I’d recognize this song anywhere as its rhythmic beat thumps through the walls and the expensive hardwood floor beneath my feet. The week after J. Cole dropped his album, CeCe played the song let . go . my . hand every day on repeat. I know every lyric, and if she were here, she’d be singing it at the top of her lungs. I settle for following along in my head.

​

I almost miss the first step down toward the basement and barely stop myself from tumbling, embarrassingly, into Angela’s back as she leads me downstairs. I can hardly see in front of me, but I’ve been here enough to avoid tripping again after the third step. I land on thick carpeted floors.

​

The basement spills into a wide space bigger than my house’s kitchen and dining room combined. It is furnished with white walls and beige coloured carpets. Red, purple, and green strip lights lining the corners of the ceiling flash, dancing in tune with the song’s beat and illuminating the dimly lit basement. Bryce and Hannah are glued together on one end of the couch alongside other people I don’t recognize. They all stare intently at the TV mounted on the wall. The large speakers tucked neatly against the wall drown out sounds from the war game on screen.

​

A tingle of nerves settling in my gut makes me hesitate for a moment, then Angela glances at me over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow and I straighten, pull my shoulders back, keep my chin up stubbornly, and strut passed her further into the room. I think I hear her laugh behind me, but the heavy bass swallows the rest of my thoughts. I force a cool confidence into my strut, the same kind that comes naturally to girls like my cousin CeCe, and stop behind Bryce and Hannah on the couch. The fabric is sleek, and the cushion sinks comfortably beneath my hands as I lean on it.

 

“E, you want a drink?” Angela asks, already making her way to the table stacked with all kinds of liquor and an open cooler of beer cans. I don’t even bother to question where or how Angela got her hands on liquor since we’re all under 21, and reply, “Whatever you’re having.”

​

Bryce slumps in his seat and the edge of his shirt rises, flashing smooth, pale skin and a flat stomach. Even in the dim light, I can see his lowered and glazed eyes as he grins lazily up at me.

​

“Where’s your drink?”

​

“Angela’s getting it.”

​

Hannah’s familiar wide smile appears in front of Bryce’s face as she leans over him. “Good, ‘cos I was getting tired of waiting for you. Let’s drink!”

​

For a Thursday night, she’s acting like we don’t have school at eight tomorrow morning.  

I shrug. “You didn’t have to wait.”

​

Hannah tugs my hand, pulling me into her vacant seat as she settles in Bryce’s open lap. “Of course, I waited. What are sistahs for, sistah?”

​

Internally, I cringe and resist the urge to pull away as she starts twirling my straightened hair around her finger. Externally, I laugh.

​

“Here.” Angela leans over the couch and almost bumps a full red solo cup into my nose.  The drink tastes like sweet shit, but I take a larger sip when Angela sits on the floor beside my legs. “Pina Colada—the best shit in the house.”

​

I hate coconut.

​

“Whose playlist is this?” I ask between sips.

​

“Mine.” A deep voice cuts through the music, speaking from a darkened hallway to my left. I avoid introducing myself to strangers in the room and hope that Angela would do it for me. I don’t like new people very much. Ever since we were little, CeCe would always handle the introductions for me, so, I’m relieved when someone else takes the initiative. Over the rim of my cup, a figure appears in the hallway, and the strip lights briefly illuminate his darker skin. We look each other over and pause; a small, mutual acknowledgement. I’m glad I’m not the only other black person here, but his eyes linger on me with too much interest. He’s handsome, no doubt, but the only black couple in a friend group of mostly white kids is not a cliché I want playing out here. Still, I already feel a little less tense with him around as he shoots me an easy smile.

 

“Marcus.”

 

“Emoni.”

 

Marcus nods. “I know.”

 

He knows.

 

The thought flashes through my mind followed by a deep-rooted flicker of panic in my chest because what if—he knows I lied—he knows…

 

Marcus eases into the empty space on the couch opposite from me instead of branding me as the liar I am in front of everybody.

​

CeCe would laugh if she knew I was shaky as shit right now, even though I wasn’t caught. Play it cool, pendeja. I take another sip and force myself to ease into the chairs.

​

“Jason and Mason,” says Marcus, nodding toward identical looking brunettes. Their matching, concentrated faces are almost comical. I’m surprised they’re not wearing matching clothes, too. I don’t think I’d be able to tell them apart even if I knew which is which, but the time for clarification is gone. Marcus continues introductions, pointing at a broad-shouldered blonde with a buzz cut. “That’s Andrew—Drew for short, and Andy when you wanna piss him off.”

​

“Just Drew,” he says with a charming grin from beside Mason—or was it Jason? I can’t remember. I recognize Drew’s shark-like grin from around the school hallways. He’s a football player and a senior, like the twins. I didn’t know Angela was close with seniors, too.

​

“And I’m sure you’ve met Noah before. He left to get more drinks like an hour ago, so he should be back soon,” says Marcus.

