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It would be fine…
If I wasn’t trying to forget about him.
Eyes follow me down the path.
Students stare and point.
How long until things go back to normal and people like Taylor stay the hell out of my face?
I near the quad. Late evening sunshine bakes my head. The clouds are puffy and tinged with orange blushes. In the distance, I hear music. Low quality. Grainy. Like the kind that plays from old video recorders.
A little girl sings,‘You shouldn’t be a bully like Xander. Because bullies don’t go to heaven!’
I freeze.
That’s the song I wrote for the talent show.
“Yaya?” I gasp.
Without thought, I fly across the quad and round the bend. There, on the sidewalk, is my sister holding up a boombox.
Her hair is long and straight with cute bangs cut bluntly over her forehead. Her skin is dark and so flawless it looks like God carefully poured a bucket of dusky brown paint over her before she was born.
Her eyes are big and expressive, her nose short and round, and her lips are fuller than mine.
The modeling world iscrazyfor ignoring her.
Yaya sees me and starts dancing off-beat to the music. Students pass her by, giving her weird looks. She grins at each of them and sets her eyes back on me.
“Yaya!” I squeal in happiness, crossing the distance between us at warp speed. When I get close, I attack her in a giant hug. The boom box nearly crashes out of her hands.
My sister lets me squeeze her to death before nudging me away.
I step back just an inch.
She sets the speaker down, still blasting music, and hugs me back properly.
We sway until I hear a man clear his throat.
“Excuse me, you girls shouldn’t be playing loud music. This is a school campus, not the neighborhood barbecue.”
I turn around.
The man’s eyes widen. “Are you Dejonae Williams?”
“That’s me.” I brush my hair out of my face.
He motions to me and Yaya. “Sorry. Go ahead and enjoy your music.”
“It’s okay. I’ll take it off.”
I could have lived without his ‘neighborhood barbecue’ comment, but we are, technically, in the wrong.
“No need.” He smooths a pasty hand over his sweater vest and lets out a nervous laugh. “I’m Professor Wayne, by the way. I teach Classical Russian Music History.”
“Oh.” I saw that class at the start of the semester, but it sounded tedious so I didn’t sign up for it.
He steps back. “I have a class now, but I’d love to chat some time.”
