Under the Bali Moon

“Just get it. It’ll look nice on your bed,” Adan said.

“But my comforter is purple and tan.” Zena pointed to the full-size bed-in-a-bag set in the cart. Beneath it, she had a purple lava lamp, a set of plastic purple hangers and a tan photo collage wall hanger, all decorations for Zena’s bedroom in her first off-campus apartment she’d share with three other coeds.

“You need a pop of color, Z,” Adan said confidently.

Zena grinned. “What do you mean ‘a pop of color’? What do you know about that?”

“It’s the style. All the girls at Spelman have one pop of color in their dorm rooms. Like pink and white with turquoise. Or red and black with yellow.”

All summer after freshman year, Zena had to listen to Adan talking about how the Spelman girls across the street from Morehouse did this and that. How they wore their hair and what kind of music they were listening to. Adan would go on about his Spelman sister, Morenike, and her natural hair. That Morenike was going to study in Paris sophomore year and Zena should do the same thing. It would look good on her Harvard application.

“Red, black and yellow is disgusting, and how do you know what the dorm rooms at Spelman look like?” Zena asked suspiciously; she’d already decided that Adan was cheating on her and had fallen in love with Morenike.

“Because I’ve been in the dorm rooms at Spelman,” Adan replied with not one marker of nervousness.

“Really? And what would you say if I said I’d been in the male dorms at Bethune-Cookman?” Zena pushed herself between Adan and the cart and put her hands on her hips to strengthen her inquisition.

“I’d say, ‘I’m happy for you,’” Adan answered. “I’d ask what colors the guys in Daytona Beach are using to decorate their rooms.”

Zena huffed and stomped to the back of the cart before tossing the red pillow back onto the shelf.

“Really? Don’t do the jealous thing, Z. You’re so much cooler when you’re confident.”

“I am confident, but I don’t care how the girls at Spelman decorate their rooms, and I definitely don’t want to hear about it or that you’re all up in their rooms.”

“Why not? The only reason you wouldn’t want to hear it is if you think I’m cheating with one of them.”

“Are you?”

“Hell no!”

“Then why are you always tal

king about them?”

“Because they’re great girls—great women. And they’re my friends. Why not? You want me to talk about dudes all the time?” Adan asked.

Zena said, “I want you to talk about me.”

“About you? You want me to talk about you?” Adan smiled and walked toward Zena. He pushed the cart away and stood in front of her. “You know, it’s funny that you complain about me talking about all those girls because all those girls complain about me talking about one girl.”

“Who?”

“You,” Adan revealed. “They complain because I’m always talking about how you have straight As. And how you got the Presidential Scholarship. And that you’re the first in your family to go to college, but they’d never know it because you’re taking junior-level classes and acing them all. And that you’re so pretty. And while the girls at Spelman are cute, really cute, none of them are as beautiful as you. Not even close.”

Zena was blushing and feeling stupid about arguing over the red pillow. She was about to apologize, but Adan stopped her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I know everyone keeps telling us this long-distance relationship thing doesn’t work, but we’re going to show them all. We’re going to make it. We have a plan, and no girl at Spelman, not even my Spelman sister, is going to ruin that. I love you, Z.”

The Bluelight Special red pillow made it back into the cart and through checkout. Adan was right. It added the perfect pop of color to the purple and tan Kmart bed-in-a-bag.

* * *

By the time Malak made her way to the apartment, Zena had cut the little red pillow into so many pieces it looked as if rose petals and cotton balls were scattered all over her bedroom floor. Zena was sitting on the floor in the middle of the mess, looking as if she was trying to figure something out.

“I see you finished the liquor,” Malak said, looking at the empty bottle of Honey Jack on Zena’s nightstand. “How many times do I need to tell you that you can’t drink?”

Malak dropped her purse and jacket on the bed and went to gather her friend off the floor.