Knock. Knock.
"Who's there?" I mumbled sleepily, fumbling for the moon lamp by my bed.
"It's me!" a voice replied.
"Aaaargh… come in already!" I sighed, sitting up lazily.
The door flew open.
"Fred? You here? At this hour?"
"Yeah, me."
"It's late, man!"
"And? Can't I talk to my friend anymore?" he teased, giving me a playful slap on the lap.
"Ouch! What the—Fred!"
"Shhhh… keep your voice down. Your dad might think we're up to no good." He grinned, and ugh—that smile melted me.
"Don't you dare do that again," I warned.
"What would you do?" he asked, giving me that serious look.
"Forget it. Now why the hell are you here?"
"Chill. It's not that late—it's only eight-thirty."
"Really?"
"Yep!" He slid onto the bed beside me, pushing me to the other side.
"Now… wh-what are you doing?" I stammered, smacking his chest.
"Nothing. Just wanted to ask… are you really into Bernard? Like, do you actually have a crush on him?" He locked eyes with me, and—ugh—if only I had been born with those shiny green eyes of his.
"Tell me," he urged.
"And why do you care? You're not my best friend. You don't get rights to ask me silly questions like that. Better let me sleep."
"Really? I thought I was your friend," he said, his voice dropping—hurt.
"Yeah, friend. Not best friend. Not boyfriend. Just friend. Now let me sleep."
Don't worry, guys… there's a reason for this.
I saw the sadness flash across his face, and honestly, I felt bad. But I told myself it was for the best.
"Excuse me, okay?" I snapped.
"Sorry," he muttered before leaving.
And just like that, I was left guilty and overthinking. But hey—never mind.
---
Days blurred, and soon, we were set to fly back to Nigeria. Exams were coming up next week, and we had to be home to study. Fred and I didn't exchange a single word—not even a "hi." But I already had a plan to fix that.
On the jet, Zara—the blabber queen herself—was at it again. Somehow, in just three days in California, she had gone viral. Verified on TikTok, Instagram, X, and even Facebook. She wouldn't stop reminding us.
"Zizi, I love you!" she blabbered for the hundredth time mid-flight.
"Your sharp tongue and bubbly attitude got you famous," I teased, grabbing her chubby cheeks.
"Thank you!" she squealed.
Can you imagine? Zara stole my entire spotlight in California! The press swarmed her everywhere we went. In three days, she had fanbases, buzzing emails, and interview offers from companies. She was famous overnight. And Dad? Oh, Dad adored her. Said she had "funny jokes and wits." He even promised her monthly allowances.
Yeah… I was jealous. Wouldn't you be? But one thing was certain: nobody replaces me in Dad's heart. Absolutely no one. Not even Zara.
So if you're feeling anger or hurt—eat chillies. Works for me.
The jet landed, and I squealed, "Mom!" jumping into her arms.
"Mom!" Fred and Zara chorused, hugging Mrs. McClain instead.
Apparently, Mom and Mrs. McClain were now besties. Matching outfits and everything. Honestly? Their friendship was going to benefit me big time.
Because soon, y'all, I won't just be Zikora Wills. Nah. Zikora McClain. Muahahahaha.
"Mom, you look amazing!" I said.
"Lies. I've been hitting the gym, trying to slim down. Body goals, baby," she said, eyes on the road.
After Mom and Mrs. McClain said their dramatic goodbyes, I leaned in. "So, Mom, any secrets you wanna spill?"
"Girl, I'm married. Chill," she laughed.
"New best friend other than Mrs. Katherine?"
"Mrs. McClain? Yeah, we went shopping, vibed, and realized we had a lot in common. She mentioned her late husband. Oh—and we watched your performance."
"You watched me?"
"Of course! I couldn't miss it. You were amazing, darling. You and Fred would make a greaaaat couple." She winked.
"Mom! Ugh, embarrassing!"
"Thank you," she giggled.
The car screeched to a halt. "WELCOME HOME, BABY!" Mom yelled as we stepped out. Always dramatic.
"Wow, so you were too busy with Fred to notice I was gone?" Zimba popped out of nowhere.
"Zimba! When did you get home?" I gasped.
"Company business. You wouldn't wanna know."
My new guard, Neil, grabbed my luggage. The maids bowed like I was royalty, and the joy? Immaculate.
Inside, me and Zimba joked nonstop about Dad's new mansion. He casually mentioned getting invited to Paris Fashion Week. And me? I was invited too—plus I had just signed an ambassadorial deal with a wine brand.
"What about me? No deals? No partnerships? Am I that old?" Mom whined.
"Chill, Mom. I literally sold out a 20,000-capacity stadium. That's big enough," I said with a grin.
"Zimba, I'm tagging along to Paris! I need to showcase my style to the world," she sang like a three-year-old.
What the fried watermelon. The unclean macaroni. This woman!
"And after that, I'll be at your dad's mansion for a hot weekend."
"Alright, we get it!" me and Zimba groaned.
"He's my husband, not just your dad. Don't forget that!" she teased.
"Fine. But he's our dad too. We'll visit whenever we want."
"Go get your own husband," she shot back.
"I'm out! Don't need marriage talk!" Zimba yelled, running off.
"Party popper!" I shouted after him.
"True though, isn't he?" Mom smirked.
---
HI GUYS!
Vote and comment for your favorite ship!
Currently blasting Cardi B's "Am I The Drama" album while writing this 💥❤️ Stay tuned for the next chapter!
Love,
Your fave teen authoress,
Oziomajasmine 💝