Cassandra The African Girl (COMPLETE) (EDITED)

Chapter 13

We were still seated at the dining table, and I was just about to finish my meal when the main door suddenly swung open. It was Steve, looking disheveled and worn-out. His hair was tousled, his clothes wrinkled and torn, and there were bruises marring his face. It appeared as though he had been in a fight, but Steve was typically the kindest and gentlest person, unlikely to harm even a fly.

As Steve entered, Lin glanced at her parents, who seemed taken aback by his appearance. "Stevie, grab a plate. Cassandra cooked," Lin announced, making a big deal out of it, but I knew she was only mocking me and my cooking. Steve wordlessly grabbed a plate, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, perhaps to conceal his bruised knuckles, then hurried up to his room and slammed the door shut.

Emily and Lucas exchanged strange glances, and guilt flickered in Emily's eyes. "Shouldn't someone go check on him?" I suggested, breaking the awkward silence.

Emily and Lucas shared another look before saying in unison, "Let's leave him alone for a while."

It was weird, to say the least. Maybe that's just what married couples did; they could read each other's minds. I remembered when I was younger, I used to ask my parents for outlandish things like jetpacks, pet snakes, and motorbikes. Every time, both my parents would say "no" simultaneously. Mom was usually the strict one, her decisions final and non-negotiable. Dad, on the other hand, knew better than to argue with an African woman.

Despite the tense atmosphere, Dad tried to lighten the mood by asking me about school, which only served to fuel my anger. "Great, Dad, really great. I got trash-talked by some snobby girl, got shut down by a teacher in front of the whole class, and had to eat my lunch while crying in the boys' bathroom. Are you happy now?" I stormed up from my chair, hitting the table so hard that everyone's plates shook.

Later, I found myself sitting on a small pink sofa in Lin's room. Her room was a mix of childhood nostalgia and adolescent rebellion, with a wardrobe adorned with crystal daisies, a bed strewn with a pink duvet, and posters of BTS adorning the walls. Lin entered, followed by Conrad, and launched into her tirade, blaming me for "ruining" supper.

"Lin, leave her alone. Nothing is ruined, everyone is still eating," Conrad defended me, but Lin's eye roll suggested she was getting annoyed.

"Stay out of this. It's none of your business, so go to your room," Lin snapped, as if she owned the place.

Conrad's expression darkened with anger. "Actually, it's none of your business either, so stop acting like you're her mom. Let her be. She's not a child who has to listen to everything you say," he retorted before storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

Though Conrad's defense was admirable, I couldn't help but feel guilty. Maybe I could have avoided the argument by simply keeping quiet. After all, the best way to end an argument is not to participate. Lin was left speechless, a rare occurrence that I savored.

Later, Emily came to my room for a chat, and we talked for a while. I apologized for "ruining" supper, but Emily wasn't upset. She smiled and said, "It's okay," her warmth reminding me of Mom.

Dad knocked on the door, though it was wide open, and Emily left. Dad sat on the bed and asked, "Wanna sit?" I hesitated, remembering Lin's angry look and her command to "Get up!"

"I'd rather not," I declined. Dad sighed and said, "Cass."

Dad never called me Cass. He might call me honey or sweetie, but not Cass. Now I knew he was mad at me. In one breath, I apologized, stumbling over my words as I explained that I didn't mean to act like a jerk earlier.

He didn't say anything, just looked at me, and suddenly, I felt choked up. Tears welled up in my eyes, and before I knew it, I was crying into his shoulder, apologizing profusely.

"Dad, I'll never talk to you like that again. Please don't be mad," I blubbered.

"Cass, I can never be mad at my little princess," he said, playfully pinching my cheeks. I was going to be sixteen soon. "Oh, and no fighting with Lin," he added.

"But, Dad, she's the one who starts it," I protested.

"Then be the mature one, please," he pleaded.

"Fine, I won't fight with Lin," I reluctantly agreed.

"Thanks, pumpkin. Goodnight," he said before giving me a kiss on the forehead. Just as he reached the door, I called out, "Dad!"

He paused and looked back. "What?"

"Don't call me Cass," I said.

"What's your name then?" he asked, confused.

"Sweetie and Honey are my names," I smiled. He grinned and blew me a kiss before leaving, which I caught and placed next to my heart.