TWELVE

We sit near the shore with our knees bent and arms wrapped around them. Just like old times.I'm almost tempted to believe things are still the same between us. I take a breath and say, as casually as I can muster, "I wrote you text after text. One hundred and twenty seven of them." I gulp. "You never responded. I apologised. Okoh. Time and again. Do you know how hard it was for me to navigate highschool without you in my life? I don't like imbalances, and you know that. You replaced me with Katie. It was just so easy for you."
Okoh doesn't answer right away, instead she looks at me with curiosity.
"Is that why you'd grind your teeth and glare at the poor girl with a bitterness that was troubling?"
I stare up at her, confused. "I was looking at her, not glaring. There's a difference. And besides, I'm surprised you even remember I was there, you were too busy ignoring me, acting like a friendship spanning close to half a decade didn't matter anymore."
Her lips tighten into a fierce line. She stares into my eyes, and I stare back. "I wasn't trying to ignore you. You sent me a hundred messages, called more than ten times in the space of an hour, it was overwhelming. The next day at school I was speaking to Katie, not trying to replace you."
"Yeah right!"
"Kaycee," she says and her voice drops as though she's trying to explain to a mentally challenged person. She's patient, like she does this all the time. "You were — are my best friend. Katie never spoke to me since the accident that afternoon. So no need to worry. And besides, I never saw you again until today at school. Where were you these last two years, anyway?"
The accident Okoh's talking about refers to Katie unfortunately falling down the stairs at school, fracturing ribs and breaking her leg.
"I was at boarding school," I lie. "In London."
She frowns. "You were gone for two years, K. How could you not even call me? Huh? You know how worried I was about you?"
"I'm sorry, but you know my mom. She convinced Papa not to give me access to phones. Said something about them distracting me from my studies. You know she always wanted a perfect daughter. Perfect Clara," I mumble. The lies roll out of me as though I've been rehearsing. I have.
She doesn't believe me. I can see the suspicions mounting in her eyes. "Couldn't you visit during school holidays?"
"My mother insisted I go to those ridiculous Boot camps white babies attend during school breaks."
"Speaking about of that witch, where is she?"
Uh-oh. Another question I can't answer with the truth. "She left."
"What do you mean she left?"
"I mean three months ago she told Papa she was leaving. That she wasn't cut out for motherhood. We haven't heard from her since."
"And when did you come back?"
I shrug. "Er... Two days ago."
"Hmm..." She says.
Okoh has this distant look in her eyes and it's bothering me. I can't stand it when I don't know what someone is thinking. I hate it when I'm unable to read someone's face. I'm very good at it.
My left leg starts to shake, as it always does when I'm irritated.
She can't see me like this.
I retrieve my blade from the side zipper of my backpack and slip my foot out of the boot. I run the blade once across my foot. The pain is addictive. I bite my lip to stop myself from sighing in pleasure. The shaking has stopped. Good.
"Kaycee...?" Okoh says, her pitch higher than usual. Kaycee stands for the K in Kadre and C in Clara. "Did you hear what I said?"
"Uh...?" I make no attempt to show her I hadn't.
"I asked how life was in London?"
I sneak the blade back in its place, while I bleed out to the ground. I'll have to cover this up with leaves before we head back home.
But now, the more pressing problem... What do I tell her?
"It was lonely," I blurt out the truth. "The only thing that was great about that place was its food. At least it was decent. I'm sure you were having a blast, though."
"Oh but it was horrible."
Fortunately I remember to act surprised and most importantly, curious. I would win an Oscar for my performances. Yep, I'm that good.
"Horrible?" My face is rearranged perfectly; the lips sit parted and dry. My eyes are unblinking and round. There's even a hand cupping my cheek, my upper body leaning down towards hers. She has all my attention. Or so it seems.
"See, when Katie fell down the stairs and broke her leg..." Her voice breaks and she stops, her eyes have watered.
"Go on," I probe. "What happened?"
"My social skills suffered a knock." She shakes her head and her dreadlocks, the colour of apes, same as her skin, fall over her shoulders. "For some strange reason, I think Katie blames me for what happened to her. I mean, no one dared speak to me again after that day. People are even sceptical to sit next to me in class. In the hallways, they walk as far away from me as possible. It's like they think I'm some sort of bad omen or something."
"Did Katie say something?"
Okoh purples. She let's out an uneven hiss but somehow manages to turn it into a half sob. It's a sound I haven't heard before. I sit up straighter as she bites her bottom lip until the sensitive flesh breaks. She's thinking(it looks like hard work too). She always does this when she's scared. When the pool of blood becomes noticeable she sucks on her lip. The silence echoes, it's louder than her ragged breaths. I wish she could say something, anything.
She locks her black eyes with mine, their expression is as blank as a damaged TV screen. I flick my gaze to her hands. Her red nail polish is peeling off. I'm aware that there is a wave of tension surrounding her and that, somehow, I am the root of it. We sit in silence for a long, agonising moment.
When she eventually whispers her broken no, I slouch. The wall of worry breaks, crashing around me. With it comes surprise. I'd been super tense. More than I'd acknowledged.
"But..." She whispers. "I think she's the one that told the other kids to steer clear of me. She doesn't need to say it but I see it in the way she looks at me. She blames me."
"I'm so sorry I wasn't here and you had to go through all that alone."
"Oh Kaycee, I missed you so much," she says but her lips quiver and her voice cracks.
I feel the ghost of grief, writhing in the empty space where my heart, which has long stopped beating, used to be. Before I have time to question the pain and sadness on my friend's face, Okoh folds me carefully in her arms, blanketing me in the smell of burnt muffins and strawberry soap.