by Arthurs, Nia
I rub the bridge of my nose. “Idiot.”
My mouth has a habit of running away before my brain can decide if I should speak or not.
Which sucked in high school.
As if being fat and pimply wasn’t enough, I had to sweeten the deal by being outspoken.
Bullies swarmed me everyday like fruit fries on an old sandwich.
Be quiet and you don’t get punched.
It was a simple enough lesson.
One I learned.
A habit I outgrew.
But seeing Cobie again put me right back in that school, put me right back in that obese body. It isn’t an excuse, but it’s the only explanation I have.
Deciding I’ve done enough for the day, I turn and head down the corridor.
The neighbor who’d been blasting rap music before is now polluting the air with a tangy country love song.
I admire this building’s musical diversity if nothing else.
My shoes thud against the concrete steps.
I get to the parking lot.
Climb into my SUV.
Squint against the glaring sunshine.
Sitting outside Cobie’s apartment trying to figure her out is pointless, and I have no desire to return to the office.
I consider meeting Ollie at the gym, but remember he has his AA meeting around this time and discard that option.
I check my watch.
Might as well head home.
On the way there, I pass a high school that’s crawling with students. A heavy-set kid with skin as white as ivory and spiky hair catches my eye.
For a moment, time suspends.
Instead of some random kid, I’m looking at my old self, man-boobs jiggling against a stained-white T-shirt, teeth crooked and jutting out, face twisted in an expression of horror as he’s chased by idiots trying to cover their own insecurities with violence and hate.
“Piggy! Get back here!”
My heart pounds.
I’ve got to hide.
My head whips back and forth. I search for somewhere safe.
“Whales belong in the ocean, Bech!”
I glance behind me.
They’re gaining ground.
Someone sticks his foot out intentionally.
I don’t see it.
I go sprawling, my chin hitting the hard cement of the courtyard.
Laughter bursts out.
Shame burns my cheeks as red as the blood dripping from my scraped chin.
“Fatty!”
“Loser!”
“You’re so ugly, you make me sick!”
And then… a shadow.
A girl.
Brown skin. Brown eyes. Beautiful.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
Kindness.
A smile.
No one’s ever smiled at a loser like me.
A horn honks and the loud noise draws me out of the memory.
I shift the stick and drive away from the cold, white buildings.
To most people, high school is an uncomfortable reminder of teenaged acne, insecurity, raging hormones, broken relationships, solidified friendships and drunken mistakes.
For me, high school was a nightmare. A true, bona-fide, horror flick equipped with torture chambers and boogeymen.
But, for a brief moment everyday, that nightmare turned into a dream.
Because, everyday, at precisely twelve-fourteen, Cobie Simmons passed me in the hallway as she headed to lunch.
Most of the time, she was smiling or laughing or chatting.
Most of the time, she walked right past me.
As if I were invisible.
As if I didn’t exist.
At fifteen, I would have given my left rib and any of my organs for Cobie Simmons to look at me.
I knew better than to think she’d ever want to touch me, so those desires were safely locked away in the darkest corners of my mind.
I was Griffin Bech, the loser, and she was the most popular girl at school.
My crush on her was a dusty secret that no one would have guessed.
But seeing her again, after so long, those feelings are starting to reemerge.
No, reemerge is too tame a word.
They’re popping up like a damn jack-in-the-box.
I don’t think I can see Cobie without wanting her.
Which is a problem.
For one thing, I have to work with her.
For another, she hates me.
But then… hate is better than apathy.
After that day in the courtyard, Cobie never spoke to me again. Never even acknowledged that I existed.
Now, I’ve got her in my sights and this time, I’m not the fat kid biting dust while the world laughs.
I’m different.
I’m better.
And I’m taking her.
Whether she likes it or not.
6 Cobie
“I hate you.”
“You don’t mean that,” my best friend says as she lounges in her five thousand dollar couch and pops grapes into her mouth.
“How could you do this to me?”
“What? Offer you the opportunity of a lifetime?”
“I could sue.”
“For what?”
I plant my hand on my hip. “Forgery.”
“Really?” Chandra smirks. “That’s cute. Even if you mean that—and you don’t—you have no proof that I signed the contest papers.”
She slips her foot out of the sofa and plants it on the floor. Long, ebony-colored legs glimmer with a supernatural luminescence.
Chandra flips her expensive, baby pink robe over her thigh.
Sighs.
“This isn’t the thank you I was expecting, but I’ll accept it.”
“I didn’t say thank you.”
“You didn’t have to.” She winks one fake eyelash and rises daintily. With a swipe of her hand, she grabs the Winthrop contract off the table.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ll photocopy this and send it to Rick’s lawyer friend. You should know the ins and outs of the proposal before you put your name to anything.”
I frown. “Have I mentioned I can’t stand you?”
