by Ibi Zoboi
No compliment for Tish either. Derrick was hush-mouthed.
“What’s up, Tish? Keri?” Lucas said, like he didn’t even see Brandon.
“Hey,” Tish said.
At first, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to do about being caught between two boys. Then Lucas scanned Brandon head to toe (it was quick, but I still caught him), and I knew exactly what to do.
“Hey,” I said, and smirked, suddenly thrilled for Lucas to see me holding Brandon’s hand . . . thrilled for Lucas to see how easy it was for me to replace him . . . thrilled to let Lucas know that if he wanted to be with me, he’d better step up his game.
“You’re the pastor’s son,” Brandon said, not in a weird starstruck way, like he was just stating a fact.
“Yeah, man. The name is Lucas.” And Lucas reached out his hand with a warm smile on his face.
I can’t even tell you how much that smile irked me. Oh, okay. I see how you’re playing this. Like you don’t care. Boy, please. You ain’t foolin’ nobody, I went off in my head.
“Brandon.” He let go of my fingers and went down the line shaking hands and exchanging names.
Dara looked a little too happy to shake Brandon’s hand, if you asked me. She wasn’t a smiley type girl, but I saw the glee in her dark-brown eyes that traced his face. Plus she had on this light-blue T-shirt that read “Girl Power” but might as well have read “Boob Power” the way her big boobs were screaming at him, at everybody. I swore I couldn’t glance in her direction without her breasts shouting, Look at me!
After we walked through the gates to the ride, Tish fell back so I wouldn’t be the one riding with Lucas.
A curious squint told me that Brandon registered something weird about the switch.
“Don’t tell me I have to ride with you,” Lucas said, walking toward the swing directly behind Brandon and me.
“You know you love me,” Tish said, playing it off.
The swings started at the bottom and ascended with each rotation around the star-shaped core. “Here we go,” Brandon said, smiling at me.
Still low, I leaned into his thin, firm frame so he’d wrap his arm around me—just in case Lucas didn’t know what was up, just in case Brandon holding my hand earlier wasn’t enough. And man, did it feel good! I felt all kinds of fire shooting up my neck to the back of my head, where I imagined Lucas’s eyes were burning through.
But as we moved higher, Brandon pulled me in closer and the fire started to feel like something else, something irresistible. And by the look in Brandon’s eyes, he could feel it too. He pulled me in even closer and sent the heat lower, even lower. We locked eyes and went around and around over the ocean . . . around and around in the softening sky.
At the very top, our mouths followed our eyes and cozied up, curled into each other. Lip over lip. Tongue over tongue. Sliding and sucking and biting (yes, we took it there!) with the warm wind at our faces.
We unwound from each other as the swings started to head back down. And the lower we got, the more the heat started changing into something else. Something heavy, sad.
What have I done? I thought, guilt hammering me as hard as Brandon had hammered the lever in the strength test earlier, setting off all types of alarms.
“What’s wrong?” Brandon asked as our feet touched the ground.
I took it too far. I should’ve never kissed you, I thought. But I said, “Nothing,” without meeting his eyes.
We all got off the swings.
Lucas stormed off in the direction of the bumper cars.
Brandon noticed and asked, “Wait, is there something up between you and Lucas?”
“No,” I lied.
“Lucas is always mad about something.” Tish quickly backed me up.
“Oh, okay,” Brandon replied. But his face said something different, something like, That’s a damn lie. Then he said, “I’m gonna go find the bathroom before we have to get back on the buses. I’ll see y’all.”
“Okay,” I said, without even trying to stop him. Then I asked, “You want your tickets back?”
His thick eyebrows scrunched together in what looked like confusion, then relaxed . . . a little too much. He was hurt. “Naw, I’m straight,” he answered, and walked off.
I felt bad for hurting Brandon, I did. But I was too sad about ruining my chances with Lucas to do anything about it. As soon as Brandon left, I started crying. It was getting dark and no one was around to see me anyway. Well, Tish, but she didn’t count. Feeling bad for me, she let me have the remaining share of her tickets and came with me to try to buy Lucas something from the gift shop with them. Only found two things: a key chain and a pen that both read Pleasure Pier. We decided neither was a good idea.
