He stirred, then flitted one eye open. “Aww, man. I’m trying to sleep, dawg. What time is it?”
“You don’t need to know the time. The sun’s up, and so should you be.”
He sucked his teeth, irritated. “You’ve been talking to Baba.” He turned away and settled back into his pillow.
She rocked him. “Get up, you lazy bum. You’re wasting this wonderful day!” She tugged his covers down. “I’ll take you to breakfast to celebrate the first day of spring break.”
“No thanks,” he grumbled. “Every time you take me somewhere, I always end up paying anyway.” D’Melo drew his covers back up.
“Oooh, now you’re just strumming my nerves.” She jostled him. “Get up, punk!”
D’Melo quickly spun and grabbed her. He flipped her over his body into the bed and tickled her. She giggled, half-fighting his tickle attack.
Baba bounded through the door. “Hey! What’s going on in here?” he said, feigning anger. “You know you’re not allowed to have girls in your bed.”
“Baba, it’s Zara,” D’Melo quipped. “She ain’t a girl.”
“What!” Zara started tickling him back.
“Zara,” Baba chuckled. “I think I can leave now. It seems you’ve got this under control.”
While D’Melo readied himself for the day, Zara sat with Baba at the dining room table. Without her asking, he brought a steaming cup of green tea—her favorite morning drink.
Zara took a breath. “Baba,” she said. “Why did you leave before the movie was over that night?”
Baba took a few breaths, too. “It just brought back too many memories of D’Melo’s mother. I wish you could have met her. She was a fireball, just like you.”
In an instant, Zara felt a deep sadness. Her eyes turned liquid green. “Baba,” her voice quivered. “I, I—”
Baba clutched her hand. “What is it, my sweet lioness?”
“I’ve decided, um—,” she paused, wiping her tears. “I’ve decided to go to Malunga after graduation. I’m gonna intern with Kyle Sandersen’s film company.”
Baba leaned back in his chair. He drew his hands down his face. “Well, that sounds like a wonderful opportunity,” he sighed. “But I assume you haven’t told D’Melo. If you had, he wouldn’t be singing in the shower right now.”
“I don’t know how to tell him, Baba. I’ve wanted to, but I haven’t been able to get up the courage.”
“Well, my dear, this is not something that will be made easier with time.”
“I know. That’s why I came this morning. I plan to tell him at breakfast.”
“Can I suggest that I leave, and you tell him here? He’ll want to be at home when he hears this news.”
Zara nodded somberly.
“What about you?” Baba asked, looking at her with concern. “How are you doing?”
“It hurts, Baba. It’s hurts really bad.”
Baba patted her moist cheeks with a napkin.
“D’Melo’s the best person I’ve ever known. So many times, I’ve wondered why he chose to be friends with me. And then I’m just filled with gratitude that he did.” Her tears turned into sobs.
“Zara, look at me.”
Zara lifted her face.
“I will never let you disparage yourself. You are deserving of his friendship in every way. You’re amazing in your own right. D’Melo had been broken for years. Since his mother died, he’s had a gaping hole in his heart. He tried to fill it with basketball and by keeping himself busy in all kinds of things. Have you ever met anyone who is the president of more school clubs?”
Zara chuckled through her sniffles.
“It’s like he’s running all the time because he thinks if he stops, he’ll get sucked down into the hole. Well, you’re filling that hole for him. I’ve never seen him more at peace than he has been this year.”
“Baba, telling me this is only making it harder. I don’t want to leave him either. As much as you think I’ve done for him, he’s done even more for me. Besides my mom dying, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through. While my heart tugs at me to go to Malunga, my mind just doesn’t want to believe it. I’m probably not making any sense.”
“No, you’re making perfect sense. And that’s why you must go. Trust your heart, it’ll never lie to you like your mind will. Your friendship with D’Melo is strong. It’ll withstand the distance between you.”
D’Melo’s bedroom door squeaked open. Baba rose to leave. “Bahati njema, good luck.” He wrapped his arm around Zara and leaned his head onto hers. “It’ll all work out. It always does.”
Zara hastily dabbed her eyes and straightened in her chair as D’Melo shuffled in.
“Hey. Where’s Baba?”
“He stepped out for a few minutes.”
“Have you been crying? Your face has that puffy thing happening.”
Zara’s lips quivered. D’Melo sat apprehensively.
“D’Melo,” she murmured, trying to keep eye contact. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
D’Melo seemed to brace himself. He interlaced his fingers and lifted his hands to his mouth.
Zara took a deep, shuddering breath. “After we saw the documentary, I contacted Kyle Sandersen. He’s working on a follow-up to his Malunga story.”
D’Melo fidgeted nervously in his chair.
“He invited me to Malunga to work for his company.” Zara laid quavering hands over her nose. “I leave the day after graduation.” She gazed anxiously at D’Melo over her fingers, waiting for his reaction. She was shaken by his silence.
Finally, D’Melo mumbled, “Will you be back in time to start college in the fall?”
She let out a weighty sigh. “It’s a two-year internship.”
