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Chapter Text

The world was a blur of pale faces staring, sweat, and muggy breath. Imani’s chest huffed as she pushed up from her toes and her leg muscles strained to remain in flex as she did pirouette turn after pirouette turn. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her head was fuzzy. She quietly gasped as she kept her stomach sucked in. Her movements were forced, jerky, exhausted. 

“Faster, Imani!” 

The piano picked up its tempo, and Sterling’s claps shattered through the room as she shouted again. 

“Up!” 

Imani struggled to keep up with the music as it swirled around her ears. Sweat rolled down her face, but she didn’t dare wipe it away before the solo was finished.

“Up!” 

Her pointe shoes beat against the floor, feet stumbling over one another as she sped up her turns. Her legs burned hatefully with each movement. 

“Up! And turn! Arabesque!” 

She clenched her jaw as the piano rang out its final chords, lifting her back leg as instructed, but the foot she balanced on trembled. She could feel herself fall before she actually did from the sudden weakness in her legs as her sight blurred, the sweat droplets having fallen past her lashes. Her thud echoed through the room like a gunshot as she held back a groan, landing on her right hip and quickly pushing herself up into a sitting position. It screamed at her–everything screamed. Her body, her growling stomach, no longer sucked in, and her ballet instructor. 

“One job,” she started, voice dangerously low before beating against the mirrors, “One fucking job, Washington!”

Imani wiped her eyes. The instructor stormed up to her, yanking her by the wrist. Imani kept her eyes fixed on the floor as she fought the urge to wince–everyone else did; she couldn’t. The instructor’s breath huffed against Imani’s cheeks. Her nerves were frayed as Sterling’s grip tightened painfully.

“You asked me for this role, yes or no?” 

Imani’s voice was soft but steady, her head bowed in submission. She just had to wait for it to end like it always did. 

“Yes, Mrs. Sterling.” 

Sterling’s breath was electric with fury as she raised a finger to Imani’s face. 

“Fuck up like that one more time…I will end you, you hear me? Done.” 

Imani’s throat closed, but she refused to swallow. She nodded, voice barely a whisper. 

“Yes, Mrs. Sterling.” 

Sterling studied her blank face, then looked around at the other girls and boys who avoided her white hot gaze as she peered at them. 

“Would anyone like to show Imani how a Kitri Jump is done?” 

Imani winced then, closing in on herself. She hadn’t fallen during the Kitri Jumps, but she knew they had slacked. Stupid, stupid girl.

No one moved. Impatiently, Sterling let out a scoff, dropping Imani’s wrist and going back to the piano. She lit a cigarette, her eyes regarding the young girl coldly. 

“Again.”

Imani wobbled slightly as she walked to the other corner of the room, closing her eyes as the other young dancers parted for her. They watched her, breath bated, as she calmed her trembling hands and slowly sucked in a deep breath. This was her dance. No one, not even Sterling, would take that away from her. 

She timidly met the pianist's eyes. He nodded, putting his cigarette on his ashtray, and positioned his fingers over the keys, waiting for the instructor's signal. Sterling's eyes watched her closely, daring her to falter, to fall. She wouldn't, not this time. Imani pranced across the room and took her pose, lifting her head proudly as she shifted into character. 

The piano rang out into the vast corners of the rehearsal studio as Imani sprang to life, leaping and sweeping her leg up into a beautiful extension. The other student's eyes widened at her second wind of energy as her pointe shoes tapped nimbly against the wooden floor and her eyes glinted playfully. Loose curls of hair whizzed around her face as she pirouetted, following the tempo of the music with the speed and tenacity of a lioness. Sterling lowered her cigarette, green eyes sparking as she leaned in. 

The jump. She flew up from the ground as if she were weightless, head and back leg moving in such forceful sync it made a couple of the students wince as if they'd collide. Sterling grinned wildly, her syncopated claps shattering over the piano's music. 

"Yes! Yes, Imani!" 

The approval fueled her second Kitri jump into the air, and she landed lighter than a feather, turning, smiling, and pulling off a third. She blew a flirtatious kiss to one of the boys, eyes simmering with intensity, then fluttered over to the corner of the room. Imani's head snapped as she sped up her pirouette turns, making the pianist strain to keep up. Each breath she took in preparation was like an animal's snarl, audible as her expression darkened in focus. She held herself together tightly as three turns turned in six, then ten, then eleven. Her stomach lurched inside her, but she clenched her jaw, eyes reaching desperately for her focus point as the world around her blurred again. She was afraid she'd stumble, but she couldn't. She was filled with too much fire now to fail, riding on the wings of Sterling's enthusiastic yelling. 

A final turn, and again, her arabesque--Imani stuck the movement, holding it a second longer just to prove she could. The piano's notes rang out as the pianist slammed his fingers over the keys for the final chord, sweat rolling down his forehead. As silence crept in, Sterling's clapping went from rhythmic to frantic. She walked up to Imani, smile beaming on her face, and smacked a wet kiss on her cheek. 

"Yes! Brilliant! That is what I want to see!" 

Imani's body threatened to sway as she lowered to her flat feet and bent her knees gently to ease herself into the steady ground. It still felt like it was swirling beneath her, that the music was howling in her ringing ears. She limply bounced as Sterling roughly embraced her, presenting her to the other students like a prize stag. Despite her trembling hands, her heart swelled at her instructor's shift to overwhelming praise. It was her dance. Hers.

"All of you: take fucking notes!"

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

The jarring noise of vibrations against glass slowly roused Imani from her dreamless, alcohol-laden sleep. Her bleary eyes opened slowly, squinting under the bright oval-shaped ceiling light and blinking rapidly as the sound became clear. Her phone was buzzing. She sat up, startled as Hamlet fell from her chest and onto the floor, pages partly stained by dried drool. She wiped her mouth self-consciously, head spinning, and strained to reach her phone from the couch. She inched it closer and closer with her outstretched fingers and grabbed it, seeing the contact with a small sigh and a smile.

"Bonjour, Maman," she rasped, rubbing her eyes.

Her mother's voice was patchy, but she could make it out as her senses sharpened. She was outside, which was strange for 2 AM in New York, but not strange for Irène Washington. Her voice chirped disjointedly as the call grew choppy.

"Bonjour, Bonjour, ma chèrie! Tout va bien?" (Hello, hello, my dear! Everything alright?)

Imani chuckled as she dragged herself off the couch and made her way to the kitchen, flicking off the living room light as she did.

"Ouai, pourquoi?" (Yeah, why?)

"Il semble que vous avez une gueule de bois," Irène said, smile evident in her airy tone of voice, "Beaucoup d'amis, alors?" (It sounds like you're hungover / Plenty of friends, then?)

Imani laughed dryly, opening the fridge for a bottle of frozen water. She placed it on a coaster and trudged upstairs, admiring the gentle light of the early morning glowing through the white curtains as she passed through the living room again.

"Oui. Ils sont très aimables; je les aime très bien." (Yes. They are very kind, I like them very much.)

"Ils sont amusants aussi?" (They're fun as well?)

Imani smiled as she turned on the lights in her room, eyes gravitating to the typewriter sitting on the desk. It glistened, pristine from careful maintenance despite its lack of use. Her mother always worried about one thing when it came to her daughter: fun. She collapsed onto her bed with a grunt, bouncing on the springy mattress.

"Oui, oui, peut-être trop amusant." (Yes, yes, maybe too much fun.)

"Parfait."

Sounds of the subway bled in from the background of wherever in New York her mother was heading home from--some artist's party or oligarch's party--and Imani smiled nostalgically, listening with closed eyes as Irène got off her subway car. She could almost imagine herself there with her mother, coming back from some daring adventure in the city, laughing and drunk, singing Je Ne Regrette Rien, stumbling up the steps of the subway station to return above ground, earning suspicious looks from police officers they passed them, giggling as they leaned slightly with every step.

Irène's heels clicked in the background, and her sharp, huffing breaths broke Imani out of her reverie. She grinned.

"Stairs te botter le cul?" (Stairs kicking your ass?)

"Surveille tes manières," Irène huffed out, letting out a sigh as she got to the top, breathing in the frigid, stale air. (Mind your manners.)

Imani rolled her eyes at her mother's attempt at discipline. They both knew they didn't care.

"Mon Dieu, vous vieillissez. Devrais-je m’inquiéter?" (My goodness, you're getting old. Should I be worried?)

Irène laughed breathily, heels clicking and clacking against the concrete as she walked in a rush, tugging her winter coat closer to her ears.

"Allez vous faire foutre, je suis en bonne santé. Je vais prendre un taxi. Je t’appelle plus tard. Bonne chance aujourd'hui! Bisous." (Fuck off, I'm as healthy as a horse. I'm going to call a taxi. I'll call you later. Good luck today! Kisses.)

Irène kissed the phone, then hung up as Imani beamed on the other end. She ached longingly as she listened to the sound of rushing air until it cut off. Slowly, she kissed her phone screen, then lay still.

Her alarm began to chirp.

Imani got up automatically. She didn’t even grunt or let out a sigh; there was no time for that. It was audition day.

She went back downstairs, turned on the TV, and got straight to work. She watched the news as she held a rope at shoulder length and lifted her arms over her head, both straight as pins, as she rotated them forward and back, taking deep breaths as her shoulders rolled through their sockets. After, she shook them out and grabbed a yoga mat leaned against the TV stand, rolling it out as the newscasters forecasted the weather and talked about some cheese competition in a French village. She did a sun salutation, lingering in one position, arching her back and bending her legs so her pointed toes touched the crown of her head for a few minutes until her arms started to ache from holding her torso upright.

She stretched deep into some low lunges, smoothly transitioning into splits on either side, pointing her toes to the floor and keeping her hips squared. Then, she transitioned into elevated splits, her ankle propped up on one arm of the couch as her hips sank towards the floor. She breathed deeply as her muscles slowly loosened into the stretch despite their burn. After doing the other leg, she did a middle split, then rolled forward and shifted her hips against the floor, eyes fixed upward on the TV as an older woman proudly presented her assortment of Camembert. Her body was a bit tired from yesterday, her feet definitely felt sore, but she’d been through worse. With a huff, she got up and turned on the living room light, grabbed Hamlet from the floor, and went back to her middle split and rested on her elbows to read.

Imani’s breath puffed as she jogged through the streets, earbuds blasting Led Zeppelin as her fanny pack shifted against her chest with her movements. Despite the icy English morning air, Imani was burning hot, breezing through the empty streets until she reached the pub and stopped. She gulped in greedy amounts of cold air, her exhales pluming out like smoke. She really should stop smoking, the way her lungs burned. Robert Plant’s voice urged her on, though, and she groaned, hopping for a moment, then went back to running.

Wanna whole lotta love?

Wanna whole lotta love?

Imani rocked her head to the music as she hopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change.

Way down inside

Woman, you need, yeah

Love

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Imani had semi-successfully brushed out the taste of stale wine from her mouth, but a stubborn bit of it lingered at the back of her throat, making her opt to suck on a peppermint as she walked through the halls of Roundview. She’d gotten used to the stares by now, even though she didn’t dress anything fancy, a little bit of skin from her torso-hugging orange top and low-rise Von Dutch jeans, but it didn’t take much to get guys here to drool over you, she’d quickly come to understand. She lugged her dance bag into her locker and took out her purse, her blood going cold at the sound of a rattle—she’d forgotten to take out the pills Forrester had given her. Glancing around cautiously, she shoved them into a pocket of her dance bag and zipped it up tightly.

