Page 2 of Not My Type (Not My Type #1)

Zara

Mommy pops in my thoughts, and I dive into my bag for my phone. She got me this watch for my birthday last year, and it’s like a little hug from her every time. I glance at it. Smiling, I click her number.

Mi really miss har.

“Hey baby,” her quirky voice bursts through the speaker as she sits her phone on the kitchen counter.

Those mahogany-brown eyes of hers sparkles!

She’s so beautiful— slim-thick with that gorgeous amber glow.

I can’t help but admire her blonde hair tied up in a lazy claw clip style. “What’s up?” she asks.

“I’m leaving now butttttt the teaching experience was a ten!!!” She pops her mouth open.

“Yeah girlll!” she grins and clap her hands. Mommy dramatic essi. If she doesn’t clap her hands or hit you when she laughs, she doesn’t feel satisfied.

“And you know mi nuh surprised doh...” she stirs her pot with a ladle. “Cas you? Is a bright piece a gya!”

“From a longer time,” I giggle then she turns to the camera and make the ‘period’ hand gesture. I laugh loudly, heedless of where I am, and how I should acquit myself.

Mommy is forty-two if you’re wondering but looks and acts as if she’s just twenty-four years old, just like my father.

They were high school lovers, but him let go himself cause mommy lef him when he treated her like shit, blew his chance and pushed her into another man’s arms. Now him want pity? Tsk!

Mommy brings the phone closely to her face with a gigantic grin. My heart warms. All a girl ever wanted was to see her mommy smile.

Mi love the lady enuh!

My smile permanent. The students must think I’m talking to my man or something. *Cough Cough* I don’t even have a man to start. Anywho!

Mommy’s session of pep talk earlier really worked, because my anxiety?

would a kill mi off. No doubt when God a make me, him dash a bucket of anxiety pan mi!

Why me one affi anxious so? Jesus Christ mon!

I heave a sigh and shake my head at those thoughts, now focusing on each step I take towards the gate.

Jago Big enuh. Mi really affi go do this til the practicum over?

Really? Inwardly, I hiss. I don’t even walk in Homestead.

As expected, the security flashes a wide smile at me. Why him a try so hard? He’s too nice—that’s a turn off, but being my usual pleasant self, I return his smile, shifting my focus back to the Face-time.

I amble through the gate and ask. “So wah yaw cook mommy?” before I pay close attention to the busy road. Nosah. A who dem wah fi cross dis?

“Mi a cook some shrimp and pumpkin soup,” she tells me. Oh, I hate that. I look right and notice that there are a chain of cars approaching. My eyes then trail to the left. On the side of the road, is a black Mercedes c63 with Prezi on the license plate. Um... a which Meech this have mi dream car?

I spot Jordane– I’m good with names. That hazel-eyed boy from Mrs. Adam’s Literature class who seems as if he should be out of school already. There is another man inside the car but I’m unable to see him. A him father drive such an expensive car?

I peer at the road. It’s somewhat clear, perfect time to cross, I guess. With that thought, I scurry across, managing to not get hit by one of these psycho Spain drivers. Mi hate cross road enuh mon. Chro!

“Mommy, you still there?” I ask when I’m safely on the other side.

“Yes, I noticed that you’re on the road,” she retorts, sounding tired. I heave a sigh.

“Yeah, mi a wait on the Ontime taxi,” I tell her and notice that the driver of the Benz is staring at me. The car is darkly tinted but I can see his figure. My heart starts racing. Damn, I hate to be stared at, but I understand. Miss, how you full a yourself so?

“Alright baby,” her voice now distant. Seconds after, she sits with the phone, telling me how much she misses me. Me too. I smile sweetly, but my mind isn’t here. Zara, him still a look?

Mi nah look. So nuh you wan’ know too? I mean, I can tell he’s watching me. I’m painfully shy. I don’t know how, but I can feel his stare.

“The drive nuh reach yet?” Mommy asks.

“All now,” I breathe out frustrated, desperately wanting to escape this tense predicament.

