2: A piece of advice

Mom's piece of advice was short, yet weighty. Those words mean so much but can be easily disregarded if paid little to no attention.

“Remember whose daughter you are.”

This means to behave as you have been trained to; to let your words and actions tell you come from a good home. In conclusion, don't go over there and fuck up.

After she said that, it was as if a weight was put on my shoulder. The freedom I had been craving so much for suddenly felt like an opportunity to go there and lose myself, in the parties, boys, lavish and vague lifestyle and various other distractions.

I've never been a straight-A Student, so imagine how disappointing it'll be if I allow myself to get distracted. My life would be over. Finito.

I only get restless as I continue pondering on my mom's words, so I sit up and reach for my phone. During times like these — apart from music — there's only one person who can make these kinds of thoughts go away.

His line buzzes on my end and I wait patiently for him to answer.

“Pick up the phone, you idiot.” I fold my legs under my buttocks and chew the inside of my cheek.

“Hey,” he answers. Finally.

“Where did you throw your phone?”

I hear the loud music and wild cheering in the background as I imagine him veering his way out of the crowd to find somewhere quiet to talk.

Unlike me, Eric likes parties. When he told me one of our old classmates will be throwing a party before he goes off to the university too, he didn't ask if I wanted to come because he knew I'd decline. 

Parties are not my thing. To me, they are easy opportunities to make big mistakes.

“Hey," he says on getting to a more quiet part of the house. “Sorry about that. The party is in full swing, so it's difficult getting a quiet place.”

“I understand.” I sigh. “It's my fault. I shouldn't have called.”

“Nah. It's okay. I was starting to get bored since Mariam couldn't make it.”

Mariam? His girlfriend.

Her name causes me to grimace. Why? Because I don't like her one bit. Many people will say it's because I have a crush on my best friend, so I'm jealous she got him first, but the truth is that's not a total lie. However, I dislike Mariam because she makes it so easy to do so. 

When she enrolled in Gracefield High (the secondary school we graduated from) with her short skirt and tight shirt, no boy would stop looking at her. Eric was no exception. 

She was the ideal girl. Smooth, ebony skin. Cat-like eyes. Round and set front and back. To top it all off, she was very intelligent. Mariam was the perfect girl — regardless of her nasty behaviour — and still is.

Although I knew she made head turns as every males' hormone went into override, I was still shocked when Eric told me he'd try to get her attention. I've always thought he had the hots for me, but that turned out to be wishful thinking — always has been. 

Unlike Mariam, I'm shorter. I've got a pimply face and rough skin. My IQ is like that of a toddler's (Eric often says this to annoy or tease me) and I don't wear lingerie because I believe they're useless and will only ride up on me.

“You should go enjoy your party,” I tell him after reassessing myself and realizing how much of a bummer I am.

“So you just called me to waste my time?” He sounds upset and I can tell his right eyebrow is raised out of habit.

“I wanted to talk, but since you're somewhere, I don't want to be the reason—”

“I just told you I was getting bored. Did you not hear that?”

“I did, but—”

“Are you going to talk or not?”

My door opens and Joy enters, my cold room causing her to shiver momentarily as she reduces the speed of my ceiling fan. I've told her countless times to knock before she enters and to never adjust my fan's speed, but all my talking is like pouring water to rock.

She sits her chubby self on the edge of my bed and mouths, ‘who is that'.

“Why don't we talk when we see in school?” I tell Eric.

“Okay.” He doesn't hesitate to hang up.

“Who was that?” Joy asks as I bring my phone down from my ears.

“Eric,” I answer in a small voice.

I can tell I've upset him. However, though I hate it when he's angry, I couldn't stay on the phone. Not when all I can think of is how much uglier I am in comparison to Mariam.

“Senior Eric just called and you look like that?” My sister points at my face.