“Hey, ‘Mani!”

Imani jumped at the sound of Katie’s voice, but got up smoothly and smiled at her, casually shutting her locker and slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“Hey,” Imani greeted sweetly, “How are you?”

“Peachy. C’mon, yeah?”

Katie smiled at her, hooking an arm through hers and leading them away. Emily lingered behind, catching Imani’s eye. She tried to give her a smile, but Emily didn’t notice.

“Yesterday was so much fun, wasn’t it? Thanks for letting us come over, your house is so nice.”

Katie’s voice carried over the hall, making Imani wonder who exactly she was speaking to. They approached a crowd of ninjas, making Imani’s stomach tighten—she really wasn’t in the mood to be a debutante this early in the day, even if she was good at it.

“I wanna introduce you to some of my friends,” Katie said, her eyes glimmering with pride. “Guys!”

The kids stopped talking at the sound of Katie’s voice. Imani straightened her shoulders, quickly studying their faces. They looked more interesting up close instead of blurs of black in her peripheral vision. They measured her with their eyes, stunned.

“My god, you’re gorgeous,” a boy said, flipping his blonde fringe. His voice was impassive yet genuine.

Katie was practically beaming. “This is Imani. She’s from Los Angeles.”

One girl’s falsely-lashed blue eyes widened, sparked with fascination. “Like Hollywood?”

“Like Hollywood,” Katie echoed.

Imani flashed a smile, which pleased the crowd greatly. They closed in around her, bombarding her with questions.

“Why’d you come here?”

Imani had her answers memorized at this point. “My Dad. He’s working in London while I stay here. He visits on the weekends.”

This thrilled them greatly, and an energy filled the crowd as more ninjas gathered. Imani had to get to the bottom of this outfit—there was no reason so many people needed to match.

“Do you all study the same subject?”

“Hair and Beauty,” the boy answered, “You?”

“Philosophy, Literature, French, Dance.”

Katie couldn’t take how perfect the girl was. She giggled, tugging her closer.

“Isn’t she lovely?”

Imani allowed herself to be presented, kindly engaging with the barrage of questions thrown at her. Did she have a boyfriend? How couldn’t she have a boyfriend? What did she do to her skin to make it so shiny? Did she want to come to a party tonight? Her mouth ran on autopilot, bouncing off Katie’s encouragement until she spotted Pandora’s pigtails in the crowd with an internal sigh of relief. She smiled, waving her over as the bell rang, and the ninjas dispersed. Katie squeezed her shoulder, saying her goodbyes. Pandora smiled widely at the sight of Imani, running over as Katie and Emily left. In the heat of the moment, Imani finally caught Emily’s eye.

“See you in class,” she said warmly, smiling at her.

Emily nodded, offering a small one back. “See you.”

Imani watched her go as Pandora came up next to her. Tough nut to crack.

“Hey, Mani! You ready for my birthday party this weekend? It’s gonna be heaping loads of fun—brownies, Twister—“

Imani blinked, trying to decipher her friend’s alien language despite being happy to hear it. She’d never played Twister before in her life. Pandora hooked her arm through Imani’s like she saw Katie do, peering at her curiously.

“You are coming, right?”

Imani smiled brightly. “Yes, of course!”

She placed a hand over Pandora’s as they turned the corner, passing lockers with flyers plastered on them that read ‘DON QUIXOTE: AUDITIONS @ 6:00 TODAY!’ Imani's eyes lingered on them uneasily before she turned her attention back to Pandora.

“Erm…when is it again?”

Pandora laughed. “Sunday, silly!”

Imani winced. Forrester. She gave Pandora an apologetic look, which made Pandora’s face crumble in devastation. 

“But I told my mum you’d come! She’s so excited to meet you!”

Imani squeezed her hand, trying to ease her upset. “I’ll just be a bit late. I promise I’ll be there. With gifts.”

Excited by the prospect of gifts, Pandora brightened up. “What are you doin’, anyways? Going on a date?”

“Dance class,” she lied, “I’m starting up at a studio this weekend.”

“Blimey, ballerinas work hard,” Pandora remarked, “You already dance hours every day!”

Imani smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they walked into class.

Imani was already fluent in French, so she didn't pay much attention in class, just did the worksheets and answered when spoken to. Not to say she was being lazy, she never was. Besides, she could always learn something new, become more eloquent, and advance her abilities.

Just not now.

She stared in boredom at the whiteboard, listening to music on her iPod while the instructor reviewed how to ask questions.

“Et si vous voulez poser une question avec un supérieur, vous devez utiliser l’inversion.”

She tapped the board with her marker. “Say along with me, please? Avez-vous un stylo, monsieur?”

Imani lazily mouthed along as the class slowly repeated the phrase. Yes, she had a pen, and she was scribbling circles on the table with it, feeling the frayed edges of her patience wear thinner and thinner. She needed to get out before she started gnawing her arm off like a trapped animal. Everyone else was going to take three A-Levels, and she had to spend extra time breezing through French homework that she could be using to dance to prepare for four, just because her father said it would help her “stand out”. Still, it was a small price to pay to get her father to let her dance again.

“Imani?”

Imani blinked, meeting the teacher’s piercing hazel eyes with a smile.

“Oui, madame?”

“Est-ce que vous posez une question?”

Imani cleared her throat. Her mouth now tasted like stale sugar.

“Oui, madame.” She straightened up, smiling. “Avez-vous déjà visité Electric Ladyland?”

The teacher gave a dry chuckle, unamused. “Très bien, Imani.”

Imani nodded, going back to drawing circles. Pandora leaned over in interest, eyes wide.

“What’s Electric Ladyland?” she whispered.

“Jimi Hendrix.”

Her eyes brightened in curiosity. “Who’s that?”

“Rockstar.”

Pandora smiled. “Cool, like your mum!”

Imani chuckled. When she’d told Pandora and Effy about her mom while they were high, she could only find the word rockstar through her marijuana-induced haze. Now, Pandora had a terribly inaccurate definition of what a rockstar was in general.

“We need to have a sit-down soon about that.”

“Ladies.”

Imani and Pandora froze under the teacher’s icy stare, smiling apologetically until she went back to her lesson. They shared a look, sinking into their seats.

“Maintenant, nous allons regarder à l’informel.”

Imani reached into her bag for Hamlet and began to read, drowning out the noise of the teacher. Her phone buzzed, making her wince as the teacher’s eyes impatiently zipped over to her, testy at the sight of the book.

“Désolé, madame,” she said quickly, “I’m just going to run to the bathroom.”

The teacher gave a tight-lipped smile. “Good idea.”

Imani slipped out of the room and rested the back of her head on the door with a sigh, closing her eyes. The silence of the halls brought her comfort. No eyes, no ninjas, just a bit of peace with a promise of more to come. Her phone buzzed again, and she huffed, fishing it out of her purse and checking to see who texted her.

Where u at babe?

Imani rolled her eyes despite the smile that was already building on her face.

Come have a smoke.

She sighed, heading to the common room, trying to ignore the little sparks of excitement that built in her stomach. She really needed to stop smoking so much.

Imani could already smell the nicotine before she saw him. He was lounging on the couch as if he didn’t have a care in the world, puffing out smoke rings with a hand under his jeans. She shook her head, face softening as she watched him, then walked inside, fixing her face and clearing her throat, putting on an affable smile.

“Gonna save some for me?”

Cook’s head turned quickly at the sound of her voice, a grin spreading across his face.

“There you are,” he said, scooting over.

Imani took a seat next to him, taking out a carton of cigarettes and lighting one for herself. Her eyes met his, and they smiled at each other as if they shared a secret. Imani took a deep drag of her cigarette and sighed as the nicotine buzz hit her from the base of her neck and spread throughout her body, making her relax into the couch. Cook eased an arm behind her while she sighed out smoke, thumbing her purse strap. Her brow was tense, he could tell--Imani was good at concealing her emotions behind a smile, but Cook was too observant. He smiled, though; she was always worried about something silly. Girl shit.

"What is it?" he asked.

Imani rubbed her forehead. "I swear, my French teacher wants to kill me in my sleep."

Cook laughed, head bobbing slightly as he flicked his cigarette onto the floor.

"So?"

She looked at him ruefully, already feeling embarrassed. "I've never had a schoolteacher not like me before, okay? It’s like this country is cursed or something."

Cook couldn't hold his amusement back. Imani's cheeks burned, and she looked away, taking another puff of her cig.

"Not like you'd understand," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

He paused in offense. "You calling me stupid?"

"I'm calling you an irresponsible freeloader."

He burst into a grin, seeming to be flattered. Imani shook her head with a smile.

"You shouldn't be proud of that, you know."

"Eh, I don't give a fuck."

She chuckled. "Sure you don't."

Cook sat up as if he had been challenged to a dare. "What, you don't believe me?"

Imani gave him a teasing leer, responding with silence. He swallowed, then stood abruptly.

"Fine then, I'll show you--"

"No, no," Imani insisted with laughter, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him back down next to her, "I will not be responsible for you burning the school down."

Cook smiled triumphantly, glancing down at her hand on his wrist as she eased back into the couch, a smile set on her lips. Her fingers slowly released and dragged over his skin, a lingering touch that distracted him from whatever mayhem he'd dreamed up in his head. His skin tingles in the absence of it. She shut her eyes again, her head floating. She hadn't eaten, and the nicotine was hitting harder than usual.

“You should quit that stupid French class,” he said, eyes tracing her long lashes. "Come round some more."

Imani let out an exhale, eyes fluttering softly but not opening. “Can’t.”

He grinned. “Sure you can.”

She slowly shook her head. “Mm-mm. My dad and I made a deal.”

“What kinda deal?”

Imani’s eyes suddenly opened as if she remembered herself, then slowly shut as if she wasn’t disturbed. She sat up, taking another drag of her cigarette to cover her need to make up a lie–if he knew she had to convince her father to ever let tie up a pair of pointe shoes again, she’d have to tell him about the Royal Academy; about Sterling and seeing all the ridges of her spine in the hospital bathroom as she changed, about how she didn’t go to the pub with him not because she didn’t want to be around him, but because beer had too many calories. 

“I didn’t want to go back to London,” she said, smoke pouring from her mouth, “To one of those fancy schools with all the posh assholes. But he wants me to go to university with them, so we reached an agreement.”

Cook chuckled. “Wanted to be around common folk, then?”

She grimaced. “God, don’t make it sound like that.”

He only laughed, his leg lifting slightly as they spread the length of the couch, his knee lightly touching hers. She tried to ignore it. She tried. A small smile formed on her face as she watched him, then looked away. Her mind dulled as her fingertips tingled and the world dipped around her–maybe she should’ve had breakfast after all. Her mouth moved before she could control it.

“It’s just…I didn’t live like that when I was with my mom. And my Dad…he’s great, really, but…”

She sighed, rubbing her nose with the tip of her free thumb, glancing over at Cook. He was staring up at the ceiling, puffing out more smoke rings. She frowned, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

“I’m listenin’,” he assured.

She chuckled as he patted her head kindly, then put out his cigarette on the table and scattered the butt onto the floor.

“You were talking about your mum.”

