Growing up, I realized quite quickly that people hate being called racist more than they hate racism itself. Which is why I’m not surprised when Jamie pauses, places a hand in his pocket, and slowly swivels back around as he speaks. On his face there is this unsettling smile that grows wider the longer I stare at it.
He steps forward. “Would I havetouchedyou if I hated Black chicks?”
My body vibrates, anger boiling my blood, vision blurring. I push him, hard, and he stumbles back. Laughter escapes his grinning mouth as he catches himself.
Why the hell is he laughing?
“I’m not Aces… but I’m a bit confused here, Chi.” He steps closer, the smirk replaced by furrowed eyebrows. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Since freshman year?”
“What?” I ask. I can’t stop staring at Jamie’s face, at how easily he makes such drastically different emotions appear. It’s like he’s got a switch somewhere on his body.
“For people to know your name, for everyone to talk about you.Popularity?” His confused expression morphs into pity. “Now you have it, Chi.” He moves forward again, so close to me I can smell his strong cologne. “How, after all of this”—he gestures around the now almost-full hallway, a grin plastered to his pasty face—“could anyoneeverforget the great Chiamaka Adebayo?”
He reaches out and lightly touches my hair. I want to throw up, the tears in my throat making it worse. I look up at him. He’s so focused on my hair, eyes concentrated the same way they are whenever we do work on the Bunsen burners. Like my hair is a… science experiment.
Abruptly, he lets my hair go, letting the strands that fall from his rough fingers brush against my face.
Then, without another word, he turns and leaves.
The girl who haunts my mind wraps her hand around my neck and starts squeezing, her scream echoing in my brain as I rush through the double doors, up the stairs, and into Devon’s music class, where I told him I’d meet him. But when I get there, he’s staring down at his phone.
He’s seen it too.
“Devon, I think something bad is going to happen to me,” I cry out, letting myself go, unable to stop.
The emotions pile up on top of one another—how scared I felt yesterday, how terrified I feel now. Everyone looking at my passed-out body, laughing at it. Jamie watching my body, using it, laughing at it.
“That’s Yale gone—my future. I’m going to work in a fast-food restaurant; I can’t be a doctor with this—”
“Chiamaka—”
I cry harder. “Everything’s ruined—”
Richards’s voice startles me as it rises. “Chiamaka!”
I look at him properly now. He doesn’t even look like he’s wearing a uniform, with that black alien hoodie and his sneakers.
“Chiamaka, we’ll find them and stop this. Colleges probably don’t care about petty gossip, okay?”
Devon is a bad liar. Of course they care, but I nod anyway.
Sunday needs to go off without a hitch; we need to be on top of our game. No one can know about what I did.
Before Aces hinted that I’m a murderer, I thought the whispers and the judgmental gazes were the worst feeling. I was wrong. The silence is much worse. Now, whenever I walk into a hallway or step into a class, everyone goes silent, even the teachers. The silence is a lot louder and more suffocating than their low voices.
I barely made it through today. It’s hard trying to pretend I’m okay when I’m not. I finish detention, after doing a double shift for missing yesterday’s, and waiting for me outside is Belle. She has this huge smile on her face—like I haven’t been accused of murder, like my whole life isn’t falling apart, like someone isn’t trying to ruin me. Belle hasn’t seemed fazed by what Aces said; I don’t know if that makes her naive or perfect.
She hugs me, but I can only feel like this hug is a goodbye. I’m just waiting for the next message from Aces now—their story, their evidence. What are they going to say? That I was the one who drove the car, hit the girl, and left her there? In reality, I’m an accomplice at most, but that doesn’t matter. Aces has twisted everything. And who’d believe me over legacy kid Jamie Fitzjohn?
No one.
My power has only ever been in the hallways, in what people thought of me. How can that compete against someone whose parents are Niveus alumni and donors, people who holdactualpower?
Belle links her arm through mine, and I hold on tightly as we start walking, leaving the school.
“Can I walk you home?” I say, hoping she says yes. I don’t want to be left alone in my room.
“Sure, and on the way, I’ll tell you about how Jamie tried to tell me he haschanged. He even said you guys are on speaking terms.” Sarcasm laces her words.
