Chapter One - My Mother

ISABELLE

ISABELLE

Mum never loved me.

Dad was almost nonexistent.

Mum never told me why. She hardly spoke to me at all. It was Amari she talked to most of the time.

No matter how hard I tried, she only cared about Amari – and the new wig that cost over a million naira.

Worse still, I had no right to be jealous. No right to complain, either. I was accustomed to it, and I hated it.

My eyes lingered on the slim woman in front of me, my mother, with absent-mindedness. Did she say something? Her expectant eyes insisted that she did.

I blinked my eyes – my trivial attempt to recall whatever she had said. I could not. So, I gave Amari a questioning glance.

She pointed to her shuku, making circles at the ends. Mum had braided it in neat patterns. 

Mum had braided her hair. She always braided Amari's hair but never mine. I went to a hairdresser with a hefty sum to get my hair done, but never Amari. Mum would not let her. She'd rather take the pain of styling her hair by herself.

Maybe she was using Amari as a mannequin to practice the only skill she knew aside from cooking. Maybe she was afraid of ruining my silky black hair. Either way, it reminded me of the existing fact: Mum did not love me. And only God knew why.

I stood and went to get what I presumed Amari described. Hairbands. And if Mum had asked me to get hairbands, she meant the floral ones with encrusted diamonds. The ones Amari made her buy yesterday.

As I wrapped up Amari's hair, I dared to ask my mother again, "Why do you never braid my hair?"

Mum sighed long and stood up from the grey sofa, avoiding any facial contact with me. "I'm a beginner in this craft, Isabelle." 

She took small steps until she was in front of the television. She turned to me. "You deserve to have professional hairdressers work on your hair."

I smiled, accepting her usual lies with a soft demeanor. I examined Amari's braided hair, noting its flawless arrangement—beginner, she said.

"Pack your bags and anything else you want," she urged. Her fake British accent made my ears tingle. "It's 7:13. We can't afford to be late on the first day of school."

She rushed about the house in search of her keys and a proper outfit, putting a stop to our short conversation. 

I let out a breath and laid eyes on Amari. She smiled at me, and I attempted to smile back, but I couldn't. She seemed unfazed by my lack of happiness, giving an apologetic look. She wanted to apologize.

"You're perfect, Isa," she said, her gaze on the floor. She traced the thin gaps in the tiles with her fingers. "Mum knows you're perfect. She knows I'm not as good as you, so she tries to make me feel better by caring for me more. It's her way of balancing things out. Don't be bothered too much."

I scoffed. "I know I'm perfect, but I doubt that's the case, Amari."

Smoothing her uniform, I added, "She simply likes you a lot and happens not to like me at all."

Amari persisted in her claim, but I was not convinced.

. . .

"O Lord, help me this term to be the girl You want me to be. Help me to continue overcoming sin. Lord, help me in my academics, especially in Physics, Chemistry, and Further Maths. I need to continue doing well in these subjects."

"Help me to understand what I need to do to change my mum's perception of me. Also help me fulfill all the goals I have made this year. I commit all my goals to you because I know I cannot do it on my own. Thank you, God, for answered prayers. Amen."

I raised my head and sighed. "I hope nothing goes wrong this term. Everything must go according to plan."

After bringing out all my many notes from my bag and arranging them in my locker, I took in my surroundings. The class lacked human life if I excluded myself.

There was a girl sitting by the wall at the back of the class, but it would be inappropriate to regard her as human life. She was a living ghost. She walked like one, talked like one, and looked like one, also.

I could tell she acted like that because of a past event or a series of past events. Her attitude was a product of past trauma. 

Watching her write in that rustic leather book made me even more curious. What was up with her? What could have happened in her past? Why did she behave in a strange and callous manner every time?

Her hands glided across the paper. She trapped herself in her own world, oblivious to my presence. What was she always writing about? Why is she even in school now? She never came this early. 

I couldn't suppress my curiosity. So, I stood up from my desk and walked to the back of the class where she was.

"Hi Danna!" I chirped, hoping I sounded welcoming enough.

She raised her head and shut the book with deliberate care. Her attempt to not look suspicious. Too bad, I already had suspicions.

"Hi!" she gave me her best smile, matching my energy. 

Pretense!

I scrutinized her face. It was chubby and pretty—a nice shade of dark brown, but it lacked color.

"You need anything?" she added after I had stayed silent for a second too long.

"Um…" I started, fumbling for words. "Well, the class is so empty and boring, so I decided to try to start a conversation."

She smirked, dropping the book on the floor beside her. "Interesting choice."

Her voice had an unusual smoothness and vibrancy. I was expecting a gloomy one. The type that would match her actions.

"Well…" I had no idea what to say next. This conversation was going nowhere, so I did what I was best at. Being honest.

