Ace of Spades

by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

I’ve gone to this school for years, and I’ve never had anyone bother me before. Unlike in my middle school, where I was everyone’s favorite punching bag, because apparently, my whole essence screams gay easy target. Even when I tried to hide it from everyone and myself.

Who is Aces and what do they want? They’re following me; getting into my neighborhood, my home, my mind. And I don’t know how to stop it.

I think with everything going on and the rate at which my heart has been going, it seems natural causes could very well be the reason for my death.

I do a lot of that now—walking. Since the accident, I haven’t been able to drive without having a full-blown panic attack. It’s funny—last year I begged my parents for a car, and now I can’t even bring myself to drive it.

“I came to ask about your side of the story. I always told myself that if there was ‘another woman,’ I wouldn’t do the basic thing and fight the girl and not the guy, but that’s exactly what I did.”

“Who initiated things between you two?” “He did,” I say, blinking fast. “But we both did it, and I wanted to. I can’t tell you what his reasons were, but I wanted to be with him, so why would I say no? I felt like things could work out for us somehow … then he tells me he’s with you now and that it meant nothing, and I feel like I mean nothing and I—” Once I start, I can’t stop. There’s a pressure in my chest, like I have had this weight here forever. “That’s just who Jamie is.” Belle looks at me, shocked. “Jamie’s a dickhead,” she says. I don’t know why my first instinct is to defend him, but admitting all that out loud makes me stop and think. I never really question whether Jamie doing bad things makes him a bad person. Everyone does bad things sometimes, makes poor choices. I know that more than anyone. “He is,” I say. “I broke up with him,” she says. I’m shocked. She doesn’t even look regretful. “Why?” “Because he’s a dickhead.” There’s a smile she’s holding back, I can tell. “And I had a gut feeling about this whole thing, so I ended it.” She pauses, her hesitation making the atmosphere awkward. “I know it’s weird … but I wanted to be your friend, Chiamaka. The whole time I was dating him, even … Except it seemed like you hated me—and I guess I know why—but as messed up as this is, you seem nicer than people say you are. Besides, we’re both too good for Jamie,” she says. I say nothing. I do nothing. Don’t even breathe. Belle’s words are so confusing. One moment she’s...

I can’t have Aces taking any more from me—the deeper they dig, the harder it will be to come back. And I refuse to let them bury me.

Ward was so quick to blame us. Make us out to be delinquents. If anything, I’d stab him first, before I’d even think of doing anything to Chiamaka. In reality, though, someone like Ward could easily crush me like a bug. I can’t fight to save my life. Not that he’d believe me if I told him that.

Niveus is like this weird love child between America and England, from us calling our principal “headmaster,” to saying “registration” instead of homeroom, to the way the building looks. When I first came here, I thought it was really strange. It took some getting used to.

Why do I feel so loyal to her this week? It’s pissing me off.

“I think it’s racism.” Terrell looks at me straight. “Not all of them are bad, Terrell.” And it’s true. I may not be friends with any of the Niveus students, but most of them have been nice enough over the years.

“He’s from around our area, has a family to think about. He’s just protecting himself while all those texts come out. They can hurt him too.” And I’ve known Jack practically my entire life. If he was racist, why would he be my friend or pretend to care about me? It doesn’t make any sense. Terrell smiles at that. “I sense that it has nothing to do with his family.” What does he mean by that?

“I don’t trust white people like you do. I obviously don’t think they are all murderers, but I think they are all racist.” “All?” I say, eyebrows raised. “It sounds wild, I know, but racism is a spectrum and they all participate in it in some way. They don’t all have white hoods or call us mean things; I know that. But racism isn’t just about that—it’s not about being nice or mean. Or good versus bad. It’s bigger than that. We’re all in this bubble being affected by the past. The moment they decided they got to be white and have all the power and we got to be Black and be at the bottom, everything changed. If we can’t talk about it honestly, and I mean really talk about it, then what’s the point? I read some Malcom X last year, and I agree with him. Some might even treat you good, like an owner might treat a pet.” “That’s wild,” I say. “Yeah, it is. I think anyone can be nice, but it’s not about being nice. You can’t escape a history like that and not be affected. Us Blacks, we start hating ourselves, and them whites start thinking they’re all better than us. Even if they aren’t thinking it constantly, it’s in there somewhere.”

