Chapter 2
two
what’s different?
Jabari.
“Bari! You’re here!”
Chinaza pulls past her friend and rushes into me like she didn’t see me last Christmas. I didn’t even look at my sister properly because I’m held captive by her friend’s eyes.
“Zaza,” I greet, still looking. “You got so thin.”
“Really?” Za pulls back and examines her stomach like it’s something new. “I’ve been dancing a lot, so maybe that’s it.”
I finally look at my little sister. “Yeah, maybe that’s it.”
“You’re still as big as ever,” she teases, now going over my arms and shoulders. “Woah, man. Do you ever stop growing?”
I look at her friend when I answer, “No. Never.”
Za rolls her eyes, brushing past me to get out of the chilly air and into the house like she owns the place.
Typical.
But I’m not paying her much attention anyway. Because behind her is the friend.
The first thing I notice is she’s short.
I’m taller than the average person, but she was shorter than what’s considered normal herself.
It’s like she hasn’t grown an inch in all these years.
Sure, she’s filled out, her body carrying the weight differently now.
But it wasn’t her body that stopped me in my tracks.
It’s everything else.
Piercings everywhere. Ears stacked with metal, rings through her nose, a stud through her bottom lip. And tattoos inked down her arms, curling out from under the sleeves of her rolled-up jumper like smoke.
Baggy clothes that are baggy but somehow styled? Baggy like she knew what she’s doing, and not like she’s hiding her figure.
Her hair is no longer wild and all over her head. It’s in Microlocs, with some bright stripes peeking through, making those bright eyes stand out more.
And the makeup.
Dark, sharp, heavy enough that I half-expect Mum to kick her off the porch for witchcraft.
But it…works?
It all works.
I blink, my brain stumbling over itself, trying to reconcile the clingy, annoying kid I remember with this version standing in front of me.
Why the fuck does it work?
Why is she attractive all of a sudden?
“Bari, you remember Frankie, right?” Zaza says from inside the house.
Frankie’s lips curve just slightly.
Does she have dimples?
“Nice to meet you,” she purrs.
I pause. Wait. Meet me?
She used to worship the ground I walk on, and she’s talking about meeting me?
“Meet?” I question.
She nodded lightly. “Yeah, you’re Zaza’s brother, right? She told me so much about you.”
No way in hell she’s forgotten me.
“Yes. I’m Za’s brother, but we know each other, right?”
She tilts her head, pretending to think. “Um. I don’t think so?”
“Frankie,” I say, my voice sharper than I mean for it to be. “We grew up together. I moved to Nigeria when you and Zaza were in secondary.”
Her mouth twitches. “Hm. I don’t recall.”
Bullshit.
She remembers. No way she doesn’t.
“Aren’t you gonna let her in?” Zaza’s voice snaps me out of it.
I blink again, still staring at a confused Frankie.
“Yeah…right,” I step to the side. “Come on in.”
She moves past me, brushing close enough that I catch the faintest whiff of her perfume—spicy, but dark, not what I’d expect.
Cinnamon maybe?
I shut the door, jaw tight. Something is off. And not just off. Different.
Frankie and Zaza shuffle through the living room with normality that gives me pause. The casual ease of Zaza messing with a knocked-out Dad on the couch before heading to the kitchen with Frankie trailing behind her with that too-cool stride lets me know how comfortable they are here.
Does that mean they come here often?
It’s natural for Zaza to be here, of course, but what about this newly attractive shadow?
“Za,” I call out, stopping them both. They’re like reflections. “Lemme talk to you for a second. Alone.”
With that, Frankie wastes no time moving past Za and disappearing into the kitchen, breaking the illusion. She isn’t even slightly curious about what I might have to say to my sister. Or anything to do with me, for that matter.
When Za is close, I snag her elbow and pull her closer.
Zaza raises an eyebrow with suspicion. “What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me,” I jerk my chin toward the girl who moved ahead of us. “What’s the deal with her?”
“Who, Frankie?”
“No, the Queen, God rest her soul. Obviously, Frankie! She’s…” I trail off, words sticking in my throat. I hate that I even have to ask. “She’s changed.”
Zaza’s face screws up even more. “What do you mean by changed? She grew up.”
“Nah, she didn’t grow up. She’s still short as hell.”
“Well. Besides that.”
Grew up. No fucking way that’s it. We all grow up, but I ain’t talking about puberty, and Za knows it. She herself changed while I was in Gombe, but at least I saw her on holiday when she and my parents visited. I’ve also changed, especially in mass.
But that she-wolf she brought with her had grown beyond comprehension.
“Why didn’t you mention she looked like this now?”
Za shrugs out of my hold. “Why would I? And what do you care?”
“I don’t. I just—” my hand drops to my side. “I don’t know.”
Her eyes widen.
