I met him on a cold day in November. I was shivering and my teeth were chattering. He took his jacket and gently wrapped me in it. “You shouldn’t be cold,” he said, “not as long as I am here.” I fell in love with him, if love is what happens when, suddenly, your brain freezes and your heart takes over all the thinking processes. This was my fairy-tale. It was going to end with happily ever after. By February he was my Valentine. He sent me an overly perfumed plastic rose and five sweets. I read his letter over and over before putting it under my pillow. I don’t know why I did that. I don’t know why anybody did that. In May, when he came to school, I saw him being cozy with another girl and I asked him about it. He took my hand and said, “You’re the only one. She is just my cousin.” He also told me not to let her find out about us because he would be in hot soup. I could understand where he was coming from. The last time mother found a love letter in my pillowcase, she stripped me and applied some painful strokes to my bare bottom. I was therefore all in for a secret romance. That same month, he sent me a love letter. It would have been romantic if the letter was addressed to me. Well, the envelope bore my name but letter was addressed to Sarah Kanyange. It was clear now she wasn’t his cousin. I walked to Sarah’s dormitory, hissing and puffing. I met her on the way. She was looking for me too. She was furious. He had accidentally switched our letters. But he was playing both of us for sure. We had a very uncomfortable, very awkward conversation about our love lives or, in this case, the love we shared with one boy. We swore that the next time we saw him, he would pay. We would walk up to him, join our hands to our hips, glare at him and make him sweat. Then we would each slap him and walk away without saying a word. For effect, we would dress to the nines. It wasn’t original. We had seen it in a high school movie but we were sure it would work. Larry came to school on visiting day. He had told me that he would arrive at 3pm but he told Sarah that he would be there at midday. When he sent for Sarah, we both went. As soon as he saw us, his forehead released a fountain of sweat. I started smiling from within. The way we planned it is that I would slap him, then she would slap him and then we would turn at the same time and walk away, all the while swinging our hips (even though we had no hips to swing). I raised my hand to slap him but she grasped my hand and said to me, “Don’t you dare touch my boyfriend!” As I struggled to disentangle myself from her grip, I accidentally slapped her. She retaliated. Larry stood there, with a smirk on his face. I walked away alone, holding my palm to my face, too blinded by tears and shame to swing my imaginary hips.AC
