The Oops Factor

Days of Ignorance

In light of the previous two failed attempts at revenge, I have now been thinking obsessively about Wet Sock. Bia has been pumping me up too, although with rather . . . wild ideas like, set his hair on fire, Nana!, and, kill Baxter!, and, puncture his stomach, Nana!. I don’t tell her right off that I won’t be entertaining her suggestions so as not to upset her, and instead ‘wow’ react to her message, and say, oh yes I can do that too but when Papa goes out of town. But obviously I won’t really be doing that. Jelly tries to help too and suggests we steal all his left shoes, which Wais amends with a tweak of his own personality saying, ‘Or steal all his underwear.’ Instead of wasting my breath on saying I don’t even wish to go a thousand light years near Wet Sock’s underwear, I spring from the bed and slap his cheeks left and right with my floral patterned headband.

Sfar has a better one. He says we break into Wet Sock's room and replace all his shampoo with hair removal cream. I consider it for a moment, deciding that given no girl would ever want a guy like Wet Sock, I’m all for causing his baldness. Although I refrain from mentioning that none of us know the first thing about picking locks.

So in the afternoon, when bros are back from school and I've bought a tube of hair removal cream from the local Woman Bazaar, and when we’ve had lunch, the three of us find our way to the Lodges.

There's not a living soul in sight and Sfar says that's because all the soldiers are in their evening training and, sure enough, as if on cue, I hear the sounds of marching commandments being barked out echoing through the empty neighbourhood.

Walking in through the gates, we cross the lawn and while Wais and I go round the one storey building, peeking through the windows to see which room Wet Sock's staying in, Sfar goes to the reception to inquire like any normal person.

Wais, with his face pressed against the glass and eyes squinted, motions me over to a window that overlooks the narrow alley behind the building. Just as I join him, Sfar appears through the corner, looking for us.

'It's room 4.' He announces.

'Yeah,' Wais jabs a finger towards the window and whispers, 'in there.'

Shielding my eyes from the bright sunlight, I lean forward, and peer through the glass. To my utter astonishment, I see Wet Sock standing on a prayer mat.

'Oh my god, he's praying.'

'Ooh, quick, grab a camera, Sfar. We've caught a rare sighting.'

'Shut up,'  I toss a mean look in Wais' way, 'bad people don't pray — no, in fact they do.' Hm, what determines who's good and bad?

As I am busy contemplating the intricacies of the yin and yang philosophy, Wais smoothly slides open the window with surprising ease. I stare at him in amazement as he gestures with a flourish, inviting me to go first and whispering with a wink, "Ladies first, my lady."

I smack his shoulder and climb in, Sfar coming after me, followed by Wais. The curtain is halfway drawn, the room immaculate, as expected of Wet Sock, with the bed made and nothing out of place. Not even his luggage. The cats are curled up calmly in different parts of the room. And in a corner he's praying peacefully. Except when I tiptoe over and peer at his face, he has a very deeply engraved scowl on his face. So maybe not very peacefully then.

'You stay out on lookout,' I instruct Sfar in a whisper, 'Wais and I are going to empty the shampoo bottle.'

'Look out for what?'

'When he ends his prayer, you give us a signal, genius.'

'And then what? You lock yourselves in the washroom?'

'No. I don't know, we run out through the door maybe.'

'But he already knows it's us. I mean, it's you.'

'Shush, giving us a signal won't hurt your vocal chords, geez, Sfar.'

'Fine, what signal?'

I shrug impatiently, 'I don't know. Just make a cat sound. There are so many cats here he won't be able to tell which of them was it. Come on, Wais. Let's hurry up.'

On my way, my eyes land on his laptop so I grab it off the desk, intending to drown it in water. Except we've only barely managed to cross the threshold of the washroom, when we hear a very ugly high pitched meow that a natural cat could have in no way made. Wais immediately retreats from the washroom and I turn where I stand to find Sfar approaching Wet Sock — who's glaring daggers at me — for a warm, brotherly handshake which, Wet Sock takes it graciously.

Wais snatches the laptop from my hands and places it neatly on the bed, stepping ahead to greet him like a long lost step brother.

'Wais. We're brothers, and we absolutely don't know her.'

Breaking away from Wais' handshake, he turns to me, his gaze instantly turning icy, 'You can leave.'

'Thank you.' Wais and Sfar reply instead, and I just stand there, wondering what went wrong.

'It was nice meeting you in person finally, Bhai.' Wais adds just before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind us.

'Bhai?!' I spin towards him when we're out, the word rolling off my tongue like it's poison. 'Seriously, the way you guys changed colours like a chameleon, I swear I hate you both, you sneaky cockroaches.'

Why are all of my efforts going to waste, Allah Jee?

∆∆∆

I type, my fingers tapping against the screen furiously. I don't understand what's going wrong
Opal: he clearly has Allah on his side
Bia: srsly Opal you didn't just say that! Allah, on the side of a jerk like him?? No way!
Opal: I'm just saying, Bia! Don't you come at me!
Bia: well, you shouldn't even say something like that. Men are all trash remember??
Jelly: GUYS!! MILLY BOBBY BROWNIE IS GETTING MARRIED!!
Me: who cares!!!
Bia: who cares???
Opal: who cares, jelly

∆∆∆

I have been worrying about my failed attempts and thinking how I hate Wet Sock more because of that, oblivious to what's awaiting me later at night. Because later at night, I learn that it's astonishingly very possible to hate him a thousand degrees more. Because now, after complaining to Papa about me breaking into his room and trying to "sabotage" his belongings, he's declared a personal war against me.

Now, I can safely consider either of the three very reasonable suggestions of Bia that I, in my days of ignorance, regretfully called wild.

∆∆∆