“But...you told me he wasn’t going to Yale with you.” What was Porsha talking about? What was going on? “He told me he didn’t even get his diploma.”
“Oh...right. No, my dad got him back in. I didn’t tell you last night? I guess I forgot once I told him.” Porsha put her ticket back in her bag. She couldn’t stop scanning the crowd of commuters for Kaliq’s face, or checking the time on the giant clock directly above them. She was starting to get insanely nervous. Not to mention pissed off. If Kaliq didn’t get there soon, he’d miss the train. Not that that would be the end of the world—he could always catch the next one. But she really wanted them to have the experience of starting their new life together. And if he didn’t get there now, it wasn’t going to happen.
“What? No. When did this all happen?” Chanel’s normally smooth brow wrinkled in confusion. “He didn’t say anything—”
“Last night. He must not have had the chance to tell you either.” Porsha pulled her cell from her bag with an exasperated sigh and dialed Kaliq’s number again. It rang and rang and then went to voicemail.
Again.
36
“God, Mekhi.” Bree’s voice rang out in the early-morning sunlight as she dumped a big box into the trunk of Mekhi’s 1977 Buick Skylark. Even though it was only 10 a.m., the pavement on 99th Street and West End Avenue was already blazing hot, and the garbage bins were starting to smell like rotting dog poo. Bree straightened up, wiping her hands off on her jeans. “Do you think you packed enough crap?”
Mekhi scowled, taking a scuffed-up suitcase from his sister’s tiny hands. “They’re books,” he muttered, gently placing the luggage in the trunk, “not crap.”
“Well, whatever’s in there is heavy.” Bree was panting in the oppressive August heat, her white wifebeater streaked with grime. Mekhi threw a duffel bag into the backseat, along with a blanket and pillow, his notebook, and a few bags of stale bagels. He couldn’t wait to park by the side of the road at night and sleep looking out at the stars. It was going to be so On the Road. He’d even brought the audio book to play on the car’s outdated tape player. He was going to spend the next week out on the open road, looking for truth and the meaning of life.
This from the guy who couldn’t figure out his own sexuality.
Yasmine appeared from the Hargroves’ ramshackle apartment building, holding a plastic container of Folgers crystals. She looked cool and comfortable with her shorn scalp, wearing one of Mekhi’s old black Raves T-shirts and a pair of his black boxers.
“Hot enough for you?” Mekhi called lightly, even though the sight of her was breaking his heart.
Yasmine grabbed a bag from the sidewalk and stuffed it in the trunk. She stopped to wipe her face on the hem of her T-shirt. “I hate you,” she mumbled grumpily. “Don’t forget this,” she added, handing him the half-empty Folgers container.
“I can’t believe I’m actually leaving,” Mekhi said nervously, to no one in particular, mechanically grabbing the coffee from Yasmine as his mom and dad stepped out of the apartment building and onto the curb. Jeanette wore a bright purple satin kimono with a large dragon on the back embroidered in gold thread, and her mousy black hair was a mass of snarls. Despite the heat, she was also wearing her favorite pair of purple fuzzy slippers. Rufus was wearing an obscenely tight pair of electric blue spandex shorts, and a canary-yellow T-shirt with a colorful picture of a sunset on the front, that said YOU BETTER BELIZE IT. Mekhi was certainly going to miss his parents, though he wasn’t sure whether he’d miss their bizarre fashion statements.
“You two could help, you know,” Bree commented, throwing an army green duffel bag in the trunk and wiping the droplets of sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand.
Rufus crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you think we had you two? Free labor!” He and Jeanette burst into peals of laughter.
“Oh, Rufus,” Jeanette moaned, composing herself, a note of sadness creeping into her voice. “Our baby’s all grown up!” She flew at Mekhi, the sleeves of her kimono flapping in the breeze like wings, and Mekhi opened his arms, resting his head against his mother’s shoulder.
Looking around, Mekhi realized that this would be the last time that his family would be all together—for God knew how long. He was off to college today, tonight his mom was flying back to Prague and her boyfriend, Count Dracula, and Bree was leaving for boarding school in a couple days. Tears welled up in his eyes and he blinked them back. His mom patted him on the back like she was trying to burp him. “Sweetie,” she whispered in his ear, “I know you and Yasmine are back together, and I just wanted to let you know that it’s okay—I still love you, even though you’re straight,” she sniffed. “You’re my baby boy, and I just want you to be happy.”