Back in the hotel that night, my phone buzzed. A text from Lucas: Guess that’s your new boyfriend.
“I knew he would text!” I exclaimed. Tish immediately jumped from her queen bed to mine to get up in the mix. But I was lying. Yeah, I’d hoped Lucas would text. Shoot, I’d even prayed he would text—literally on my knees in the bathroom, where Tish couldn’t see. But honestly, I figured he’d never speak to me again.
I typed back an adamant No! You’re my boyfriend! Sorry . . . I never should’ve—
“Oh, hell no!” Tish said, took my phone, and erased it all. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. Lucas is not your boyfriend.” Then she typed, As a matter of fact he is.
I liked Tish’s new direction. She was right, I decided. I wouldn’t win Lucas’s game by admitting guilt. If I wanted to make him act right, I needed to be strong. “Naw, naw,” I said, thinking of something even better. I took back the phone, erased her words, and typed, Maybe. Hit Send.
“Ooh, that’s good,” Tish said, nodding her head with her eyes opened wide and an evil grin on her face.
The phone buzzed. Is that right?
Tish and I decided on a nonresponse.
Buzz. Well . . . you looked pretty today.
I replied, Thanks. I’d fought Tish on it but won. My rationale was that it was just a polite response to a compliment. The end.
But he continued. Liked that little dress . . . hadn’t seen that one before.
Another Thanks from me and Tish moved back to her own bed and started looking at her own phone. But not before she rolled her eyes and shook her head at me. But in my mind, Tish didn’t know Lucas like I did. She didn’t know the Lucas who hid his face behind my shoulder during scary movies. The Lucas who agonized under the pressure of being the pastor’s son to the point of having anxiety attacks. The Lucas who literally cried the time he received a B on his report card. The Lucas who, after some of his bad days, hugged me so tight and for so long that it was easy to imagine his pain was love.
After a while, Tish turned out the lights and went to sleep. I lay under the white duvet, still texting, my phone on silent.
You still have on that dress? Lucas asked.
Yeah, I lied. I’d showered and put on my Pink pajamas soon after we’d gotten back from the pier.
Take it off.
I laughed quietly to myself. As I read the text, I could hear Lucas’s trying-to-be-sexy voice plain as day. Hilarious. It was the same extra-deep, extra-fake voice he’d tried out on me the night we broke up. I’d busted out laughing after he’d asked me to take off my clothes in that same voice. Couldn’t help it. And that’s when he started on all the mess about me rooming with Dara for the beach retreat. And as you know, it went downhill from there.
Is it off?
Yeah. Another lie. I didn’t want things to go downhill, but I wasn’t about to get up and take off my pajamas. The room was cold and I was lazy.
I want to see.
How? You know Sister Chelsea got these halls on lock.
Send me a pic then.
I took a pic of myself, from the neck up—flash bright as hell—so he couldn’t see my pajamas. Hit Send.
I want to see more than that.
I lowered the straps of my tank dow
n below my shoulders. Another bright flash and Tish moaned and turned over to face the window. Pressed Send again.
More.
I’m tired. Truth. Plus I didn’t wanna play the naked-picture game anymore. Enough naked pictures of girls had been spread around at my school for me to know it wasn’t really a game.
Come on. For my eyes only.
No response.
I’ll erase them before I go to sleep. D already snoring so it’s just me.
No response.
I promise.
No response.
I just miss your beautiful body . . . haven’t seen it in 4ever.
He was referring to the top half of my body. I was saving the bottom half for after we fell in love, which I was sure was going to happen the next year, my junior year. I’d imagined we’d fall in love on a Saturday evening, in the spring when the weather was just right. I’d imagined that after a long day of walking in the sun, he’d look me in the eyes and say the words—I love you. And I’d see in his eyes that his words were true. I’d played that scene in my mind a million times. Was playing it again when another text came in.
You know I love you, right. May not act like it but I do.
