OneTREY’S PLAYLIST: “Let It Snow”
BY BOYZ II MEN
Seventeen days till Christmas
I’m about two seconds away from committing murder.
“But I thought it was two for one? I saw the deal in the bookshop window down the road,” the white woman with blonde highlights says.
She means Books! Books! Books! It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out that we’re clearly a different bookshop, but instead I flash my best smile—all white teeth. Next to her, her daughter’s eyes flicker with interest.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love a bargain as much as the next person, but we’re independent.” I say “independent” real slow. “So you’re helping the community when you buy from Wonderland. Plus, we’re a Black-owned, family-run bookshop.”
Now the woman looks uncomfortable, catching eyes with her daughter, who huffs and says, “Mum, it’s fine. Just pay.”
The women looks like she’s struggling to decide what to do. I bet now she thinks that if she doesn’t support the bookshop I’ll think she’s racist. Truth is, I just think she’s cheap.
“Look, I’ll even throw in a couple of bookmarks.” I grab two from behind the counter and hand them to her. One says Indie Bookshops Rule! and the other says Black Lives Matter. We’re such a subtle family.
The woman’s eyes widen when she reads them. Then she reaches into her purse, pulling out her credit card, and I have to stop myself from punching the air in celebration. With this sale, we’ve reached our daily target, and Mum agreed that, if we did, I can leave early for Bebe’s Christmas party. Bebe Richards is one of the girls in my friendship group at college, and one thing about her is she knows how to throw down. I have no idea why she’s having a Christmas party on a Wednesday, over two weeks before Christmas Day, but I don’t care. Anything that’s not the bookshop or homework sounds good to me.
“Thanks for shopping at Wonderland,” I say as I hand the woman her books with a grin. “Merry Christmas.”
“And you.” She smiles back, but it looks forced. Her daughter, on the other hand, gives me a wink before they walk off. I smile and shake my head.
“Flirting with the customers again?” Dad walks up to the till and opens it, staring at the money and scratching the back of his head.
“We’re on target. Slam dunk!” I shoot up my arms and flick my wrists, pretending to dunk like Kobe.
“Wasn’t it busier this time last year?” Dad looks around the bookshop and I follow his gaze.
He’s right. It’s kind of quiet, but I’m sure it will pick up once it gets closer to Christmas. Dad’s been paranoid ever since Books! Books! Books! opened. He thinks they’ve stolen all of our customers and tells me so after every shift. But we’ve been doing okay, and I think part of that is down to my epic playlist: “The Best Christmas Songs by Black Artists”: “8 Days of Christmas” by Destiny’s Child, “Merry Christmas, Baby” by Otis Redding . . . and is it even Christmas without Mariah?
“Relax, Dad.” I put an arm round him. We’re pretty much the same height now at six foot one, and with my wide-set eyes, broad nose, strong jawline and lean physique, I’m my dad thirty-odd years ago.
Dad huffs in response.
“I’m leaving soon, but I can do a quick tidy and chat to some customers first,” I say.
Dad shuts the till and points in front of him. “If those kids aren’t buying, tell them to scat. How many times do I have to remind you, Trey? We’re not a library. One day the bookshop will be yours and you can’t have customers loitering
around.”
I don’t want the bookshop, I want to say, but—like always—I swallow it down. Wonderland was founded by my great-grandad and is my family’s legacy. It’s the first and only Black-owned, independent bookshop on Stoke Newington High Street. Stoke Newington used to be a working-class area with mixes of nationalities—African, West Indians, Turkish and Jewish people—but over the years it’s become more bohemian. The rise of the “yummy mummies” as Mum calls them. Over the past ten years it has undergone a significant gentrification with houses that now cost over a million. Dad grew up here, and all he wanted to do when he was a kid was take over and be the boss. I want to be a singer, selling out arenas, but there are two problems. The first is my parents assume that Wonderland is my future, and I don’t want to disappoint them. I pray all the time that my little brother Reon will be up for the task of running the bookshop. The second problem is I have a fear of singing in front of large crowds. I even get nervous when it’s a small one. But if I close my eyes, or have a couple of drinks for liquid courage, I can sing no problem. Part of my New Year’s resolution is going to be to enter singing competitions, because I want to overcome my fear and really see where singing could take me, even though I know how hard it is to break into the music industry.
The loitering kids are gone now, but they’ve carelessly left a few books on the floor—no wonder Dad wanted them out. I return the books to the shelves and check in with a few customers to make sure they’re okay before circling the rest of the shop.
I start quietly singing along to “Let It Snow,” which is playing through the speakers.
“Ooh, sing it, DeVante,” Boogs calls over at me as he walks into the shop.
I laugh. “Wrong group, genius.”