Cook always listened to her, even better than Effy and Pandora. She was certain it was because he thought good behavior would get him between her legs, but she still appreciated it enough to even dare to be honest. She tucked her feet underneath herself on the couch, trying to focus on the table as her stomach churned under the force of the nicotine. Despite herself, she took another pull from her cigarette and stared out of the window. Her face relaxed in thought.

“I try my best for him, you know. To be what he wants.”

Cook’s sharp blue eyes swiveled over to her in shock. She was good at saying the right thing often--the perfect thing--really, but this was the first time she’d said anything real to him. 

"Whaddya mean?"

Imani hesitated, staring at the smoke rising from her cigarette. She rubbed her glossy lips together, eyebrows creasing, then looked at him with a smile.

"Nothing. Forget I said that."

They held each other’s stares, Imani’s a smidge pleading as her smile slowly disappeared and she sank back into the couch cushions. He took the cigarette from her fingers, putting his arm around her again as he inhaled from it, his tongue stealing a bit of her mouth's strawberry flavoring.

"Forgotten," he assured.

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Effy, Pandora, and Imani sat together at lunch, all eating silently. Imani felt Effy's eyes fix onto her more than normal while she ate her salad and banana and drank her peppermint tea, but she was more focused on getting rid of the awful headache that had developed after her smoke break with Cook. Pandora ate her muffin, taking notes and reading from her history textbook, oblivious to the air between them. Effy set down her fork, and Imani braced herself--she adored Effy, but you literally never knew what she'd say.

"I saw the posters," Effy said, studying her, "For Don Quixote."

Imani's stomach dropped. She sipped her tea quietly. Effy smiled as if she could tell the inner workings of Imani's body.

"You're auditioning, aren't you?"

The word audition grabbed Pandora's attention. Her eyes broke away from the pages and fixed on Imani automatically. Imani set her thermos down and cleared her throat as Panda smiled, leaning into her.

"Audition?” she asked, “For what?"

"They're putting on a ballet," Effy told her, "Imani's auditioning for it."

Imani’s stomach twisted, but not from the nic sick. She’d told Effy in confidence, and she knew that Effy knew that too. She looked at her in disbelief, but Effy didn’t hold her gaze.

Pandora's voice carried beyond the table as she broke into a smile. "You're auditioning?!"

Imani's eyes closed in defeat. She didn't even have a chance to lie, although she suspected Effy was psychic anyway. She waved her hand gently, trying to waft away the stares that were fixed on them.

"It's not a huge thing," she said, smiling nervously, "It's not a big deal."

"What's your part?" Effy asked.

"Kitri," she answered before catching herself.

Effy chuckled, picking up a french fry and biting it. Imani gave her a look, then succumbed, rubbing her neck shyly.

"I've been rehearsing it with Madame Smirnova outside of class. She's kind of pushing me to go for it."

"But what about your dad?" Pandora asked, eyes searching for hers in concern.

Imani almost shuddered at the thought. She genuinely didn't have an answer--if he knew, he'd never have allowed her to even keep the flyer in her room. 

"What about him?" Effy retorted, eating another fry, "He's not here to stop her, is he?"

Pandora wasn't convinced. "Well, not now..."

“He hasn’t called or sent an email,” Imani said, trying to ease Panda’s anxiety, and by extension, hers. “So he’ll probably be gone for a month. By that time, I’ll either have the part or I won’t.”

“But you’re amazin’, of course you’ll get it,” Pandora insisted.

"Get what?"

Imani glanced up in dismay as Katie walked up to their table, Emily trailing behind her and taking a seat on the far end of the table. Katie gave her an expectant look, and Imani sighed, smiling placatively.

"I might not even get the part--"

"Ohmygosh," Katie squealed, taking a seat and clasping her hands across the table, "I can't wait to see you dance!"

Effy smirked dangerously as she spied their hands. She looked at Katie as she grabbed a baby carrot from Imani's plate.

"She's rehearsing in class today," she told her, "Panda and I are coming to watch."

Pandora gasped excitedly. "We are? But 'Mani nev--"

Effy interrupted her, eyes fixed on Katie's. "You should come."

Imani's eyes widened a fraction. She shot lasers at Effy through the corner of her eye as Katie's face brightened.

"Totally! I'll bring everyone. It'll be great."

Katie squeezed Imani's hands, then looked over at Emily and gestured for her to come over. Her sister obeyed hesitantly, looking at the girls through her red fringe.

"You met Emily," Katie reintroduced, "She's a bit of a dud, but she's my sister."

Imani raised her eyebrows. That wasn't very nice. Emily looked at her, offering up another smile.

"Hey."

"Hey," Imani greeted.

An awkward silence built over the group until Katie groaned, nudging Emily under the table with her leg.

"Well, say something, stupid!"

Effy looked between them as Imani smiled awkwardly, gently removing her hands from Katie's grip and raising one benevolently.

"It's alright, she doesn't have to," she reassured, "You're doing the essay on Kant, right?"

Katie looked surprised, as if it were the first time anyone had noticed her. "Uh...yeah."

"Cool. I like him. Treat people as ends in themselves, not as means to an end--did I get it right?"

Emily smiled genuinely, nodding. "You're doing Camus, yeah?"

"Can't help myself," she said with a chuckle, "I like Kant's ethics, but I'm more privy to Absurdism."

Katie and Effy looked between them like they were speaking Greek. They met eyes, then seemed to decide the conversation was over.

"Come on," Katie urged, standing, "You need to eat something."

Emily's smile dropped as she stood, but gave Imani warm regard as she gathered her things. Katie flashed a smile at her, waving.

"See you later, babes."

Imani watched them go at the end of the buffet line, letting out a sigh. Quickly, she frowned, shooting a look at Effy.

“What was that?” 

Effy let her upset pass over like a breeze, chewing on her carrot. She shrugged innocuously, but Imani knew better.

"You don't like her," Imani pointed out, "Why do you keep goading her on like that?"

Effy raised a brow. "And you like her just fine?"

"I don't even know her."

"You know how she treats her," Effy countered, her eyes sliding over to Emily, whose gaze was fixed on the floor. "You like that?"

Imani shook her head, scoffing. "How noble of you."

"Oh, c'mon," Pandora interjected, "Don't fight. Effy's just bein' silly, is all. She's not being mean."

Slowly, Imani turned her head and gave Pandora an unimpressed look, which Pandora responded to with a sweet smile. She caved with a sigh.

"Okay, okay.”

She gathered up her trash and stood as Effy watched in amusement.

"But please don't come to the audition," Imani begged, "I need to focus."

Effy smiled. "Good luck."

Imani rose from her chair, tugging her bag onto her shoulder and balancing her plates on one hand unsteadily. She adored Effy, but sometimes she just did her head in. The worst part, though, was that it was on purpose. Pandora watched her get up in dismay, grabbing her forearm.

"Don't get mad, Mani,” she pleaded.

Imani’s jaw flexed as she nearly dropped the plates. She sighed, smiling at her two friends. Her headache had taken root above her left eyebrow and was stabbing into her eye. She took a slow, cool breath.

“I’m not mad, my head’s just killing me. I’ll see you after lunch, okay? Bisous.”

Pandora nodded, slowly letting her go. Effy watched as she walked away, dropping her dishes in a tub and going to the vending machine. Pandora scooted closer to her, giving her a little nudge.

“What’re you messing with her for, Eff? It’s not nice, and all ‘Mani’s ever been is the sweetest.”

Effy ignored her. Her eyes were fixed ahead, her smile long forgotten as the boys walked up to her. Freddie smiled at her warmly, looking a bit uneasy when Cook slung an arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. She pushed him away with a grin as JJ watched, trying to jump into the conversation. Pandora followed her eye line, then placed her hand onto Effy’s.

“Don’t be jealous, Eff. They’re just friends is all.”

Effy shot her a cold look. “I don’t get jealous.”

Pandora hesitated. She glanced around, then leaned closer. “Is this about your mum and her friend making monkey?”

“Panda,” she warned, glaring ahead.

“Right—sorry.”

She picked her pencil back up and went back to her notetaking, keeping Effy’s hand in hers. Slowly, their fingers intertwined as Effy went back to eating her fries.

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Fifty-two seconds.

That was what all the hours of the afternoon had gone into—a fifty-two second solo that would make or break Imani’s life. Not really, but with the heat that Madame Smirnova pushed her with to pirouette faster, faster, and faster, it felt like she was going into war. Years ago, she could have done this with ease, but now she had longer limbs, less conditioning. But she still pushed. 

"Yes, beautiful!" 

Imani panted, coming to an abrupt stop as her headache suddenly spread. Madame Smirnova stopped the pianist with a dramatic flourish, bangles clanging on her wrist. She met Imani in the center of the room, her thin, red-painted lips pursed in concern. 

"Darling, what is the matter, hm?" 

Imani caught her breath as Madame Smirnova took her sweaty face in her hands, regarding her closely. 

"You look gray. Have you eaten?" 

Imani nodded, shoulders heaving. "Just...have a headache..." 

Madame Smirnova cooed softly, ushering her over to her fold-up chair and sitting her down. “I will get you aspirin and fruit. Drink your water, malyshka.” 

Imani leaned her elbows on her knees and breathed slowly as the older woman left, her leather kitten heels clacking against the lacquered wooden floor. She dropped her shoulders as the door opened and shut, closing her eyes. She and the pianist sat in silence, and for a moment, Imani rested, sinking into her chair, leaning her head back, and exhaling. Maybe that wine had been a bad idea, after all. 

Her phone buzzed. 

Imani shot up, rummaging through her purse to see who’d texted her.

Hey babes!!! On our way!

Imani’s eyes widened in horror and confusion, then quickly fell flat. There was only one explanation: Effy.

She groaned quietly, head falling into her hands as Madame Smirnova returned. Her red lips curved downward in worry at the sight of Imani’s state. 

“What is wrong, my darling? Here, eat.” 

Imani sighed as she took the banana and water from Madame Smirnova’s hands and drank the water down halfway. The door swung open, making the instructor whirl around in surprise and her eyes widened in outrage as Katie entered, leading a large pack of ninjas inside. Imani peeled open her banana, measuring the curious stares on her and the room as they chattered amongst themselves. Pandora and Effy pushed the door back open, making Madame Smirnova gasp, and they came over to Imani, Pandora all smiles and sunshine. 

“I’m so blimmin’ excited, ‘Mani, I could just burst off,” she exclaimed. 

Imani smiled, eyes shifting over to Effy, who gave a small one in return before she looked to the door as JJ and Freddie straggled in, finally pushing Madame Smirnova’s patience to its limits.

“No–no,” she yelled, waving her arms wildly, backing them out of the crowded room, “No boys!” 

Imani chuckled, finishing her banana and rising to her feet. “It’s okay, Madame!” 

Madame Smirnova whirled around, astonished by her permission as Cook slid in, eyes immediately settling onto her. He expected more, to be honest, at least a pink tutu, but she was in gray sweatpants rolled up to her muscular calves and a baggy black t-shirt. He eyed her worn brown pointe shoes with interest as he took a seat in the corner between the mirrors, JJ and Freddie flanking him on the floor. 

Sucking in a heavy breath, Imani’s heart thumped as she looked over the crowd of people, squeezing Pandora’s hand before she and Effy left her to sit next to the boys. Katie sat on a chair, surrounded by her ninjas, and gave a clap and an enthusiastic woo. Madame Smirnova slowly walked up next to her, face painted with horror and disbelief. Imani flashed her a grin. 

