Ace of Spades: Part Two

“Who initiated things between you two?”

I want to interject and debunk his theory, but I can’t bring myself to speak.

He looks like one of those eccentric scientists after they explain a theory. His hair is wild too, sticking up in all directions.

A part of me probably likes being in such close proximity to Terrell.

Today, I don’t care about the ogling.

I’ve barely seen or heard from Ava and Ruby, which I have no doubt is because of Aces and my steadily growing social- pariah status.

I’m a practical person, which is why the sciences are the subjects I like most. I love that everything can be objectively proven; I love that there are formulas and methods that you can fall back on.

Whenever they are both home, they like cooking together and bonding, which is nice and all for them, but I’m not in the mood for rice or idle chitchat.

I should just leave; her condescending tone isn’t worth it.

That alone creeps me the hell out, enough to make me want to leave this lab, but I stay put for reasons unknown to my conscience.

He’s quiet, staring at me now, unwavering.

“What did you find?” I ask, cutting the niceties.

“Whoever Aces is, from everything we know, it’s clear they’ve plotted this—whatever this is—meticulously. We need to think ahead and preempt what they’re going to do next,” I say.

“Whoever Aces is, from everything we know, it’s clear they’ve plotted this—whatever this is—meticulously. We need to think ahead and preempt what they’re going to do next,” I say.

The sense of impending doom in my chest makes me feel like someone has wrapped their hands around my neck, blocking my air supply.

She glances up at me, all haughty as she surveys me, then back down at the screen.

Soon enough, he answers, looking surprised and not exactly ecstatic.

I was sure that saying no to Belle’s The Notebook invite would dampen our new friendship, but she’s here, in front of me, making me all flustered and nervous.

“Or am I wrong? Is there some profound way to clean a desk?”

As I walk through the hallway, I can feel the glares of people, the patronizing smiles, shaking their heads...

It must be hard going from Queen status to pauper overnight, so I thought I'd help her climb up the ladder again.

“Nope,” he says brusquely.

“Chiamaka, we’ll find them and stop this. Colleges probably don’t care about petty gossip, okay?”

Sunday needs to go off without a hitch; we need to be on top of our game.

My toes feel numb in my stilettos as I try to outrun the car, the sound of the engine revving making my whole body tremble.

I love getting my hair plaited; it’s relaxing—and somewhat painful, but in a good way.

Mom always loves to stress the fact that the college I go to doesn’t matter—but why would she and Dad send me to private schools all my life, get me the best of everything, and then expect me to give them mediocrity in return?

I’d rather straighten than get prodded and stared at, stroked like an animal and questioned. Like Jamie looking at me yesterday as if I were some science experiment he’s intrigued by.

I’m always left feeling unsatisfied, like I’d dreamed of eating a meal after being starved for a year, got to have a bite, and then had it quickly snatched away before I could sate my hunger.

It’s the first time I’ve been inside her house. It feels very cold and clinical, but not as cold as Jamie’s house. His feels like a museum rather than a house; Belle’s just feels more modern.

Chiamaka waves to me by the back entrance of our school, with a set of jangly keys in her hand and a balaclava covering her face.

“Go under and drag the chair to hide your body,” she whispers, completely abandoning the plan she was so adamant we follow.

In a flash, most of the letters disappear, leaving the first letter of each word, like an acrostic.

My hands vibrate as I watch the screen, heart skipping several beats when it switches off with a final zap, returning to its dark, ominous state.

But the most prominent thought over all the noise is: Who was that person in the mask?