Simone breaks all the ru.., p.22
Simone Breaks All the Rules, page 22
But apparently not this time.
“Close your eyes,” I instruct Gabby, and I rub on some eye shadow.
But my cousin flings her eyelids open and blurts out, “I’ll stop seeing Gavin if it means we can be cool again.”
I can feel my mini Mummy coming on. On purpose this time. “You better not,” I fake-scold. “I forbid it!”
It’s obvious Gabby’s eyes would be sparkling even without the shimmery eye shadow she’s rocking. “What do you mean? I thought you’d feel better if Gavin and I didn’t—”
“I’d feel better if we face facts.” I stop busying myself with the eye shadow brush and its accompanying colors. The palette case clinks against the marble counter as I put it down. “You and Gavin are super cute together,” I admit out loud for the first time.
“For real, for real?”
I nod. “He’s a good person. And you guys vibe, like, organically.”
“No, like—seriously?”
“Yes, Gabby, don’t make me have to spell it out.”
“Wow, thank you, Simone. That’s real big of you.”
I scoff. “You’d think it would rub off on you, but not everybody can be classy.”
She ignores me, but grabs hold of the counter and twists her bar stool to face me.
“To be real with you, I was trying to pass off my feelings for him as some stupid crush, but it just wouldn’t go away,” she says quietly. “It wasn’t until you invited me over to his house with you that I realized how much I … get him. Being around him is the easiest, most comfortable thing.”
I nod in understanding. “Yeah. I didn’t realize Gavin wasn’t the one for me until that day at his house, too. It’s like he was more of this … vision for me. Like a prop in my prom dream world. And I made myself as this prop, too, playing a role I didn’t recognize. It didn’t work.”
“So you really don’t want to date him anymore?” Gabby asks.
“Gavin?” I shake my head. “You can be yourself around him. I just … couldn’t.”
She scrunches up her nose. “I kinda noticed.”
“Ugh. Did I make it obvious?”
She shrugs. “I also kinda noticed how comfy you are around Ben.”
Just the mention of his name draws up the corners of my lips.
“Ohmygod!” Gabby shouts.
“I know, I know.” I lean in close and lower my voice. “I think I—I really like him.” I don’t tell her about our kiss, though—that feels like something I’m not ready to talk about … yet.
“You see?” Gabby beams at me. “Maybe your parents were onto something with that setup.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I refuse to give them credit. Besides, Ben is going to prom with Kira, remember?”
“Oh yeah.” Gabby looks disappointed. “Are you sure you don’t want to just tell him how you feel?”
“No. It’ll just make everything more complicated,” I say firmly.
“You know,” Gabby says, sounding wiser than I ever did as a sophomore, “it’s not so easy to find someone you feel at home with.”
I take in her words, fiddling with a tube of mascara. She’s not wrong.
“Speaking of home,” she says with a deepening frown. “Being at my own house doesn’t feel so comfy right now.” She drops her chin into her palm. “I think a big part of my mom actually likes the chaos.”
“Well, you’re welcome to hide out here anytime,” I offer, uncapping the mascara. “And if you ever get homesick, we’ll stick you in the hallway or some place with a high traffic flow.”
Gabby sucks her teeth, and I grin at how far from her face she stretches her mouth. But mostly, I’m grinning because the tense air has cleared and my cousin and I are best friends again.
Gotta love a make-up makeup session.
* * *
When someone checks you on your misstep, you have to consider the source. And there are no other sources as brutally honest with me as Anne and Gabby. Having been properly checked by my most trusted homegirls, it was time to come clean with the HomeGirls.
I meet with Amita and Kira where it all began—in the empty classroom at school. I spring for their fave bagels from Elevensies. When we’re fifteen minutes from the morning bell, I know it’s time to stop stalling and start ’fessing.
“Nice meeting up like this again,” says Kira, scrunching up the last of the napkins and stuffing them into a brown paper bag. “I’ve missed you ladies.”
I play with the crumbs I’ve gathered into a pile on the table. “Me too,” I nod. “Congrats to us on getting our papers in, HomeGirls!”