I don’t know if I fully agree with him. I don’t know if I want to fully agree with him. It’s a sad way to look at things. “You sound like someone who should go to college,” I tell him. He looks like he’d major in politics or some other social science, writing articles and pissing people off whenever he speaks. “World’s not ideal,” he reminds me. “And if it was?” I ask, turning on the swing to look at him now. “If it was, a lot of shit would be different.” He looks at me. “I might go to college, major in business or something. I might do well and get out of here. I might do dangerous things like kiss boys I like and do all the things I’ve always wanted to do. But the world isn’t ideal, so why poison my mind with thoughts that won’t make a difference?” I get that. Dreaming can be dangerous. It’s hard to dream in a neighborhood like ours. Ma always told me to dream, though, that the sky was my limit. I’m scared to dream too high, in case I end up falling flat on my face. But I still do it. It hurts to dream, but I dream regardless. Ma has tried to create this ideal world for me. Despite my scholarship, she’s still spending so much on this school, hoping a good college takes a chance on me. But what if none of that happens? What if I fail? Or get expelled? What if Aces ruins everything? What if I just get stuck here, disappointing her, wasting her time and money, for nothing?

“I just worry about not getting into college, her wasting her money on me for nothing.” “It’s not wasted on you, no matter what happens. I get worrying about money, though. My sister’s sick right now and money’s tight. We can’t help her with medical bills, so I get it. But don’t let it take up too much space or make you feel sad.” His sister is sick? “I’m sorry about your sister.” Terrell looks away. “No need to be sorry. Let’s do something else.” I nod, taken aback by his abruptness. I should ask him if he’s okay. I feel like all I do is talk about myself, never check to see if anything is bothering him. I need to be a better friend to Terrell; he’s been so nice to me.

In the movies, kisses are all wrong. It’s not fireworks or loud explosions. I used to think that every time I’d kiss a boy, the world would blow up. With Dre, kissing him felt like I was floating gently across a small cold lake. Right now it feels like I’m submerged in hot water, drifting deeper and deeper toward the bottom of the ocean. I feel like I’m drowning, which is usually a feeling that makes me feel calm, but right now— I pull away, breaking the kiss. I need to leave.

“He got angry because the messages Aces was sending were making people start to suspect things about us, so he broke up with me.” “You don’t deserve to be treated like that.” “I doubt Dre told them to.” Terrell shakes his head. “And so what if he didn’t. Did he check on you?” “It’s not easy for him, he’s had a hard life,” I say, even though I doubt it’ll make a difference in Terrell’s mind. “We’ve all had fucking hard lives—doesn’t mean I’m gonna be an asshole about it.” “He has a boss who’d hurt him—” “So if not him, you? Andre can sit there and be okay with them beating you, just because he doesn’t want to deal with it himself—what a fucking pussy,” Terrell says angrily. “I’ve known him for years, okay? Maybe doing the right thing is easy for others, but he’s always messing up and regretting it later. I don’t want to be that person who makes excuses for people’s shitty behavior, but we all make bad decisions.” I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Talking about Dre hurts too much right now, like my heart’s been stung by a wasp. Terrell looks at me as if I’m unstable. Then he looks away. “Has he texted you since?” That question feels more rhetorical than anything. I haven’t heard wind chimes for days. “Yes,” I lie. “That’s good, then.” I nod. “Think you’re gonna get back together?” he asks, his face a little pained. I’ve been asking myself the same question. Dre seemed pretty serious about not wanting to date me anymore. I swallow the lump that knots in my throat. “No,...

I don’t think I’ve been hugged this much by a friend … ever. I have to admit, I like Terrell’s goodbye hugs. They always feel nice and warm. Later, when I’m in my room, as my brothers sleep and the world is quiet, I think about how nice it is to have someone who doesn’t treat me like a burden. I’d forgotten what that felt like.

Last night, while I slept, the melody seized my dream and took over. It played on a loop until I woke up, jumped out of bed, and rushed to school as fast as I could. I finally know what my audition piece should sound like!

