Part Six

“Come on, Aubrey, we’re leaving!”

Alissa’s voice rang through the house like a fire alarm—sharp, urgent, and unwilling to be ignored.

I grabbed my backpack, still slightly open from where I had stuffed in my journal and earbuds, and headed down the hallway. My sneakers squeaked slightly against the polished wood floors, and the faint scent of hibiscus hit me before I reached the kitchen.

Beatrice was already there.

Of course she was.

She moved like a whisper—silent but full of presence. Robe tied tight, head wrap precise, bangles chiming soft against her wrist. Her back was to me, but I knew she knew I was there.

She didn’t have to turn around to speak.

“Mi boy, yuh finally crawl outta di room,” she said, her voice thick with morning and music and that lilting Jamaican edge that made everything sound deeper than it should.

“I had to make sure I looked right,” I replied, leaning against the doorframe.

She chuckled.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong wid wantin’ fi look good. Jus’ remember—people see yuh spirit before dem see yuh clothes.”

That made me pause.

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “But sometimes people look right through both.”

Beatrice turned then. Her eyes searched me for a beat—deep, brown, and steady like ocean water at dawn.

“Today goin’ show yuh who really see yuh,” she said, handing me a mug.

It was hot. I could feel the warmth through the ceramic.

“Hibiscus, mint, an’ orange peel. Drink it slow. Whole day stretchin’ out ahead yuh.”

I took a sip. Sweet, tangy, familiar. And something else. Something harder to name.

“You always know when something’s about to happen,” I said.

She raised one brow and smiled without showing teeth.

“Mi spirit does feel it first. Yuh heart feel it now, too—don’t it?”

Before I could answer, Alissa’s heels clicked down the hallway like a warning shot. She appeared, already dressed like the cover of a teen fashion mag. Hair curled. Lip gloss subtle but glowing. School uniform rules bent just enough to look effortless. Phone in hand, attention already elsewhere.

“Seriously? Can we go now?” she said.

“Good morning to yuh too, Miss Queen Tings,” Beatrice muttered, shaking her head.

“We’re going to be late,” Alissa said, clearly ignoring her. “The car’s already out front.”

I followed Alissa through the marble foyer toward the front door. Outside, our driver, Franklin, was already holding the rear passenger door open.

Malcolm and Markus would probably be hading out at this time also. They had a driver too. Only two Black families behind the gates, and we lived right next door to each other. Our parents called it a blessing. Sometimes it felt more like an experiment.

In the back seat, Alissa was already back on her phone, airpods in, scrolling like the screen owed her something.

I stared out the tinted window as we drove past the palm trees swaying in the breeze and the pristine landscaping that tried too hard to look “natural.” The sunlight sparkled off the ocean to our right, but it felt distant. Like a picture you admire but don’t touch.

Beatrice’s words echoed back: “People see yuh spirit before dem see yuh clothes.”

But what if they don’t see either?

Franklin dropped us off at the front of the American Heritage building, just as the first bell rang. The campus buzzed with life—backpacks slung low, iced coffees in hand, groups forming and shifting like mini-universes colliding.

As I stepped out of the car, the usual cacophony of students—doors slamming, golf carts humming, voices rising over each other in a dozen little dramas.

Malcolm and Markus caught up with us just inside the courtyard.

“Yo, this place is big,” Malcolm said, looking around. “How do you not get lost?”

“You will,” I said flatly. “They give out maps for a reason.”

Alissa peeled off toward her crowd, greeted instantly by a chorus of “heyyyyy girl!” and hugs. Like it had been ages since they last saw one another, and not just summer. Her crew looked like they’d been curated—picture-perfect, lip-glossed, and already discussing the party next weekend.

Malcolm watched her go. “She moves like she owns the place.”

“She kind of does,” I said. “She’s been running things since sixth grade.”

He looked back at me. “And what about you?”

I shrugged. “I just survive.”

Malcolm shook his head. “Nah. That’s not what I see.”

I didn’t ask what he meant. I just kept walking, though his comment trailed behind me like a shadow.

Before I could ask, Mr. Patel walked by, already barking at someone for running in the breezeway.

I turned back to Malcolm.

“There’s your NASA trainer now. Welcome to chemistry.”

He groaned. “Let me guess—Caldwell is next?”

“Calculators are banned. Pray for us both.”

He laughed, and for a second, the tension in my chest loosened.

Then, just as I started to relax, I saw her.

Across the courtyard, standing near the shade of the media center breezeway—Layla Simmons. Hair up in a loose puff, navy sweater tied around her waist, brows lifted as she laughed at something her friend said.

I hadn’t seen her since before summer break.

She turned slightly, eyes sweeping the crowd, and for a second—just a second—they landed on me.

I looked away first.

I was still catching my breath from that when I turned slightly—too fast—and caught eyes with Leon.

Her twin.

He stood not far behind her, leaning against the wall, headphones around his neck, a sketchbook in one hand.
He had the same smile as Layla, just sharper. And when our eyes met—by complete accident—his smile widened.

Too wide.

“Crap,” I muttered, dropping my gaze instantly.

I didn’t even mean to look. But now it felt like something had been exchanged. Like he’d caught me in something I didn’t say out loud.

And that was enough to make my chest tighten.

Malcolm stepped up beside me. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly, clearing my throat. “Let’s go.”

I didn’t look back at her. And I definitely didn’t look back at him.

To be continued…