Page 21 of One True Loves

He didn’t even open his eyes. “Bye.”

And that’s why I’m sitting alone at the teen mixer. To mycredit, I tried to find the brunch buffet, but I got lost on this big-ass ship. And when Chad found me wandering the fifth floor, between an intense senior bingo game and a divorcée speed-dating session, I didn’t really have much of an excuse to say no.

“Are y’all ready to get this party started?” Chad calls from the front of the room, pumping his first in the air. There are a few half-hearted cheers, which seem to lift Chad’s spirit. “That’s what I’m talking about! Welcome to the Teen Club, your own personal escape from the parentals, where you can chill and be yourselves without anyone harshing your vibe. I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of y’all during this voyage. Am I right?” Crickets. “Okay, all right, I see we’ve got some shy ones here. Well, I’ve got some jams to help you loosen up. Let’s rock and roll!”

Chad tucks his C-curved frame over a set of turntables and starts playing an old Justin Bieber song. And I feel sick. But it’s not just the sight of his limp, frizzy dreads bouncing in time to the music. No, the nausea that started in the room is even worse now that the ship has pulled from the port on its way to our first destination, Sicily. My head feels like it’s swimming and my bubble guts feel like they’re going to bubble right on up out of my mouth if I’m not careful. And like, I knew that we were going to be on a ship for almost two weeks. But I don’t think I ever really thought about what that actually means. I hope I’m just adjusting and I’m not going to feel this way the whole time.

“Yo, turn this shit off!” someone shouts from the other side of the room, followed by an uproar of laughter. But Chad justpoints at them and smiles, transitioning to Ariana Grande while he flips on a set of rainbow lights.

I take a sip of my ginger ale and look around the room, assessing my fellow teens who I will be forced to interact with for the next hour or so until dinner—because I sure as hell am never coming back here again. I don’t know what kind of crowd I was expecting exactly, but this looks about white.

There’s a group of alabaster bros in pastel polos and khaki shorts in the corner, congregated around the air hockey machine. That’s where the shout came from. I will definitely not be heading in that direction. Some more girls huddle nearby, sending the boys looks over their shoulders, in between intense-looking whisper huddles. And another crowd is sitting in front of an oldRiverdaleepisode on the couches in front of a massive flat-screen TV. Exactly no one is dancing to Chad’s booming music.

Just like I usually do when I enter a new space, I count the people of color. It’s something that I do almost without thinking, calculating how much of a minority I am in any given situation—probably a habit left over from my summers spent being the only Black girl at bougie arts day camps. There are three East Asian kids, going to town on at the nacho buffet that’s set up, and a couple Latinx girls, flipping through magazines and looking bored on one of the couches. No one else is Black in the room, which I can handle, but it’s never a great feeling.

I know I should be social. Walk over and say what’s up tosomeone. Maybe make an acquaintance I could hang out with since Wally’s committed to being a dick. But number one, I’m barely holding this possible puke situation down, and number two, I don’t have the energy to put on that front right now.

If you asked anyone who’s met me, they would say I’m an extrovert. But that’s not my natural state. It’s something I have to do intentionally—talking and laughing and being loud and cracking jokes—until I feel like my teeth and cheeks are buzzing and I need to rest and recover. It’s all performative. It takes a lot of work.

I can remember the first time I made a conscious decision to make people like me. It was fourth grade, and even though the gifted and talented class starts in third, I was just beginning then. My mom didn’t agree with the previous years’ results, something about bias in the assessment. So she made them retest me, and look at that, apparently I should have been there all along. Except the kids in the class didn’t accept me as easily—and it didn’t help that their moms were whispering, too, about my mom going up to the school and “making a scene.” No one wanted to talk to me in class or play with me at recess, it was a whole thing.

So, I decided to fix it. I told loud jokes that kept the whole lunchroom laughing. I memorized something unique about everyone and was always ready with a tailored, heartfelt compliment. I made everyone feel special. I wore outrageous outfits that made Ms. Chang, our teacher, smile as soon as I strutted into the classroom. I was goofy and social and charming.

I put on a show to make them like me. I was relentless until it worked.

Because, see, it’s a little hard to hate someone who’s making you laugh and making you feel good about yourself. If people love being around you, they stop worrying about whether you deserve to be there in the first place. Andlisten, I know I deserve to be in whatever room I decide to enter—my parents raised me that way, my mom told me that when I got added to that special class. But sometimes it’s easier to just not fight, to pretend like the bullshit isn’t there. If I’m bright and happy and hilarious, I can convince myself that people would be down with me regardless.

And I guess—no, I’ll be real. Iknowthis has trickled down into my relationships with my best friends. I know Theo and Tessa would accept me either way, or at least I hope they would. But also, I like knowing that I give them something they need. That I play a role in their lives.

It’s not that it’s not me. It is. But it’s only part of me. And it’s exhausting to keep it up sometimes. But I’d rather be exhausted than show the other parts that are there too: depressed and pissed off and self-conscious. Those parts would just send people running.

Of course, those parts are the ones bubbling up right now, along with my bubble guts, when I desperately need the other smiley, confident part of me. Because that’s the only part of me that belongs at a goddamn teen mixer.

Yeah, I feel like I’m about to reenact a scene fromTheExorcistany moment now, but where else can I go? I’m not about to go hang out in Mom and Dad’s room and have more talks about my future. And I’m pretty sure if I tried to sneak out the exit anyway, Chad would call me out on his stupid microphone, and I cannot handle that level of cringe right now.

“Whoa, how do you get your hair like that? I love it.”

I turn, and one of the air-hockey-watching girls is now standing inches away. She has brown, wavy hair, tan skin that was clearly tanned explicitly for this trip, and a white babydoll dress. I’m worried she’s going to reach out and tug one of my locs, but to my surprise, she has more home training than that.

“Hi, I’m Joelle. You should come hang with me and my cousins.” I’m thinking I must be giving off better vibes than I thought, but then she reaches behind me to grab a Diet Coke from the cooler and I realize I’m just blocking the drinks.

I take a deep breath as another wave of nausea passes, and then get my face on. “Hi! I’m Lenore! Where are you from?”

“Bloomfield Hills, Michigan! What about you?”

“Long Beach. It’s like right outside of LA.”

“Long Beach!” she calls back, doing a Snoop Dogg impersonation, and my whole body tenses trying to keep my eyeballs that are desperate to roll in check. I mean, she couldat leasttry to be original.

“Ha-ha, yeah....”

“So, have you been to the gym yet? There are only five Pelotons! Five! For a ship this big...”

She begins to go on about the gym’s entire equipmentinventory, which she’s somehow had a chance to assess after only, like, an hour on the ship. And I listen and smile encouragingly, throwing in an “Oh girl, really” when it’s appropriate, as it becomes increasingly clear that this girl’s only discernible character traits are vocal fry and a love for exercise.

When she finally leaves, after giving me her room number to link up, I’ve firmly decided to go. The way things are headed, I am definitely going to blow chunks on someone’s checkered Vans slides, and I just don’t have the mental capacity to deal with that right now.

But then, something—orsomeone—catches my eye from across the room.

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