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I take a sip out of my icy lemonade, using a spoon to stir the drink for no real reason whatsoever. I’m out in the front porch, seated on a washed-out chair, eyes scanning the backyard, cup in hand.
After the rollercoaster that was today, it takes a lot for me to relax for a few moments, processing everything that went down at Campaign Lunch. In all honesty, it looks like the student body might actually want Laura for president.
The speech itself sent chills down my spine, and I wouldn’t be surprised if all the avid listeners had the same experience. Campaign Lunch went impossibly well for us.
I take another drink of my juice, letting blocks of ice cool my mouth, and the soft wind caress my face. For once, it feels like I’m actually winning.
“Why are you so happy?” Claudie chirps, skipping out onto the backyard deck and sliding onto the seat next to me.
“Some good things happened today,” I say with a shrug as Claudie adjusts her butterfly adorned t-shirt, raising a plastic cup to her lips.
“Why are you so happy?” I ask as Claudie hums to some nursery song.
“No reason.” She says, beaded braids swinging back and forth with her every movement.
I give her a look, and she breaks out into a grin.
“Miss Stacy says that I could be in the spelling bee in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s so cool, Claudie.” I say, a smile curving onto my lips.
“Yeah, I know,” She says, matter of factly, slipping off of the chair and heading back into the house.
I let out a laugh. Apparently this conversation is over.
I down the rest of the drink, checking my phone to see the latest updates on the campaign. Posters, Laura’s slogans, and the flyers are the main things that appear on the screen.
In someone’s Instagram story, a clip of Laura’s speech is playing, and a smile curves onto my lips. I set my drink to the side, freezing when I hear an ear-splitting scream.
Claudie’s.
As though on fire, I jump to my feet, running into the house and to the living room when I see him.
He’s surrounded by the rest of my family, all hovering around him and shooting him questions. Once my eyes land on him, I release a matching scream and speed walk to where he is.
Because there he is; Nathaniel Davis, and he’s standing right in our foyer.
***
“So, it’s really different from here,” Nat concludes, shoving spoonfuls of jambalaya into his mouth.
His college is all the way on the other side of the country, and everything about it opposes Elkwood and the entire state, to be honest.
For one, where you see MAGA merch here, you’ll see The Future is Female and Melanin t-shirts over there. The city Nat currently resides and our town appear to be polar opposites, and Nat seems happier there, happier than I’ve ever seen him.
Nat’s taller than the last time I’ve seen him, too. He’s now standing at a solid 6’ 3’’ in height. Might not be something to compare to NBA players, but he towers over my 5’ 8’’.
“I trust you’re staying safe,” Dad says to Nat, his eyes gentle but firm.
Nat chuckles, letting out a breath. “I’m telling you, Dad, things are different there. It’s not like here.”
“Well, better to be safe than sorry,” Mom says, lips pulled into a half grin as she shrugs.
Nat just shakes his head with a laugh. “Of course. Trust me.”
“Can you take me with you when you leave?” Claudie asks, arms slung around Nat despite our parents’ requests for her to sit down.
“Of course,” Nat says, messing up her braids, “I’ll just pack you up in my suitcase.”
A bright grin rises to Claudie’s face. “That should work.”
Conversation continues to travel throughout the table, laughs filling the air. Nat makes a request for us to get rid of the rest of his old things, waving a dismissive hand and saying, “I don’t need them anymore.”
Mom nods at the request, eyes inquisitive before the conversation morphs from subject to subject.
“Could you walk with me to school tomorrow?” I ask after a few minutes of talking.
Nat nods as Mom gives me an unimpressed look, saying through a glance that I should let Nat rest after his long flight.
I’m surprised that Nat hasn’t immediately refused, especially since I know how he gets about his sleep, and he’s never handled long flights well either.
“Of course,” Nat says with a grin, white teeth contrasting against his dark brown skin, “Just like we used to.”
***
Walking to school with Nat brings back the feeling of sugary saccharine nostalgia. Suddenly, I’m 12 and Nat’s 16, and I’m complaining about all the extra drama of sixth grade, while Nat listens.
Four years later, nothing’s changed.
He’s always been a good listener.
Nat walks down the sidewalk with an easy stride, raising his eyebrows when a middle-aged lady walking her dog casts him a weary look.
He lets out a breath, exchanging glances with me as the lady sidles to the edge of the sidewalk, tugging her poor dog along with her, eyes suspicious and cutting.
Nat laughs when she’s gone, but there’s no mirth to it. “Good to be back.”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “A bit different than your new home.”
Nat draws his lips into a line. “Almost forgot how it was.”
“There’s no place to escape it,” I say with a shrug, clinging onto the straps of my backpack and letting my shoulders sag.
“True,” Nat ruffles a hand through lustrous curls, all combed into his signature Fresh-Prince-of-Bel Air-esque fade. “It’s just not as bad as it is here.” He adjusts his plain t-shirt. “It’s just sad, you know? For you to have to call this place home.”
I’m about to say something reassuring when his choice of words plays over in my head.
“I’ll miss y’all when I go back.” He says, Air Force 1s tapping against the pavement. He ruffles my hair, letting my braids become tousled, but when I see his face, his smile is almost forlorn.
