Truly Madly Royally

by Debbie Rigaud

  “What? No, Zora.”

  “Just like your skydiving and playboy reputation, you do things that’ll piss her off. For all I know you’re just this thrill seeker, this adrenaline junkie who is obviously now out for a different kind of thrill. Jersey girl and a Black one at that! Well, hmmm, no, I don’t think so.”

  “Where is this coming from?” Owen plays the confused role pretty well.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “At this point, I would just rather walk away while we still kinda have a friendship.”

  And walk away is what I do next.

  AS I wait for the train on a hot platform Monday morning, my mental mantra loops like the hook from a hip-hop track (pun intended). I silently rap my made-up lyrics to the chugga-chugga rhythm of the moving train.

  That’s my decision. / Aaay! / I stand by it all day. / Yea! / I’m about that mission. / What! / Can’t keep me away. / Leggo!

  The more I silent rap, the more it sinks in. My decision.

  “Have you decided what you’ll do this summer?” my high school civics teacher, Mr. Gaines, asked me earlier this year after class. It was Mr. Gaines who first told me about the competitive college summer programs, and reading about all the classes they offered blew my mind. Who knew there were classes about community outreach? Suddenly it felt like I could come up with a solid game plan. If I could start Walk Me Home with the little I knew about organizing, I could do a lot more if I had a deeper understanding of the subject.

  “Yup, I’m going to apply to Halstead U,” I told Mr. Gaines. “I don’t know if I’ll get in, and I don’t even know how I’ll pay for it, but I’ll go through the application process and see how far I get.”

  A surprise acceptance letter and a generous scholarship offer later, I’m a card-carrying Halstead summer student like, Heck yeah!

  But if only things could be going as smoothly as I’d planned.

  I squeeze onto the crowded train. It’s standing room only. I end up standing in front of the train door, and the door’s glass panel shows me my reflection. I can partially make out the deep-in-thought stare of my eyes. When Daddy is beefing with some bodega cashier over his grief of the week (for you name it—favoring meat eaters, not ordering enough coconut water, whatever), he asks me to accompany him to the bodega so that I can stare at the cashier. “A few seconds of those intense eyes digging into his soul and he won’t skip a morning prayer ever again,” says Daddy. Thus far, I’ve always been conveniently too busy to go to any bodega, mechanic shop, pizzeria, or barbershop with my father.

  I study the reflection of my silhouette closer when I notice that my two cornrows look like a crown on top of my head. The smaller braid starts at my temple and reaches behind my ear to the back of my neck, where it tucks under the larger, bumpy braid that stretches from my side part and snakes above my forehead before wrapping around my head. My large teardrop earrings and brass bracelet catch the sunlight and my white earplugs run down my torso like a blood-pumping, life-supplying artery.

  That’s my decision. / Aaay! / I stand by it all day. / Yea! / I’m about that mission. / What! / Can’t keep me away. / Leggo!

  I need to get back on my grind.

  “Next stop, Halstead University campus,” the conductor’s voice echoes.

  Passengers rouse to life. The crinkling of fast-food bags and zipping of backpacks and purses ring out. Murmuring and laughter waft onto the outdoor platform as the doors release about a dozen passengers, including me.

  I walk into class feeling like a boss in command of the place. My internal hip-hop mantra is on loop, full blast, and I step in time to its beat with goddess-in-charge strides across the room.

  Matt is already sitting in the corner, and even though he sits close to Kelsey’s usual seat, I head over to the empty chair next to him.

  “Hey.” He smiles. “How was your weekend?”

  “Well,” I say. “Let’s just say I’m pretty determined to make this week better.”

  “I hear you. That’s sort of the idea of our program, right? Imagining a better world?”

  I pause, in awe. Matt just might be as cheesy as I am, and it’s a beautiful thing. “That’s exactly right,” I say.

  “I think you’d really like my other friends in the dorms. Tomorrow is already Taco Tuesday time. Wanna join us?”

  Kelsey drops into her seat, looking every bit as polished as her nails. She glances over at me.

  “Yes,” I say to Matt with my biggest smile. “I’d love to join y’all.”

