The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold under my elbows. Qadriyyah Mayers, twenty years old and officially, terrifyingly, an adult, picked at the peeling vinyl. This was supposed to be a celebration. Dejounte had landed the internship with that tech firm downtown. Trevor, the one who always smelled faintly of cinnamon and ambition, had finally gotten his art accepted into that gallery on Bleecker. Even Malika, the baby of the group, had gotten a scholarship to NYU. And me? I was staring at lukewarm coffee, trying not to choke on the lump in my throat.
“You okay?” Dejounte asked, his voice a low rumble. He always sat across from me, even when we were crammed into Trevor’s beat-up Corolla for road trips. He had this habit of tilting his head, like he was trying to decipher my thoughts. It was annoying and… kind of sweet.
“Peachy,” I lied, stirring my coffee with a plastic spoon. “Just admiring the architectural marvels of the ‘Eat More Grease’ diner.”
Malika snorted. “You’re such a drama queen, Q.”
“Hey!” I protested, but a smile tugged at my lips. Malika always got away with everything. She was the golden child, the one who could charm a rattlesnake into braiding its hair.
“Braden texted,” Trevor said, his eyes scanning the chipped paint on the wall. “He’s stuck in traffic, said he’ll be late.” Braden, the quiet one, always showed up late, always with a sheepish grin. I had a soft spot for him, the way he always managed to look like he was apologizing for existing.
“And Zeenat?” I asked, because I always asked about Zeenat. She was… complicated. She’d been dating Dejounte for almost a year, and I’d spent the last twelve months trying to figure out what she wanted. She was beautiful, sharp-tongued, and radiated this air of barely contained chaos. She also looked at Dejounte like he hung the moon, which was… inconvenient.
Dejounte shrugged. “She’s meeting me after this. Said she had something to show me.” He didn't elaborate, and I knew better than to press him. Dejounte was fiercely protective of Zeenat, and I didn't want to intrude on whatever weird little world they’d built.
A bell jingled above the door, and a figure emerged, silhouetted against the harsh afternoon light. It wasn’t Braden. It was Zeenat. She was wearing a black leather jacket and a smirk that could curdle milk. She walked straight to our booth, ignoring the waitress who was attempting to clear a table.
“You guys look like a bunch of mourners,” she said, sliding into the booth beside me, bumping my elbow. “What’s with the long faces?”
“We’re celebrating,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “Dejounte got the internship.”
Zeenat’s eyes flicked to Dejounte, then back to mine. “Oh. Right. That.” Her tone was flat, devoid of enthusiasm. It was… off.
“What is it?” Dejounte asked, his brow furrowed.
Zeenat didn't answer. She just reached into her jacket and pulled out a small, velvet box. She opened it, revealing a silver ring. A thick silver band, engraved with tiny, intricate symbols.
“She gave me a ring,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “She said it’s from her grandmother.”
Dejounte stared at the ring, his face slowly draining of color. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. It wasn’t a proposal ring. It wasn’t a promise ring. It was… something else. Something I didn’t understand.
“What kind of symbols are those?” Dejounte asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Zeenat’s smile widened, revealing a flash of white teeth. “They’re ancient,” she said, her voice laced with something dark and unsettling. “They’re… protective.”
The chipped Formica felt colder than ever. I stared at the ring, and for the first time, I was starting to wonder if Dejounte’s internship wasn’t the only thing that was about to change. I was starting to wonder if we were all about to change, whether we liked it or not.