Page 91 of The Wright Man

I shook my head, smirking. "So you really do have a thing for angry, brooding men with superiority complexes."

She grinned. "If he's not emotionally unavailable with a god complex and a jawline, I'm not interested."

I laughed, low and dry. "Yeah... tracks."

She didn't say anything. Neither did I.

We both pretended not to notice the resemblance.

I held up another one. Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

"Ah," I said, "the Hughes Death Era. You sobbed like your dog died."

"He had a little girl, Maleek!"

"It's a cartoon, Angelica."

We went back and forth like that, teasing, laughing, unearthing a decade of inside jokes and lost time. I dug through the drawer, tossing old sketchbooks, faded flyers from a talent show I never went to, mixtapes from Kareem's "I'm about to get signed" phase.

And for the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe.

Until my fingers brushed something stiff and familiar, buried in the back of the closet.

I pulled it out slowly.

A dry-cleaning bag. Inside, dark blue polyester and a tassel still tangled around the hanger.

My cap and gown.

I stared at it.

Everything around me stilled.

Through the screen, I saw Angelica's face change. Her smile dropped. Her posture shifted. She knew exactly what it was before I said a word.

We both went quiet.

The air between us was suddenly too thick to speak through.

Because we remembered.

That night.

That party.

That mistake.

The first time I ever made her cry.

* * *

Maleek

When They Were 18…

We did it.

Me and Angel.