“Look’s like we’ve got an audience, Madame.” 

She strode over to the small trash can by the door, depositing her banana peel and nodding to the pianist as she returned to Madame Smirnova’s side. The older woman eyed her with interest as she took a cooling breath, then lifted her chin and rolled her shoulders back, giving her a smile. 

“Let’s give them a show.” 

The crowd fell silent with an aggressive wave of Madame Smirnova’s hand and watched as Imani ambled over to the door, clicking her castanets and leaping into the air, silencing any lingering chatter as she landed and took her pose with a smirk. Cook sat up—something had changed. It was minute, but the way her head had lifted to catch the light, the way her posture straightened so elegantly, fixing her eyes on the ceiling with a playful glimmer, had completely changed her aura.

She had become somebody else. 

Madame Smirnova smiled, and, after a pregnant pause, the pianist began.

 Imani bounded through the air with a flourish of her legs, advancing forward and landing quickly into a high extension, pirouetting twice immediately after into another leap and bracing her momentum to titter backwards lightly on her toes. She repeated the sequence, castanets clicking along with her feet as Madame Smirnova began to clap a rhythm loudly, flashing her eyes at the students to do the same. 

They gasped as she glided upward into a Kitri Jump, not a hint of exertion on her face, then pranced onto either foot, clicking her castanets like snaps, swaying gently from one side to another, and floated into another jump. Pandora’s mouth hung open at the arch of her back, the way her back leg extended up behind her head as she tilted it back, arms flying open like a bird’s. 

She had made it over to the other corner of the room where Cook and the gang sat, and with a graceful flourish of the arm sent him a kiss before sweeping around and flying over to the other corner again. The claps grew louder as Madame Smirnova called out to the pianist to speed up as Imani landed, taking a quick breath and preparing herself for the series of pirouettes. 

She barely had a second before she clicked one castanet above her head, jutted her head upward, and began to make the world around her spin. Cheers sounded as she spun faster, faster, faster, her large shirt making a cylinder around her small, powerful frame with each turn, and her right leg shifted up and down like a perfectly oiled machine. Cook stared at her face as it flashed over and over before him, catching the smile on her face, the slight quirk of her left brow upward, the glittering sheen of sweat across her dark forehead that accentuated her sharp brown gaze as it pinned onto the space above him again and again. He tensed as she grew closer, a flurry of heat and air that seemed to only gain more momentum, and he braced himself for impact, the claps echoing in her ears; her quiet, sharp breaths dancing beneath the sound. 

But she didn’t crash into him. She stopped a few feet away from him, doing a triple pirouette, then leaning towards him slightly as she landed on her left foot, shifted onto her right, and swiftly lifted her back leg into an weightless arabesque with a final click of her instruments. Applause flooded over the sound of the piano as the song stopped, and Imani hopped down to her flat feet, glancing back at Madame Smirnova who cooed, coming over and cupping her face. 

“Perfection, varó bushile,” she said over the whoops of some of the guys, “Perfection.”

Imani grinned, winking at Pandora and nodding her head graciously to her enthralled audience, giving a small bow. Katie flew out of her chair, beaming, taking Imani’s hands into her own and squeezing them as she showered her in enthused praise. Pandora got up as well, coming over to do the same, leaving Effy behind with a gap between her and the boys. Her shoulders were tense, and her eyes flitted over to them, watching as JJ and Freddie cheered and clapped along with the rest of the room, then fixed onto Cook.

His body was still drawn from before, hands cradling his knees and his shoulders tensed forward. He was still, something Effy never thought was possible, since the young man always needed to move—even after they would finish having sex, and he would collapse onto his back in her bed, it would only be a few moments until he was up reaching for a cigarette or a swig of vodka from her stash, pulling his underwear on and running his mouth, buzzing about the room like a hummingbird. But now he was frozen in place as if someone had paused him. His gaze was heavy, shadowed with a familiar glint in his eye that he once looked at her with as she ran her finger down his cheek and tasted the ketchup he had smeared onto his face to mimic blood. It spelled trouble, smoldering with near animal-like focus, pupils half-dilated, glittering with desire and a whisper of something even Effy couldn’t completely decipher. But this time, his eyes weren’t on her. This stare, this heat, it wasn’t for her at all.

It was for Imani. 

The cheering of her peers became a roar as her eyes shifted up and over to follow Cook’s stare, landing on the young woman’s face as she flashed her bright, cheery smile again and again, nodding and talking to Katie, Pandora, and Madame Smirnova. Suddenly, her eyes crinkled as Katie said something into her ear and she laughed sweetly—it made Cook finally break out of his stupor, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he didn’t break his stare. He didn’t even seem to dare to blink; not until Imani finally felt it. 

Effy’s stomach dropped as she watched Imani grow still as the girls and woman separated from her, and she turned her head slightly to meet Cook’s eyes out of the corner of hers. It was only a millisecond. Effy doubted even JJ noticed with all the bodies and noise rattling about the room, but their gazes lingered. They met, and they held each other. Imani quickly brandished her smile, eyes shifting over to Freddie and JJ, ever mindful of balancing the demand for her attention. The three got to their feet quickly as she came over, wiping her face with her shirt—Cook stole a glance at her slight torso hugged by her leotard—and her smile switched to a grin as she stole another embracing glance at Cook. Effy’s stomach twisted as he grinned back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Imani put her hands on her hips, posture relaxing as Katie and Panda joined their circle. She seemed to finally be catching her breath.

“Well?” She asked, facing the boys, “What’d you think?” 

“Fuckin’ ace,” Cook answered immediately, moving towards her and throwing his arm around her shoulders, “Proper fuckin’ Tinkerbell.” 

She laughed heartily—not the same way she did before. Effy rose to her feet, coming up next to Freddie, cooling herself as her heart beat fast in her chest. Imani’s shining eyes met hers, and her face brightened in a way that made Effy feel sick. 

“I hope it wasn’t too boring,” Imani joked. 

Effy forced a smile in return, feeling the group’s eyes shift onto her except for Cook. Except him. JJ spoke for her, finally able to form words. 

“You were beautiful—no—I mean—it, it was beautiful. You were—I’ve never seen anyone move like that before!” 

Imani chuckled as he stammered, easing Cook’s arm off of her shoulders. “Don’t get too excited. I’m no Oispova. I’ve been doing that routine since I was a kid. Just muscle memory.” 

Despite her humble words, Effy could tell she was glowing with pride. She just soaked it in, all the attention, all the praise, yet she acted like it was the most natural thing in the world so well no one else could see just how thrilled she was to show off for them. For him, she even suspected, despite her dismissal towards Cook. Effy tilted her head, a smirk forming on her lips while she watched Imani go back over to her chair and untie her ballet shoes, tucking her heels as she and Madame Smirnova discussed something quietly. She barely noticed Freddie’s eyes on her, nor did she feel him lean over.

“She’s pretty good, isn’t she?” 

Effy nodded slowly as the pieces came together in her head, watching as Imani stood and Cook scooped her up in his arms, calling for a round at the pub as she shrieked, slapping his shoulder. Imani broke into a fit of giggles as he carried her to the door and Madame Smirnova chastised him from behind, yelling in Russian.

“My audition’s in thirty minutes, put me—Cook—put me down!”

Effy crossed her arms as the rest of the gang followed, Freddie picking up Imani’s dance bag and glancing back at her with a nudge of his head to join.

Imani was very, very good.

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Imani’s bag vibrated faster than the tick of the grandfather clock in Forrester’s office as the two sat in an awkward silence, eyes fixed on one another yet again. Forrester cleared her throat, tapping her pen and letting her eyes drift to the leather bag in slight annoyance, making Imani quickly reach in and grab her phone. 

“Sorry—it’s just my friends. I’ll turn it off.” 

“Friends?” 

Imani nodded as she flipped open her phone and pressed down on the power button, but paused as she caught sight of a message and grinned, a small giggle bouncing her shoulders. Forrester sighed, and Imani’s eyes widened, shifting over to her as she shut the phone off and flipped it shut. 

“Sorry again.” 

Forrester gave a polite smile. “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

She studied her silently for a moment, then held her pen in both hands, leaning her elbows onto the mahogany desk. “So, friends. That was quite fast.” 

Imani smiled. “Please, I’ve been here a month. It’s only natural.” 

Forrester smiled back, then set her pen down, interlacing her fingers. “These friends, what are they like?” 

Imani hesitated, fumbling with the strap of her bag. Forrester picked her pen back up, scribbling something before giving Imani an encouraging look. 

“As I said before, these sessions are entirely confidential. Your father won’t know what we discuss within these walls, unless you or someone else is in danger.”

Imani sighed, the smile returning to her face. “Right.” 

She relaxed into her seat, fingers loosening around the purse straps as her eyes wandered up to the glass-enclosed bookcases above Forrester’s head. She let out a sigh. 

“Well, where to begin? There’s JJ, who’s equally as awkward as he is intelligent. He always stumbles over his words and can’t look me in the eye, but I think he’s more interesting than he lets on. There’s Katie and Emily, twins, but quite different—Katie’s a real queen bee type, you know the like, and Emily’s very quiet and not keen on talking, but I’m working on her.” 

Forrester nodded, writing along with Imani’s words as she continued. Her face brightened as she described her friends, straps of her purse forgotten. 

“There’s Naomi, she’s a bit cantankerous, but I like it. We discuss a lot of things whenever we chat. There’s Effy, who’s just absolutely gorgeous and lovely, and Freddie, equally gorgeous.” 

Imani chuckled to herself at the thought, toying with her phone in her hand. “Then there’s Panda. She’s just a doll. She’s the sweetest girl I’ve ever met. Very trusting and a bit whimsical in her innocence. Panda and Effy are my closest friends at the moment. I don’t know what I’d do without them.” 

Forrester raised a brow. “And you’ve only known them a month?” 

Imani sighed heavily, giving the woman a look. “Hearts don’t tell time.” 

The doctor chuckled, nodding in assent. She finished scribbling, then met Imani’s eyes. 

“Anyone else?” 

Imani held back again, eyes drifting to the window. The bird’s nest had finished forming, and a few eggs were now nestled within it. She smiled, looking down to her phone, twirling it between her fingers, then nodded. 

“There’s Cook, yeah.” 

Forrester eyed her body language, leaning back in her chair. “And who’s Cook? He gorgeous like Freddie?” 

Imani laughed, shaking her head, tucking some braids behind her ear. “He’s…not bad looking.”

The blonde woman suddenly smiled cryptically, tapping her finger on the arm of her black leather desk chair, tilting her head. 

“And what is this Cook like?” 

Imani struggled to find the words. Her big eyes widened, her full mouth pursed, tasting a ghost of cigarette smoke on her tongue. Forrester watched as her pupils widened slightly, then settled, focusing on her purse again. 

“Wild.” 

Forrester raised her brows. “Wild?” 

Imani’s eyes were distant. She broke into a grin, covering it with her hand as she swiveled slightly in the chair. “Yeah. Wild.” 

“And this…wildness. Do you enjoy it?” 

Imani’s gaze grew clear and she quickly straightened up, waving her hand. “Oh, no, no; we’re just friends.”

Forrester smiled again. “I figured, I was just asking if you like his personality.” 