I shoulder his arms off of my shoulders, eyes cutting into him. My voice sounds dejected, weak, barely audible when I say, “You’re not coming back.”
Not a question, not a proposition. A statement.
My brother’s eyes widen slightly, mouth opening and closing in hesitation before a fake, “don’t be stupid,” Comes out of his mouth, and a faux grin attempts to peek out. He reaches out for me, but I jump back as if burned.
“Don’t lie to me, Nat.” I say, venom tracing my voice.
Because, it isn’t fair.
It’s not fair that my brother’s leaving, it’s not fair that he isn’t telling me, it’s not fair that he isn’t coming back. It’s not fair that he’ll never come back, and I’ll be stuck here for years.
It’s not fair that he has a new life in a new state, and I can see it in his eyes that he may not be planning on seeing me in person again.
Even if I were to follow him to the other side of the country, what then? He’d have graduated, and I’d be wandering the university halls, trying to catch the scent of my older brother from when he used to go there. I will never be able to walk to school with him again, filling him in on everything. Not only that, but my highlight of the year—Nat’s annual visit—will be no more, and that hurts more than I care to admit.
Above all, it’s not fair that I’m angry at him because I want to leave just as much as he does.
Yet he’s not taking me with him.
***
I arrive at school alone, having ditched Nat in the middle of the sidewalk after my outburst. Laura catches my eye and speedwalks over to me, forcing me to push all my desolate thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand.
She’s smiling, so I force myself to mirror her expression, and not think about the fact that my brother’s never coming home again.
“We’re doing so well,” She says eagerly, hands raised in excitement. “I might actually win this thing.”
We walk through the hallway, noticing Yasmine at her locker. Once she locks it shut, she grins at us, shuffling over to us.
“Texted the kids at my table, and the vast majority of them say that they’re voting for you,” Yasmine says.
Millie walks by, sending a beam towards Laura as she mindlessly tugs her kilt down and adjusts her messy red bun. She glances at me, shrugs and waves, a gesture that I return, albeit hesitantly.
My eyes return to Laura and before I can ask, she speaks up.
“I’ve been talking to all the kids in our grade.” She says, nodding at someone as they pass by, “Having one-on-one conversations with them, in the hallways and while walking.”
“That’s really good,” I say with a nod and a grin that looks happier than I feel.
“They feel like they know me personally.” Laura emphasizes.
“That’s the key,” Yasmine says as she nods, “You win over the individual, you win over the collective.”
“And apparently,” Laura says conspiratorially, dropping her voice. “The bad blood between Amber, Brett, and the kids two tables away from us,” The Ambiguous Whites, I think as Laura finishes, “runs a lot deeper than we thought.”
Yasmine raises a perfect eyebrow. “Pray tell.”
Laura fills us in on the Ambiguous Whites, and the fact that the majority of them promised her their votes because of the one-sided rivalry.
Before I can take another step forward, a tall brunette stands in front of me. I look up to see Leslie Brown, skin pale as usual, hair packed back into an intense ponytail, blue eyes almost emotionless.
I make a move to curve around her, but she stops me, grabbing onto my wrist.
“Uh, Leslie?” I ask, attempting to tug my arm out of her grip.
“Wait,” She says, and I exchange glances with Laura and Yasmine, both of whom are equally confused.
“Amber dropped out,” Leslie says, letting my arm drop from her grip and folding both of her arms, eyes steady on us.
“I’m sorry, she did what?” Laura asks, squinting.
“I said what I said,” Leslie says, letting out a breath. “Brett kind of got to her. He also played dirty with blackmail.” She rolls her eyes. “He said—and I quote—that if we make things difficult, he’s going to tell the principal that we were ‘cyberbullying’ Millie.”
She sounds incredulous at that, and I raise my eyebrows. They were cyberbullying Millie, so Leslie’s air quotes don’t make much sense to me.
“Do you know what’s in the school code for cyberbullying?” She asks, eyes intense. “A week-long suspension, possibly expulsion.” She lets out a dry laugh. “Our campaign is ruined. And honestly,” Leslie shakes her head, staring at the ground. “This time Brett went too far.”
“Understatement,” Yasmine says through feigned coughs, causing Leslie to scoff in something resembling agreement.
“So...” I trail off, as if asking, what are we supposed to do with this information?
“I’m sure you’re all ecstatic.” Leslie says, icy eyes walking up and down our trio.
Laura shakes her head, saying resignedly, “Come on, Leslie. No one wants to win like that.”
“Whatever,” Leslie says, hands tracing the school emblem on the top right of her navy blue school vest. “I’m just asking all of you to do one thing.”
I cast a glance at Laura, pursing my lips.
“And that would be?” Yasmine asks, drumming her fingertips on her dark pants.
Leslie curls her lips into something uncomfortably resembling a sneer: “Beat him.”
My mouth opens to form some sort of reply as my eyes drift from Leslie. When my gaze latches onto something in the distance, all my words fall dead in my throat and my mouth parts in shock.
Emory is walking into the school, students gaping as he walks by, because a purple bruise covers his right eye, and nasty red splotches decorate his face.
And with that, Leslie’s requirement falls to deaf ears, and my heart threatens to pound out of my chest because Emory Richards has been attacked.
