Finding Us

2: A piece of advice

Mom's piece of advice was short, yet weighty. Those words mean so much but can be easily disregarded if paid little to no attention.

“Remember whose daughter you are.”
This means to behave as you have been trained to; to let your words and actions tell you come from a good home. In conclusion, don't go over there and fuck up.

After she said that, it was as if a weight was put on my shoulder. The freedom I had been craving so much for suddenly felt like an opportunity to go there and lose myself, in the parties, boys, lavish and vague lifestyle and various other distractions.

I've never been a straight-A student, so imagine how disappointing it'll be if I allow myself to get distracted. My life would be over. Finito.

I only get restless as I think, so I sit up and reach for my phone. During times like these — apart from music — there's only one person who can make these kinds of thoughts go away.

His line buzzes on my end and I wait patiently for him to answer.

“Pick up the phone, you idiot.” I fold my legs under my buttocks and chew the inside of my cheek.

“Hey,” he answers. Finally.

“Where did you throw your phone?”

I hear the loud music and wild cheering in the background as I imagine him veering his way out of the crowd to find somewhere quiet to talk.

Unlike me, Eric likes parties. When he told me one of our old classmates will be throwing a party before he goes off to the university too, he didn't ask if I wanted to come because he knew I'd decline.

Parties are not my thing. To me, they are easy opportunities to make big mistakes.

“Hey," he says on getting to a more quiet part of the house. “Sorry about that. The party is in full swing, so it's difficult getting a quiet place.”

“I understand.” I sigh. “It's my fault. I shouldn't have called.”

“Nah. It's okay. I was starting to get bored since Mariam couldn't make it.”

Mariam? His girlfriend.

Her name causes me to grimace. Why? Because I don't like her one bit. Many people will say it's because I have a crush on my best friend, so I'm jealous she got him first, but the truth is that's not a total lie. However, I dislike Mariam because she makes it so easy to do so.

When she enrolled in Gracefield High (the secondary school we graduated from) with her short skirt and tight shirt, no boy would stop looking at her. Eric was no exception.

She was the ideal girl. Smooth, ebony skin. Cat-like eyes. Round and set front and back. To top it all off, she was very intelligent. Mariam was the perfect girl — regardless of her nasty behaviour — and still is.

Although I knew she made head turns as every males' hormone went into override, I was still shocked when Eric told me he'd try to get her attention. I've always thought he had the hots for me, but that turned out to be wishful thinking — always has been.

Unlike Mariam, I'm shorter. I've got a pimply face and rough skin. My IQ is like that of a toddler's (Eric often says this to annoy or tease me) and I don't wear lingerie because I believe they're useless and will only ride up on me.

“You should go enjoy your party,” I tell him after reassessing myself and realizing how much of a bummer I am.

“So you just called me to waste my time?” He sounds upset and I can tell his right eyebrow is raised out of habit.