I don’t have time to use my superpower of overthinking—all I have time to do is take a breath, right before we start dancing. It’s a reggae song, and like with most reggae songs, you are contractually required to grind all up on whoever you are dancing with. I take that responsibility very seriously. I’m not sure I’m making all the right moves, but I don’t care.

We dance song after song, and with each passing moment, I let go a little more. It feels good. It feels better than anything I have ever experienced. There are no ghosts here. There’s nothing to remind me that my skin is a crime for which I could very well lose my life. This space doesn’t require me to defend who I am or why I should exist. Here, I’m just one in a crowd of Black bodies that are alive, bodies that can still dance, sing, and give no Fs about the outside world.

I could stay in this crowd forever, but Devonte takes my hand and guides me out the door. The moment our fingers touch, I feel like a bolt of lightning is surging through me. This heady feeling is unreal.

He takes me down to the basement, where a small group of kids are lounging on a few old sofas. I don’t know all the faces, but everyone seems really chill. The light is dim, and the roar of the music above has faded enough that I can hear their voices. Someone offers us a drink, and I turn it down and opt for the unopened bottle of water nearby.

“This is Ayo. She that good girl,” Devonte explains. I’m not sure if it’s a compliment or not. I just smile and sit beside him. We start talking about things that don’t matter. I’m taking this all in like a kid on her first trip to Disneyland. Someone offers me a cigarette.

“Hell no, I don’t smoke. Cigarette companies disproportionately target Black communities. They spend a lot more money to market to us than they do in white neighborhoods. They also ensure the prices of cigarettes are lower in our neighborhoods so that we keep coming back for more . . .”

Okay, stop right there, Ayo. You don’t need to—

“They use Black magazines, hip-hop events, and even civil rights organizations to target us. They try to get to us any way they can because it’s an investment. If they can get a Black kid hooked now, by the time that kid is an adult, they become loyal customers. It’s so nuts, because when we get sick—which is guaranteed when it comes to smoking—we don’t get the same care as our white counterparts. We’re basically paying for our own demise.”

Damn.