“Would you like something to drink?” Chandra asks, gliding to the spacious dream of a kitchen on the other side of the house. Her words become faint. “I’ve got Chardonay.”
I stalk toward her. “You know what those conditioners mean to me.”
“They’re your mother’s legacy, yada, yada. Of course I know.” She pauses, wine bottle in hand and eyes big with fake innocence, “I’m your best friend, remember?”
I follow her to the wine glass rack. “And as my best friend, you should respect my wishes.”
“As your best friend, I should push you to be the best version of yourself.” She selects two of the suspended glasses. Holds them between her fingers. “Your mom didn’t create that incredible concoction so you could hide it away for a chosen few.”
“Now you sound like him,” I grumble.
“Who?”
“The guy from Winthrop who came to talk to me.”
“Why are you growling? Did he hit on you or something?”
“I wish.”
“Huh?”
“He tore into me. Basically said that I don’t really care about my community.”
I expect Chandra to cuss him out or console me.
Something!
Instead, she tips her head back and laughs. “How’d he read you so well?”
“Ouch.”
“Cobie, you’re always ranting and raving, but you don’t do anything. Look at me, I don’t pretend to care about the injustices of the world. I just want to be healthy and comfortable, but you...”
“I what?”
“You act like this righteous black activist and then you hide in your little corner and pretend you’ve done your good deed.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I rail. “I moved to the city with a hundred dollars i
n my bank account and a dream. That’s it. I’m trying to hustle and make it on my own. Unlike some people.”
She swirls her wine around, unbothered. “Hm.”
“What?”
Bringing the Chardonnay to her berry-tinted lips, Chandra takes a tiny sip. “That guy, was he handsome?”
“Handsome?” I sputter.
Grab the wine she poured out for me.
Knock it back.
“That’s not the point.”
White teeth glimmer as she grins. “So he was fly?”
“Don’t get distracted. We’re talking about you and me here.”
“I had my doubts, but I’m glad I signed you up for that contest. Good things are about to happen for you, Babe. I can feel it.” She snags the entire bottle to her chest and lets the wine glass dangle from her fingers as she returns to the living room.
I follow, much calmer now, and study my best friend with a keen eye. She sighs as she lowers herself into the sofa, and I get the nagging feeling that something’s wrong.
Growing up I was the more sensitive one, while Chandra was detached from everything. Nothing seemed to bother her and it intrigued me.
I was highly emotional and got way too involved in people who didn’t deserve my energy.
My dream was to be just like her—cool, aloof and unaffected.
So I worked hard and followed her around until she gave in and befriended me.
Eventually, Chandra shifted from simply tolerating my presence to opening her heart. Our friendship was cemented one night around a warm and flickering bonfire.
It was my first ‘serious’ high school party. Chandra sat on the beach, staring at the waves, her slender fingers wrapped around a beer can. She was teaching me how to drink.
I tried to be like all the other sophomores, but I got tipsy after one bottle.
“Lightweight,” she’d teased, a smile curving her cheeks.
“I can handle another,” I’d slurred, clumsily snagging one of the beers in the cooler.
Like a karate master, she’d snatched my wrist and chopped the beer out of my clutches. “Stop here. Don’t act stupid just to look cool.”
I’d stared at her, my admiration blowing through the roof. “I envy you,” I’d confessed. “You’re smart and pretty and all the boys love you. Your life is so perfect.”
She’d chuckled, a dark, haunting sound that still lingers in my mind. “You have no idea.”
“Yeah?” I challenged.
In a deadpan voice, Chandra let me in behind her walls. I cried when I learned of her struggles at home—her vicious mother, the string of creepy boyfriends, the verbal abuse.
While I wept, Chandra just drank, calm and cool, as if it had all happened to someone else. Her detachment was really just a front to deal with a lifetime of pain.
That night, I threw my arms around her and promised I’d protect her.
“No one will ever hurt you again,” I swore to the heavens.
She’d patted my back and smiled.
I took my promise seriously and started vetting all the guys who were after her, but she was so in demand that a few jerks slipped through the cracks.
The only thing I could have done was dress her in a potato sack and slap a paper bag over her head.
Even then she’d probably still get attention.
Chandra’s got that beautiful, exotic thing going with her flawless dark skin, big eyes and perky nose. Her flair for fashion and makeup made her even more popular.
But I saw beyond her pretty face.
Beyond all her scars and bad habits.
She was the epitome of perfection to me. My number one desire was to see her in a happy relationship being adored the way she was meant to be.
Then she found Rick.
It was the closest I’d ever seen her to being content.
Tonight, though, I’m sensing the old Chandra. The one who went through the motions of life without feeling anything.
The one who held people at arms’ length.
Her eyes are dark and hazy.
Her steps sluggish.
I don’t like it.
“Babe,” I sink into the sofa beside her, my face twisted in concern, “are you okay?”
“I’m just tired.” She adjusts the hem of her robe again.
