𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

~FORTY-SEVEN~

As long as you have me and I have you, we'll always scale through— together.

~Ruby T.

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This chapter is dedicated to Vaiironica she's a sweetheart. Really.😂❤️ Thank you for being patient with me.

We may begin! Skrrrrrr!

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*Unedited.*

•AYO•

“Thanks a lot, bro!” Mide, my little sister said and wrapped her arms around me in an embrace once I was done helping with her math assignment.  

I smiled at her and ruffled her rough braids which she’d let down the sides of her face. “Anytime.”

She grinned, because we both knew she liked it when I ruffled her hair. But the grin suddenly morphed into a frown. “Anytime, you say. But if I ask you for Senior Ore’s number, you never give it to me. Shane has his number!”

I shook my head and laughed. “Why don’t you just get it from her instead?”

“Because it will bruise my ego. She stole it from her brother’s phone. I don’t want to steal, that’s why I’m asking you honorably. Plus, Shane won’t just give it to me.” She crossed her arms and pouted. 

“You’re adorable, but no. I’m not giving you Ore’s number.” I ruffled her hair again.

“I don’t like you!” She stomped her foot hard on the floor and up the stairs to her room.

I sighed.

Kids these days…

What did she want to do with Ore Jumai’s phone number? My guy was going through a lot, I could see it. And apart from that, I did not want my little sister getting involved in any RBA drama because of the school’s star boy. It wasn’t like my life was any better or something, but right now, as much as I liked the guy, I did not want to be Ore Jumai.

As I stood up, about to leave the dining, my dad walked in with a suitcase. Apparently, he had just returned from his business trip. He was dressed in his usual corporate outfit, but this time, it was a light brown tuxedo and a white shirt worn underneath. His beards had turned white and he needed to shave. His hair was also a little overgrown. I did not even know he would be back today.

I walked towards him and welcomed him, attempted to take the load from his hand, but he stopped me and said, “I heard of your feat with basketball in the just concluded interhouse sports competition, your mother told me about it. Even though your team didn’t win, scoring with a three-pointer is indeed legendary. I’m proud of you, son. And I want you to know that.”

I beamed up at him, because as tall as I was, my old man was still taller than me. He was smiling too, and I noted, once again, the stunning similarity in the way we smiled. “Thanks, dad.”

He patted me on my shoulder and finally let me carry his case for him to where it belonged. I was happy that finally, he had acknowledged my love for basketball. And maybe someday, he would stop being so keen on what I was good or wasn’t good at— even if he had his reasons.