Misconstrue

"The dog says, "NINE."

I grew up on a rather small island. There's a neighboring island to the north, and these two islands are considered as one country. My high school is located on the larger island, to make matters worse it's a boarding school for girls.

I actually thought that nothing in this world would beat the hate I have for that school. Then the most tragic thing happened, and my father came and somewhat rescued me from the misery I was in. I became a British citizen and lived with my father and his family for a year. It was then that I began to miss being at boarding school.

To this day I can't understand why I preferred being in a school full of girls. All it took was one phone call. I returned to that wretched school and I put the year I spent in England in the back of my mind. I actually don't know why those memories are even resurfacing right now.

But if I were to take a guess, I'll have to say that it's the drive to Cambridge that's the catalyst. Homura didn't speak much and so I spent most of the time looking out the window. The memory of being on a ferry resurfaced, and then I began to think about driving in a car filled with all my belongings.

The two cups of coffee do nothing, and so the bitter taste lingered in my mouth until we arrived at the restaurant. The memory of travelling by ferry vanishes as soon as I step inside the restaurant, the high ceiling is the first thing that catches my attention. The fixtures and furnishes tell I have stepped into luxury. 

I hide my frown after being led to our table. When Homura mentioned breakfast, this wasn't what I had in mind at all. 

"You know..." I look over at Homura. The Japanese is currently looking upwards. "...I don't want to sound weird or anything..."

I raise my eyebrows as he looks back at me. "...you look really beautiful. This lighting agrees with you."

Oh?

I clear my throat awkwardly. "Thank you." Feeling the need to return a compliment of my own I speak before thinking. "You have nice skin."

The footballer chuckles at that. Luckily the waitress appears just in time with our orders thereby saving me from further embarrassment.

"Your skin tone is really clear." I stop chewing as I let his words settle. "The only black people I know are Vicente and some players from other teams."

I loosen the grip on my fork as I can somehow tell that this conversation is about to go downhill. "I thought all black people have the same skin colour as Vicente. I wasn't aware that black people had light-coloured skin such as yours."

I take a large gulp of water, hoping to drown the expletive that's at the tip of my tongue. Well, this is some shit.

"Homura." I take a deep breath. "How long have you been living in London?"

He blinks innocently at me, totally unaware of the feeling coursing through me. "I transferred during the summer window, so not that long."

I nod at that then let my hands rest in my lap as I begin to think about the talk I need to have with him. "Humans have a special type of skin cells called melanocytes, these cells produce a pigment known as melanin."

He nods silently and I take that as my cue to continue. "We all have the same number of melanocytes, but some people make more melanin than others." I take another deep breath. "Black people have more eumelanin in their skin, and that's why our skin is darker."

"Ah." He nods at that. "I didn't know that."

I hum. "And also, I'm not really considered as a light-skin person when compared to my black peers. I just have a warm yellow undertone."