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0.634 miles Southeast, Tuesday, April 24th, 11:27 a.m. EST — Le Petit Palais Café, NoHo, New York
An array of bistro tables and wicker chairs, shaded by striped umbrellas, lined the sidewalk outside of the cafe. Waiters in classic black-and-white uniforms glided seamlessly through the crowd, serving artisanal cheeses, pastries, and steaming cups of café au lait.
“So, they’re just gonna follow you everywhere?” Dream asked, nodding toward Rohan and Jasiah across the street, leaning patiently against the hood of Ravi’s SUV. Dream, always the fashionista, wore dark oversized shades and a black silk blouse tucked into high-waisted white culottes, finished with designer stilettos and a matching handbag.
“Yep,” Loconda sighed, staring into the foam heart of her Café Crème. “Until I’m forced to leave.” She rocked a custom floral dress with intricate embroidery, a tailored denim jacket, and strappy sandals, blending elegance with casual flair.
“This is loco, Loco,” Lovelie declared, downing a glass of Bordeaux. Her metallic gold tracksuit shimmered, paired with white kicks and a backward cap: athleisure royalty. “We gotta figure something out.”
“What’s there to figure out?” Tracy wondered, tossing a crumb of her croissant to a nearby pigeon. She wore a simple graphic t-shirt and well-worn jeans, accessorized with a collection of unique, custom-made jewelry that added a touch of individuality to her otherwise relaxed look. “She’s broke, homeless, and has two guys watching her every move.”
“We could ditch them right now!” Lovelie grinned, leaning in. “What’re they gonna do, hogtie her into the truck in broad daylight? She’s a grown woman. If she wants to stay, she should stay, period.”
“Pump the brakes,” Dream cut in, all sage-like. “Of course, she could crash with one of us, sling coffee for some cash, and maybe transfer to a cheaper school. But there’s another level to this. If she goes against her father, she might not be able to ever return home again.”
“For real?” Lovelie and Tracy exclaimed in unison. Lovelie spun, mouthed “Two more!” at a waiter, and waved her empty glass like a distress signal.
“There’s a strong possibility that he would ban me from Trini,” Loconda explained watching Lovelie snag the wine refills with a half-hearted smile. “My father is super strict, and he’s got a lot of pull in the government. He banned my aunt Acadia from the country over some petty spat years ago.”
“Wait!” Lovelie froze, mid-sip, nearly dropping the glasses she’d just yoinked from the tray. “Isn’t Acadia the aunt that does fashion in Italy?”
“Yeah,” Loconda nodded as Lovelie slid her a glass like a peace offering.
“And didn’t you get a letter from Vivian Gior last night?”
“Gior?” Dream gasped. “The Vivian Gior?”
“That’s right!” Tracy beamed, “She got a bunch of offer letters last night, but the one from Gior was on another level.”
“Spill it!” Dream yanked off her shades, eyes wide. “What was the offer? I need details.”
“A two-year, full-ride scholarship to the Academy of Advanced Arts in Italy,” Loconda replied, blowing gently on her coffee and sipping it, “Plus a four-month summer internship that could turn paid.”
“See?!” Dream practically levitated. “The universe is throwing you a lifeline!”
“And on top of that,” Lovelie chimed in, “you could finally visit your aunt. I’ve seen the letters she’s sent you. She seems like she’s been dying to have you there.”
“But what if I can’t go back home?” Loconda’s voice dipped, heavy.
The girls fell silent, their eyes meeting in a shared understanding as the gravity of Loconda’s words hung heavily in the air.
“I love Trinidad,” Loconda continued, “and my father’s pettiness knows no bounds. He’d ban me for life if I bailed now. Vivian’s offer’s tempting, but maybe I should face him first, lay it all out, prove I’m not wrong.”
“Home is where you make it, Loco,” Lovelie shot back, fierce. “Not just where you’re born. You know I love you girl. You’re my brown island baby, but you know damn well if you go back home, you’ll fold. You had to hide your dreams for an entire year because you knew he wouldn’t approve of it.”
“She’s right, Loco,” Dream nodded. “I think you have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here, to really go after the life you want.”
Loconda glanced at Tracey, who was already bobbing her head in agreement. Then her eyes flicked across the street: Jasiah and Rohan were in a heated huddle with Ravi. They’re right, she thought. Dad wouldn’t let her breathe, let alone jet off again. He’d lock her down tighter than a couture corset. If she wanted this life, she’d have to leap. Prove him wrong. Prove—
Her phone buzzed hard against the table, “FATHER” flashing in bold like a horror movie title.
“Don’t answer it!” Lovelie barked,
“No, pick up!” Dream countered, “it’ll only make things worse.”
“Okay, answer it,” Lovelie relented, snatching the phone, “but I’m holding it. You’re still on the fence, so let him rant, keep your poker face.”
