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My legs swing back and forth in the playground, eyes on the pebbles, feet awkwardly dangling off the swings. Laura’s voicemail fills the chilly air for what feels like the hundredth time.
Laura here. If I’m not answering, I’m probably horseback riding or visiting the ranch up north. Kidding. If I’m not answering, I’m probably in a ditch or I just don’t want to talk to you. Anyways, you could leave me a message. Might take time to get back to you. I’m crazy busy these days, sorry. Come to think of it, just send me a text.
I did send texts, a couple of which were left on ‘read’, the majority of which had no indication of Laura seeing them. The wind brushes past my skin, and I shiver, letting the sunset distract me from my phone for a few short minutes.
Everything’s in shambles.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my knit sweater. We were so close. So close to changing Elkwood for the better, so close to convincing the students that Laura could be the president they needed. Then Brett lit a match, and burned our entire campaign to the ground.
Laura has a history; a history that changes the way the students at Elkwood view her, a history that gives them an excuse to back out of voting for her.
It’s hard to imagine the inexplicably casual, future Stu-Co president, eerily calm Laura Johnson to be someone who skipped classes, fought, and broke school property. It doesn’t make any sense. What’s worse is that Laura won’t talk to me, won’t clear things up.
There has to be more to the story that she’s not telling me. There has to be.
“Mina.”
The nickname startles me, and my swinging legs come to a stop as my gaze darts to the only person who’s ever called me that.
Nat. The orange streetlights trace out his features and he’s decked out in a grey jacket, shivering under the cold that he hasn’t witnessed for a long time.
“I hate that name, Nat,” I say, watching my brother slide onto the swing next to me, shoes digging into the pebbles.
“I know,” He says, giving me a tired grin. His eyes flicker up to the stars and he lets out a low chuckle. “Haven’t been here in forever.”
A quietness sweeps over us, and my hands clutch the chains of my swingset.
“I’m sorry,” I say, glancing over to my brother, eyes watery from the rollercoaster of the day.
“No,” He says, shaking his head, “I’m sorry.” Pause. “I mean, I was essentially ditching you. I know how lonely you get here, but I was planning on leaving you behind. It’s selfish.”
“I just didn’t want to say goodbye to my brother,” I say, folding my hands onto my laps. “You know, it sucks, not being able to have you visit yearly, but you don’t like it here. That’s valid, and that’s your right.”
“But leaving my family behind?” He asks, shaking his head at the ground. “Our whole life we’ve been taught that the one thing that stays constant is family. If I leave, there’s none of that. You’ll have to deal with all this crap alone.”
“Nat,” I say, tilting my head to the side. “I’ve been braving through all this for years without you.”
“I still visited,” Nat cuts in, lips pursed.
“True, but that’s a couple of holidays a year, the vast majority of it is spent by myself.” My voice lowers, “You don’t need to feel obligated to come to a place you hate just because of that.”
“Don’t I?” Nat knits his eyebrows together, a sad smile flitting to his lips. “You know Claudie was crying today?” He asks, and I don’t say anything, letting him plow on. “She kept on saying that she’d miss me and that she didn’t want me to leave, because I’m supposed to be heading out in a few days. I just sat there, hugging her, and my conscience was just eating at me like hell.”
My lips fall into a frown.
Nat runs a hand over his curls. “And it finally dawned on me, you know? Like holy crap, I’m not going to see Claudie grow up.” A watery laugh escapes his lips. “I won’t be there to see her finish elementary school, won’t be here to harass her potential crushes.” I laugh at that and he continues, “Won’t be there to see her graduate high school. I’ll miss all her firsts, and it’ll destroy me.”
“Hey,” I say, reaching out to my brother as his shoulders shake.
“All for what?” He leans forward in his swing and almost seems to ask himself, “Not going home because I feel uncomfortable? Not seeing my sisters because I don’t like it here?”
He’s reducing all the blatant abuse he deals with in this town—from fellow townspeople—to simple dislike, but it’s so much more than that.
He looks at me, brown eyes exhausted and stressed. “And what message am I sending you? That a Davis quits when things get a bit rough?”
“You have your right to your feelings,” I say, “we know Davises don’t quit. We’re all going to be out of here after 12th grade. You endured 12 years of this, like both Claudie and I will.”
“And Mom and Dad? What about them? We’re gonna leave them here to rot in a retirement home once we’ve all left and spread out across the country?”
I don’t say anything to that.
“I can’t do that.” He runs a hand over his face. “So, no matter what comes up, I’ve gotta see both you and Claudie through the rest of your childhood, at the very least.” He checks his watch, rising to his feet as I mirror his actions.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, although my heart swells at his firm promise.
“I feel like I owe that to you, at the very least. I mean, racism and bad weather isn’t going to keep me away,” He says, his eyes firm. “You ain’t about to get rid of me just yet.” His eyes glint, crinkling at the sides.
I almost open my mouth to protest, feeling guilty about his change in decision. Before I can, however, I let a long overdue sob escape my throat.