We touch our fists and give a little cheer.
“But that’s not the only reason I called this meeting,” I say, belaboring the issue like a goofball.
“I was waiting for you to get to it,” says Amita. She shifts out of her seat and plops back down on her folded legs. “It’s getting boring watching you agonizing. Just spit it out.”
“Well—” I shape the pile of crumbs into a triangle. Like a diner waitress on a mission, Kira sweeps my pile of crumbs off the table into her brown paper bag.
“Nice move!” I compliment Kira, impressed with her gumption.
“Just when you think you have HomeGirl Kira figured out.” Amita slaps the table.
“No, no—this isn’t about me.” Kira giggles softly. “You were saying, Simone?”
“Okay, here it is,” I say, clearing the shame from my throat. No crumbs to babysit, I meet my friends’ eyes. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think I’ve done to you what my mom did to me—I meddled in your prom arrangements and I’m sorry.”
“All you did was make sure I’d go to the prom with a date you … trusted and … selected … for … me …” Kira’s voice trails off and a brief silence follows.
“Nah, you’re nothing like your mom, Simone,” Amita jokes.
I half playfully bury my head in my hands and wail, “How did I become the very thing I resisted?”
“It’s a slippery slope.” Amita shrugs. “Kinda like when you hide one thing after another about yourself from your parents, and then eventually, without intending to, you hide even the harmless stuff or the important things. Pretty soon, your parents learn to play detective just to find out the smallest info about you.”
I’m surprised to hear Amita admit to this. Kira gives her hand a pat. “You can reverse that by letting them in on one harmless fact at a time.”
“They seem like the type to appreciate that,” I say cautiously. “I’m sure they’ll be so happy, they’ll insist you invite your study group over for a swim in the pool.”
Amita’s sly grin is back. “Nice try.”
“So, where does this leave us with our list?” Kira asks.
I pull out the original list to the HomeGirls’ exaggerated oohs and aahs.
Amita does the honors, reading out loud. She adds a “check” whenever at least one of us has accomplished a goal.
“Go to a REAL house party—check. Go clubbin’—check. Cut class—check. Go on a date—two-thirds check. Hang out in NYC—check. Sneak a boy over to your house or go over to his house”—Amita gives me a knowing glance, and I shake my head at the memory of being at Gavin’s house—“one-third check. Ride a bike—check. Switch up style—check. Resist arranged proms … one hundred percent, check!”
“That’s incredible,” I say, flustered.
“We really did it.” Kira wipes her eyes, and I marvel at how emotional we’ve all become lately. Maybe it’s senior year. Or was it this mission we set out on together?
“We should be proud,” Amita says. “Even if there were some bumps along the way.”
“Sure I wish my mom hadn’t been AirDropped the list, but I don’t blame you, Kira,” I tease.
Kira points to herself, mortified. “Wait. It was me?”
Amita pats Kira’s back, and I nod and chuckle softly. “But it’s all good. I look at it this way: Sometimes taking action can’t stay a secret. Sometimes we have to shine a light on things we keep in the dark.” I check out the list again. “I mean, if the powers that be don’t know about our resistance, can real change even happen? Maybe part of resisting is learning that we don’t always have to do things in hiding.”
Kira nods. “Are you sure you’re okay with how prom worked out, though?” she asks me. “You won’t have a date now.”
I nod. “So what if we’re not going to prom with our desired dates? This is about us. We should go to the prom and own it.”
“After that speech, you almost make me want to cancel Pritpal as my on-again prom date,” says Amita.
“What?” Kira and I squeal at the same time.
“How did you guys get back together?” I ask, elated.
“He came to my house,” Amita blurts before stacking her hands over her mouth. “When I wouldn’t answer his calls, he got concerned and showed up at my doorstep.”
My eyes widen. “And your parents didn’t trip?”
“No, the opposite,” she says. “Remember when they told you they were seeking the out wedding singer for a prom setup for me? Turns out it was true. So they thought it was kismet that we found each other.”
