Sprigs from Ice

Part One// 6. Barren Branches

It was drizzling on Saturday morning.

I stood on the porch with a scowl, phone in hand and glaring up at the grey sky. There were no signs that it would turn into a heavy downpour, but it also showed no signs on letting up. My phone buzzed in my hand with a message, the fifth one this morning, which didn't sound like much, but considering the fact that I rarely received messages (group chats were muted), this was slightly overwhelming.

It buzzed again, and I ignored it.

The rain flowed easily over the tiles on the compound, every drop hitting the surface with a momentum hard enough to splinter it into several tiny crystals of water. Rain drummed on the leaves of the plants like a sound of rushing water a million miles away. The air was humid and warm, making me regret wearing a long-sleeved dress.

Thank God I was in Nikes, though. I wouldn't get my feet wet.

The phone in my hand vibrated incessantly for the sixth time, and just as I moved my finger over the notification bubble to open the message, the front door opened, and Dad stepped out. His cologne temporarily chased off the smell of mud and rain, bringing with it a sense foreboding and a bundle of anxiety for what was to come.

"Did I keep you waiting long?" Dad asked. He glanced at me for a reply.

"No, dad. I only just got here." That was a lie. I had been scowling at the sky for about twenty minutes now, willing the wetness to just disappear from the atmosphere, never to return.

He nodded. "Alright, let's get going."

It wasn't raining as hard as I thought. The light drizzles trickled down my forehead and fell on the exposed parts of my shoulder, causing me to shudder as I placed mine and dad's bags in the trunk of the waiting car.

I then climbed in with more haste than necessary, and the driver was cruising out of the automated gates onto the empty street.

Buildings whipped past in a blur as we moved through the neighborhood. A woman held a black umbrella over her head, power-walking down the sidewalk. A few yards behind her, a young man pulled his hood up and kicked a dirty empty plastic bottle into the open gutter. I flinched. A lady in a glaring orange raincoat stood underneath the awning of a storefront, furiously texting on her phone, and that drew my attention to the device in the cupholder beside me.

It vibrated again.

Dad barely spared it a glance, too busy ruminating emails and reports to pay anything around him much attention.

I picked it up, unlocked it and found messages from Astrid and David waiting for me. I could almost guess what Astrid would say in her text, but David's made me curious.

david.c.ampofo: In what is obviously a quid pro quo agreement, since I offered my help to you, I expect yours in return.

I scoffed lightly and moved to the next one.

david.c.ampofo: I've been asked to write a twenty-page essay on the pros and cons of technology. It's an argumentative essay, by the way, so Astrid recommended your help.

Why would she do that? She was clearly better than I when it came to such things. My fingers were poised over the screen, ready to fire a response when I caught sight of the final message.

david.c.ampofo: I read the notes you made in my black notebook -and I'm kinda sorry for that. At the same time, yeah, you're good at this stuff and your help is exactly what I need. Text me when you're free.

My fingers froze over the keypad and my breathing turned shallow.

We had overstayed our time in the library yesterday, and because I had been in a hurry to get to class, I had forgotten all about the little notes I'd jotted down in his notebook while he watched videos on my tablet. And he'd gone through them all?