OYINADE{Revised}

~1~

~Oyinade~

As I stepped out of our crooked black gate, I adjusted my uniform, smoothing the stubborn creases on my navy blue high-waist plaid skirt. I closed the gate behind me and walked toward the adjacent black, silver-coated gate, catching the scent of fresh paint.

Of course, it had been painted again. It looked smooth and shiny, unlike ours. Probably the fourth time that gate had been repainted this year, and it wasn't even March yet. I knocked briskly twice and waited. I pulled out my comb and ran it through my short black hair. Still no response. I knocked again, this time with more effort.

The door finally opened, and a head peeked out.

"Oh... it's you," Ade said. "Come in."

I knew he wasn't ready yet. I was getting impatient. I didn't want to be late for school again. Yesterday's punishment was still fresh in my mind. I shook my head slowly.

"Okay, wait. I'll be done soon," he said with a small smile.

"No! You do this every single day. You're already dressed—let's go! Why do you still have to go in?" I said, my frustration spilling out.

He grinned and headed back inside.

"Ade!" I yelled.

He moved quickly, and I followed him in.

"Let's go!" I groaned. "I'll leave you behind."

I stopped at the front door of his house, my hand on the doorknob. At that moment, he reappeared, stepping out with his black leather bag and a hairbrush in hand. He brushed his hair gently, looking utterly unbothered, which only fueled my frustration. His neatly ironed white shirt and navy-blue trousers mirrored the perfection of his grooming.

"Are you going to keep brushing your hair, or are we going to school?" I fumed.

"I can do both," he replied, flashing a smug smile.

"Arrgh, you're so annoying!" I turned and stormed out of his father's compound, my footsteps quick.

"Are you angry?" I heard his voice behind me.

He caught up with me easily. Was he seriously asking that? Yes! I was furious. Yesterday, I had to clean the female toilet, all thanks to Ade. I hated grime and mess, and the school toilets were always the worst.

Yet somehow, I hadn't been mad at him by the time we walked home together that evening. Now, the anger that had been simmering was ready to boil over.

"Yes! If it's not obvious enough. It's almost 7:30, and we're still on our street," I shot him a glare.

"Don't worry. We'll make it on time," he said, still smiling.

"On time? How? We're practically late."

"Can you stop fretting? It's too early. Relax!"

I wanted to slap him. He was pushing my buttons on purpose, that much was clear. I glanced over at him and noticed the mischievous smile playing on his lips. Suddenly, I remembered our bet.

We'd made a deal: the first one to lose their temper before the week ended had to run around the stadium at Unilag's sports center.