Little Do You Know

16. GAMES WE PLAY

As Alex and Enny stepped to the other side of hall, the air around them seemed to shift. The moment my eyes met his, I saw it—hesitation. Regret. Like he was second-guessing every decision that led him here.

His gaze flickered over me, pausing just long enough for me to notice. His expression was unreadable at first, but then his jaw clenched slightly, and his eyes darkened, like he was frustrated.

I smirked. Good.

Enny, on the other hand, was beaming, completely unaware of the way Alex's hand tensed at his side, like he wanted to pull away but knew he couldn't.
Our eyes locked when I looked up next.
He looked away quickly, but not before I caught that flicker of something in his eyes—something close to regret.

The party continued. I tried to have fun. I really did.

But no matter how much I laughed at Kay's foolishness or pretended to enjoy the dinner, my mind refused to cooperate. The Enny situation still burned in my chest like hot pepper.

Enny had liked Alex since secondary school. And she never told me.

I felt stupid. This was the same girl who had hyped me up every time I mentioned Alex—smiling, teasing, pretending like she was in full support. Meanwhile, deep down, she was obsessed with him.

My best friend. Obsessed. With Alex.

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus on something else before I lost my appetite completely.

The class rep's voice cut through the chatter. "Oya, let's start the games!"

Some of our classmates cheered, happy to finally do something fun. Others—like me—just sat there, trying to act interested.

We started with trivia, which was fine until Kay started answering questions like he had never seen a textbook before.

"What is the capital of Brazil?"

Kay shot his hand up. "B!"

Silence.

"B for what?" someone asked.

Kay squinted like a wise old man. "B for Brazil."

The class erupted in laughter.

"Oga, na Brasília!" someone shouted.

Kay clutched his chest. "Ah, I was close now."

"Close to failure," I muttered, shaking my head.

After a few more games, the MC and the DJ took over from the class rep.

The DJ, a young guy with dyed-blond hair and dark shades that he wore indoors for no reason, sat behind his turntable, nodding like he was the CEO of beats. He wore a red durag, a big, oversized "No Gree for Anybody" T-shirt, and ripped jeans that had seen better days. On his feet? White Air Force Nike Sneakers that were no longer white.

The MC, on the other hand, came dressed like he was hosting the Headies, not a school dinner. He rocked a shiny blue senator outfit with gold embroidery on the chest, paired with matching loafers that had no business shining that much. His dark shades sat on his forehead, and his beard was so well-trimmed you'd think he measured it with a ruler.

The way he held the mic like a church hypeman, you'd know he wasn't just here to talk—he was here to scatter everywhere.

"Next, we're having a dance competition!" The Mc announced.

I tried to disappear into my chair, but Kemi was already up, adjusting her dress.

"Omo, I'm about to show these people levels," she said, flipping her hair.