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thegoddessmaker · 1 year ago

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Side Out: Chapter 1

Satan wasn’t cast from heaven; he was turned to glitter.

It was the only plausible explanation for why the speckled pieces of plastic fervently stuck to their victims, no matter how much effort was put into their removal. I’d found glitter in more places on my body in the last two weeks than I could remember seeing in my lifetime. Every card that arrived in the mail was covered in the substance. No matter how carefully I opened them, the particles would inevitably spill over the carpet, creating a mess that would put unicorn blood to shame if the books were to be believed.

I didn’t understand why so many damn cards were showing up. It was the beginning of the school year. Two seasons stood between now and graduation. Most people wouldn’t start sending congratulations until spring. My mother’s relatives couldn’t help themselves, though. My titi Tvora was the worst offender. They celebrated every accomplishment like it was the last I’d ever make. It would upset me if it weren’t as endearing as it was.

Placing the black and gold card on the top of the mantle, I brush the remainder of the glitter from my hands onto the floor. The vacuum would take care of it during the midday run. There was no need to preoccupy myself with it now.

“Really? You did not just brush that onto the floor.”

I raise a brow at my sister, tapping my hands together for good measure. Miki stands with her hand on her hip. The bow shape of her evenly portioned lips is turned into a frown, her amethyst-colored eyes narrowed disapprovingly at the confetti dotting the ground. Her long silver hair is twisted into a hair clip, cascading in ringlets over her shoulders. It complimented the golden-brown hue of her skin beautifully, shining like the glitter dotting the floor under the harsh LEDs sunken into the ceiling. She’d been playing with her style recently, insisting that senior year meant she needed to start dressing for the professional world. I wasn’t sure what professional environment allowed for a backless crop top and cargo pants pulled straight out of the nineties, but far be it from me to burst her bubble. Besides, she’d worked hard for her incredible physique, spending more time in the gym than was reasonable for a human being. If she wanted to show off the line of her abs, I wouldn’t stop her.

“We have a Roomba for a reason, Mi,” I answer, adjusting the pleats of my skirt as I cross the room. The offending substance somehow managed to avoid the black knit of my socks. I supposed I should be grateful for that.

She rolls her eyes, exasperated. “Great. Automated service to drag glitter all over the apartment.”

“Then we need a better Roomba.”

Throwing up her hands, she surrenders, picking up her bag from the chair she threw it into every day when she returned from class. We’d lived together in this apartment for the last three years. Mother had insisted on purchasing it when she’d come to visit on parent’s weekend freshman year and witnessed the “horror,” as she referred to it, of our living space in the dorms. We were required to live on campus the first year, but were free to choose our living arrangements after that. Mother had taken full advantage of that freedom to put us into a “suitable” apartment in University South. I didn’t think a “suitable” apartment needed a pool and a personal gym, but it was the only compromise she’d been willing to accept. She’d wanted to buy a penthouse in Evergreen Park, but Miki and I quashed that quickly. We already stood out as the daughters of the founder of the most well-known gemstone conglomerate in the East. The last thing we needed was to attract more of the wrong attention by flaunting our wealth in everyone’s faces, even at a “new ivy” like Stanford. Presenting a veneer of humility was necessary to keep up appearances.

I retrieve my backpack from the hook by the door, slinging it over my shoulder along with my gym bag resting on the floor underneath it. It was Thursday and Halloween, which meant a long day on campus. Volleyball practice would go until nine, and I was certain that Miki and Dalila would drag me out tonight. I’d successfully avoided the last three years by sneaking away while they chattered about their plans for the evening. I doubted I’d be so lucky this year. Miki was determined to see that I attend a party this year. She’d selected the perfect costume for me by her own admission. Unsurprisingly, she neglected to tell me what exactly it was that she’d selected. I shuttered to think what it was that she’d thrown together.

Still, I’d suck it up. It was our last year together. The least I could do was acquiesce to a night out on her favorite holiday. Plus, it wouldn’t be half bad with the right company. We were set to scrimmage with the men’s team this evening in Halloween tradition. I’d be able to convince Omari to join us and if Omari came then Isee and Dante wouldn’t be far behind. Their presence would make things substantially less irritating to deal with. They were a good time—and they knew to bring all the good liquor.

