There’s no time for a follow-up question; Mr. Gunderson is now facing the class. “Before we get to the next chapter, I think it’s important to acknowledge that history isn’t just what happened in the past—it can sometimes be what’s happing right now. And by that, I mean our very own Ayo Bosia will be at the forefront of the biggest protest march in Harlem history. So I thought she could tell us a little more about it. Ayo, get up here.”

Someone kill me . . .

I get to the front of the class and quickly tell them about the march, and yes, everyone already knows, but that doesn’t stop Mr. Gunderson from asking a million follow-up questions. When the bell rings, I head for Naija. But before I get to her, Devonte texts me to meet him by my locker.

“Go ahead, Nai, I’ll catch up.” She nods and goes out the back door. When I get to my locker, Devonte is waiting for me. I have long suspected this, but now I know for sure: this guy gets better looking the more I stare at him.

I take the letter out of my pocket and hand it over to him.

“Yo, I can’t believe you got her to sign it! I’m impressed, shorty,” he says as he looks me over.

I shrug and say, “I know.” My voice is casual, even, and unbothered. It’s like, all of a sudden, I’m Beyoncé. And when someone tells Queen Bey she’s impressive, she doesn’t get all hyped about it—she just nods and accepts it as a fact.

And then he says five words that rip the air out of my lungs: “Ayo, wanna chill with me?”

Chapter Six

Strange Fruit

Wait, what exactly does a stroke feel like? Because I think I might be having one right now. Okay, here’s the deal, God: if you take me now, right now, I’d be okay with it, because nothing can top this moment . . . except maybe more moments with Devonte.

And right away a flood of picturesque moments fills my head. They range from small, romantic walks in the park to major events like prom and our wedding.

“Ayo?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“You wanna chill with me sometime or nah?”

I nod.

Oh, look at that, my head still knows how to move up and down. Good for me.

He tells me he’ll hit me up later. I watch him make his way down the hall. He uses his swagger and confidence to part the sea of students, like a sexy-ass Black Moses. He got me tripping hard. And now he wants to hang out. That’s the start of me having a social life.

Yes!