Page 6 of Cooly

She took it, her fingers brushing mine, and studied the screen. For a long moment, she didn't say anything. Just looked. Her eyes moved over Indigo's face, her expression unreadable.

After a few seconds, she nodded.

"We could be cousins," she said. "She's a lot less Igbo, though." She handed the phone back. "So you did find a substitute."

I took the phone and pocketed it without looking at the screen. "Keep it a hundred," I said quietly. "You would technically be the substitute."

She scoffed playfully, shoving my shoulder. "Damn."

"I ain't mean it like that." I looked at her, really looked at her. "I met her before you. And maybe you reminded me of her a little..." I paused. "But she wasn't you. And you ain't her."

Ayo's expression softened. "Tell me the story behind her. The real one. Not the surface shit. Not the love-at-first-sight nonsense. I know you. You're deeper than that."

I took a long breath, looking out at the dark park. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets I'd never understand.

“She was dancing at a club. Midnight, she called herself. But that wasn't her real name. Her real name was Indigo."

"Indigo," Ayo repeated. "That's a strong name."

"Yeah. It fits her." I paused. "But that's not the real story. The real story started way before that. When I was fifteen."

Ayo turned to face me, her full attention on me now. "Go ahead."

"I was in Miami. My father had some business there—I don't even remember what. I was supposed to stay in the hotel. But I was young and stupid, and I thought I knew everything. So I snuck out. No phone. No guard. I didn’t even know where I was. I just wanted to see some shit. I got on the bus."

She kept quiet. That was one of Ayo’s strengths… she listened, and she actually heard you.

"I was stupid." I shook my head. "I ended up in the wrong part of town. A few Jamaican hitters recognized me and who I was. Their crew had crossed my father, and my father had reminded them mercy wasn’t one of his virtues. They grabbed me. I fought. You know my daddy taught me violence. They beat my ass and threw me in the back of a van. I broke free," I continued. "I don't even remember how. I just remember running. Running through alleys, through backyards, through streets I didn't recognize. I was bleeding—I didn't even know where I was cut. I just knew I had to keep moving."

Her breathing picked up slightly.

"I found an abandoned warehouse. It was dark, full of old machinery and garbage. I crawled into a corner behind some crates, and I just... waited. Waited for them to find me. Waited for them to kill me."

Ayo's grip on my hand tightened.

"I heard a sound. I thought it was them. I thought I was dead. But then I saw her."

"Indigo?" she asked.

"Yeah." I smiled, the memory flooding back. "She was ten. Maybe eleven. Skinny little girl, decked out in Gucci from head to toe, carrying a Birkin bag. She said she'd run away from home because she couldn’t stand her brother's momma after she killed hers."

"Two runaways in the same warehouse."

"Small world." I laughed weakly. "She saw me bleeding, and she didn't run. Didn't scream. She just... looked at me. 'What happened to you?' She had a slight accent. I told her."

'Ain't nobody gonna bother you here. My uncle owns this warehouse, and nobody comes here unless they want problems.'

"She reached inside that big-ass Birkin and pulled out baby wipes. 'Hold still.' She started wiping the blood off my face. And she checked me like she’d done it before. "No real damage," she assessed. I let out a low breath. "I let her. I was bigger than her by a lot, older, but she made me feel safe. When she finished, she reached back into that bag and started pulling out junk food. Cookies. Chips. Little powdered donuts. Fruit snacks. Every kind of garbage my father would've thrown in the trash. She handed me half."

I looked down at my hands.

"She frowned at me. 'You look hungry. I know you ain't being picky, skinny.' So I ate. She talked about her momma who had been killed by her brother's mother, and her daddy who allowed it. Her brothers. We had so much in common. I didn't have to explain why my father having money didn't mean I had a good life. Didn't have to explain why a house full of armed men didn't make you feel protected. She already knew. I told her my momma had died too, killed by my father's enemies. She got real quiet. Then she looked down at the cookies in her lap and whispered like she wanted to cry for me... 'That sucks.'"

I paused, feeling the weight of it.

"We were there for two full days. She danced. I’d never seen a Black ballerina. On the third day, I told her I needed to call my father. She went back out and left me in the warehouse. She said she was gonna go get a phone from home for me to call my father, that she could sneak in and out without being seen since nobody really paid attention to her after her momma died."

Ayo's breath caught. "That's brave."