Delali shifted in her seat and smiled, her heart curiously full, as she watched Lionel and Safiya gossip spiritedly about an influencer scandal she was struggling to understand. They were sitting in the campus library café, all sipping the thick hot chocolates the school put out seasonally. Delali had only a half hour to spare if she wanted to cram for her exam, and Safiya and Lionel had reluctantly agreed to meet her in the library. What they didn’t know was that the only reason her schedule was so tight was that she’d be spending the rest of the night doing witch reading.
“What about you babe?” Lionel asked, turning his attention to Delali. “How’s the whole school thing going? You found yourself a new piece yet? A little Donald Glover type?”
Lionel had trouble taking school seriously. Much like all her other industry friends, he thought her time at college was some kind of cute vacation and couldn’t wait for her to be back in LA, gossiping at exclusive house parties, going to star-studded workout classes, and getting photographed at whatever red carpets they deemed worthy of their presence.
“Actually,” Delali started. “I do have a confession to make.” She turned the mug around in her hands. A girl could only keep so many secrets at once.
Safiya and Lionel looked to her, their leather chairs squeaking comically as they turned.
“So as you both know, I went to Adrien’s play,” Delali explained. “Alone.” At this, she threw a look at Lionel.
“I had an event!”
“ . . . And I may or may not have stayed over at his apartment afterward.”
Safiya covered her mouth.
“Oh, we are so fucking back,” Lionel said, sitting up in his chair.
“No we’re not! We are not back. It was a one-time thing. It was just, you know nostalgia and whatever.” Nostalgia and mindreading and whatever. “I haven’t even seen him since, and I do not plan to.”
“Oh lord, I knew I shouldn’t have left you two alone,” Lionel said. He reached through the arm of his gray cashmere poncho to pick up his hot chocolate. “He’s still so sexy,”
“So sexy,” Delali confirmed wistfully.
“Wait, nostalgia for what?” Safiya asked. “For Adrien? Or . . . for the industry?”
“Not the psychoanalysis,” Lionel said.
“For neither!” Delali protested. “Maybe for that time I guess. I don’t know.” It was basically impossible to explain what reading Adrien’s mind had done to her.
“Well while we’re on the topic,” Lionel ventured. “I didn’t want to push but . . . What did you think? Of the script?”
“I haven’t read it,” Delali answered, which was true, despite that fact that a new copy materialized in her apartment weekly now. Not that she hadn’t considered it in her weaker moments.
“Still? Not even the first act?”
Delali shook her head.
“The first act of what?” Safiya interrupted. “What am I missing?”
“Lionel sent me a script over the summer,” Delali explained. “Against my wishes.” Delali looked over her shoulder, hoping the group of students at the next table over wasn’t listening.
“Rude,” Safiya chastised Lionel.
“But like I’ve said a trillion times, I’m focused on school right now.”
“I’m not trying to disrespect the school thing,” Lionel said. “I swear. I only sent it because if you do ever, for any reason at all, want to come back to Hollywood, you’re going to have to do it with that script. There’s no other option. It’s the one.”
“Ooh,” Safiya said. “Tell me more. Is it like Oscar bait-y? Or like artsy? Or what?”
“O-s-c-a-r,” Lionel spelled out, suddenly excited. “Ugh, it’s just the best thing I’ve read in years. It’s about Lorraine Hansberry—”
“The lady who wrote A Raisin in the Sun?”
“Oh and so, so, sooo much more. It’s by Mazy Kutekwa, she’s writing and directing.”
“Mazy Kutekwa? I can’t go five minutes without running into a new profile on her,” Safiya said. “That is kind of a huge deal, Dela.”
“And it’s just one of those scripts that captivates you, you know? The writing is stunning, the story’s unreal. And it’s just—I wish I’d had this project three years ago. It’s so the grown-up story Delali would need to move forward in the business.”
Delali pursed her lips. “I still would’ve come to college.”