Glancing down at my watch, I motion for my sister to hurry along. We were going to be late if we dawdled further, and I had a lab later today that I needed to prepare for. I still hadn’t the faintest clue why I’d elected to take up a neuroscience major, considering it bored me to tears, but it made my mother happy. She’d always wanted my sister and me to become doctors.

‘Do something good for the world,’ she’d said.

Despite donating a sizable chunk of her fortune after marrying Father, she never quite felt that she’d done enough, whether for herself or her people. Her great-great-grandparents had fled Ethiopia during the Italian invasion, selling off their stake in the country’s resources to the highest bidder. The fortunate timing allowed them to purchase a controlling interest in three mines along the eastern coast of Africa. While the rest of the continent was ravaged, Mother’s family escaped unscathed, holding on to the rights to the mines through a series of strategic partnerships with China and Japan. Those partnerships eventually led to my mother and father’s meeting when their business relationship turned to romance.

The perfect fairytale ending.

But as with any money-generating enterprise, my ancestors’ gains did not come without sacrifice. Thousands of men and children were sent off to die in the mines during that time. Feeling the weight of her role in the death of her people, Mother reverted the profits to the country when she came into control of operations, raising wages and providing compensation to families that had lost relatives due to working conditions. Those small measures had done little to touch the enormous coiffures that Grandma and Grandpa left behind in the end, and despite the protests from the board, the company was thriving. However, those meager successes didn’t erase the guilt Mother felt for her family’s role in the exploitation of her people. I didn’t know if she’d ever find peace with herself in that regard.

A shoulder nudges my own. A brunette desi woman stares at me with an amused smile. “Daydreaming again, Kitamura?” she asks.

Busted.

I grip the bus strap tighter, pulling my earbud free with my opposite hand. I hadn’t noticed her come on the bus, too absorbed in my thoughts to spare a glance around me. Nithya was a petite woman, standing only five foot three and a half—and yes, the half was important. She had lovely hazel eyes and hair that rolled in the softest waves I’d ever seen down her back. Her skin was the color of walnut but cool, not warm-toned. The daughter of prominent politicians, she’d entered my life sophomore year after joining our humble club team as our resident libero. She was fast and agile with an intuitive sense for the game that few people possessed. Finding her had been like finding a piece of the puzzle we weren’t aware we’d lost. She’d singlehandedly raised the bar for all of us.

“Lost in thought,” I reply, glancing down at my phone.

“I can tell. Your RBF was showing.”

There was nothing I could do about that. Unlike my sister, I’d inherited the sternness of my Father’s expression, resulting in a permanent stone face that earned me the nickname ‘Ice Queen’ from enemies and friends alike. Mirella, my childhood friend, was the only one to understand my ailment as a fellow sufferer.

Miki leans over, smirking at me. “My poor sister. Doomed to be forever alone despite her impeccable looks all because of that scary habit of hers.”

“I’ve had a boyfriend before,” I point out.

“Yeah, but he sucked, so we don’t count him.” She never got along with my ex. I knew she tried to, but they were like oil and water.

Well, to be fair, when it came to Kai, everyone was oil. I met him my freshman year when he was the TA for my introductory biology class. At the time, he was entering his senior year and starting his second term as a student senator. He was quiet and unassuming, with a cute face hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses that were far too thick. It wasn’t until I went to him after class for help one day that I realized how charming he was. He had big aspirations to become the next Steve Jobs of medicine. It didn’t take long for him to work his way into my bedroom and, eventually, my heart.

In hindsight, he was a red flag walking.

He had a nasty habit of talking down to anyone that he considered dumber than himself. Most people fell into that category for him. It was admittedly fascinating to watch his mind at work—he was brilliant—but his rudeness wore on me. We parted ways at the end of last year when he finally got his acceptance letter into Harvard, thanks in no small part to the hours I spent with him studying the MCATs and reviewing his personal statements. He told me the same day the letter arrived that he felt it would be better if we parted ways so he could focus on his studies. It was a hell of a birthday present.

I hadn’t re-entered the dating scene since. I figured with graduation nearing, there wasn’t much of a point in trying to find someone when it would end before anything could get started. While she understood my hesitancy to jump into another relationship, she didn’t understand why I’d taken a vow of celibacy too. It didn’t matter how often I told her I wasn’t celibate. As long as my bed was empty, it may as well have been the same thing.

