Daffodil Sprouts🌼

Ch. 2 ' New York!

The birds' chirp sound mocking. I want to go to the window and scream at them, but I don't have the strength to. Telling Felicie about Mom's call reignited the self-pity I drowned in all through yesterday after Grandpa turned me down and Grandma chose to support his decision.

"Oh. My. God. You're going to New York?"

The excitement that engulfed me on the phone call with Mom has settled with Felicie, obvious from her face. Unlike before, she's now sitting upright.

I return my gaze outside, now noticing a small bird. Its feathers are blue with spots of purple, similar to the painting of my room. How nice.

Felicie pushes my shoulder, reminding me I haven't answered her yet.

"No."

"Whoo. Whoo," she cheers, then gets up and starts jumping around the bed.

In alarm, I turn away from the window and move my legs to avoid her stepping on them.

"What are you jumping for? I said No."

"You're kidding," she says in a high-pitched voice, still jumping.

I facepalm. "No, I'm not."

This is what happens when your friend sees you as an always-joking person.

After jumping some more, she sits. Her mouth is open for a larger air intake and long, pink, braids are scattered all over her face. I earlier struggled to pack it in a Donut style; either I did a bad job, or her jumps were too ferocious. She uses both hands to push the braids aside, revealing her white-as-snow baby face.

"When do we start packing?"

"Fe-"

"No," she shakes her head, "You aren't leaving without me. I'm tired of Nigeria."

I grab a pillow and throw it at her.

"What?"

"I said no," I yell. "I'm not going anywhere."

Felicie is silent for the next seconds, and confusion swallows her.

"Blackie, why? I don't get."

I frown at the annoying appellation she gave me in return for refusing to stop calling her Whitie. Besides, I'm not dark, just chocolate. Hers is understandable because she's fair enough to be called a white girl.

"I don't either. Grandpa is being a baddy."

Felicie crosses her arms and the grey sweater she's wearing crumples under them. "What has Grandpa got to do with this?"

"He's the one who said I can't go," I intone, making crying sounds when I finish.

Felicie's mouth first opens in sheer surprise, before crumbling into a grin.

"Aww, he doesn't want to let go of his darling granddaughters." She winks twice.

I don't know when I start laughing. Felicie's more than family; after all, we've been friends for seven years, so though she's only joking, I know deep down her heart, she wants to go too.

"Even if Grandpa agreed, Whitie, you know you aren't going anywhere. Stop deceiving yourself."

She slaps my bare lap.

"Ouch." I rub my thighs, wishing I put on longer shorts. "Grandma would be done cooking the Jollof rice by now."

"Olonje*. What did Mom say about it?"

Sometimes, Felicie surprises me with how easily she gets comfortable with people. She only started speaking to my mom a few months ago, and she already addresses her as Mom. I've known Felicie's mom for years, yet can't bring myself to call her Mom.