••You can't be perfect, because you weren't meant to be••
"Oh Lord! They are *definitely* going to swear for this girl o!" Mary exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hands as she stared at the screen of her phone.
I eyed her warily, then decided to ask what was wrong even though I was 100% sure it would be something trivial. That girl is the perfect definition of a drama queen.
"What is it again o?" I asked, inching closer to her on my bed, making my purple dress ride up my thighs.
"Nawa o! Can you believe Stephanie girl sha! See what she's wearing in this picture she posted," she said, showing me the picture. I took a look at the light-skinned girl, wearing an off-shoulder Ankara mini-gown with white Nike sneakers. She looked pretty cool, and even though she was one of the popular girls at school—with their own group and all that popularity shit—I couldn’t deny she was pretty.
"Mary, there's nothing wrong with this picture o. So I don't understand why you're screaming," I rolled my eyes again and continued packing provisions into my small, red traveling box. We were moving into the school hostel as a new term started, and we SS3 students needed to study hard for the upcoming WAEC exams without any "distractions," according to our oh-so-lovely principal.
"Honestly, how can you say that! See how she's wearing sneakers on Ankara! Later she’ll be calling herself fashion police, mtcheeew! Oshi!" She hissed at me and continued scrolling through her IG feeds. I shook my head and didn’t bother to dignify her with a reply because I knew we’d just start an unnecessary fight.
Mary could be so opinionated and conceited at times, and she never takes advice from people. But she *is* my best friend. We’d been together since primary school because our parents were friends, and I was used to her bratty ways already. She could be really sweet and funny too, but her bratty side just got the best of her most times.
"Honey, are you ready?" I looked up as my mom opened my door and peeked in.
"Almost," I said, increasing my pace.
"Alright, come down for breakfast when you're done and don't forget to pack your drugs too, okay?" She said with a smile, and I forced one in return.
"Okay ma." Her head disappeared from the doorway as the door closed behind her with a click. A sigh escaped my lips. I rolled my eyes as I threw in my Victoria’s Secret makeup purse—containing my drugs, not what it was really made for—into the box and zipped it shut. My mom was more like a distant aunt in my life, and the few times she’s around, she tries to act like a mother, but it just doesn’t work. I don’t exactly hate her, but I don’t think I love her either. We’re all just there, calling ourselves a family when we’re really not. I’m sure you want to know about my dad, but I can assure you, my mom is even better compared to him. At least she tries when she gets the chance; he doesn’t even bother trying.
"Why are you looking like a deflated balloon?" Mary’s voice snapped me out of my reverie. I stood up from the bed, straightening my gown. I didn’t want Mom to start complaining about me not looking prim.
"Nothing. I’m going downstairs for breakfast, wanna join?" I quickly changed the topic, even though I knew she wouldn’t fall for it.
"Of course I’ll join! Who passes up an offer on food? So…start spilling," she said referring to her previous question as she got up from my bed, flipping her long braids behind her shoulder stylishly.
Shakara 101.
"I said it’s nothing. I’m not in the mood to talk," I shrugged and made my way to the door, Mary right behind me. I knew she would let it go this time though, because she knew my…situation.
• • • • •
"Thank you, Ngozi," I said to our maid as she put my boxes in the trunk of the car and closed it with a loud bang.
"It’s alright, small madam. I go miss you o," she said in her tiny Igbo accent as she pulled me in for a hug.
"Aww, I’ll miss you too!" I smiled and hugged her back, knowing I genuinely would. At least someone in this arctic house cared about me—even though she wasn’t my blood. Sigh.
"Ahn ahn…why is your maid hugging you like this? Nawa o, people don’t even know their boundaries anymore!" Mary complained as she came out of the house and put her own boxes into the trunk. A frown immediately crossed my face, and I was ready to call her out on her rudeness.
"Why would you be talking to—"
"Mayowa! Are you ready?" My mom’s yell came from the house, interrupting me. I rolled my eyes and sent Ngozi an apologetic look. She just smiled and nodded in understanding, hugged me again, and ran into the house to continue her chores.
"Yes ma! I’m in the car already!" I yelled back in response to my mom and then prepared to get in, ignoring Mary who was trying to show me something on her phone. I didn’t want to get angry and trigger an attack, so I just kept quiet.
‘Silence is golden,’ they say, and truly, it is. But people think of you as a dummy if you’re too quiet. That was exactly what was happening to me. Just because I didn’t want to hurt people or myself, I kept quiet always, even when I was supposed to talk. So people saw me as the idiot that never fights for herself or talks back to people.
I sighed heavily and got in the car shotgun, leaving Mary to enter the backseat and Mom in the driver’s seat. Mary was going with us because her parents were out of the country on a business trip, and her mom had entrusted her care with us, as she was good friends with my mom.
"Seatbelts please," mom’s voice came from beside me, and I looked up, startled because I hadn’t even noticed when she’d gotten in. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I fastened my seatbelt and then plugged in my headphones to avoid any awkward conversation she might try to start. I couldn’t let her see me rolling my eyes, even playfully or not; she would go all bazooka on my ass about being spoilt and rude. Like as if she ever around to teach me manners, mtcheeew. I didn’t even know why she insisted on driving us to school and not letting the driver do it like usual.
I placed my palms flat on my laps as my purple Dior dress lay elegantly against my caramel skin—chin up, head high, like it was supposed to be, according to all the courtesy classes my family made me take. We weren’t even royals. Just because my parents had too much money, I can’t eat what I want, talk how I want, act how I want, laugh how I want. Everything I do has to be perfectly in line with what I was taught.
Sometimes I even had thoughts that those classes weren’t for my own good but to learn control over my condition. But of course, those were only my thoughts, not fact.
I sighed, glad to finally be getting a break from everything, and as the red gates of British International School came into view, a wide smile took over my face as I anticipated the last weeks of High school that I would be spending in the school hostel.
Don’t get me wrong, school wasn’t my safe haven, but it was preferable to anything. Anything at all that wasn’t my prison of a house. Besides, I’ve never been in the school hostel before, so maybe it could be good…or even better.
Just maybe, I hoped.
But as we all know, our most wanted wishes never come true.