LAILA

“That's because you keep going for the crazy ones,” I said, suppressing a grin as I stared at Wendy in the mirror. “Normal guys come your way all the time. But no. You want the tough ones.”

Turning around on the stylist chair, Wendy retorted, “So what, Laila? I like them crazy, tough, you know, a little macho…”

Cutting in, I said, “And then they break your heart in three weeks. Yay. You're killing this ‘adulting' thing.”

Wendy, my closest friend for years now, was superb at doing many things. Sadly, choosing romantic partners wasn't one of them. She had been in seven different relationships in just under three years, and none of them ended on a good note. It was always something profound. Either they cheated on her, explicitly disregarded her values, or… well, that's about it.

“Baby, I've told you,” Wendy started again, now facing me as the hairdresser let go of her hair, “love isn't for me. I'm talking love as in soulmate kind of shit. I don't like that it took me to the old age of thirty to realize this.”

“Wendy, thirty is not old. I swear, you are delusional at times.”

Checking her now fully done hair in the mirror, Wendy added, “Baby, I know how much easier it was to pull guys a year ago. Once I hit thirty, something changed, those dudes probably think I'm everyone's black aunty.”

Letting out a sigh, I told her, “Look, no one thinks you're giving aunty vibes. You're still like you were five years ago. Come on, Wendy!”

“Girl, you're just lying.”

As we left the salon, my phone rang, and it was Milo's school. Again. This time, he didn't just miss school or skip classes. He beat up a classmate and, when he was scolded, he told the principal to 'help him find the f*cks he was supposed to give'. Then he fled the school.

Oh, that little jerk.

“Yes, his Dad will be there tomorrow,” I said to the voice I figured belonged to the principal. This wasn't good.

“Let me guess, Milo insulted a teacher again?” Wendy guessed, just as I got off the phone.

Shaking my head, I responded, “No, he didn't. This time, he got into a big fight with a classmate and then left the school building.”

Clicking her tongue, Wendy shook her head, “That's bad. Did he win?”

Nudging her shoulder, I gasped. “You can't be for real.”

“No, you know I hate fights. But as my Pops used to say, ‘If you see two people fighting, just know they’re both dumb as nails.’”

Flailing my hands, I asked, “So, why do you care if he won or lost?”

“Cause losing a fight makes you look even dumber.”

Wendy and I had been tighter than a knot since she moved into the next-door apartment five years ago. We immediately connected and became tight right away. Now, here’s what was funny: we weren’t much alike. I guess the idea of friends needing to be so alike was one of the many things I had to unlearn since getting to know her.

The age gap between Wendy and me wasn’t much. About five years. But when I tell you we were different people, I wasn't just saying words.

She was this plump, dark-skinned baddie, as she had said at least two or three million times. She had multiple tattoos all over her body; she partied, clubbed, was a staunch hip-hop lover, smoked, talked confidently. She was one of those ladies you would be wise to choose your words carefully when with.

I, on the other hand, was just Laila Roberts. I loved reading; loved music of all kinds though country was my thing. I spoke to my plants when watering them in the morning. Half my teenage years were spent gushing over boybands. I lit scented candles when seeing some of my favorite romances. Yes, I was that kind of girl.

But, despite it all, Wendy and I were as tight as hugs, often borrowing one or two things from our different worlds.

“Um,” Wendy let out, a widened palm on her forehead, “I haven’t even told you we’re going to Stuns & Burns tonight.”

My brows furrowed. I questioned, “You mean Stuns & Burns… the club?”

“Yeah, right? We’re going to have a ton of fun.”

Squinting an eye at her, I let out, “Who's ‘we’? No way you think I'm going anywhere with you tonight, let alone a club. Staying with you at the salon for two hours now is exhausting already.”

Stuns & Burns was a super big nightclub in the heart of the city where the big boys and girls frequented. Though I had gone with Wendy to clubs before, we hadn’t quite gone there.

Making a funny face at me, Wendy muttered, “You know you want to have a good time. With everything going on with Milo and your Mum… it won’t hurt to get a little tipsy and blow off some steam.”

“Okay, fine,” I agreed, waving a hand at her. “But here's the thing. I'm not going to be much fun. I don’t have the energy for dancing.”

“Girl, you're never fun,” Wendy teased, suppressing a grin. “But put yourself in something good…”

“Fine.”

“…that shows some skin.”

“Can't promise you that.”

Wendy told me we would leave the house by seven, so I better be prepared before then. Just as I got home, I recalled that Mum had asked me to open up her store and let some air in.

I didn't want to go there.

Since Mum's health got worse, she has been unable to come to the store. In fact, after the last time she passed out, her elder sister asked her to come stay with her in a house that wasn’t in the city. That’s where she and Dad have been for months now.

***** *****

Damn it. I had avoided doing this for so long. Fine. Let me get this over with.

“Oh, you’re home,” I exclaimed rather loudly. “Want to guess what your principal said to me on the phone?”

His attention on the TV screen, he murmured.“Uh, not really.”

“Well, you know what she said, dumbass.”

“That she's into me?”

Exhaling noisily, I snapped at him, “Milo, you just turned fourteen… no one is into you.”

“That's true? Funny 'cause you're not fourteen and no one's into you either.”

Just a little sting. Won't sweat it.

Picking the store's key from atop the fridge, I said, “If I were you, I’d be more concerned about what to tell Dad when he calls. You know he told you he would send you to that military school if you mess up one more time.”

Pausing the movie he was watching, he let out, “There’s no way he’ll do that.” Now on his feet, his brows knitted as he inquired, “Wait, he can’t actually do that, can he?”

“Don’t bother yourself. You’re going to find out the hard way.”

“Laila,” he called after me as I left the apartment.

Damn. That boy will be the death of me. Nah, I will kill him first.

In my head, I began to think about Stuns & Burns, musing if it might raise my spirits, give something silly or fun to do before going to bed.

Well, let us say I got my heart's desire.