I didn’t know how to respond. This was not how I pictured our falling-in-love moment. He was supposed to tell me while looking into my eyes so I could see if his words were true. I didn’t feel anything soft or sweet or beautiful.
Forget it then . . . I knew this was never going to work out . . . especially after what you did today.
The guilt for kissing Brandon slammed back into my chest and made me feel low. Lower than low. For some reason, I didn’t think about how Lucas had broken up with me and ignored me for weeks. I didn’t think about how he always criticized my clothes and hair, hated on my friends, or found some other way to be mean. No, I’d become a pro at putting Lucas and his hurt feelings before me.
Wait, I texted.
And that was all Lucas needed to get back to his mean self. Can’t believe I’m even texting you.
Wait, I sent again. I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want him to start ignoring me all over again. Tish asleep . . . let me go to bathroom.
I hit the switch on the wall and bright light flooded the bathroom, making me squint. The lights whined with a quiet, high-pitched buzz. I wanted to be asleep too. I was tired and it was close to midnight. But I felt indebted to Lucas, like I owed him something. So I took off my pajamas and my underwear. It’s just a stupid picture, I lied to myself. He’ll never show it to anyone because he wouldn’t want anyone else to see me naked.
Well? Lucas was tired of waiting.
Working on it. I stood in the dark-wood-framed mirror, held the phone down around my belly, and snapped. Not that one, I thought. I put my free hand on my left hip. Not that one either. I put my free hand behind my head. Definitely not. I hated my boobs. They were so small. Lucas always said he wished I had boobs like Dara. I put my foot up on the toilet. Oh, hell no. I went back to my original nonpose—standing straight, left arm at my side, looking down at the camera instead of at myself in the mirror.
But I still didn’t like the white shower curtain behind me. It looked cheap. Tish’s and my toiletries were all over the sink, and it looked a mess. I didn’t like the beige, circle-patterned wallpaper or the Bed Bath and Beyond–looking art on the wall, over the toilet—so basic. I opened the shower curtain and took another pic, but it was even worse. Shampoo bottles and shower gel flanked my naked body. I closed the shower curtain, got rid of all the toiletries on the sink, and snapped. It was as good as it was going to get.
I uploaded the pic to my messages with Lucas but couldn’t bring myself to press Send.
I’ll show you tomorrow in person, I texted, and stayed in the bathroom another two hours pressing my hair.
Pastor Sykes was in the building. Tish and I heard the helicopter land that morning during breakfast. Between bites of bacon, eggs, and pancakes, I looked for Lucas but couldn’t find him anywhere.
After breakfast, Brother Tony—dreads back in a ponytail and white linen shirt on, like he was ready for the heat—instructed everyone to make their way outside. Pastor Sykes would give a sermon before he baptized ten new teens in the Gulf of Mexico.
In the hall leading outside, I spotted Lucas walking in long, determined strides. I grabbed Tish’s hand and ran to catch up with him (of course slowing down right before we reached him so I wouldn’t look pressed). I wanted to feel the warmth back between Lucas and me. And I wanted everyone to see us. See that we were back together. But everyone seemed to be looking at their phones.
Tish noticed it, too. “What is everyone looking at?”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy trying to make the edge of my fingers touch the edge of Lucas’s fingers. They kept missing, so I tried to hold his hand. He pulled away and ran ahead.
I took my phone out to text him, to ask him what the hell was going on, to confirm we were back together again. But the pic from the night before was still up. A sharp shock surged through my chest, and I quickly closed it. But not before Tish saw.
“Oh, hell no!” she said, and tried to grab my phone.
But I didn’t have time for one of her lectures, so I ran off in the opposite direction, against the crowd. After I passed the ballroom where we’d eaten breakfast, the crowd cleared and I saw Brandon.
“Hey,” he said loudly, as he walked toward me, like he’d forgiven me.
I was still running and slowed down a little bit. “Hey,” I replied as I approached, but I didn’t stop.
“I was thinking—”
“Sorry, I have to go,” I said, cutting him off and running past him.
After Brandon was far enough away, I slowed down and texted Lucas. What’d you do that for? Aren’t we back together?