“Is it?” Boogs frowns. “Isn’t this Jodeci?”
“Boyz II Men.” We dap and I hug the petite girl in the colourful patchwork coat next to him. “Hey, Santi.”
Santi flicks her long braided twists over her shoulder and raises her eyebrows. “DeVante?”
“How would you know?” Boogs says. “All you listen to is Coldplay.”
Boogs and Santi go back and forth and I shake my head. Boogs, real name Dre Deton, is my best friend. He moved to Stoke Newington just over a year ago. There was a rumour going round he used to be part of a gang in his old ends. The rumour was true, but we hit it off straight away. He’s all light-skinned, light eyes, breaking girls’ hearts with his pretty-boy face and fire dance moves (hence the nickname Boogs, short for
Boogie), but that was until he met Santi Bailey. Technically, I got them together, because I’m dating Santi’s twin sister, Blair. Identical twins with non-identical personalities—Santi dresses like she was a hippy in a past life, and she’s always asking me for book recommendations, whereas Blair is a walking ad for Fashion Nova, and I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve spoken about books. But somehow Blair and I work. I guess opposites really do attract.
Santi turns back to me. “Have you got the new Estee Mase?”
Estee Mase is a bestselling YA author. We used to sell out of our stock all the time before Books! Books! Books! came along.
“Yeah, it’s by the register,” I reply.
She wanders off and Boogs whispers, “Don’t let her buy it. I already got it for her.”
My eyes narrow. “You did? Wait? From where? I haven’t seen you in here recently.”
Boogs rubs his face. “Don’t get mad, but I bought it from Books! Books! Books!”
“You what?” I stare at him in disbelief.
“I know, but you had sold out . . .” Boogs says sheepishly.
“Not cool, man. It’ll be your own people.” I shake my head.
“My bad, bro. So what have you got Blair?”
I frown. “For what?”
Boogs looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “The twins’ birthday is tomorrow.”
What? No, that can’t be right. I take out my phone and look at the calendar. Shit! Today is December 8th.
Boogs whistles. “She’s gonna kill you.”
He’s not lying. I can’t buy her a book because she won’t read it, plus she’ll know it’s from the shop so she’ll think it’s free. Blair loves jewellery and has been eyeing this gold heart necklace for months. I meant to order it online but now it won’t come in time. The high street is rammed because of Christmas.
“What did you get Santi?” I ask, hoping against odds that Boogs has made a half-hearted effort.
“That Estee book and some wellness hamper I found on Etsy. You know she’s not fussy about presents—unlike your girl.”
I groan. How did this happen? It was only last week that I was talking to Blair about her birthday, but with working overtime at the bookshop and all the Boxing Day sale prep it must have slipped my mind. She’s going to be pissed if Santi has a better present than her. Blair thinks that because we were together first,
we should set the standard, which makes no sense to me. But it means that anytime Boogs does something romantic for Santi, Blair expects me to go bigger.
“I’ll think of something,” I mumble. “At least she’s not coming to the party tonight, so she can’t grill me.”
“Blair didn’t tell you?” Boogs says. “Santi said Blair changed her mind. She’s coming tonight.”
Before I can reply, Santi walks over to us holding the Estee Mase book. Boogs and I glance at each other and Santi notices.
“What present did you get Blair?” Santi asks.
I smile. “It’s a surprise.”
“That’s code for he forgot,” Boogs whispers.
Bro code! I shoot him a death glare.
“Trey!” Santi says. “That’s terrible.”
“Boogs bought it from Books! Books! Books!” I quickly say, and Boogs actually gasps.
Santi puts her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you would do something like that!”
I spot Mum walking into the office and follow her, a smile creeping over my face as I hear Santi laying into Boogs. Santi’s pro-independent shops and Boogs deserves to be cussed out with his disloyal self. Mum looks startled when she sees me at the door and quickly shields the letter she’s reading. Her black, shoulder-length hair, which is usually immaculate, is tied in a messy ponytail.
“Trey, baby, you scared me.” Mum takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes.
I don’t think she’s been sleeping very well. I’ve been hearing her and Dad having hushed conversations late at night, but every time I ask her what’s up she brushes me off. I tilt my head to look at the logo on the letter in her hand.
“Who’s Raymond and Raymond?” I ask.
Mum follows my gaze and folds up the letter. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Mum, come on.” I sit down opposite her. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”
Mum looks down at the letter and doesn’t respond. I have an urge to snatch it from her and read it for myself, but I value my life too much to do that, so instead I just wait. Mum eventually looks up and sighs. “Raymond and Raymond are developers.”
I frown. “Developers? I don’t understand.”
