Allegra Solomon

True Blue

People liked being friends with Alexandria because she loved to shut the fuck up. This is what she always told Nikita—that was the difference between the two of them. The first time she said this was two weeks after the Tommy incident. The school’s wound was still raw, bellying with consequences. She said it in her basement, game controller cold in her hands. Their adolescent bodies were laid on the hard carpet of Alexandria’s floor, playing Street Fighter on the TV by the window.

It’s a science, Alexandria said. You just soften yourself—cloudlike. You laugh not when the joke is funny, but when it’s supposed to be. You smile and pout and bat your little eyes and say, Really? Never have an opinion. You are a yes man. You are kind and docile and dumb. They will pour themselves into you. It works every time. Alexandria began to bang on the controller.

Nikita watched the pale glow of the television screen bounce off Alexandria’s dark face, mixing with the daylight. The sun was everywhere.

Right, Nikita said. You’re better at it than me, though. People don’t like me the way that they like you.

People don’t have to like you, Alexandria said. That’s what I’m here for. Her hand’s quickened as Chun-Li took a sharp kick to Ryu’s face, leaving him a red, panting mess on the ground.

Alexandria had always been exceptionally likeable—able to iron herself out, warm and thin, to soothe anyone that came close to her. Flatten herself into a non-threatening, doe-eyed, non-entity. People were loose lipped around her. Felt warm—at ease. She played lacrosse in the spring and soccer in the fall, tightly knit with the teams year-round. She played the game well. Nikita did not. She came to school and left when the day was over, leaving no trace of herself on the school or people. She did not play lacrosse. She was written up weekly because the plaid skirts, regardless of size, always seemed inappropriate on her body in all the ways it curved and protruded. She huddled beneath introversion until Alexandria momentarily forced her out. This introversion was almost always interpreted as standoffishness. Which may be why their freshman year of high school, Tommy Adams told Nikita she looked like a bitch—that he’d never seen her smile. He said it outside the dining hall, right before bringing a hand to her cheek and pushing the corner of her mouth up with his thumb.

As the only black girls in their grade, they gravitated instantly toward each other during freshman orientation. Nikita had just transferred from a school where there were at least five black girls—seven boys. Alexandria had gone to that school her whole life. Between them was a head nod, a knowing glance. Then, they’d become bound.

When Alexandria finished lacrosse practice, they went to Alexandria’s home—playing video games or watching movies. Alexandria’s mother and Aunt lived together—always traveling as a unit. Their house had a perpetual, lingering smell of bread rising, with hints of mint from the plant in the kitchen. Mint would forever remind them both of youth, relaxation, and safety.

One day, in October of their junior year, Alexandria came over to Nikita’s house. They lay on the floor of her bedroom playing a one-on-one game of Egyptian Rat Screw. Alexandria was holding the majority of the cards when she said, You know, my mom lit a guy’s car on fire once. Nikita looked up. Seriously? Alexandria nodded. My aunt’s ex-husband. He wasn’t good. That’s why they live together. Alexandria had a very plain look on her face, as if this was all routine to her. My mom told me last night, she continued. She’s done a lot of things like that, apparently.

I wish I could do that, Nikita said, putting down a Jack before Alexandria put down a Queen. I don’t think I have that gene in me.

I do, Alexandria said.

They played until all the cards were in Alexandria’s hand. She fanned them out over her fingers, before collapsing them smoothly. Then she said, Since I won, will you tell me a secret?

Nikita let out a sigh. You already know everything about me.

Surely not.

She thought for a moment. Well, she began. I kind of like Tyrone.

I know that, Ki. Something else.

I got in trouble when I was seven for shaving off my eyebrows.

Alexandria was amused. Funny, she said. But no. Something else.

Nikita attempted to search for something else before settling on the obvious. This is when Nikita told Alexandria what Tommy said to her all those years ago. About her bitchiness. She’d kept it to herself.

He said that to you? Alexandria asked. Her face was stiff. Nikita just nodded and brought her own hand to her face, pressing a smile into her cheeks the way he had. It was the first time Alexandria went uncharacteristically quiet, pensive lines carved into her face.