I picture the sea, and the usual images filter through … Me underwater … sinking … and then suddenly I’m on the beach; people are laughing and running across the sand. The sun is blinding; I run toward the water again to escape it. But bare arms trap me, holding me back from the sea. I struggle, but they won’t budge. I turn to look at who it is—

“Taking care of it is lying low. Taking care of it is not fucking Terrell Mc-Creeper-son from middle school!” I swear my heart stops beating. I can’t handle any more pictures or videos. I want to live my life without having to constantly look over my shoulder.

“You do this to yourself, Devon. You do this all to yourself. We studied, we got into this place, we both had the chance to be normal. To leave middle school habits in middle school—but nah. You come here, and you act as weird as Terrell. You deserve everything coming to you.” Jack moves back. “Have a nice life, Devon,” he spits. Then he leaves. I forget about trying to attempt the piece again, just stay seated on the ground and let my body do what it wants. I don’t hold back; I don’t shove things into corners or boxes. I can’t anymore. I think about Ma and how she’s struggling and how I’m so fucking helpless. How I need to do well and get a job and get a scholarship and get into college. I think about Dre and how he said he loved me, then dumped me, like love doesn’t mean anything. I think about how I love him so much it hurts, and how I can’t make him drop everything for me like I would for him. I think about Jack and how—despite the fact that we’ve been best friends for years, done everything together; despite the fact that I was there for him when he lost his parents, like so many of us do; despite the fact that he told me he’d always have my back when they took my dad away—as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he’s always hated this part of me. I remember when I first told Jack I liked guys, and the pained expression on his face. I remember the way he handed me his game controller and said he needed to go and check on the burgers in the oven. I remember feeling so s...

“We’re getting rid of Aces.” His eyebrows furrow together. “Getting rid?” “Taking them down. I’ve been working on a plan, and this is what I know. One: Aces has to be a student here, because they know things only a Niveus student could, and have access to places only a student does. Two: They are following me, us, to watch what we do and document it. Three: They’re clever. Very clever. Four: They seem to have a reason to want to take us both down.” “Yeah … I figured. I didn’t know I was important enough to take down, though,” Devon says. Not going to lie, I was thinking the same thing. I’m being objective here: Most people had no clue who Richards was before this all started. “Apparently you are—I don’t get it either.”

I’m a practical person, which is why the sciences are the subjects I like most. I love that everything can be objectively proven; I love that there are formulas and methods that you can fall back on. I love the security. I wish Richards would trust me on this one. He’s an arts boy. They see everything as questionable, subjective. I don’t. I live in a world of facts and figures. And I won’t roll over and let someone else take my crown. Not in a million years.

“Okay, but do you have enough tape to fix me if I am broken?”

I’ve spent so long building up an image of myself at school—an indestructible two-dimensional mask—that I forget sometimes it’s only me who sees behind it, sees who I actually am. I love chemistry, biology, and physics so much I could marry the subjects and have this huge polygamous family, and I love all those criminal science investigation shows and films about mutants, but it doesn’t mean I can’t also like sappy things like The Notebook and When Harry Met Sally. “I like happy endings,” I tell her. Her smile turns into a grin. “Me too,” she says.

I don’t know how surprised junior-year Devon would be by Chiamaka and me suddenly talking so frequently, but I know that he’s judging me harder than senior-year Devon is.

No matter what expression she has on her face, I can tell how bad things are when the light in her eyes dims, like it has now.

“It’ll work itself out, Vonnie. God never falters.” I want to laugh. He never falters, huh? Isn’t our life one big falter? I stand here, watching her get dragged down by those papers, feeling as helpless as she is. Then I lean in, wrapping my arms around her. I swear I will do well, Ma. I’ll get you a house, and a life where you won’t have to work.

Their eyes are wide and innocent. They don’t have to worry about the world yet. They have no clue. I hope they’ve eaten

She and I share a look, one we share often. The I don’t believe you, but stay safe / Don’t cause any trouble / Stay out of areas the police cars park in / Keep your head and hood down look. “Okay, Von.” There’s hesitance. “Stay safe.” Ma’s always let me have freedom, as long as my grades were in check and I didn’t get into trouble at school. But ever since her friend Maurice’s Nathaniel got shot by that officer back in June, she’s been looking at me weird, like she wants to take that freedom away to shield me from what’s out there.