​

I raise my eyebrows at the crowded table behind me where Angela had gotten my drink. I wonder if all rich white kids drink as much as this group seems to. Marcus seems to know where my thoughts have wandered, and I resist the urge to duck my head in embarrassment as he chuckles.

​

I flip my hair over my shoulder instead. “Are you a senior?” I ask Marcus, trying to change the subject. The loud music makes it hard for normal conversation, so Marcus lowers the volume a little. I notice Angela and Hannah share a knowing glance when they see Marcus and I talking.

​

“Nah, I go to Penn with Noah. Sports scholarship, too.”

​

I put my foot in my mouth and blurt out, “You play ball?”

​

Drew barks out a laugh and slaps Marcus on the shoulder. “Right? It’s almost a crime that a black guy his size doesn’t! Nah,” Drew grins teasingly with a wiggle of his dark brows, “he likes different kinds of balls, don’tcha, buddy?”

​

Marcus shrugs Drew off. “I play baseball with Noah, actually.”

​

“Way to break the stereotype, eh?” Drew’s fist pumps the air, mockingly.

​

I’d much rather sink into the cushions than continue this conversation. Marcus’s ever-present easygoing smile is understanding, but I still feel like an ass. In a stroke of luck, my phone vibrates in my pocket and gives me an excuse to hide my face away in shame.

​

Cuzzo <3333 appears on my phone screen and I open her text.

 

boyz r gonna be at my plc. Pick us up at 8.

​

Shit! I promised CeCe that I’d pick them up early tomorrow.  We were going to run to the mall to grab her mom’s work shoes. Then, we were supposed to chill for the rest of the day, but it slipped my mind with school this week and Angela talking about nothing else except her kick ass birthday party. I can’t bail on this one, practically the whole school is coming since her parents rented out a hall and a DJ, and now that I’m rocking with this crew, I’m expected to come.

​

Another text comes through.

​

Cuzzo <3333: u better not ditch again ho

​

Me: I won’t.

​

And I won’t. I can just drop them off before nine and get ready after. People come fashionably late to these kinds of parties anyway, right?

​

“Who’s Cuzzo, Pac-Man to the right, three, three, three…three?” Bryce is squinting down at my phone from over my shoulder. I lock my phone before Hannah can get a glimpse of the screen, too.

​

“Obviously her cousin, dumbass, it’s in the name,” Angela answers with a roll of her eyes.

​

“Oh, from your old school, right?” Hannah asks.

​

“Yeah, I think you mentioned her before,” Bryce says, deep in thought trying to remember.

​

“You guys are still cool?” Hannah inquires, almost hesitantly.

​

Her question confuses me, so I tuck my phone away. “She’s my cousin, why wouldn’t we be?” 

​

“Well, you know,” Bryce says with a shrug. “The whole thing with the…” He looks a little more uncomfortable than high as he trails off.

​

“Wait,” Drew interjects, his eyes swinging from the TV screen to me. “I thought that was just a rumour…”

​

“It’s not, man,” Bryce adds.

​

But it is, I think.

​

Dread sinks deeper into my gut as Drew gives me a cautious glance. “So, your cousin is from your old neighbourhood, as in…”

​

“The bummy side,” Mason or Jason remarks, his eyes glued to the screen.

​

“Dude,” the other twin reprimands with an elbow nudge.

​

Jason, I’ve decided, glances over at me briefly and says, “My bad.” He doesn’t look the least bit sorry. I want to snub his half-assed apology, but I pinch my lips and ignore him.

 

Drew says, “No. Like, where that kid got killed and shit.”

​

The room grew somber. I’ve spoken to him all of never before tonight, but I guess my reputation and the rumours precede me.

​

I don’t answer but I feel all eyes turn to me. They’re waiting for an answer. I take a long sip of my sickly-sweet drink and wait for the inevitable.

​

“Did you really see that guy get killed?” Drew presses, abandoning all caution. A hot flash of anger towards him almost distracts me from the prickle of discomfort that flares like an itch under my skin.

​

I try to play it cool, the same way CeCe always does, but I can feel the tips of my fingers tingling and beads of sweat lining my brows. I need to relax or else my hair will frizz up in the heat, but the urge to high tail and run is almost irresistible. Worst comes to worst, I could turn around and blame that nameless asshole in school for twisting my words and spreading gossip like locusts. I could tell the truth now and save myself, but it was my dumbass who let the gossip fester and flourish. It was my big mouth that spoke out in class all those months ago, and it was my stupid little white lie that started everything in the first place.

​

I can feel the weight of their stares as they wait for an answer, a confirmation or denial. I swear, I would have done it. I swear, I would have said the truth: I barely knew him!

​

But I swallow it and hold Angela’s daring gaze.

​

Shit, kid, CeCe would have taunted. You’re own your own for this one. Her laughter fades into the recesses of my mind. Even my imagination has left me to deal with this shitstorm alone.

  

The plastic solo cup feels slick in my sweaty palms and it crinkles slightly as I try to hold it tighter to keep it from slipping.