The school pulsed the next day. A small chaos painted the glass walls of the junior lounge. Tommy Adams’ girlfriend and co-captain of the lacrosse team Lillian Barnes was a whimpering, sobbing spectacle underneath the bleachers of the football field. Alexandria was there, rubbing her back—soothing her. When Nikita walked into the girl’s bathroom, there, written in careful sharpie on the mirror was: TOMMY ADAMS IS FUCKING AVA REYNOLDS ON THE SIDE.

The Dean implemented handwriting tests a period later. Alexandria was never caught.

That night, Nikita sat at Alexandria’s feet. Alexandria had a rattail comb in her hand, dismantling the fraying black braids in Nikita’s hair. Ava was a theater kid—something Alexandria also dabbled in—and she had drunkenly let the secret slip at a cast party, right before she blacked out. Alexandria told Nikita this as she undid the last braid.

When all the synthetic hair fell to the ground, the girls made ice cream sundaes. That’s when Alexandria told her that the rush of it all—the chaos that followed, carrying out the act, hiding out in the shadows— it gave her an almost maniacal power. She felt like a god.

This is what began getting Alexandria up in the morning—that quiet havoc she could wreak. The slow, methodical collection of intel. Slowing wringing the life out of people, them not even knowing she was twisting them clean. She felt her body sharpening at all its edges. She told Nikita she wanted to become a deadly weapon.

Alexandria invisibly clawed her way through that school. Good behavior was rewarded, of course. She was just. She only disciplined those who had wronged her or Nikita. Alexandria was incredibly patient; understood the importance of timing. In fact, sitting on information for months made that moment of retribution more pleasing. People forgot she was in the room when they said something. Forgot they told her something directly. Like the time one of Nikita’s crochet braids slipped out and hung in the grass of the quad like a snake. Tyrone Harris, believe it or not, was the first to pick it up and swing it around. He made airplane noises and passed it to Steve Nelson, who passed it to Amy Scott, who passed it back to Tyrone. Nikita felt a pinch in the bridge of her nose and said, I think I’m going to cry, before heading to the girl’s room. Alexandria could feel new depths being born within her.

The next week, Steve had people over while his father was away on business. The guilty parties were there. At four in the morning, when all the guests were sleep, Alexandria let loose rats in the doggy door to his home. His ex-girlfriend had mentioned this access point once at the lacrosse girl’s lunch table once. Steve actually has a doggy door at his house, she said. I’ve never seen one of those in real life. Have you guys?

At first, Alexandria felt bad about the innocents who got caught in the crossfire, but that was not something she could worry about.

Nikita was an observer by nature, almost entirely neutral about the morality of the acts, never getting involved. It seemed to balance—an eye for an eye. Humiliation for humiliation. The extent of Nikita’s use was her complacency, allowing Alexandria to act as she may. Cheering her on as she mastered different fight games after school. One day, while watching Alexandria play Mortal Kombat, Nikita said, I feel like I don’t do enough for you. Alexandria banged on the controller, weaponizing Kitana until Sub-Zero was dead and gone. I don’t need you to do anything for me, Alexandria explained. You’re my best friend. You spend time with me. What more do I need from you? Nikita pulled a thread from the carpet. I don’t know, she said. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do all that crazy stuff for me. You can stop anytime you want. Alexandria paused the game and turned to her. One of her knee highs was around her ankle and the other where it was meant to be, right below her knee. It was always like that after a long day of school. The body, the clothes, disheveled. Ki, she said. If we don’t protect each other, who will?

They decided after graduation they would stay together. They’d both gotten into Spelman, but Nikita couldn’t afford it. So Alexandria declined. They decided to go to the state school an hour from their home. At the end of that last year of high school Alexandria was valedictorian. She stood at the podium, black hair tickling the small of her back, and delivered her speech. I learned so much from this school, she said. So much that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

Their freshman year of college they were roommates. Combined, they had about twenty articles of clothing in their closet. I’ve never not worn a uniform, Nikita said, pushing a finger through the knee hole of her only pair of jeans. I don’t even know what kind of clothes I like. Alexandria was sat by the window, taking a warm flatiron to her hair. I’ll help you, she said. I’ll tell you what you look good in.