Loconda nodded, but the call cut off before they could swipe to answer it. Silence hit like a brick. Her eyes darted across the street to Jasiah——he was on his phone, nodding like a bobblehead, then hung up and signaled Rohan. The big man strode through traffic, a tank in a suit, heading straight for their table.
“Change of plans,” Rohan boomed, looming over them, eyes locked on Loconda, “Mr. Toussaint bumped up the flight.” He slapped a fat stack of cash on the table. “That’ll cover it, ladies. Please excuse the interruption, but Miss Toussaint will be taking her leave now.”
7.25 miles Northwest, 3:46 p.m. EST — LaGuardia Airport, Queens, New York
The airport hummed with the frenetic energy of countless travelers hurrying to and fro. Large windows framed views of the bustling tarmac, where planes taxied and took off into the gloomy spring sky. Families hugged it out, solo flyers hunched over laptops, and Loconda sat glued to the departure screen, its flickering list of cities dangling freedom just out of reach. Inside, she felt hollow, her brain ping-ponging between Vivian’s offer and her father’s wrath.
What was Vivian’s deal? Art and energia: was that code for witchcraft? Voodoo? Something darker? And why grill her about Aunt Acadia? Maybe they were pals—small world, big drama. Acadia’s letters flashed in her mind, her aunt had ditched the family rulebook, conquered Europe, and built a fashion empire. Loconda craved that gutsy fire, but doubt gnawed: Do I have it in me?
Her phone jolted her out of the spiral, buzzing like a caffeinated wasp. The group chat with Lovelie, Tracey, and Dream lit up, and her heart did a flip as she read:
“Loco, surprise time!” Tracey typed.
“We snagged you a ticket to Italy!” Dream’s text practically jumping off the screen with excitement. “Boards now, leaves in 32 mins!”
Lovelie’s message followed: “You’ll have a layover in Madrid. We’re sending you the details now. You don’t have to do this alone. Follow your dreams, Loco.”
Lovelie sealed it: “Layover in Madrid. Deets incoming. Chase your dreams, girl! Home is where your authenticity is celebrated.”
Tears welled up in Loconda’s eyes as she read their messages. The love, the thoughtfulness, the kindness—they weren’t just sending her on a flight. They were sending her a lifeline. A chance.
A link to her boarding pass appeared in the chat. With trembling fingers, Loconda clicked it open, her eyes scanning the details in a blur. Her heart raced as she glanced up at the departure board, searching for the flight to Rome. Her eyes locked on the lone entry—Rome, Terminal B. A cold knot tightened in her stomach as she saw the departure time. Less than thirty minutes. The plane was about to leave, and Terminal B was all the way across the airport. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized she had barely 10 to 15 minutes to make it. Time was slipping away, and she couldn’t afford to hesitate. The window was closing fast, and if she didn’t act now the opportunity would pass her by.
Across the way, Jasiah and Rohan were glued to a sports bar TV, sucked into Trinidad vs. Colombia, tied 2-2 in the clutch. Rohan pounded his chest, yelling, “Go, go, go!”
Jasiah peeked back at Loconda, who was crouched, lacing her shoes like a chill sister. “No way!” he gasped, whipping back as a Trinidad player blazed downfield, no defenders in sight.
“Not a soul near him!” Rohan cackled. “This is ours!”
The player danced with the ball, then bam, a rocket shot soared past the flailing Colombian goalie, slamming the net. The bar exploded; Jasiah and Rohan roared, fists pumping. Jasiah spun to high-five Loconda—and froze. She was gone.
Panic gripped him. He scanned the crowd, his pulse quickening as the busy airport around him seemed to stretch endlessly, a blur of hurried movements and unfamiliar faces.
“Lo!” he shouted, voice swallowed by the terminal’s chaos. Rohan was still mid-victory hop, oblivious. Jasiah yanked his arm. “She’s gone, man!”
Rohan blinked, crashing back to earth. “Who?”
“Lo’s gone. I can’t see her anywhere,” Jasiah’s eyes darted wild through the swarm of strangers.
Rohan’s eyes widened as he understood the gravity of the situation. “Where’d she go?”
“Where’d she go?” Rohan spun, scanning.
Then, there! A flash of dark waves and a familiar jacket. Jasiah’s heart leapt. He sprinted, dodging travelers like a linebacker, zeroing in on that embroidered denim. Closer… closer… he lunged, grabbed her arm, and spun her. “Loconda!”
Big nope. A startled stranger stared back, Loconda’s doppelgänger, but not her. Jasiah’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry! My sister’s missing, and you… that jacket…”
The girl softened, brushing it off. “This? Some girl gave it to me a sec ago. Said I looked cold and it suited me better.”
Jasiah’s pulse skipped. “Where’d she go?”
“No clue,” she shrugged.
Rohan huffed up, winded. “Find her?”
“No,” Jasiah muttered, eyes raking the crowd desperately for any sign of Loconda. But she was nowhere to be found.
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