@ty_blm: You have my support, it’s not right that this is happening at a time like this. Thought this type of shit only happened in the 1950s
There’s more like these, packing my previously empty inbox.
If people saw this and believed me, maybe tonight they’ll see what we have to say and believe us too.
@DLikesTunes: Thank you, we have, we’re going back there tonight to stop them.I tweet at @neenaK77
Maybe Chiamaka was right.
Maybe we can defeat Niveus after all.
My phone buzzes and a message from my ma pops up.
Love you too, hope you had a good sleep.—Ma
Why didn’t you wake me up?I text back.
I know you haven’t been going to school. We’ll talk later, okay? Love you, Von.
Ma knows I haven’t been going in. Does she know about Niveus, or does she just have her special bullshit-detector turned up to full?
Either way, it means I’m going to have to come clean. If today goes well, it will be a lot easier to explain.
I hope it goes well.
38
CHIAMAKA
Thursday
Devon arrives in a timely manner at three thirty and I drag him inside and up the steps.
“Okay, so, we have five options that I think would fit you from Dad’s closet. Pick the one you like most and I’ll leave you in here to change,” I tell him, when we get into my room.
I have the five suits laid out on my bed in front of him, all different in some way. One is made from velvet, another, laced in gold. I’ve laid out a range of styles for him to choose from, seeing as I don’t know Devon all that well, so I don’t know what kind of suit he’d be into. Especially since his day-to-day fashion sense doesn’t exactly make his tastes extremely obvious to me. He dresses like he’s purposely trying to make some kind of statement about ugly garments. It’s hard to gauge what someone who wears the same dreadful hoodie, pants, and sneakers every day would wear when it comes to formal outfits.
He picks up the first one. It’s the plainest one, with black lapels and a black bow. I should have seen that one coming.
“That’s really… plain,” I say.
“If you didn’t want me to choose it, why make it an option?” he asks.
“It’s not that I didn’t want you to choose it, I just think it’s a little boring… I mean, we’re going to be on national television, in front of all the people who wronged us, so… thought you would want to dress nice for once.”
He looks at me unblinking for a few moments, before chucking the suit back down and picking up the one next to it. This one is the flashiest.
The blazer is gold, with satin lapels, a black bow, and black pants.
I smile and pat him on the shoulder. “Much better. Going to go change now, will be back in a few,” I say, before walking out of my room and down the hallway, into my dressing room.
I’ve already done my makeup and put curlers in my hair. Usually, when we have big events like this, I get someone else to do my hair and makeup, wanting to be perfect, how everyone expects. But what’s the point anymore? They don’t expect anything from me. Maybe they never did. It was all a delusion.
My dress hangs in the center of my closet. It’s an Elie Saab original, flown in from Milan. I picked it out because it looks like it was made for a queen. Something I never was—just a social experiment, a chess piece in a sick game.
It is one of the prettiest dresses I have ever seen. It’s sleeveless with a plunging sweetheart neckline and A-line silhouette, with golden embroidery raining down from the top and a plain rose-gold mesh at the bottom. I’ve stared at it all day, feeling like I’m a fraud for wanting to wear something so beautiful and perfect to the ball.
I slip out of my robe and wander over to the dress, hesitating before stroking the material.