D’Melo’s face dropped despondently. Staring vacantly into the distance, he said, “Why are you going? I don’t understand. You got into Temple, a great journalism school. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“It was. But after seeing the film, I realized that I can’t be content in a comfy classroom in America knowing what’s happening to the Shuja people.”
“It’s messed up there, but—” D’Melo shrugged indifferently.
“‘It’s messed up.’ That’s it?” Zara’s sadness began to burn away. “You don’t care about the injustice going on there?”
“I didn’t say I don’t care. But what can I do about it?”
“If everyone thought that way, nothing would ever change in this world. What if Nelson Mandela said that? South Africa could still be under apartheid.”
“I’m not Nelson Mandela. I’m just D’Melo from Lincoln Downs. My way of helping is to become a teacher. Is there something wrong with teaching kids about the history of the country they live in?”
“Of course not. Teaching kids is admirable, but there are people out there in the world that really need you. Your people.”
D’Melo stiffened. He glared intensely at Zara. “They’re NOT my people!” he said harshly. “I’m an American. And I’m gonna teach my people American history. I don’t know why you’re acting like Africans are your people; they’re black and you’re white.”
As soon as the words escaped his mouth, D’Melo diverted his eyes. Zara knew he understood how they had pierced her heart.
Zara tightened her lips, trying to stop herself from firing words at him that she would regret. It was a discipline she had learned from D’Melo himself—but one he unfortunately had forgotten in this moment. Zara lifted herself up and walked heavily to the door. As she grabbed the handle, still facing away from D’Melo, she asked gingerly, “You’re not going to say anything?”
After a few moments of stony silence, he said coldly, “What do you want me to say? Edu?”
Zara’s face burned as blood flooded it. She was ready to explode.
Just then Baba returned, pushing open the door behind her.
A deluge of tears threatened to spill from Zara’s eyes, but she didn’t dare to let even one drop. “You know, D’Melo,” she said, her face trembling with rage and sorrow. “You love American history so much, here’s a tidbit for you. One of your American heroes said something long ago that is as true today as it was then. So I hope when you’re in front of those kids teaching history, you tell them this: ‘All that tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent.’ Thomas Jefferson. But maybe you should teach yourself that first!” She started to leave, then paused. “And by the way, just so you know, all people are my people.”
“Sorry, Baba,” Zara said, as she stormed past him.
D’Melo shut his eyes and sat in silence, his gut churning. He hoped desperately that this was just another nightmare that he would wake up from.
“D’Melo,” Baba said sternly. “Go after her!” He held the door open.
D’Melo rose and trudged to his bedroom, and without another word, he slammed the door shut.
Chapter Eight
Zara’s Secret
It was the longest spring break ever. D’Melo and Zara hadn’t spoken for a week. For the prior few months, there had been nary a day that they didn’t talk. D’Melo hadn’t fully realized the extent to which Zara had become a part of his life. Now that she wasn’t around, the space she filled was crushingly apparent.
Saturday was the opening weekend at the Citadel. The boyz hoped that basketball would take D’Melo’s mind off Zara. It didn’t.
“Yo, D. Where you goin’?” Jeylan fretted.
D’Melo strode off the court. “Was that my phone?” He looked at the screen, then sighed, disappointed.
“Come on, dawg. We’re in the middle of a game and you’re checkin’ your phone? Get your head right and let’s get our money.”
The LD boyz were losing big to the Strickland Heights neighborhood, a team they usually handled quite easily. Typically, D’Melo was upbeat on the court, having fun being unstoppable. Today he was lethargic and unfocused. Basketball had become a chore rather than the thing he loved to do most.
After the game, the Strickland team asked for their fifty dollars.
Jeylan turned to Marley. “Marls, pay the dude.”
“What! Why do I gotta pay?” Marley objected. “I didn’t even play.”
“Cuz you the only one with a job!”
“Well, y’all fools need to start working. Because as long as D’Melo’s like this, y’all gonna be losin’ a lot of games.” Marley handed the Strickland player the cash. “This ain’t right,” he protested. “This has to be a violation of my human rights or something.”
D’Melo started home. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye.
The boyz caught up with him. Kazim got straight to the point. “Just call her, man.”
“Nah,” D’Melo rebuffed, sounding sterner than he intended. “I don’t need her.”
“I told you about those white girls!” Jeylan butted in. “But I gotta agree with this fool. You need to call that girl.”
Kazim had a go at lightening the mood. “Man, if she wasn’t your boo, I’d be all like, ‘Girrrl, you must be tired, cuz you been running through my mind all day.’”
“I told y’all, she ain’t my girlfriend. We’re just friends! Well,” D’Melo corrected himself, “we were just friends.”
D’Melo trudged up the stoop to his house. Before he ducked inside, Kazim tried one more time.
“Yo, you should do something special for her birthday. That’ll get you back in the game.” D’Melo eyed Kazim uncertainly.
“Man, are you kidding?” Kazim chided. “You don’t even know that tomorrow’s her birthday?”
“Of course, I do. I’m just wondering how you know.”
“I know all the hotties’ birthdays. The school receptionist likes me. She lets me look in the student files. I send each hottie a birthday card with a little Kaz-anova note in it. Man, you just don’t know how much play I get with that.”