Lionel was fully ignoring her at this point. “And don’t make me spell out who gets this role if Dela passes. It’ll be the same story as Ch—”
“That script sucked,” Delali interjected. It came out way bitchier than she wanted it to.
Lionel put his hands in the air. “I never said the script was good, just that it was going to blow up. Which it did.” Lionel did have a great eye, which was why he worked for Delali in the first place. After Georgia wrapped, Lionel had decided to be an agent instead of braving the child-to-adult-star leap, and had very quickly become one of the most powerful people in Hollywood.
“Ahh, Dela,” Safiya said. “Why don’t you just read it? School’s almost over anyway. I know you could go and do other stuff after graduating but I don’t know, this sounds like your kind of thing.”
“Maybe,” Delali said. “Maybe I’ll read it over break. Please just drop it.”
Safiya and Lionel had only been quiet for a moment before he muttered, “Do you know this man?”
Delali looked up. Dr. Portillo, clad in his usual khakis and sweater vest, had approached their cluster of sofas, and was awkwardly waiting for Delali’s attention.
“Delali! Good to see you getting some study time in,” he boomed, nodding at her open notebook. “Though I doubt you need it.”
“Oh, hi, Dr. Portillo.” Delali, surprisingly, actually liked Dr. Portillo, maybe even respected him. He seemed like a well-meaning nerd who was just surprised to find himself in an adult’s body. “These are my friends Safiya and Lionel. Guys, this is Dr. Portillo.”
They waved excitedly. Lionel had been treating the whole library experience like a field trip.
“Hi, sir,” Lionel said. “Are you the person that determines who gets this little Python prize? How much do I have to pay you to make sure Dela wins and I never have to hear about her studying ever again?”
Dr. Portillo laughed and held up his hand. “I’m sorry, the only currency I accept is GPA points. But Miss Tamakloe is doing just fine there.” He smiled as she spoke, but Delali caught something strange in the smile—a stiffness? It didn’t quite reach his eyes. What was that? He averted his gaze quickly, then looked at his watch.
“Well, listen, I’ll leave you guys to get to it. Have a good night.” He turned toward the hallway that led to the staircase.
“Gimme a second,” Delali said to Lionel and Safiya, placing her hot chocolate on the table. She got up and followed Dr. Portillo, catching up with him in the empty hallway in front of the staircase. She tapped his arm and he turned, surprised.
“Miss Tamakloe! What can I help you with?”
“Oh, nothing, I just—” She locked him into eye contact, then burrowed into his brain, fueled only by suspicion and a strong gust of intent. She focused in on him, breaking his mind open. Inside, there were lots of numbers, which was to be expected. In the background, other things: his wife, his kid, some receipts he needed to get reimbursed. But in the foreground, Delali saw things she could decipher. The plaque outside his office, which announced his name and position. Herself, for a moment, looking studious in the math students’ lounge, years ago. The prize ceremony, hazy, taking place in a sunny room in the future, days away from graduation. The recipient: Tanner, foggily sketched. Then back to Portillo’s office, and a face Delali recognized from a deep Google dive at the beginning of the year: Tanner’s father, trustee of the university. Then the sound of his voice started revolving around the inside of Dr. Portillo’s head, playing on an interminable loop: “I’m sure you understand how Tanner shows promise.” Dr. Portillo with the dean, that slimy fucker Dean Toggsworth, arguing about the optics of rewarding an actress. “It’s something to take into consideration,” Toggsworth kept saying. It took less than a second to see and understand it all.
Delali exited his mind. “Nothing,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you you had something in your teeth.”
She walked back to the lounge, feeling like she was underwater. Her performance on the exam didn’t matter. The GPA she’d obsessed over these past four years didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to win the award. She had never been in the running in the first place.
Delali
Gabbie
Maya
Delali
Maya
Delali
Lionel
Lionel
Delali
Delali
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