  After classes, I hit the library again, and I can’t help but think of Owen when I’m here. But my game face and my headphones are on, so I stay focused. I got behind on my audiobook last week (Skye would be shocked if I told her, so I haven’t), so I make some strides in catching back up. Plus, I put in some extra work on my grants, along with writing down some new Fam Fest ideas. Thinking of the Fam Fest puts me in a good mood. Every year, Skye and I have the best time there. It’s so much fun sampling the food trucks, watching Appleton High’s band do their thing, and, of course, people watching. It won’t be the same without Skye there this year.

  On my way out of the library, I dart behind a stack when I see Owen at a table. Really? I may be on a mission to crush it this week, but that doesn’t mean I’m not distracted by the sight of him.

  I peer through the books even though I know I should leave. He’s with Kelsey, and their books are completely abandoned beside them. They’re both leaning over Owen’s phone, their heads very close together. Kelsey giggles.

  I’m not jealous. I’m not, I assure myself. They’ve just known each other forever, and even if Kelsey is interested, it’s not like Owen ever said anything about her. I think of his whispered “I like you,” and our hug, and our almost kiss … and then I think of the people following us at sunset, the rescinded money …

  I have no claim on Owen. I decided that this weekend. He and Kelsey can whisper about anything they want.

  Kelsey looks up, and I turn away quickly, even though I don’t think she saw me. Without a look back, I head for the aisle of books I need. And then I am on a train back to Appleton, where I belong.

  That’s my decision. / Aaay! / I stand by it all day. / Yea! / I’m about that mission. / What! / Can’t keep me away. / Leggo!

  IT’S TACO Tuesday, and I’m in da house. Grosvenor House to be precise. The coed dorm is one of the newer residences on campus. Matt meets me at the security check-in at 7:00 p.m. sharp. He looks a lot more relaxed away from class. He’s ditched his button-up for a cool graphic tee repping his home state of California. He’s wearing flip-flops, plus his dark hair is floppier than it was yesterday. As we take the elevator to the gathering, Matt gives me a rundown of who I’ll be meeting tonight.

  “Abby goes to St. Ignatius with me, so we’re pretty tight. Perez is my roommate, and he’s cool, too. Amir is a Halstead college student who’s also our RA. The only person I’d say is not the friendliest is Kelsey. But I don’t think she can make it tonight.”

  That’s a relief.

  The party is in a common area that looks like what Ms. DeStefano, my Appleton High librarian, would call a makerspace. There are two comfy egg chairs flanking a couch on each side of the room. Ms. D brought the same kind of egg chairs into our school and arranged them in a similar way. At first, no one knew what to make of this and used them as a hidden spot to sneak in a nap or phone call and enjoy some contraband snacks. But soon people figured out sitting in those chairs is the quickest way to get into a focused zone when you need to cram for a test or get absorbed in a book. On any given school day, there’s usually a race to claim those seats before anyone else.

  Cushioned ottomans alongside coffee tables make for lots of foot resting and taco building. About five people are already there, plastic cups in hand. Hip-hop music is coming from a tiny boxy speaker.

  “Everybody, this is Zora,” Matt calls out.

  “Hi.” I give a general greeting. A guy who looks like he could pass for a
college student waves back from across the room. He must be Amir, the RA.

  “Hi, I’m Abby.” A cheerful girl wearing paint-splatter-print eye frames and a matte red lip shade is the first to walk over. She cranks my hand in an excitable greeting like she’s half expecting the maneuver to jack me a few inches above the ground. She must be Matt’s friend who hails from Southern California, like him.

  “So, Matt tells me you commute in every day?” Abby asks as she escorts me to the drinks table. Unlike Kelsey and her snobby friends, her tone isn’t filled with bewilderment or mockery; she’s just matter-of-fact.

  “Yup.” I nod. “New Jersey Transit is no Hogwarts Express, but it’s magical in its own dysfunctional way.”

  Before I can follow up with a self-deprecating eye roll at my own corny joke, Abby breaks out a loud giggle-snort, and then keeps cool and carries on as if snorting is as mundane and everyday as sneezing or coughing.

  “No way, it’s super cool that you take the train. I think I met one other person who doesn’t dorm, but he drives in. What’s your commute like?”

