identity on hold

vii. outlook

Dominique sobs erratically on my bed and into my old pillow as I play a few pathetic rounds of Candy Crush on my phone, eyes dry as a bone. When I think she's calming down, she heaves again, high-pitched and probably gut-wrenching, if I could just feel that kind of sympathy. Jo would be good help right about now, and I texted her a few minutes ago to come over and deal with this while my mom is downstairs, letting the few people who came to the funeral "comfort" her, and doing her best to ignore my aunt's comment about how I probably would've been trouble if Devon had stayed around.

"Dom," I say softly.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I snotted all over your bed and shit. Fran, I'm sorry."

No, she's not crying about Devon's funeral, which happened a few hours ago. She's crying over a boy, which is more reasonable, because she didn't know Devon existed until April 12th.

Dominique sits up and frantically wipes at her eyes, sniffing and huffing. "I can't speak Spanish."

"Who cares?"

"Eduardo-o-o!" Dominique sobs. The tears are back. I wish she'd stop. At least Mama will be happy to know she's not gay.

Jo bursts through the door, breathing heavily and looking from Dominique to me in a movie-frantic way. "Really, Fran? 'I need you right now, Jo, there's hysteric crying and a lot of emotion in this room. Idk if I can handle it'?' Really?"

"The text reads true. Lots of emotion in this room," I say with a shrug.

Dominique sniffs and rubs at her eyes frantically, and Jo eats it right up, rushing to her side and doing the comforting I couldn't do if I tried. There's a lot of "it'll be okay, honey" and "if he doesn't like you for you—" blah blah. After Dom has calmed down enough to crave some funeral food, she heads downstairs.

"Jordan Lynn Hurley, golly gosh, you should be a therapist," I chirp. All I get in response is an eyeroll. "What?"

"Are you okay?" Jo asks.

"Yeah."

"Good. Thanks for ditching me the other day."

I sigh, because I don't want to lie again about spending that night with Shantay instead. Something in my head nags at me, as it always does. I've kept my friendship with Shantay a secret for months now, and that wasn't the first time I chose to spend time with her over Jo.

"I was with Shantay," I mumble, glancing at my shoes, the bed, the wall, anything to avoid her glare.

"I know."

That takes me by surprise. It shouldn't, because Jo is a social detective of sorts, but I thought she'd have mentioned it by now. "Jo, I can have more than one best friend."

She nods curtly and picks up her bag. "Yeah, Fran. But she sucks. If someone punched me in the face over some rumor, I wouldn't be all buddy-buddy." Jo takes a few steps toward the door when I jump in front of her, grabbing the doorknob.

"You two have never spoken. And I wish you would. She hit me because I deserved it."

"I don't really give a shit what you think you deserve, or how 'gangsta' she thinks she is 'cause she goes around with a weave and her heels throwing gang signs all over the place 'cause she's from Jersey. I just didn't think you'd put yourself in that company, to be honest. Sorry for trying to care about you and save you from converting to hood-status."

I hadn't felt a weight in my chest like this since I was seven years old. No, my friend hasn't turned on me, she's not different. She's the Jo I've always loved, and the Jo I never put in check. The Jo who says these things so effortlessly, I almost blame myself. Until now, it seemed so distant.

"My aunt called me a nigger when I was seven," I remark.

Jo winces at the word before dropping her jaw. "What the—"

"You don't have to like Shantay, but you can't pretend like saying all that shit isn't cause she's black," I explain, my voice soft but wavering.

"I... I'm not freakin' racist, if that's what you're saying. I'd never ever say what your aunt said, Fran. Geezus. Why would I even—you know what? I'm not gonna sit here and let you, my supposed best friend, say that I'm a racist because I just so happen to dislike your other black friend."

"I'm not calling you—" I begin, but Jo shoves past me,wiping a tear off her cheek and running downstairs. I stay put.