𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬

𝐈𝐕 - 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝟑𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭

January 16, '01

Aiyana's POV

"Okay Tiffany, I'm out girl," I called out over my shoulder to my co-worker.

"See ya!"

Before leaving the fabric store where I worked, I swiped a yard of discarded velour from a table. The discarded pieces were usually resold to the Chinese tailors across from our store at a much lower price; stealing it didn't really seem like such a theft.

I ran out of Mood Fabrics and nearly sprinted my way to my college, the legendary FIT. It was still surreal that I had managed to go there and excel for the past year. As a girl, it had seemed like a faraway dream, a place one could only imagine going to. Some of the biggest names in fashion were notable alumnis: Calvin Klein, Nanettle Lepore, Michael Kors etc...

It was the first college I had applied to in my senior year. I had a 4.0 GPA, a GPA most of the people in my school couldn't touch, but I still beat myself up over the 1487 I got on my SATs. My guidance counselor told me it wasn't bad at all, but it wasn't a 1550, like I had prayed and studied my ass off for. I felt relieved when I found out my grades were just good enough to get me into most CUNYs, but it felt like winning the lottery when I found out FIT was damn near a safety school for me.

There are very few moments in life when I get my way: three to be exact. The first time around, I was 5. It was a hot summer day at Central Park and an ice cream truck's enchanting tune drew me out from under the tree where my mother, father, and little sister had laid out our blanket and Subway sandwiches. I silently pleaded with my eyes for a cone of vanilla ice cream and sprinkles before my father walked me to the truck and got me a whole sundae.

The next day, I woke up to a gang of cops searching the house for something and my dad in handcuffs with his head facing downwards, in shame. One of the cops smiled and waved at me, but I stuck my tongue out before hiding behind my mother, who frantically tried speaking to my dad.

The second time I got my way, I was 14 and a freshman in high school with her very first crush. His name was Devonte. He was a junior, a gang member, and a fine ass nigga. All the girls had a crush on him at some point, but when they stopped, they stopped.

It was the day of the potluck for Thanksgiving. I had just gotten a plate and was making my way up the flight of stairs to class when Devonte ran down the steps, along with a couple of his friends. Cliché as it was, he ran right into me and my mashed potatoes, turkey, greens and mac and cheese.

His friends laughed out loud, with their mouths all open like a bunch of dicksuckers, but Devonte looked sorry. He told his friends off and helped me clean out the food in my hair in the girls bathroom.

At some point, when there weren't any chunks of mashed potatoes left in my hair, he looked at me the way my dad used to look at my mom before he'd kiss her. And he did kiss me. I felt high as a kite and all I could think about was our beautiful future before someone came into the bathroom.

It was Evelyn. I didn't know her, but it was my understanding that she was part of the sister gang to Devonte's gang. She walked back out silently, but gave me a look before doing so. Devonte left as well and said "Don't walk home alone today."

But I did and as it turns out, he was warning me of imminent danger I was just too blind to see. I got jumped a few blocks past the school, by the same girl who'd found me and Devonte kissing in the bathroom, along with her friends.

And so, the third time I got my way, meaning getting into FIT, it was a bittersweet affair. God let me have very few things without some sort of retribution in the end, so I proceeded with caution to FIT, went to my classes, aced them, astounded my teachers with my skillfulness and creativity, all the while waiting for the clog in the pipe.