Niya’s POV
The morning light hit different as I sat in the kitchen watching my mom hum to an old Anita Baker record playing softly from the corner radio. The smell of her shrimp and grits filled the room, and my little sister, Myla, was trying to sneak extra cheese into her bowl when she thought no one was looking. "Myla, leave the cheese alone," I said, chuckling, shaking my head. She huffed and pouted like always, but I let it slide.
“First week at Malcolm X High, huh?” Mom asked, pouring me a tall glass of orange juice. She slid it across the table, raising her perfectly arched brow at me.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. I was still getting used to the idea of starting over again. It was my third school in two years. Mom said this one would be different because of its ‘strong cultural foundation,’ whatever that meant.
“Well, you better show them how we do it, baby,” Mom said, leaning over to kiss my forehead. “And don’t let no knucklehead mess with you.”
“Girl, you heard her! Don’t come home cryin’ over some nonsense,” Myla added dramatically. She wasn’t even looking at me; her eyes were glued to her phone, probably texting her little friends.
I rolled my eyes, grabbed my Kuromi-themed backpack, and slid out the door before she could make another smart comment.
---
Walking into Malcolm X High was like stepping into a whole new world. The halls were alive with energy—graffiti-style murals of Black excellence covered the walls, and the scent of cocoa butter and cologne hit my nose all at once. Everyone seemed to know where they were going except me.
I was walking down the hall, trying not to look too lost, when I bumped into someone. Hard. My books went flying, and my purple Kuromi notebook hit the ground with a loud smack.
“Damn, you good?” A voice said above me.
I looked up to see a tall girl with dark skin, thick brows, and her hair in two long braids. She had on a crisp white polo, khaki pants, and Jordans so clean they practically sparkled. She bent down, picked up my notebook, and handed it back to me.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” I said awkwardly.
“You new here?” she asked, leaning against the lockers.
“Yeah,” I said. “First week.”
She smirked. “Well, you just met the coolest person in this school. I’m Jazz, by the way.”
Before I could respond, another girl walked up beside Jazz. She was shorter but had this undeniable energy. Her long braids were tied up in a high bun, and her lashes looked like they could fly away.
“And who’s this?” she asked, looking me up and down.
“This is...?” Jazz trailed off, waiting for me to answer.
“Niya,” I said quickly.
“She new,” Jazz explained.
The girl smiled. “I’m Tasia. Don’t let Jazz fool you; she’s not that cool. But me? I’m the vibe.”
Jazz rolled her eyes, but the two of them started laughing, and before I knew it, I was smiling too.
---
By the time lunch rolled around, Jazz and Tasia had introduced me to their crew. It was a mix of fems and studs, each with their own personality that could fill a room.
“We usually sit over here,” Tasia said, leading me to a table near the window.
There was Jay, a stud with a laid-back vibe who always seemed to be scrolling on her phone. Keke, a loud fem who had the latest tea on everybody. And Bree, a soft stud who was quiet but had this smooth confidence that made people pay attention when she finally spoke.
“So, Niya,” Keke started, sliding her tray of hot wings onto the table. “What’s your vibe? You into sports? Music? You got a boo?”
I froze, not expecting to be grilled so soon. “Uh, no boo. I guess I’m into art. And I like purple.”
“Purple, huh? That’s cute,” Bree said, finally looking up from her sandwich.
“She’s into that Hello Kitty stuff too,” Jazz added, pointing to my Kuromi keychain dangling from my backpack.
“Oh, you one of them girls,” Tasia said dramatically, but her teasing tone made me laugh.
The conversation flowed naturally after that, bouncing from who had the worst teacher to which seniors were getting caught up with freshmen. I learned Jazz was on the basketball team, Tasia was trying to start a nail business, and Jay had a sneaker collection that would put half the school to shame.
“You gotta come to Jay’s next kickback,” Keke said. “She be throwin’ the livest parties. Real chill, no drama.”
“She’s new,” Jazz cut in. “Let her breathe first before y’all throw her into the deep end.”
“Whatever,” Keke said, waving her off. “She gotta get used to us eventually.”
---
After school, Jazz and Tasia offered to walk me home since I didn’t know the neighborhood that well yet.
As we strolled, the conversation turned to things I hadn’t experienced before. They talked about block parties, cookouts, and how Jazz’s auntie made the best peach cobbler on the South Side.
“You ain’t been to a real cookout until you’ve had my auntie’s cobbler,” Jazz bragged.
“Girl, please,” Tasia said. “Your auntie be slacking. Remember last year when the macaroni was dry?”
“Don’t disrespect my family like that,” Jazz shot back, pretending to be offended.
I laughed so hard my sides hurt. It felt good to be around people who got me, even if I was still learning the ropes.
When we got to my block, Tasia stopped and looked around. “This your spot?”
“Yeah,” I said, pointing to the small brick house with the blue shutters.
“Cute,” she said. “But listen, if you ever need to get away, just hit me up. My mom cool as hell; she won’t mind.”
“Same,” Jazz added. “You part of the crew now, so we got you.”
---
That night, as I sat at my desk doing homework, I couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had people who cared. People who saw me for who I was and weren’t trying to change me.
I glanced at my Kuromi notebook and started doodling little hearts around the names Jazz and Tasia. I didn’t know what the rest of the year would bring, but I was starting to feel like I could handle whatever came my way.
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