Snow in Love

by Aimee Friedman

  Jabari just got it. Even more so than Niecey, who didn’t come from a ton of money like Leigh and Jabari did. She didn’t get that “being rich” doesn’t really make being a token more comfortable. Matter of fact, if Leigh had a dollar for every kid who’d assumed she was there on scholarship, she’d be well on her way to covering a year’s worth of her own tuition.

  Her phone buzzes.

  And then again, this time from Niecey (speak of the devil):

  Leigh responds to Niecey first.

  She takes a deep breath before responding to Harper.

  Leigh steps into the tunnel between concourses B and C and is suddenly immersed in a history of Atlanta. She strolls slowly, taking in the timeline and reading some of the plaques. Being from up north, her knowledge of “Southern” history is cursory at best. Limited to what’s in her textbooks. Seeing pictures of Civil War history and freed slaves, segregated lunch counters and Civil Rights marches, makes things real in a way Leigh’s never experienced. And maybe it’s just because she’s wide open right now, but this visual representation of her people’s history makes her feel grounded—connected—to something much bigger and more powerful than she.

  After finding the next clue—a photo of the city post–Great Atlanta Fire of 1917—Leigh heads up the escalator into concourse C and drops down into a seat at the first gate she sees.

  Her phone buzzes.

  From Harper.

  It makes Leigh smile.

  (Was that a hint? Maybe Harper does remember … Or maybe Leigh’s overthinking again. This secrecy thing is exhausting.)

  Leigh smiles harder than she has in quite some time but doesn’t respond. Just slides down in the chair and exhales. As her eyes roam the space around gate C22, she notices things she’s sure she’d normally miss: a businessman furiously typing away on an iPad with an attachable keyboard; a mom pacing back and forth as she bounces a baby in her arms; two little black girls playing a hand game like the ones Leigh used to play with her cousins; a pair of ladies huddled in a corner, giggling over a magazine …

  Her eyes stick there.

  One woman is brown-skinned, with her hair cut so low, she’s almost bald, and the other is lighter, with big curly hair. And there’s a vibe, a rhythm, between them that makes it clear they’re more than friends. It’s in the way they smile at each other and brush hands and lean in so close, there’s no doubt they can each smell what the other ate for dinner.

  Leigh has no idea what they’re looking at, but suddenly buzz-cut lady’s mouth drops open and she swats curly lady on the arm with the back of her hand. Curly lady throws her head back in laughter while buzz-cut lady pouts, then curly lady leans over to whisper something in buzz-cut lady’s ear—something that turns buzz-cut lady’s scowl into a smile.

  They kiss, and Leigh quickly looks away.

  Her phone buzzes, and it startles her so bad, she leaps to her feet.

  Which draws the attention of the lady couple. Buzz-cut lady smiles at Leigh … and warmth spreads through Leigh’s chest like she’s just taken a big gulp of hot cocoa. She feels … seen.

  In a good way.

  She smiles back and heads up the concourse in search of the next clue.

  The message attached to the photo of the digital sky in the middle of the airport jungle makes Leigh laugh aloud:

  Because Leigh finds she’s certainly ready to give it. As a matter of fact, there’s a part of her that’s ready for this game to end so she can see Harper. Not that she fully understands why.

  Which … is a good question. On the one hand, Leigh’s ready to see Harper. Make herself the final clue and be done with it. (But is that too presumptuous?)

  What she really wants to do is sit down with Harper and just tell her everything: how wildly alone she feels at school (and not just because of the race thing); how intensely attracted she is to Zuri (though she would never tell her); how she thinks she might like girls and how much that scares her because one area of overt marginalization is quite enough, thank you very much.

  She just wants to unload. Get it all out.

  Maybe she will just plop down at one of these gates and make herself the next clue.

  But could she really say everything she wants to Harper’s face?

  What does Harper’s face even look like now?

  Leigh honestly should know. There’s no doubt Harper Kemp’s on “social media,” as adults like to put it. In fact, Leigh thought about looking up Harper the moment Mama and Daddy told Leigh about Christmas in Florida.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not with the breakup and the questions and the Zuri thing. At that point, seeing the first girl Leigh ever noticed noticed would’ve been waaaay too much.

  But what about now?

  Her phone buzzes.

  And then the picture. Of the bearded bartender double-fisting goblets of beer with the biggest, brightest smile on his face.

  Leigh almost can’t take it.

  Leigh’s not ready.

  She rushes back toward the center of the concourse—hurriedly picking the weakest/wackest clue yet—and flies down the concourse C escalator in hopes of disappearing into the tunnel that leads to concourse D before Harper sends her the next picture. Leigh’s sure it won’t take very long.

  A photo comes through of the plaque in the Walk Through Atlanta History exhibit that details the Great Atlanta Fire of 1917.

  When Leigh lifts her eyes, she’s reached the tunnel.

  And it’s empty.

  No art. No cool lights. No history exhibit.

  Just moving sidewalks lining bare concrete walls that glow a sickly off-white from the fluorescent ceiling lights.

  Part of her is so disappointed she doesn’t even want to walk through it.

  Except Harper’s catching up to her.

