A Chorus Rises Page 26

  “Eloko?” I finish for him. “I am. So are they,” and I gesture toward the others without specifying whom. “That’s part of why this is gonna go so badly for you. The Knights aren’t the only ones who can weaponize Eloko celebrity. We’re why people are actually going to listen.”

  “You’re an ungrateful bitch,” he spits, his face instantaneously bloated and bloodred. As teens are wont to do, we ruin his moment of impotent anger with howling laughter, and then Tavia and I step into him.

  “You know, Tavia, I’m shocked—shocked!—that a man who anonymously went after a little girl online and separates Black girls into Exceptions and Sirens thinks I owe him a debt of gratitude because he wants to terrorize everybody who looks like me. Aren’t you?”

  “No,” she says through a low breath. “I’m just bored.”

  We turn back toward the others, but I twirl around for a moment and flash Plaid Shirt a killer smile. As soon as I see him again, I’m on the verge of nausea, and there’s a ridiculously loud rush that sweeps up from my chest and all the way to my head.

  I take an involuntary breath, but then I lift my chin. I don’t want Plaid Shirt thinking his seething is having any impact.

  I just want him to know I will.

  “I wouldn’t bother decorating that classroom, but”—and I shrug, ignoring the way my ears feel packed again—“who am I to tell you how to waste your time.”

  Plaid Shirt is still standing in the street not quite to his car when I snap a picture of him.

  “We’re not all amateurs,” I tell him before we all pile into my Fiat and bid him a fond farewell, horn, music, soul-slicing teen laughter, and all.

  That went exactly the way I planned it—but something’s wrong.

  The Ancestors bellow, they swirl inside my guts.

  This isn’t enough.

  But I know that. I was never going to assume it was enough to face Plaid Shirt down. That was for me, and the spin I’m planning, and sure, embarrassing dude is the cherry on top.

  “Jamie, my love,” I say, thrusting my phone over my shoulder to her in the back seat. “Pick the best one and post it?”

  “I can’t believe you made him take our picture first,” Courtney says, and he and Gavin burst into laughter, which only makes Tavia more squished. My car is not made for six people and our arrangement is all kinds of illegal. I’m also sure it’s the only reason Tavia’s on my cousin’s lap with her legs across the other two.

  “Post it where?” Jamie asks, like she needs to hear me say it.

  “LOVE, Jamie,” I say, rolling my eyes and smiling like there’s not a chilling cyclone inside of me. “Or Magic Verified, or whatever.”

  “Wait, Jamie knows your passwords?” Priam asks when she squees.

  “Do you know how best friends work?” she snaps at him.

  “Be nice,” Gavin and I say together. Jamie waves us off and then her fingers return to my phone. She comes up with my best captions, I have to say. She’s also my preferred photographer, lighting adjuster, videographer.

  “Make up a good hashtag about my relaunch. And don’t forget to tag Tavia,” I say, because maybe now the Ancestors will understand what I’m doing and calm the hell down.

  Only they don’t.

  Their voices spark now. They snap against me like a reflex hammer and I jump—which is like nothing I’ve ever felt. I don’t know why, so I don’t want my friends to know yet—but it’s kind of scaring me.

  There’s still phase two of my plan, though, and my pulse is quickening. I hope it satisfies them. Because the alternative is permanent fear. The alternative is that people get to gather, and plot, and seethe, and the rest of us are supposed to just ignore it and pray they’re all talk.

  Plaid Shirt’s reddened face, bloated with embarrassment and anger, materializes in my mind.

  LOVE—or Magic Verified—was right. There’s power in platforms. There’s legitimacy and encouragement, if the shields and reputation and ranking scheme the Knights enacted wasn’t proof enough.

  I vaporize Plaid Shirt’s menacing face, and think of all the innocent and unaware faces of the women and girls on the Secret Sirens page. I focus on them, on the fact that I want that forum down, and there’s a warm swell as the wind moves. But there’s still the nausea, and the cold.

  “Okay, we’re really eating now, right?” Courtney asks, one arm across Tavia’s legs, and the other around her back.

