At La May they were the two best dancers and were always in the front line during center work. At first all Mo had wanted was to be better than Mila. But Mila had never once returned that same energy. She had always been one of Mo’s biggest cheerleaders, helping her fix her form and whispering encouragement before they performed. Mo couldn’t imagine doing something like this with anybody else.
The entire ride up, Mo had gone between excitement and fear. By the time they’d arrived, it had settled into a bubbling uncertainty. Having Mila there kept the bubbles from rising into her throat and belching nervousness everywhere.
With their clothes put away, Mila ventured into the bathroom to claim a spot for toiletries. Mo sat on her bed against the two new fat pillows she’d brought. They pushed against her back as she texted Sheeda.
Mo’Betta:
OMG . . . help!!!
Rah-Rah:
Heyyyy. Missing you already.
What’s up?
Mo’Betta:
we just chillin before dinner. I think me and Mila are for real the only 2 black people here.
Rah-Rah:
wait how many people in the program?
Mo’Betta:
girl IDK.
Rah-Rah:
that’s wild.
Tell Mila I said hey!!!!
Mo’Betta:
she’s and frfr all these girls skinny the same and white the same. I can’t tell nobody apart.
Rah-Rah:
Mo’Betta:
Whut u doing?
Rah-Rah:
What else, for real? Still at church waiting on A.D. to close the kitchen.
Mo’Betta:
Oh I thought maybe it was Praising Him on High bible study time
Rah-Rah:
Wow. You wrong for that.
Mo’Betta:
A.D. would flip if she saw that. Delete that text!!
Rah-Rah:
You already know. LOL But how is it though? What your room look like?
Mo’Betta:
The room hella big. Mila took the best bed by the window. We have mad space though. Its bigger than the rooms in our row for sure.
Rah-Rah:
Pics please!
Mo’Betta:
so we share a bathroom w/two other girls. White . . . of course. So why the advisor call them sweet mates and I’m all—white people always be making up cute names for crap. But she was saying suite cause the 4 of us share the same bathroom. LMAO
Rah-Rah:
Sweet mates. How are they?
Mo’Betta:
IDK only met the one girls mother. I swear her eyes popped when she saw me & Mila was Black.
Rah-Rah:
you think they prejudice?
Mo’Betta:
they can be on some nonsense if they want and catch these hands. But IDK. Mila think she was just surprised cause she was being nosy sticking her head in our room and didn’t know we was in here already. So
Rah-Rah:
I mean even if the mother is racist don’t mean the daughter is
Mo’Betta:
Don’t make me no difference. If she don’t like black people then she don’t need come in my room. It’s w/e
Rah-Rah:
I’m kind of tripping that you living with white people.
Mo’Betta:
You?! Girl I’m on another planet right now fr fr
Rah-Rah:
just promise you won’t replace me with Becky
Mo’Betta:
I won’t . . . cause my sweet mates names are Brenna and Katie
Rah-Rah:
Of course Katie. It had to be Katie.
Mo’Betta:
Right? And Brenna’s mother did a real life “Jamila? Oh that’s an interesting name.”
Rah-Rah:
Jamila is an interesting name? Umph imagine if I was there. She’d be like, Rah-She-Da . . . *pretends to think of something not racist to say . . . and fails*
Mo’Betta:
I can’t w/you rn
Rah-Rah:
Remember when Ms. Hopkins called me RahSEEda the entire year? Like there’s an actual H there, pronounce it!!!
Mo’Betta:
But you let her tho.
Rah-Rah:
Cause I’m really gonna break on my English teacher?
Mo’Betta:
anybody can get it!
Rah-Rah:
Remember when Tai went off on Mr. Berk for telling her she owed it to herself to learn more about her Korean heritage? Lawd!
Rah-Rah:
She almost got suspended for that. Thas exactly why I wasn’t about to do all that w/ Ms. Hopkins. RahSEEda close enough.
Lolz
Rah-Rah:
Where’d you go?
Rah-Rah:
Wow
Mo had stopped texting because the door leading to the bathroom creaked open. “You didn’t lock the door,” she whispered, gauging whether she could shut it on the person before they popped in.
“I forgot.” Mila stared at the door, too, erect on her bed like she was ready to bolt depending on who walked through.
Mo put her phone down. “Hello?” she said with bass in her voice.
The face of her suitemate filled the narrow opening. “Hi. I’m Brenna. Can we come in?”
Mo wasn’t sure she was going to say no, but she wasn’t sure she was going to say yes, either. Mila answered, relieved smile on her face, with a cheerful, “Hey. Yeah.”
Mo sized up her new roommates. Brenna had a face full of freckles and straight ashy brown hair to her shoulders. She was about Mo’s height, but both her legs equaled one of Mo’s.
The other one, Katie, had thick and wavy auburn hair that stopped at the middle of her long neck. Her face had some color to it, like the sun had kissed it then ran. Her brown eyes took in everything, including Mo and Mila, unapologetically. She towered a good four or five inches over Brenna.
“What you guys up to?” Brenna asked. “I mean, obviously you’re not guys. But saying gals feels weird. What? Are we in a production of Oklahoma?”
“Chilling,” Mo said, thinking it would stop Brenna’s nervous flow and that they’d see nothing was going on and go back to their side of the bathroom. But Brenna held up two pairs of pointe shoes.
“Anybody else need to sew? It’s so much easier when I do it with other people.” She frowned at Katie. “Ms. Perfect has already sewn all her shoes. I hate her.”
In between Brenna’s mother’s eleventy million questions she kept saying, practically praying, that she hoped Brenna and Katie would be compatible roommates. Mo knew Brenna was joking about hating Katie, but still, how are you gonna joke like that with somebody you didn’t know?
Katie didn’t seem bothered by the comment. She trailed behind Brenna. What else was she going to do when she didn’t know anybody else but her roommate? It made Mo even happier that she had Mila.
Next thing Mo knew, Katie and Brenna were on the floor, Katie with her long giraffe legs stretched out, leaned back on her hands. Her eyes scanned their desks, under their tall beds, even their walls, taking inventory of their stuff. Brenna sat cross-legged with thread, ribbons, and shoes scattered around her. Mila took a pair of her own shoes out, deciding to join Brenna. They exchanged tips on the best stitch, and Brenna showed her battle wounds from sticking herself—something Mo never did because she sewed so incredibly slow.
When the sewing lesson was done, there was silence.
Nobody seemed to know how to break it.
Right before it got awkward, Brenna said, “Sorry about earlier. My mom’s such a ’copter parent.”