Page 65 of My Secret Snowflake
“So would yours,” says Jamal.
“True. And your mom would like you to get a summer job or internship,” Faith says.
“What do you like to do?” Iris asks Jamal.
“Play computer games,” says Faith, answering for him.
“You like to play them too,” Jamal says.
Are they dating?
“You guys are close?” I ask.
“We’re neighbors,” Faith says.
“We’ll get you there in math,” I say. “We can keep meeting after school via Zoom to go over your homework.”
“Me too,” Iris says.
“Our internet is not always that reliable.”
“We can also have a phone call,” Iris says. “What’s your textbook called? Maybe we can find a used version on the internet.”
“And we should research possible summer jobs or internships now. The applications probably open up in January,” I say. “Should I get another round of hot chocolates?”
“I’ll come with you,” Jamal says.
Jamal punches me playfully as we leave to buy more hot chocolates. The price is outrageous.
“Way to play wingman,” he says. “I just might get honors this year if I’m spending all my evenings with Faith.”
“Have you asked her out?” I pick up the tray with hot chocolates and turn to carry it back to the table.
“No.” He shakes his head. “She’s made clear she’s all about studying right now. No time for guys. I’m just lucky to have grown up with her and be her neighbor. But maybe if I get top grades, I can prove to her that I’m good enough.”
BothIrisandIelect to return to the office. Jazmine raises an eyebrow.
“How are you getting home?” Aaron asks Jazmine. “Maybe we can take the subway together. I’m uptown.”
“I’m uptown too,” Jazmine says.
“I’m downtown. Maybe I should go back to the office too.” Ernest shakes his head. “But I promised Mother I’d be home early tonight.”
“Is your mother not feeling well?” Jazmine asks.
“No. Mother is fine. She just made her beef stew for me, and I promised I’d be home in time to eat it.”
Ernest may give the nice guy vibe, but he seems to be a package deal with his mother.
We all say our good-byes, and Iris and I walk off. Or try to. We immediately get stuck in a crowd that’s not going anywhere. We stand there, waiting, taking a step here and there, as the person in front of us inches forward.
I hook my arm through Iris’s. “I don’t want to lose you in this crowd.”
She laughs. “Like you could.”
But Iris doesn’t pull her arm away. And I’m happy to be back in my shoes on flat ground. I feel so mobile and free—except for being utterly hemmed in by the crowd.
We shuffle along, following the person in front of us, surrounded on all sides by people. We finally pass by the side doors of Radio City Music Hall. The smell of buttered popcorn is strong. Next to us is an Italian family chattering away. They’re probably figuring out directions, but it sounds like they’re reciting poetry.
