Saving Neba

𝐗𝐋𝐈𝐈: Fake, real friends

Purple purse in one hand, phone in another, I knocked for the umpteenth time on the Isnaul's metal door. Either the door was only loud when you're outside or the family has a hereditary hard-of-hearing problem. I wanted to see King quite alright, but I had not thought of what would happen if Kimberly were at home too. King had already acknowledged my text and was expecting me, and I couldn't turn that down.

Finally, I heard the door unlock, and out came King with a huge smile on his face that slowly faded as he noticed I wasn't returning it. "You knew I was coming and yet you didn't bother to pay attention to anyone knocking on your door?" I asked.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "It's just that we're used to listening for a doorbell." He pointed to a switch just beside the door.

Embarrassed, I gripped my purse and walked into the familiar luxurious living room. And there, on the golden armchairs, were Sandra and Kimberly talking and laughing about whatnot. Same Kimberly who told me to avoid Sandra. Same Sandra who was supposed to be mad at King and, by large, his family. In my opinion, being a cheerleader just made you a lot less smart than your peers. I felt terribly bad for Kimberly though, thinking that pom-poms and short skirts were a way of life.

I wondered if I should say hello. I knew Kimberly was mad at me, yes, but it didn't hurt as much as it had originally. I didn't owe her any apology. It wasn't my fault she was King's sister. I hadn't meant to hurt her and no matter what I said anyway, Kimberly would still jump to conclusions. I was glad she was getting so much better, truly. If she had heard me out in the first instance, many things would not have happened. We wouldn't have fought and I wouldn't have... hurt her. There wouldn't have been any need to come over to return any textbooks, and King would not have taken advantage of that opportunity to finally ask me out. No, it wasn't important if we were on good terms at all.

After all, I was finally getting some school recognition. Soon, the debate would come up and the election would happen right after. Sandra ought to have been preparing, but, no, chatting away sounded much wiser. Honestly, I had no doubts that I would be president. And to think that Ms Smith suggested that Sandra be my co-president? Ha! I could consider King though.

"What is she doing here, Kingsley?" Kimberly asked, her hazel eyes pointing daggers at King.

"Emery and I are going to practice. For the election, I mean. Did you come with your drafts?"

"Yeah," I replied, getting the white papers out of my purse and showing it to him. "Do you have yours?"

"They're in my room. Let's go."

"Emery Scother is not going anywhere past this living room," stated Kimberly, standing up and facing her brother. She turned like I wasn't there, like she couldn't see me. Sandra pretended to be unaffected, pulling out her phone and doing whatever on it. "On the contrary, she is turning to the door and leaving."

"And who are you to decide that? She's come to see me not you," King insisted.

"Kingsley, we don't let murderers in our house."

A huge sigh escaped my lips. Kimberly would never give me a second chance in her life. She was always concluding things, never bothering to ask questions. She was the reason I hurt her, her attitude and all. "I'm not a murderer, Kimberly. Don't ever call me that."

Kimberly neither turned nor acknowledged that she heard me. Rather, she continued to her brother, "Take her out of our house. If you need someone to practice with, your friend, Sandra, your real friend, is literally right here."

"Emery, you coming?" King gestured to me as he helped me with my purse. Holding my hand, he started to lead me toward the stairs.

"If you go upstairs with her, don't ever bother talking to me ever again. Or to Sandra."