Page 45 of As You Walk On

He pulls up his website on his phone, then passes it to me. Through the cracked screen, I see he has a contact form, prices, a frequently-asked-questions section. He’s even got a testimonial page. “Damn,” I whisper, handing back his phone.

I don’t mention the way his thumb lingers against my knuckles during the exchange.

Instead, my mind goes on autopilot.

How can Aleah afford his fees? She’s not one of the flashy rich kids we matriculate with. The ones you never see in the same outfit twice, have their own cars, and have zero problems telling you their zip code. Aleah lives in the West End. As long as I can remember, her mom’s been in and out of rehab or prison. Never in the picture. Her dad’s truck driving is their sole income. Mario was there to help, both financially and as a positive influence on Aleah.

We’re a lot alike—only children with fathers who work above and beyond to secure our futures. We make up that 10 percent of Brook-Oak’s population that walks through those pristine glass doors knowing every day isn’t just another day.

It’s our one shot at improving our lives if we play the game right.

Be sure to talk to Mr.Scottrattles around my head in Dad’s voice.

“No offense...” I overhear Aleah say to River. “But how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“No shit. You look younger.” When River lets out an affronted squeak, Aleah adds, “It’s a compliment! No acne. Baby cheeks. Drop that skin-care routine, babe!”

I imagine River’s blushing. I’m too busy fiddling with my phone to look.

“Whoa, nice!”

Luca points toward my latest wallpaper. I saved this Finn artwork from Pinterest months ago. He’s holding a blue lightsaber while dressed in a hoodie and joggers, giant headphones aroundhis neck. Just a normal Black boy doing Jedi things. It’s so dope.

The artist—a fourteen-year-old Nigerian girl from Surrey—has a serious art portfolio. Something about her being that young simultaneously intimidates and motivates me. The same way Jay being faster than me when we started track did. The gap feels concurrently huge and minuscule.

“Thanks,” I finally say to Luca.

“I’ve been meaning to change mine.”

It’s no surprise his wallpaper is of him and Devya.

She’s smiling, hair windswept across her face. He’s kissing her temple. A fiery pink sky in the background. The kind of stuff you’ll find all over his Insta.

“You don’t have to...” I hesitate.Am I really going to say this?“If that’s what you want, keep it. It’s okay to still feel a certain way about someone.”

It’s true. Moving on isn’t a one-step process.

“Can we skip the weepy montages?” Aleah interjects. “All thesedeepfeels like we’re in a damn Pixar movie. I’m not here for that.” She fakes dry heaving into her hands.

“Why not?” I ask.

“I’m just not,” she replies, emphasizing every word.

Again, shutting up is so simple. I can ignore her offended tone. Turn back to Luca. Reset. But this is the thing about Aleah—when she doesn’t like something or is bored with a topic, she dismisses it as if you shouldknowbetter. Like it’s not even worth the time. Why bother?

I’ve always hated that. Which is why I ask, “Sore subject?” with just a pinch of pettiness.

Her eyes widen. Luca kicks my ankle. I ignore what he’s trying to tell me to watch Aleah for another reaction.

“Fine.” She swivels to face Luca. “Here’s the deal—if your first instinct isn’t to remove your ex’s face from your phone screen after months of not dating, her getting another boyfriend...” Aleah lists every offense on her fingers. “A very public dismissal during a promposal—yes, we’ve all seen the video, let’s not pretend—then clearly your pathetic attachment isn’t to that person, but theideaof having someone to be in love with and them loving you back.”

“Jesus!” Luca squirms anxiously. “You didn’t have to drag me like that.”

“I’m keeping it real. Move on from your past.”

“What if it’s not that easy?” I counter. “What if it’s deeper than just filling an empty space?”

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