BETWEEN YOU TWO AND I

CHAPTER THREE

   'I'm sorry,' I said quickly getting off of him. Uncomfortable silence grew between us, and my mind whirled as I recalled all the green lights he had hinted at me. He gave me his phone number, he spent his precious time teaching maths to me and the class, he is always tempting me with his perfectness. Okay, the last part was in my head but still. I always thought boys were very obvious when they liked you.

    The bell rang very clear startling me out of my trance. I quickly gathered my things and walked out of the classroom my cheeks flushing. Sometimes, I'm thankful my skin is dark because you can't see the embarrasment in my face. 

    My fingers trembling, I fumbled in my backpack and pulled out my phone to call my mom. 

'I'm in the parking lot,' she said on the other end of the call. 

Although I was eighteen, I still didn't have my drivers' license. I just never got around to it, or had plans of getting a car. 'Maybe summer before college I'll get a car,' I had told my mom. Till then I either took the bus or sometimes if she finished early at work, she would pick me up. 

 'Hi, mom,'  greeted clipping on my seatbelt. I made sure she didn't see my face since she was so good at deciphering my emotions. And I was full of them at that exact moment. 'What's for dinner tonight?' I asked. We always made up our minds about dinner in the car; whether it was takeout or a nice home cooked meal or leftovers in the fridge. 

  'Well your dad 's pasta 's been sitting in the fridge since yesterday morning. Time we took it out and heated it up,' my mom said.

     'But his pasta is nah,' I said shaking my head.

    'Belle,' (my family also calls me Belle), 'don't be nasty about your dad 's pasta. It isn't too bad.'

'Whatever,' I sighed, 'Let's please pass by the convinience store, I want to get some candy bars then,' I asked. I placed my feet on the dashbord and sunk in my seat.

'Fine,' my mom agreed, 'but first kaa vizuri ( that means sit properly in swahili.) She pushed my feet off the dashboard.

    My mom is East African from Kenya and my dad is Creole whose family originally came from Louisiana. They met when my dad went to Mombasa on vacation and got introduced to my mom on the beach on New years eve. They talked for a while and my mom told him she was going to Toronto to study. Excitedly, my dad told her he was from Toronto and gave her his phone number in case she wanted to link up. My mom did call him but my dad had unfortunately changed his cell. Then one day out of the blue, she saw a picture of him on an advertising billboard for a carwash and garage and called the number on the advertisement. She then asked for my dad and told him she was the girl on the beach that night. Three years later, they got married and had me.

    That night, in bed, heartbreak consumed me. There was nothing like being rejected by a guy you really really like. It felt like a dagger to the heart. I played back the moment I kissed him again and again in my head. But whenever I got to the part where he pushed me away and gave me that cold look, my memories faded to black. I tried to force myself to make up a better scenario where I imagined Archer and me on the same beach on Mombasa where my parents met, with me on his lap and sand between our toes. This time however, he doesn't push me away but rather pulls me closer to him. We lock lips passionately and his beautiful bony fingers cup my face gently and we taste and feel each other.  He says 'i love you,' in his deep gentle voice in between kisses. I close my eyes and imagine that happening to me. Those images doesn't leave my mind all night long. 

          I wake up in my empty bed and reality hits me. Dreams are beautiful but they lie and they are temporary. Cal Archer doesn't love me.