With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo
Three’s Company
“Hold up, wait. Run that back for me. That bitch Pretty Leslie tried to basically out you to this guy and then he played the shit out of her and asked you on a date? In front of her? I need to meet this dude ASAP.”
I laugh at Angelica and grab my sweater from my locker. The weather is definitely cooling down—finally—and the last thing I need is a cold. “She didn’t try to ‘out’ me. I’m not a closet mom. And your language, Gelly!”
Angelica slams the locker shut. “Don’t try to censor my language, Emoni, just because you slipped in front of Babygirl. But seriously, he didn’t know, right? So it was your story to tell, not hers.”
“I don’t even know if she did it on purpose. Maybe she was trying to be nice.”
Gelly hooks her arm through mine. “Emoni, not even you are that naive. Didn’t I raise you better? She was trying to piss on him.”
“Gelly! What are you saying? Make a right.” We turn.
“You know exactly what I’m saying. He was a fire hydrant and she was marking her territory, but instead the fire hydrant picked up legs and walked up under your tree.”
Gelly and her vivid imagination. “I don’t think that extended metaphor is working for you.”
Angelica screws her forehead up thoughtfully. “No? I think it would make an interesting painting. Where are we going again? Why’d we turn this way?”
But we’re already at the main entrance and there’s Malachi. Standing with a group of other guys, all of them laughing. How does he make friends so fast?
Angelica takes one look at him and her eyebrows lift into her bangs. “Isn’t that the cutie I saw walking you to class? Is that Malachi? Is that why we came this way? Get it, girl!”
I pinch the inside of her arm to hush up any more questions.
Malachi notices us and daps up the other dudes before breaking through the circle to approach me.
“You actually came. There is hope in the world,” he says, smiling. Then he turns to Gelly, just like that, not even waiting for an introduction. “I’m Malachi. I transferred from Newark.”
Angelica’s eyebrows are still raised high on her forehead when she looks at him. “Hello, Malachi. I’m Angelica. What’s your business with my friend?”
“It’s funny you should ask. Why don’t you come with us for ice cream and we can discuss. Is there somewhere near here we can go?”
Angelica and I look at each other. There’s no ice-cream spot nearby. And neither one of us would want to hang out so close to school anyway. There’s only one place to go.
“You ever hung out by the Schuylkill?” I ask.
We cross the street to the train station on Broad Street. The walk is a silent one and I begin getting nervous about Malachi and Angelica having an awkward conversation. If he says something wrong, Angelica won’t hesitate to tell him about himself.
But as soon as we get on the train, Malachi asks Angelica a million questions about me, and that traitor starts telling him all my embarrassing middle school stories. I’m glad the train is so packed people can’t overhear their conversation or see my blushing cheeks. Angelica asks him about his intentions again, but it’s clear she’s mellowed out some and Malachi’s small shrug and sweet smile seems to be answer enough for her. We transfer to a second train and it takes us another twelve minutes to get to the right stop, then a five-minute walk toward the boardwalk to find the water-ice shop Angelica and I love.
“This isn’t ice cream,” Malachi says when we step into the shop.
“No, it isn’t. It’s better,” Angelica answers. We both look at him, daring him to argue that water ice isn’t a direct gift from the gods.
Malachi is clearly an intelligent guy because he knows better than to say a word. He just orders his lemon-flavored ice and we walk to the water. It’s a beautiful day and the way the light hits the water makes me so grateful to be where I’m from. I look at the bridge, the city skyline, people in canoes on the water, kids splashing in and out of a sprinkler nearby.
Angelica spoons some cherry ice into her mouth and breaks the silence. “How are you two liking the culinary arts class?”
Malachi carefully eats some of his water ice. “I like it. Has Emoni told you about the time we all licked her pudding?”
Angelica shoves her red bangs out of her eyes. “Hold up, what?”
I swat Malachi on the arm. “It just sounds dirty.”
“Ouch. You’re heavy-handed. I’ll add that to the list of things I’ve learned about you today.”
We all get quiet. Then Angelica smiles brightly. “Well, I’m going to go meet up with Laura. Her school is right around here and it should have just let out. Emoni, give my goddaughter a hug for me. Malachi, make sure you get her home safe.” She points at him as she gets up. “And don’t make me hunt you down.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Yes, ma’am. I will treat her like the friends we aren’t.” He smiles wide. And I see Angelica falter. Angelica, who doesn’t even blink twice over Idris Elba, almost trips on herself at the sight of Malachi’s smile. I see the artist in her spark to attention.
“What a beautiful smile,” she says softly, like she’s talking more to herself than to him. “This one, the real smile you have on right now. Almost as if you’re choosing to give a sunlit middle finger to this fucked-up world.” She reaches out a finger and taps one of his dimples, softly. “Be careful with that smile.” She raises an eyebrow and looks my way; clearly the warning is for me. Gelly twinkles her fingers goodbye as she leaves.
When I turn to look at Malachi the smile is gone. The silence grows heavy.
I throw my empty cup into a nearby trash can and wipe the sticky juice off my fingers with an extra napkin. “She didn’t mean anything by that. And she doesn’t like guys, so don’t take the dimple touching too seriously.”
“You sure? I think I felt some serious vibes coming my way.” But I can tell he’s joking.
“Why’d you do it? Ignore Pretty Leslie that way? Ask me to get ice cream?”
He’s eating his water ice really slowly and still has half of it left in his cup. “I know what it’s like to have secrets, or rather, private things. Family shouldn’t be tossed around that way to try and bag some dude. Plus, I wanted to get to know you better. I know we aren’t friends . . . but maybe we can become friends.”
I pretend to flick him in the face and he spills some of his water ice trying to back away.
He points at me. “Cheap shot, Santi, cheap shot.” He wipes off his jacket with the napkin I hand him. “You’re not going to ask me what it is?”
I raise an eyebrow.
“The secret about my family.”
I shrug. “If you wanted me to know something you’d tell me yourself.”
“So you didn’t want me to know about your daughter?”
I spread my hands wide, an open book. “Malachi, I was pregnant most of my freshman year. Everyone knows. It’s not some big secret. But speaking of my daughter, I need to get home. Thank you for inviting me to kick it.”
Malachi and I turn our backs to the river and he stands on the outside of the street, protecting me from cars as we walk to the train station. I keep a tight leash on the words that yank on my tongue: I want to get to know you, too.