Pantie Rule

07 | Bestie?

I ran all the way, not looking back. Then I finally came to rest at the sight of the familiar Seminar building. I was still metres away from the Academic building. I took in a deep breath and steadied myself on my aching knees, wheezing.

"Ah, Omotara, is anytin the mata?!"

I straightened up in fright.

Oh.

It was Ms. Tolo Tolo(She looked like a turkey, thus, the name). She was the school's janitor. You wouldn't blame us: she had a long neck above two large breasts that dangled spasmodically at every step she took; not to talk of her extravagant bottom and her habit of throwing her fat-infested legs-full of slacking stretch marks-when she walked.

I shook my head. "No, ma. I was just running from. . ." I thought, "a friend." I forced a smile.

"Is it that boy?" Her fingers pointed.

My eyes enlarged, my heart practically dropped from my chest and I turned, only to see him coming, running even(in an awkward manner of course). My first instinct was to run, but I didn't want Ms. Tolo Tolo getting ideas. So, I stayed. Why hadn't I hit him harder?! I had watched it only in movies when a lady would send her knees up an abusive man's crotch and zoom off! I didn't really know how painful it was, but I sure knew it was more painful than biting your tongue at Christmas while eating your mother's jollof rice and fried chicken.

"Hey, bestie!"

If I could simulate that Tom and Jerry moment, and frantically jump out of my skin, I would've done it! He just called me bestie!

"Good afternoon, ma," the boy bent low, his right hand grazing his legs all the way to his toes. Let's just say that's how we greet in the Yoruba culture in Nigeria and beyond. At least, I do know there are Yorubas in Brazil and other parts of the South Americas. Mother says it's the slave trade that took the others away. Slave trade: that's one part of history I've also been obsessed with.

I couldn't hide my shock at the boy's respectful gesture. Boys like this are ought to be disrespectful and stubborn, isn't it?

"Yes, good afternoon, my son." In Nigeria, also, every young lad is an elderly woman's son. We're kinda very congenial over here(to a fault). The woman patted his back and I flared my nose at her proud gesture. She wouldn't be more than thirty and she was already calling him her son? Well, we could give it to her because she was considerably enormous.

"How could you have forgotten your needle and thread?" He turned to me, fishing out something from his back pocket.

"Very kind of you, bestie." I made sure every word dripped of sarcasm and yanked them from him, careful enough not to yank blood out of my palm.

"I've been hearing the word: bestie, these days." Her remarkably interested eyes glittered at him, "My son, what is the meaning of bestie?"

What he said next made me go crazy!

"Bestie, why don't you tell Madam, here, what the meaning of bestie is."

"What?! Um," I cleared my throat, "of course, of course." I said quickly. "A bestie-" I spared a few seconds to glare at him, "-is someone who sees you in the real thing you are down there." I paused. "Even when you might be in the uncompleted building of your life. . ." I could see his neck bones jut out. ". . .he still tries to fuck you out of every fucking challenge. . ." I raised my jaw, savouring the look of outrage on his face now. ". . .It's something you can never escape unless you run really hard. But sometimes it still catches up with you later in life, Ms. Tolo Tolo. Having a bestie. . ." I smiled with my last statement.

"Hm. Lecturer, lecturer." The woman clapped excitedly. "Kipi rup(Keep it up) kids." She said, giving me the thumbs up and staring at me in admiration, but deep down I knew she was totally clueless. Talk less of decoding my hidden message-I've always known she possessed the tendencies of a competent fool.

She was walking off when she turned. "Ehn... I wi like to see you, Omotara, later." Her voice dripped of typical Nigerian English.

So, maybe she wasn't so foolish after all.

All of a sudden, the boy clasped my hand in his, pulling me with him, and somehow I didn't protest or resist. I was happy anyway. I roasted him.

"Why didn't you tell her who a bestie is?" He whispered fear into my ears, but I raised my chin. "Why did you say those things?" He said taking me to the back of the Seminar building and pinning me to the wall.

My eyes glared at him, hard as agates. "Because two can play the game, bad boy. Good girls are smart too." I folded my arms. Somehow, I knew he was harmless and barely intimidating and helplessly handsome.

"I'm...Ouch!" He winced, cowering. "Why did you have to hit me down there? Jesus!" He squeaked in a way that made me burst out in laughter.

To tell you the truth, all I felt for him at that moment was pity. Oh, poor, poor... Wait-did he say 'down there'?! I was expecting something vulgar. This bad boy sure puzzles me with his inconsistency in badology.

"Because you deserved it, bully." I blurted out. "At least you don't get to experience the excruciating pain of childbirth ever in your entire-mhmm" From nowhere his lips came down on me as I moaned the last word: "life," in his mouth. Surely, one would've thought I would protest, but I merely returned the favour kissing him back. My feet tingled. Look, I didn't know what I was doing. I was lost. Then just like it never happened his lips evacuated mine. That was after I shoved my two hands against his chest, really.

As our eyes met. I cleared my throat and adjusted my skirt. Not that he had touched them or anything. No. But I had to make sure they were still there and intact. Things like this could make you pregnant without your knowledge. . . Am I talking?

Whoosh!

That - was - weird. Weirder than the moment between Mary Jane and Peter Parker(Tell Zendaya I love her)

"Um... ahem!" I roughly cleared my throat. "Two minutes ago, or three?-there about-we were almost killing ourselves. Now we are kissing." I breathed.

What was I-damn!-thinking. It was as though I was struck with momentary brain injury disorder. Kissing a boy?! Kissing a boy?!!!

The same boy who had threatened to rape me? The same boy who did unspeakable things in the toilet? Just then, my momentary brain injury disorder healed and I realized it was the same bad boy! My face sterned.

"Never try that with me again!" I wagged my finger at him vigorously. "I'm not one of those cheap galas you buy on the street.

His brown eyes regarded me and he stepped away, made a silly saluting gesture with his hands, and walked.

What?!

Double what?!

Triple what?!

He walked away? Just like that. Like I was the one who pressed his godforsaken-ish supple lips on mine.

I stood there, scowling into empty space.

Sure you adored this chapter. Read on. ❤💖

Gala: A sweet, sausage roll snack found in Nigeria.

Jollof rice: A yellow-orange Nigerian delicacious rice, eaten in almost all Nigerian parties and during Christmas.

Pls point out any mistakes or typos...