“Better to be alone than unhappy,” I say, referring to her original comment.

“You’re alone and unhappy, so how does that work?”

I wanted to punch her. “I don’t need someone to be happy.”

“No, but it might make you less mopey.” She playfully pushes my shoulder, grinning. “You know what they say. ‘Best way to get over one man is to get under another.’”

Nythia scoffs. “Sounds like something written by a man.”

“It’s worked for me so far.”

“Haven’t you been dating Rahim for like two years now?”

“And he was the perfect medicine for getting over my ex.”

Rahim had been good for my sister. He was a looker—athletic, tall, muscular and a sharp mind to boot. His fiery red hair reached past his shoulders, falling in waves straight out of a Pantene commercial. Part desi, part saudi, I was certain he came from some serious oil money if the designer labels he sported were any indication. He’d bought a horse for club polo matches, for Christ’s sake.

It was an ideal match for Miki, in many respects. Since he came from money, she never had to worry that he was only interested in her for hers. They also got on well enough, and it was clear to anyone with eyes that Rahim adored my sister. For her part, this was the longest I’d ever seen my sister stay with anyone, so he had to be doing something right. I didn’t know if they would stand the test of time, but he made her happy. That was enough for me.

Ignoring Miki’s comment, I push the button to request the next stop, shifting through the crowd towards the door. “I’ll see you both later tonight.”

“Wait, we need to figure out where we’re going tonight,” Nythia calls after me.

I throw up a hand, stepping off the bus. “Do it without me. I don’t care where we go.” The doors close behind me; the vehicle continues its way down the block. I plug the earbud in again, turning up the music playing on my phone. Three hours of class to get through, and then I could spend the rest of the evening sweating out my thoughts of Kai and graduation.

Mercifully, class went by faster than I thought it would. There was no syllabus day in a lab class, given that we only met once per week. The fast pace of the lesson made up for the duration. I was out of there and lacing up my sneakers courtside in record time.

Today was our first week with the new recruits. Most were freshman, although a handful of sophomores and juniors had also made the cut this year. With my sister and I graduating, we were in special need of new setters to fill our shoes. Miki and I managed to run a tight ship with our six-two formation the last three years. I was optimistic that some of the new recruits we’d selected would be able to rise to the occasion. They showed more promise than the majority of new recruits in recent history, performing well in practice despite the initial nerves.

Coach Mezza blows the whistle, signaling for us to bring it in. I chuck the ball I’d been holding during the drill into the cart, jogging over to join the others.

“Good work today, everyone. We’ll call it early today. I believe you have plans with the boy’s team to get to,” Mezza says. She puts her hand in the center, glancing over at me. “Captain?”

I throw my hand over hers. “Team on two. One, two.”

“Team,” echos the chorus of responses.

The group breaks apart, hands receding from the circle. The freshman huddle together, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. Most were nervous about going to play with the boys, unsure of what to expect. It was nostalgic, watching them.

“To be young and naive again,” Miki comments, walking up beside me. She’s accompanied by a girl with coily black hair looped together in a long twist that extends well past her shoulders. Her sepia-brown skin makes the sapphire blue of her eyes pop, not that they needed the help. At five eight, Dalila was a solid outside hitter with a strong constitution. The girl also happened to have one of the biggest verticals a woman could. If not for her gentle face, she would be quite intimidating.

“I think it’s cute. Reminds me of when we joined,” Dalila says.

Miki folds her arms over her chest. “I don’t remember being nervous.”

“Didn’t you almost throw up after practice?” I question.

“I just said I didn’t remember, didn’t I?”

I didn’t realize surpressing the memory counted. Dalila laughs, rolling her eyes.

She pats my back. “Shall we?”

“Let’s get their beating over with.”

Miki grins, she and Dalila keeping pace with me as we head over. Nythia joins us at the curtain, dipping through it to greet the men’s team waiting on the other side. “Fear not, you’re still getting your asses kicked today!”

Omari is the first to greet us, crashing into me to swing me around. “If it isn’t the fantastic four in the flesh. How have you been, Aki?”

