"Can you draw these for me?" Mallory asks, right on cue. "Oh! And for makeup, can you add something glittery?"

"Makeup?" I look at her, not lifting my head. "Since when do you do makeup?"

"I don't!" Mallory shrugs defensively. "I just want to try something new for once ... you know?"

"Mm-hmm," I hum. "You sure it's not to win over Jonny as you stand front row?"

"Okay, first, don't even kid about that!" Mal shoves me playfully. "Second, I can't just wear the makeup for myself? Does it have to be for some man? Not very feminist of you, is it?"

"Oh, my bad," I pick my head up now to meet her gaze, even with the guilt in my system trying its best to make me falter. "Is that why you can't look me in the eyes? Huh? Huh?"

"Okay, okay!" Mal stops avoiding my eyes, giggling at the head-bobbing moment we shared. "Maybe I wanna look a little cute ... I mean, what if they notice me in the crowd? They'd think I look so good, they'll ignore all the girls in the crowd and bring me right onto the stage! Ah, and then I'll embark with them on their tour and live a life so lavish and carefree! And with no more schoolwork to bother me!" 

"That's the plan, huh?" I nod.

"Oh, well no," Mallory lifts a finger in sudden correction.  "Of course, they'll pull you up on stage, too! Then we'll both live a life of luxury!"

"Aha, very funny," I snort. "You don't even need makeup to grab their attention, you know? You'd be the prettiest girl in the whole venue." Oh, dear, the blush on me is skin-deep and unfathomably scalding. 

"Aw, stop!" Mal plays with her hair sheepishly. She then stops and cringes a bit. "Oh God, that was so gay." I flinch a bit at her words. This has also been one of those tough things to hide from Mal as time goes on, but to be quite honest, I'm not sure if I've fully confronted it myself.

As a youngin, I didn't pay much attention to anything involving romance. Whereas other kids my age started to move past the talk of "cooties" and develop solid crushes on each other, I always felt out of place. None of the boys in my classes interested me, but maybe it's because I always got stuck with the overly loud, rambunctious boys that found fart humor the pinnacle of comedy. Anytime Valentine's Day rolled around and we all had to buy community treats, I loathed having to stuff lollipops in the boys' decorative shoeboxes. Eventually, I had to start pulling the culture card saying that bringing and/or consuming sweets of the kind went against my very specific Ghanian values. Sure, I missed out on a lot of candy in favor of crackers and a juice box, but Mal always shared half of hers kindly.

That tidbit aside, I wasn't sure what to do when it came to hearing talks of everyone's latest eye candy. Not that I talked with anyone else besides Mallory, but I often thought to myself "Should I jump in and agree?" Heck, as we grew older, admittedly a few of the guys grew into their looks -- take Julian Romero, for example (and yes, I'm aware of how it looks to keep referring to him by First and Last name, but there's many Julians in our school that it's become standard). He used to be a scrawny, bow-legged, knee-sock-wearing goody-two-shoes with a bulging hook in his nose, but one day as the legend goes, he'd been running late for the bus (sounds awfully familiar). Just as it seemed there'd been a sliver of time, Julian slammed right into the bus doors as they closed and broke his nose. After a three-week healing stunt, which he had no choice but to eat up well because the inability to breathe properly withheld his ability to taste, he came back with not only a new nose, but sustainable muscle mass to beef up. Before you knew it, he had many of the girls all over him, and I'm not one to look to the superficial, but by golly, it did him some good.

Yet still, I remained unmoved. If anything, all my thoughts seemed to be why any of the girls would be interested in any of the guys. Sure, as it were, that was just the expected norm, but I couldn't help but wonder that these guys wouldn't be able to understand a woman's plight. Other women would be the only ones to understand, especially as we all hit our "womanhood", so to speak. Like, if I were to be someone's girlfriend, I would hope they'd be able to sympathize when my period came around, or even beyond that; if I just needed a good cry, or to bask in the joys of a new book, or maybe even when I'm struggling on a trig problem, there'd be no more a comforting touch than a woman's.

And so I started to ponder on that idea more ... what kind of guy in my life would do such? I wouldn't even know how to approach these kinds of things with my own father, and that may be because I don't know how to talk to my own mother (I still remember the day I freaked out over my first period -- not very empathetic). However, there actually had been someone I could talk to and share these experiences with. The only friend I've ever had: Mallory Setiawan.

All of this and more started to create this feeling, a feeling I hadn't known even after being in each other's lives for over a decade. It was cozier than the slumber parties we'd have every blue moon. Gentler than the feel of her clothes when we'd hug or joke or even just stand next to each other (they use a really great fabric softener). Livelier than, hell, life itself. Things started to become more vivid, happier, and somehow, pinker? But none of it hit me more than back in November last year. We went to help at Yarborough High for their annual Thanksgiving boxes as a part of our newly endowed NHS responsibilities. Actually, I think this is where I can pinpoint one of the earliest rifts in Mal and Jhene's relationship.

