ONE
For me, this story starts the day I realize I don’t need my best friend anymore and move out of our shared university dorm room. But really, it startedbeforethat day. And also,afterthat day. I just don’t know it yet.
“Aleeza, stop. You can’t move out. Weneedto live here together all year,” Mia, the aforementioned formerbest friend forever, says.
I snort at her using the wordsneed to. Because she’s wrong. I simply don’tneedMia anymore.
As one of the only nonwhite kids in my hometown, years ago I developed a theory that there are two ways to survive socially when you’re different. One—be like everyone else. In other words, make sure that my skin color is the only difference between me and my classmates. But I always knew that strategy would never work for me. Because I’ve always been ... well, odd. Which was fine when I was a little kid living in Toronto, because being a weird Brown kid was pretty common in the city. But not in Alderville, the tiny town that my parents moved us to when I was seven. I realized then for the first time that my strangeness—not adorkable quirkiness but uncool nerdiness—could be a problem for me.
Case in point. Many kids in my Alderville elementary school were into horses, or sometimes goats or sheep. (Which, fair. It’s farm country.) And of course, lots of kids were into cats and dogs. But me? I was into octopuses. Obsessed with them, actually. Ever since I saw anenormous one in an aquarium when I was four, I’ve been fascinated by their big heads, nine brains, and unreal problem-solving skills.
Which brings me to the other weird thing about me. While other girls were into romances and fantasy books, I like old—like, practically ancient—mystery books. My mom’s a librarian, and she always ordered Nancy Drew and other whodunit books for me, and Iinhaledthem. Movies too. I love old Agatha Christie films. I used to fanaticize that Alfred Hitchcock was my long-lost uncle.
Anyway, since being the weird, Brown new kid was making me a bit of a social pariah in Alderville, I put all my energy into my second strategy to survive—find a white friend as weird as I am.
Mia became that ride-or-die weird friend that all Brown girls living in small towns need. We became tight after noticing we were both obsessed with this kid-detective graphic novel series. Soon we were borrowing each other’s books and movies. Mom started ordering Mia’s favorites for the library—still mysteries, but Mia liked thrillers instead of classic whodunits. We had weekly movie nights in my living room dressed up as characters from whatever old movie we were watching. We daydreamed about opening a detective agency in New York City one day.
I thought our friendship was genuine. I honestly thought we’d be friends forever.
It took six months of higher education for me to realize that I didn’t know a thing.
“Aleeza, seriously,” Mia says again when I ignore her. “Stop packing.”
I glance at her once, and keep shoving items into the box. I can’t believe I was so dazzled to have a best friend who was popular and well liked and who loved all the same stuff as me (except octopuses), that I failed to notice Mia wasn’t actually a very good friend at all. Because over and over, pretty much since the day we met, Mia has been pushing me aside whenever anyone she deems “cooler” is around.
And today is the absolute last time I’m putting up with it. After Mia once again ditched me for her boyfriend, Lance (or specifically, Lance’ssister this time), I am not accepting her apologies and promises. This time I am walking away.
Apparently fed up with my packing, Mia comes toward me in our dorm living room. She takes a bright-orange octopus stuffy out of my box and throws it across the room. It lands legs up on the floor near the tiny sofa. “Tentacle Ted belongs in this room, remember?”
Of course I remember. And I knew she would claim custody of the orange stuffy we bought at a county fair near Alderville the day we found out we’d be rooming together, just like I knew she wouldn’t let me leave without a fight. Because Mia hates feeling like the villain. She hates feeling like she’s losing. It screws up her perfect mental image of herself. But I also know that despite her vow to stop standing me up and letting her boyfriend and his family get in our wayagain, Mia will eventually cave to one of their demands at my expense.
“I’m taking Ted,” I say. “I bought him withmydollars. And octopuses aremy thing, not yours.” I cross the room to get poor Ted, brushing the dust from the cheap gray industrial carpeting off him.
“We said that Ted would be our first jointly owned dorm room accessory,” Mia says, practically pouting.
“Since I’m moving out because ofyouractions, I’m entitled to keep the cephalopod that I paid for.” I toss him back into the box.
Mia and I dreamed about moving to Toronto for school for years. I thought she would be better here, since we’d be making new friends together. She was always ahead of me—born and raised in Alderville, she knew all our friends first. But now that we’ve actually moved to the city, Mia is even worse than she was back home. She’s like two different people. In our room, Mia and I talk about movies and books, and she seems to love my octopuses. Outside our dorm room, Mia ignores me. She’s unreliable. She does whatever Lance or any of his friends want. In my opinion, she’s trying way too hard to fit in with her new boyfriend’s friends.
“You can’t move out!” Mia says. “You’re supposed to be my roommate all year!” She looks genuinely upset, but I know that’s only becausewe’re alone. If someone else were here—especially Lance or any of his crew—she’d be mocking me for my attachment to octopuses.
“Tell your precious Taylor to move in,” I say. “I’m already gone.” I’m not sure where my new bravery is coming from, but I am loving it right now. I hold up the university pass hanging around my neck. “This card won’t open the building door anymore. My ResConnect profile is already updated. I am no longer your roommate.” ResConnect is the campus residence app. I put in the room change request only hours ago, and I’m lucky they had a spot for me.
Mia shakes her head, her wavy brown hair falling out of its messy bun. She’s always been pretty—her light-brown hair and big blue eyes give her a kind of girl-next-door vibe. She’s dressed almost the same as me right now, in jeans and a sweatshirt. Hers has a Roots logo on it, while mine, of course, has an octopus.
“You’re being stupid, Aleeza!” she says in the same voice she uses to yell at her dog. “You are not giving up years of friendship over a YouTube series!” She tries to snatch my favorite coffee mug—the one with a tentacle for a handle—but I beat her to it.
It’s honestly a little bit surprising just how badly she’s taking this. But I guess it makes sense—she’s not used to me having a spine. I’ve been her doormat for years, but we’re in the city now and I can make new friends. I don’t need Mia anymore.
“No, Mia,youare throwing away years of friendship over a YouTube series! You’re the one who replaced me with your boyfriend’s sister!”
I pick up the top sheet of our campus newspaper to wrap the mug in. I’m a first-year journalism student and I wrote a film review in this edition, but it isn’t on the front page. “We planned ourTCU Mysteriesweb series for months,” I say, not looking at my former friend. “We did market research, had a logo made, and bought a camera. One episode in and you want to replace me with your boyfriend’s sister?”
“I don’t want to replace you! I’maddingTaylor to the web series because she has a huge social presence; this will be great for our reach.We could be huge! I thought you needed to do this for your media project?”
I blink. Yes, the web series was supposed to be my major project for my media class, but not all YouTube series are equal. Our series,TCU Mysteries, was supposed to be about mysteries associated with our school, Toronto City University. The first episode was about a student found dead in her apartment on Easter in the fifties, and we just started the research on our second episode, about this wealthy alumni who donated a ton of money to the school, then mysteriously drowned a few weeks later. But Taylor wants to change the entire focus of the series to be about skincare and makeup instead. I like a good face mask as much as the next person, but Miaknowsmy future goal is a career as an investigative journalist, not a beauty editor. My media project is supposed to align with my journalism career goals.
I look down, the picture in the newspaper catching my eye. It’s that second-year student who disappeared off the face of the earth a few months ago. I wave the paper at Mia. “We were going to do an episode on this missing student! A TCU mystery that’s literally happening right now! Maybe we could have found him!”