  The food and beverages are all here, and I remind myself that I have to make sure to contribute to whoever bought everything. I grab a sweaty bottle of cold water and a napkin.

  “If you asked me a week ago, I would have told you it’s not bad, but I secretly wish I didn’t have to do it,” I tell her. “But now I feel like I don’t know what I would do without that time on the train to catch up on reading. Plus, I kinda like stepping off campus at the end of the day.”

  “Yeah, it can get pretty intense here,” she admits. “I’m so far from home. Plus, I’m so unfamiliar with everything around here—and this area of the country for that matter—so I haven’t ventured out much farther than the Clock.”

  “Have you checked out Viv and Wally’s?” I ask. “It’s a world-famous Jersey diner not far from here.”

  “No,” says Abby. “You see? I’m so in need of help.”

  “Well, anytime you’re feeling adventurous, I’m happy to take you sightseeing to any part of Jersey you want to check out.”

  “The Jersey Shore, please! I’ve heard so much about it.” Abby does a happy hop, and I watch her glasses resettle on the bridge of her nose.

  “And they say reality TV can’t be a gateway to culture.” I purse my lips.

  “And by culture, you mean dance clubs, right?” she asks. For the second time, she casually giggle-snorts. I’m starting to wonder if she has a deviated septum or something. Either way, I like how she’s committed to normalizing snorting. Like, why does society get to decide what’s an acceptable bodily sound and what isn’t? I’m on Abby’s side, all the way.

  “Don’t forget tacky boardwalk shops,” I tell her, not missing a beat. It’s as if I hear bursts of snorts every waking hour, and it doesn’t give me pause.

  “Boardwalks, too? Okay, now I have to go because that sounds like the life I miss.” Abby grabs a can of LaCroix and walks to the other side of the room to sit next to Matt on the couch. “You should come to the beach with me and Zora, and get a taste of home,” she tells him.

  “Here, we say ‘down the shore,’ ” I say.

  “I beg to differ,” a guy on the other couch shouts from across the room. “Only a Benny from North Jersey has to come ‘down’ to hit the beach. We South Jerseyans are already here.”

  “Who’s Benny?” Abby is confused.

  “It stands for the northern places we travel from—Bayonne, Elizabeth, Newark, and New York,” I explain.

  “Yeah, Bennies eat subs and we eat hoagies,” the guy continues. “They call pork rolls Taylor ham, and it makes no sense.”

  “Did someone spike your drink, Pork Roll?” I ask him.

  “Whoa, Taylor Ham’s got attitude. I like it.”

  “Ignore him. That’s just Dominic Russo messing with you,” says Abby. “How about it, Matt, ready for some homesickness cure?”

  “I’m feeling pretty at home here, thank you very much.” Matt gestures to his dorm room, located right off the common area. “But cool, count me in for some seaside sightseeing by the seashore, Sally.”

  “Speaking of feeling at home, I’m loving how open everyone is with their cheesy jokes here,” I say. “I think I’ve found my people.” And it’s true; I’m surprised at how comfortable I’m feeling now.

  Abby holds up her LaCroix can in a toast, nailing that viral-meme pose. “Cheers, friend, and welcome to your village.”

  A guy wearing a Puerto Rican flag shirt and carrying a laptop strolls out of Matt’s room. He plops down on the couch, stretches his legs out on the ottoman, and opens up his laptop.

  “You must be Perez,” I greet him. “I’m Zora. I take community organizing with Matt.”

  “Ugh, another save-the-world person,” Perez jokes.

  “In the flesh.” I smile.

  “Hey, I think I recognize you now,” Perez says. “Do you hang out with that prince on campus?”

  I freeze. He didn’t just go there.

  “Perez, really?” Matt looks disappointed in his roommate’s etiquette.

  “Are you talking about the prince again?” asks Abby.

  “I’m just asking Zora about her friendship with him.” He holds up his hands in self-defense. He looks at me. “Is ‘friendship’ the right word?”

  “You work for the school paper?” I tease.

  “No, I’m a future MBA. I don’t count words, I count money,” he jokes.