Things were quiet that first semester. It seemed making friends in college was more difficult than Nikita had expected. She had acquaintances here and there—people she said hello to in the communal bathroom. People she sat next to in class who made eye contact with her when things were funny. Nikita studied English literature and Alexandria did music production, so during the day they didn’t see each other much. When they came home, they microwaved Velveeta macaroni and cheese cups, or piled pizza slices from the dining hall into to-go containers. One night, while watching Dreamgirls, Nikita said, I think things will be better next semester. Friendwise, I mean. I guess it just takes awhile. Alexandria nodded her head. It will be fine, she said.

The truth is, Alexandria did have friends. People she ate lunch with and studied with while Nikita was still in class. She got coffee with the same girl most Tuesdays at noon, and they gave feedback on each other’s songs. She still built bridges. It was in her nature—a siren will always lure. Regardless, she preferred spending her time with Nikita as it was.

That spring, Alexandria joined a radio station club. They’d let local bands and musicians broadcast their talents once a month at a showcase in the school chapel. The reason Alexandria had become so fond of it, though, was because she got her own radio show. Every Thursday from 2:30 to 3:30 she had a slot where she exclusively played Massive Attack songs. It didn’t matter which songs she played that whole hour—the first song was always My Angel and the last song was always Protection. On a Thursday that March, right around 3:20, Nikita laid on the red couch in the radio station, dragging her nails along the fabric to make a zipping noise. Alexandria played in the swivel chair and spoke as she introduced the last song. Once the mic was off and the glowing, red ON AIR sign was dim, she looked over to Nikita. Alexandria stretched her hand down into her backpack, pulling out a cow print notebook and holding it open to be seen. Every line was filled for pages.

What is that? Nikita asked, pressing her thumb against the pages, making it whir like a flip book. Alexandria smiled and pointed to the topline. It’s the library, she said.

Inside the notebook was every secret Alexandria had learned, starting on that day in October—the day Nikita told her about Tommy. It was the first secret she wrote down.

10/8 Tommy has been cheating with theater kid Ava. Lillian doesn’t know.

It only progressed from there. Alexandria sat next to Nikita on the couch and watched her as she flipped through. She explained many of her favorite secrets. That upon finding out sophomore Penelope Smith was pregnant, the Dean said she “could get that taken care of” or she “would be dismissed.” That football team manager Layla McDonald had an obsessive crush on quarterback Travis Jones—would sniff his dirty jersey and rub his sweat all over her body before washing it. Lillian Barnes caught Ms. O’Donoghue and Mr. Miller after hours, fucking in the wings of the auditorium. The underground selling of pharmaceuticals, aided by Nathan King’s doctor father. So on, so on.

Alexandria rambled on in her dream state as Nikita stiffened beneath her; shaken—not only that Alexandria had managed to attain this information, but that she was so meticulous, serious, in regards to its collection. That she knew so much. As discreetly as she could, Nikita looked to see if any of her secrets were in there. She turned each page slowly, glossing over the fading ink—what appeared to be new ink, but there was no trace of her.

Of course there wasn’t.

After she closed the book, she said, You’re so organized. This is amazing. Alexandria laid her head on Nikita’s shoulder. Thank you, she said. Nikita held the book in her hands like something dangerous and fickle—as if the wrong turn could burn the whole radio station to the ground. I guess you don’t need it anymore, then, Nikita lead. But Alexandria just giggled, a genuinely humored laugh. What? She said. Of course I still need it. Nikita went to turn her head but Alexandria’s head in her neck stopped the motion. We don’t even have friends, Nikita said. Nobody knows who we are.

That summer, they were apart. Nikita got a scholarship to do a summer study abroad trip in London. Alexandria stayed in town and worked for one of her music production professors as a babysitter. Nikita felt a level of excitement to be apart—this excitement living in all the places guilt was not. She felt that Alexandria was, maybe, her only friend by default. Because she never tried with anyone else. But by the end of her trip, after the small, convenient friendships she formed dissolved into planes back home, she realized she missed her anyways. This was the most time they’d spent apart in years, and she wondered if it was the same dissonance twins feel when separated. A kind of raw vulnerability—as if the whole world has access to you when it shouldn’t.

When she returned to campus, Nikita and Alexandria lay in the grass outside the library, talking about their summers. Before Nikita left, she had this low, creeping feeling. Not that she was fearful of Alexandria, per se, but she was wary of her. It had started that day in the radio station and carried into the spring. Sometimes she looked over at Alexandria in their old dorm, when she didn’t know she was being watched, and tried to observe her in her most authentic state. She was just a girl, it seemed. Sitting in bed with her red bonnet on—she was only capable of so much.