​

“Can we not have this conversation when I’m like this?” Bryce groans. “You’re killing my vibes, man—no pun intended.”

​

Bryce is the only one who laughs at his joke. I watch Marcus’s eyes twitch slightly as he stares at Bryce, but the guy is lost in his own world with lowered lids and a loose grin.

 

Hannah clears her throat. “Enough, guys. We came to enjoy the night, why don’t we do that?”

​

But not even her cool hippy vibes are enough to deter their curiosity. She casts me an apologetic look when no one volunteers to steer the conversation away. CeCe would have. She’s good at easing the mood ‘n shit, and if I knew I’d been interrogated here, I would have taken her up on that offer to chill with her and the boys tonight instead.

 

“So, what was it like?” Mason, I think, asks. They’d managed to pause the game while I thought. It’s like everyone leans forward in anticipation, hanging off of every word—every lie—I’m about to say. I slowly sip my drink, delaying as much as possible.

​

“I didn’t actually see it.” I swallow.

​

Keep the lie as close to the truth as you can. CeCe’s only a year older than me, but she’s been saving my ass from day one, like she’s about to do again, unbeknownst to her.

 

“Wait,” Bryce says, confused, finding his way back to our plane of existence. “I thought you said you saw it.”

​

I grit my teeth and shake my head, unable to look up at the group while spinning my lies. “I never said I did.” It comes out sounding defensive and I have to take a measured breath before trying again. “I didn’t see it but I—”

​

I hesitate, but in that half of a second, I see everyone’s attention solely on me, and something in me shutters closed with a solid click. I realize I’ll lose all of this. The attention. The friends. Something aside from what CeCe has given me. Those first few weeks sitting alone in the cafeteria since transferring play through my mind like a short film on loop. Without CeCe here to pave the way, I was a nobody. Telling the truth now would only send me right back to where I was.

 

I can feel the words being swallowed up like a painfully large chunk of ice. It’s too late to turn back now.

​

“I was there. I heard it, like, right next to me. The noise was—I didn’t even know what was happening, but the noise scared us, and we all took off, you know, and I didn’t get a good look.” I swallow the lies hard and stare into my cup again. I wonder what CeCe would think if she knew I was using her own words to tell my lies.

​

“I was with my cousin and some of our friends, and a bunch of other people from ‘round the hood. We’d always chill at the park after school until the lights come on—that was our spot.”

​

I repeat the same words I was told before nearly two months back. The words keep coming and coming, well-rehearsed, and I can almost hear CeCe’s voice in my head, speaking word for word with me.

​

The curious eyes turn to pity and even Marcus looks concerned, but I can’t meet his eyes.

​

“That’s some messed up shit,” Mason says.

​

“For real,” Jason replies back, both with matching expressions of discomfort and pity.

​

“It was near that school, right? Harper High?” Mason continues. “Why haven’t they shut that shit hole down already?”

​

“I heard the school district is calling for it to be closed down for good next year,” Angela chimes in.

​

“Good,” Bryce adds.

​

“I swear that’s where they keep all the druggies and gangbangers, anyway,” Mason adds.

​

“You guys,” Hannah admonishes gently.

​

“What?” Mason continues with a huff of laughter and nudges his brother as if to lighten the mood. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

​

Hannah glares at him. “Well, Emoni’s from there, so shut it.”

​

I wish I had the courage to speak up like Hannah so easily did. I wish I wanted to.

​

What Mason said isn’t funny, and as much as I resent him for saying it, the city of Chicago believes it, too, or at least most people do. CeCe will be the last of the juniors to graduate from Harper High and after that, they’re shutting Harper High’s doors for good. Everyone else who didn’t graduate is transferring to neighbouring school districts. What people like Jason, Mason, and Angela don’t even realize is that shutting down Harper High, the oldest school in Englewood—rich with history and people and community—means throwing away everything good associated with it. My mother went to school there, and so did her parents, and her parents’ parents. Generations of families that lived in Englewood and went to that school. Harper High has been the core of Englewood since 1911, but no one cares because it’s a school full of ‘druggies and gangbangers’ anyway.

 

“I bet that school had the most gang killings and thefts in the state.”

 

“God, they should just shut that whole neighbourhood down. It’s such a shit show down there. Have you seen their streets before? Potholes and garbage everywhere.”

 

Their laughter and comments start to blend together until I can’t tell who said what. Hannah doesn’t join in either, but her concerns are drowned out with music and laughter.

 

Not even the peacemaker white girl can defend us. What more can I say? Someone hands me another cup full of something different—I don’t bother to find out what—and I drink it anyway, the liquid burning like fire down my throat and pooling in my gut.

 

I lean back against the soft cushions and down the rest of the new drink. It’s bitter and warm by now, but I was hoping that it would take away the acidic burn in my gut. It doesn’t.  When I glance up, I can see the same pain, anger, and acceptance that I feel in Marcus’ gaze. His lips form an angry thin line, barely suppressing the words dying to come out. Mine? They don’t so much as twitch.