18. The one who could sing
THE ONE WHO COULD SING
JUNIOR YEAR
“ T hree months.”
Cameron said it like it was a probation period.
“Three months,” he repeated, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.
“Which means you officially past the ‘I’m watching you’ phase and into the ‘We good, but I’ll still kick your ass if you mess this up’ era.
Congratulations, you made it to pre-cousin-in-law status, which means I will no longer ignore you or your relationship at family functions. ”
Brian laughed. “Sounds like growth to me.”
Preston rolled his eyes. “Why are you like this?”
“Because she’s family, and I’m willing to do anything to protect her,” Cameron said easily. Then he put his hand on Preston’s shoulder. “And you, my boy, I always got your back. Two things can be true at the same time.”
They walked down the hallway. It was refreshing being just the three of them, but even in her absence, Spring found a way to be there.
“So, what you getting her?” Brian asked.
Preston shrugged. “I don’t know, bro.”
Cameron punched him in the arm playfully hard. “Wrong answer.”
Preston lunged at him as Cameron jogged out of distance. “I mean, she’s not into stuff like that,” Preston said. “She notices effort. Intention.”
“Cool,” Brian said. “So, what’s the intention?”
“I got a little something planned.” Preston leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. “I wanna sing to her.”
Silence.
Cameron stopped in his tracks and stared. “My guy, you are a singer. This should be a slam dunk.”
“Yeah, but—” Preston sat up, frustration leaking through.
“Since that video of me in the hallway went viral, everything feels… wrong. Like, if I sing now, it gotta be Stevie Wonder. Hell, my mom’s been on my ass about going to the studio and laying down tracks with Macknificent Townes, and all this is before I spend half the night applying to colleges. Shit’s overwhelming.”
Brian nodded. “That’s the curse, bro. So Macknificent and your mom… is that a thing?—”
A growl erupted from Preston. “Brian, I will end you.”
Cameron pointed at Preston. “Damn brother, I feel you. Just don’t let the moment bully you.”
Preston laughed softly. “Easy for you to say.”
Cameron stopped. “Man, you know what you should do. If you want to sing, come by the restaurant tonight. You’ll probably have the place to yourself, it’s so empty on Wednesdays.”
“You serious?”
“Deadass. I tell you what, I’ll hook you up with my discount. Man, they got the best steak in town. With my discount you can have a $500 dinner for 60 bucks.”
Preston paused to think about the offer. “You’ll be on the piano?”
“All night. Just come through and do your thing. Bring her for dinner. She’s going to love it.”
Cameron’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then smirked. “By the way, three months don’t mean I’m not still watching.”
Preston shook his head. “I heard you the first time.”
Brian chimed in. “It’s time for me to get out of here. We’ll catch up later, bro.”
“Always, Green Lantern. See ya.”
Preston was excited. He had one more stop to make before he would pick up Spring. He did have something planned. It was big, and he hoped she liked it.
Across town, Spring sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, headphones on. Not listening to music, just thinking.
Her editing software glowed back at her, clips laid out like a timeline of memory.
Three months of moments.
The first rehearsal where Preston forgot the words and laughed at himself.
Late-night diner runs. A blurry clip of him humming while brushing his teeth.
A B-roll of her teaching him how to dance.
Cameron yelling in the background of everything.
Her dad laughing – actually laughing – at a joke Preston told at the dinner table.
She smiled. Out of habit, she touched the place where her necklace used to live.
She dragged the final clip into place, layering it with a simple instrumental, nothing flashy. Just honest. The title card read: The Adventures of Nubia & Superman (aka Big Bird). She exported the file and leaned back, heart full in a way that felt rare.
Downstairs, her dad called up to her. “Nairobi, have you eaten yet?”
“Not yet, Preston said he was going to pick me up to grab a bite,” she yelled back.
“Okay, that’s cool. I’ll be late tonight. I’ll leave you some cash just in case.”
Things were… good between them now. Not fixed, but warmer, softer. Like both of them had decided to stop punishing the other for the past.
Spring stood in front of her closet longer than she needed to. This wasn’t just dinner. It was three months. Three months of late-night calls, of hallway glances, of pretending not to care when they both clearly did.
She chose carefully – jeans that fit just right, a soft blouse, small hoops. Enough to say she tried. Not enough to look like she tried too hard.
Downstairs, her dad’s car pulled out of the driveway.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Preston. I’m outside.