Nikita’s shoulders hung loose—all the apprehension was released back into the earth with a breath. The sky was an ideal blue. Nikita told Alexandria stories of abroad and they both laughed; rolled around in the grass; their bodies sharp with happiness. The joy was almost claustrophobic. The sun set into a mix of colors, watery across the sky, and they stayed there. I’m so glad you’re back, Alexandria said. I have so many people I want you to meet.

This year was a year about people. Time spent with them. Things shared with them. A joint pulled from one mouth and laid into the other. Over the summer Alexandria solidified all of her radio show friendships and she brought Nikita a long for the ride. Dionne and Itsuki were the heads of the station and had DIY bands play in their basement every weekend. Nikita often sat on amps and smoked while Dionne and Alexandria set up, plugging things in odd places. Strumming chords to test sound. Itsuki’s band played whenever no one else was available, which meant his band played a lot.

This became the weekends. Sometimes the weekdays. Thrashing, screaming, passing joints through the confines of tightly packed rooms. Nikita went because Alexandria went. The times when she stayed home, she realized there wasn’t much going on in her life when Alexandria and the many extensions of her were not involved. Alexandria made Nikita’s life something she participated in, not something that happened around her, to her.

There was a night where they went to see a Pixies cover band play at Dionne and Itsuki’s. The walls were slick with sweat. Alexandria was a body in hands far above Nikita’s head before she was on the ground, and back up again. Nikita’s limbs were bending and turning. Her face in the damp back of the man in front of her. Sweat sour on her tongue, like something expired. Everyone’s shirt was off. They’d all come off during Tame. All at once, as if planned—like graduation caps. Alexandria appeared like an apparition in between the bodies. You okay? She mouthed one time. Her once straight hair had become thick and stringy at the ends, sprouting and sticking to her wet face. Nikita nodded. Then Alexandria was gone again. There was more bending, more falling. Nikita’s body pretzeled left and right, before she stumbled out of the pit and on to the porch.

The bassist for Itsuki’s band was sat on the porch as well, half naked in the same way Nikita was. His wiry body on full display. Collar bones protruding—something sharp invading something beautiful. It was autumn. Sebastián watched Nikita take a seat next to him, her arms wrapped around her knees. The night sky consumed all the color of his face. Here, he said standing and heading to his car. I’ll get you a blanket. Nikita watched him walk barefoot on the concrete to retrieve the blanket. It was the first time they’d ever spoken, ever truly met, outside of watching him play.

She had not ever loved anyone. It happened quickly with him, as she figured it would in that very moment.

After that night, before the love came, Nikita told Alexandria about their time on the porch. They were laying on the floor of Dionne’s room while she was in the shower. Neither Sebastian nor Nikita went back in the house. They talked out there all night. David Byrne this, Andy Partridge that. Then, members of the 27 Club—who was in possession of a white lighter, who wasn’t.

Nikita covered her face. His face was so close to mine, she said, muffled through her hand. I’ve practically kissed him. Her face hurt with optimism. She hadn’t ever kissed anyone before.

Alexandria said that she’d been meaning to tell Nikita, but she lost her virginity that last summer while Nikita was in London. This made Nikita sit up straight.

What? Who? She asked her. Alexandria slowly ripped off a hang nail dangling from her pinky finger. I can’t say. Nikita watched Alexandria looking up at her, basking in her curiosity—her desperation.

Are you still seeing him? Nikita asked. They heard Dionne’s shower water stop. Alexandria didn’t say anything and just laughed. When Nikita asked what sex felt like, she happily volunteered that information. Dionne was back and joined them on the floor—Nikita helping twist her hair as Alexandria painted the picture. Alexandria climbed onto Dionne’s bed, getting on all fours, and showed them all the many moves she’d done.

Your ass was not doing all that your first time, Dionne joked. Nikita laughed and fingered hair product into Dionne’s hair. I believe her, Nikita laughed. Alexandria said thank you. This bitch is lying, Dionne said again. Nobody is doing all that off jump. They just aren’t.

