“Kamala?” Nakia quietly called out, adjusting her hijab as she looked around the library. Her lips parted slightly, and her gaze dropped. “...Kamala?” She repeated.
Nakia checked her phone. No one had texted her. It was five after twelve, which meant Kamala was late… again .
She felt a bit pathetic, but Nakia wandered through the library, pretending that she had a purpose despite feeling completely at a loss. She heard several bangs, as her hands hovered over a copy of Hood Feminism , and Nakia looked to see her best friend apologizing profusely to one of the library staff.
A few granola bars had fallen out of her hoodie pocket, and something blue peeked out from beneath the collar of her jacket.
“Hey Kamala,” Nakia said flatly as Kamala approached, her face arranged in her Sloth Baby Pout™ — eyes round and regretful, bottom lip jutting out in that way that usually had Nakia melting and excusing her.
Not today.
She stared at the dark-skinned girl, arms crossed. “You’re late. Again,” Nakia narrowed her eyes. “What’s your excuse this time?”
Kamala reeled back, face flashing with hurt. Nakia felt bad, but she was tired of being treated like an afterthought.
“Well?” She arched an eyebrow, watching as the shorter girl squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze.
She sighed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Kamala seemed to be startled as the words left her lips.
Nakia tilted her head, raising both eyebrows this time. Her expression became less harsh, softer around the edges. She was still frustrated, but the tiniest bit less so.
“Squishy,” She said bluntly, “I would literally rather you told me what the fuck is up with you rather than keep guessing what days you’ll keep your promises and which I’ll be ghosted,”
Kamala let out a sigh, averting her eyes. She mumbled something under her breath. She fidgeted with her hands. Now that she was looking, Kamala looked a bit like she had lost a fight with a tornado. Her hair was a bird’s nest of knots, and there were streaks of dirt across her cheeks and hands.
“What?” Nakia asked, eyebrows pinching together.
Kamala let out a breath. “It’s easier if I show you,” She smiled uncomfortably.
Nakia watched as her hand grew , quite literally grew , morphing and changing to almost quadruple its previous size. Her eyes widened.
“Oh my god,” She said faintly. “You’re her !”
Her best friend swallowed. “I am,” Kamala said softly. “Do you hate me?”
Nakia blinked, physically reeling back at the thought — That she could ever hate Kamala, with her million-watt smile, Kamala, with her excited squeal and little bounces when she was happy. Kamala, who happened to be Ms. Marvel.
“No,” Her tone was so vehement that a few people around them gave Nakia dirty looks. She lowered her voice. “I could never hate you, Squishy,” She said.
“Ugh,” Kamala let out a huff. “That nickname is the worst,”
Nakia leaned forward, teasingly pinching Kamala’s cheek. “ Kiki! ” The dark-haired teen whined, batting her hand away.
“I can’t believe you hid that from me for so long,” Nakia said, eyes sparkling with mirth, “It’s honestly a miracle,”
Kamala crossed her arms, jokingly narrowing her eyes. “I can keep a secret,” She said with faux haughtiness.
“Where was that ability when you spoiled my surprise party in third grade?” Nakia teased.
Kamala groaned, putting her head into her hands. “I said I was sorry!”
“Tough luck, Squishy,” She shot back quietly, “I will never let it go,”
Kamala rolled her eyes fondly. “You’re the worst,”
Nakia mimed flicking her hair, shooting Kamala a grin. “I’m the best, actually. Who else would deal with your dumbass?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kamala waved dismissively with a smile. “You are the best.”
“ Thank you ,” Nakia said, dramatically putting a hand to her forehead, before fixing her hijab and crossing her arms. “Now let’s study,”
“Aw, seriously ?” Kamala whined.
“You’re the one who wanted to do this!” Nakia snorted, lightly pushing the other teen.