We missed the bus to go to the school, so I suggested we take a ride from Jhene. Mallory shrugged apprehensively at the idea, and she wouldn't let on as to why. When we approached Jhene as she left the locker rooms, she also wouldn't say much, just told us to follow her to the car. It wasn't as if this was their first fight, which I learned quickly to never intervene, but something this time seemed ... off. No one spoke a word to each other on the ride over, and even when we left the car, Mal wouldn't say much. The last time before this when Mal went mute was after her hamster died, and she didn't speak for weeks, so I was extremely worried.

As we made the boxes, Mal kept having to use the restroom, which I didn't think anything of. However, when all of the students and staff started to move the boxes to the trucks outside, Mal was nowhere to be found. I knew with my "strength" that my help wouldn't be missed much, so I left to find her. The thing is when I went to the restroom across the hall, she wasn't in any of the stalls, and the issue was that Yarborough is an enormous school -- she could've been in any of them! I searched high and low, far and wide, almost to no avail, until I finally landed at a restroom on the other side of the school. I had to stop to catch my breath, but as I did so, I heard another voice with me. A heavy, sniffly one. 

"Mal?" I called out, awaiting a response. The voice yelped, but wouldn't answer me directly. That's when I started to look around, trying my best to be discreet in case anyone else had been in the stalls so I didn't come off as some kind of pervert. Eventually, I finally came across those familiar scuffed-up pink and white sneakers, marked all over with designs I made for her two years prior. 

"Mal, they're moving the boxes now," I told her from the outside. No answer. "Mal?" Still no answer. I sighed heavily knowing what I was about to do next. As I got on my hands and knees, instant regret started to seep in as I was greeted by sticky floors, dust bunnies, and things I'd rather not recount, but I made my way under the stall. I shot up quickly and dusted myself off, shuddering in disgust.

"Okay, now --" I halted when I looked at Mal, her cheeks flooded with tears and eyes bloodshot red yet almost swollen shut. She covered the bottom half of her face with hoards of tissues, and her body shook with the magnitude of an 8.0 earthquake.

"Mal, what's wrong?!" I immediately sprung to her. She wouldn't look at me, just kept jerking her head away.

"Nothing, don't worry!" Mal squeaked, wiping her face. "I-I'm fine."

"Define 'fine'!" I told her. "Seriously, what happened?" I folded my arms thinking hard about what could've occurred, then sighed. "Look, if this is about that sheisty guy who pushed you for the last slice of pizza, he's not worth it. That gluttony and greed will catch up to him eventually --"

That's when Mal spiraled into a full breakdown. She slumped against the wall, bawling and yelling her heart out. Clearly, this was about more than a piece of pizza, and I felt frozen. I didn't know what to do because I'd never heard Mal cry from an incredibly deep place of hurt like this before. All I wanted to do was get her up off the grisly floor so she wouldn't catch some sort of infection. I kneeled down to her, and just as I'm about to put my arms to her shoulders, my knee gave way and I fell right into her. I would've gotten up, but Mal ended up holding onto me as she cried. As her body shivered, her body heat increased, and I worried she would run up a fever. I didn't ask her what was wrong anymore; this felt like one of those things that if she wanted to tell me, she would've. I just held her, thinking that I wanted to do anything I could so that she would never cry like this again. And when she took my hand in hers, squeezing the feeling out of it, I wanted her to keep going. I wanted her to let it all out onto me, and soon enough I started wiping tears from her eyes the way she always did me. The brush of my hand against her puffy, reddened cheeks just felt ... right in a different way. I don't know what hurt her that night, and I still don't know what happened. All I knew was that her happiness meant everything to me more than ever moving forward, and when she would smile I felt this overwhelming sense of pride. A fluttery sense of pride and joy. And that's when it hit me.

I had developed feelings for Mallory.

Now here we are, almost a year later, and nothing's changed: I don't want her to be hurt, let alone me causing the hurt. I've done that more than enough lately; the back-and-forth on the tutoring, getting sick from not taking care of myself, the self-deprecating. The least I can do is not add to the list of grievances, so for as long as I'm able, I'll keep the news to myself, even if it's killing me inside.

"Zo?" Mal speaks with a finger to my forehead.

"What the --" 

"You okay, dude?" Mal chuckles. "You looked lost for a moment."

"Oh, uhm, yeah," I shake my head back to reality. "What were we talking about?" 

"We were talking about these outfits!" Mal jumped, eyes wide with giddiness. "So, will you draw them for me?"

"I wouldn't pass it up for the world," I smiled, taking her notebook gladly. Just one step in righting my wrongs.

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