When Dionne left the room to use the bathroom, Alexandria told Nikita that sex was the closest thing she’d felt to the feeling of retribution. And even then, it didn’t come that close.

What does that feel like? Nikita asked quietly, barely over the air conditioner. Alexandria kept watch of the door. I can’t tell you that, she said. It’s like trying to describe colors you haven’t seen. You just have to see them. Nikita watched her say these things with a bright grin. She realized her having waited to say this when Dionne left meant she was not safe from her either.

Nikita and Sebastián’s friendship developed rapidly; intensely. They sat together while he wrote songs and she wrote papers. He bought white lighters because it made her worry about him. She loved to worry about him. It was the perfect emotional foreplay. Nikita did not want to do anything that did not involve him. She went to bed thinking about him, dreamt of him, then woke up to his mental image, flickering absent in her eyelids. Thought of him at breakfast, while in class, while with Alexandria. Alexandria said the white lighter performance was “white boy bullshit.” That he’d watched a few too many Cobain documentaries and thought that “dying young would make us all think him a better bassist in hindsight. Which, we would not.” All Nikita said in response was, You don’t think he’s a good bassist?

Three weeks after that night on the porch, Sebastián played a show at Dionne and Itsuki’s. The entire set he watched her. It was the best show he ever played. After, he pulled Nikita into a closet, picked her up so her legs were around his waist, and held her puffy hair in his hands. I can’t do this anymore, he said. I need you.

She was no longer able to divide her time, then. She was entirely his.

His through the fall— through the spring. His all the way into the summer. Alexandria got Nikita in fragments. She slept at Sebastián’s the rest of the school year—stayed at his family’s lake house in Tahoe during the summer, working at a bookstore on the weekends and writing the rest of the time. They swam naked in the warm water and sun dried on the shore, dripping warm droplets on the books they were reading. He took polaroid pictures of her bare body lying there at the edge of the water, embracing the sun into her desired, deepened darkness. Or, he filmed her on top of him, moaning his name as they fucked on that very same shore—trees and distant boats a mere thought in their haze. Pebbles and sediment finding their way into the crevices of their bent bodies. Your body is perfect, he often told her. I wish everyone could see it.

Nikita told Alexandria none of this. All Alexandria knew were the things she told her on the phone. Which, was not much.

During the last week of them staying there, they invited their friends to come visit them. Itsuki, Dionne and Alexandria showed up in a rumbling jeep. Alexandria’s hair was a bright brown, almost blonde, braided long and skinny down to her butt. She sprinted to Nikita in the kitchen and constricted her in her arms. I missed you, I missed you, she said. Dionne waited awkwardly for her to finish. Itsuki took everyone’s bags upstairs with Sebastián. I’ll go help them, Dionne said, already ascending the stairs. Alexandria excitedly pushed past Nikita and said, Show me the lake.

This was the first time Nikita thought about Alexandria deeply in months. In that moment, she became aware that while she herself was doing things, Alexandria must have, too. She had not called her much that summer, and they had only texted in meaningless, fragmented bits.

Much like Alexandria herself, Alexandria’s hobby was not on Nikita’s radar. It operated in that same gray space that trees falling in the forest lived in—if she did not observe it, it must not have been happening.

In the middle of a different conversation, Alexandria said, with a certain edge, You know, the guy I lost my virginity to was Adian. Nikita’s body froze suddenly. Like, Professor Thompson? The one you babysit for? Alexandria smiled and nodded her head. He was amazing actually, she said. Nikita didn’t ask in what sense.

Well, he’s married and everything, Alexandria continued. And he started feeling bad about what we were doing and said we couldn’t see each other anymore. Alexandria stood up and walked towards the lake, slipping a foot in and letting the water creep up to her ankles. It’s probably for the best, Nikita called from behind her, knowing it didn’t end there. Alexandria didn’t respond to this and made waves with her feet. Do you wanna hear what I did? Alexandria turned to her with her trademark smile. Nikita’s heart became tight. I don’t know, she said. This made Alexandria frown. But it’s good, she whined. Nikita put a hand behind her neck. The sun was setting into the horizon, glowing right above the distant line of the lake. Alexandria, was all Nikita said. It was quiet for a long time. Maybe ten minutes.

I started switching all his blood pressure medication with placebos.