The girl smirked. “I know what you were ‘just asking’. And yes, I think I do like it. He’s honest. But we really are only friends. He and Effy hook up all the time.” 

Forrester paused, slowly picking up her pen. Imani frowned at the motion and gave her a curious look. 

“They do?” 

“Yeah. Why are you writing?” 

“May I ask…how do you feel about that?” 

Imani rolled her eyes. “We’re just friends.” 

“If you saw your body language just now, you’d be compelled to disagree.” 

“Well, it’s the truth,” she asserted, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

Forrester pressed. “Imani. This won’t work well without honesty.”

Imani laughed. “I am being honest!” 

Forrester raised a brow, leaning back in her chair and tapping her pen impatiently. Imani slowly shrank into her chair, a sheepish smile forming on her face. 

“We…we’ve had moments.” 

“Moments.” 

“We flirt,” she admitted, quickly adding, “But nothing serious! I wouldn’t do that to Effy.” 

“I thought they were just hooking up.”

Imani cleared her throat and checked her watch, rubbing the back of her neck. She swallowed, looking up at Forrester, to the fragile eggs in their nest, then sighed and rubbed her forehead, finally caving to the woman’s pressure. 

“Effy has…pride. She doesn’t say it, but I can tell. She likes to be in control. She likes…” 

With a helpless sigh, Imani gave a smile and opened her hands in a placative gesture. Forrester wasn’t as kind. 

“Attention. All of it.” 

The girl seemed to wince slightly. “I wouldn’t say that.” 

“Well, what would you say?”

“She likes to play the game,” Imani finally concluded, shoulders lifting with confidence. “Like me.” 

Forrester skimmed her pen with a red nail, eyeing the girl closely. A heavy silence filled the air until Imani finally squirmed under it and added, “That’s all me and Cook do. It’s just a game. He sleeps around with girls, flirts with them. It’s not unique for him to do the same with me. He really just does what he wants, but what he wants isn’t very consistent. Like I said, he’s wild. All over the place. I don’t feel anything in particular about him and Effy. Honest.”

She crossed her heart as if to emphasize her words, giving a small smile. Before Forrester could pry further, she quickly changed the subject, rummaging through her purse. 

“I got Panda a gift for her birthday today,” she said, smile singing on her face, “Want to see it?”

Forrester sighed, relenting. No need to press on the kid too much. “Sure.” 

She had to keep her jaw from dropping as Imani giddily pulled out a Vivienne Westwood bag from her purse, pulled out a box, and presented it to her. Slowly, Forrester opened the box, and her eyebrows raised at the sight of a mother of pearl cloud pendant. It shimmered iridescent in the light, and charms hung from it: a small P, two raindrops, and the iconic saturn of the brand itself. She considered it with furrowed brows, a multitude of concerns building within her, but tried to control her depression at the feeling of Imani keenly watching her. It was no use. 

“What, you don’t like it?” 

Forrester closed the box and handed it back to her across the desk. “It’s nice, it’s nice.” 

“But…?” 

“It certainly sets a precedent, doesn’t it?”

Imani pouted her lips. “Panda’s not like that. She probably doesn’t even know what Vivienne Westwood is.”

She opened the box again, smiling down at her gift. “Besides, I wanted to give her something that would last a lifetime.” 

Forrester moved to speak, then flipped through her notes before doing so. She stopped at the page of a conversation between her and Emmanuel, Imani’s father. She eyed the quotes she’d underlined, pressing her lips together. 

‘We travel often. Imani attaches too much. Causes herself too much heartbreak.’

Her eyes flitted up to Imani, who was still smiling at her forever pendant, thumbing it gently before wiping it off with her eyeglass cloth and putting it back in her bag. Her brown eyes darted to her watch and lit up, and she swiftly rose from the seat, slinging her bag over her shoulder. 

“Well, I believe that’s our time for today, Doctor Forrester. Thanks again.” 

Forrester let the pages flip closed as she watched Imani head for the door, setting her pen down. 

“Imani,” she called, stopping the young girl. 

Imani turned, the sunlight shining through the window catching on her face. Forrester sighed, observing her open face and bright eyes, thinking of how many times they’d been stained with tears, dulled by heartache. 

“Be mindful of yourself, will you?” 

Imani frowned slightly, but smiled. “I always am, Doctor.” 

Forrester nodded, giving a small smile in return before going back to her desk. Imani opened the door and left, passing through the glossy, vaulted halls of the Restoration Clinic, smiling at nurses herding patients through the common rooms and nodding to security guards as she exited the building and waited for her cab to arrive. She dug through her purse for her phone, turning it on and going back to the message Cook had sent her. 

Will be at Pandora’s. Wear those leather pants again, will ya? 

She laughed again, rolling her eyes and texting reply as the black car pulled up and honked for her as she lingered outside. Biting her lip with a grin, she sent the text and hopped into the car.

You wish. I better NOT see you there. Girls only. 

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Cook’s phone vibrated in his back pocket as he climbed in through Pandora’s window with a grunt, stumbling onto the carpeted floor and knocking over framed pictures. He swore and chuckled as he got his footing, taking in his drab surroundings, then settling his gaze on an unconscious woman snoring softly in her bed. Her straight, blonde hair was in a whirlwind around her sweaty face. He cocked his head at her curiously, reaching into his back pocket. 

The doorknob twisted, and Cook flew into action. His eyes darted around in a slight panic for a hiding place until he found the closet and quickly slipped in, closing it behind him as the door opened and bumping music flooded into the room, quickly muffled again as the door shut. He swallowed and turned on his phone, hiding the small screen’s glow behind the hanging clothes. Ms. Washington was his notification, making his stomach jump. Eagerly, he read her message, a grin building on his face. Girls only, his ass. 

He chuckled to himself as the door opened again and shut, and he pushed against the closet door to go out. Well, tried. It wouldn’t budge. With a grunt, he pushed his weight against it in an attempt to free himself, but to no avail. 

“Shit,” he muttered, digging into the waistband of his pants to grab the bottle of liquor he’d brought with him. 

With a sigh, he leaned against the closet wall, spinning the top off and taking a swig when the door latch opened from the outside, flooding the cramped space with light and air. Cook squinted and swallowed down his vodka as Effy’s eyes rested onto him, a smirk settling on her face. 

“Thought it’d be you,” she remarked, eyeing him up. 

Cook grinned at the sight of her, bracing a hand above him on the railing and leaning towards her. “Hey, peachy.” 

Effy rolled her eyes and grabbed the bottle from Cook’s hand, taking a swig. She observed him quietly before speaking again. 

“You shouldn’t be here, you know. It’s girls only.” 

He only laughed and took another drink. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

She tilted her head at him, eyes catching a familiar glint that would’ve normally set Cook on fire, but not today. She was high, that much he could tell, and all it could make him think of was if Imani had arrived, how she could be, what bad decisions she might make. He eased his way past her out of the closet, eyes already searching, which Effy noticed. Her face fell. She already knew what he’d ask before he said it. 

“Has her highness shown her face yet?” 

Cook flashed a smile, toying with his bottle as he looked at her, but Effy had no sense of humor on her face. Her eyes drifted away, glancing to Pandora’s mum passed out on her bed, then the floor, then the window. She adjusted the hem of her sewn pajama shorts as she cleared her throat. She wondered to herself, the bitter feeling twisting like a knife in her stomach, if this was her new reality: everyone’s backs turned to her, eyes looking just past her own, waiting for Imani Washington to appear. 

“No.” 

Cook nodded, eyes still lingering on the door as he forgot her. Effy’s fists clenched slightly, then she suddenly moved towards him, clasping his lips with hers, grabbing at his pants. For a moment he kissed back, bottle dropping to the floor, but then he made a sound of surprise as she undid the button of his pants. She wanted to scream in frustration as he pulled back, giving a small laugh. 

“Sorry, cheeky, ‘fraid I’m reserved for tonight.” 

Her jaw set as she stared at his face, his stupid, broad smile, his glittering eyes, and she grinded her teeth, the euphoric feeling she’d entered the room with long forgotten and crashing into fury. She grinded her teeth before she spoke, watching Cook slowly frown at her hot glare. 

“What?” he asked. 

“She’s never going to want you.” 

The words hit in like a slap across the face, which is what Effy really wanted to do. His confusion morphed into anger, and she quickly shoved past him and left the room, slamming the door behind her and storming back into Pandora’s mum’s bathroom. Cook’s fists clenched, his breath trembled. Looking around for his bottle, he retrieved it from under the bed and rolled it open again, gulping it down. He flipped open his phone with a sigh, going to his text chain with her, ignoring Effy’s unread texts as he scrolled down. Many of his messages went to Imani unanswered, but the few responses he found he poured his eyes over. 

You wish.

Pandora’s mum let out a long, heavy belch as she turned over. Cook jumped at the sound, retreating to the closet in case she’d awoken, but she snored loudly afterwards. He chuckled and went back to his phone. 

The last thing Imani expected to hear as she got out of the taxi was pure pandemonium. The music was thrumming and pulsing out of Pandora’s house like an aura that she pierced as she walked up to the door, loud chattering and crashes audible through the windows. Imani looked down to her floral yellow sundress and white heels with a sigh. She’d dressed to meet Pandora’s mom, not for another rager. She eyed the driveway cramped with sports cars tentatively, listening to the crickets chirp for a moment before letting out a breath and ringing the doorbell, putting on a smile. 

The door swung open to reveal a man laughing, alcohol heavy on his hot breath. In fact, heat poured out of the house into the cool night air, slamming Imani with the scent of sweat and frenzy. He called back to someone, then looked at her, a broad, leering smile forming on his face. 

“Very, very, nice, babe,” he remarked. “Oh, yeah.”

Imani’s shoulders tensed under his discomforting gaze, and she gripped the sides of her cake box tighter. “Sorry, this is Pandora’s birthday party, right?”

She glanced back at the pink balloons with the girl’s name written on in confusion, antsy to get away from this off-putting stranger. Then, a squeal caught her attention, and her eyebrows raised in surprise as she turned her attention back to the doorway and saw Katie slide up next to the man and nestle herself under his shoulder. 

“‘Mans, you made it!”

Uneasily, she returned Katie’s bright smile, glancing back up at the man who was undressing her with his eyes. 

“Oh! This is my boyfriend. Say hi, babe. This is Imani, one of my best friends.” 

“Imani,” he said, grinning. Sweat had glazed his forehead, making him shine like a mucous covered frog.

“Hi,” she politely greeted, holding out a hand. 

He gripped it tightly, hand clammy and limp, and Imani’s skin crawled. She quickly pulled her hand back the moment his hold slacked. She looked at Katie, lifting the cake box to her eyeline. 

“I brought cake.” 

“Mm! Come in, come in!”

She tried to avoid brushing up against Katie’s boyfriend as she was tugged in by the arm and embraced, the door shutting behind her. Perspiration quickly formed under her arms as she was led through the throngs of bodies rocking to the ear-shattering music, cigarette and weed smoke burning her nose. Imani squeezed past the leering men, giving polite nods, quickly following Katie to the kitchen table. There was a strange spread of brownies, jello, various pastries fit for a child’s birthday party, and alcohol bottles, empty plastic baggies strewn over the table and the floor; the refrigerator door hung open, the girls were huddled around the sink on the edge of vomiting. 