No reply.
I tried calling him.
No answer.
Oh, so you don’t get what you want and it’s back to ignoring me?! Are we really back to that again?!
No reply.
Pissed, hurt, and confused, I found a bathroom to duck into and hopped up onto the long, wide sink. I opened my naked picture again. I hated everything about it: the shower curtain, the wallpaper, the art. Me. The way I was standing there. Naked. None of it felt right. I could barely stand to look at myself. I knew I was making a mistake, but I loaded the picture back into my messages with Lucas anyway.
Before I could press Send, I heard, “They got you to do it, too?” It was Dara. She was standing near the first stall, phone in hand, big boobs trying to bust through her boat-necked dress.
“They what?” I asked, confused. Then I realized she could see the picture of me in the mirror and put down my phone.
She walked toward me and hopped up to join me on the sink, like we were friends. I know my face had to be all kinds of twisted up, but either she didn’t see or didn’t care. She held out her phone to show me what everyone was looking at that morning.
Pictures of Derrick and Lucas. Cropped and placed side by side. Both of them naked. Both of them framed by the same mahogany mirror. With the same cheap white shower curtain in the background. The same boring wallpaper. And the same mass-produced art.
“Oh, shit! I mean shoot. How? What?” I didn’t even know what question to ask.
“Well, Derrick kept pressing me for naked pics last night. Saying all types of stuff like he loved me and it was going to be for his eyes only. I knew that was a lie. Derrick can’t keep anything to himself. And Lucas was right there. I already knew and he finally admitted it.”
The words love and eyes only echoed in my ears. Same words Lucas had used on me. It was really all just a game to him. A game I would never win. He would never love me. All of it was finally so plain I couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t make any more excuses for it.
“Anyways, he just wouldn’t let up. Kept asking and asking. So I told him that in order for me to send them one, they would each have to send me one. As collateral, you see.”
> “But aren’t you afraid they’re gonna send yours out too?”
“I didn’t send that picture out. Derrick sent that picture out. I guess he was feeling himself. And I never sent them mine anyway.”
“But you took one?”
“Yeah,” and she swiped and showed me her naked selfie like it was no big deal. She kept swiping to show me all the ones she took. Hands on hip, foot on toilet, hands by sides—same as me.
“Girl, I tried the same poses.” I opened my pictures and we held our naked bodies side by side.
“The foot on the toilet was the worst, wasn’t it?”
I laughed. “I know, right. Had all the goodies hanging out.”
Laughing and holding our naked bodies in our own hands, looking at the pics felt different. I didn’t hate looking at myself. Sure, my boobs were small and Dara’s were big, but I kind of liked mine. They were cute and they fit me. Her hips were round and fleshy, and mine were narrow and bony. But they were both all good. Her lady part was shaved in the shape of a triangle. I didn’t know anything about shaping hair down there. But they were both beautiful. Too beautiful for those boys we were with. Too beautiful for the eyes of the internet. So, we erased them all.
There was a big commotion out in the hall. Then a loud chant, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
The bathroom door swung open and the chant bounced off the walls. “Derrick and Lucas are fighting!” a girl’s voice announced without bothering to come in.
Dara and I looked at each other. Then Dara said, “You better go give your boy some backup,” and cracked a big smile. The only one I’ve ever seen on her face.
“Girl, stop playing,” I said.
We busted out laughing and didn’t get up off the sink. We’d had enough of Derrick and Lucas. So we stayed in the bathroom all the way through Pastor Sykes’s sermon, supposedly about letting God fight your battles, entertaining ourselves with some of the funny memes and videos Brandon had shown me.
Brandon.
Sweet Brandon.
I begged my mom and dad to take me to the Wednesday service for weeks, but I didn’t see him. I asked around church and found out he’d lost his mother to cancer the previous year. Felt bad I hadn’t listened when he tried to talk about her. Looked him up on social media. Wasn’t there. Called a number that came up for him in an internet search. No one answered. When I turned sixteen in September and got my driver’s license, I went every Wednesday for a whole year. But I never saw Brandon again.