“Niveus has this Snowflake Ball they hold for seniors. They invite their donors, important representatives from top colleges; it’s a chance to prove yourself…,” Chiamaka says, trailing off at the end, voice growing quiet. “We’re going to crash it,” she adds after a moment’s pause.
“Crash it? You’re going back to Niveus, after everything?” Terrell asks, eyebrows raised.
Maybe he’ll see how dangerous this plan sounds, and back me up for once.
“The journalist and her team will be crashing too, filming it all. I’m going to tell the cameras what Niveus has done, and it’s going to be broadcast across America.”
“Holy shit, that’s genius,” Terrell says.
“Right?” Chiamaka replies.
Okay, so they’ve both clearly lost their ability to summon common sense. There’s no point in arguing; tomorrow is happening whether I think it makes sense or not.
“I need to get home and plan for the big event,” Chiamaka says, pushing herself off the bed.
“Do you have a dress?” I ask.
She looks offended.
“What am I? Of course I have a dress. I picked my ball gown out before we went on summer break last year. Do you have a tux?”
I shake my head.
“You can come over to my place before the ball tomorrow; my dad has tuxes he hasn’t worn. You guys have a similar build… small, bony… Something in his closet should fit you.”
“Thanks…,” I say, not sure whether or not to be offended by that description of me.
“You sure you don’t want to stay over? My ma’s at my sister’s place until Saturday; I could build you a fort out of my spare sheets to sleep in or something,” Terrell says.
“That’s so sweet of you, but in the nicest way possible… I’d rather die than sleephere… in a… fort? So, no thanks,” Chiamaka says.
Terrell nods like she didn’t just insult his home. “I’ll walk you out.”
“See you tomorrow,” Chiamaka says. I mutter a goodbye and they both disappear through the door.
I can hear them shuffling downstairs. Chiamaka laughs at something Terrell says and then I hear the door slam shut.
Terrell’s walking in again moments later.
“You good?” he asks, before falling back into the chair.
“I’m not sure,” I say.
“Is it the plan tomorrow?”
“Partly, I think I’m just in shock. There’s so much I’m trying to deal with at once.”
“Like?” Terrell asks.
I sit back, feeling heavy. “I feel like I have no closure. Even if tomorrow goes well, there are people who I’ve known for years, been friendly with, who I still want answers from… I just—I’m so angry.”
I’m not being completely being honest. It isn’t people, just one person who I’m angry with, really.
“So, get your closure,” Terrell says.
“How?” I ask.
Terrell slides forward in his desk chair, stopping inches away from me.