Katie took the cake box from Imani’s hands and set it down on a counter, brushing aside plastic cups to make space for its size.

“I’m so glad you made it,” Katie said, “You have to try a brownie.” 

“Huh?” Imani gripped her purse tightly as some men brushed past her gratuitously, one’s hand stealing a graze against her backside. 

Katie picked up a brownie from the kitchen island and signaled for Imani to open her mouth. Slowly, she obeyed, and Katie fed her, giggling. It tasted normal, moist and fluffy, but had a strange aftertaste that Imani couldn’t place. She was concerned by Katie’s giddy expression as she finished it. 

“Get ready to fly,” Katie told her. 

“Fly?” 

“It’s good fuckin’ shit.” 

Imani quickly realized the brownies were spiked, and her eyes widened. The last thing she wanted was to be high in a place like this. She laughed nervously, and Katie joined in, grabbing her shoulders as she leaned slightly. Imani looked around at the drugged up, delirious crowd of strangers, anxiety twisting her stomach. 

“Where’s Panda? I have a gift for her.” 

Katie’s face scrunched. “Oh, she’s probably still in the bathroom sulking. Don’t mind her. C’mon, let’s get you changed!” 

“But–” 

“C’mon, silly!” 

Imani yelped as Katie grabbed her hand and dragged her back through the thickening crowd, giggling as she shoved her way through, leaving her to crash against the throngs of bodies she left in her wake. Her shoulders ached from the multiple impacts as they climbed the stairs, rising above the wave of heat and rushing into Pandora’s bedroom. With a sigh, Imani collapsed on the bed, dropping her purse and lying down on her back. She took a deep breath, still hearing the blasting music that made her eardrums quake. Her tongue was dry, and she swallowed down on her parched throat, wiping her perspiring forehead as Katie rustled around, muttering under her breath. She frowned, pushing herself up as Katie nudged her, tossing some clothes on her stomach. 

“Here’s your pajamas,” she said, “Come meet me downstairs after you change.” 

She watched Katie as she grinned and stumbled out of the room, slamming the door behind her and leaving Imani in some much needed silence. After a moment of stillness, she rose to her feet and carefully took off her sundress, flicking on the light to scrutinize the shoddy pajamas. They were clearly homemade, which impressed her slightly despite their patchwork appearance. She tilted her head with a small smile, staring at the words stitched onto the shirt, Princess Poo, and giggled when she saw Booty on the back of the pair of shorts. 

“Cute,” she muttered, tugging them on over her legs. 

She smoothed down the slight frizz of her braids as she pulled the shirt over her head, rubbing her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She needed something to drink, and fast. Folding up her dress and putting both it and the purse under the covers in case someone with sticky fingers came in, she opened the door, heels padding against the carpet as she went downstairs, descending into the layer of heat. 

Men happily ogled her legs as she clicked down the stairs and brushed past them into the kitchen, her head pounding along with the music. One of the girls vomited into the sink as she went to the refrigerator with a heaving sigh, grabbing a cold bottle of juice and gulping it down. She grabbed another, drinking it in one swallow again, then grumbled to herself, bending over to open the freezer—jackpot, wine. 

She nursed the ice cold bottle in her arms as she peered from the kitchen into the living room, trying to find Katie in the chaos. Instead, her eyes widened when she found JJ huddled in a corner next to a couple making out. He looked frightened to death, she noticed, and she immediately beelined for him. 

“J!” She called over the music, but his hands covered his ears as he cowered, rocking back and forth. She gripped her bottle tighter as a man bumped against her, blocking her path. 

“Hey there,” he greeted, flashing a beer-scented smile. 

She grimaced, shoving past him, fighting her way through to the corner. She could hear him muttering wildly under his breath as he rocked back and forth, palms covering his ears, finger gripping his curls as if to draw blood. She quickly kneeled down, placing a gentle hand on his knee to get his attention, but he didn’t notice. She tightened her grip and pressed down to still him, carefully putting the wine bottle against the back of his hand. That shocked him still, and slowly, his glazed eyes met hers. 

“ ‘Mani,” he muttered, “What’re you—what—” 

Wordlessly, she placed the wine bottle against his neck, making him jump, but slow down. He looked at her in astonishment as she slowly stroked his hair, offering a smile. 

“J, what’s wrong,” she asked, scooting closer despite the carpet burn against her bare knees. “You alright?” 

He was silent, staring at her until the song ended and a new bass-heavy industrial track blared, causing the crowd to roar in excitement. He whimpered, bowing his head again, beginning to rock. Imani took his hand and squeezed it. 

“JJ, can you stand?” 

“Fucking animals—all of them—” 

“JJ!” 

He paused, locking his gaze on hers as she opened his tense palm and pressed the chilled wine bottle in his hand. He gripped it tightly, swallowing and squeezing his eyes shut. Imani took his other hand and rose to her feet, bringing JJ along with him, looking for a means of escape. Her eyes settled on the window, and she climbed over the couple and unlatched it, opening it up and climbing out, gesturing for JJ to follow. He eagerly climbed over the couple as well, earning some swears, but ignored them and landed on his back in the grass.

He groaned as the music’s intensity lowered and Imani leaned over him, shutting the window from the outside, muffling it to an extent. She took a breath, then glanced down at JJ with concern. 

“You okay?” 

He nodded quietly, staring helplessly at her legs and heels before quickly averting his eyes and sitting up. Imani stepped back, the cool night air soothing her increasingly hot skin. She studied JJ’s face as she got up. 

“You sure you're okay?” 

“I just get locked on sometimes,” he explained, finding his voice again. “It’s nothing, really.” 

She gave him a sympathetic smile as he handed the wine bottle back to her, avoiding her eyes. 

“Thanks.” 

“Of course.” 

She touched his arm warmly, then popped open the chilled wine, taking a long sip with a relieved sigh and offering it to JJ. Against his better judgement he accepted it, thinking of the fact their lips had touched the same bottle, gulping it down and sputtering it out with a cough.

“Easy, easy,” she told him with a laugh. She took the bottle back and screwed the cap back on, eyes scanning their surroundings as JJ caught his breath. 

The open space made Imani feel like she could spread her arms and float in the air after being squished up in the cramped living room. With a small chuckle, she did just that, opening her arms and twirling, feeling the night air sizzle against her hot skin. The ground was unsteady underneath her feet, a feeling she wasn’t used to but welcomed as she stopped and felt the earth rotate around her, lagging behind her quickening breaths. She unscrewed the bottle again and drank, gulping down the chilled liquid, feeling it settle her burning blood. Whatever the hell was in those brownies, it made her feel like she was standing over the open mouth of a volcano. She shut her eyes, arms still wide, listening to the buzzing of the electric wires steadily grow louder and louder.

JJ watched her as she leaned on her feet a little, small chuckles leaving her here and there, lips tingling as he stared at her braids sway and settle against her back. He wanted to reach out and touch them, wrap them up in that bun she’d had this afternoon in ballet class, but she gasped and moved away before he could even think to reach. 

“Look! A bouncy castle!” 

She grabbed his hand, eagerly moving towards it, but fell abruptly with a yelp. Her heel had gotten stuck in the grass as she began to run. JJ kneeled and yanked it out as she sat up slowly, admiring her small feet as she quickly tucked them beneath her and laughed. He helped her to her feet, and the two walked over to the bouncy castle. It loomed in ominous shadow, but Imani didn’t seem to notice as she climbed right in, kicking off her heels and gesturing for JJ to follow. He took off his shoes and obeyed. 

The interior of the bouncy castle was dark and firm under their hands and knees. They felt around blindly, bumping into each other, hands gingerly finding one another’s until they finally reached the back of the castle and rested against it. The rope of the windows chafed against their hair as Imani let out a sigh, resting the bottle between them and closing her eyes. JJ sat stiff, hands clasped, listening to her breath as she shifted over and over again in a failed attempt to get comfortable. He wanted to talk, really talk, talk about something true and honest, but no words came to fulfill his desire. 

“So, J,” she suddenly said, as if she could hear his thoughts, “What do you like?”

JJ paused. “Why do you ask it like that?” 

She let out a long sigh, slumping into the curves of the castle floor. “It just seems like you’d have different interests, that’s all.” 

Different interests? JJ’s heart sank. She probably saw him as a freak already. Most girls did. He didn’t know how it happened, sometimes they’d judge him before he’d even spoken to them. Maybe it was plastered on his forehead, some neon sign that said ‘avoid at all costs’. He frowned, grabbing the wine bottle and unscrewing it. 

“I like magic.” 

She perked up. “Magic? Can you show me a trick?” 

He drank again, then moved the bottle towards her. Her hand rested over his before she took it back and rested it on her thighs. 

“Maybe later,” he dismissed, uninterested in embarrassing himself further. 

Imani nodded, thumbing the bottle’s opening uneasily. “Oh, okay. Anything else?” 

“I doubt you’d find it very interesting,” he admitted. “What do you like?” 

“Try me,” she pushed, scooting closer. “Tell me all about you.”

JJ’s eyebrows raised, and he swallowed. “Are you flirting with me?” 

Imani laughed heartily, slightly disappointing him, but her laugh sounded so pleasant it softened the blow. 

“No, JJ. I just want to get to know you.” 

“Why?” 

Imani was silent for a moment, surprised by the honest question. She tried to see his expression through the darkness, wanting to discern what could possess him to ask such a thing, but she couldn’t. She lifted a hand, placing it on his leg reassuringly.

“You’re just as special as anyone else, J.”

“Now it definitely feels like you’re flirting with me.” 

She laughed again. “I’m not!” 

She shoved him gently, hiccuping. “Jesus, hasn’t anyone been nice to you before?” 

“Not a girl, no.” 

“What? But you’re so cute…” 

JJ’s cheeks flushed, and he shifted awkwardly. “I don’t mean to be.” 

She hummed thoughtfully, then asked, “What do you mean to be then?”

JJ was stunned into silence. He stared into the darkness, wishing he could see the reassuring smile that was certainly on her face for guidance, desperately longing for an anchor in the conversation. He fiddled with the bottle cap between his fingers. 

“I…I don’t know.” 

Her voice was gentle. “Sure you do. Just give it a second.” 

Her hand found his in the darkness and squeezed it tightly. JJ was sweating. It was too much, all of it was far too much. He slipped his hand out of hers and began to scoot forward, eager for escape. Imani frowned quickly following him, the wine bottle forgotten and spilling onto the thick plastic.

“J? What’s wrong?” 

She perched over him curiously as he frantically tied his shoes, fingers stumbling over the laces. 

“Was it something I said?” 

“No, no, you’re lovely, I just—” 

He swore as he failed to make a knot, ripping off his shoe and throwing it into the darkness. Imani raised her eyebrows, then eyed him, trying to focus her slipping mind. 

“Hey,” she said, climbing over next to him, “You alright?” 

JJ gave a nod, unable to speak. She smiled, placing a tentative hand on his back and rubbing it soothingly. He straightened up and stood, facing her. Her eyes widened in innocent confusion. 

“You shouldn’t touch me like that,” he quickly said. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I just—” 

“It’s just, Cook would get jealous, and he’s already jealous over Effy, then Freddie would—” 

“---no, no, I didn’t think—” 

“--And—no, it’s alright! Really!” 

He looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets. Imani chuckled, rubbing her face, head drooping. 

