Black Enough: Stories of Being Young & Black in America. Ibi Zoboi
only proving my point. I love ‘that sci-fi stuff.’ If she act the way you act over it, why waste the time?”
“You don’t know how she act, and you won’t ever if you don’t step up.” He pressed back in his booth corner. Looking like he wanted to dust me for fingerprints and solve me. “So you saying it ain’t a thing if I hollered?”
“Go for it. I’m cool.” The lie twisted my stomach on the way up, dragging acid.
Amir slid from the booth, went straight for Dayshia, who’d drifted toward a pack of other mall girls. There was Aubrey from Things Remembered, Vicki from Victoria’s Secret, and Desdemona Bloodbayne (the name she preferred; her birth name Jill) from Hot Topic.
Amir was charming when he wanted to be, so he infiltrated the ladies’ convo with ease. They welcomed him with smiles.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Of course it was a thing if he hollered at Dayshia! He should know that! A clear violation of bro code.
I couldn’t watch whatever happened next, so I did what came easy to me. Words.
My phone was full of them. Not the “sci-fi stuff” Mr. Know Every Damn Thing suggested. Just stuff. My observations about Briarwood.
Take this “soft opening,” for example … it did not seem to be going well. Those who ordered food—like the Limited employees occupying a circular booth in the corner—grimaced on first bites and left mounds of sauce-heavy wings virtually uneaten. Dude who worked in the JCPenney men’s department kept checking his watch, yet likely couldn’t escape because guess who was back! Mr. Beneton, checking on the captives, making everyone as uncomfortable as the Santa Claus–looking dude from Yankee Candle who’d ordered the crab poppers and was rubbing his stomach with regret.
Brian, Ben, and the Far East Emporium took their battle to the Shoot-to-Win Free Throw machines, while the Dick’s Sporting Goods crew went for like their tenth round on Big Buck Hunter—
“Hey.” Dayshia slid into the booth, taking Amir’s old seat. “Your friend told me about you.”
I died for half a second.
“You shouldn’t have been afraid to come talk to me.” She smiled with perfect teeth tinted blue under the Mall-Stars black lights. My head whipped toward Amir, aiming a Scanners-style telepathic attack at him, hoping to either explode his head or read his mind. What did you do?!
He raised a fresh glass of ice water with lemon at me, winked.
Dayshia said, “If you want to take care of it tomorrow, we open at ten.”
“I’m—huh?”
She pointed Amir’s way. “That guy told me about the broken clasp on your mom’s necklace. If her birthday was just last week, you’re well within the return window. Our policy is very generous, so it won’t be an issue to replace it.”
There was no necklace. Was there even a mom? My short-circuiting brain repaired itself, deduced Amir hadn’t hollered at Dayshia. He made up a story about problems with a purchase, created common ground for me and Dayshia. Chewbacca was still on my shirt.
Leaning forward, obscuring old fur-face, I said, “I didn’t want to bother you off the clock.”
“As my manager says, I’m a Nordstrom ambassador anytime I’m in the mall. I’m Dayshia, by the way.”
I nearly said I know—I follow you on the Gram. Trapped that foolishness in my throat. “Shawn.”
“You’re here in the mall?”
“Yeah, GameStop.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It’s all right. You game?”
“I have driven a Mario Kart on occasion. I also Guitar Hero’d at a party when I was ten.”
“So that’s a no.”
She laughed. Laughed! With me, not at me. Was this actually going okay?
Glancing toward Amir, I sent another telepathic message. I might not be whipping your ass after this. Maybe.
When I faced Dayshia again, I nearly shit myself. Cologne Kiosk Cameron was in the booth with us, arms spread along the backrest, his fingers nearly grazing her shoulder. She curled her lip, seemed as shocked as I was.
“Yo!” he said, a spicy cloud of whatever sample he’d doused himself in crop-dusting the immediate area. “What’s poppin’, fam?”
“… I was like, babe, I know it’s CU homecoming weekend, but somebody else gotta use those Kendrick Lamar backstage passes. I got other plans. You feel me?” Cologne Kiosk Cameron thrust his palm at me like a karate strike.
I was slow registering his attempted high five, dazed by all his not-so-humblebrags. I slapped his palm as quick as possible, then friction-burned my palm on my jeans.
“I’m just saying,” he said, “it’s crazy how many opportunities come my way at the kiosk. Everybody wanna smell good, so everybody come to me. Did you know we sell women’s fragrances, too?”
“You’ve mentioned it,” Dayshia said, glassy-eyed, aiming her chin toward the bar. “Earlier. Over there.”
His monologue never even paused, like a living PA announcement blaring weekly mall specials on a loop. “People drop in with concert tickets, passes to those gospel stage plays. Got my grandma on the front row of Javarius Jenkins’s If Your Man Ain’t Jesus, He Just Ain’t last month.” He scooted closer to Dayshia. “I got the hookup, is all. Just say the word.”
He flashed a smarmy grin my way. “Same for you, little man.”
“I’m taller than you.”
Dayshia pressed an elbow into his ribs, halting his lateral motion. “Excuse me. I need to … just.” She aimed finger guns in the general direction of elsewhere.
Slow, and somehow sleazy in a way basic motion shouldn’t be, Cameron exited the booth, clearing a path for Dayshia. As she escaped, she shot me an I-couldn’t-take-it-anymore look that got me laughing. With her. Not at her.
Cologne Kiosk Cameron sat again. “I know, dude. It’s funny how I can’t keep them off me. Hope you taking notes on that little phone of yours.”
What was his deal with everything being “little”?
“I mean, unless you smashing already. I didn’t get that impression because your shirt. If I misread the situation, get me up on game.”
Best I could tell, this dude misread every situation. Quick draw with my own finger guns, I pointed somewhere—anywhere—else, ejected from the booth. I moved to midfloor where Ben, Brian, and the Far East Emporium dudes battled on Pac-Man. Did a slow spin, desperately searching for Dayshia.
Pia stomped up, lugging a tray full of waters with lemon. “Guess you don’t want these anymore.”
“Have you seen the girl who was in my booth?”
“Nice to see you’re thirsty for something. She out by the fountain.”
Beyond the Mall-Stars entrance, on the fountain’s edge, Dayshia scrolled through her phone. I moved that way, a dull pinch in my lower abdomen registering. I took a few more steps, and it became sharper, more urgent, stopped me cold. Those ice waters!
Ignore my pulsing bladder to resume conversation with my dream girl? Tempting. Except she was sitting by a freaking fountain. All those spouts continuously splashing the surface, the ripples. I’d be squirming the whole time.
Maybe it was dumb—maybe I misread the situation—but it seemed like me and Dayshia connected back in the booth, if only for a minute. You know what would super ruin that vibe? Me pissing myself.
Quick detour, then.
The