Everyone is staring at me like an alien sprouted from my Afro and is now peeing on my head. I desperately try to save it. “But it’s cool if you want to smoke—who am I to judge you . . . Yay, cancer!” I add awkwardly.

I’m relieved when the basement door opens and we’re interrupted; two more kids join us. The guy’s name is Franklyn. He’s in my math class and wears a low fade. The white girl whose hand he’s holding has light eyes, blond hair, and a warm smile.

“Y’all, this is Chloe,” Franklyn says. Everyone nods politely.

We talk, laugh, and act stupid for nearly an hour. I wish Nai was here; she’d like this vibe. Things are going pretty well, apart from my tobacco company tirade earlier. I’m actually enjoying myself. And even though I haven’t had any alcohol or drugs, I feel high. It’s a natural high, the kind you get when you feel like you’re where you belong.

I should note that by now Chloe has had two beers and is feeling pretty loose. She aims for a third, and Franklyn suggests that she slow down. She reluctantly agrees and gives him a lingering kiss. Devonte looks at me with this “come close” gaze, and my mind shatters. Meanwhile, my body doesn’t need any other hints. I move closer. He leans toward me . . .

I’m about to get kissed. My very first kiss is about to happen. It’s cool. I can handle this. I’m not going to freak out in my head. That being said: It’s happening! It’s happening! It’s happening!

And just as his lips are about to touch mine, Chloe plops down right in the middle of us. We pull back and look at each other, perplexed. But one look at the goofy, glossy gaze on Chloe’s face and we know she’s tipsy.

“Okay, can we be, like, super honest right now?”

“Chloe, chill,” Franklyn says, trying to get her to come back over to him.

“What? C’mon, we’re all friends here. I just want to ask Ayo a question.”

Franklyn tries to dissuade her, but she insists. She turns her focus onto me, taking my hand in hers, and places it over her chest. “You and I just met, but I can tell we’re gonna be friends. Right?”

“Okay,” I reply with an awkward smile.

There’s a chance Chloe could ask something perfectly benign, but history isn’t on her side. Never once in all of humanity has a tipsy white girl asked a Black girl a question that wasn’t offensive.

My stomach tightens and my hands get sweaty. I try to slow my heart rate down and control my breathing. I know it seems like I’m overreacting, but it worries me that she had to ask permission to ask the question.