“I’m so high, I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

JJ offered a smile. “I’m always uncomfortable.” 

Imani slipped on her heels, walking on her toes over to him. She patted his shoulder, then let out a sigh. Her mind was in two places at once, desiring sensation and adrenaline, but also keeping JJ company. A small grin built on her face. 

“Let’s go dance.” 

JJ started, but Imani cut him off. “No, no, no more talking. More dancing.” 

JJ sputtered as Imani beckoned him to follow her back inside through the front door, coaxing him with a smile. Helplessly, he did. She gave him an earnest look. 

“If you get locked on again, just tell me.”

He nodded, and Imani nudged her head to the kitchen. “I’ll get us some more drinks first. Helps to loosen up.” 

She held out her hand for him to take, and JJ hesitated. She smiled. “If you want.” 

Slowly, JJ lifted his hand. He grasped hers tightly, swallowing, hoping she wouldn’t mind how sweaty it was, how it trembled. Her face brightened, and she gave a slight squeal before leading him to the throng of gyrating bodies. It looked to him like a cancerous mass, the jaws of a lion threatening to consume him whole, but Imani’s airy voice parted it like the red sea. 

“”Scuse me,” she called out, slipping them through the men that eyed her, “Coming through!” 

They made it to the kitchen as JJ glanced back uneasily at the strange men that glared him down, noticing their joint hands ruefully. Imani grabbed two loose beers from a countertop and cracked one open, handing it to JJ. He took it and, after a quick breath, gulped it down. Imani gave a clap and a quiet cheer, pumping her arm in encouragement. 

“That’s the spirit! Feel ready?” 

He shook his head and took the second beer from Imani’s hand, chugging it down and tossing the can aside. “Okay, now I’m ready.” 

He moved to go, but Imani stopped him, grabbing a brownie. “Wait! Here.” 

She broke off a small piece and put it in his hand. He gave her a skeptical look, and, as if to goad him on, she ate the rest in one bite, her cheeks swelling to acclimate to the square shape as she chewed. With a sigh, JJ ate the corner he was given as she swallowed with effort, going over to the vomit-filled sink to drink water from the tap. She grimaced at the vomit as she turned away, then returned to JJ’s side. Imani giggled and swept him into the living room to dance. 

The voices and bass sparked the air with electricity as they were swallowed by the crowd, Imani’s hand securely fastened onto JJ’s. The room’s axis tilted around them as he hung on to the back of her head, stumbling after her through men that made space for her but closed around him, their stench and sweat making his senses recoil. Imani found them a pocket in the madness, too close to the speakers but with enough air to breath so JJ could somewhat reason with his pounding heart and frayed nerves. She took his other hand, looking up at him with a lazy grin. 

“What…what do we do now?” he asked. 

“We dance,” she said. 

“How?” 

She laughed. “What do you mean, how?” 

“How do I dance?” 

“There’s no way to dance, you just let your body lead you!” 

The music began to build, and JJ looked around anxiously at the rising energy of the crowd, then back to Imani’s glowing, sweat-sheened face. She was gone, he could tell, but her hands were solid in their grasp. He tried to catch her gaze, but she was marveling at the walls, smiling widely. 

“I don’t know what that means!” 

The music shuttled to its peak, and the men’s voices began to hike into roars as the room inhaled, contracted, and JJ squeezed Imani’s hands to get her attention. She blinked, looking at him, then tilted her head with the same dreamy smile. The music stopped, and JJ knew the drop was coming. The alcohol sloshed around in his stomach as bodies bumped against him roughly, moving him closer to Imani. The sweat smell was clinging to her skin, too, perfumed skin and sunrayed halos gone, replaced by hazy eyes and light giggling. 

“Imani, what do I do?!” 

Her giggle built into a laugh, and JJ squeezed her hands harder, trying to snap her out of whatever dream she was in. 

“What do I do?!” 

“Just jump!” 

The music dropped like an atom bomb over the crowd. The bass made JJ and Imani’s skulls vibrate, and the ground seemed to bend under their feet as they jumped in sync with the rest of the room. JJ’s body was stiff and awkward as he tried to keep up, hanging onto Imai’s hands like a lost toddler, focusing on her face as she laughed hysterically and jumped frantically, turning them in circles that made JJ’s head spin and the world turn in an opposite direction around it, and his stomach shifted. He released Imani’s hands in alarm, bracing one over his mouth and shoving his way through the crowd, racing to the kitchen. Another layer for the filmy vomit over the once spotless sink. 

Imani laughed and twirled as she flew, arms lifting overhead, braids flying out around her like the skirt of a dress as she turned, and turned, and turned until the collided with someone else, a flash of red hair stopping her in her tracks, making her laugh again as two hands grasped her arms and a voice tried to reach her over the thrumming, hypnotic music. 

“Mani, there you are!” 

Imani’s eyes widened as she recognized Katie, and she smiled ecstatically, embracing the girl tightly and swaying them. 

“Oh, Katie…” 

Katie’s hands hovered around Imani uneasily as she held her close, nuzzling her face, then she chuckled. 

“You’re flyin’, yeah?” 

“Cloud fuckin’ nine,” Imani answered, hiccuping again. “What’s in those brownies, anyway?” 

Katie pried Imani’s arms off of her as a male voice called over the undulating crowd, her name booming in Imani’s ears. 

“Katie,” the man called, “Where’d you go, babe?” 

“Gotta run,” Katie told her, pecking her on the cheek, “My boyfriend’s lookin’ for me. Have fun flyin’!” 

Imani had stopped, staring in a daze in the direction of the booming voice, fascinated by its dulled, thundering sound. Another pair of hands grabbed her, large and alien compared to Katie’s. They swept her up, moving her to the music, which she happily welcomed, bouncing and throwing her head back against the hand of the stranger, whose chest vibrated in a low chuckle. There was a body attached to said hands, and it was large and solid and firm in all the right places. Imani smiled, maybe it was Freddie’s, maybe he’d finally made a move and now he and her were dancing together in mutual ecstasy. The body’s hips ground against her, hands skimming her legs, groping at her chest, and Imani glanced back lazily, reaching for Freddie’s hair—

She gasped at the strange face behind her, a fuzzy swirl of sharp cheekbones, facial hair and piercings, cigarette scented smile beaming down at her, and she wriggled away from it in disgust. The smile morphed into a frown as the man tried to grab her again and her hand collided with his face, making a harsh crack that was barely audible over the music, and Imani huffed, stalking away to the kitchen. 

She drank from the tap again as her head swirled. The vomit stench made her nauseous and she gagged, grabbing the dish soap on the side of the faucet and pouring a gratuitous amount into the metallic sink, rinsing the vomit down the drain. A quiet groan caught her attention, and she looked down next to her to see JJ clutching his stomach. She crouched down next to him with a smile, observing his blown out pupils, seeing his flushed face, and took his hand. 

“You good, J?” 

“I think I’m sick,” he muttered, looking up at her, “You made me sick…” 

Imani gasped and rose quickly, rummaging through the cupboards until she found a mug. She filled it with cold tap water and took a seat next to JJ on the floor and passed it to him. 

“Here, drink up.” 

He took it gratefully, water spilling as he swallowed the water in one go and let out a parched, dry sigh. 

“I take a large amount of medication,” he explained, handing the mug back to her to fill up, “I think I’m having a bad reaction.” 

“Oh god,” Imani muttered, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

She got up on her knees and filled the mug again with cold water, handing it back to JJ. He drank it slower this time, resting the mug on his knee. 

“Didn’t want you to think I was a freak.” 

She smiled. “Oh, J! I’d never think that! You’re lovely, okay?” 

Imani leaned closer to him, planting a soft kiss on his cheek that struck through him like lightning. His eyes widening, he looked to her in astonishment, glancing down at her bow mouth, then swallowed as she stroked his hair soothingly. Despite himself, he slowly leaned towards her, glancing hesitantly between her lips and eyes.

“What the fuck is goin’ on here?” 

JJ froze at the sound of Cook’s voice as he rounded the corner of the kitchen island, glaring hotly at JJ. 

“Fuck did I say, mate? What the fuck did I say?!”

Imani frowned, turning to see what the new sonorous, blaring voice was, and squealed excitedly at the sight of Cook, flying up to meet him and throw her arms around his neck. 

“Cookie!”

She threw herself against his rigid body, hugging him so tightly the young man nearly lost his breath. Remnants of her perfume filled his nose, clouding his mind; the feeling of her body against his calmed his nervous system as she laughed in his ear, swaying them gently. Eyes still hot on JJ, he embraced her back, letting her nuzzle his neck with a sigh. 

“You alright,” he asked, getting an airy mhm in return, “He fuckin’ with you?” 

He pointed to JJ as Imani gave him a quizzical look, then glanced back at JJ and giggled. 

“I made him sick, I felt bad,” she said, eyes trailing back to Cook, “Why? Are you jealous?”

Her poking stare stopped Cook in his tracks, and he scanned her face, seeing the glistening layer of sweat over her glowy skin, the slight quiver of her smiling lips. Slowly, his anger faded, and he chuckled. 

“Fuck me, you’re high, aren’t you?” 

She swept them over to the counter, spinning Cook as he remained locked in her embrace, smiling down at her as she laughed. 

“Cloud Nine, baby!” 

Cook began to laugh too, shaking his head. “Fuck are you girls wearin’?” 

She hummed, beginning to dance again, grabbing Cook’s hands to bring him back out to the living room, but he just watched her with a simpering grin as he resisted her tugging. JJ finished his water, averting his gaze as he set the mug on the counter and got to his feet. He looked to Cook, and Cook jutted his head toward the living room for him to leave. Regretfully, he obeyed, stealing a longing look at Imani as she jumped and danced. 

Cook settled her into place, holding her hips gently, chuckling as she pouted and leaned against him. 

“Cookie,” she whined, “C’mon, let’s dance…” 

“Not in the mood, babe,” he said, resting against the counter as he released her and fishing in his pocket. “Cookie’s not dancing.” 

She groaned, rolling her eyes and turning in a circle, looking for something fun to do and smiling as her eyes settled on an untouched pile of brownies. With a sigh, she grabbed one, going over to Cook and resting her chin on his shoulder, looking up at him sweetly. He eyed her as he lit his spliff, boyish grin still poised on his lips as he took a drag and passed it to her. She fluttered her eyelashes with a quiet giggle, pressing the brownie against his lips. 

“Trade you,” she offered. 

He raised the spliff to her mouth and bared his teeth to take a bite out of the brownie, watching her lips brush against his fingers as she took a long hit, exhaling the smoke out of her nose and closing her eyes with a sigh. The effect of the weed was immediate, slowing the world down a bit, dulling the blaring music, settling her back into her body. She smiled lazily as she he finished the brownie, licking her fingers off and wiping them on her pajama shirt. 

“That’s nice,” she hummed. 

“Bet it is,” he said, taking a hit and passing the spliff back to her. 

Cook watched her as she smoked, smiling and brushing a couple of her braids behind her ear. “How’d your audition go?” 

“Phenomenal,” she said, smoke fanning from her nostrils. She gave him a playful smirk. “As usual.” 

Cook chuckled as he took the spliff back from her. “I believe it, you’re fucking talented. Never seen a girl fly before.” 

“Never seen ballet before, more like it,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow. 

“Liked what I saw,” he remarked. 