Mekhi just shook his head. Why his mother wanted a gay son so badly was beyond him. But if his brief venture into homosexuality had finally brought her back to visit, he couldn’t really complain.
“It’s okay, Mom,” he said between thumps on his back. “Just remember next time you send a gift that I’m a men’s medium, not a kids’ size four, and I’m sort of not into pink spandex anymore.”
“Well, Mekhi.” Rufus appeared at Mekhi’s side smelling like curry and enveloped his son in a huge, hulking bear hug. “It’s time to begin the next great adventure of your life.”
Mekhi held onto his dad for a long moment. He knew that when he woke up tomorrow morning, that wherever he was—no matter how beautiful and picturesque the scenery—it would feel totally bizarre not to see his dad padding through the kitchen making brussels-sprout pancakes, wearing his long white nightshirt and purple flip-flops. “And don’t forget to write it all down,” Rufus added, slapping his shoulders affectionately.
Yasmine helped Bree fit the last suitcase into the oversize trunk and stepped back. Was Mekhi imagining things, or did he see actual tears in Yasmine’s hazel eyes? She swiped at them furiously, refusing to look at him. He walked over and took her in his arms, running his fingers over the stubbly scalp he adored. He could hear the rapid sound of her breathing, and he hugged her even closer.
“I’ll call you every day,” he said, his voice trembling. “I promise.”
“Me too.” She sniffled.
Bree slammed the trunk of the car shut. “Let’s get this boat on the road!”
“It’s not a boat,” Mekhi snorted, letting go of Yasmine. “It’s a 1977 Buick Skylark convertible, and it deserves some respect.”
“Okay, Mr. Only Got His License like, Yesterday.” Bree gave him a sweaty hug. “I was only kidding.” She buried her head against his chest, her curls bobbing up and down. “I’m going to miss you so much,” she said quietly as the tears rolled down her round cheeks.
Mekhi closed his eyes, squeezing his little sister tight. “You too,” he muttered, trying not to cry any harder.
“But I know you guys probably have some stuff to um...do.” Bree looked up at Yasmine meaningfully and then shuffled away, fanning her face with one hand as she joined Rufus and Jeanette on the curb.
Yasmine grabbed Mekhi’s hand forcefully, pulling him behind the car so that they could have some privacy. She kissed him hard—a little reminder of their long night last night—and then pulled back, grinning. She was sad to see Mekhi go, but they were together again—and she had some ideas for how to stay in touch.
“Not only will I call you every day,” she said, swooping in for another kiss, then lowering her voice to a throaty whisper, “but I’ll be sending you some movies, too.” She winked, her face wicked.
Mekhi's face turned warm. “Rated R, I hope,” he whispered in her ear.
Finally she pried herself out of his arms, and he got behind the wheel of his huge automobile. He slammed the door and Yasmine backed slowly away, joining his family on the curb. There they were: his crazily dressed father, his long-absent mother, his sweet little sister, and Yasmine, the bald, beautiful love of his life. He jammed the key into the ignition, fighting tears.
The car coughed once, twice, and then...died abruptly. Mekhi closed his eyes. He couldn’t face another round of goodbyes. He turned the key once more. This time, the engine caught, coughing and sputtering, before coming to life with a giant roar.
He jerked the car forward, trying to remember everything his dad had told him about defensive driving, and watched his family get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, all four of them waving wildly and wiping their eyes as he sped up West End Avenue. His blood felt electric, and he could hardly wait to get out on the open road, to feel the sun on his face as it streamed through the windshield. Hopefully, by the time he found an Internet café, he’d already have a Yasmine Richards original in his inbox. One meant for his eyes only.
37
Kaliq glanced at his beat-up platinum Rolex as he hopped out of the cab and into the blinding morning light. He shaded his eyes from the sun as he looked up at the street signs, trying to get his bearings. “Thanks, man.” He turned to the cabbie and handed him forty bucks.
“Sir, you overpay—” The driver handed back one of the twenties, but Kaliq had already turned away.