“What about that makeup?” I point to her face. She’s wearing a thicker coat than usual. Softening my voice so she can’t tell how worried I am, I tease, “Did you pretty up for me?”
“For Rick.”
“Oh.”
“It’s our six-month anniversary,” she says with a quivering smile. “He’s taking me out to celebrate. We’re going somewhere fancy so I figured I’d try something new.”
I sigh. “When will I find a guy who’s as romantic as that?” I cup my chin. “Or someone with that kind of cash.”
“You know I could hook you up.”
“With one of Rick’s friends? No thanks. Your man’s nice enough, but the people he hangs with are all jerks.” I shudder. “Remember the way that big-time C.E.O. guy acted with his date at the New Year’s party? He was feeling her up and talking down to her. It was disgusting.”
“It’s not our place to judge. She wasn’t complaining.”
“That’s the only reason I didn’t say anything. Poor girl looked embarrassed enough on her own.”
“I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.”
“That didn’t make it comfortable to watch.”
Chandra sets her glass down firmly. “Are you done? I have to finish getting ready for tonight.”
“Sure.” A little hurt at her abrupt tone, I stand. “Sorry for barging in.”
“I’ll contact you when the lawyer’s finished reviewing the contract.” She glides to her feet and heads for the stairs. “You can see yourself out, right?”
I nod and head through the front door.
A fierce wind tugs at my curls and batters my shirt.
I linger on the steps, battling the disorienting sensation that I shouldn’t go.
If something were wrong, Chandra would tell you.
I console myself with the thought and try to purge the guilt from my mind. My best friend’s the strongest woman I know. She wouldn’t put up with crap from any man, no matter how fat his wallet.
I, on the other hand, can’t get Griffin the Jerk out of my mind.
I should hate the guy, and I do.
But I also don’t.
Not by a long shot.
I blow out a frustrated breath and head to my car.
Forget Chandra.
She can handle herself.
The only person I need to be concerned about right now is me.
7 Cobie
Chandra calls me a few days later.
“Hey, Babe.”
“Hey. How was your anniversary dinner?”
“It was okay. He rented a private yacht.”
“That’s so romantic. Can Rick be any more perfect?”
Chandra remains silent.
I pause.
Listen.
“Chandra?”
“Hm?”
“Are you still there?”
“Yeah.” She clears her throat. “I spoke to the lawyer and he says everything seems legit. Winthrop’s giving you a good deal and you’ll be able to oversee the process so your mom’s vision remains sound. The only thing is you’ll have to give the formula over to them so they can replicate it.” She pauses. “Are you okay with that?”
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I think Mom would approve. As long as they don’t mess with the original too much, I can live with sharing the formula.”
“I know this must be hard.”
“I’m doing something,” I say. “I’m getting involved. I don’t want to be just talk anymore.”
“That’s my girl.”
“It was your crazy idea.”
“I might have handed in the papers, but you won on your own.”
“There must ha
ve been some mistake,” I muse.
“No, there wasn’t.” Chandra sighs in frustration. “Do you know why I went behind your back and signed you up?”
“Because you were bored and wanted to mess with me?” I snort.
Her voice sharpens. “Because I wanted to remind you of how incredible you are.”
Okay, someone didn’t get the joke. “It’s not that serious.”
“Yes, it is. You’ve been hustling and struggling for three years now. You deserve to be recognized, Cobie. Your skills are so amazing you’ve got the rich and the poor driving to that crappy neighborhood and beating your door down.”
“It’s not me. It’s my mom’s conditioners.”
“It’s you. They call you the Hair Whisperer for a reason.”
“Only you call me that.”
“And it’s just a matter of time until it catches on,” Chandra says saucily. “You decode natural hair and find exactly what works for each individual. It’s a gift.”
“Shut up.” I laugh, pleased. “And by that I mean keep talking.”
“Stupid,” she says affectionately. “Are you going to send the contract in today?”
“Yeah. I don’t have any appointments this morning so I’ll hand it in face-to-face.”
“I can get Rick’s driver to take it in for you.”
“No, I’ll do it myself. I want to make sure nothing goes wrong.”
“Okay.” Chandra pauses. “This isn’t just an excuse to see that hot guy from the company again, is it?”
“No! Of course not.”
“You don’t have to yell.”
I clear my throat. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Call me when you have time. I’ll treat you to a celebratory drink.”
“Sounds like a plan. Later.” I set my phone down.
After a quick shower, I dress and fix my hair into a high bun—which takes way too much time and gel than it should—and then grab a cab to Winthrop Headquarters.
It’s a swanky building filled with power suits. The air is charged and smells like money. Every inch of the foyer is decorated in silver and made to look cutting edge.
The workers seem to know how important they are. No one is strolling. They’re all rushing, heading somewhere important, somewhere I could never dream of entering.
I feel out of place and wipe my sweaty palms against my skirt as I give my name to the cold receptionist.