Chapter One: Deja CHAPTER ONE Deja Diamond don't play, and that's why I love her. My big sis, but I call her my little fried green tomato: tough exterior but a complete softie underneath it all. We habitually barter clothing and skin care, and I could use her fashion tips right now because nothing I own feels right enough to bring on this trip. "Excuse me, is that my shirt?" my sister asks, entering our bedroom. "Uh, no," I lie, stuffing her coral halter into my suitcase. I know I ain't right. "Hmm, whatever." She gives me a look, sensing my stress levels. "That's why I'm finna keep that new face toner you made," she says as she rummages through the random airtight glass jars full of creams and oils atop my wardrobe, where my experimentation with facial products and exfoliating scrubs has gotten out of hand. I call it my junk pile, where my family and friends come to pick through whatever skin care concoctions are left. See? Softie. I'm headed to College Park, Maryland, through my Onward Bound program to visit my number one school of choice: the University of Maryland--a school I chose after reading all the brochures, attending every virtual Q and A with students and faculty that I could, and comparing financial aid offers. But even after all that, I still felt uneasy, and I realized I have to visit the campus for myself; I have to get a feel for the school and make sure it's the place for me before I accept their offer of admission. Another reason I love Diamond? She always knows when to step up as a big sister and save me, even when I don't know I need to be saved. "I just, I don't know." I pace back and forth across our bedroom, throwing random toiletries in my bag as I do. "Am I being weird for going to visit just to be... sure ?" "Girl, no! I wouldn't want to move to a place without seeing it first either. Why you think I haven't moved outta here?" I gaze out our window overlooking the pasture and the family garden, where I've spent much of my time cultivating my little facial cream experiments. The midday sun is beaming through our window, giving me a clear view of the newly ripened apricots on our tree. I've devoted hours out there to planting eucalyptus, roses, and lavender bushes, and to helping my parents harvest cucumbers, oranges, mint leaves, and other foods that are key ingredients in the homemade products my family consents to testing. I hesitate. "I'm just..." I stop walking back and forth, take a deep breath, and sit on the edge of my twin bed. I know I'm capable, but it doesn't mean it's not still scary as hell. My sister takes a long look at me, like she's able to read every single one of my thoughts. She crosses the room. "You nervous about going?" I relent and nod my head. "Aww, baby." She plops down next to me. "I'm coming with you." "No, I'm fine." I force a smile, looking past her at my section of the room--filled with a collage of beauty and skin ads, vintage photography of Black beauty idols I bought from local and online thrift stores, and a time line of pictures from the last four years with my high school friends--afraid if I look at her my eyes will reveal my truth: panic. Diamond and my parents always complain how being an adult is overrated. I'm starting to agree already. "I know the bank doesn't give you much time off, and..." "Oh, stop it!" she says. "The way they be carrying on in there, I'm about to look for another job anyway." She rolls her eyes. My sister complains about working at the bank twice a day--before she goes to work and the moment she gets home. "Plus I need to check the place out too. Gotta make sure my Dej is safe." She gives me a look I've never been able to refuse. "Lemme come with you." "Okay," I mumble, silently thankful, and lay my head on her shoulder. She rubs it. "But I'm paying for your bus ticket," I say, "aaaannd, you know I plan on vlogging this, so you have to verbally agree to let me record you." She huffs, knowing my word is final. "I'll put you in touch with my lawyer." I roll my eyes at her. "I can't remember the last time I got outta the Carolinas anyway. Who knows, maybe I'll meet my future husband. Can you imagine?" She releases her grasp and does a strut as she walks to our closet, flipping her Marley twists. "Me with a fancy professor or doctor?" She does a little shimmy, and I shake my head. Then she begins pulling outfits off the hangers. We both know she'll never leave. She loves it here, at home, with our family and community. I'm the adventurer, she's the glue. Diamond huffs as she crouches on our bedroom floor, pulling her suitcase from under the bed, the zipper getting caught on the frays of her sky-blue comforter. "Why don't you put the suitcase on the bed?" I comment. She scrunches her face at me, a look full of disdain. "Oh, no, honey, you know we don't do that. I'm not putting this nasty-ass suitcase on my duvet. Queen taught you better than that." Our grandma. Queenie would scoff at me just for rolling a suitcase coated with germs on her clean floor, let alone putting it on her bed. "When we get back, you finna help me take these twists out," she continues. "This is why mine is nonexistent on my head. Minimal maintenance. You know I hate taking out hair," I say, rubbing my hands through my short, coiled mane. "You better ask Dominique." "But you know Dominique is a little asshole," she responds, patting her itchy scalp while seated on the floor, separating clothes to pack. I laugh. Yes, my parents were those parents who gave all their children names that start with the letter D . In order, it's Diamond, Darius Jr. and me (people mistake us for twins because we were born in the same year, but my mom got pregnant with me right after Darius was born so we're the same age for a solid two months), Dominique, Deandre, and finally our little three-year-old sibling, Damarion. My parents call him a gift from God, but we know that's code for he was unplanned . I know that for sure 'cause after he was born, Mama went to the doctor and got her tubes tied as soon as she could. "Just bribe her with snacks. That's how I get her," I tell her, secretly going over the packing list in my head. "I used to change her funky diapers; she owes me," Diamond responds, rolling her eyes. "That attitude is the reason why no one in this house will take out your twists." I giggle. Diamond smacks her lips. "Straight up? Ma and Poppa making all these boys is the real problem. The struggle of being the oldest girl." It's my turn to roll my eyes. The oldest child has such a superiority complex, but I can respect it. She is coming to Maryland with me after all, which makes her the best oldest sister ever. I don't know how I would have survived without her. Frustrated with the choices from our shared closet, Diamond begins to pull everything she owns out of our mahogany wardrobe. She puts together outfits and holds different pieces up to her torso in the mirror beside the wardrobe, picturing what they would look like on. "It's just three days," I remind her, as if I wasn't just doing the same thing. "Did you not hear me when I said I might meet someone?" She continues stuffing more clothes in her suitcase, and I note a few shirts I might borrow as they make their way into her bag. I shake my head, suppressing a laugh, relieved that for this trip at least, I won't be alone. Greyhound has a straight shot from Fayetteville to DC, but they only have two slots a day, which means we can't miss our bus. And of course, with Diamond--who kept packing and unpacking up until the last possible second--we almost do. Like, have to run two blocks in random Fayetteville traffic to get to it. But as mad as I am, it's also hilarious. We're tired and sweaty when we get on the bus, and I make Diamond promise, on camera, that she'll buy me a Slurpee when the bus makes its first stop. Unfortunately, shortly after the ride begins, the driver announces the AC has stopped working. The sun beams through the bus windows and gives us no reprieve after the Olympic-style running we've just done to catch our ride. We're sticky and sweaty and gross. After the rest stop, my sister and I finally feel better, the slushies cooling us down and sending us on a sugar high as we talk nonstop for the next few hours, crash for the final two, and wake up to DC's city lights. This is nothing like North Carolina with starlight shining across a deep, pitch-dark sky. Here, the night is illuminated by the lights from buildings throughout the city. A car honks, and it startles my sister awake. "We're here," I whisper to her, pointing out the window. She looks out the top window for a minute, trying to take the city in. "It's loud and bright here." She scowls, rubbing her eyes. I can tell that's code for this ain't for me . I take out my phone to record this moment. "I know," I say, feeling at ease as a sense of belonging wraps around me. "I love it." Excerpted from This Could Be Forever by Ebony LaDelle All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