“It’s all yours,” he called as he hurried down the street. He checked his watch again. Nine fifty-five. Only five more minutes.
He started to run now, his loafers slapping against the pavement as his feet made contact with the hot asphalt. A few paces and he was panting. The sweat trickled down the back of his gray T-shirt. The balls of his feet hurt and he wished he’d worn sneakers—and maybe eaten some breakfast.
Of course he’d be thinking of food at a time like this. His phone rang and buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. Porsha. Again. He silenced the phone and put it back into his shorts.
Finally he rounded a corner and there she was, the sweet girl he’d be spending the next year with.
Who?
Kaliq raced down the Battery Park City wharf—the same dock he and Porsha had sailed into ten days ago, although it felt like much longer. It was as if the moment he’d set foot on dry land, his days had turned into a confusing tangle of getting high and hurting the people he loved.
Story of his life.
Kaliq leapt onto the deck and strode into the stern of the Belinda, crashing into a pile of life preservers. He looked at his watch again.
“Nine fifty-nine!” he called out. “I’m early!”
Chips appeared from the cabin with a grin. “Glad you made it.” He was wearing his “traveling clothes,” a pristine pair of white sailor’s pants and a navy blue windbreaker. His white hair was combed back from his deeply lined face, and his eyes sparkled as he moved around the boat, his bad leg dragging behind him but an excited spring in his step. He bent at the waist, untied a mass of rope at his feet, and began to raise the anchor with the hand crank.
That’s what Kaliq was going to love about sailing with Chips. No computerized anything. Everything was done the old-fashioned way, with maps and muscle.
“Belinda and I thought we might have to leave without you.”
Kaliq grinned, extracting himself from the pile of life preservers, and started to help Chips with the rope. “I just wanted to make you sweat a little.” His phone rang again in his pocket and he pulled it out, even though he knew who was calling. He silenced the ringer.
Chips arched an eyebrow. “Which one is it? Does she know where you’ve gone?”
“She doesn’t. Neither of them knows, actually. They both think I’m meeting them at Grand Central right now.” Kaliq thought about Porsha and Chanel standing in the train station, wondering where he was, and felt bad—but only for a minute. He closed his eyes as he pictured Porsha’s excited happy face and Chanel’s wid gorgeous smile. It really was better this way—for everyone—whether they realized it or not. Chanel and Porsha would be friends again—without him getting in the way all the time.
“You didn’t even tell them?” Chips coiled a length of rope around one arm, his brow furrowed. “Did nothing of my using-your-balls speech make its way through that thick hair of yours and into your head?”
Kaliq looked out to sea. The sky above him was flooded with bright morning light that bounced off the calm surface of the water. “No...” he began. “I got it. It’s just...better this way. If I’d told them, they would have tried to stop me from leaving.” His phone started beeping wildly, breaking the perfect silence of the calm morning. Kaliq pulled it out of his pocket and silenced it again. “And I might have let them.”
He glanced at the phone in his hand and its screen flashing 18 MISSED CALLS. He flipped it open and punched at the keypad, knowing exactly what he needed to say in his text. He pressed SEND and then SEND again. And then he brought his throwing arm back and tossed the phone out to sea. It made a tiny splash as it hit the calm surface of the water.
Chips nodded approvingly and Kaliq grabbed a rope to hoist the sail, giving it a fierce pull. The sail rose above him, fluttered in the breeze, and then grew taut.
“We’re off!” Chips cried as the boat motored out into the harbor.
Kaliq watched the dock grow smaller and smaller. Maybe college was the right choice for most people, but it wasn’t for him—at least not now. Yale could wait. He needed time to figure out who he was and what he really wanted, and he was never going to do that if every spare minute was taken up with classes, papers, and...Porsha. Or Chanel.
The tall buildings of Manhattan began to recede into the distance, and the spires of the Chrysler building and the Empire State building became tiny toy versions of themselves. The island Kaliq had called home his whole life suddenly looked...small. He planted his feet on the teak planks of the deck and turned his head into the wind as they sailed off into the sparkling endless blue.
38
Porsha crossed her arms and tapped her toe impatiently on the platform as the train began to fill up with hundreds of luggage-toting passengers. She was so fucking on edge that she felt like she might throw up. The bright silver train cars were momentarily engulfed in a white cloud of exhaust, and Chanel coughed, one hand covering her mouth.
