Saturday morning,and I’m already irritated. Not only did she wake me up at the arse-crack of dawn for Bible study, but apparently, church starts at 8 a.m., and we had to be there on time because my parents are part of the ministry.
Perfect.
“Your shirt is in the laundry room, Jabari. Please stop yelling.” Mum answers from somewhere in this massive house calmly.
I roll my eyes and go fetch it.
Unfortunately, I’m in a bad mood.
Last night, I barely slept because I kept feeling green eyes haunting me.
Fucking Frankie.
Her presence in my mind is becoming a nuisance. The way she looked me dead in the face and said she didn’t remember me? Nah. She had to be taking the piss, and I don’t care how smooth I tried to play it; she got to me.
And I hate that she did.
But I did notice something yesterday, the second the word—Jelly— leaves my mouth, she froze.
Not a dramatic, soap-opera freeze. Just… a hitch. A blink slower with shoulders tightening for half a second before she rearranges her whole face like nothing happened.
But I clocked it.
Oh, I definitely clocked it.
Because nobody reacts like that to a nickname they don’t remember. Especially from a man they don’t know.
That’s the thing about Frankie, though. She thinks she’s slick.
She thinks she can roll her eyes and cuss me out and carry on unbothered. But the body never lies, and hers gave up secrets.
And something petty in me, something eleven years old and still nursing bruises from the old neighbourhood, lights up at that.
She fucking remembers.
I know she does.
And suddenly, it’s not even about the nickname anymore. It’s about the way she tried to swallow it as if she didn’t mean to give me that kind of power but did anyway.
And I should let it go. I should.
But watching her flinch? Even that tiny bit?
Yeah.
I’m not letting this die anytime soon.
I get to the laundry room, see the shirt, and get pissed all over again. The unpressed collar lets me know someone’s been lazy.
“Mum!” I call down the hall.
She appears instantly, like she’s been waiting for the cue. “Yes, Jabari. How may I be of service to you now, your Royal Highness?”
Her sarcasm makes me cringe.
“You didn’t press the collar. It’s all crinkled. Look.” I hold up the shirt and show her.
“Well,” Dad appears in the hallway fully dressed. “You can always press it yourself.”