There is not a timeline where Alexandria does not tell Nikita this information. She was very proud of this one. Nikita felt static settle into her chest. Goosebumps arrived on their own. Whether they were attributed to the air or Alexandria, she couldn’t say. Why, Nikita said, less as a question and more as a plea. Alexandria was still smiling. Ki, you’re so boring these days. Is that what love does to you? If so, I don’t ever want it. She then splashed some water onto Nikita. Nikita couldn’t move. Alexandria, she said. Stop.

Alexandria rolled her eyes. That was all she did before stripping down to her underwear and plunging into the water.

At dinner that night Nikita watched Alexandria closely. The way she was silent while others spoke. The way she took in information with indifference. Itsuki told a story about growing up in Japan, all the things he got up to. Whenever it seemed he might say something secretive Nikita tried to interject. At one point Alexandria asked if she could use his phone to change the song that was playing. What’s your passcode? She asked after he handed it to her. 1612, like the song, he said. Sebastián began singing the song and Itsuki joined him, not realizing what he’d done. There was nothing Nikita could do about that. While the boys sang, Dionne told Nikita that she had to go to the hospital the other day. She wasn’t sure what triggered her allergic reaction. She checks everything she eats carefully for peanuts, but somehow she went into anaphylactic shock anyways. The two of them shared this in an aside at the opposite end of the table—no one else heard it. Dionne did not say more, but she looked at Nikita as if asking a question.

That night while Alexandria was in the shower, Nikita found the cow print journal and opened it. Alexandria had begun to cross out the secrets she used. There, crossed out with a date from the week before, was:

8/4 Dionne is allergic to peanuts

That was with a laundry list of other crossed out secrets. There was Adian’s medication. Someone’s work schedule. Someone’s running path. She had been busy that summer—that was clear. Alexandria walked into the bedroom in a towel, body drenched in warm water. She didn’t care at all that Nikita was looking in her journal. It amused her. I can tell you all about them if you want, she said, slipping into her pajamas. Nikita just stood with the book in her hands and pointed to Dionne’s name. What did you do? She asked. Alexandria stood in one of Adian’s oversized gray t-shirts that she’d stolen. She tucked her braids tightly beneath her bonnet and sat at the edge of the bed.

Dionne said you were a bitch for abandoning all your friends for a man. She asked me why I put up with you. Alexandria said this plainly. I don’t like when people call you a bitch, she continued. I don’t like when anyone says anything bad about you.

Alexandria’s eyes were these vacant, round things. She did not offer this information with ulterior motive. She did not present it with emotion—she just told her.

There were many things Nikita thought about saying in this moment, but the sentence that won was: She’s right.

She’s a gossip, Alexandria said in a yawn, climbing into the bed. Nikita stayed in the same section of the room. There was a deer head mounted on the bedroom wall and she wondered if it foresaw its slaughter before it happened. Nikita turned to Alexandria and said, I haven’t been a good friend to you these days.

There are worst things in the world, Alexandria sighed.

Right, Nikita said. There are worse things. But I’m still a bitch.

Fuck you, Alexandria said. I love you. That’s all there is to it. 

When Nikita climbed in bed next to Sebastián, he pulled her by the hips. Had her lay on top of him, parallel to him. He dragged his nails up and down her back. I’m happy our friends are here, he said. She pulled one of his chest hairs between her teeth and said through a laugh, So am I. They sat there silently speaking through touch. Finger drawn lines on skin. A shudder, a slow sigh. Then she said, Sometimes I think that I love you too much. He laughed and it made his chest vibrate. How can you love someone too much? He let one hand begin to play with her hair. I don’t know, she said. When you love someone too much you act recklessly. Sometimes I think Alexandria loves me too much.

Sebastián’s hand on her back began to move slower and slower—began to linger. Alexandria isn’t really reckless though? He said. If anything she’s too friendly. It can be off-putting at times, actually. Nikita made a note to never tell Alexandria that Sebastián said this. Well, she continued. I’ve been reckless.

 How have you been reckless?

I abandoned all my friends for you. When she said this she could feel the very slow inhale and exhale of his chest, lifting her up, then dropping her. He did not deny it. Do you regret it? He asked. I don’t know, she said. That’s the problem. He had nothing to say to this either.