Porsha dialed Kaliq’s number for the bazillionth time and sighed as it rang and rang and then went to voicemail. “Kaliq, it’s me,” she snapped into the phone. “I’m here on the platform at Grand Central...waiting. Where are you?” She glanced around and exhaled heavily, blowing her dark hair off her now-sweaty forehead. “You better get your ass here in two seconds or you’ll miss the train!” She closed her cell with a snap. Where could he be?
Chanel’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Porsha, I—I don’t think Kaliq’s coming.”
Porsha whipped around to face her. “What do you mean, not coming? Why not?”
Chanel looked down, playing with the ends of her hair. Her voice was small and slightly muffled. “Just because you got him into Yale again doesn’t mean he wants to go.” She lifted her head, her eyes shining. “The truth is, Porsha...I love Kaliq too. And he knows. Because I told him.”
Uh-oh.
Porsha opened her mouth in shock, but before she could utter one venomous word, both girls’ phones began to chirp maniacally. Chanel pulled her phone out—anything to avoid Porsha’s angry eyes. The screen read, ONE NEW TEXT MESSAGE. She opened it.
“It’s from Kaliq,”Porsha whispered, holding up her phone.
“To both of us.”
Chanel looked down at her screen and read: PORSHA AND CHANEL: SAILING AROUND THE WORLD. I LOVE YOU BOTH. ALWAYS HAVE. ALWAYS WILL. TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER. -KALIQ
The train hissed on the tracks. Chanel bit her bottom lip and looked up at Porsha’s shocked face. Kaliq had left—left them both. He loved them, but he didn’t want to be with either of them. Chanel hugged herself, feeling unsteady on her feet. Porsha looked like she was about to pass out.
And then, to Chanel’s utter surprise, Porsha began to giggle, small hiccupping hysterical giggles. Chanel threw her arms open and hugged her friend, laughing and crying at the same time.
“Oh, C
hanel,” Porsha gasped, “Don’t you see? It’s so classic. He just sailed off into the sunset without even saying goodbye.” As much as she wanted her own life to be like an old black-and-white movie, Kaliq’s departure was far more cinematic than anything she could have come up with.
The two girls clutched each other, their faces wet with tears as passersby on the platform turned to stare and whisper. The loudspeaker above their heads crackled with static, and then a booming voice filled the underground space.
This is the 10 o’clock to New Haven stopping at Stamford, Noroton Heights, Darien, South Norwalk, Norwalk, Bridgeport, Stratford, Milford, and New Haven. Ten o’clock to New Haven. All aboard!
Porsha wiped the tears from her cheeks and straightened the bottom of her dress. Kaliq wasn’t there, but she still couldn’t wait to get on that train. Chanel was going to be a big movie star, Kaliq was off sailing around the world, and she was going to Yale—her dream since she was a little girl. And who knew what might happen there? Maybe she’d meet some gorgeous lacrosse player with golden caramel skin and glittering green eyes who wasn’t a total flake.
“Bye,” Chanel whispered in her ear, her voice giddy with emotion. “Call me?”
“Definitely.” Porsha boarded the train on her own, adjusting her white hat and black sunglasses. She didn’t know what Yale—or the future—would hold, but she couldn’t find wait to find out.
UPCOMING BOOKS
Upper East Side 12: The Prequel
Welcome to New York City’s Upper East Side, where my friends and I live and go to school and play and sleep—sometimes with each other. We’re an exclusive group of indescribably beautiful people who happen to live in those majestic, white-glove-doorman buildings near Central Park. We attend Manhattan’s most elite single-sex private schools. Our families own yachts and estates in various exotic locations throughout the world. We frequent all the best beaches and the most exclusive ski resorts. We’re seated immediately at the nicest restaurants in the chicest neighborhoods without a reservation. We turn heads. But don’t confuse us with Hollywood actors or models or music stars—those people you feel like you know because you hear so much about them, but who are actually completely boring compared to the parts they play or the songs they sing. There’s nothing boring about me or my friends, and the more I tell you about us, the more you’re going to want to know.
Upper East Side #11 Page 19