don’t think I’m even really here, or processing it.
I’m tired.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He shrugs, looking away from me and handing me back my phone.
I take a seat next to him.
“Me too. I feel like crap,” I reply to his silence.