They remained like this. Sebastián’s long eyelashes fluttering shut. The distant sound of water sneaking through the screen.

Do you think you love me too much? Nikita whispered. She listened closely on his chest for sounds of his heart’s betrayal, but it did not waver. She turned her head out the window and into the moonlight. Her left ear was warm against his chest and she heard the machinery of his body whir. Sebastián said, I love you a lot, but I don’t think I love you too much. I don’t think you should put a limit on a thing like that. Why inhibit something that’s entirely illogical as it is? Nikita nodded on his chest, and he felt it, like a small animal curling into him.

How would you describe it, she said. My feelings towards you. 

His hands stopped moving all at once. This was before he brought his hand to her mouth, tracing her lips with his pointer. Religious, maybe, he said. It’s like a kind of devotion.

She leaned forward to kiss his forehead, then the middle of his chest. His left shoulder. His right.

School returned in late August. Nikita and Alexandria lived in an apartment complex across from Dionne and Itsuki’s house. Sebastián was within a ten minute walking distance in a studio all on his own. Alexandria found a new job giving tours on campus— the ultimate people-pleasing job. Professor Adian Thompson threatened a restraining order if she ever showed up at his house again. Sometimes she would stand across the street for the thrill—watch his small head bob in the upper left window. Dionne and Itsuki were in their senior year. Dionne spent most of her time working on her senior project. By default, this left Alexandria with Itsuki, which drew them closer. Alexandria began to spend free time holed up in Itsuki’s room, learning the basics of guitar and talking until their eyes closed. Dionne busied herself.

Dionne never directly said she knew Alexandria was responsible for her trip to the hospital, but there was something in the way she interacted with Nikita after the incident. A trepidation that manifested in intentional word choice and, often, silence. There was a time when Nikita and Dionne hung out alone, doing work in a coffee shop.

What was your girl like in high school? Dionne asked. Nikita looked up from her work. Same as she is now, she said. Everyone liked her.

Dionne never brought her up independently again. Maybe because she didn’t know how involved Nikita was, or where she stood. All she said was, Hm. Then, went back to her work.

October of their Junior year, Alexandria texted Nikita: Let’s go to dinner tonight.

The girls found themselves at the Thai restaurant down the street, sardined in a booth in the middle of the restaurant. Alexandria ordered green curry and Nikita did the same. Alexandria’s long braids were now red. Her nails were coffin shaped—long and black with white designs near the tip. Her eyeliner was a dull silver. Nikita prodded Alexandria with questions about her day while spooning food in her mouth. The heat hit the back of her throat and made her cough. She asked, How is your new song going? And, How did your presentation turn out? But Alexandria’s everything was on pause. She sat there nodding and answering as succinctly as possible. It was rare that Alexandria displayed any level of discomfort, but when it was present, it swallowed rooms.

Nikita saw the signs. The bend in her eyebrows, the focus on her surroundings. Alexandria knew she couldn’t evade her much longer.

Alexandria, Nikita said. Say something please. Alexandria pushed around her green curry for a while. Perhaps it would make time slow. Alexandria looked down into her food and pressed on a loose bamboo shoot. I don’t usually do this, as you know, Alexandria began. But because of the circumstances I felt I should let you know beforehand. Nikita felt the little bit of her food she consumed turn in her stomach. Let me know what? Nikita had not realized she said these words. They were produced more like a thought.

Alexandria dropped her spoon slowly and laid her hands in her lap, as if to say she was about to get to business. She took a deep breath and said, I intend to hurt Sebastián.

The waitress came by and refilled their waters. The girls did not break eye contact the entire time the half glasses were made whole. Even while the waitress asked, Is that good? They nodded into each other’s eyes. When the waitress left and Alexandria didn’t turn away, Nikita decided that, yes, this happening. She watched a baby fist rice into its pink mouth across the aisle. A car ran a red light outside the window. A different waitress dropped plates in the distance, and the ceramic smack against the tile floor was one with this world.

Would you like me to say more, Alexandria asked. Nikita nodded her head slowly. Are you sure, Alexandria asked. Nikita took one long blink and said, I think I’m going to be sick. Alexandria touched her foot under the table. Do you want me to go with you to the bathroom? Nikita shook her head. Tell me first. Alexandria nodded and passed her phone across the table. It was open to a screenshot. She said, I found this on Itsuki’s phone. When Nikita took the phone Alexandria looked away and watched the same baby Nikita had been watching.