  She jets through and up into concourse D.

  (Leigh pretends the Scooby-Doo reference doesn’t make her stomach somersault in the most delightful way possible. She and Harper watched a lot of Scooby-Doo after kid-curfew on that cruise. Does Harper remember, or was that random?)

  A photo of the infamous (according to Leigh’s hyper-bougie, “pour-over only” drinking parents at least) green Starbucks siren appears beneath Harper’s previous message.

  Leigh sighs.

  Leigh looks all around and catches sight of something twinkling in the light. Many things twinkling.

  A Swarovski store.

  Leigh smiles the biggest smile she’s smiled all day.

  On day three of the cruise, she and Harper bought matching charm bracelets from a Swarovski store in the ship’s shopping atrium.

  And Leigh’s never taken hers off.

  She tugs her sleeve back and reaches for her wrist as her brain tries to pull together a hint—maybe she’ll stand across from the store and have something in there that’ll make Harper turn around and see her—

  Her arm is bare.

  The bracelet is gone.

  There’s a “…” and then a photo of a silver bracelet with six charms dangling from it—attached to a key ring with four keys and two other keychains—appears on Leigh’s phone screen.

  Which is precisely where Leigh needs to go. Definitely not ready to see Harper now, so …

  Leigh retraces her steps back into to the tunnels—spending the entirety of the escalator ride down leaning over the railing so she can check the side going up for any flashes of silver or sparkles of crystal.

  She walks back along the lifeless tunnel, eyes scanning, searching, watching.

  Nothing.

  Onto the escalator that will return her to concourse C. Again leaning over to examine the opposite side.

  Zilch.

  Back along the path to Starbucks—though Harper totally just traced this way so it’s probably pointless—then Leigh busts a U-turn and makes a beeline for her original gate: C42.

  She keeps her eyes peeled the whole walk there, which merely adds to her anxiety: The fact that no planes are taking off or
landing seems to have officially caused an increase in the amount of activity within the airport—people coming, going, sitting, standing. There’s a group with instruments out jamming and another group dancing. Kids running around. People talking, laughing, gathering in the concourse restaurants, drinking. Christmas lights and giant ornaments and holiday cheer despite everyone being stuck.

  If Leigh did drop her bracelet on the way to start hunting down clues, chances are it’s long gone now. How could it not be with this much activity going on?

  She reaches the gate. Looks around the area where she was sitting.

  Nothing.

  Goes to the counter to ask if anyone turned a bracelet in.

  Nope.

  Leigh returns to her original seat and takes a deep breath. Pulls out her phone.

  Leigh bites her tongue.

  Leigh doesn’t respond immediately. She can’t. In truth, she’s never really thought about why she always kept the bracelet on. It was always just … there.

  But it’s a good question. Why was it so special to Leigh? Why is she so wrecked at the thought of losing it? No, she doesn’t think it’s because of Harper—but she also can’t say with complete certainty that Harper has nothing to do with it.

  There’s no denying that cruise, and the discovery of Harper’s … Harperness, were formative for Leigh in some way. That something shifted back then and despite three years of trying to keep it suppressed, it’s obviously blossomed in some way. Expanded where other things—like Leigh’s interest in guys—has contracted.

  The bracelet marked a new beginning.

  But how to tell Niecey that?

  Here goes …

  Leigh switches over to Harper’s messages.

  Leigh sighs.

  There’s a part of her deep down that knows it’s a lost cause.

  A part that wants Harper to give it up and come find her.

  And another part that doesn’t want that at all.

  That feels too open.

  Too vulnerable.

  She just told two people something that literally changes the entire trajectory of her life. Is she ready to look one of them in the face?

  Leigh slouches down in the seat, closes her eyes, and lets her head fall back.

  It’s all so … much.

  What will her parents say?

  And people at school?

  “Excuse me, Miss?”

  Leigh startles and jerks upright.

  “Oh man, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. You just, umm …” The person—a girl—unslings her backpack and squats down to riffle around inside it. “Sorry, one sec. I had it right here …”

  As the girl searches, Leigh takes her in: She seems tall, though Leigh can’t be sure with her squatting now. Slim, but clearly athletic if the strong shoulders are any indication. Brown skin. Shoulder-length dreadlocks. Gray beanie. Kinda tomboyish.

  “Aha!” she says.

  And she pulls out Leigh’s bracelet.

  “This fell out of your bag when you left the gate area a while back,” she says. “Been waiting for you to return so I could give it to you.”

  “Oh my god!” Leigh takes the bracelet and holds it up to the light. “I can’t even believe it,” she whispers.

  She immediately grabs her phone to text Harper:

  A ping noise sounds, followed closely by a second one.

  The girl in front of Leigh pulls a phone out of her pocket and begins to tap out a message.

  Which is when Leigh finally looks at her face.

  Leigh’s phone buzzes in her hand.

  New message from Harper.

  Leigh’s head snaps up.

  The girl—definitely, definitely Harper—is still tapping away on her phone.

  Another buzz.

  (Leigh wants to respond, but her thumbs are frozen.)

  When Leigh looks up this time, Harper’s staring at her.

  Smiling.

