“How's mom?” I ask Eka later, after the rest of the team's gone and we're sitting on a stone bench behind the semicircle of trees.
“Your mother? She's fine.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I hate sunlight.”
“Changing the topic.”
She nods. “Talking about your mom isn't exactly lucrative for right now. I don't want to waste this moment. Girls like to talk about the weather, teddy bears, hair, be talked about... But your mom, save for a couple of outbursts, really she's not—”
“So, I remember SS2, right?” I say, cutting her off. “Are you a vampire? Because I remember SS2, mid-November, 11/11. Am I right?”
“You are.”
“You and that...alpine BFF of yours.” I'd been going for albino BFF but decided halfway against getting her started on some sensitivity argument in the fashion of her new affectionate bestfriend, Joy.
“What's an alpine person?” she asks.
“The headmistress's daughter with the stupid haircut.”
“Grace Eteng?”
“I don't know her name. Anyway, you two in mid-November— I remember because I had a good laugh— entering that debate competition just to argue that being a rebel for the sake of getting people's attention was an ass move and didn't make you better at all, or claiming you had asthma or allergies or phobias when you didn't would mean you're sick not cool as hoped. With your breast pocket tags reading BFF and declaring you two knights against the....organized renegade of rebellion, which really was the icing on the cake of your dysfunctional friendship.”
“There were no breast pocket tags.”
“Nobody but a headmistress with an equally stupid haircut could allow a motion like that through. Did you guys jinx her?”
“Are you done?”
“Chill. This one is going to hurt a little. I know you embrace your, as Joy puts it, Africanness, and take pride in your melanin, getting afro and shit. From whence comes this newfound sun allergy?”
“That was like maybe JSS2, not SS2. Besides, you were part of the team, and we lost particularly because you decided we were a comedy show. You didn't know when not to be a jackass.”
“I agree with you. If only I knew I was signing up to be on a team with two crazy ladies.”
“Jerry, I don't hate the sunlight, okay? I only changed the topic to the first thing on my mind.”
“Fine, the Joy in you beats me with that logic.”
“You're being dramatic.”
“I'm only trying to express my shock using words. Thank God for words. The body language equivalent would be my mouth and eyes wide open, which isn't my kind of thing, dear kinswoman.”
“And why exactly won't you use your face?”
When I don't reply, she says, “Ah yes, because then you'll recognize Oh not my kind of thing to. Very reasonable. No wonder you keep this always impassive doll face. Because of course, you think being expressive is a feminine thing. Are you trying to be a real man?”
As soon as she says it, alarm breaks out on her face. She's mentioned before that I am feminine. I am not, but it's taking the joint effort of my sweater pockets and the thought that she's a woman to keep my fists contained, although I reckon I'll be better off proving I'm a boy by unleashing them.
YOU ARE READING
My Jack Side
Mystery / ThrillerA grieving boy falls in love with his therapist. Of course, he makes nothing about how he feels known. Except his longing to meet Jack, this twisted yet addictive therapist he's contacted only through writing. But that will be the pit of it all. Whe...