What Nikita saw was a group chat. The band boys and their brooding faces in tiny bubbles next to their names. Then there was a photo—there was brown. Brown skin and a blue sky. A still image taken from a video in which there was a parted mouth. A stretched neck and distant boats on the far side of the lake in the background. Dark areolas and tightly shut eyes and a girl in love with a mouth that could be letting loose a s-e-b, if she knew someone who possessed those letters, which she very well did. A face that looked as if to be taking in a tense anticipatory breath, like the one before someone sneezes, with light tears in her eyes, because that’s how good it must’ve been. That’s how good it was, she recalled.

The other members commented. She could not register these words. She did not want to.

At the very bottom of the screenshot, in a blue text bubble sent by Itsuki was: ya i wont be a part of this

Then: you have left this groupchat.

Since Itsuki left, I couldn’t see if Sebastián sent more, Alexandria said. Nikita held the phone in her hand, forgetting what it was. When was this, she asked. Alexandria played with her bracelets. I found it today, but it was from two weeks ago. Nikita nodded, as if this all made perfect sense. I’m going to be sick now, she said, standing up. Alexandria followed her. Down the hall, past the fish tank, into the girls room, into the handicap stall. Nikita got to her knees and threw up into the sterile white bowl of the toilet while Alexandria rubbed her back. Nikita’s bare knees stinging against the tile. The image of herself on top of Sebastián from that low recording angle had tarnished the memory of that moment—Nikita no longer able to see it from her objective point of view. She did not see Sebastián’s bony body lying on the lake’s edge between her thighs. She just saw herself, paused in motion, loving him.

When her body was empty she sat up. Still on her knees; hands piously held in her lap, head bowed from looking into the toilet. She thought, this is what becomes of the desperately lost. This is asking position.

Nikita bent down further, looking under the remaining stalls of the restroom. There were no feet. She sat up.

What do you plan on doing to him, she asked warily.

I don’t know. I have ideas.

When do you plan on doing this? Nikita asked again.

When I leave here.

Will you tell me what you do?

Alexandria shook her head.

Alexandria was sat at Nikita’s side, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her, lower to the ground than Nikita was. Nikita looked down at her eyes. They were not anxious or assured—they were awaiting clearance.

If I asked you not to, would you not? Nikita asked.

Alexandria took a steady inhale, exhaled, and nodded her head.

In a strained voice, she said, In this instance, if you asked me not to I would not. If that’s what you really wanted.

Alexandria looked soft, young, and yet, she was capable of it all. Nikita saw it flash quickly in her eyes, the many things she had done on her behalf, and was still yet to do. She thought back to the day they played Egyptian Rat Screw—the day she first learned of the burning car. After she had told her about Tommy, they played another game. Nikita won that time, and Alexandria said, I would burn a man’s car for you. Nikita laughed. I’m not sure if I’d want you to.

You would, Alexandria said, if he was a bad enough man. Nikita figured she was right.

My mom and my aunt are untouchable, Alexandria continued. They’re weapons. We could be like that. We could live practically forever.

I don’t have the gene though, remember, Nikita said.

Alexandria nodded and stuffed the cards into their box before saying: It’s just, I don’t know what I did before you transferred freshman year. You’re the only real friend I’ve ever had.

Nikita knew that Sebastián was right. This devotion, to be on the other end of it—it was sacrosanct.

They flushed the toilet and watched the vile inners of who Nikita once was spiral down into the pipes. They walked out of the handicap stall, out of the girl’s room, past the fish tank, down the hall, back into their booth. Alexandria began to gather her things. Can I go? She asked. Nikita nodded. I’ll see you at home.

Allegra Solomon is a Black fiction writer born and raised in Columbus, Ohio. She got her MFA from the University of Kentucky and her B.A. in Creative Writing from Ohio University. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in TriQuarterly, New Ohio Review, Lolwe, The Account and more. She was the University of Kentucky’s 2022 recipient of the Fiction MFA award and served as former co-editor-in-chief for the literary magazine New Limestone Review. She lives in Lexington, Kentucky.