After the cafeteria drama, I avoided Destiny and that Keenan. She and I have two classes after lunch—math and gym—and I saw him in Gym and Social Studies.

He stayed out of my way for the most part, and I did the same with him. I think he knows I'm not his Leila, but doesn't know what to do or say about it.

Honestly, I'm starting to dislike his Leila, because thanks to her, I have to do chores for my grandma whenever she feels like it.

Now, I gotta clean and organize her attic. In four days, I gotta rake her yard.

Dust clouds float and cover my clothes whenever I move boxes or accidentally nudge the little bookshelves my grandma had passed down to her for generations.

She even has old books like Moby Dick, To Kill A Mockingbird, Pride and Prejudice, and The Scarlet Letter.

If I ever have to write a book report, I know who to go to.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and vibrates against my leg. I sit the wood and hay broom against one of the bookshelves, then lift my phone out of my sweatpants pocket.

Destiny's name and face appear on my screen. I can see her typing on a computer at her house with the phone propped up, and I make a face.

I accept the video call.

"Hey," I say with a smidge of energy. I've been dusting, scrubbing, and sweeping for what feels like hours. My arms even feel heavy like at any moment they'll fall off.

"Hey! What's up? Whatcha doin'?" I walk toward the bay window overlooking the street and front yard.

"I'm cleaning my grandma's attic, bored as heck." I look around the neighborhood, watching the little kids play hopscotch on the other sidewalk.

"Really? Girl, why didn't you invite me? That's easy money if I'm helping," she says. "I sold the most chocolate bars last month."

"That was you," I drone. I remember hearing the principal call her name on the intercom when he announced the people who sold the most candy. Of course, my name wasn't called. "Well, the gag is, I'm not getting paid."

"Then what're you doing it for?" I sit on the ottoman-like seat connected to two tall storage cabinets. "Is she, like, handicapped?"

"No." I look at her face and she stares at mine. "Remember when me and Sara got into it?"

"Oh, yeah," she says, her eyes big. She's in a room with a white door behind her. People are walking and talking on the other side of it. "Damn, you got in trouble for that?"

"Yeah. They took my phone and everything." Destiny winces, then pulls her lips into a line.

"So, that's why you wasn't sayin' nothin' in the group chat," she mumbles, and I nod. That and I'd probably be overwhelmed anyway. I don't get how the other Leila made so many friends when she wasn't even here that long.

"Leila," my grandma says. I look toward the hole centered in the room. She's near the drop-down ladder.

"Ma'am?" Destiny sits her elbow on the desk and her chin against the ball of her palm.

"Take a break and come eat." I say yes ma'am, and she walks away. My stomach grumbles and my mouth waters. I can practically smell the food already.

"Oh, I gotta go. My grandma made fried fish," I rush the words out, anxious to get my plate.

Hearing fried fish, Destiny sits up and asks, "With spaghetti?"

"No, thankfully. I'm tired of eating spaghetti." I stand up and walk toward the exit. The floor doesn't creak until I reach the ladder. "She made coleslaw, baked macaroni and greens."

Her eyes seem to light up and she asks, "Hawaiian roll?"

"And lemonade," I say, a smile spreading on my face. I love my grandma's cooking and I'm sure Destiny would feel the same if she tried it. After I finish cleaning, I plan on taking her a plate.

"Leila, damn! Next time, invite me, please," she says in all seriousness. I burst out laughing, but nod. "Tell her I'll clean the roof if she needs it done."

"Yeah, okay. Talk to you later." We say our goodbyes and hang up.

***

Dad leans over me and knocks on the oak door, then straightens up behind me. After I finished cleaning, I asked my grandma if I could pack some food for Destiny.

She didn't mind. In fact, she helped me with the Styrofoam cup, too.

The heat from the plate seeps through my mittens and warms my fingers. Dad's holding her cup in the other hand.

Destiny's family strung a Thanksgiving reef on the door and set fake pumpkins along the steps. Even the pillows on the porch furniture are festive with embroidered orange leaves and pumpkins.

A woman opens the door and smiles. She has short, black hair done in waves, and thick eyebrows that look drawn on.

"Hi, you must be Leila. I'm her mother, Tamika," she says, then steps aside with the knob in hand. "Come on in."

We walk into the entryway and she shuts the door behind us before asking for our coats and hats.

She offers us drinks while we hand her the plate and cup. We hang up our clothes on the standing coat rack, but only Dad accepts a glass of water.

"Destiny, your friend is here!" She turns left and sits the stuff on the dining table. "You can leave your shoes by the door."

We sit on the chairs near the door facing a wide mirror and a storage cabinet. Dad removes his timbs and takes my UGGs, then places them with the other shoes by the door.

The house practically vibrates like dishes during an earthquake and my eyes widen. I look up at my dad as he continues toward the dining table, then I glance at Tamika as she walks across the room toward the kitchen.

The open Floorplan makes it easy to see the living room from the front door, but walls separate the dining room on the left and the kitchen to the right.

A girl steps down the staircase in clear view. She's wearing cargo capris and a white baby tee with short teal sleeves. The front has a cartoon-style picture of a jungle with a little monkey swinging from vines and a caravan cruising past.

I stand up slowly to look her up and down. Destiny follows behind her in a tank top and sweatpants.

"Leila!" She sprints toward me, leaving the girl in the living room. I meet her halfway and stop between the dining room and the kitchen.

She wraps her arms around me and hugs me like we hadn't seen each other in forever, but while I lift my arms to return the gesture, I stare at the girl glaring at me.

