Mila Santos Is (Not) Dead

viii: tinged black like a lightning strike

(content warning: internalized homophobia, homophobic slurs)

MALACHI FOUND AISHA sitting on the grass in a circle of her friends. She was pretty—smooth dark skin, hair in two poofy pigtails held together by colorful beads, smiling brown eyes—right? Malachi liked her, didn't he? She was smart and funny and kind. He had fun with her. He should like her. He was supposed to like her. There was no reason why he shouldn't like her. He did like her, or at least, he told himself he did. Tried to force it on himself, tried to look at her and feel all giddy and happy like he did with Drew.

Except—Malachi didn't want to think about Drew anymore. Drew was in the past; he was nothing to him anymore. He never had been anything to him. He'd confused his feelings, mistaken a strong friendship for a crush. He'd never liked him, anyways. Not like he liked Aisha.

Or at least he told himself so.

As Malachi walked up to her and her friends, she grinned and waved. "Hey, Malachi!"

Malachi stood by the circle and bit the bullet. "Aisha, do you want to be my girlfriend?"

The girls giggled and poked each other and Aisha. Some looked up at him and blushed like he'd asked them. The heaviness in Malachi's chest grew unbearable, making him sick to his stomach. He never wanted a girl to look at him like that again, and there had to be something wrong with him, hadn't there?

Aisha tilted her head. "I thought you were boyfriends with Drew."

Malachi stammered out a series of nonsensical syllables, he was so shocked. Not only did Aisha seem to believe the rumors, she didn't seem to care. Like it was no big deal. Hannah had a crush on Liam, Jenna was Braden's girlfriend, and Malachi and Drew were boyfriends. Like it was perfectly normal. He shook his head and managed: "That's just some dumb rumor."

"Oh. Ohh." Aisha looked Malachi up and down like she was considering his offer. "My daddy told me not to date white boys."

It was Malachi's turn to be confused. Both sets of his grandparents were immigrants from Iran. He'd never been called white before, and he didn't think he was. White meant European. Iran wasn't in Europe. "I'm not white?" he mumbled.

"Sorry, what?" Aisha asked.

"I'm not white," Malachi repeated, louder. "I'm Mizrahi."

"Oh!" Aisha grinned. "Then sure. I'll be your girlfriend."

All of Aisha's friends burst out in giggles and blushes and spurts of poking each other and Aisha and sending off shrill ooooohs. Malachi felt like he was in a horror movie.

"Cool." Malachi said. And then he walked away.

"Wait!" Aisha called. Malachi turned back to her. Her face was bright red. Nervous giggles burst from her mouth. She clamped her hand over her lips to quiet. "Can I hug you?"

Malachi shifted uncomfortably. He didn't want Aisha to hug him. But she was his girlfriend now. That was what girlfriends and boyfriends were supposed to do, wasn't it? "Oh. Um. Sure."

"Okay." Aisha giggled and jumped to her feet.

Malachi wasn't sure where to look or what expression to put on his face. He stared at his shoes until he saw Aisha's Twinkle Toes closing in on him. He hadn't realized how much taller he'd gotten than her; he could see clear over her head and had to tilt his face downward to see her. She was still bright red and giggly. Malachi stood still as Aisha wrapped her arms around his waist, standing on her tip-toes so she could rest her chin on his shoulder. She smelled like... Bath and Body Works' "Cucumber Melon" perfume, like a summer day. Nice and sweet.