Pretty Enough To Fall Apart

CHAPTER ONE

ARIELLE

“Downtown where?” I held my phone away from my ear and stared at the lace lifting near my left temple. It wasn’t lifting bad. Nobody else would’ve noticed it unless they were standing in my face with a flashlight and bad intentions.

I noticed it, though.

“Philly, Ari. Why you acting slow?”

Music and voices crowded the background on Kye’s end. A blow-dryer cut on, then somebody yelled that the flat iron was too hot.

“Cam’s people got that launch party tonight. Free drinks, good pictures, everybody outside. Come on.”

“No.”

“You ain’t even think.”

“I did. The answer still no.”

My room looked like an outfit had exploded in it. Jeans hung over the foot of my bed. Three tops were spread across my desk chair. The black jumpsuit I had ordered for Friday was zipped inside a garment bag on my closet door, safely away from regular life and regular people.

Tonight was supposed to be a regular night. I had already taken my lashes off. My makeup was wiped down to moisturizer and lip balm. My hair had made it through class and a six-hour shift at Muse, which meant it had done enough public service for one day.

Kye sucked her teeth. “You don’t have to be red-carpet ready to go have one drink.”

“That’s something people say when they don’t care how they look in pictures.”

“Girl, your ugly would clear most people’s best day. Put a hat on.”

I looked at the cream fitted cap on my dresser. Then, I looked away from it because that wasn’t the point.

“I’m tired.”

That part was true. I had been up since seven for my media writing class, worked from noon until six, and spent my lunch break arguing with the Airbnb host about whether four women counted as a party. My body wanted a shower, food, and a nap so deep, I woke up mad at the year.

But tired wasn’t why I said no.

Last-minute plans made my skin feel too tight.

Other people could throw on leggings, slick their hair back, and pop out.

I needed warning. I needed choices. I needed time to try something on, hate it, try something else, take a mirror picture, ask the group chat, ignore their answers, and go back to the first outfit.

I needed to walk into a room already knowing what version of me everybody would see.

Kye knew that. She just liked pretending she didn’t so she could call me dramatic.

“Where Cam at?” she asked.

My eyes slid toward the phone in my hand, even though I was already on it. “Why?”

“Because it’s his event people. He ain’t ask you to come?”

“He mentioned something earlier.”

Kye got quiet for half a second. With her, half a second was loud.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Kyla.”

“I said nothing. I’m about to finish this head. Call me when you stop acting like somebody invited you to the Met Gala with ten minutes’ notice.”

She hung up before I could answer.

I dropped my phone on the bed and told myself I didn’t care that Cam hadn’t invited me. He worked events. He knew I had class and work. He probably assumed I wanted to rest before my birthday weekend.

That was reasonable.

I liked reasonable explanations. They were clean. They didn’t ask me to admit when something hurt.

My phone buzzed against the comforter.

Not Cam.

The group chat.

DAY ONES OR DIES

KYE: Ari fake bougie ass not coming

NAE: Coming where? I just sat down

JORI: Some of us have clinical at 6 a.m.

KYE: Damn grandma go warm your knees up

JORI: Go pass your cosmetology state board before you speak to me.

KYE: I WILL BEAT YOUR ASS WITH A MANNEQUIN HEAD

NAE: Please do it after Friday. I already paid my part.

I smiled despite myself and typed:

I’m not fake bougie. I’m regular bougie and tired.

Kye sent six tomatoes and a video of somebody throwing a wig into a trash can.

I was still laughing when Instagram opened under my thumb. I hadn’t meant to open it. Muscle memory did half the things I later had to explain.

The first story circle at the top belonged to Cam.

He rarely posted while he was working. He said it made him look thirsty, which was funny because his entire job involved making people believe every party was the place they needed to be.

I tapped it.

Colored lights swept over a crowded rooftop.

A DJ leaned over the booth while somebody beside Cam shouted into the camera.

The music was too loud to understand anything, but Cam looked good.

Fresh cut. Black button-down open at the neck.

The silver watch I bought him for Christmas caught the light when he lifted a bottle.

I watched twice.

On the third time, I noticed the woman behind him.

She had one hand on his shoulder and her mouth near his ear.

The story switched before I could pause it.

The next clip showed the crowd. Then, a flyer. Then, Cam and the same woman standing beside a step-and-repeat. This time, her whole body was visible. Tall. Brown skin. Long ponytail. Silver dress. One of those bodies that looked edited even when the video moved.

Cam’s hand rested low on her waist.

Not touching-touching.

Just low enough that I watched the clip until it ended, then held my finger on the screen and dragged it back.

His hand didn’t move.

My stomach went cold in that embarrassing way it always did before my mind had decided whether I was allowed to be upset.

I screenshot it. Then, I deleted the screenshot because I wasn’t about to be that girl. Then, I went into recently deleted and restored it because I wasn’t about to be a stupid girl either.

My phone rang before I could zoom in.

Kye.

I answered without speaking.

“You saw it?”

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I saw it.”

“Okay.”

“Ari.”

“What?” I pushed off the bed and crossed to the mirror. My face looked the same. That irritated me. It felt like everybody should be able to see when something shifted inside me. “It’s a party. He takes pictures with people.”

“With his hand on they ass?”

“It wasn’t on her ass.”

“It was headed there.”

I turned sideways and touched my hairline. Still lifting.

“Who is she?” I asked.

Kye didn’t answer fast enough.

“Kye.”

“I don’t know her like that.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“I’ve seen her around. Sade. She hosts sometimes.”

Hosts sometimes.

Around.

Those were the kind of words people used when they knew more than they wanted to be responsible for.

“Did you know she would be there?”

“I knew she might. That’s why I called you.”

My hand dropped from my hair.

“You could’ve just said that.”

“And you would’ve said you didn’t care, then sat in your room stalking stories until your feelings got hurt in private. At least outside, I can buy you a shot.”

“I don’t stalk.”

“You restored that screenshot yet?”

I looked at the phone like she could see me through it.

“Shut the hell up.”

“Get dressed.”

“I’m not pulling up behind no man.”

“You’re pulling up because it’s Wednesday, you’re almost twenty, and your birthday hair appointment is tomorrow anyway. Let me fix that little piece you keep touching.”

I snatched my hand away from my temple.

“Kye.”

“See you in twenty.”

She hung up again.

I stood in the middle of my room, staring at the garment bag holding Friday’s jumpsuit. I wasn’t wearing it early. Absolutely not.

The phone vibrated in my hand.

Cam: You home?

I typed: Yeah.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.

Cam: Get some rest. Big weekend coming.

I read it once. Then, I opened his story again.

It was gone.

The whole set of clips from the party had been deleted.

A reasonable person might’ve assumed the event organizer asked him to take them down. A reasonable person might’ve believed his hand on Sade’s waist meant nothing. A reasonable person might’ve stayed home.

I pulled the cream cap off my dresser, tossed it onto the bed, and reached for my edge control. If Cam wanted me rested, he should’ve made sure there wasn’t anything keeping me awake.