“Wait, they think he just showed up out of the blue?” Kira says.
“Pretty much.” Amita grins. “And I didn’t correct them. Let them think their prayers had something to do with it.”
“I love it,” I say.
“Looks like cuzzo Krish just became your prom date, Simone,” Amita tells me with a hand flourish. “If you’ll have him. And with Ben as Kira’s date, that means most of the gang will be back together again, minus Gavin and Gabby.”
“About Gavin and Gabby,” I say. “Breaking news: They are an item.”
Kira gasps, but Amita doesn’t seem the least surprised.
Not everything should stay secret, but I decide to wait to tell them about kissing Ben until after prom. I wouldn’t want Kira to feel weird about the prom arrangements.
“So is the list done, then?” Amita asks.
“I have an idea,” Kira announces.
We turn to her and listen to her explain. And her idea is awesome. The three of us agree to create a new list—one we don’t have to hide or keep secret. And one that will carry us through our college years.
THE HOMEGIRLS’ PLAYLIST
Go out and play
Don’t be afraid to get a little messy
Don’t hide who you are
Shed light on the dark
Keep your friends & fam close
And what do you know? When I share the new list with my family that evening, Mummy asks for a printout to keep in her locker at work.
“How is it possible to look so glum and so glam at the same time?” Gabby asks.
For once, my cousin isn’t exaggerating. When I stare into my full-length mirror, I see what she means. How can I look this amazing yet feel so very nervous? Not even the aroma of fried plantains climbing up from the kitchen is enough to snap me out of my existential crisis.
Today is prom—the event I’ve been waiting so long for. But the boy I wish was my prom date is someone else’s. Ben and I have texted each other since the Mets game, but we haven’t discussed the kiss at all. And now it’s just too awkward to bring up again. At least not until prom is over. Tonight, I’ll just have to pretend like everything is status quo.
Anne stands beaming as Gabby takes pics of me from a few flattering angles.
“Come on, Simone,” says Anne. “It’s your prom night. You’ve been counting down to this forever. And you look gorgeous.”
“Thanks,” I tell my sister.
Scanning myself from head to toe is pretty trippy. Is that really me? Brown skin poppin’. For this special occasion, I got the best hand-whipped, most-shea-buttery goodness I could find. Gabby had me sit under her hooded dryer with a million corkscrew rollers in my hair, and the result is divine. The high bun. The cascading ringlets. The light from Mummy’s mini chandelier catches every zig and zag of each shiny strand. Plus, the seamstress did a fabulous job with my two-piece, which I picked up from her showroom just a few days ago. And Anne did wonders with my makeup. So much talent in one ’hood.
“Give a little twirl, girl,” says Gabby.
I pivot away from my cousin, and the vibrant colors of the African print on my voluminous high-waisted skirt practically glimmer. The colors perfectly match my strappy open-toed shoes, not to mention my nail polish. My outfit is slaying in all the right ways.
Somewhere, some girl is going to find my picture online and pin it to her faves list. And this same pic is going to spark in her a small goal or a tiny dream, and the thought will make her heart soar. It’s my own way of contributing to the cause—if the cause is being fashionably fierce.
There’s a slit in my skirt and I can’t help notice my ankles.
They’re glowing!
I’ve been searching so hard for glowy ankles on guys that I hadn’t once considered my own. I beam with the dizzying realization: I’m my own dream prom date. This is something to celebrate.
As if I’ve just surfaced from water, I can now hear the Haitian konpa grooves floating from downstairs. I sway to the music, appreciating how unexpected and super sweet it is of my parents to throw me a surprise pregame celebration. I’m happy that I took action, even if it didn’t lead me to the place I imagined. And I know what I activated in me will carry me through college and beyond.
“Yes, Port-au-Princess,” Gabby says, raising her phone to record my konpa moves. I extend my long arms toward her and Anne.
“Come on, y’all,” I beckon with a giggle. “I’ve saved my first dance for the both of you.”
