Your eyes opened to view a slowly whirling fan. You looked toward the window; curtains hooked to the side and saw the full moon in all its glory. It appeared that Nepa seized their light a while ago and the fan was slowly whirling to a stop. Your head felt heavy like a hammer fell on it.

In that almost peach darkness, the neon glow of the digital-clock above the door shone effulgently— serving its purpose— and you clearly saw 2:00 A.M. blinking.

The pain in your head echoed and each wave was soothing. You mentally searched for the panadol. Probably In the kitchen, but where? the higher cabinet or lower? Inside the spoilt microwave or fridge? The pain was endurable and you endured it because you didn't want to see what it would look like if you stood on your feet.

The door below the blinking digital clock noiselessly opened and your eyes brushed down. A head poked through and recognition swept over you. It was pale to identify who it was, but you did. It could only be him anyway.

He was one of the few people you talked to, and the most important. You told him things you could not tell George. Although, there were things you told George and could not tell him. You could tell George “Look,” Your finger pointing towards John running around the pitch, all sweaty. “See how beautiful he is.”

And last night, when he was in the kitchen buttering bread, you had told him, “I stained myself last night.”  That, you couldn't tell George.

And he had said, “Happy birthday my dear,” and kissed your forehead.

“But it is not even twelve yet.”

“Well, I am tired and going to bed. Tomorrow is a big day at the office. At least I told you before those silly boys...and,” he raised a finger “I am not competing with them.” He added a smile and took a bite of the bread. He chewed softly and swallowed with a gulp of juice directly from the container. “You can invite your friends to an unmonitored party.” he quoted in the air.

“My girl is seventeen.” He reached forward and ruffled your hair. The next day, as you moved through the expanse of school, apart from George and Manda, you didn't know who else to invite. The class echoed with conversation from every desk. In fact, it was packed than usual. Yet you couldn't walk up to anyone.

That evening, the front door bell went off and you scurried to open it. George wore a T-shirt with God Bless Nerds inscribed on the front. Palm tress were drawn all over his shorts. Manda's house was a blocks away but she only just appeared behind the door after George stepped in. Her hair was weaved into two fat braids. A chocker on her neck. The red gown gave off no cleavage but outlined her figure. Its length revealed considerable amount of her thighs. She carried a black nylon in her hands. Your gaze brushed back to her face, a smile on it.

The venue was the parlor and you didn't go out of your way to decorate with balloons and posters. George handed you a small pink box and because of last year's gift, and the ones that had come before that, intuition told you it was another wristwatch. A note was pinned on the box: Happy Birthday to my best friend. With the worst writing ever.

Manda slipped out a bottle of Red Label from the nylon. “I know you didn't make arrangements for alcohol.” She said and set it on the table.

It didn't even cross your mind. “What?” Your eyes lit up when you saw the bottle. “Put that away.” You whispered.

“Relax. Happy seventeenth birthday.” She sank into the couch.

Your hand were shaking, and dots of sweat appeared on your face. “If my father sees that thing.”

“Anita relax, it is just alcohol.” George said, “We will hide it if he comes.”

Your head craned around to see if you would spot Dad's eyes. Relax. It is your birthday. Why not?

And so far, the party was fun, mainly because of the effect of the alcohol —which you drank with no pressure at all. Manda suggested a game of ‘Fuck, Kiss, kill’  and you looked at her weird. George agreed instantly.

“Come on, it is just a game.” Manda teased you.

“Come on.” George pressed on.

“Kill? Like, we have to kill one of the options? But that is not how they play the game.”

“Says?” She raised her brows

“Yea,” George said, a huge smile on his face. I pitied him. He had been smiling all through and his cheeks must hurt. “To spice things up. Right?” He looked towards Manda who uncrossed her legs to and motioned to pick the uncorked bottle alcohol on the glass table. She opened it but didn't sip yet.

You cringed at each answer you gave. “I will marry Harold, Kiss Steven and kill Jacob.”