“Yeah, I do. None.”
“Whatever, dawg. You need to lock away your pride and get right with that girl.”
After a full day of wallowing, D’Melo realized that Kazim was right—maybe for the first time ever. The following morning, he woke energized, but also a shade nauseous. What if she doesn’t want to see me? I can’t believe I said they’re not her people. He jabbed a finger into his temple, So stupid!
D’Melo pushed his fears aside for the moment. He had to at least try. “Baba,” he called. “I’m going to Zara’s.”
Baba let out a grateful sigh, as if D’Melo’s words were an answer to prayer.
D’Melo bounded for the drugstore. The bell rang hollow behind the door; Zara wasn’t there. Tomáš lamented that she had been leaving early every morning and returning late at night. He had no idea where she had been going.
“I think I know,” D’Melo piped. He took out his phone and Googled “the tallest building in Philadelphia.” He scanned the results, then bolted.
Tomáš whispered to himself, “Edu.”
D’Melo quickly reached the building. The rectangular mountain of glass stretched up into the clouds. He hopped in the elevator and anxiously tapped the button for the sixtieth floor. The flashing floor numbers made it seem as if he was shooting through the sky, but he could hardly feel the motion.
He stepped out into a restaurant with a 360-degree view of the city. His eyes combed the patrons, but he didn’t see Zara. He asked the hostess if a redheaded girl had come in.
“There’ve been a few actually,” she said. “Can you describe her?”
“The best way to describe her is, if she was here, you’d know. It’s as if there’s a spotlight directed on her and the rest of the room exists in her shadow. She has that thing that’s just impossible to go unnoticed. And when she smiles at you, you feel like you can’t breathe.”
“Oh!” The hostess smiled at his outpouring. “You’re talking about Zara.”
“Yes!” D’Melo’s heart leapt. “She’s here?” The hostess gestured to the stairwell that led to the roof.
D’Melo scaled the steps two at a time. He halted at the top, taking a moment to calm the butterflies flittering in his stomach. He softly nudged the door open.
Zara was looking out at the city, leaning against the protective metal poles. Her hair whipped in the swirling wind. She lifted strands of her bangs and tucked them behind her ear, but a gust immediately freed them again. She slipped a hairband off her wrist and nimbly wrapped her silky hair into a ponytail. Then she drew her ponytail over her shoulder and tickled her cheek with it—something D’Melo had come to realize she does when she’s in thoughtful reflection.
D’Melo allowed himself a moment to drink her in. Then, just as he had gathered the courage to lay his heart on the line, pesky doubts seeped into his addled mind. He was afraid that when she saw him, the sparkle that used to light her smiling eyes would be absent because of the anguish caused by his reckless words. The thought of this possibility constricted his aching heart.
She’s better off without me, he convinced himself. He retreated quietly into the stairwell.
Zara called out, “Hey, punk.” She turned to D’Melo closing the door. “Where are you going?”
He froze. “How’d you know I was here?”
“I can feel your pain. Remember? And the closer you are, the more it hurts.”
He shambled contritely across the roof and sidled up next to her. Side by side, they gazed at the sprawling city below. D’Melo’s eyes followed the Schuylkill River snaking around downtown to Fairmont Park. He realized how few places he had been outside of Lincoln Downs.
Zara positioned herself in front of him. She aligned her straightened arm with his line of sight, then tracked it slowly we
stward. “If you scan left from the park, you can see LD High. Now if you look to the far corner of the school, you should be able to see it.”
“See what?” D’Melo said, squinting.
“The spot where I scorched you on the court!” She bumped him playfully with her hip.
D’Melo’s eyes perused the city. “You know, you’re right. It’s nice up here.”
Zara nodded. “It’s the only place I’ve been able to find any peace since our fight. I know people are suffering down there,” she bemoaned, gesturing to the thousands of tiny houses below. “But I don’t feel any of it. It’s so strange that, for me, it’s such an incredible feeling to not feel anything at all.”
“Well, I even screwed that up,” D’Melo said regretfully. “Your chest must have been hurting all week because of me.”
“I didn’t mind. It’s sweet that your heart aches because you miss me. That is why your heart was hurting, isn’t it?”
“You’ll never know.” He grinned. “Hey, wait a second. You felt me suffering, and you didn’t call me?”
“I wanted to, really . . . desperately, but I couldn’t.” Zara’s gaze dropped. “I was too afraid that you didn’t want to be friends anymore. I think my heart would have instantly stopped beating.”
D’Melo sighed, feeling a mix of emotions. He was overjoyed that Zara cared so much about him but also devastated that she was afraid he would hurt her again.
D’Melo gazed ruefully into her eyes. “Zara, I’m so sorry. I never should have said those things that day. I didn’t mean any of it. You’re the first person who has ever really made me face myself, and I got defensive and lashed out like a child.”
“You don’t need to apologize. You were right. Who am I to tell you how you should live your life? You’ve done a great job with it. You have friends who treasure you and a father who absolutely adores you. If I had that, maybe everything wouldn’t rile me up so much.”
Spirit King: Return of the Crown Page 15