She smiled, leaning against the counter as well. He snaked an arm around her waist, slipping behind her and wrapping himself around her, spliff smoking in his mouth. She giggled, putting her hands on his forearms as if to push them off, but she rested them there, sighing and tilting her head back in the crook of his neck. 

“You feel nice,” she whispered, eyes fluttering shut. 

He turned his head slowly, inhaling her sweaty scent, arms tightening around her waist as if it was possible to pull her closer. He murmured softly in her ear. 

“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Her eyes opened to a slant as his lips brushed against her temple, a slight shiver going down her spine. She grinned and looked up at him. 

“I do.” 

One of his hands slid upwards, spanning her ribcage as he lightly squeezed her, lips brushing her cheekbone, then the soft fuzz on her face. Imani swallowed and giggled uncontrollably. 

“Cookie, what are you doing?”

“Want me to stop?” he asked, nearly pressing a kiss on her cheek, she laughed, resting a hand on his neck and turning to partly face him. 

“Cookie,” she warned. 

“Tell me to stop.”

He leaned down to brush his lips against her but she placed her finger between their faces to stop him. Their eyes met, each soft gaze cradling the other. Cook gently pressed a kiss against her fingers, making her breath hitch quietly, and she looked down at the motion as it passed. Her eyebrows scrunched slightly as she traced the outline of his lips with the tips of her fingers, looking back up at him, but his eyes were elsewhere. 

“Alright Effy?” he asked, a grin building on his face. 

Imani’s ears perked at the sound of her name. She followed Cook’s eyeline as Effy stepped into the kitchen from the doorway and avoided her gaze. Imani’s smile brightened. 

“Effy! Hey!”

Effy didn’t answer, just stared at Cook with a quiet enmity, then went over to the kitchen island and grabbed a brownie. Imani giggled, finally catching the other girl’s attention. 

“What?” 

“I thought you didn’t do brownies.”

Effy was stunned into silence. She knew Imani didn’t mean it to be cruel, she never meant to be cruel, but the way Cook was wrapped around her, the drugged up grin on her face made her look sinister. Effy threw the brownie to the ground and stormed back out into the living room. Imani’s grin dropped as she watched her go, and she moved to go after her, but Cook tugged her back. 

“Hey, hey,” he muttered, “Where you off to?” 

Imani peeled him off of her. “She’s upset. I upset her.” 

Cook languidly smoked his spliff. “So?”

She looked at him exasperatedly. “So I didn’t mean to.”

He just shrugged. Imani shook her head, gesturing for him to wait there, and went back through the crowd after Effy. The crowd had thinned a bit, people were starting to leave, making the music fill up the empty space and shatter her eardrums again. She groaned, covering her ears and easing through the dancing men, women and teens, eyes fixed on Effy as she whisked through the door. Imani made her way out of the crowd and rushed after her, stopping in the driveway as she watched Effy bound down the sidewalk. 

“Eff!” She called, running after her, “Effy, wait!” 

Effy stopped, fists clenching as she listened to Imani’s heels clacking closer and closer until they fell quiet right behind her. Imani put a hand on her shoulder, turning her around, and her eyes widened at the sight of Effy crying. Her eyebrows creased, and she moved to pull Effy into a hug, but she pushed Imani back. Imani stumbled back in shock.

“I don’t believe you!” She exploded, tears running down her cheeks. “I don’t believe you at all!” 

The words hit Imani like a slap in the face, and she paused, all the fun of the night forgotten. She looked at Effy earnestly, moving towards her, but Effy jerked away. 

“Eff, what’s–” 

“Don’t call me that! Eff, like you know me,” she snapped, “We’ve only known each other a couple of months, and you…you…” 

Imani’s breath trembled as Effy struggled to find words, sniffing. All she wanted to do was to comfort her, to take away whatever pain she was in. 

“You can’t have everything you want!” 

Imani straightened up in surprise. “Effy, what do you mean?” 

It was too late. Effy turned on her heel and ran down the sidewalk, turning the corner and leaving Imani alone in the cold to stand awkwardly under the streetlight. She hugged herself, looking around as a car pulled out of Pandora’s driveway and a wolf whistle came out the window directed at her before it sped off into the night. 

She shuddered, letting out a breath, looking down at her yellow, close-toed heels. With a swallow, she slowly turned back to the driveway and walked to the door, but more crying caught her attention. It was soft, weak, and she couldn’t place it until a light flicked on upstairs and Pandora poked her head out of a window, face glistening with tears.

“Mani,” she sobbed. 

In an instant, Imani made her way upstairs. She charged through the door and spied a couple making out on Pandora’s bed as she looked at the sets of doors, trying to decide which one her friend was behind. 

“Panda,” she called softly, “Where are you?” 

The center door unlocked and Panda opened it, propped up on her knees. She looked up at Imani like a lost child. Her face was constricted in anguish, her eyes squinting and red from hours of tears. Imani quickly shuffled in and shut the door behind her, locking it, and crouching down next to the blonde girl. She wrapped her arms around her soothingly, stroking her hair as Pandora cried and gripped onto her finely muscled arms.

“Panda, what’s wrong?” Imani asked softly, lowering down to her knees to perch. 

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! We weren’t supposed to do all this!”

Imani’s eyes widened as she struggled to focus. The walls were melting around them as the second brownie hit her, and she let out a heavy exhale, leaning and sitting down. The light dulled then brightened until it felt like a tiny sun was burning against her retinas. She swallowed, taking Pandora’s clammy hand, stroking her palm. 

“I was so excited, an’–-then Katie spiked the brownies with MDMA—we were supposed to play Twister and talk about boys!” 

Imani hummed, nodding, staring up at the mirror. She slowly blinked, trying to fight the high. This one was heavy, dragging down her bones to the floor, fixing her back against the wall. She sagged. 

“I should be able to have my own kinda party, without the boys and the drugs and—” 

A loud pounding on the door startled the pair. Imani’s heavy eyelids snapped open in alarm, and she rose to her feet, patting Pandora’s shoulder. 

“Who the fuck is in there?! I need to piss!” 

Imani groaned, drinking from the bathroom tap as the man kept pounding and yelling, then slowly unlocked the door. She took a deep breath then flung it open.

“Cops!” 

The man swore and ran down the stairs. Imani yelled out again, running into Pandora’s room to tell the couple halfway to sex the news, and they scrambled out of bed to quickly escape. The approach of police spread like wildfire, and Imani watched over the banister as the sea of bodies rushed for the door, some tripping over themselves. She cried out again for good measure. 

“Cops! Get out! Get the fuck out!” 

She stumbled down the stairs and unplugged the music, leaving the loud rumbling of feet and the sounds of cars chirping, frantic yelling and chattering about cops. She smiled, then laughed, tossing the cord aside and striding over to the couch, throwing herself onto its cushions. She let out a sigh of relief, the silence vibrating around her, and then her eyes flew open and she rose with a start, returning to the tap in the kitchen. 

Cook watched her pass in amusement as she gulped down water with a groan, resting against the lip of the sink. Slowly, she straightened up, letting out a sigh and wiping her mouth. She looked back at Cook as he chuckled, and gave him an exhausted face, wiping her slick forehead off with the back of her forearm. She went over to him, plucking his fresh spliff out of his fingers and grabbing his arm. 

“C’mon.” 

She led him to the couch as Pandora timidly descended the steps, looking around at her trashed home in shock as she sniffed. Imani returned to the kitchen, feet brushing the discarded beer cans as she turned the corner, and moved the red solo cups aside to pick up the miraculously untouched cake box. She hummed gladly as she balanced it in her arms and returned to the living room, kicking aside Cook’s feet on the crowded coffee table and easing the box down on it. She ushered Pandora over, having her sit on the couch opposite Cook and fluttering back up the stairs to retrieve her purse. She returned to the pair sitting in awkward silence, and lifted the pink lid of the box to reveal a beautifully crafted message in baby blue and pastel pink icing. 

Happy Birthday, Pandora! XOXO, Imani.

Cook watched Imani as she smiled, sticking candles around the words in a semi-circle. She held her hand out to him for a light, and he placed it in her palm with a small smile, glancing over at Pandora, whose face brightened at the sight of her cake. She leaned forward as Imani lit the candles, leaning slightly on the table, then kneeled down. Imani followed her lead and gestured for Cook to do the same. He sat down on the floor next to her, eyes fixed onto her profile as his smile lingered on his lips. The candles flickered generously against her skin, making her glow like a precious stone. Eyes shining amber as they reflected the candlelight, she glanced between them, lifting her fingers to conduct the song.

“Ready? One, two…” 

Cook's eyes never left Imani as they sang. He looked at her, really looked. He took in the way her eyes squeezed slightly shut as she laughed, how her lips wrapped awkwardly around the letter R, how she glanced over kindly at him, but stayed focused on Pandora and lifting her mood. He watched her as she got up, still singing and opening the fridge for two cold beers, placing them in front of him and Pandora, smoking his spliff and clapping excitedly as they finished. Pandora moved to blow the candles, but Imani stopped her. 

“Make a wish. A quiet one. Then you blow.”

Pandora followed her instructions, closing her eyes and sitting still, then leaned forward and blew the candles out. Imani cheered, elbowing Cook to do the same. He gave a quiet one, leaning onto his elbow and eyeing the curled ends of her braids down her back. Imani got back up again, grabbing plates and rinsing off the pastry knife on the other side of the sink and serving them all slices. She never seemed to stop moving, stop hosting, even when she was a guest. It made Cook laugh a little, but as she flitted around and hummed gladly, something inside him softened. 

After they ate, a game of Twister commenced, mostly between Pandora and Cook because Imani was too high to move. She watched sleepily, a hint of a smile on her face like an Egyptian statue as she smoked, head nestled carefully in a pile of pillows. 

“Have some,” Pandora tried to urge her, a slice of cake temptingly hovering between their faces, but Imani refused. 

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m not hungry.” 

Cook smiled, crawling onto the couch next to her and draping her legs over his lap, giving her an encouraging tap. 

“C’mon, Princess, have some, it’s a party.”

She languidly turned her head to look at him, and held his gaze. Her stare enveloped him, cradling him in warmth, the smile that bloomed on her face making his heart jump, and she sighed, turning over and picking up the fork with a heavy arm. 

“Hey,” Cook encouraged, “There you go.” 

She chuckled, rolling her eyes and taking a heaping bite, then sighed, brows furrowing with pleasure. 

She moaned. “Good, that’s good, Jesus!” 

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Cook and Imani were on the bus riding back to Clifton, where she lived. She was fast asleep, her head resting against his shoulder, legs curled up over his lap and held securely in his hands. They were sharing earbuds, and he listened to the humming of the bus, her soft snores, and the next song that played from her iPod. The instrumental was in her ear, the lyrics in his. 

There were bells on a hill

But I never heard them ringing

No, I never heard them at all

‘Til there was you

He looked down at Imani, brushing her braids behind her ear, finger grazing her cheekbone as he fiddled with her curled ends. She made a soft sound, nuzzling his shoulder, legs shifting closer to his torso. With a small smile, he held her back with one hand, resting her flush against his body as he glanced back out of the window, admiring the still water under Clifton Bridge as it shimmered under the moonlight. An elderly woman watched them, a soft smile on her face, thumbing her worn golden wedding band.

There was love all around

But I never heard it singing

No, I never heard it at all

‘Til there was you