  “Are you just perpetually starving?” she asks him.

  “Y’all just do not eat often enough, I feel like I’m being pranked, I swear.”

  “We’re gonna eat right now, Courtney, calm down,” I say, and if anyone notices the distraction in my voice, they don’t let on.

  “Yeah, well. We’re going to meet Leona Fowl and, in my experience, we don’t actually end up eating.”

  “I promise you we will eat this time. It’s Burgerville—”

  Except we pass something and Courtney makes Tavia hit her head on the roof, trying to twist in his seat to confirm.

  “Was that a Popeye’s?”

  “Courtney—”

  “Girl, if you don’t turn this car around!”

  “Seconded,” Gavin chimes in.

  “I mean.” And Priam shrugs.

  “Will you guys please stop taking his side, I already told Leona—”

  “A real boss would text her a new location at the last minute and you know it, now Naema, I know too many things you don’t want these people finding out for you to pretend you ain’t gone turn the car around.”

  “I’m gonna turn—”

  “Turn the car around!” he yells, and even if I wanted to make a retort no one would hear over the raucous laughter, so I settle for shaking my head and breathing deep while I look for an opportunity to make a U-turn. I can’t argue with my cousin and the Ancestors right now.

  “Watch what happens when we get out, though,” I say, nodding now.

  “I eat at Popeye’s.”

  Tavia snorts and then tries to pretend she was sneezing.

  “That’s what happens when we get out. Y’all play too much.”

  I’m trying to quell an anxiousness that threatens to become visible at any second, so I just leave it and text Leona Fowl a brief We’re down the street at Popeye’s once everyone’s begun piling out of the car. Just inside, Courtney goes straight to the counter, Priam tagging along, and Jamie and Gavin go grab seats at both a table and a counter so we make sure to get enough space.

  Tavia idles until I catch up.

  “I’ll get out of your hair after this thing with Leona,” she says.

  “What’s Courtney gonna think?”

  “I’m sure you’ll explain that this whole reconciliation thing is a ruse.”

  “Oh, he knows that already,” I say, brows bunched. “I meant he’s gonna think you’re not into him.”

  “I’m not.”

  “He was right, you are a bad liar. What’s the matter, you don’t like blonds? Is it because his hair and skin are basically the same color?” She looks like she can’t figure out exactly how to respond, or to what, and I wave her off. “Whatever, I’m not gonna beg you to date my cousin. I’m just saying, I don’t care.”

  “I will … keep that in mind,” she says, and when her eyes accidentally glide over to the counter where he’s placing an order, she jerks her whole head and makes her earrings dance.

  I’m about to join Courtney and put in my order, when she stops me.

  Like, she grabs me. Tavia Philips’s hand is snap-bracelet-cuffing my wrist so fast I don’t even have time to resist.

  “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” she asks quietly, and then gives me a look before I can deny it. So I don’t.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Her look subtly transitions into something more serious, like she knows that’s not good.

  “Something didn’t go to plan back there, with the Knight. I thought scaring him off would feel better, but. The Ancestors don’t seem
to agree.”

  “Ah.” There’s a look of recognition on her face. “That’s what he meant. When Priam said we both have an Ancestor thing.”

  “Yeah. I’m supposed to hear them, but I can’t make sense of it. Sure, being back in Portland has packed my proverbial ears a bit, but. Right now they’re just freaking me the eff out.”

  “Well … are you listening?” Tavia asks, and she clearly thinks she’s being delicate, the way her brows lift.

  This—

  I’ve officially let Tavia Philips get too comfortable with me. She just got a handle on her thing, now she thinks I need her help figuring out mine.

  “Do I answer to you?” I ask, and yank my wrist back before joining Courtney at the counter.

  A few minutes later, there’s half-eaten fish and chicken and a half dozen sides scattered across the table and counter we’re using, and to onlookers, we’re being completely insufferable, though with the multiple trills dancing through the restaurant because of the Eloko presence, no one seems to mind. Personally, I just want Leona Fowl to show up so I can quiet the Ancestors and calm my guts, but I’ve gotta stay on plan.

