I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but I have seen people come and go, go and come. Tye asks, “You want anything to eat?”
And oh my goodness, how did I forget that the best part of Riverbank is the food? The hot dogs, the fat, salty pretzels, the popcorn fresh and hot and buttery. “Yes,” I say. We go over to the side of the rink. “I’ll get us something,” Tye says. He walks to the food counter, and I join Asher and Imani, who are sitting on a bench. I sit next to Imani. The rink is covered but not indoor, so even though I can’t see the sky, I can see that Harlem is dark now; the sun is gone and there is relief from today’s heat.
Toya and Sadie come and sit next to me. Toya hasn’t said much to me, just a soft hello and an excuse me, sorry when she bumped into me while we were skating. She takes her skates off. “This is a workout,” she says. “I’m tired.”
Imani laughs. “This was fun. Can’t believe we haven’t come here before.”
But we have. Imani and I came here all the time with my mom and her mom when we were little. But then I realize I am not a part of the we Imani is talking about.
Toya says, “Too bad we didn’t think to bring the flyers for our community block party.”
“Oh, you’re right,” Imani says. “There’s at least one hundred teens here. Perfect place to spread the word.”
Sadie doesn’t give me a look, like she normally would, but she doesn’t say anything either, so at least I know she disagrees with them.
I stand and lean against the edge of the rink. “Maybe it’s good that you didn’t—I mean, you know, it’s okay to take a night off so you can just have fun,” I say. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? They are clearly not talking to me. I am not a part of their we.
Tye walks over to us, drinks, popcorn, and pretzels in hand. Jackson and Asher are with him, carrying their own snacks. “What are you all talking about?” Tye asks.
Toya says, “Just talking about how this is such a missed opportunity. We could have brought flyers to promote Inspire Harlem.”
Tye looks around and takes in all the people, all the bodies falling and whizzing by. “Oh, you’re right. I didn’t think of that.”
Um, yeah—you didn’t think of it because you were focused on spending time with me. They aren’t even supposed to be here.
“Well, Nala thinks that’s a dumb idea.” Toya points at me. Imani gives her a look like she’s saying, don’t start.
“I didn’t say it was a dumb idea. I said it’s okay to take a break. That’s all I said.” I look at Imani and Sadie for backup. They know I didn’t call anyone’s idea dumb.
Sadie says, “Yeah, it’s probably good that we didn’t bring promotional material. If someone handed me a flyer promoting something right now, I’d probably throw it away.”
There’s back-and-forth about what I did and didn’t say, and then, maybe in an attempt to make things better or to bring the peace, Tye says, “I get Nala’s point. It’s like Ms. Lori always says, self-care is important. When you’re trying to birth a revolution, you still have to take care of yourself.”
“So spending time with me is your self-care project?” I ask. “And here I thought you wanted to get to know me.” I say this in front of everyone even though I don’t mean to. And since when is their mission to birth a revolution. And what does that even mean, really?
The DJ announces last call. One more song and the rink will be closing. I get up. “I’m going to go back out there and skate.” I leave Imani, Asher, Sadie, Jackson, Lynn, and Toya, with her beautiful hair, standing next to Tye who is holding the food he bought for us, probably wondering what is wrong with me and why the sudden mood change.
I don’t know who he gives the food to, but soon enough he is cruising beside me. “You left me,” he says.
“Last song,” I say.
Tye skates with me, close. Our arms brushing against each other, and I almost fall, so I grab him, hold on to him until I am stable. “I got you,” Tye says. “I got you.” We circle the rink, and I can’t let it go, I have to ask, “So roller skating is how you practice self-care?” I ask. Attitude in full effect.
“That came out totally wrong. I was just trying to get Toya to see your side,” Tye says.
“I don’t have a side,” I tell him. And then, “Everything can’t be about Inspire Harlem. I just wanted us to spend time together. I’m on our side.”
I want him to be a part of my we.
6
All night long I think about the last song Tye and I skated to. I can’t sleep because my mind is replaying moments of our day together: how our hands touched when we both dipped our fingers into the collards, how he wrapped his arm around my waist while we swayed side to side on our roller skates.
And then I remember Toya’s hair. Her beautiful, natural, not-straightened hair. The kind of hair that has body and volume and bounce. Her hair is big, and it makes a statement when she walks into a room.
Tye called Toya’s hair beautiful.
I want him to call my hair beautiful.
I go back into my bedroom, sit at my desk, and open my laptop to search for tutorials on how to get a twist out with straightened hair. From what I’ve watched so far, the hard part will be getting my ends to curl and crinkle. I’ve flat ironed it so long that my natural kink is kind of non-existent. The third video I watch shows how to put rods at the ends to make my hair curl. I’ve seen those rods in the bathroom on Imani’s shelves. I watch the whole video twice so I memorize the steps, and then I look through Imani’s hair products and get all the supplies I need.
The first thing I need to do is wash my hair. I pull up my Blue playlist on my phone to listen to while I’m in the shower. Not too loud, because I don’t want to wake Imani up—although she could sleep through a hurricane. I am thinking about how full and luscious my hair is going to be and how the next time I see Tye he is going to look at me and say, Your hair is beautiful, you are beautiful.
When I am finished, I part my hair into four sections and follow the steps the girl in the video did. I know I don’t have the best record with following YouTube tutorials, but it doesn’t hurt to try. I follow all the instructions, adding styling foam and moisturizer, two-strand twisting sections of my hair into chunky twists, and then drying it a little with a blow-dryer, not letting it completely dry but getting just a little of the wetness out.
The noise from the dryer drowns out the music, and I hardly hear Imani knocking on the door. I turn the blow-dryer off. “Yes?”
“I need to use the bathroom. What are you doing?”
I open the door.
Imani looks at me with a mix of confusion and irritation. “You’re doing your hair at three in the morning?”
“What? It’s three o’clock?”
Imani yawns and stands with her hand on her hip waiting for me to leave.
I unplug the blow-dryer and go to my room. I’ll clean up the bathroom in the morning. I’ve got to go to bed.
I don’t even remember falling asleep. I just know that when I get up the next morning, the sky seems wide awake, like the sun has been out for a while. I look at the clock on my nightstand. It’s already noon. I guess staying up so late had its effect on me.