He’s trying to look like he’s older than eighteen again, wants to be taken seriously. Meanwhile, I’m scared of what growing up means. I think sometimes we—boys from here—are dealt such a shitty hand that we forget we are minors, kids, in the eyes of the law. I guess technically, eighteen is adult enough, but not when most of your childhood has been robbed, like Dre’s was.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he says. The pounding in my chest only gets faster. “If that were true, you’d have told that boy to not let me in. You wouldn’t even respond.” “We were friends. I wasn’t gonna turn you around, make you look like a fool,” Dre says with a forced laugh. We were friends. “Just friends?” I ask. He looks at me now, his eyes glassy. I feel a pang in my chest. “Do you kiss all your friends, Dre?” He sniffs and shifts uncomfortably. “Sleep with them too?” I continue, vision blurring. “Tell them you love them?” I wipe my eyes. I need to focus. He’s quiet, staring at me now, unwavering. “You know that’s not what I meant.” Don’t lose focus. “We have different paths,” he starts, looking away from me again. “I’m a high school dropout, I have no family, I live to survive. Your path is school, then a job, and looking after your ma. You don’t know how much I think about you, Von. I want to call you but I can’t, because this thing we have has an expiration date, whether it’s when you go to some fancy college or when you realize that you’re too different from me.” I want to say that isn’t true, but I have a feeling I can’t be certain about that. “You say you love me, yet your boys beat me—” “’Cause you weren’t gonna deal for me anymore. Everyone gets an exit beating!” he says with his voice raised. This conversation is riling him up. Dre’s usually a lot calmer, but everything about him seems on edge today. I don’t care for his excuses and I don’t want to hear h...

“Can I kiss you goodbye?” I say, thinking of Terrell and his goodbye hugs. Andre gives me a look like it’s starting to dawn on him what goodbye means for us. The wind pushes him toward me, only slightly. “Yeah, of course,” he says softly. I ignore my gut, screaming at me to leave, to not kiss a boy who hurt me so badly, but my heart was always stronger than my gut.

He’s pulling me in so close it hurts, like he’s trying to fuse our bodies together. My heart is steady somehow, but the rest of me is shaky. We break apart, but I’m still trapped inside his arms. I rest my head on his shoulder, breathing slowly, trying not to think about when I’ll have to move away, wave, and leave. For good. Don’t lose focus. But I did. I was going to leave without telling him that I need one or two small jobs, just to help Ma out. I look up. His face, tearstained and wet, surprises me. It surprises me even more that he lets me reach up and wipe the tears away. “Really gonna miss your company, Devon,” he tells me. “Me too.” I still stand here in this cocoon, waiting for him to pull back. But he doesn’t. I know I’m gonna regret this someday—maybe even moments from now—but I’m not ready to let go just yet, and I can feel him releasing his arms, and that scares the shit out of me, and so I kiss him again. He stops and pulls me close again, and even though my heart is rattling like I just ran a mile, I let him guide me backward slowly, like he’s done many times before. Future Devon is shaking his head, watching as the back of my knees hit Dre’s bed, then how I quickly scoot back toward the cold pillows, finally breaking the kiss to pull my hoodie over my head. But I ignore future-me’s judgment. Dre looks like he wants to speak, tell me to go home or say we shouldn’t be doing something like this. I can hear his thoughts racing. He’s overthinking this, like I w...

I want this moment to last as long as it can; I want to be here with him for as long as I can. Like always he’s gentle, and considerate, making me feel special, kissing me all over. And then, when we are finally done and I’m in his arms, I let myself cry. I’m aware that I completely lost focus on what I came here for. But he probably would’ve said no anyway. He kisses my shoulder blades and hugs me close, and I know that soon I’ll have to get up, put my clothes on, and say goodbye—face my other issues, like Ma struggling and Aces. But for now, I want to close my eyes, listen to the sound of the rain and Dre’s breathing, and drown.

I’m sure people are surprised after the Aces blast about me and Jamie hooking up that Belle and I are hanging out. It’s the opposite of what usually happens: Boy is a massive dickhead to both girls, girls fight each other, boy is left unblamed as girls antagonize each other. I’m glad it isn’t like that with me and Belle.

