Chapter Two
“Fake it till you make it.”
I’d been repeating this mantra all morning, pretending I’d also been breathing the same air of anticipation like everyone else on the Isle, Nana included.
I’d been giving her side-eye all morning, checking if she’d show any signs of being weirded out about what had happened at the ass crack of dawn this morning.
Maybe she had a reasonable explanation for what I thought I’d seen.
But she acted like everything was normal.
And if she was going to be like that, then I would be too.
I was going to pretend the hell out of this day, if not for Nana, then for Naira and Sekou.
Today, Naira, Sekou, and I were graduating.
Finally. Along with the other Isle seniors, we’d spent the last four years commuting by ferry twice a day, rain or shine, to attend Calibogue High on the mainland.
I didn’t love much about the mainland. To me it was overrated, overpopulated, and very overstimulating.
Too much of all that was draining. But today was different, and even I, the self-proclaimed eternal pessimist, felt flutters of excitement.
The thought of walking the stage in a cap and gown, tassel swinging as I stepped toward something new—claimed something new—sent jolts through my chest. Graduating meant more time on the Isle together and less time dealing with obnoxious mainlanders who either thought we were an anomaly or a spectacle they wanted to explore and understand how we, descendants of formerly enslaved people, could own the Isle all by ourselves.
But whatever we wanted to do, we’d figure it out together and do it together, the three of us.
Ever since we were little, Sekou, Naira, and I believed the Golden Isle was our whole world.
Back then promises of staying on this little bit of land forever felt unbreakable.
Like a friendship bracelet, threads woven together, swearing never to come apart.
I maneuvered our golf cart, the Isle’s preferred mode of transportation, through the small dirt roads leading to the public dock where we were supposed to meet up with the rest of the island’s families—both Kinfolk and non—to ferry over and attend the ceremony.
Beside me, Nana Ama sat regal in her usual flowy skirt and peasant top.
Folded neatly in her lap was her woven wrap of a dark blue traditional African cloth with asymmetrical lines of black, circles of white.
She rarely went without a wrap, as the Isle’s climate shifted from hot to cold at the snap of a finger.
Her wrists were adorned with bracelets of cowrie shells, not with the golden heirloom cuffs that had been in our family for generations.
Those she normally saved for special ceremonies on the Isle.
She hummed an old tune that let me know her mood was a happy one.
At least that made one of us. I studied Nana, wondering if there was anything at all she remembered from this morning, if there was anything she’d admit to.
She was so good at pretending away problems. So good at putting things away in neat little boxes and focusing on the big picture.
That was not one of my gifts.
Matter of fact, aside from a little bit of intuition here and there, vibes about people or things, I didn’t know if I’d be a healer like Nana or something else. I couldn’t become Lighted. But that was a whole other story.
“Nana,” I started, making a right at the sign for the public pier. “This morning.”
Nana’s humming slowed to a stop, and she lifted her head from where her temple had been lightly resting on the tips of her fingers.
She looked worn, like she hadn’t slept well.
Well, neither had I, but at least I hadn’t been possessed by a creepy shadow figure.
That was some next-level shit. Instantly, I was hit with guilt at the long day ahead and trying to make her talk when clearly she wasn’t at 100 percent.
I considered turning the cart around, back toward home.
Nana was pushing herself to be there for me.
Going to the mainland and being around many people was draining for her.
“What about this morning?” There was slight edge to her tone. She looked at me expectantly, and any bravery I had mustered up melted away. If my grandmother was going to push herself to attend my graduation on the mainland and deal with people all day, the least I could do was hold my tongue.
“Never mind, Nana.” I pivoted, lightening my voice. “I hope you’re ready for a whole night of partying on the Isle. Maybe try some Peach Lightning if you…” I chose my words. “Decide to stay in tonight?”
She chuckled as I pulled the cart into our reserved parking spot by the docks. The ferry bobbing on the light waves was already full of a sea of blue. Grads on one ferry, family on the other.
“Nothing a cup of warmed coconut water or palm oil won’t cure.” She waited a beat, then snuck in, “I’m not messing with the brothers’ shit.”
Nana said it so smoothly her curse didn’t hit me until a second later, the shock of it causing me to stomp on the brake before the cart bumped hard into the stone parking marker.
“Nana Ama, are you alright?” I asked, shifting the cart in park and turning to her.
“Oho!” she said. “Stop your fuss. Worry about your awful driving!”
She brushed imaginary dust from her pristine flowy yellow skirt and then held out her dainty hand as I came around to her side. Her hazel eyes with flecks of deep gold, the same as mine, were full of amusement.
“Nana, when’d you learn to talk like that?” I asked, feigning shock.
“You don’t tell me what I do or don’t do, child.”
I did a quick check, wondering if anyone had heard.
Ama was regarded as the mother of the Kinfolk.
Though Golden Isle was all of the Kin’s, our family actually owned the land.
Ours, along with the other founding families, had run from enslavers and come across an abandoned island off the coast of what’s now Hilton Head, South Carolina.
It was named the Golden Isle for the fireflies on it who, the story says, had helped guide the way, and was a new life for them and generations after, for anyone who needed a safe space.
The founding families had come from all parts of Africa, had maintained their various cultures and traditions, and could be traced back centuries, maybe longer.
When Nana stepped down, I would inherit the title of leader and the land, and according to homeland traditions that had been passed down for generations, I’d be enstooled in her place (if I ever got it together and managed to become Lighted), continuing the same traditions and cultures our ancestors sacrificed to keep alive.
Aside from the deeds to land and traditional matriarchal systems that gave Nana Ama the title of leader, her healing gifts set her—and our island—apart.
Nana chuckled, low and earthy, unlocking the worry building in my chest. “Unclutch those pearls of yours, girl. There’s more to this old lady than you can imagine.”
