Daffodil Sprouts🌼

Ch. 8 ' The Stepsister.

After waiting for about 5 minutes with neither Mal nor Sam showing up, I'm close to cursing. If I knew the way to the café, I wouldn't be stuck here with a rumbling stomach.

"Hey."

I look up from the ground and my eyes land on the cocky, tall, boy from this morning. 

"What?" I say drily.

"I uh . . . haven't found it."

My brows draw together. "Found what?"

"You said there was something in my hair. This morning, just before you left."

I gape, unbelieving. Some guys are on the other side of the hallway, clustered together and watchful of us. If they're his friends, did he delay them to come to speak to me about something I mentioned just to tease him? Who knew it could be this effective?

"Must've gone far in your hair," I say.

"I combed through my hair. I just need you to tell me if it looked like an insect, that's what I'm scared of."

I stifle a laugh. "It's probably on your scalp already. Can't say which insect I saw, but I'm certain it was one."

His face pales. "Wh— wha— for . . . "

I burst out laughing. "Wasn't it obvious I was joking? Mr I-know-I'm-cute."

His face straightens. He smiles tightly. "Joking? Wow. You won't have the last laugh."

"Whatever. Whatever. All mouth and no brains."

He shakes a finger at me and joins the boys. They walk away. I don't stop laughing.

"Yesmi," someone calls.

I swirl and see Sam and Mal. They've finally shown up, after many years. They're bouncing towards me, with bright smiles on their face and flared eyelids.

"Girl, you're International," Sam says when she reaches me.

My forehead lines up.

"You were seen with Jason, now Rahman," Mal says.

"To think she hasn't even spent a whole day." Sam crosses her arm and rests on the locker. "Some of us have spent years here and haven't even smelt them."

Though I don't fully understand, Sam's words make me laugh. "I don't understand. I don't even know who Rahman is."

"Hush," Sam raises a hand, "don't bother lying. Why would you deny knowing someone like him?"

"But—"

"We saw you talking to him just now," Mal says.

"Oh. That boy? I didn't even know his name was Rahman."

Sam and Mal exchange hesitant glances.

"He's just someone I met this morning, and he's a dummy. How does talking to him make me international?"

"People call you international if you know a lot of pop guys," Mal explains.

"Popular," Sam clarifies, locking Mal's locker. She gestures for us to leave. I can't agree more.

It's hard walking together in the hall, but we manage.

"Look at Rahman. He's so cute, and his basketball skills can wake a dead," Mal says.

"A dead that's already dead, or you mean some other kind of dead," I say.

"Metaphor, babe," Mal answers. "He's good. Really good."

"Anyhow, Yesmi," Sam drapes a hand across my shoulder, "just know you're a lucky girl."

I snort.

"What was that stuff about Jason? Were you really with him?"