“What if one of these guys is a weirdo like your ex?”
Malaika is touched by his concern. Especially since Calan doesn’t know the entire story. In the version she shared with him, Hans had showed an intimate video to a friend, but hadn’t sent it to anyone. It didn’t feel right, telling Calan about the video being shared within in her school or being included on a dirty website. She doesn’t want him knowing it’s out there. He’s just a kid.
“I just feel like you should know better,” Calan continues. “You’re risking having something like that happening to you all over again.”
Malaika considers this for a moment. It does seem illogical that she would be taking this sort of risk. But what choice does she have? She doesn’t like that they live in a world where a woman’s beauty is commodified, but it is the world they live in. She can’t change the game—all she can do is play it. Win at it. She has a golden opportunity within her reach. She can’t not take it. And the men who used the service are thoroughly screened. Andy has assured her as much.
“Can’t you use cheaper fabric?” It’s something Calan’s asked before.
“Do you know how hard it is to break into the fashion industry?” Malaika sighs. She hears the impatience in her voice. “I am a foreigner. I won’t be able to get a normal internship and even if I do, it would take years before someone like Giovanna is willing to look at my designs. Everything must be perfect.”
“Then wait until next year’s show. My mom will talk to Giovanna for you.”
At this, Malaika is silent—she doesn’t want to hurt Calan’s feelings. A year is a long time. Who knows if Gina will be in a position to help her? She might not be married to Bobby. She might have zero connections in the fashion world. And even if she still does—Malaika doesn’t want to wait. Who wants to wait to have their dream come true?
“I don’t like it,” Calan says again.
“You don’t have to,” she says. “Instead, you can just support me. Like how I am supporting your crazy plan today.”
“That’s different,” he mumbles.
“In the end, you’re looking out for your family—”
“For my mom.”
“And I’m looking out for my future,” she finishes. Her tone is unapologetic, which makes her proud. Why should she feel bad about going on dates for money? It’s her body and her time. And anyone who disagrees isn’t a real feminist.
Malaika waits a beat, then another. After a few seconds have gone by, she exhales in relief. She knows she’s gotten through to him.
“Now, tell me about your plan again.” She pauses to check the time on her phone. “We have exactly twenty-nine minutes until we reach the city and I still don’t understand how we’re going to follow Eva Stone.”
Forty-Two
Calan
Friday, November 1st
Calan should be happy. That’s what he keeps telling himself.
On the surface, things are back to normal. They’ve been eating dinner as a family every day except on Wednesdays (when he still gets to eat alone with his mom). Last night, his dad came home with flowers for her. The house once again smells of eggs and butter in the morning. In the evenings, his dad brings his mom hibiscus tea with lime while she goes over her to-do list for the next day. They’ve resumed family movie nights on Thursdays. On Sundays, his parents take long walks at Hildegard Park. They invite him, but he doesn’t join them. This, too, is normal.
But that’s just on the surface.
His mom insists she believes his dad (“One hundred percent,” she’d said), but Calan knows better. He’s caught her crying, though she denied it (“Allergies,” she’d said, even though she’s never been allergic to anything) and he sees her tensing up every time her phone pings. When his dad picks up a work call, she stares at him for an extra second, as if bracing herself for bad news. Weirdly, his mom has been reading books about feminism—the other day, Calan caught sight of her frowning over a copy of Reckoning: The Epic Battle Against Sexual Abuse and Harassment. People in town are still talking, still whispering. People on social media are still agitated—they either think his dad is a monster or that Eva Stone is a scheming liar. The internet doesn’t seem to be a place of tempered opinions, of middle ground. It’s all about breaking news and polarized outrage.
And Calan has the unsettling feeling that the next awful update is just around the corner. About to strike at any moment. Who can be happy under this kind of pressure?
So far, he hasn’t heard anything about Eva being pregnant with twins from anyone other than Malaika. But that could change at any minute. And if it does, Calan needs to be prepared. He needs to know so he can protect his mom.
Information is what he’s after. Because information is power.
This is why he is standing outside the east entrance at 30 Rockefeller Plaza on a Thursday afternoon, flanked by flags he doesn’t recognize. He has a picture of Eva Stone on his phone—unnecessary, he’s memorized her features—and when she leaves the building, he’ll follow her. He isn’t sure what that will accomplish. Maybe nothing. But he has to try.
“This is where you’ve been coming for the last three days?” Malaika asks.
Really, it’s been five. Five days of racing out of school before the last bell, taking the train, and standing guard outside the art deco skyscraper. To his left is FAO Schwartz. To his right, J. Crew. Throngs of people pass by, more bodies than he can count. The air smells of hot dogs and exhaust fumes. It looks the same every day, but it also looks different because Malaika’s presence makes everything feel different. “I haven’t seen her though.” It’s a source of great frustration, not having been
