A kiss for Ree

Chapter 3: unwanted daughter

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"Rihanna! Rihanna, wake up! I'm hungry!"
The voice echoed somewhere in the fog of my subconscious, but I ignored it.

This isn't a dream... I'm actually on a talent show, and I just wowed the judges. One of them is about to hit the golden buzzer.

"Hit the golden buzzer," I mumbled with a teary nod. I did it!

"What golden buzzer? I said I'm hungry! You're over here telling me to hit the golden buzzer. Wake up, joor!"

The next thing happened all at once.

"Ah!" I shrieked, nearly leaping out of my skin as a sharp tug yanked on one of my black braids. My spirit snapped violently back into the real world.

I bolted upright, squinting around the room.
"I said I'm hungry!" Omar's voice hit me like a final cymbal crash, snapping the last dreamstrings in my brain.

There was no stage. I hadn't wowed any judges. Simon Cowell wasn't about to hit a buzzer for me. I hadn't sung. I was still in my room. In my house. In my country.

Gosh!
The dream had felt so real. I was so close to winning.

I slowly sat up properly, peeling off the now-stifling duvet. Omar had woken me from such a beautiful dream. God, why? Why was Omar sent to destroy me?. Whyyyyy?

As if the big-headed boy could read my mind, he said, "Were you dreaming? Oh, your crush was toasting you, abi? Eeyah, sorry. See me here, I'm hungry. You can cook first and then go back to sleep, ma."

"Ahh, Omar," I groaned, rubbing my eyelids in slow, circular motions. This boy has given me a headache.

Iya Iyabo only worked weekdays. She left every Friday afternoon and came back Monday mornings, which meant weekends were, DIY survival mode.

"What shall we eat?" Omar asked, like we were equals in this weekend struggle.

I wanted to yell Go and ask your mother!
But I couldn't. He didn't have a mother. Neither did I.

Still, I was fuming. He woke me up like that?

"Omar, get out of my room. Didn't I tell you never to come in without knocking? And look at how you woke me!"

I don't think I'd even had a full eight hours of sleep after sneaking back into the house with Levi last night.

"I knocked! You just didn't hear me. I swear I knocked. Allah! Sorry, please! Sorry," he whined.

Normally, I'd yell, curse, and kick him out. But what was the point? I wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, and I'd still end up in the kitchen.

Maturity won-for once.

"Why can't you just go downstairs and take bread from the fridge?" I asked, voice flat.

"I have. But I'm still hungry. What's bread to my stomach?" Omar said, dramatically placing a hand over his belly. "A growing boy needs something heavy and healthy. Do you want me to grow up looking like Mr. Blessing?"

"Ode! Let him catch you."

Mr. Blessing-a very lean, very wicked teacher at our school. Harsh for no reason. I thanked God he wouldn't be teaching me anything when we resumed SS3.

"Has Mr. Bolade and his new family gone out?" I asked as I rolled off the bed and headed to the wardrobe.

"I'm not sure. But I think so," Omar replied, settling on my bed and instantly grabbing my phone.

Whenever Dad was home on weekends-which was almost never-he usually ate out, unless Iya Iyabo was around to cook. Omar and I knew to stay out of his way. We'd hang around in our rooms until he finally traveled off again.