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It was a couple days later when Trayvon hit me up again. This time, he wasn't just talking he was making plans.
"You free Friday night? Thought we could skate, just us this time."
Just us.
The phrase sat in my chest like warm tea, heating up all slow and steady.
I didn't answer right away. I stared at the message while I paced my room, heart doing this weird slow-fast-slow thing. I had the whole "should I?" moment before realizing I'd already said I was down. What was I waiting for?
"Yeah I'm free. What time?"
He sent back a thumbs up and said he'd pick me up around seven. That meant I had about three days to prepare, and yes, I was treating this like an event. I made the mistake of telling Zarina and Genesis, who immediately declared it "a mission."
By the time Friday rolled around, I had on my best "I didn't try too hard but I still look good" outfit. My siblings were suspiciously chill about it when I left, even though I caught Zarina giving me that sly look when I was walking out the door.
Trayvon pulled up like he said he would, windows down, music low, looking relaxed and fresh in his hoodie and jeans. His locs were tied back, neat, like he put in effort too, but not too much. Just enough.
"You ready?" he asked with that easy smile as I slid into the passenger seat.
"As I'll ever be."
We drove with the windows cracked, some mellow R&B playing. It wasn't awkward like I thought it might be. Trayvon was easy to talk to. He asked how school was, and I told him the truth boring, predictable. He laughed and said, "That's how it's supposed to feel senior year. If it's exciting, something's wrong."
By the time we pulled up to the rink, I didn't feel nervous anymore. Just curious. I wanted to see what the night would turn into.
Inside, the lights were dim with neon glows dancing across the floor, the DJ playing a mix of old school jams and newer stuff. We laced up our skates at one of the benches, Trayvon joking that he'd have to catch me if I fell.
"Don't hype yourself," I said, tightening my laces. "I'm lowkey nice with it."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? We'll see."
At first, we just skated near each other, weaving through the crowd, occasionally bumping shoulders on purpose. Trayvon had this smooth way of moving, like he wasn't even trying.
"You weren't lying," he said after a few laps. "You got some moves."
"I told you," I said, grinning. "Don't sleep on me."
After a while, we drifted off to the side, just watching the crowd. He leaned against the wall, still in his skates, arms crossed casually.
"So," he said, glancing at me. "What made you say yes?"
