Boys Like Him

Wrung out

By the time the bell rang for break, I felt like my soul had been wrung out and hung somewhere to dry. Classes were a blur of faces, voices, and pages, none of which stuck. All I could think about was how violently my morning crashed into me.

And how Lloyd's stupidly warm hand had wrapped around my wrist.

I shook the thought off before it became embarrassing, pushing open the library door.

Inside, the hush hit me instantly, cool, dusty air, that faint scent of old paper and carpet cleaner. It felt like stepping into a different world entirely.

Mariah was already there, waving both arms like she needed air support.

Overly dramatic i***t.

"Boo-boo! Over here! I saved your seat!" she whisper-yelled.

Half the students turned, and I wanted the earth to crush me.

"Mariah," I hissed, dropping into the chair across from her. "This is a library."

"And I am whispering," she argued at full volume.

I dragged a hand down my face. "This is your whisper?"

She shrugged and started unpacking chips, her textbook, lip gloss, and... was that a mini perfume?

"Girl, why do you have your entire vanity table with you?"

"Self-care, babe," she grinned. "Could never be me walking around crusty."

I let out a weak laugh. God, she was loud, and I needed her loudness.

Mariah was the strongest person I knew. People saw the way she strutted around with her chin high, mouth sharp, dressed like she dared the world to say something, but they never knew the trenches she climbed out of.

Orphaned at eleven. Raised by an aunt who worked from morning to night cleaning hotels.

By fifteen, she worked two jobs braiding hair on neighborhood porches just to afford school clothes, and ran her own tiny braiding business by sixteen.

Paid her rent, bought her clothes, and carved her entire life for herself in a world that wouldn't give her one.

I admired her deeply, sometimes painfully, because my own house had never felt like home.

Mom and Dad had finally stopped screaming at each other after a decade of emotional warfare, but the cold lingered in the walls like mold. They were now trying this weird "amicable" thing, which mostly meant being civil in the same room but never looking each other in the eye. It was progress, I guess.

But the truth?

I never really healed from everything before that.

Not from the shouting, slammed doors, and nights I felt like a burden. Especially not from the way they forgot they had two kids watching them destroy each other until I was the mediator between their fights.

James, at least, still had time to come out less bruised by it all. He was in high school now. Mom did the bare minimum, enough to say she tried. So I picked up the slack, tutoring him, helping with his assignments, and making sure he ate properly.

And now?

College costs were rising, her work wasn't stable, and if I wanted to keep my head above water, I needed a job too.

"Earth to Nyelle!" Mariah interrupted my train of thought, staring at me over her open chips.

"I'm here," I muttered.

She kicked my leg under the table. "Spill."

I toyed with the string of my bag, heart thumping like I was about to confess a crime.

"Well..." I started.

She narrowed her eyes. "You're about to say something stupid."

"It's not stupid."

"It's always stupid with you," she countered, smiling.

I rolled my eyes. "I need a job."

Her brows shot up. "Okay... and?"

I bit the inside of my cheek.

"And I was thinking... maybe... your salon? If there's space for like cleaning or cooking or sweeping or..."

She choked on a chip, coughed dramatically, and hit her chest three times.

"Oh my... can you not do that?" I whispered harshly, reaching to pass her her bottle of water.

She snatched it, drank half, then pointed the bottle at me like it was a mic.

"You want to work at my salon?"

"Please keep your voice down..."

"YOU!?" she repeated. Louder.

Three people turned.

I sank into my chair. "Mariah."

"Babe," she leaned forward, eyes wide. "You? In a salon? You can barely detangle your own hair without crying."

"I don't have to braid!" I whispered. "I can sweep! Or wash things! Or..."

"And let my customers see you waddling around looking exhausted and ready to faint? They'll think I'm abusing my employees!"

I groaned. "Mariah, I'm serious."

She paused then. All that loud, chaotic energy dimmed, and she gave me a look so soft it almost hurt.

"Why didn't you tell me things were that tight?" she asked quietly.

My throat closed up a little. "I just... didn't want to worry anyone."

"You're my family," she mumbled simply. "Let me help you."

I swallowed hard, blinking quickly.

"I'm basically supporting myself with my savings and the little I make from doing academic-related errands on campus," I continued quietly. "Mom and Dad try, but... they don't always follow through. And James needs help. And textbooks keep getting more expensive, and tuition keeps hinting at going up, and..."

"Nyelle," Mariah murmured gently. "Breathe."

I inhaled shakily.

She reached across the table and tapped my hand with two fingers. Her way of hugging in public.

"Listen." Her voice was calm. "You're not alone. You're never alone. If you need help, say it. Out loud."

I nodded, unable to speak for a moment.