“Why Jacob?” George asked. You wished the collar of his T-shirt would choke him.

“Are we allowed to ask questions? I mean, i didn't care to find out why you would killed Pearl or Prisca.”

“Wow, the alcohol must be working fine, i have never seen you say so much words for a long time.” Manda remarked and you blushed.

The game insisted every slot be share between the options. It was your turn to ask. You knew the options that would spice things up. Like you, George had a crush and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, his unconscious stare and subjective decisions when it came to Manda said it all. Manda had no idea and you kept his secret safe. 

“Martins, John and Sylvia.” Manda beat you to it, her gaze was on you.  She was your cousin and didn't know it was your birthday until you told her. She probably didn't remember your middle name and obviously didn't know about your crush for John.

“But sylvia is a girl na.” George pointed out.

“Duh... I am making the game more interesting.” Manda shot back, not rudely, no, more with a smirk.

You were drunk so you didn't care too much and had spoken immediately Manda defended her mention of Sylvia.

“Well, I will kiss Martins, his lips are full and pink. And...just because I heard first times are painful, I will fuck Sylvia, so there won't be penetration. Then...John...I will kill John.”

“I want to make a record of this.” Manda finally sipped from the bottle and crunched her face as the liquid burnt down. “People won't believe me if i told them you said this much.”

George was smiling like a goat and I hit him with, “Brenda, Adanna, Manda.”

I saw him jolt. He looked at Manda and she at him.

The silence stretched awkwardly, made your throat dry. You reached for one of the unopened Fanta, uncorked it and took a sip.

“Manda, I love you.” George finally said.

You almost choked. What?

Manda was quiet and George went ahead to tell her how long he had crushed on her, he gave so much thanks to the alcohol she brought. Without it, he said, I would not had had the confidence to speak up.

They didn't kiss that night because as he spoke, he retched and vomited on the glass table, beside the plate of Oreo. But weeks later, during a free period, when the class was a hubbub, you saw them share a passionate kiss. One person pointed it out, “Hey look at that!” and the whole class looked towards them. Eye brows raised and jaws dropped.

You jerked backward, avoiding splash of the puke. The yellow vomit didn't disgust you as much as it would. It did nothing to tamper your smile. If anything, it even tore wider. You just held the pillow tight, wishing it was John in your embrace. George's action was a sign. It charged your moral, or the alcohol. Whichever. You will meet John tomorrow and just tell him to his face that you liked him. No, love him.

George, however, was so embarrassed. He motioned to his feet, and missed steps as he strode to the kitchen. He appeared again with a hand towel and wiped the mess off the glass. There were still trails of the puke on the glass table. Without goodbyes, he stormed off.

“What just happened?” Manda was blushing. You didn't reply, probably didn't hear her.

“I know you are drunk,” Manda said “Don't worry, I will take care of this mess.”

Of course, you were drunk and didn't care if the place was cleaned up or not. If the thoughts wasn't about John then it was useless. He clouded your thoughts; you saw his smile, saw him kick a ball, visualized the sweat that would soak his shirt while running around the pitch.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I love John!” you laid on your back and your eyes were to the white ceiling but you saw beyond it, you saw the stars.

“You do?” she was a bit tipsy but was not as much as you.  “Really, at least now I know something about your life. Get up.” She tugged at your shoulder. “Drop the pillow.”

“No, this is John.” you held onto the pillow, tighter than before. John would have suffocated in that grip. With Manda's help, you stumbled up the stairs. When your body touched the bed, you took a deep breath and said, “Manda... Chi... don't ... just yet.” you half said from sleep.

You woke up and looked toward the window to see the moon in all its glory. It was 2:00 a.m on the neon digital clock above the door. And you knew it was Dad who stuck his head through the door. You didn't see but you knew he smiled. You were probably still drunk because your head was heavy and your sight was a little blurred. He was dressed in his stripe nightwear. A Petit man indeed.