What If I'm In Love (And What If You're Not)

Chapter 1

     "Imani! You're gonna miss the bus, come on!" My mom yells from downstairs. I sigh and shove my notebook into my shoulder bag, throwing my bedroom door open and running outside, closing it behind me and wincing when it slams, hearing my various plastic knickknacks falling off the top of my bookshelf when the floor shakes.

     "Don't slam your door!"
     "Sorry!"

     I jump down the stairs three at a time, almost slipping down the last few. I manage to keep my balance and slide into the kitchen, glad I bought the softest and therefore slipperiest brand of socks. Stopping myself before I crash into the counter, I grab a rainbow chip granola bar and a handful—three, actually—of mandarin oranges which I shove into my bag as well.

     I run past my mom on the way to the door, slipping on my purple off-brand converse and grabbing my keys, which are really more keychains than keys, from the hook by the door.

     "Bye," I exclaim, throwing my bag over my shoulder. I take a quick glance at my phone, and find out it's only 7:20. I'm not even close to missing the bus. Turning to my mom, I see her smirking, barely stifling her laughter.

     "Why are you the way that you are?" I ask her, crossing my arms.

     She giggles and responds, "this is payback for that time you put googly eyes on your baby pictures and didn't tell me until I was showing them to people."

     That's fair. That's very fair.

     "Fine. Fine. I guess we're even now." I decide not to get revenge on her for this, even though I legitimately thought I was gonna have to run to the bus stop.

     "Not quite yet," she says, "you owe me a hug too." I groan and shuffle over, walking into her outstretched arms which she wraps around me immediately, trapping me. The smell of laundry detergent overwhelms my senses. I have never understood why she uses so much of the stuff on her good sweaters. I guess it's nice.

     "You gotta hug back," she reminds. I throw my arms around her, pretending to be annoyed even though I actually do enjoy it. I can't seem too clingy or she'll start insisting on driving me to school every morning like last year.

     I let go and she does too, letting me step back. She brushes a long, curly strand of dark hair out of my face. That's another thing I don't like; she constantly tries to fix my appearance, complaining if my shirt lets a bra strap show or my hair is styled differently than usual. I shake my head and the strand falls back in my face, making her frown at me.

    "Imani," she starts, but I don't feel like listening to one of her talks about how much she wants me to be an individual but doesn't approve of this or that.

     "I'm gonna go to the bus stop early to meet Sage!" I exclaim at her, maybe a bit too loudly.

     "Okay," she mutters. I feel guilty for upsetting her, but I really do want to go meet Sage at the bus stop. Avoiding an annoying conversation with her is just a bonus.

     On my way out the door, I turn and blow her a kiss just for good measure. And to ease my guilt. She pretends to catch it and hold it to her heart, smiling again. I smile back, and she pretends to eat the kiss, making me glare jokingly and pretend to take it back. We're both laughing when I close the door behind me.

     I walk down the stone steps up to my front door, thankful that I didn't wear a sweater. It's surprisingly warm out, for a Calgary morning in February. Climate change, I guess.

     The air smells like fresh rain, meaning it either rained last night or it's gonna rain later. I can never tell. Double-checking that my purple umbrella is clipped to the strap of my bag, I start walking down the block to the bus stop. There's technically a school closer to my house that I could just walk to, but it's not a very good one. Someone tried to burn it down a few years ago, which scared my mom enough to say I wasn't gonna go there.