  The number of notifications I’ve received just since Jamie relaunched my account is unbelievable. I forgot what a dopamine rush it is to post something and know that thousands of people are gonna gush, and comment, and consume whatever I want to say. They want to know where I’ve been, to tell me that I look better than ever, to ask if that’s really Tavia Philips hanging out with my crew.

  It’s so addicting, the electric feeling every time a notification banner bubbles up at the top of my screen, even while we’re trying to take short, nonsensical videos, and post more pictures.

  Siren + Elokos! #ALLTheMagicalBlackGirls

  Serious FOMO! someone comments.

  Can this be an impromptu meet-up?

  I tell them that Tavia and I will consider organizing a meet-up before the summer’s over, and that today’s just about Old Friends Reconnecting. They do not, of course, see the way I dry heave while I type it.

  If you guys are friends, what does #Justice4Naema mean?

  Is someone trying to stir up drama??

  They are indeed, faithful subscriber. They are indeed. And now it looks as flimsy and contrived as it is, because I’m still Naema Bradshaw. I’m still an influencer regardless of a little LOVE app revamp, and I am more than capable of shutting down a false narrative.

  What the Ancestors don’t seem to get is that I know how to Social Media. What I’m doing today has a purpose, even if they can’t understand it—which honestly might be a symptom of the whole Ancestral Spirits From Who Knows When. It wouldn’t shock me to discover they aren’t exactly tech-savvy enough to appreciate my strategy.

  “Here she comes,” Courtney croons, and whether we’re eating, laughing, or dancing in the space between the table and the counter but under the red light shades, we all watch Leona Fowl enter the restaurant and approach.

  I’m impressed. She’s definitely good at what she does, fitting in no matter where she goes. At the posh restaurant, she was dressed exactly as I would’ve expected, blazer and stilettos included. For today’s field trip to the PNW, she’s wearing a V-neck that looks sheer and expensive, paired with high-waist, wide-legged dark jeans that look like she’s thrifted them since being in town, and a pair of canvas shoes. Her hair’s in an intricate mess of braid and bun, with Not Quite Wayward tendrils framing her face, and she’s wearing small earrings and a long, simple necklace. And discreet bronzer. And eyeliner. She’s absolutely awful and I can’t help but respect that she nails it.

  The stutter in her step is almost imperceptible, but a smile tugs at the corner of my lips. Nobody stands to greet her, but I drape my arm across Tavia’s shoulders.

  “Leona, what’s good?” I say in salutation.

  Anyone else would see me and Tavia together, and walk out the way they came. Anyone trying to sell a movie about a rivalry that extends beyond us and into sirens and Eloko as a whole, anyway. But Leona’s not anyone else, and her recovery’s smooth and immediate as she proceeds to the area we’ve claimed.

  “Naema,” she says. “Friends.”

  “You remember Tavia,” I say, refusing to let her escape the awkward. “You guys worked together on that movie. Cordially, I’m told.”

  “I remember,” she says, hands in her pockets, legs looking long and denim and modelesque. “In fact I’m having some déjà vu here. This is the scene where Tavia and Effie did their big reveal for the news cameras and simultaneously saved both their reputations.” I don’t say anything, just smile calmly. “Right? Isn’t that what this is supposed to be? Personally, I try to avoid sequels following the same formula, but that’s me.”

  “Then you’re gonna hate this,” I say, without mentioning the fact that Jamie’s livestreaming with my phone. Super redundant, I know. “To be fair, using a Black girl as a shield while you attack her community feels overdone, too. So I mean you’re not against all formulas.”

  “There you go again, making it about something it’s not. I just see another Eloko when I look at you, Naema. You’re the one stuck on race.”

  That one’s just too boring to dignify.

  “If you don’t want to share your story out of some misguided sense of duty, that’s your prerogative, Naema. But don’t try to rewrite my concern into something ugly—”

  “What’s Justice4Naema?” I ask.

  “You know what it is.”

  “Right, but how’d you get involved?”

  “Who said I am?”

