"Black skin, black braids
Black waves, black days
Black baes, black days
These are black-owned things
Black faith still can't be washed away
Not even in that Florida water…"

Solange— "Almeda"

Erik Stevens found the silver-bullet gray colored suit his Uncle Bakari bought him for his first day of the Stark internship a little too flashy and way too expensive for a three-month summer gig. It took him at least ten minutes to fix a decent four-in-hand knot for his purple tie, and he had a cut on his freshly shaved face that still bled through the tiny piece of tissue paper he had to staunch the flow of red. What he didn't need to do was stain the pricey suit. He just wanted a low-profile in this bitch.

But the moment the shuttles from the hotel picked up the other interns housed for the first week of orientation in front of the lobby, Erik realized his Uncle was right about the suit. The other young men and women were draped.

"Hi, you have a …"

A Black woman who looked to be in her early twenties pointed to Erik's cheek. He was confused for a second until he remembered the tissue on his face. He smiled and picked it off, throwing it into a trash bin near the lobby entrance door. He wiped his hands with a small dab of hand-sanitizer he kept in the pocket of his slacks. He noticed some white guys at dinner the night before sneezing and coughing without protecting others from their microscopic germ particles so he stayed proactive in keeping himself sanitized at all times for himself and others.

"Thanks," he said, his eyes flitting around the space to size up his competition.

"I'm Giselle," the woman said.

Erik's eyes returned to hers.

"Erik," he said.

"You look really nice," she said, sizing up his suit.

"Thanks," he said. He wasn't sure of how much small talk he was up for. The introvert in him was on high alert, but he tapped into his Naval Academy training and focused on fitting in.

"I like the bold choice in a tie," she said.

The amethyst color was a gift from his play Aunt Serah. She shipped it over from London and made him promise he would take a ton of pictures in his full ensemble.

"Most of the guys here are being pretty conservative…basic blues and blacks," she said. She moved closer to him so others wouldn't eavesdrop.

"What's that you're wearing?" she asked.

"The suit?"

She sniffed.

"Your cologne."

He put too much Florida Water on himself. His Nana and his mother used to sprinkle it on him for special occasions when he was little. Old Southern and old Geechee ways. It was supposed to protect him from bullshit in the world.

"Florida Water."

"It has a nice clean smell," she said.

Okay.

Erik looked Giselle over.

East Coast accent. Not New York. Not D.C. or Virginia….Philly? Nah…Baltimore. That was it. That was what he was hearing. A B-More girl trying to hide the B-More girl in this heavily vanilla mix.

She fine though. Pretty mocha brown skin. Big ole kissable lips stained with dark mauve lipstick. Hair braided tight to the scalp with silver hair jewelry clipped on the ends that fell down her back. The conservative navy-blue dress she had on was most definitely money. Her family probably splurged to make that best first impression too. Correction. The shoes on her feet were expensive but not new. Nah, Ma came from old money.

"Gotta stand out some kind of way," he said.

"Where you from Erik? L.A.?"

"Do I look like I'm from L.A.?"

"Sound like it—"

"I'm from L.A., this dude is from Oakland."

Curtis.

Erik sat with him at the hotel breakfast buffet. Affable guy. One of maybe ten Black interns Erik had counted from the previous night. He was two years older than Erik and kept rubbing it in when everyone else around him was drinking adult beverages and he was stuck nursing a Pepsi. Erik spent most of the night watching him try to spit game to Giselle. But this girl was caking niggas she thought were going somewhere. She spent most of her night with the Chads and Brads of the lighter hue on the ecru/eggshell white spectrum. He couldn't blame her for that. The other brothas there were cornballs jocking the long-backed Becky's.

Not to say that none of the white girls there weren't attractive, they were just…dull. Tennis Club dull. Abercrombie & Fitch dull. At least Giselle stood out, not just because of her blackness, but her personality. She had one. Vivacious. Foul-mouthed when that liquor got up in her. Funny. She clearly had brains to be there. They all did.

"Here we go," Curtis said.

The shuttles were taking them away in groupings because there were so many of them. One hundred and one total. Weird.

They arrived at the Stark Industries Los Angeles headquarters and were ushered into a cavernous meeting space. Uptempo music played, and tables filled with water and juice refreshments awaited them. Erik grabbed a water bottle and made his way to a seat near the front but on the side.

Giselle and Curtis followed him and took seats on either side of him.

"This place is huge," Curtis said.

Once they all were seated around a circular stage, the lights went down and a vid presentation gave a quick two-minute update on what Stark Industries had been up to the past year. Erik felt his energy falling and was happy to have the water to sip on to give him something to do. His left leg started bouncing with agitated energy and only stopped when he felt Giselle touch his thigh when he hit her leg.

"My bad," he whispered leaning his leg away from her.

Stark's people hounded him for a whole year to accept the internship before he even graduated from the Academy. They got one whiff of his full-ride to M.I.T. and they pursued him aggressively. Turning it down twice, he wondered if he should've skipped it a third time when the vid stopped abruptly and Tony Stark rose up from a platform underneath the round stage. Everyone around him started clapping wildly and Tony ate that shit up by waving and doing a little jig with his legs as the applause rose in volume. This nigga. Corny theatrics. Giselle noticed him not clapping and she smirked at him as her hands added to the uproar.

"Alright…alright. Let's get down to business folks," Tony said. He snapped his fingers and a holographic image of the Stark logo floated above him.

"Why are you here?"

Tony paused and then walked around the three-sixty stage knowing all eyes were on him.

"That was rhetorical. You're here because I want you here. Each one of you was hand-picked by me. Being here is not a competition but a community of brilliant minds. That's what I do. I bring the best together and then I steal from you…"

Laughter from the audience and a few hoots.

Tony flashed his well-known grin, his goatee trim, and his hair freshly-clipped. His charcoal gray suit was pure French-designer chic, and Erik noticed the purple tie that brought the whole ensemble together. Aunt Serah was on it. El jefe's suit was just the next level version of the one Erik had on.

"Reality time. You are here to learn from me and hopefully, by the end of this journey, I will have some new brilliance to add to my brain trust at Stark Industries. Your only real competition is yourself…and this guy—"

Tony waved two fingers in front of his face and Erik's holographic image floated in place of the Stark logo above Tony's head.

"Stevens, Erik. Oakland, California. I.Q…170. Einstein and Hawking territory. Nineteen-years-old. M.I.T. bound…"

Erik felt Giselle's head turning his way to stare at him. In fact, he felt a lot of heads turning towards him. He felt his body sinking down into his seat a bit.

Shit.

So much for keeping a low profile in that hoe.