At school, Wendu parked her car
and led the way, pointing out different corners of the campus. She was three
classes ahead of me, and her confidence showed.
"Hello, sweetie!" another girl
called, waving from a distance.
Wendu's face lit up. She leaned
in and kissed the girl on the cheek. They held hands as though it was the most
natural thing in the world.
I stared longer than I intended.
"Bim, this is Classy," Wendu said.
"Hi, Bim," the girl greeted with a smile.
"Hello," I returned softly.
"Babe," the girl said
"I'm sorry, but I'll be Bim's
handbag today. Do you mind if we meet after school?" Wendu said
"No problem. Bye, Bim."
"Bye," I smirked faintly.
Wendu turned back to me. "So, what do you like?"
"What do I like?" I repeated, unsure She nodded.
"Nothing. I'm white as snow," I said flatly.
"It's fine," she said with a knowing smile. "We'll get to know each other with time."
As we walked through the school
hall, my thoughts twisted in on themselves. Did she understand what I just
signaled to her? Should I call my family—or should I let myself be swept into
whatever drama is waiting here?
-----
The lecture was over, and as
usual, I waited for Wendu to pick me up. A group of guys walked across the
campus, their laughter carrying on the breeze. One of them caught my eye.
His stare was bold, covetous
even. He had dark skin, a low, neatly trimmed haircut, and an aura that was
both charming and endearing. He smiled and raised his hand in a wave. Against
my better judgment, I waved back.
It was only my second week at the
university, and I hadn't made any real friends yet. Girls on campus carried
themselves with loud confidence, bragging about grades and clothes and
influence. I wasn't excluded from the competition—I had good grades, and I had
what most of them flaunted: beauty, brain, and class. BBC, as they called it.
But still, I lived like an
introvert—not by desire, but by law. That was how my family raised me. And I
convinced myself I could cope.
Months passed. Life settled into
its rhythm. After one lecture, I hurried toward Wendu's car, only to be stopped
in my tracks.
A boy, about my age, suddenly
appeared in front of me. His presence was so abrupt I froze.
"Josh. And you?" he said
smoothly, as though introductions were enough to claim me.
I brushed past him without a
word, walking straight to the car.
"Hey! I'm just trying to know
you," he called after me. I didn't even turn my head.
When I got into the car, Wendu
arched a brow. "What does he want?"
"I don't know."
Her smile was quick and sharp.
"Don't know? You know clearly. He wants you."
I gave her a long stare. "And?"
"You should keep it strict. Keep
them away."
"Why?"
"You don't need them now. How old
are you?"
"I'm in my early twenties."
"I bet that's a lie."
Her words stung. "Why would you
say that?"
She shrugged casually, eyes fixed
on the road. "You don't look convincing. These days, kids look older than they
are. Normal."
The word kid burned in my brain.
I hated it. I hated being mistaken for less than I was.
"I'm not a kid," I snapped.
"You're just sixteen," she said
it so casually, as though she were announcing the weather.
I froze, my mouth falling open.
Her lips curved into a knowing
smile. "Surprised? I know one when I see one."
"I'm not sixteen. I'm not," I
insisted, shaking my head.
She raised a brow. "Then why
don't you have a car?"
"I'm twenty-one. Okay?"
"And smart enough to earn
admission into the best university in the country," she replied smoothly.
"Here, you can't bribe your way in. If you fail, you try again. And you only
took it once. Rich kids get pushed into schools early, but here it's different.
It's the scholars who make it through."
Her words sank deep,
uncomfortably close to the truth. I had earned my place here. But her
assumptions twisted around me like vines I couldn't shake off.
—ordered, as always, by Wendu. Every meal, every expense we shared, came
from her. Three months had passed, and she had never once made a move on me.
Not a touch, not a glance too long.
It wasn't that I wasn't
attractive enough—I knew I was. But reasons best known to her kept her distant.
I couldn't help noticing.
She had this one girl, always the same one, who sometimes stayed over. They
were careful, always disappearing into her room, never giving me proof. But the
closeness between them told its own story.
I wasn't sure if they touched, if
they whispered into each other's skin when the lights went out. Maybe they kept
it hidden from me.
She had her own space. And I had
mine.