  “Oh, okay. I can already see why you’re going for an MBA—you mind other folks’ business pretty well.” I can hardly get the words out before I start laughing.

  “Burn!” shouts Matt.

  Laughter breaks out from the other couch, too, and I think for a second that they’re laughing at my corny joke. I glance over and Dominic and another girl are sitting there cracking up at something they’re watching on a cell phone. Matt goes over to investigate.

  “You guys have got to see this video,” Matt calls us over. “It’s a Taco Tuesday challenge.”

  The video shows people making the craziest faces as they try not to drink milk to douse out the fire hot sauce flavors in their tacos. As serious as I expected this crowd of future leaders to be, all it takes is laughing at that video to get them to challenge each other to their own Taco Tuesday fun.

  “You are to find one mystery ingredient from your dorm fridge or drawer or wherever and add it to a taco. The person with the most delicious add-ons will win tonight’s challenge,” says Dominic, after sharing the video with everyone.

  “Amir, cover your ears,” says Matt to the guy I correctly assumed is the RA. “I don’t want you to come across any info you may have to report.”

  “Hey, as long as you guys don’t expect me to participate, we won’t have a problem,” says Amir.

  “I don’t live here, so I get to sit this one out, too, right?” I ask. The small crowd boos and whines. I’m holding my belly with laughter and try to talk over all the jeers and nos. “I’m perfectly happy to film this for YouTube if you need a cameraperson. No charge.”

  “Wait, Taylor Ham, how about you get to be our impartial judge and taste tester?” says Dominic.

  “Um, Pork Roll, I would love to accept that position, but I’m going with another offer,” I counter. “If you all really insist, this bag is my home on the go.” I pat my backpack. “I must have some kind of snack left in here.”

  “You can’t use toothpaste or crap like that,” Dominic answers like some street game show host. “Only edible, non-medicated food and foodstuffs.”

  “Bet! I got this. I’m in,” I tell him.

  As gross as this challenge sounds, it turns out to be the most fun I’ve had with Halstead Hopefuls (not counting Owen, of course). I guess as hard as we work, we can play just as hard. Here I am beating my chest and talking a good game, in the same way I do back in Appleton when I’m losing at a game of spades against Zach. I don’t even know what, if any, ingredients I have in my backpack, but when the
stopwatch goes off, I manage to find a half-eaten pack of sour cream and onion chips, an unopened packet of vending machine oatmeal raisin cookies, and three individually wrapped chocolate caramel nuggets I was saving for the kids at camp. I get to crumbling everything down and sprinkling bits of each over a veggie taco.

  The whole time I can’t help but think Owen would love this gathering. I wonder what type of snacks he would bring to the table. You can usually tell a lot about a person by what they snack on. This group is so laid-back. They pull out Cheetos, nachos, and every other cheese snack you can think of.

  Kelsey doesn’t seem like the type to enjoy this kind of stuff, and I can’t claim to be upset she doesn’t show up. Matt says the only reason she gets invited is because she’s Abby’s roommate and Abby doesn’t feel comfortable excluding her.

  Everyone’s in such a cool mood, and it’s only Tuesday. It’s a much chiller vibe than the one I’ve been on lately. I guess that’s the power of tacos, rituals, and food with mystery ingredients.

  The concoctions aren’t all disgusting. They are all relatively edible. I only have to race to the nearest trash can and spit out my food once. Technically, it’s more like the nearest available trash can. Just my luck, the closest receptacle is, ahem, occupied when I need it. And I learn the uncomfortable way that the second-closest one is located next to the stairwell door down the hall and around the corner. With an equally-grossed-out Abby leading the way, I make it just in time to spit out the food with class. We cough, laugh, and (on Abby’s part) snort out the contents. There’s the sound of the stairwell doorknob twisting, but we don’t see who’s swinging the door open until we’re upright and consider the figure standing frozen in front of the exit.

  “You girls in need of medical assistance?” It’s Uncle-Officer, the campus policeman who escorted me out of class. He has a crinkled-up and questioning look on his face.

  “Good afternoon,” I say for some reason. It’s a knee-jerk response possibly thanks to my painfully awkward way of overcompensating.