Her heart did something dramatic and unnecessary as she left the house. She examined his six-foot-five frame as he leaned against a column waiting for her. He was wearing a black designer suit that fit too good, with a silk white shirt underneath, that made him look every bit a rockstar.
Spring paused in her tracks. She felt underdressed.
Preston, noticing the shift, asked, “Something wrong?”
“I need to go change.”
“Why?”
“I feel underdressed. You look amazing, and I look?—”
Before she could finish, Preston pulled her into his arms and kissed her, before pulling back and looking in her eyes. “You look like the most beautiful woman in any room you’re in. What you wear won’t change that fact.”
She smiled shyly, not because she didn’t want to change, but because he meant it. Preston had a way that always made her feel like she was more than enough.
“Besides we’re late. And if we go inside there and start foolin’ around – wait, your dad’s not home, right? On second thought, maybe we should go?—”
“You made your point,” she chided as she pushed him towards his car.
Preston opened her car door. She slid into the passenger seat, trying not to grin too wide.
Preston adjusted the mirrors and fiddled with the radio.
“You look nervous, like you’re hiding something,” she said.
“Probably,” he admitted. He pulled off the curb, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping nervously against his thigh. “Let’s just see where the night leads us.”
“Okay, Big Bird,” she said, watching the streetlights streak past. She smiled, then admitted, “I gotta admit, I’m already impressed.”
“You think I’d forget three months?”
She shrugged. “You forget your locker combination weekly.”
Preston scoffed. “That’s different.”
She almost told him then. About the video she’d edited for him. The song mix she’d layered. The way she’d stayed up till two exporting it. She imagined his face lighting up. Instead, she leaned back and let the moment stretch.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Mm, suspicious.”
She gave him the side eye. “Are you talking about me or you?”
“Ha. Point taken.”
They drove in comfortable companionship – school gossip, Brian’s latest ego trip, Cameron insisting they were going to win SpringFest like it was destiny.
Preston turned on to a familiar street lined with warm lights.
“Wait,” she said, sitting up. “Are we?—?”
He smiled, finally letting it show.
The restaurant glowed ahead of them – Daniel’s, a Black-owned, low-lit, unapologetically expensive, world class restaurant that sat in the heart of Midtown.
Inside, a piano hummed under soft conversation. And at it – Cameron. Alive. Grinning. Already mid-song.
Preston glanced at her. “Three months,” he said quietly.
She swallowed.
Cameron had already texted him the code for using his staff discount. Ask for Leon. Don’t act broke.
Preston escorted Spring to the ma?tre-de.
The restaurant was the kind of place Spring felt before she saw – low light, soft jazz, linen tablecloths so white they felt expensive to breathe near.
She slid into their booth and leaned toward him. “If we dine and dash here, I’m pretty sure we’ll be arrested on sight.”
Preston laughed. “Relax. I know someone.”
She followed his gaze. Cameron sat at the piano in the corner, dressed sharp, fingers moving like he’d been born to play. He caught their eye and winked, never missing a note.
“Of course,” she said.
The server came by, and thankfully Cameron’s discount worked miracles. She didn’t ask the price of the food.
Halfway through the meal, Spring announced “Okay, it’s gift time.”
Preston stopped eating.
Spring nervously pulled out her phone and played the video she created.
He laughed, and shook his head, and laughed some more. He played it a second time in silence. After it was done, he stopped and just looked at her.
“You okay?” she asked.
He nodded, but didn’t look away. “I just – sometimes I can’t believe you’re real.”
She smiled shyly. “That sounds like a setup.”
“No,” he insisted. “I mean it. You see me. You don’t need me loud, or perfect.”
Her expression softened. “Preston?—”
“This was beautiful, thank you,” he said quietly, without hesitation. “I love how you think. How you notice things. How you don’t try to fix or save me, just… stand next to me.”
Her breath caught. Then he stood up.
Spring looked curious. “What are you doing, Big Bird?”
Preston smiled and leaned in. “Showing you why they call me Superman.”
He kissed her on the cheek and, with the audacity of a man twice his age, he walked over to the piano.
Cameron shifted seamlessly into a new progression, eyes lifting like he already knew what was happening. Preston grabbed the microphone from the piano. He didn’t announce himself. He just sang.
My Cherie Amour …
The room fell still.
His voice wasn’t big. It didn’t need to be. It carried like truth – clean, aching, deliberate. The kind of song that made people forget their phones for half a second before remembering they needed proof.