“Oh my God,” that already annoying voice rises an octave. “Jabari, no! Don’t you dare.”
“Dare what?”
She places both hands firmly on her hips. “Look at Frankie like that.”
Ha.
“I ain’t looking at her like anything.” My jaw clenches. “She just looks…come on, the piercings? Tattoos? Mum didn’t say anything?”
“She did,” Zaza says with something in her eyes I can’t place. “But Frankie doesn’t care.”
My eyes widen, “Really?”
Heat crawls under my skin.
I hate this. I hate being this curious. Hate that Frankie, of all people, has my mind running like this. And yet, I can’t stop wondering what else has changed.
“I’m not joking, Bari,” Zaza says calmly when she sees my thoughtful expression. “Leave Frankie alone.”
I suck my teeth at my little sister, trying to tell me what to do.
“You actually think I’d move to her?” When she doesn’t answer, I click my tongue. “Don’t gas your friend. She ain’t even my type.”
“Yeah. Okay,” Za scoffs.
“I’m serious,” I defend. “You think too highly of her.”
“Sure,” she looks me up and down. “And heaven only knows what you think about her. Just don’t think about her anymore, ‘cause I know you already have.”
I don’t say anything. Can’t really, because she’s not wrong.
“Just drop it,” she demands.
“Fine,” I mutter at last, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Dropped.”
She eyes me again before walking away.
“Za!” I whisper-yell, stopping her.
“What!” She says in the same tone, looking over her shoulder.
I speak normally and ask, “Does she really not remember me?”
Zaza cuts her eyes at me, then flicks her braids over her shoulder and strides off toward the kitchen.
“It doesn’t matter what you try, anyway. Frankie ain’t going for it.” She mutters under her breath when she thinks I can’t hear.
I smirk, almost seeing it as a challenge, then I follow.
The smell of stew hits first.
Mum’s at the stove, spoon clinking while she hums under her breath.
I quickly pan the room, finding Frankie perched on one of the barstools, elbows resting on the marble.
Wired headphones hang from her ears, cord trailing down into the Nintendo Switch she’s holding.
A neon-red ice lolly sticks out of her mouth, lips wrapped lazily around it.
She draws on it slowly, before letting it rest between her teeth.
The slow bobbing motion makes my chest go tight.
She’s so locked in with whatever she’s playing, she doesn’t even notice us.
At some point, she peeled off the baggy jumper. What’s left is just a thin black tank, low at the bust, showing more skin than I’d expect. Her arms are a maze of ink. Thick, heavy tattoos, black lines curling over muscle, up toward her collarbone, down past her elbow.
And none of that delicate flowers girly bullshit, but bold, artistic pieces.
The tank was also tight enough that I could see those nipple piercings. Of course, she has nipple piercings.
Now I’m staring. It’s jarring. It’s distracting.
“Ouuu ice lollies!” Zaza sings out, skipping in front of me. “It’s so hot in here.”
“No,” Mum says flatly, not even turning from the stove. “You’ll spoil your appetite.”
She stops her skip right in front of the fridge.
“But. Frankie got one,” Zaza whines.
Mum glances back, spatula in hand. “Frankie doesn’t have chronic acne.”
“Mum!” Zaza gasps, covering her slightly discolored cheeks.
I cringe. “Ew.”
“Shut up, Bari!” Zaza stomps her feet at me.
“My word is final,” Mum says, turning back to the pot.
Behind her back, Frankie’s lips twitch and without missing a beat, she bites the top part of the ice lolly that’s been in her mouth clean off, with a quiet crunch, then holds the rest of the stick out toward Zaza while still staring at her Switch screen.
Zaza’s pout dissolves instantly. She takes it and mutters, “Thank you.”
Finally, Frankie glances up. Just long enough to wink and flash a small smile. I feel my stomach drop at that smile, and damn it, I’m staring again. She’s fucking gorgeous, and I hate how much I’m noticing it.
“Chinaza! I said no!” Mum yells. I guess I wasn’t the only one who saw their exchange. “Come and dice the yam since you seem to have very idle hands.”
“Haha,” I tease to rub it in.
Zaza sticks out her now neon red tongue as she makes her way to the counter. I pull open the freezer, peel past the bags of meat and frozen vegetables to grab one of the ice lollies without Mum saying a word.
I knew that got under Za’s skin.
When I turn back, I catch them again—Zaza and Frankie exchanging a quick glance. Then Frankie looks back down at her Switch like nothing, thumb tapping away at the buttons.
I tear open the wrapper and take a bite as I study them. Weirdly enough, the ice lolly’s tangy flavor draws my attention immediately.
“This is really good,” I gasp as I examine it.
Mum doesn’t look up from the pot. “It’s sorrel. Frankie’s mum sends it over sometimes.”
“Mm.” I chew slowly, eyes narrowing.
Frankie.