“I’m sorry,” My voice shakes, “You don’t know how happy that makes me,” I say, tears rolling freely as my brother wraps me around in a hug, swaying from side to side.
“We’ll visit you, too.” I say, my voice muffled into his Supreme hoodie. “Make it easier on all of us.”
He pats me on the back, saying, “I’d like that, I really would.”
***
The entire family is situated around the living room, seated on varying cushions. Claudie hovers around Nat, latching onto him as though he’ll disappear if she lets go, and I sit next to Nat, ice cream in hand as my parents talk from across us.
“Oh,” Mom says, setting her ice cream bowl aside and meeting my eyes. “Orion’s got his hands full at the diner tomorrow for a big order. His mother’s wondering if you could volunteer for just a couple of hours?”
“Is this a request?” I ask, already aware of the answer.
Mom laughs and Dad laughs along with her. “Cute, Amina. Be ready at 4:30 after school. I’ll drop you off.”
Nat cackles at that, and I make sure to dig my elbow into his side, ignoring the exaggerated yelp that escapes his lips.
“Yes ma’am.” I say, raising the spoon to my lips.
“By the way, how’s that campaign of yours going?” Dad asks, leaning back against the couch.
“Oh, it’s um...” A major flop. “We’re having a bit of a setback,” I say, choosing my words carefully and playing with the strings of my sweatpants.
“Alright,” Mom says as Nat narrows his eyes at me from the side.
“And that’s with Lauren, no... Lara?” Mom asks, snapping her fingers as she tries to remember, eyes finding the ceiling.
“Laura, Mom.” I say, and she snaps her fingers once more, nodding at me. “You had one job, ma’am,” I emphasize, Mom swatting at me from across the table.
“Anyway, invite her over sometime. Seems like a nice girl.” Mom says as Dad leans against her side.
“Yeah, I’ll...” My heart sinks, “I’ll do that.” If we ever talk again and manage to fix this mess of things.
“I hope you guys win,” Claudie pitches in, letting out a yawn, and I pull her against me with a soft grin.
“Thanks, Clauds,” I say as she yawns once more.
“Looks like it’s time for someone to head to bed.” Nat says, glancing down at Claudie as she gives him a skeptical look.
“Yeah, right,” She yawns, curling up into a ball as she usually does when sleep is coming.
A few minutes later, she’s knocked out cold. Dad lifts her up, Mom following after him as they head upstairs to her room.
“So, I’m guessing there was a falling out?” Nat asks once they’re gone.
I shake my head, letting out an exasperated breath. “Nat, it’s a whole mess.”
On a day when I didn’t appear to be so drained, Nat would likely respond to this with: “oh, a whole mess? As opposed to a quarter of a mess, I presume?”
To which he would get a cuff in the head, by courtesy of me.
In place of this, Nat hums thoughtfully. “Wanna talk about it?”
I shrug before shaking my head. “No thanks.” My phone pings, and I lift it from the floor, noticing four unread messages from Leslie and two from Amber. I sigh, glancing at the screen for a moment before laying it on the floor face-flat.
Noticing Nat’s curious eyes, I say, “A lot of pressure to win these elections.” Which we’re going to lose.
My phone pings at another message. I check the profile, and it reads: EmoryRichards, with a selfie of Emory, his expression seemingly uninterested, brown eyes somewhere far away from the camera.
I purse my lips, realizing he must’ve gotten my number through Yasmine or Laura, maybe.
“Who’s that?” Nat asks, and I give him a look before saying, “The only other black kid in the school.”
Nat lets out a burst of incredulous laughter. “Emory Richards? That him?”
“The one and only,” I say, holding the screen in front of my face. I swipe through the messages: It’s Emory. Laura isn’t answering anyone. Are you going to be by the diner area sometime soon? Tomorrow would be good.
With Nat’s watchful eyes over me, I reply, fingers flying over my phone screen: yeah, actually, I find myself typing.
After a few minutes, he responds. Okay, good. The diner area’s a neutral place for everyone so...
Bubbles appear on the screen, and I wait.
Yasmine is meeting us in that area, too.
I reply with a ‘sounds good’, knitting my eyebrows as I type out the question churning in the depths of my mind: why are we meeting up?
His next message pops up as Mom and Dad return from downstairs, settling onto the couch as they raise mugs filled with rosemary tea to their lips. Slightly smiling, my eyes flick back down to my screen:
I have a plan to get Laura back into the run. I’m also thinking of teaching Brett a lesson or two.
Pursing my lips, I type out my final question: do you think this will work?
Emory’s final answer comes briefly and firmly:
Well, we have to give it a shot.
I let out a breath, setting my phone on the coffee table and inhaling deeply.
Then the tiniest shred of hope curls in my chest, eradicating the blue dejection that’s been consuming my chest for the entire day.
Because my mind wanders to the possibility of Emory’s plan actually working; his plan actually fixing this whole mess, maybe even saving our failing campaign.
I hum.
Maybe we’re not so hopeless after all.
