The video went viral within her school. Someone uploaded it to an actual porn website. One boy not only posted a five-second snippet of it on his Instagram, he actually tagged her. Suddenly, Malaika’s life changed. In school, she could feel the weight of her peers’ eyes on her like lead inside her backpack. She heard barbs and provocations, the invitations to go to boys’ houses and “ride them too.” She reached out to the website’s administrator, asking them to take the video down, but by the time they did, it had multiplied and spread through the bowels of the internet. Her Instagram was bombarded by the dirtiest comments. At first, she tried deleting them, but soon it became clear that she was just one person against thousands of judgmental trolls, and so she deleted all her social media accounts, evaporating from the online world.
The incident changed her. Malaika had spent her entire life walking around without a piece of herself, marked by the aching desire to have a dad, but to the outside world, she had always been whole. She wasn’t just accustomed to being liked, she was used to being effortlessly loved just for being herself: a pretty, talented girl who got to live at a hotel. But after the video, she became something else: a thing to be judged, to be laughed at. Her outer self finally matched her inside. She began spending all of her free time in the hotel, binge watching Project Runway, ignoring the incessant messages on her phone.
Malaika graduated two months after the video came out and severed all contact with her friends, going as far as changing her mobile number. Some of them reached out over email, but Malaika ignored them. A few tried contacting her mom, in whom Malaika had confided about the video, but, as always, Verena had been fiercely loyal to Malaika, refusing to disclose Malaika’s new number to her former classmates. It helped that Verena was adequately angry on Malaika’s behalf—at Hans, of course, but also at everyone else who watched the video. Malaika vowed that when she did return to Instagram or Snapchat or any other social media, she’d do so as a famous designer, too rich and influential to care about the opinions of obnoxious teenagers.
Malaika may have changed in the eyes of her classmates, but she was still determined to make something of herself. Over the years, she had dreamt of going to Paris or London, but after hours of watching Tim Gunn and Heidi Klum offer mentorship and cast judgement on aspiring designers in New York City, Malaika began to dream of the Big Apple. She liked that she didn’t know anyone on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Malaika knew she couldn’t afford to go to college—and if it hadn’t mattered to Coco Chanel and Steve Madden, then it wouldn’t matter to her. She decided to become an au pair. She had hoped to live in Manhattan—she’d spend her free time sketching and sewing and eventually she’d land a job at one of the hundreds of world-famous brands located in the city—but no one from the city had reached out. Malaika narrowed down her offers to three different families: the Coopers from Greenwich, Connecticut, the Morgans from Bethesda, Maryland, and the Dewars, from Alma, New York.
She had been particularly intrigued by the Dewars because at least she’d be in the right state, if not the right city, and also because she did a bit of online research and found out that Alma was named after a footwear brand called Alma Boots owned by the Dewars. She uncovered a magazine article describing Alma as “the perfect destination for those wishing to escape the hustle and bustle of modern life.” One travel blog revealed that Alma was “ideal for couples in early November,” when “the leaves took on the nostalgic warmth of autumn and the town was flushed with adorable thematic events,” while another opined that “the best time to visit Alma is during the town’s birthday, when the townies—who proudly refer to themselves as Almanacs—celebrate the event with a fervent pride that I have yet to encounter elsewhere.” Malaika noticed that a visit to the Alma Boots factory was included on several lists, such as the Best American Businesses to Visit and the Most Patriotic Activities to do in the USA. In all fairness, she did find negative reviews—mostly people saying that the town was too small and not diverse enough. But she chose to ignore these. Being selected to work for a family who owned a fashion company had to be a sign—even if they did make shoes, not clothes.
Now, as she walks down Alma’s idyllic, tree-lined streets, she wonders if she’s made a mistake. Caring for Allegra is consuming all of her time and energy, leaving none left for sketching and sewing. Having part of the day off is a welcome surprise, but what she needs are regular days off to work on her designs. A routine. These are the thoughts running through Malaika’s mind when she notices Calan turning on Maple Road up ahead.
Calan is wearing dark jeans and a hoodie that’s covering his head even though it’s much too sunny for that. A few steps behind him are three boys, talking up a storm, interrupting each other in some heated discussion.
Malaika feels a twinge of solidarity: they’re all walking in the same direction, but Calan is clearly not a part of the pack. She remembers wanting to blend into the walls when the video got out, remembers the relief she felt when she left school and was able to seclude herself at the Euler.
“Hi, Calan,” she says with a wave, quickening her pace in his direction.
Calan waves back. His cheeks are pink.
She finds herself edging closer to him. “Your uncle just picked up Allegra,” Malaika says. They both pause
