Chapter Six: All Eyes Ain’t Bad Eyes
797 Words
Monday felt different.
For once, I wasn’t dragging my feet through the school halls or hiding in my hoodie. I had somewhere to be after. Something that felt mine.
My job.
I know it wasn’t some big-deal career, but walking through those mall doors after school in my work outfit and actually having somewhere to clock in felt good.
Janiyah hyped me all day like she was my PR manager.
“Y’all better talk to her nice — she got a job now,” she told everyone who looked at me in the hallway. “Don’t ask her for nothing either, ‘cause she only using her check on lip gloss and therapy.”
I laughed every time. Loud. Real.
By 3:40PM I was walking through the Galleria mall’s employee entrance, holding my little tote bag with my lunch leftovers and body spray inside. Hair slicked, fresh gloss on my lips, and my nerves surprisingly calm.
The manager, Miss Kayla, was chill. She showed me how to fold the paper bags all neat, restock lotion shelves, greet people without sounding fake, and how to say “buy three, get three” without sounding like a damn robot.
I was quick with it. Fast learner. And for the first time in a while, I felt... capable.
A girl came in wearing UGG slides and a bonnet asking if we had anything that smelled like “rich b***h vibes.” I hooked her up with the champagne toast spray and a little trial-sized shimmer mist. She left smiling and waving like I was her cousin.
The whole shift went smooth.
No drama. No mess. No stares from across the food court. Just me, the shelves, the scent of eucalyptus and shea butter in the air, and the soft music playing overhead.
I loved it.
By the time we closed, my feet were sore but my chest was light. I walked out the back door into the pink sunset, sliding on my jacket and breathing in the warm air like life had just given me a break for once.
At home, I peeled off my shoes, plopped on my bed, and checked my phone.
One missed call from Mama.
Two texts from Janiyah.
And then...
Zay.
Zay:
You looked real good today. That job suits you.
My lips curled without permission.
I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then typed:
Me:
You spying on me now?
He replied quick.
Zay:
You make it hard not to notice.
Zay:
You looked like you belonged.
That made my stomach flip.
I stared at the messages longer than I should’ve, then tossed my phone on the bed like it was burning my hand.
Why was he like this?
Smooth. Calm. The kind of quiet that still made noise in your chest.
Meanwhile, Janiyah was blowing up my phone like her night was the main event.
Janiyah:
BITCH
Janiyah:
GUESS WHO SLID IN MY DMs
Janiyah:
GUESS. I’LL WAIT.
I laughed and sent:
Me:
Who??
She called instantly.
“I had to hear your reaction in real time,” she said, breathless. “You remember who I said was my man? Hoodie. Chain. Arm tats. Don’t talk much?”
I already knew, but I let her finish.
“He slid in my DMs. I posted that selfie from the food court and boom — he double tapped, then messaged me like, ‘You be around here often?’”
I blinked. “He really said that?”
“Yes! Then we started talking a little. And best part?” she paused for dramatic effect. “He invited me to his birthday party.”
I sat up. “A party?”
“Yup. His birthday’s in two weeks. He said it’s gonna be chill but lit. His people throwing it for him. And guess who else is gonna be there?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Zay,” she whispered like it was some forbidden secret. “He said Zay gon’ be there. I already told him I’m coming — and now you have to come with me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Girl, that ain’t my scene.”
“Please. You got a job now. You can afford a fit. And don’t front like you ain’t tryna see what Zay wear outside of black hoodies.”
“I’m not—”
“Lyric.”
I sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll be there.”
I hung up and tossed my phone on the bed again, heart still racing from the text and the invite.
Zay texted me.
Janiyah just might be on her way to getting cuffed.
And in two weeks... I might be standing in a room where the heat in the air wasn’t just from the music.
- Writer
