10. Passing Notes #3
"I'm just thinking maybe we don't have to be weird every time we're in the same room.
Maybe we could just…I don't know, talk to each other like normal people who work in the same industry.
Queens are supposed to battle at the top, but that doesn't mean we have to come for each other's necks. Right?"
Stacks gave me a look.
The silence made me fidget. I replayed the whole interaction, looking for proof I was right. The way Romi had actually smiled, not that media-trained thing, but her real one. How her voice went soft when she congratulated me.
And then how fast she'd shut down the second Stacks showed up.
"Fuck," I muttered. Maybe I did press too hard. "I think I blew it. I just wanted us to exist in the same space without it being…whatever that photoshoot mess was."
We wandered toward the café proper, Stacks throwing out commentary on every passing suit. "Ooh, that one definitely crying in his Tesla later," she said, nodding toward a man clutching his phone like a lifeline.
I let her talk, tuning it out, replaying every micro expression on Romi's face in a loop.
What if it was real? What if we'd both just been waiting for permission to drop the act?
What if I'd said something else, or laughed at the right time, or told her that for a moment I saw her and thought that she was cool?
"You listening to me?" Stacks nudged my arm.
"Yeah, totally. Tesla man, very sad."
"I was talking about the woman in the red suit, but okay." She shook her head. "You really stuck on Queen Bee, huh?"
"I'm not stuck on anything," I said, way too quick. "I just think…maybe we could actually coexist without all the drama. Like, she's obviously talented. I respect her work—"
"Respect her work?" Stacks snorted. "Baby, you had 'Goddess Complex' on repeat for a week."
"That's research. Know your competition. Plus, it was kind of a bop."
"Mmhmm. Research."
At the counter, Stacks was ordering a guava danish and my banana bread chai when my phone buzzed.
Skye's name flashed on the screen with a screenshot.
Her body in shadow, legs spread, sitting with stiff nipples pointing to the ceiling.
Hands headed south. I didn't bother to read the message in full before I tore my eyes away, something about me biting her nipples.
"All I'm saying is," I continued, "maybe if we could be cool with each other, the whole industry wouldn't have to treat us like we're about to throw hands every time we breathe the same air."
Stacks handed me the chai. "And by normal, you mean…?"
"Normal! Like, 'hey, nice song.' 'Hey, congrats on the Grammy nom.' 'Hey, your hair looks good today.'" Or, that 'I'm still pressed about that dress you wore at the party that night.' Normal things like that. I took a sip and burned my tongue. "Y'know. Basic human shit."
"Uh huh. And when did you start caring about basic human shit with your so-called competition?"
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. Because honestly? I couldn't remember when Romi stopped being another name on the charts and started being…this. This thing I couldn't name.
"Remember when you first met me?" Stacks said, stirring agave into her coffee. "You thought I was fake as hell. Said I was trying too hard to be the 'cool girl rapper' or some shit."
I winced. "I was wrong about that."
"Dead wrong. But you figured it out eventually." She gave me a pointed look. "Sometimes people surprise you when you actually give them a chance to be human instead of the box you put them in."
I paused. Looked at her. Something in the way she said it landed heavier than usual.
"Hey. You good?"
She picked at the edge of her cup.
"Sheisty and I are done. Three weeks ago. That lame ass nigga was lying to me about some bird in Atlanta for a year."
"Aww, Bree—"
"Girl. Don't." She laughed, short and dry.
Took a sip of her coffee. "I know what I said.
Giving people a chance to be human. Real cute, right.
Point still stands, though. You make sure the person's worth it first, right?
Miss Romi's got her reasons for keeping that wall up.
And maybe—maybe—she wondering the same thing you thinking real loud right now. "
I shoved the phone back into my pocket without responding to Skye's text. It was clear what she was offering, but it would always be there, and it came with shit I didn't need right now. I had enough drama for one morning without adding her chaos to the mix. Stacks saw my movement. Said nothing.
"Just Skye being Skye."
Stacks rolled her eyes. "That lady has radar for every time you start having a good day."
Outside, the LA heat hit like a wall after the building's frigid lobby. I pulled my sunglasses down and tried to figure out why a two minute conversation had left me feeling so off balance.
But the phone stayed heavy in my pocket. A reminder that the morning's weirdness wasn't over yet. It buzzed again. Then again. Each vibration felt heavier than the last, like what Skye wanted was gaining mass with every ignored message.
I kept walking, but the weight of whatever was waiting felt like it was trying to drag me backward with every step.