"Look, Danna," I began. "I'd just go straight to the point—"

She interrupted me with a chuckle. "I knew it. No one talks to me without a reason."

I gave a sheepish smile. "Well, I am curious about you. To be honest, I don't really pay much attention to you, but today, I noticed you were in school a little too early—"

She laughed. "What sort of guilty conscience is this?"

Giving me a thoughtful gaze, she said, "I get it. Everyone's curious about me. Everyone wants to know what's wrong. You're not the first person that became curious after staring at me for five minutes straight."

She let me absorb her statements. How did she know I was staring at her? Could she feel it?

"Point is," she alluded. "I have no plan of satisfying your curiosity. Just leave me alone. I hate people."

With that, she focused her eyes on her leather book.

"You're really weird, Danna."

She raised her head with displeasure on her face. 

"For someone that doesn't talk a lot, you really have a lot to say. I was expecting you to use three-word sentences, but you have a large speech capacity."

She scoffed. "Glad to know I'm still good at not meeting people's expectations."

I smiled at her sarcasm. She did not find my expression funny, though.

"How can I get you to leave this place?" she asked, speaking like the ghost I knew her as.

I shrugged. "Don't bother. I'll leave when I feel like."

She took it as a challenge, giving me an evil smirk. "I believe Bryan is in school. Won't you run to your prince charming?"

A blush crept onto my face. "He's not my Prince Charming."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever. It's so obvious you like him."

"He's just my best friend," I protested.

She frowned. "Darling, kindly get lost."

I gave a brief sigh, concealing my laugh. "Fine."

I walked away, giving her a glance when I was at the door. She was writing in her book again, her slim body as still as a ghost. What a deceiver! 

I ran over to Bryan at the other end of the hallway.

"Hi, Bryan!" I said with so much joy. I had been craving a glimpse of his handsome face all through the Christmas holiday.

He lowered his head to face me and smiled. "Hi, Belle. Happy New Year."

"Same to you!" I chirped.

Bryan waved off the boy he had been talking to, telling him something like 'we'll talk later.' He turned to me again.

"You're looking sharp," he joked, checking out my black and red uniform, even though he wore the guy's version.

I laughed. "How nah?"

He changed the topic. "How were your holidays?" 

I let out a thoughtful sigh. "Well, just the usuals. Reading this term's work, doing some random research, and going on outings here and there."

"Typical Belle."

I blushed. "How was yours?"

I strode away from him, moving towards the class, hoping he'd stride with me. He did.

"It was… fine, I guess. I watched movies, played COD, and FC, and GTA-"

He gave me a doubtful glance.

"What? I know what they are. Stop looking at me like I'm dumb."

He laughed. "I know you know." He gave me a brief stare, long enough to make my skin tingle. "My holiday was just like every holiday. Nothing much."

I nodded with understanding. "Yet, it was so different from mine."

"That's because we are different. You are the straight-A student that is obsessed with reading. I'm the straight-D student that doesn't care about common paper, let alone books."

I chuckled at his differentiation. He was right to an extent.

"I'm not obsessed with books, Bryan," I admitted, my voice heavy with sadness. "Well, I do like reading and stuff like that, but not as much as everyone thinks."

He sighed. "You're still trying to please your mum with your intelligence?"

I nodded, ignoring the mocking tone his words carried. "You make it seem like it is a foolish thing to do."

Bryan shrugged, his bag moving in line with his shoulders. "From the little experience I have with my parents, being the perfect daughter or son won't make them care about you. If they've decided that you are not and will never be their business, there's nothing that you can do about it."

I let out a deep sigh, feeling a sense of hopelessness. "So, everything I'm doing is in vain?" I said to the floor.

He hugged me, letting out a considerate breath. "Don't worry, Belle. You are not alone. We're in this together."

I buried my head in his flat chest. His words were not encouraging. The thought of Mum never loving me was painful. Maybe if I put in a little effort, passed more exams, and got more awards, she might finally see me. Maybe Bryan was wrong. What could a straight D student know about anything, anyway?

"All hope is not lost, Belle."

I raised my head and made contact with his brown eyes, grateful to have such a human being in my life.

"You know you're the only thing that makes sense in my life, right?"

He grinned and tightened the hug. "It's not the first time you're telling me, Belle."

"And it won't be the last time, either. I'm going to keep saying it, Bryan. I really don't know how I'll cope without you."

"Awwn!" he teased.

I laughed, trying to hide the blush sprouting on my face as I gazed at him.

He was aware I liked him but never mentioned it. I was fine with that. The one-sided feelings did not bother me. As long as he was by my side, it did not matter if he liked me back.

We walked to class and I caught a glimpse of Danna, still seated on the floor, writing. She looked at me. I was the slightest bit scared. She was a ghost. Different from the girl I talked to a while ago. Does she have multiple-personality syndrome? What in the world was up with her?