“The bookshop’s not doing too well, Trey. We’re not hitting the numbers like we used to, and we’re a month behind on mortgage and supplier payments.” She puts her hand to her forehead. “Customers just aren’t spending enough and Raymond and Raymond have offered to buy Wonderland before we completely sink.”
Behind on the mortgage? I mean, I know Wonderland hasn’t been super busy,
but I had no idea things were this bad.
“What’s Dad said?” I ask, concern creeping into my voice.
“He doesn’t want to hear it.” Mum tuts. “But if we can’t get back on track by Christmas, I don’t think we have any other choice but to sell to Raymond and Raymond. At least then we can get some money for this place.”
I don’t know what to say. Sell Wonderland? How did we get into this mess? For months Dad has been saying how quiet the shop’s been and I’ve dismissed him every time, when I should have been working harder and trying to bring in more sales. What would we even do without the bookshop? This is our livelihood, our legacy. I don’t want to run Wonderland, but I can’t imagine it not being in my life. And what would my parents do for money? Mum could go back to nursing, I guess, but what about Dad? Wonderland is all he’s ever known. Selling the shop would destroy him.
Mum reaches for my hand. “I don’t want you to stress, baby. I’m sure we’ll be able to find a way to fix things.” I want to believe her, but she sounds uncertain. “Anyway, don’t you have a party to go to?”
I ignore her question. “I can stay and help with sales.”
Mum stands up with her arms outstretched and I follow suit. She has a small frame, but I find myself folding into her hug as if I’m a little boy. I thought I wanted to know what was happening at Wonderland, but now I wish I hadn’t asked. The idea of losing this place makes me feel like someone is squeezing and twisting my stomach.
Mum pulls away and looks at me. “It’s Christmas. Go and have fun with your friends, okay?”
She pats my arm and I nod, but I’m not in the mood to party anymore.
TwoARIEL’S PLAYLIST: “Santa Baby”
BY EARTHA KITT
We pull up outside Bebe’s house and I peer out of the car window in disbelief. It’s three storeys high and is covered in Christmas lights, like a scene from a film or a Kardashian’s Instagram post. I’ve never been to one of Bebe’s parties, but I know they’re legendary. The pictures on social media alone are enough to make anyone feel like a loser if they’re not invited.
And I’m not usually invited.
But this time my best friend, Annika, who’s Bebe’s cousin, managed to get me and Jolie added to the guest list.
Annika leans over me to take a look at the house. Her long black weave snakes down her back. “I told you this side of my family was rich and extra.”
The taxi driver taps his wheel impatiently, waiting for us to get out.
“I still don’t get why she’s having a party on a Wednesday,” I say. I’ve got an early class tomorrow and I’ve already planned not to stay long.
Annika laughs. “Santi’s and Blair’s birthday is tomorrow and they told everyone to block out Friday and Saturday for a get-together. Not even Bebe is brave enough to face the wrath of Blair.”
I don’t know anyone who would face it willingly, I think to myself.
“How’s my make-up?” Jolie asks, and I squint. It’s dark in the taxi, but she looks good to me.
“Perfect,” I reply with a smile.
“Okay, ready, girls?” Annika asks.
I’m not ready. This isn’t my scene at all. I wish I was at home painting, or curled up in my bed tackling my to-be-read pile, but this is my last year of college and I promised myself that I’d try to be more sociable. I don’t want to look back and have any regrets. I look down at my hands and notice there are still specks of red paint on them from a new piece I was working on earlier. I scratch at them and paint floats down onto my lap.
I step out of the car and pull down my short skirt. Before summer, I wouldn’t have been able to fit into it, and I’m still not used to wearing clothes this revealing. Annika and Jolie follow behind me, dressed in equally short-fitting clothes, and Jolie ruffles her brown pixie cut so it looks spikier, adding height to her tiny stature.
“Don’t tell, but I feel like I’m going to be sick,” Jolie whispers, her face looking paler than usual.
I don’t feel too hot either. There’s something about being around popular kids that makes me feel weird. I look back at the taxi wistfully but it drives off, as if the driver knows I want to get back into it.
Annika links arms with us. She’s wearing a tight dress that fits her like a second skin. She hops from high-heeled foot to high-heeled foot. “Come on, I’m freezing my tits off.”
We walk towards the front door and I can hear Drake asking Kiki if she loves him. The music is so loud that the base vibrates through my body, but I can still feel my heart beating nervously. What if Bebe’s changed her mind and decided she only wants Annika at her party? I wouldn’t be able to show my face in school again.