I followed my grandmother, finally allowing the bug of excitement intermingling with the sweet and salty scent of the Isle to grab me too.
The Golden Isle’s famous peaches were first cultivated from Nana Ama’s tiny grove behind our home.
The harvests had supported our family, and the Kinfolk, for decades.
When the demand for Golden Isle fruit became too great for the small batches grown here, my grandmother purchased property on the mainland, where she established larger farms to support the demand, eventually building enough wealth to maintain the Isle, which my family had owned since way before my time.
It was something unheard of back then, Nana often reminded me, a Black family owning land, much less a whole island.
“Us owning the Isle, refusing to give it up, blew those white folks’ minds.
” She’d laugh but her eyes never did. Then came the warning.
“And it damn sure better stay that way.”
As graduation day went on, I thought about how hard it had been for me to get to this point.
School was a struggle; tests weren’t my strength.
Naira and Sekou helped get me through. Sekou was nearly a whiz at math, and Naira had an affinity for memorizing and loved reading and research.
Even when I kept saying I wasn’t going to need stuff like trig and the five-paragraph essay.
“Not everyone is meant for college,” I’d once complained. “How is any of this even important?”
Sekou said, “You never know. You might change up and want to travel the world.”
I pulled a face. “Trig, though? Where?”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about that one.”
I shuddered at the thought of college. Being confined within Calibogue’s walls with the fluorescent lights and the massive amounts of highly emotional teens was too chaotic and always wore me out.
I needed sun and space and quiet to give me life.
I needed the Isle. “We all know my place is at the Isle. That won’t change no matter what. This is my home. Like Nana.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” Naira mumbled under her breath.
I ignored the quick pass of pity between them. Before I had a chance to overthink, she continued.
“Just because you may not go to college doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try your best, right here and now. You freaking own an island. You need to know things, so pick up the damn textbook.”
I picked up the damn book. And thought about chucking it at her damn head. But now, looking back, all I felt was gratitude that they hadn’t given up on me, or let me give up on myself. I wouldn’t have finished without my friends, and now we could move on with our lives together.
Nana Ama followed the other family members onto the boat, one of two chartered by Elder James, who happened to be Sekou’s uncle and owner of one of the largest boat companies on the Isle, while I boarded with the grads and sat down between Naira and Sekou.
“Whatever you do, don’t lose these,” Naira said, pointing to our caps. “I worked hard to get them just right, and even if you two don’t care, I do.”
Sekou flicked her on the forehead lightly. “One drum is bigger than the other,” he pointed out. “Don’t do my djembes like that. But I guess you did good.”
I peered over at his. Sekou’s cap had the djembe drums, dark sunglasses because he thought he was so damn cool, and a replica of his favorite girl—his boat.
Naira’s had a few pics of her K-pop idols, a plane, and a stack of books.
Then I studied mine—a firefly, and a tiny island with a palm tree I figured was Golden Isle.
And all of ours had the year scrawled in gold sparkles and a small photobooth picture of the three of us from the state fair in Columbia last year.
My heart swelled. Naira had worked hard when I’d been too lazy to give it a second thought.
“They’re great,” I agreed. “Thank you.”
The way she beamed back at me was the best gift ever.
Under the proud eyes of our closest family and friends, Naira, Sekou, and I walked the stage on the football field.
The stadium was nearly packed, as if it were a Friday football game, and once off the stage, I popped in my earbuds to dull the growing noise—too many unwanted voices clanging together.
The Russells, Naira’s family of seven, cheered the loudest when Naira was handed her diploma.
Nana Ama sat with them, but remained stoic and regal.
I didn’t expect the whoops and hollers like from the other families.
Nana kept her feelings tightly tucked away, something I struggled with daily.
She was always very careful—careful to speak, careful to act.
But when Principal Khan handed me the piece of paper and shook my hand, I would have loved to hear her voice crying out above the dutiful claps and cheers. The one person who I knew was mine.
When Principal Khan finally announced our graduating class, the sky became a sea of royal blue as Naira, Sekou, and I threw our caps in the air and cheered with the rest of our islander and mainlander classmates alike.
We threw our arms around one another, and the sadness of earlier mixed with pure joy.
Through all the commotion, I managed to do exactly as Naira had instructed and found my cap in the chaos.
As I trailed my fingers along the raised ridges of Naira’s decorations, my eyes watered a little.
I may have complained about attending Cal High every day, but I still planned to tack the cap to my wall of all my favorite things.
Sekou was nowhere to be found, though usually his six-foot-three frame of arms, legs, and head of dark brown natural coils sprouting several inches at all points was pretty hard to miss.
He was the a total opposite of Naira, who was a foot south of him and, he liked to tease, “vertically challenged.” But her waist-length goddess faux locs with their electric-blue tips stood out like beacons, and I spotted her in the midst of all the commotion tucked away in a small alcove near the concession stand.
I started toward her and saw she wasn’t alone. In fact, her face was practically being swallowed whole by a preppy-looking guy with super-blond hair and even fairer skin. It didn’t look like Naira would welcome my intrusion.
I hesitated, deciding to fall back and ignore the hurt and tiny flecks of betrayal creeping up.
Why hadn’t Naira told me about this guy?
Was she ashamed of me? Maybe I was too country?
Too backward being an island girl and not obsessed with getting the latest makeup trends from Ulta Beauty or chronicling every second of my life on TikTok?
Sekou, Naira, and I supposedly had no secrets from one another. Yet here was this pasty Abercrombie & Fitch model I’d never seen and knew nothing about. Thanks to my ancestry, in our world of superstition, everything was a sign.
And just like that, the unease I’d been fighting hard to push back from the night escapade with Nana came rushing back full force. It took ahold of me, making me wonder what change was coming, and if I was ready for it.