I come out ofBishop, now hovering over the next folder,Knight, scared of what I might see if I click. The files here seem to be lists of names and vague duties, nothing else. I decide to exit theCheckmatefolder altogether, wanting to find more than this. Something that will tell me what the hell is going on. There’s another arrow underneathCheckmate.I scroll and find two more folders beneath.
One labeledThe Girls, the otherThe Boys.I selectThe Girlsfirst. A list of folders with names and old dates pops up:Dianna Walker 1965, Patricia Jacobs 1975, Ashley Jenkins 1985…Each folder has a picture of a Black girl. At the end is Chiamaka’s name and her yearbook picture. The same one that was on the posters on Thursday.
I click onDianna Walker 1965, pressing the mouse again at a document labeledAces 1. My hands are shaking.
Immediately, scanned photographs of handwritten letters appear.
Looks like our favorite negro has been up to no good.—Aces
What the fuck is this shit?
I wipe my eyes again, clicking onAces 2in Walker’s file. There she is, sprawled out on a bed, no clothes, eyes closed. The photo is black-and-white and crinkled. There’s something about the picture that feels like her body is being used, no consent. Something about the way this picture has been taken feels so wrong. It reminds me of the posters of Chiamaka, hung up on the lockers for everyone to see.
My stomach turns, and I close the file, feeling sick.
Suddenly, there’s a zapping sound. The graphics on the screen slowly start to fizzle out. I reach into my pocket quickly, grabbing my phone to take pictures of everything I’ve seen. I scroll up and down, hands shaking, the screen getting darker, and before I can take any more, a loud bang makes me jump back.
I scramble away from the computer like it’s an explosive ready to go off. Shielding my head, I frantically move backward, breath shaky, heart wild. I hear more zaps, like the sounds in old video games, before the screen flashes. The ace of spades card appears and then disappears, and the background turns a dazzling white.
The wordsReady to play?materialize in bold black writing.
I push myself up from the floor, running toward the door. My hands vibrate as I watch the screen, heart skipping several beats when it switches off with a final zap, returning to its dark, ominous state.
There’s so much going through my mind right now. My face is wet, my body tense. This is bigger than we’d imagined. So much bigger. Aces isn’t one person, or even a small group… It’s so many people. And there were so many files I didn’t see. My mind is racing.
But the most prominent thought over all the noise is:Who was that person in the mask?
PART THREE
BALLOT OR BULLET
28
CHIAMAKA
Sunday
I don’t stop running until I’m far enough away from school that I feel safe. Tears blur my vision, the cold stinging my face.
I look around the street. It’s quiet and dark. It feels like I’m the only person left in the whole world. But I know I’m not, because I sawher. She was really here. I shakily pat my pockets, searching for my phone. I start panicking when I can’t feel it.
I must have dropped it somewhere, but I didn’t hear it fall—not that I was paying much attention to anything except getting away. I sniff, more tears falling. I shudder as cold sweeps into my body. I squint and spot a pay phone in the distance.
The fact that I know her number by heart already is a little embarrassing, but I’ve always had a good memory. When I get to the pay phone, I push in some coins from my wallet, desperately press down on the worn numbers, and listen to the sharp ring while looking through the glass, worried I’ll see a mask—or worse, that face,herface, watching me.
“Hello?” Belle’s voice sounds uncertain, probably because I’m calling from an unknown number.
“Belle, it’s Chiamaka. A-are you free right now?” I ask, sniffing again.
“Oh hey, what happened to your phone?”
I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about what happened tonight yet.
“I can’t find it,” I say.
A dog barks in the distance and I jump a little, eyes darting around again, waiting for her face to emerge.
“Are you outside?” Belle asks.