. . .

"Where's Amari?" Mum asked. 

I slid into the passenger's seat and tossed my bag beside it. My bones ached. Moving about my class block was not an easy task.

"Probably went out to one of her friends' house."

She hummed in acknowledgment. "You should try going out too. Have some friends."

My eyes rolled. "You know I'm not like that. Stop comparing me to her."

She gave me a side-eye. "I'm not comparing; I'm sincerely worried about your social life."

What a lie!

"Why are you never sincerely worried about Amari's academic life, then?" I snapped. "Why don't you tell her to try to read and be half the person I am."

"Isabelle!" she shouted. 

I faced the window and saw parents and students walking past our car. I hope they could not hear us.

"You should not talk about your sister like that."

I strengthened all my facial muscles, not wanting to allow her words to affect me. It would be bad if I cried on such a day.

"Amari is amazing," she went on. "And she means a lot to me. More than you can ever understand."

"And more than I can ever mean to you," I finished.

She let out a sharp sigh. "You also mean a lot to me, Isabelle."

I scoffed in silence. Cheers to the day I start believing that.

She revved up the car and drove out of the parking lot. That was the end of our conversations for today. She will continue them tomorrow if she deems it fit.

"Your dad said I should tell you something. He's scared of telling you himself."

My ears stood. What was the thing he was afraid of telling me?

"What is it?"

She snubbed me, eyes focused on the road, driving. It was only when she turned the car into a fast-food restaurant that she spoke. 

"Let's have some ice cream. I know you love having ice cream after a stressful school day."

What did I hear? Did she bring me to a restaurant to have ice cream? With her?

My eyes grew wide, a different kind of excitement stirring in me. But doubt dampened it. Why was she being this kind? 

We walked into the small restaurant, and I sat down at a vacant table while Mum went to get our ice creams.

"What did Dad say you should tell me?" I asked as I examined the small bowl filled with baby-pink ice cream. How did she know strawberry was my favorite?

"You once threw a tantrum when I bought you banana ice cream. You said I never cared about what you liked and always made you eat what Amari liked.""

I gave her a blank expression. Were my thoughts that obvious?

"Then you went on screaming that it was strawberry ice cream you liked, not banana. I think you were six or so."

"I don't remember that," I admitted.

She sat across from me. "That was about six years ago. It would be hard to remember."

"Nine, actually. Or at least eight," I corrected.

Her face was still, like I had said something wrong. "You're fifteen already?"

I pursed my lips and sighed. Of course, she did not know my age.

Not wanting to spoil the moment, I let it slide. "What did you want to tell me?"

She gulped down a scoop of ice cream and cleared her throat. I prepared myself for the worst, taking small spoons of the cold mixture to cool me down.

"Your dad's business has been having issues recently," she began.

I nodded, interrupting her by revealing, "He told me about that."

"And… he has been borrowing money from a certain friend of his so that he can be able to fend for us."

I dropped my spoon on the table and faced my mother with a raised eyebrow. Dad was borrowing to take care of us? Had she always known this? She couldn't have. If she knew, she wouldn't have been bothering dad to get her wigs almost every week… would she?

Mum ignored my expression. "This friend of his has been asking for his money for a while now."

"Well, that explains the strange calls Dad makes," I soliloquized.

"And since your dad cannot pay him back, the man gave him an offer that even I would not refuse."

My curiosity was piqued. "What is this offer?"

She let out a long sigh and focused on her ice cream, leaving me to endure the suspense.

"The man offered to forget the debt Dad has…" she paused to allow her words to sink in. "If only your dad's first daughter gets married to his first son in the near future."

"What?" I shouted, unbothered by the eyes that gave me their attention.

My mind tried to process everything. I was going to get married to a random stranger, all because of my dad's debt. So much for wanting a peaceful year. No. No. I'm overthinking. Dad would not accept that offer. He loves me. He cares.

"Dad didn't accept, right?" I dared to ask.

Mum flashed a sympathetic smile. "He did. He said you will be meeting with the boy this Saturday."

"This is all wrong," I whispered to myself.

"No, it's not. The boy comes from a rich family. Your future is already set for greatness."

She spoke with so much happiness, making me nauseous.

"How does that matter? I don't care about that. What I care about now is my studies, my goals…"

And Bryan.

My mum sighed. "Whatever you do, don't mess this up; if not, Dad would be in serious trouble. We're all counting on you. You're our savior now."

I studied her eyes. They carried emotions I had never seen her look at me with. Admiration, care… love.

This was it. The key to her heart. I could not mess it up.

But there was Bryan. How could I see someone when I liked him? What is more important: my feelings for Bryan or gaining the love of my mother?

Of course, the answer was obvious.