  “The traffic cams that caught you putting up stickers.”

  “Oop,” Courtney says, setting off a ripple of only slightly restrained laughter.

  It’s a total bluff, but I mean. Entirely plausible.

  “You’re just a one-woman publicity campaign for a movie that doesn’t exist and never will.”

  “Imagine jet-setting around the whole West Coast tryna secure a bag that ain’t even yours.” Courtney’s fingers are laced around Tavia, who hasn’t said a word. Not that she needs to. Her colorful headwrap, and earrings, and pursed lips are saying plenty.

  “But you’re not a one-woman campaign anymore, are you?” I correct myself. “You’ve got the Knights all riled up.”

  “You sent me that website,” she snaps.

  “Yeah, but then you made an account. And you got them all frothy and aggressive about protecting me from Tavia, and a bunch of other people who have nothing to do with this.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “What I’m talking about, I know.” I roll my eyes. “But you used the hotel’s internet when you told NaemasNobleman where my family lives, and made all those Scary Siren posts, so I mean who else could Cursive_Signature be, amirite?”

  “It’s pretty serious, inciting hate crimes,” Priam tells her. “So is intimidation. Which is a felony.”

  “There haven’t been any hate crimes,” she says, but her raspy voice is a little less confident.

  “You better hope there aren’t. Like, that’s a ton of trust to put into every individual member of the forum who might have seen your posts. That nobody is capable of doing something heinous and, above all, criminal?”

  Leona is actually chewing the inside of her lip now, so appearances be damned, I guess.

  “And I mean, even if your posts were taken down, hard to convince people that one had nothing to do with the other, I bet. Forget a movie and a personal career being tanked when people find out you’re affiliated with a site where grown men sexualize a minor, I’d want the whole thing deactivated before I got indicted if I were you. Which honestly shouldn’t be too difficult to get done since it’s borderline pedophilia, but I don’t wanna step on your toes. I’m sure you’ve got a plan.”

  She shifts her weight, and her eyes roam for a moment.

  “I do. And. If you guys would rather tell the story of your reconciliation—”

  And every one of us erupts into groans and exclamat
ions.

  “Ma’am.” I shake my head.

  “Can’t stop, won’t stop,” Tavia says, incredulous.

  “It’s the saddest thing,” Courtney agrees.

  “We’re already telling our story, Leona,” I say, pointing to Jamie, who giggles behind my phone. “Just go put out your fire.”

  The look on her face when she figures out what Jamie’s doing. She jerks her head to the side, forgetting her hair’s up and can’t guard her face.

  “Why is she still here?” Gavin cries, and we laugh as she turns on her heel and heads back toward the door.

  “And done,” Jamie says, ending the livestream. But I barely hear her.

  Because the Ancestors.

  Once again, the wind is a chorus is a bellow, and it’s moving with a strength so overwhelming that it actually makes me stand up. And when I do, yet again, there’s something new.

  It must be happening behind my eyes, because there’s no way the entire restaurant dims. There’s no way a shadow like dark clouds sweeps from one side to the other without anyone else noticing. It’s the wind, the chorus, the Ancestors trying to get my attention. They’re trying to compete with the loud and the cacophony that I’m so accustomed to. I’ve given in to them twice now, and it’s still not enough. Apparently, Great-Gram Lorraine was right. (She said it way before Tavia.) I’m not listening.

  So I do.

  I let the shadow fall. I expand my chest and let the wind manifest outside me, where only I can see it. When it overlays the whole world, it’s not like being Stoned again. It’s deeper. It’s darker than gray. And I’m not alone.

  The wind is still a chorus of voices, and the shadow that mutes everything else is like being attuned to the Ancestors. This dark isn’t terrifying; it’s being close to their spirits. I wonder if this is what I would’ve seen if I’d known how to answer them the very first time they passed through me. Maybe I could’ve been here a long time ago. Maybe this past year didn’t have to be so bad.

  I can still hear my friends, but now they’re the background. And they’re totally unperturbed that I not only stood but have stepped away.

  “Did anybody watch?” Priam asks, and several of them snort.