✿THE STORY OF US✿✔

24°

I bring out my maths note and place it on my desk. Asher is sitting behind me and he has his hoodie again. I thought he said he stopped that. Why am I even bothering myself. He’s so free to do whatever he likes. I’m not his girlfriend right?

“Hey,” Jamal says to me.

“Hey,” I reply. “How was your midterm break?”

He nods and looks at me in an absurd way then looks at Asher, who is now smirking. I look at the both of them with a raised eyebrow.

“Karen?” Praise calls me. I shift my gaze from these weirdos.

“Hmm?”

“Welcome back to school.” He hands me a small gift bag.

“But we’ve just been gone for a week...” I lean closer to him and peck him. “Thank you.”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

I guess I show my gratitude too much? I shouldn’t have gone that extent.

I go to the back of the class and put the gift in my locker. When I return to my seat, there’s a sticky note glued to my seat.

I look around the classroom that is now getting filled up, and pick up the sticky note.

Sorry about what you went through on Dinner night. It’s my fault.
____forgive me Karen....

I squeeze the note into a ball and stuff it into my sneakers.

“Can I read the content of the letter?”

It’s Asher.

“Does it really concern you?” I eye him and face the front. Mr James comes into the class.

“Class compliment!” Praise orders. Sure thing he works more than that stupid douchebag that calls himself Asher. Thanks to desperate girls opinion though. What do they even see in Asher?

What you saw in him that made you start falling little by little...

Okay stop! This is gross.

Before nko?

Act formal.

Nahhh...

Cut that crap Karen.

“Come oh! Are you sure this girl isn’t lost?” Mr James ask and I flush carmine. First embarrassment of the day. “Chisom stand up!” he orders.

Sir please call me Karen. Chisom sounds gross.

I stand up and purse my lips. Like, what the hell was I thinking when I forgot to greet Mr James?

Asher...

This is so bad.

“How old are you?” he asks.

“Fifteen,” I reply shyly. I guess I’m the youngest in the grade.

“When will you be a young adult?”

“Sorry sir, what? Pardon?”

The class erupt into laughter and I just shut my eyes, then open them again.

“When’s your next birthday?”

“February 14th.”

Valentine’s day. Yup.

“So at your young age, you’re thinking. Who were you thinking of? Your baby?”

Sir please stop naw! The thought of me having a baby to think of is disgusting.