My girls join me and we all hold hands and do the poised two-step. So happy for me, Anne rocks with it and dips on the off beat. She raises our hands above our heads and throws her head back. My sister stretches her body so far out that box I’ve placed her in, I catch a wave of both regret and pride. It’s amazing to see her feeling the moment. In just a few months, she’ll be out of the house, killing it in medical school. I dance to the rhythm of my pride.
“Aay! Aay! Aay!” Gabby chants to the beat like the world’s best hypewoman she is. She’s studying my moves and starts copying the way I flex. I smile and switch up how I whine my hips until she has trouble keeping up.
Could it be my baby cousin is learning something from me for a change?
“Woy! Woy! Woy!” Gabby flips to the Creole version of that chant and we all crack up and pull it in for a group hug.
“Y’all are gonna mess up my makeup before my big reveal!” I say, dabbing at an errant tear of joy.
The chime of the doorbell fills the house, signaling Ben’s arrival.
Gabby happy claps, her eyes wild with excitement. “Wait! Let me go down first and announce your hair’s grand entrance—uh, I mean, your grand entrance.” I give her a playful nudge.
In the end, it’s Anne who announces my arrival while Gabby beatboxes the drumroll. Mummy and Papi are at the bottom of the stairs, holding up their phones and wearing huge smiles. The rest of the family gaze, starry-eyed, as if watching me on a movie screen. For people who seem at a loss for words, they are not short on reactions.
Mummy’s eyes pool. “Oh la la.”
“Whoooa,” intones Papi, in that familiar Haitian singsong.
“Ayayay mwen,” sasses Tatie Nadine.
“A la bèl,” adds Grandmère approvingly.
My mom’s bestie, Terrence, shakes his head. “Stunning, my dear.”
Ben is the only one speechless. He stands there in a tailored retro black suit, just emanating strong classic Motown singer energy. The vibrant African print bow tie pops against his stark white shirt and beautifully complements his deep brown skin. His eyes follow me as I make my way through the small crowd of relatives and friends greeting me with hugs.
Terrence’s husband, Jeremy, Voisin, Ben’s aunt, with her adult son, and a couple of her toddler grandchildren are also here. I wish Ma Tante could be a part of this, but I know she’s here in spirit.
“And voilà!” Tante Nadine sweeps her arm across Mummy’s prom night tablescape. Our dining table is all dressed up for the occasion. I put my hand over my heart as I scan the elegant presentation of mini veggie and fruit trays alongside an array of plantains and griyo skewers.
Mummy is watching me and my reaction so intently, she gets choked up when I rush over to give her a huge hug.
I keep one arm around her and point at the top of her head with the other. “My mom may not be the best dresser, but when it comes to décor, she can throw down!”
Mummy breaks free from me and calls me “fresh” in Creole. “Frekan! You try to act so fancy. We’ll see how fancy the rooms are when we tour the dorms with you next month.”
I keep laughing, until her words play back in my mind. “Sa blan an di?” I ask in a daze.
“Mummy, you were supposed to mention that at graduation,” Anne reprimands her. “Do you want her to ruin my masterpiece makeup job?”
Okay, yes. Mummy has only committed to a dorm tour and not campus living. But trust me, what may seem like baby steps to some is a huge deal to me. My mom and dad sandwich me in an embrace, and though I’m not crying, I feel droplets of water showering down on me. I look up to see Grandmère flinging water from her container again.
She calls out her blessings for the family. “May they stay healthy. May they stay safe. May they stay together.”
It takes both Gabby and Anne to pry me out of there. I turn around and finally find myself face-to-face with Ben. And then he speaks for the first time tonight.
“You look—wow,” he says tenderly. “Like, truly.”
I look away from his mesmerizing brown eyes and notice the incredible bouquet of pink roses he’s holding. As Ben hands them to me, he leans over and kisses me on my cheek. And it’s not the type of air kiss given to elders. It’s a full-on soft lips on tingling face kiss. The memory of our Citi Field kiss rushes back, and I melt inside.
When he pulls away, it takes me a second to catch my breath—which, to hide my true feelings, I immediately puff out in a joke.
