The Black Queen by Jumata Emill

The Black Queen by Jumata Emill

Author:Jumata Emill [Emill, Jumata]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2023-01-30T00:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DUCHESS

OCTOBER 19

3:39 P.M.

I HAVE NO idea why Mrs. Barnett wants to see me—she only said it was “something important”—but she’s over thirty minutes late. I’d be pissed, but waiting here is better than being at home. Alone. The quiet makes it harder to ignore the void that has attached itself to my insides. Plus, I’m being entertained at the moment by this sophomore who’s waiting for her alongside me. She’s here for some disciplinary reason. I know that because she’s been talking so loudly on her phone.

“Yes, I caught that nigga at her house,” the girl announces to me, Mrs. Barnett’s secretary, and the person she’s on the phone with. “Yeah, guh. I downloaded Find My Phone onto his phone but linked the account to my computer. Then tracked his ass over there Saturday night without him knowing.”

I can hear whoever’s on the other end howling with laughter. Mrs. Barnett’s secretary is glaring in this direction from behind her desk. Normally I’d be annoyed too, but this girl’s lack of decorum is taking my mind off my grief.

“Jaz, I was about to snatch that ho by her lace front in biology today,” the girl continues. “She lucky Mr. Glasper’s crooked-eyed self held me back.”

Mrs. Barnett rushes through the double doors. “Duchess!” she says. “So sorry I’m late. Had to tie up a few loose ends, took longer than I expected.”

I stand up. “It’s cool.”

“Let’s step into my office,” she adds, gesturing to her door. She follows me inside, pausing in the doorway to look back at the sophomore, who’s still on the phone. “Tori, I’ll deal with you in a minute,” she tells her. “And get off the phone.” Then Mrs. Barnett shuts her office door.

“Again, my apologies,” she says as she’s rounding her desk. “How have you been holding up?”

Concern is coated thicker on her face than her makeup. God, I wish everyone would stop asking me this. It’s like a fresh reminder Nova’s gone.

“I’m good—well, not good,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m…here. That counts as good, right?”

“Yes, of course,” she replies with a soft smile. Then she folds her hands on the desk in front of her. “I’ll get right to the point. We’re putting together a tribute to honor Nova at Friday’s game. The community is in such mourning over this tragedy, I thought it fitting we set aside halftime for a memorial service in addition to parading out the court. Nova’s crowning was such a monumental step toward inclusion and diversity here, and I hate that it was tarnished like this.”

It feels like she’s about to ask me for something. I brace myself for whatever it is and choose to let the insensitivity in her last remark slide. Nova was a person, not just this school’s diversity poster child.

“Lining things up for this is why I was late. I’ve met with the band, the dance squad, and the cheerleaders, who all agreed to participate and put together a special performance.”

I sit up straighter.



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