Annika rings the bell, and for a moment I think no one will even hear us over the music, but then the door opens and Bebe’s standing there with a glass full of red liquid, flicking her long, black curls over her shoulder with her other hand. She looks gorgeous in an off-the-shoulder gold dress that complements her light
brown skin. Her waist looks tiny and her lips look extra plumped. Everyone knows she gets fillers even though she swears she just overlines them. She looks at the three of us, her gaze lingering a little longer on me, but then she smiles, an actual genuine one, and my heart calms down.
“Welcome, girls!” She hugs Annika. “Come in, come in. You’re letting the heat out.”
Jolie squeals beside me and hurries inside. I walk in slowly and catch my breath. Everyone is dancing, talking, taking selfies. I can smell the sweat and hormones from the crowd. Who are all these people?
“Wow, good turn-out,” Annika says. “Especially for a Wednesday.”
“Yeah. I told everyone to bring a friend and get themselves in the Christmas spirit.” Bebe takes a sip of her drink and her eyes pause on my bare legs. They’re double the size of hers. She catches my eye and smiles, but this time it doesn’t reach her eyes. I tug at my skirt, hoping it will cover me, but of course it doesn’t.
A girl I vaguely recognize from college comes over and pulls Bebe towards the dance floor. “Drinks and food are in the kitchen,” she manages to call over her shoulder as she walks away.
“Drink?” Annika asks, and Jolie nods.
I don’t like alcohol—it makes me feel tired—but I don’t want to be that girl who’s a bore at the party.
“Lead the way,” I say.
We push through the crowd and I notice that, despite the room being full, everyone is still in their cliques. Bebe is downing shots on the dance floor with the popular kids from college, like Yarah Mectah and her boyfriend, James West. They’re usually glued to Trey Anderson, Boogs, and the Bailey twins, although I can’t see them anywhere tonight. I spot a few people I’m friendly with at college and wave. Annika says hi to more people than Jolie and me. She’s one of those girls that can float from social group to social group and still act herself.
Annika and I have been friends since we were little kids and she’s always had my back, especially when people have teased me about my weight. Her high cheekbones, long legs, and smile that lights up her whole face haven’t changed much since I first knew her. We met Jolie in secondary school. I thought with a name like Jolie Love-Jones, her symmetrical face and doe-like brown eyes with the longest lashes I’ve ever seen in real life, she was destined to be popular, but Jolie clicked with us straight away. She’s the only person I know who
agrees that Twilight is the greatest love story of all time. Hello, Bella became a vampire for love! The three of us have stuck together ever since.
Annika pours us drinks just as a cheer comes from the living room, where everyone is dancing. From where I’m standing, I can see Trey, Boogs, and Santi as they walk into the party, waving at everyone.
“Trey looks good,” Annika says, handing me a drink and eyeing me closely. “What do you think, Ariel?”
I roll my eyes as Jolie laughs. I had a crush on Trey the first time I saw him at school. Actually, I had a crush on Trey and Boogs. Most of the girls did. Boogs is light and slender, while Trey is dark-skinned and lean, but muscular like a hundred-metre athlete. Then Trey started dating Blair, and, well, if you’ve met Blair, anyone liking her would put you off. Blair’s dismissive and abrupt in the way she talks to people, almost as if you have some type of nerve for even thinking you’re allowed to speak to her. Which is weird because her twin, Santi, is nice to everyone. And Boogs is pretty cool. We bonded over art before he dropped out of class.
“Basic,” I respond, and Annika throws back her head and laughs.
Sometimes I think I’m the only one at college who’s not obsessed with Trey, Boogs and the Bailey twins. The more they’ve grown in popularity, the more they’ve drawn people to their foursome. But after my crush died down, I’ve barely noticed them. We don’t often cross paths in college because we’re not on the same timetable, but sometimes when I’m grabbing lunch, I see them in the canteen, surrounded by people.
I take a sip of my drink and almost choke. “What the hell?”
Annika laughs. “Too strong?”
“I can’t.” I hand the glass to her and watch with wide eyes as she downs it in one. I pray she doesn’t get too wasted—I don’t want to have to watch her all night.
I turn back to the living room and old-skool ’90s hip-hop is blaring from the speakers. I love ’90s music and I love to dance, so I drag Annika and Jolie to the dance floor and we form our own little space. Whatever insecurities I have always disappear when I'm
grabbing lunch, I see them in the canteen, surrounded by people.
I take a sip of my drink and almost choke. “What the hell?”
Annika laughs. “Too strong?”
“I can’t.” I hand the glass to her and watch with wide eyes as she downs it in one. I pray she doesn’t get too wasted—I don’t want to have to watch her all night.
I turn back to the living room and old-skool ’90s hip-hop is blaring from the speakers. I love ’90s music and I love to dance, so I drag Annika and Jolie to the dance floor and we form our own little space. Whatever insecurities I have always disappear when I’m dancing or painting. ...
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