“We’ve got all their messages and Peter’s data as evidence, and after pinning down who they are, we don’t stop until they have nothing left. Expose them and everything they’ve done—to the school and every college they’re applying to. I will ruin their future like they tried to ruin ours.” Devon nods. “I’m in.”

“Sorry for leaving you behind, not being there when you needed me.” Why is he suddenly deciding to be all nice to me? I set the Bunsen up and separate the materials. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s not. I’m your best friend, and I left you when things got tough.” I’m used to it, I want to say. I’m used to Jamie ignoring situations when things get tough or hard to speak about. Now I’m trying not to accept his crappy behavior.

“Do you want to come over to my place today, maybe go to the Waffle Palace or something?” he asks. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Whenever something happens, he always wants us to forget and move on, go back to being best friends. I don’t know if it’s Aces, Belle, or something else, but I’m finally seeing through the cracks in Jamie’s seemingly perfect demeanor. I feel like I’m worth more than that. “I’m busy,” I tell him. “Oh.” We walk and we get stared at but I keep my head up, heels clicking against the marble loudly. I imagine stomping on all of their glaring faces. I am not going to look weak. “I could walk you home?” I turn and say, “I have legs, Jamie. I can walk myself home, and I’m sure you can too.” I give him a tight smile, and then I walk out of the school, down the steps, and through the gate. Alone.

A good friend would try to fix his relationship with her … But I don’t have to be a good friend to someone who isn’t one to me.

The sense of impending doom in my chest makes me feel like someone has wrapped their hands around my neck, blocking my air supply. Blond hair. Blood. Tarmac. At any moment, Aces could release more lies or more truths. The police could come knocking on my front door, lock my wrists together in handcuffs, and drag me away while the disappointment on my parents’ faces burns into my mind forever. I need to go through all of what Peter has sent over, make sure I have an airtight plan to take back to Devon tomorrow. Sorry, something came up. I was just starting to have a real friend, and, like everything else, Aces is ruining that too.

There are no streets that they could have turned into that quickly, just rows and rows of giant gated houses. It’s as though the figure vanished into thin air.

Boys are infuriating.

“Why did you get such a long sentence anyway?” That’s kind of a funny way to describe it. It basically is a sentence. I’m surprised she doesn’t know why. I assumed everyone would know about another position of lowliness I’ve been forced into.

Belle being nice to me could just be a symptom of wanting to strengthen this friendship that came out of nowhere. Or it could be something else, something that doesn’t fit into the odds. You can’t calculate emotion.

Belle always smells of vanilla, with a hint of something even sweeter. It makes me want to drop everything and be unscientific about this. I want to be unscientific about this … so bad. But what if I test out this theory and it isn’t correct? What then? “Are you okay?” Belle asks, looking worried now. “I’m confused, trying to work out whether we are friends or not.” I surprise myself as the truth just slips out. Belle looks a little hurt by the statement, but I didn’t mean it the way it came out. “I thought we were.” “What if I don’t want to be friends?” I don’t want to say the rest out loud. “You don’t want to be friends?” Belle looks really hurt, which makes my body feel like heated explosions are going off all at once. “I don’t.” Belle nods and puts the toothbrush down. “Okay, that’s fine,” she says quietly, before walking past me. I think I want her to leave, stop confusing me, but at the same time, I don’t want her to go. I want her to stay and let me explain. “I think I like you in a non-friend way … I-if that weirds you out, you can go,” I say, stumbling over some of my words. I look down, and even though I can’t see her, I know she’s still in the room. I didn’t hear the door close. I keep going. “I just don’t think I can be friends with you if it weirds you out or if you don’t feel the same way—for now at least. I was friends with Jamie for ages, and I always wanted more … I don’t want to repeat that again,” I say without taking a breath. This is embarrassing. Clos...

Whoever took this photo meant to do harm. She’s passed out, unaware of the picture being taken. It’s nasty; it’s a violation.

“I’m going to find out who did this, Devon, okay?” I feel relieved. “Thank you.” “Just go home, and try not to let this get you down.” I do exactly that—I go home and I try not to think about it. But it’s impossible.

The posters made me feel sick; they were a threat to me and Chiamaka. Letting us know that someone is out for us and won’t stop until they’ve destroyed us.