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"You've been here for three days and I still don't know your name." The brown girl said. "It's N-normani," I said shyly, picking over the food I hadn't touch.
"A beautiful name for a beautiful girl." I felt my cheeks heat up as she winked at me, and I immediately looked down at my food. "So, Normani, tell me a little bit about yourself."
"What exactly do you want to know?" She shrugged and turned to face me. "Where are you from, how old are you, what are your favorite foods, and are you fully black?" she said smirkingly, I let out a small laugh at the ridiculous question, of course I was fully black, don't I look like it?
"W-well, I was born in Atlanta, raised in New Orleans, I'm 20 years old, I don't have a favorite food, and I'm fully African-American," I paused. "And how about you?"
"My name is Justine, I'm 25 years old, from New York, my favorite food is pizza, and I'm Afro-Jamaican."
"Wow, J-jamaican? That's cool," I said shyly, fiddling with my fingers. "Same for you, African-Americans are beautiful," I blushed and decided not to respond. Camila and Dinah never complimented me on my ethnic background; instead, they bragged about their cultures and backgrounds, which made me feel slightly insecure and made me resent being Afro-American, but growing up in New Orleans pulled me back into reality and reminded me how beautiful my culture was.
I missed NOLA.
"Can you tell me where your family is? You don't have to; I just wanted to see how much I can help." I gulped and tried to figure out how to approach the question.
Should I tell her I was disowned because I'm gay, or that the love of my life cheated on me?
"I don't have any family or friends, but that's fine."
"So you don't have anywhere to go or anyone to call. That is not okay, Mani." She took my hand in hers in the most comforting way possible. "I'll tell you what, you can stay here for as long as you need to until you get back on your feet."
"W-what? No, I can't," I exclaimed, panicking and running to my bedroom. The offer was nice, and I would've accepted it if I hadn't kept my biggest secret from her, my sexuality. What if I told her and she kicked me out? What if she feels uncomfortable around me?
"Mani, I'm sorry, but could you please open the door so we can talk?" Justine interrupted my thoughts. "I-I'm fine, p-promise," I said, my voice cracking slightly.
"You aren't, and that's fine; please let me in, manibear."
Manibear?
I opened the door and invited her in to console me. She moved me to the bed, and we both laid down as I sobbed on her chest. "M-my parents kicked me out because I liked women, t-they told me I was a disgrace and that I should never talk to them again," I recalled that dreadful night.