The black-haired man bore a striking resemblance to his sister standing beside me, only with cheekbones turned up to ten. His purple-dipped dreads are tied back in a ponytail that reaches his shoulders, the underside of his head shaved into fade. His skin was the same sepia-color, barely light enough for the black-line tattoos covering his arms to show through. He grins, full lips parting to reveal white teeth underneath. It was a shame his cocky personality made him insufferable most days. He was perfection otherwise.

“Fine, thanks,” I reply.

Isse is next to greet me, ruffling the top of my hair. The big man was built like a linebacker at six three and made for a hell of a middle, with Omari as his opposite. His rich brown skin was sheened with sweat, no doubt from the effort the olive-skinned boy standing behind him had put him through. He’d shaved his head, opting to braid his hair into cornrows for the first time in a while. It looked good on him. “You’ll go easy on us, I hope?”

“She never goes easy on us,” Dante mutters. That was as close to a greeting as I would get from him. The guy may have only been five-ten, but he was full of sass. It came as a shock to everyone when he and Isse announced they were together. For the longest time, we all assumed Dante wasn’t into anyone romantically. I still got the sense that their relationship was less than traditional.

Dalila pats Dante’s shoulder. “There’s always hope for next year.”

“Imagine that. All it took was becoming a super senior to finally be the best setter at school.” Dante was technically excellent, but he lacked the same creativity my sister and I had when it came to setting. He played things safe. The consistency of his sets made for a strong team, but it wouldn’t win him any medals without a powerhouse hitter to put the ball down. I’d hoped they would find one this year, but it didn’t seem like that was the case.

Miki claps her hands. “Alright, let’s warm up. Hitting lines, both sides. Nythia and I will pass. Dante and Akina can handle hands.”

The group forms two lines, plucking balls from the cart at the foot of the line to toss to the passers. No one was paying attention. That was typical for the first warmup. Everyone was too busy greeting one another and catching up from the summer break, or in the case of the freshman, too scared to devote full focus. During the season, we scrimmaged with the boy’s team once a month, but the first gathering after the break was always the most lax. There was time for things to get more serious later in the year. Honestly, it was one of my favorite parts of returning to campus. I was going to miss it next year. I may have been the captain, but that didn’t mean I needed to take my position too seriously, especially this early. There would be plenty of time for that as we approached regionals.

Preoccupied with chatting with Isse, Miki shanks the next pass, sending it sailing to the right corner of the ten-foot line. The next hitter in line, a newcomer freshman I didn’t recognize, relaxes, figuring I would let it go. Usually, I would have, but I was bored enough today to try something for the hell of it. If no one was going to hit the ball anyway, I might as well do something crazy.

Chasing down the ball, I jump up to meet it, dipping my head backward toward the opposite wall. The antenna stares at me, the space above it offering invitation for a shoot. I wasn’t even sure if I could push it that far, but what was the harm in trying? If I failed, at least it would land on the divider, so I wouldn’t have to chase after it.

I palm the ball between my fingers, launching it at the spot on the wall. It was a surprisingly good set. In a game, I would have drawn a handful of cheers and awestruck calls from onlookers. Assuming someone was able to hit it, that is. No one was there today, though, not in the crowd or on the court. I lift my head, closing my eyes as I land on my feet.

Two sounds echo over the court a second after: the first, the thwack of a palm hitting the ball’s leather; the second, the thump of the ball smacking into the court. I catch the sight of it slamming into the right-angled corner of the ten-foot line on the court opposite me. It bounds off the ground and into the concrete wall on the other side.

The court falls silent, everyone too stunned to speak.

What the hell just happened?

I whip my head around. A man somewhere around my age, hair the color of a crow’s feathers, lands half-crouched on the ground, his right arm still swung behind him. He was tall—taller than anyone else gathered around him. The tanned-bronze color of his skin defines muscles running over his biceps and forearms as though he’d emerged from an anatomy book. His hair is damp with sweat, rolling in loose waves around his eyes to obscure his face, but not by nearly enough. I could make out the diamond cut of his jaw and the fullness of the pout of his lips, turned up into a smile that revealed every one of his teeth.

He was fucking gorgeous. The kind of breathtaking beauty that forces you into doing a double take because you’re certain that no human being can be that stunning.

I understood now what my sister was getting at earlier. I could forget a lot of things under a man like that.

#short story #sports romance #volleyball #i'm procrastinating #writer #fiction #creative writing #indie author #black authors

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