"I wanna introduce you to my friend, Aniyah," she says through a grin that I don't bother returning. I walk with her toward the girl in the living room. "Aniyah, this is Leila. She's my best friend from school. Leila, this is my friend Aniyah. She lives up the street."

"Nice to meet you," the girl says, sticking out her hand. Her palm looks damp and her fingers are as thick as breakfast sausages.

I stare at her clothes and how unflattering they are on her. Her calves are huge and her stomach pokes out of the bottom of the shirt.

"You too," I say, but it's not nearly as convincing. I force myself to take her hand in mine, and sure enough, her palm is moist.

She shakes my hand so hard my arm lifts up and down like a jump rope.

My upper lip twitches as I rip my hand from hers and hold it in the other.

I tell Destiny, "Your food is on the table," while slowly tearing my eyes off the beady ones locked on me.

We follow Destiny to the dining area. The table is cluttered with opened envelopes, lit and diffused candles, neatly lined pinecones, and a basket with peppermints.

Dad's seated next to the head of the table with his back to the wall.

"Hi, Mr. Iverson," Destiny says in a small voice, and I side-eye her. Tamika brings him a glass of iced water, her slippers letting out a scratching sound. Destiny steps to the plate and places a hand on the aluminum foil. "Is this it?"

"Yeah, I brought you a drink too." I gesture toward the Styrofoam cup with my chin and she follows my eyes with hers. "It's right there."

"You spoil me," she says, placing a hand on her chest. My cheeks burn as I grin from ear to ear. Destiny turns to her mom. "Momma, can I take this upstairs to my room?"

"Yes, but please don't spill anything." After scooping up her plate and cup, then promising to be careful, Destiny shuffles through the dim living room with us. Tamika asks my dad, "You sure you're not hungry? I made peach cobbler last night and we still have plenty left over."

The fireplace is roaring and burning cedar. More chopped logs are on the patio and I stare through the sliding door while walking up the steps.

They have framed pictures along the wall leading upstairs, family portraits of them in matching red and white Christmas pajamas.

We enter a loft with a queen bunk bed below a skylight.

She has bookshelves full of DVDs and CDs; a gaming computer on a long desk; and LED strips along the ceiling's edges that flash pink or purple.

The carpet is pure white and the walls are navy blue with white borders. She has windows overlooking the side yard with sheer curtains over them.

"This is your room," I ask while craning my neck to stare at everything.

"Yeah. My dad fixed it up for me when my sister turned eighteen," she says, looking around too. She walks toward the gaming setup. "We would fight so much about her stuff being on my side of the room and mine being on hers, that he just decided to make me my own room."

"That's so cool. I wish my dad would build me a room." Destiny sits at the table and the aluminum foil rattles as she unravels the fish dinner. "Where is he, by the way?"

When she looks at me and asks, "My dad," I nod, then she turns back to her plate. "He's in the military. He should be back by Christmas, though." I look around again and my eyes land on Aniyah. She's sitting on the bottom bunk against the wall, glaring at me like we're enemies. "After I eat, wanna meet my dog?"

"Yeah, where is he?" I focus on Destiny admiring the brown fish. She picks it apart with her indexes and thumbs.

"He's outside. He peed on my momma's plant and she got so mad," she says through a big smile. Destiny peels off a strip and drops the whole thing in her mouth. She spins around to face me and goes, "Girl, your grandma," while dragging the first word.

"You didn't pray." We look at Aniyah and no one says anything for a while. She has one leg crossed over the other, and her fingers interlaced on her stomach.

"I wasn't eating yet. I don't even have a fork." Destiny stands up and rolls her eyes onto me. "I'll be back."

I nod and watch her exit the loft.

Aniyah stays on the bed, fixated on me like I'm a TV. She doesn't move, blink, or speak.

If she wasn't a heavy mouth-breather, I'd jokingly assume she's holding her breath.

I stroll around the room, admiring the video games like her Sims collection and Animal Crossing. She has a Nintendo Switch on one bookshelf and a PSP on another.

"Best friend," Aniyah says, pausing between both words with a certain tone I don't like. I slowly bring my eyes to hers. She pushes herself off the bed, lifts her capris, then closes the space between us. "I've known her since we were in the third grade."

"And, yet, I'm her best friend," I say, poking my chest with my index finger. "Yeah, I noticed how you've been acting since I showed up. Don't think for a second that you scare me."

"I can easily make her hate you." I scoff at her calm threat and fold my arms.

"And I can easily slap the brown off you and she won't care." We stare each other down, neither wanting to give in. She pulls her lips in and backs away

I start to talk trash, but my ego crumbles when she walks toward the table and smacks the full cup onto the floor.

The lemonade bursts out of the top and the carpet absorbs the yellow drink. I rush over and drop to my knees, ready to clean it up somehow before Destiny comes back.

I could easily snitch on Aniyah, but it's not the point.

I start to threaten her, but all I can say is, "I should," before someone gasps.

"Leila, what'd you do," Destiny yells from the top of the stairs. She's holding a little bowl of peach cobbler in one hand, and a fork in the other.

"She just knocked it over for no reason, Des." Aniyah's voice is so high it sounds shrill. I narrow my eyes at her, sweat pricking around my hairline and jaw.

My throat tightens and my voice shakes as I say, "No, I didn't. She threw it on the floor because I said I wasn't afraid of her."

"That literally makes no sense," Aniyah says through laughter. Destiny flicks her eyes between us like she doesn't know who or what to believe.

"Y'know what?" I push myself up with the cup and top, and my hands tremble. "I'm going home. I'll talk to you later."

Aniyah snickers when my voice cracks. She tucks her silk-pressed hair behind her ears, then crosses her arms.