I heard a small voice behind me, asking if I was okay. But she was gone and I didn't know if I'd ever be okay again. When Gigi had told me stories, they'd felt like miracles. I was telling myself a story about what it might be like to live in London, a place that was unimaginably far and sitting in the palm of my hands all at once. I was cupping the last snow globe she’d ever given me in my small, sweaty hands and despite the heat, I couldn’t help imagining myself inside the tiny, perfect, snow-filled world. ‘What a Wonderful World’ was playing through a speaker someone had brought with them to the park, and it reminded me too much of my Granny Georgina. And pretty black and brown people were everywhere. There wasn't a cloud in the flawless blue sky.
It was one of those hot Brooklyn afternoons that always made me feel like I'd stepped out of my life and onto a movie set because the hydrants were open, splashing water all over the hot asphalt. I met my best friend at a neighborhood cookout the year we would both turn twelve.
“The same song was playing the second I met my ex–best friend and the moment I realized I’d lost her.
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