Joy knows I have a crush on Eric. She has seen the way my eyes brighten at the sight of him, probably even heard the hopeless beating of my heart when he smiles. Only a fool will say he doesn't know I like Eric. Yet, despite how obvious I am, Eric is the only one who doesn't know how I feel about him. Or maybe he does and just doesn't want to make things awkward by talking about it.

“I've already told you,” Joy says after watching me in silence. “Tell this guy how you feel and get it over with.”

I lean on my headboard with a sigh. “It's not that easy.”

“What's making it hard? Is it not just to tell him, ‘hey, you. I like you. What about you? Do you like me?’”

“He has a girlfriend. I can't be telling him that.”

“Like you said, girlfriend. Not wife. Which means, in the future, there's a huge possibility they'll break up. So just shoot your shot already.”

Although Joy's telling the truth, I've given up hope long ago. 

When Eric came to me to tell me Mariam finally agreed to be his girlfriend, I was crushed. It was like someone used a hammer to mess with my heart. However, I had chosen to remain hopeful. 

Two months later, I waited for them to break up after their first fight. Instead, two days later, they made up, which had every girl disappointed and the boys gnashing their teeth. 

Six months later, they had another fight. This one was huge than the usual quarrels they have. Eric found out that Mariam had slept with one of his friends during their first fight. I was expecting this to be the last straw. That Eric will blind his heart from her crocodile tears. Only for him to show up in school the following week with her hand safely tucked under his arm. 

That's the thing about Eric: he's too soft-hearted and Mariam knows this, which is why she gets away with a lot of nonsense she's done.

The two have had numerous fights and quarrels to keep count of, yet their relationship shows no sign of ending. I couldn't keep up with that, so I had to give up.

“Even if I tell him I like him,” I tell Joy after a while. “I'm just assuming. Even if I tell him, there's no guarantee that he likes me back. I'm a hundred percent sure that he doesn't. And I can't live with that. The rejection.” I've played that part so many times in my head that it makes me cringe, even now as I squeeze my eyes shut.  “I can never deal with it.”

“Then, you do the next normal thing. Forget about him.”

My back slides down my headboard as I groan. “It's not that easy.”

“Mtcheew. You're the one doing yourself.” She looks away.

Maybe she's right. But I'm not lying. I've tried. I've tried thousand times to forget Eric; I've tried to get him out of my head, but nothing seems to be working. 

I even tried dating someone while in high school to make him jealous and also forget him, but it only made me feel worse. Firstly, I didn't entirely like the boy I was dating and secondly, Eric kept teasing me rather being jealous. The relationship was only a month-old when I decided to end it. Both Thomas (the boy I dated) and Eric wanted to know my reasons for calling it quits, but I kept telling them it was because I needed to concentrate on school — which Eric found comical, knowing I have little to no regards for my education.

“Well," Joy says. “At least, you two will be going to the same university. Maybe something might happen.”

“You think so?”

“It can happen.” She shrugs. 

Even though my sister isn't a fortune teller, it makes me feel at ease knowing that something might happen between us in school. 

Eric and I had applied for the same university after writing our UTME (Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination) — an entrance examination conducted for prospective undergraduates into Nigerian universities — and lucky for me, we were both admitted into the school.

Maybe I had a chance after all. Maybe this is fate trying to make things finally work between us.

“Joy,” I say as I leave my train of thoughts to stare at my sister.

“What?”

“Don't cause any more trouble.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.”

She huffs and looks away.

“I don't want to hear you fought with that Blessing girl. I'm tired of it. Mom and dad are also tired of hearing it. At this rate sef, you might get suspended or even expelled if you two don't stop.”

“It's not my fault that Blessing doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut.”

“Joy, please. I'm begging you in the name of God. Just ignore her. If she says anything, simply ignore her.”

“That'll only give her the liver (audacity) to say nonsense.”

“Joy.”

Rolling her eyes, she succumbs, albeit reluctantly. “Yeah. Yeah. I've heard. Ah.”

She stands up and leaves the room.

...

Words/phrases and their meaning:

* Liver: audacity