“That’s the definition of racist, you realize,” Candace had said one night while they studied for some test. She and Ari had been talking for a minute, and the topic of telling their families had come up. Better to say something before someone walked in while hands were up shirts, skirts, or wherever else instead of flipping through textbooks.

“Yeah, I know.” Ari had puffed out her cheeks and shaken her head. “But trying to tell him is like talking to a brick wall. A brick wall that lives in my house and pays the bills and makes the rules.”

Candace smirked. “It’s cool. I’m dating you, not your pops.” She had pulled Ari into her arms and nestled into the couch with her.

Ari had woven their fingers together, white skin against dark brown. “Lucky me.”

They’d fallen asleep on that couch. The same couch Candace now slouched against almost two years after that night. Two years of love, laughter, and arguments, usually about Mr. White.

“Tonight was supposed to be perfect.” Ari went back to pacing. “I made his favorite dinner. I made your favorite dessert. We were going to talk and get along and he’d like you and we’d ride off to college together this fall with his blessing.”

“Uh-huh.” Candace gently smoothed a hand over her braids, still very sensitive and somewhat slick from where her stylist had finished just in time for her to make it to Ari’s for dinner. “That’s why I wore it. I wanted him to know the real me, to like the real me.” Even if she thought that last part would be a bit of a stretch. “What, you want me to sanitize parts of myself for him?”

Ari whirled around. Her green eyes sparkled with anger. Her lips pursed. “Of course not!”

“Want me to act like I don’t give a damn about what’s happening in the world? That his cops are people too bumper sticker doesn’t piss me off every time I see it?” Heat filled Candace’s face.

“No.”

“That I don’t notice the way he acts when he knows you’re with me, or coming over here?” They spent a lot of time at Candace’s house because her parents were just fine with their relationship. Mr. White . . . had to warm up to it. “That he tells you to be careful on ‘that side of town’?”

“Candy—”

“Want me to put on a show?” Candace forced a jovial lilt into her tone. “Why, I’ll do whatever ya wan’! I’ll dance for ya paw, I sure will, yessuh!” Her head bobbed.