27. NINETEEN

SADIA was on a mission: She wanted two black helium balloons, embossed with a 1 and a 9. Ayuong—now a freshman at SUNY Poly—was turning 19; Sadia and her friends were taking her to the Turning Stone buffet for lunch.

Inside the party store in New Hartford, Sadia looked like a young actress—her dark eyes were lined with silver; her eyelids were a glittery ice blue. She wore a head wrap, a belted shirtdress over her ripped jeans, and knee-high riding boots.

The young clerk, behind the balloon counter, was dazzled. But Sadia did not notice.

“Can I help you?”

The clerk searched different cubbyholes for the balloons. Then he got on a ladder and searched some more. Sadia checked her texts.

“I think we’re out of black,” he said.

Sadia was crushed. “I wanted black.”

A mother and her little boy walked by with a shopping cart loaded with party supplies.

“Is there another color?” he asked. “OK, silver.”

He checked, then said, “Got it!” He went in the back—then returned with two enormous balloons.

“Thank you,” Sadia said, turning away. He kept staring as she made her way toward the cashier. “I don’t know why I’m so excited about Ayuong’s birthday,” she said. “I’m more excited about it than mine.” Her 19th birthday was five months away.

“My other friends are too clingy. They want to take too much. Ayuong doesn’t want anything.”

Sadia admired how skillfully her friend was able to navigate the outside world. “She’s smart, does great at school,” Sadia said. Unlike most of the African girls she knew who went to college, Ayuong lived in a dorm.

As she stood in line to pay for the balloons, Sadia’s cell phone rang. Looking down, her face softened then lit up. The young man on the screen was about 20; he had brown eyes and a wide smile.

“Wow—who you looking so pretty for?” he asked. “Why you dressed up, wearing makeup?”

“We’re taking Ayuong out,” Sadia said, looking embarrassed.

He said something in a low voice.

“Sshh,” she said. “Just talk halal.”

She muted the phone, put in earbuds, and talked to him softly. There was a radiance about her as she moved forward in line.

Distracted, Sadia paid $25 for the balloons.

She had been seeing Chol—Ayuong’s cousin—for a year, she said, crossing the parking lot to the car.

He was studying engineering at a community college in Syracuse—and he came from a good family. A few times a week, he drove from Syracuse to see her. “Ralya, Sofia—they love him,” Sadia said.

But their romance had a rocky start.

“I didn’t trust him,” she explained. “This girl pressed me—to ask him about other girls. People try to break you up. They come around to ruin your life.”

And Sadia took the bait: “I said things to him that were cruel, things you shouldn’t say.”

Chol stopped responding to her on social media; he disappeared. But then a couple of months later, she was at a party and saw a pasta and meat casserole that reminded her of a Sudanese dish his mom cooks. “We used to eat it all the time,” she said.

She texted Chol: “I’ve just eaten something you used to be obsessed with.”

He did not answer. He had been waiting for her to calm down—but was also angry at how she had misunderstood him.

You can ignore me, she texted the boy she loved. But do you got to be so mean?