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Shanti, leader of the London Gyaldem, acrylics long, patience short, hair premium Peruvian, attitude premium south London, ran her eyesup and down Malakai’s form, and clacked gleaming claws in his face. “Nah, Malakai. I don’t know if you’ve forgotten who I am but allow me to reintroduce you. . . . I! Am! Not! The! One! To! Play! With!”
I couldn’t help but smile. He was trapped. Maybe my PSA had landed and our girls were recognizing the threat Malakai posed.
He watched her calmly and said something that could have been “I understand that.”
She paused for a second, momentarily thrown off by his placidity, before launching in again. “So if you ‘understand that,’ how can you tell me I have qualities of the kind of girl you see yourself with, and then next thing I know, I see your wrist on Chioma’s ProntoPic stories. How do we have the same qualities? The girl dresses like a bootleg Erykah Badu. She’s an Erykah Badon’t!”
My brows shot up as low jeers and cackles came from the gathering audience. That was a pun I’d used on my show once—but not in that context. As the crowd shifted, I saw that Chioma “Chi-Chi” Kene was stood next to Shanti, glowing and glowering with her waist-length, dirty-blond-brown faux dreads, and a septum piercing. Chi-Chi was head of the Incense and Almond Milk Babes, who I lovingly dubbed the Vegan Cupcakes. They ran the spoken word night, believed that vibes were a state of being, and optimistically brought cauliflower BBQ wings to summer cookouts. It was really a testament to Malakai’s wide-ranging appeal that he managed to attract two entirely different girls,especiallysince most of the guys that looked like Malakai said shit like “Yeah, Chi-Chi is fine as fuck, but I don’t know about those vegans, man. Where am I gonna take her, if I can’t take her Nandos? Stress.” I was grudgingly impressed.
I knew Malakai was different from most of the guys at the university, but this complicated it further. This man hadrange. He moved with so much style and flair that he had somehow caused Chi-Chi—one of the most chilled-out, zen girls on campus—to trip so hard for him that shewas now rolling her eyes, sticking a wide-spread, heavily bangled, bejewelled hand in Shanti’s face. “Bitch, are your bundles sewn in too tight? Who are you talking to? Don’t you have some poop-diet tea to tout on the internet?”
Well, shit. Chioma might have been vegan but she had a taste for blood.
“Drammaaaa!” The voice of my best friend sang in soprano over some new Skepta, a signal that Kofi had taken over the booth. Aminah passed me a drink as she settled in beside me, leaning against the wall with her own. I assumed that both were courtesy of Kofi. I sipped at my whisky and Coke and ran my eyes across Malakai Korede’s form, his handsome face a midnight lake, barely a ripple despite the storm he had caused. I took a sip of my drink. “Yeah, and I think I know who the director is...”
Aminah cackled, shook her head slowly, and grinned. “What a demon!” She bit her lip and assessed him as the girls gesticulated in front of him. He was nodding intermittently but speaking very little. Aminah released a low sound of satisfaction. “Mm. Afinedemon—”
His eyes flicked in my direction, like he knew where I was, and glinted sharply as he raised his glass to his lips. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn he had tilted it in my direction. When he moved the cup away from his lips, I saw that they were slanted at a dangerous angle, a tiny smile I knew was directed at me. My breath hitched somewhere in my throat and before I could get it loose he had torn his gaze away from me, back to the irate ladies in front of him.
My heart had never been compelled into competitive sports by boys and yet here it was, acting like an Olympian, beating like its name was Serena. I’d worked hard to be immune to Wastemen, I’d taken my shots, but Malakai Korede was a new and evolved strain, one that could melt down the usual standard range Wasteman Detectors with the heat of a single glance. I’d done the right thing with my warning on the show. Iwasn’t special. He didn’tknowme and yet he was looking at me like he did. He wasn’t even turning anything on for the game, none of the R&B smoldering narrowed eyes My Guy utilized. This was just hislook.The girls had been in more danger than I’d presumed.
I cleared my throat. “Demons are often fine, MiMi. That’s why they’re demons. They look like angels. But you gotta remember they were cast out of heaven for a reason.”
Aminah smiled. To my relief, she hadn’t noticed the silent exchange. “Alright, Phony Morrison—”
My mouth sagged. “Excuse me?”
My best friend sipped her drink and smirked. “Oh, you thought you were the only one with bars? Anyway, he’s a little too tall for me. A bit too lean. I like my men a little stockier. Me-sized.”
Aminah was five foot three and Kofi was about five seven and thick with muscle.
I nodded. “Uh-huh. Ghanaian too? A dimple? Obsessed with you? Is that your type?”
Aminah shot me a flat look before turning back to the scene before us, pointedly ignoring me. Chi-Chi’s bangles were now adding percussion to Skepta’s north London growl, mingling with the rumbling grime beat, as she waved her hand in time with her words, punctuating whatever she was saying. Shanti shook her head, smiling sarcastically, arms folded across her ample cleavage, bolstered up in the V-neck of a bright yellow body-con dress.
Aminah pulled a face. “Yikes. Those are two of the finest girls on campus. I’ve never seen anything like this. You gonna stop it before gold hoops, balayage inches, and kanekalon hair go flying? Before people start slipping on shea butter? The Vegan Cupcakes and the Baddies look like they’re about to square up to each other.”
On either side of Chioma and Shanti stood loose crowds of their respective squads, conch piercings and culottes versus bundles and body-cons. At some point beyond this place the two cliques might merge, become one, conflate, but for now identities were distinct. They had to be, lest you got lost. At the moment they were just observing, sizing each other up, maybe laughing or rolling their eyes to add wind to jabs thrown, but I could sense the potential of a blowup.
I slid my head to the side. “I don’t know yet. I kind of want to see how it plays out.”
“Malakai, I don’t understand. Honestly, I don’t,” Chi-Chi was saying, “You take me to Root—”
My brows shot up. I was right. The boy did have skills. Root was the only vaguely fancy vegan restaurant in town. They had cloth napkins.
“Wevibed,like I genuinely felt like we’d maybe met before in our past life—I told you that—and now I find out that you been takingthis oneto chicken mortuaries.”
Aminah choked on her drink. “Is she talking about Nandos?”
I didn’t have a chance to reply because Shanti had stepped to Chioma’s face. “Babes, you better send some prayers up to your ancestors rightnow,tell your girls to burn up some incense or whatever the fuck you witches do, because let me tell you, you’re gonna need their help.”
Chioma laughed. “Cute. Omo, listen. I may be vegan but I eat bitches up for dinner. Don’t get confused.”
The crowd surrounding them erupted. I looked around to notice the audience for this episode ofLove and Grime, Whitewell,had broadened out. The ripple effect was widening; it had escalated, was souring. Malakai had still barely said a word, like he wasn’t the one responsible for this mess. It made my blood boil, but I had no time for my wrath to focus and sharpen in his direction. A full-on fight was going to break out on my turf, and if I didn’t stop it no one else was politically neutral enough to.
Aminah turned to me, her big, darkly lined doe eyes made wider. “Now?”
“Yup,” I nodded.
