P for Perfect

Chapter 5- Yamíl

It's all about perspective– Osas

  Osas, Travis and I stand awkwardly in front of the entrance to the hallway. It's been exactly one day since Faith assigned us to advertise the party. Of course, I totally forgot about the whole thing the moment I entered my room yesterday but Osas had apparently not forgotten.

In fact, she's the one who dragged both me and Travis here, holding a pack of posters in her hands.

"We're just going to paste these in every block and then go home," she says, acknowledging the fact that it's 3:40 already and the school is almost empty. For some reason she thought it would be better if they just came to school tomorrow and found it on the walls.

"How many are they?" Travis asks, looking pointedly at her hands.

"30."

"Isn't that too much? There's only 5 blocks," I nearly cry. Not that this was much work, like I said, just 5 blocks. But it wasn't the blocks that scared me, it was the distance between each.

"Yes, and each of them have at least one floor above them," she rolls her eyes at me and I have the sudden urge to gouge them out of her sockets. "Besides there's nothing more I can do. I've already printed them so let's just start."

"Did you pay?" Travis asks before we can 'just start'.

"No, I've got a printer at home."

"No wonder. They probably don't let you use it normally. Opportunity comes first, you nau decided to print as much as possible," he raises his brows in understanding.

"Fool," Osas rolls her eyes again. But this time it's not as malignant as the one she gave me. In fact, she's laughing. It takes me a while to understand what's going on in front of me– Osas and Travis are bantering– the kind that only existed between friends. I never knew they were friends. Why does this revelation prick me so much?

"Alright, here you go." She hands me and Travis 10 posters each and walks off without any more words. Travis looks at me and shrugs before walking away as well.

Well, I guess the work has begun.

••••

   Osas and I bump into each other inside the third block. I mean a literal bump, one that sends her posters flying away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you coming," I rush to apologize. She grunts in reply but she dutifully avoids my gaze as she massages her temple. I kneel down and pick up her posters, ignoring the pain in my own temple. How on Earth did I not see her coming? I was so engrossed in my thoughts...what was I even thinking about?

"This was where we met right?" The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. That was what I was thinking about, and in truth, this was where we met but Osas is looking at me like I've gone mad.

"I mean, in Jss1. Everybody came here to collect their cardigans–"

"I remember," she interrupts me, wincing at the memory. Why? I don't recall anything bad happening there. I had simply handed her her cardigan and we walked back to class together. That was the first and the last time Osas willingly stayed near me. And I'm not even sure why.

"It's 4 o'clock already, are you going to move?" She snaps at me. For once, I'm too stunned to even feel hurt. I step aside and watch her make her way upstairs and for the first time since this 'beef' started, I'm actually bothered by what I might have done. What happened?

••••

   Daddy's the only one home. He's slouched on the longest sofa directly in front of the TV, eyes fixated on the match he's watching.

"Good evening sir," I greet. It's more of a formality, whether or not I say the expected good evening my dad doesn't care. He understands that me casually patting his back is also a greeting, or calling him daddy Yamíl. But like I said, formality and curtsy.

"Welcome, what took you so long? You're supposed to be closing by 3," he ignores the TV to look at me.

"Prefect stuff. The welcome party is coming up so we were pasting posters around," I explain. I dump my bag on the nearest couch and make my way into the kitchen.

"Where are mum and Mercy?" I ask.

"They went to see your aunt. Something about Mercy's hair sha," he explains. I inwardly shudder in fear, that meeting was not going to be nice. Mummy hated the Bob braids Aunt Diane made for Mercy even though it was perfect, and I feel partly responsible for the havoc that's probably already happening because I encouraged her to make it.

Can you blame me? How was I supposed to know it would turn out like this? I let out a loud sigh as I grab my bowl of cocoa pops.

"Make some for me too," daddy murmurs once he spots me from the corner of his eyes. I roll my eyes at him before doing as he says. Only my daddy eats cocoa pops as his appetizer for dinner. Only my dad.