“Did you hear me, Nala? Hold up.”
I stop, turn around.
Tye has one of the frames in his hand. “Look at this. Only two dollars. We should get some.”
I walk over to him, look through the shelf, picking a few up that look so precious, so one-of-a-kind. There are five that I love, and Tye says, “You have to get them.”
I stand there. Tell him, Nala. Tell him.
I can’t. I just can’t. He is too excited and he is too into me and I am too into him and I can’t tell the person who hates liars that I’ve been lying and I can’t tell the person whose father always cancels plans that there is no plan. I can’t ruin it all, ruin us.
So we shop for frames, and we leave the Goodwill in Harlem and go to another Goodwill because Tye says, “The one on the Upper West Side might have vintage frames too. Let’s just get as many as we can today.”
And when we leave that Goodwill, we go to one more, and then Tye takes me to a party supply store that he swears has the best prices and we buy decorations for a room we will not adorn and we buy plates and cups for the refreshments no one will eat or drink.
Maybe I can get Sharon to change her mind. Maybe.
We head back uptown. It is too hot to take the train, so we get on the bus. The whole ride to Harlem, I am thinking, What if Sharon doesn’t change her mind? What will I do with all these frames and decorations and plates?
We get off the bus, head home. The totes are heavy, and I can’t figure out if it’s more comfortable to carry mine on my shoulder or in my hands. I keep switching back and forth, and then Tye takes the bag out of my hand and says, “I got it.” He carries all the bags, except the one with my clothes. He even brings them upstairs to my room once we are at my house. “Let me know when you want to do round two. We’re going to need more frames.”
We.
“Okay, I’ll let you know,” I tell him. I whisper a prayer that somehow Sharon has a change of heart.
Before Tye leaves, he stops and says, “Don’t make any plans for this Thursday evening.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“I’m taking you on a date. No Inspire Harlem talk, no Sugar Hill Open Studio talk.”
“What are we going to do?”
Tye kisses me on my cheek. “It’s a surprise.”
18
For the next two days, I follow Aunt Ebony’s advice and try to work on my essay. Even though I don’t know where I want to go or what I want to study, I know eventually I’m going to have to do this, so I might as well get started. I try to come up with a topic for my personal essay, but nothing comes to mind. Nothing. I feel like I wasted two days just staring at my notebook of lists, staring at my laptop, typing over and over: I don’t know what to write. I don’t know what to write.
Since I couldn’t write anything, I spent time looking over my notes. Our guidance counselor said CUNY schools are a great option and that I should look into one of them. So that’s how I spend the last hours of my two-day break from Tye. Making lists of schools I might want to go to, right here in New York. Thinking about college makes me wonder what Tye’s plan is. We’ve never talked about where he wants to go, what he wants to be. I’m kind of afraid to ask him. Maybe it’s better to hold on to this summer, to let these days exist without any talk of leaving each other, of not being together.
Thursday is here, and it’s brought butterflies with it. No matter how much time I spend with Tye, I am still nervous and excited when I know I am about to see him. He sent a text asking me to meet him on 135th at the C subway station. As we go underground I ask, “Where are you taking me? Can I at least get a hint?”
“We’re going to Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn?”
Tye steps aside so I can go through the turnstile. “You have something against Brooklyn?”
“The C all the way to Brooklyn?” I ask.
“The longer we get to spend time together.” Tye can be a little corny sometimes, but I love it. We get to the platform and wait for the train. Tye pulls me in to him, then runs his fingers through my braids.
The train pulls into the station. We get on, find seats, and bump and jerk our way downtown. There is the usual subway commotion going on: a person asking for change, someone singing for change, three break-dancers spinning for change. People move about trying to find a seat, trying to make it out of the sliding door before it closes, a toddler mimicking the ding of the closing doors every single time, the man nodding off then jumping up in terror thinking he missed his stop.
Tye doesn’t seem to notice any of it. His eyes are on me, and he is talking with me as if no one else is around. “I, uh, I got you something. It’s not like a big deal or anything, it’s just a little something I picked up the other day.” Tye sounds nervous, and now my heart is fluttering and my hands are sweating. “Here.” He goes into his backpack and takes out a slender rectangular box. So right away I know it’s not jewelry—I mean, not that I thought it was or anything. I’m just saying I definitely know it’s not. The box isn’t wrapped in wrapping paper, but it’s not obvious what it is.
“Can I open it now?” I ask.
“Oh yeah. It’s not a big deal at all.”
Tye doesn’t know that I have never received a gift from a guy except my grandpa and Uncle Randy. Oh, and a valentine from a boy named Coby in the fourth grade. And in one month, I am now getting my second gift from my boyfriend. Um, this is kind of a big deal. I open the box, and the first thing I see is a shiny silver circle. I pull it up out of the box and realize that shiny silver circle is the top to a sleek, black water bottle.
“It’s double walled, stainless steel. You can use it for hot or cold beverages.”
I want to say something, but no words are coming.
Tye continues, “It’s been rated as the best water bottle for the past three years. It has a leak-free top and it doesn’t sweat and it’ll keep the temperature of the beverage—or any liquid, actually, like soup or something—for at least twenty-four hours.”
Tye stops talking, waiting for me to say something.
Then, he adds, “I notice that you’re always buying bottled water at the bodega, so I thought I’d get you one of these.”
I can’t even fake a thank-you. I just, I can’t. First a book of quotes and now a water bottle.
“Are you, are you okay? Is the color wrong—I know it’s black, but I figured black would—”
“I don’t care that it’s black, Tye.” I say this sharp and with so much attitude the woman across from us looks at us in shock, like I startled her. I lower my voice. “I—well, first of all, thank you. But—”
“But? Who says but when saying thank you to a gift from their boyfriend?” Now Tye is raising his voice a little, and we are officially having our first argument. Over. A. Water. Bottle. Let it go, Nala, I tell myself. And I do. I let it go until Tye says, “You don’t look happy.”
“Why would I be happy about my boyfriend chastising me about not drinking out of a reusable water bottle? I mean, I don’t know—we’re on a date. Who knew double walled, stainless steel was so romantic?”