Chapter Thirty-Eight
Bee
I could remember the first time I met Rashida Blake four years ago, like I could recite the dramatic movie monologues I memorized when I was indulging my siblings.
I had finally stopped dreaming about my kiss with Nola in the bathroom on the biggest night of our lives. I had finally stopped obsessing over whether or not I should reach out, explain myself, ask to do it again, ask if she’d enjoyed it the same way I had.
But then Farrah sent me the interview. Every forum blew up with speculation and mockery.
People who hadn’t even watched March Madness felt entitled to speak on every contribution—or lack thereof—on why we blew the tournament and came in second to Notre Dame.
But every comparison felt justified, my spot as number two was questioned, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
The regular season was over, the confetti from the natty had long been swept up.
And there in black and white was a confirmation that maybe I wasn’t equipped to handle the platform or the job I was given.
Being humiliated by strangers was a shot to my ego, but Nola had been the one holding the smoking gun.
I had been fresh off the rage of reading Nola’s article, reading the words over and over again, committing the interview to memory as my form of personal torture.
I’d left for training camp feeling like my world was closing in on me.
I had a chip on my shoulder, a target on my back, and an incessant need to know the second I didn’t make the Jaguars final roster, Nola would be cemented as the golden child from our draft class.
Over my dead body.
By the end of the first day, Rashida Blake had pulled me to the side, concern and empathy written across her face.
Rashida was the type to offer the shirt off her back, to give pieces of herself to whoever needed it without question.
I looked back on my first year and there was no one who helped raise me up, pushed me, and treated me like their own like Rashida and Allison had.
I arrived at their penthouse Miami apartment with two bottles of orange wine—more a gift for me than the hostesses, but no one really had to know that.
For the Blakes, it wasn’t a family dinner until someone suggested a round of Uno before we ate, and Allison nearly burned whatever she had in the oven.
I barely made it into their spacious living room and kitchen before Olive shouted and ran over to hug me. I was the undefeated teenager champion.
“Deal the cards!”
I may or may not be arriving fashionably late because I’d spent too long worrying about what to wear as if I wasn’t going to the equivalent of my parents house.
Maybe it was the combination of seeing the Blakes as my bosses now, or the overwhelming pressure of keeping my feelings for Nola hidden.
But that was kind of hard to do when she was looking at me like I hung the moon myself. I hadn’t seen her all day, and the way my heart thumped made it feel like we were long lost lovers finally reunited.
Her twists were piled into a bun at the top of her head, highlighting her sharp jawline and eyes that might as well have hearts in them.
That stupid feeling of my body feeling light was back, and I realized I hadn’t actually greeted the room until Allison stepped into my line of sight with a glass of wine.
“Thank you, green bean.” I held her tiny, former gymnast body easily against mine.
“If you say something about fitting me in your pocket, you’ll live to regret it when I beat your ass in Uno.”
“Big words for a small person.” I barely finished before Allison was trying to pinch my ear.
“No more dilly dallying! Everyone take their spots!” Olive commanded from the living room floor. I was the last to sit after running away from Allison, and of course the only spot was right next to Nola.
“Are we stacking colors and numbers?”
“Yes,” Rashida answered at the same time Nola said, “Stack numbers, not colors.”
“House rules!” Allison interjected before Nola could complain.
“Stacking colors literally doesn’t make sense. It’s blasphemous!” Olive jumped in for her sister.
“It helps the game go faster.” Rashida said.
Olive and the Blakes promptly got into a back and forth that faded to silence when I saw Nola in my peripheral mocking my posture.
Her arms angled behind her back, to hold her weight.
Her hands were dangerously close to mine.
From this close, I noticed every muscle, every tendon she worked hard to tone and develop because, as usual, she was in a muscle tank that showed it all off.
Her fingers inched closer to mine, one by one interlocking with mine as our shoulders leaned in to touch.
We could be talking about the current state of Uno or the state of the world once aliens invaded—nothing else mattered.
I didn’t know how much time Nola and I had living in the gray. How many more moments we could steal. How many more times I could drink up her soft smile from across the room when we were with other people.
“Earth to Brittney, we’re getting started!”
I won the first round of Uno by the sheer power of middle child determination to hold the power of bragging.
Naturally, Nola won the second.
I nursed the same glass of wine all night, because I knew if I had more, Allison would corner me in the kitchen and get me to spill everything.
Nola and I kept touching, whether we were actively trying to or not.
Our fingers brushed when I passed her the serving bowl, our elbows grazing while we ate.
“I feel like it’s a good night for a fire outside.” Olive announced after we finished the chocolate lava cakes she made.
“And where exactly would we do that?” I asked.
“On the rooftop, there’s a table with a fire top situation.” Nola answered, giving me the opportunity to look at her full on.
“You should take her to the roof, Nolly. Get the fire started for us,” Olive instructed.
“It’s a full moon tonight; I know how much you like to stare at the sky.” Allison added.
I did love looking at the moon.
“You know me so well, green bean.” I batted my eyes before turning back to Nola. “Care to show me the way?”