She leaned back, exhaling dramatically. "My aunt will figure something out. Even if you have to start by refilling shampoo bottles and sweeping braids off the floor."

Relief flooded me so fast it made my eyes sting. "Thank you."

Mariah shrugged. "Please. You think I'll let my girl drown? Never. Now buy me bubble tea."

I laughed.

"And also," she added, voice lifting into a tease, "would you like to explain why this morning you were getting dropped off by your fine-ass neighbor? Hmm?"

I choked on my own saliva.

"Mariah...!"

Mariah's grin sharpened as she leaned forward, elbows on the table, braids sliding over her shoulder like a curtain preparing for the show.

"When exactly were you planning to tell me you were getting chauffeured around campus by Six-Foot-Something Chocolate Thunder?"

I winced.

"I wasn't..."

"Wrong answer," she cut in smoothly.

Heat crawled up my neck. I looked away to the window, bookshelves, and the old man shelving returns, anywhere but her eyes.

"He was... being nice."

Mariah snorted.

"Men, especially fine men, are not 'nice' at 9 a.m., babe. They are chaotic and useless. They are problems dipped in testosterone. What motivation did this one have?"

My cheeks burned, and my stomach twisted in that fluttery, foolish way it had been doing since last night.

"I overslept," I mumbled. "Missed the bus. He... offered me a ride."

"And you took it." She wiggled her brows like she had uncovered a scandal. "Looking like you'd lost the war with your pillow."

I covered my face with both hands. "Please stop."

"I will not," she cackled grandly. "Especially not when you two looked like a low-budget enemies-to-lovers movie this morning. Girl, the tension..."

"There was no tension."

"Yes, there was," she retorted. "A whole feast of it. You looked like a startled baby deer, and he was looking at you like he wanted to pick you up and set you on the dashboard."

My lungs stopped.

"Mariah...!"

"What?" she asked innocently. "I'm just saying what I saw."

Her grin deepened, eyes gleaming.

"Stop," I hissed.

She cracked up, wheezing. " Anyway..." she leaned back... "You like him."

I looked away.

She nodded, victorious. "And he likes you back."

I swallowed. "You don't know that."

"Oh, please."

"I just... don't know what to do," I murmured.

Mariah's expression softened.

"Well, boo... There are options."

I blinked. "Options?"

"Mhm."

She ticked them off on her fingers.

"One, hook up with him."

I choked on air.

"Mariah!"

"Not like, marry him," she clarified. "Just... get the tension out. Sometimes you gotta touch the fire to stop thinking about the flame."

I stared at her, horrified. "I cannot.. I'm not.."

"Fine." She shrugged. "Option two, hook up with someone else."

I sputtered. "Are you insane?!"

"A little." She smiled sweetly. "But strategically. Sometimes you need a palate cleanser to clear your emotional sinuses."

I stared at her, mouth open. "You mean like casually?"

"Why not?" she replied. "It's college. You're young, hot, and have urges. You don't need to marry every butterfly in your stomach."

My brain malfunctioned.

"And option three," she added. "Go back to what I suggested."

I already knew.

I already hated it.

"Mariah, no..."

"Yes," she cut in. "Get yourself a vibrator."

My soul left my body.

I looked around like the word itself was contraband.

"Will you keep your voice DOWN?"

"No," she cooed cheerfully. "Because you're driving yourself mad. You haven't slept. You're flustered. You're thinking about him at 2 a.m., aren't you?"

My silence betrayed me more clearly than a confession ever could.

Mariah clicked her tongue. "Exactly. You need a release before you combust. And if it's not him, then it better be something battery powered."

I opened my mouth.

No words came out.

My throat closed around them like my body refused to admit anything.

Mariah leaned closer, her voice softer. "Nyelle... liking someone isn't a crime. Attraction isn't a sin. You're not your mom. You're not cursed. You get to feel things without it being a disaster."

My chest tightened painfully.

"Don't overthink it," she continued. "But you are allowed to want him. Even if it's just a crush, something physical, or even if it's nothing serious."

I dropped my forehead onto the table.

"I hate you so much."

"You love me," she sang.

"I hate that you're right."

She patted my head lovingly. "Good. Now sit up before people think you're crying. So... are you going to hook up with him, hook up with someone else, or let technology do God's work?"

None of the above made sense.

All of the above terrified me.

"I don't know," I whispered.

"Then that's your answer," she sighed quietly. "Don't do anything you're not ready for. But don't run from what you feel either. You deserve joy, experience. , and to explore life without apologizing for it."

Something warm spread through my chest.

She grinned suddenly. "But if he asks you out? Say yes. You owe your girl some content."

I groaned so loudly the librarian shushed us and glared.