  Leigh smiles back.

  Then picks up her phone.

  No text response, but Leigh can tell from the way Harper looks shyly away that she’s … pleased.

  Harper snorts and finally stuffs her phone in her pocket. “Still telling them wack behind jokes, I see,” she says, extending a hand.

  Leigh swats it away and gets to her feet. “Umm excuse you, my jokes are not wack.”

  “Oh yes they are,” Harper says as Leigh settles her backpack on her shoulders and the girls fall into synchronized step (and right back into their fourteen-year-old-girl rapport). “Remember that pirate one you told me when we were hiding in that one corridor on the cruise ship, determined to sneak into the engine room—”

  “Which was locked down tighter than—”

  “Bellatrix Lestrange’s Gringotts vault,” the girls finish together before exploding into laughter.

  “Bro, what were we even thinking?” Harper says, shaking her head.

  Leigh has tears streaming down her face she’s laughing so hard. “I mean … were we thinking?”

  “Probably not. Though I’m pretty sure the whole thing was your idea.”

  “Likely.” Leigh wipes her face. Looking around, there’s no denying the twinkling lights seem brighter and the decorations more vibrant. She glances out one of the massive windows, and the snowflakes are so thick, they look like bizarrely lightweight sugar cubes … but despite knowing that means they’re likely not getting out anytime soon, she can’t help but marvel at the wonder that is nature in this moment.

  She looks at Harper in profile and her heart does a little tap dance.

  Leigh clears her throat and turns away. “I’ll have you know that pirate joke has made me quite the hit at rich, drunken white kid parties. Ahem … What, I ask you, is a pirate’s favorite letter?”

  “Oh god, here we go …”

  (Leigh can practically hear Harper’s eyes rolling.)

  “You’d think R-rrrr … but a pirate’s first love is the C!”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

  “Don’t forget Abraham.”

  “I’m dead.” And Harper busts up in another spurt of laughter.

  “Hmph. Calling me wack. Though fine, the engine room break-in was a fairly wack idea.”

  “And my dumb self went right along with it.”

  “Sure did.”

  “I’ll be honest with you, though,” Harper says, “if you would’ve suggested we try to scale that weird red-and-blue tail-looking thing on the top deck to take our stand as cruise ship conquerors, I would’ve immediately tried to figure out the physics. You had ya girl wrapped.”

  Leigh has no clue how to respond to that.

  “Also: where are we even going?” Harper looks around.

  Leigh starts laughing again. “If I recall correctly, you pulled me out of my seat and started walking.”

  “I … can’t argue with that,” Harper says. “Okay, stop.” And she puts a hand on Leigh’s shoulder.

  So they do. In the middle of the concourse atrium.

  There’s a lady playing an electric violin—“Let It Snow” with a little hip hoppish flair—and people continue to flow around them. Normally, this would make Leigh cringe, being in a position that makes her so conspicuous. But right now? With Harper Kemp beside her and so much life and breath and happy holiday magic pulsating around them? Well, she’s in no rush to move.

  Move they do, though:

  “I’ve got it!” Harper says. And she grabs Leigh’s hand and pulls her toward the escalators.

  Who-knows-how-many IHOP pancakes (they had an unlimited thing going on) and a trip back through the security checkpoint (they had to exit to get to the airport IHOP) later, Leigh and Harper pop into a concourse T souvenir shop to buy tacky and overpriced Atlanta fleece blankets and those bizarre, though surprisingly effective, U-shaped neck pillows.

  Then they head down into the airport jungle.

  “This is fine, right?” Leigh says, dropping her backpack against one of the walls and plopping down beside it, crisscr
oss-applesauce.

  Harper follows suit, propping her bag against the wall and stretching out to lean her shoulders back against it. She tucks her neck pillow into place. “We stuck here, so might as well kick it where we want to, right?”

  “Fair point.” Leigh relaxes back herself and stares up at the faux-forest canopy above them. “It really is beautiful down here, huh?”

  Harper doesn’t respond, and when Leigh looks down to find out why, Harper is staring. At Leigh.

  Grinning.

  Leigh gulps and tries to tuck a strand of her massive hair behind her ear.

  “It’s really good to see you, man,” Harper says. “I can’t even tell you the number of times I almost followed you on Insta and Snap, but stopped myself.”

  This surprises Leigh. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I umm …” Harper shifts her gaze away. “Well on the cruise, you kinda ghosted after that day at the pool, so like—I dunno. I guess I was worried I’d been overzealous with my crush or something. That it’d wigged you out.”

  “Wait, for real?”

  “Uhh … yeah. I basically followed you around like a puppy from the moment we boarded the ship. I didn’t wanna seem like a creep online—even though I did wanna see you.”

  Leigh is floored. “When did you know?” she asks before she can catch herself.

  “Huh?”

  Leigh takes a deep breath. “When did you know you … liked girls?”

  “Oh, pretty much always.” Harper waves the awkwardness of the question away. “When we’d role-play in kindergarten, I wouldn’t participate unless I was allowed to be the second mom. And I just knew I was gonna marry this red-haired, freckled black girl in my class named Imani. I had our babies’ names picked out and everything.”