I pout my lips as my eyebrows knit together, gazing at the lingering traffic.

I’m just in time to see a middle-aged driver admiring me.

Malik always teases me about how cute I look when I’m mad at him. So, I understand.

You always do, the girl in my head exhales.

I look back at mommy. She too, is staring with a glint in her eyes.

“See how yuh pretty?” she chuckles and softly says.

“Mi one belly pain mon.” I smile and look at the car again.

He’s still staring. My eyes dart back to her.

Jesus him dry yiy. “Push in yuh lip, the driver soon come mon,” she teases.

I look away, blushing, not because of mommy and shift my weight to my next leg.

“Anyways when yuh get home mi wan’ talk to mi madda,” Mommy speaks again.

“Yeah,” I nod and she blew me a kiss. The call disconnected right after.

“Zara?” I hear my name and I look around. I realize it’s Gary and offer a smile. He’s a family friend— probably in his early thirties.

“Hey Gary,” I softly greet, trying to focus on him and not that black Benz.

“Yuh start teach now?” he’s making me uncomfortable, dragging his eyes all the way down to the platform loafers on my feet.

“Trainee teacher,” I choke out. The black Benz pulls off. The wheels skid. I jerk back as it moves off dangerously fast.

“Machine deh sound good!” A random man exclaims, walking out in the road. Students on the sidewalks, vendors—basically, everyone with eyes are staring at it appearing smaller and smaller in seconds.

“Yoooo!” Gary exclaims. “Ah eh’ Don that?”

Den if mi is a man, mi coulda’ really make another man impress m—

It clicks. Don?

“A him yes! The man set up the car good! Sound like Spaceship!” One vendor blurts out. I look away, not wanting to hear them babble about that car any longer. Something about that person gives me the creeps.

One eternity later and my Ontime taxi finally arrives.

I couldn’t be happier. I tell Gary goodbye and get inside.

When I get to Homestead, I pay my fare and slowly walk over to my house.

Mama walks out of her room. Her short silvery hair is combed to the back as she rocks her signature look.

Baggy blouse, loose ankle length skirt, and socks. Sometimes house slippers.

Mama is a beautiful woman and a very confident one too.

Everyday she brags about how the men in her time went crazy over her.

She used to bother Grandpa too. Before he died, she’d make it her duty everyday to say, ‘You is a lucky man enuh Mass John, you member how yuh wife used to sweep every man off a em’ feet?

’ He would just laugh. Member she ask yuh sup’m.

“It was good enuh Mama, the students dem rude though, majority of them,” I plop down in the sofa.

“You affi expect that,” she sits beside me.

“Yes, it was good otherwise.” I pull out my phone and dial my mother. She answers on the first ring.

“You reach home?” is the first thing she asks and I laugh.

“Yes mommy, see yuh mother here,” I smile and hand the phone to my grandma. Like the lady time me.

“How foreign a treat yuh mi one gyal?” I hear Mama say as I walk to my room. I click the light on— illuminating my spotless, floral scented room.

“In yer a furnace mon,” I mutter to myself.

Quickly, I turn the fan on, and push my sliding windows open.

My queen-sized bed is situated in the middle of the room, sandwiched by my nightstand and my white fur arm chair.

My flat screen is mounted on the wall facing my bed— my built-in closet is adjacent to my dresser.

But that’s about it. It isn’t luxurious by any means, but it’s very comfortable.

I climb on my bed, directly in front of the fan with my mind on my day— I mean, Jordane’s father.

Why was he staring at me so hard? I can’t help but wonder. I shake my head and saunter to the bathroom as soon as I cool off. I take a long, well-deserved shower. Once I’m out, I slide into my silk two-piece pajama set, now tying a bow on my bonnet. Was the Don actual—

I stop. The tremor I feel between my thighs lands me on my bed.

It isn’t my first time experiencing that.

.. but something else is. I sit on my legs, my palm slapped to my lips, staring at that girl in my mirror.

Do I even know her? I can’t even bring myself to admit the source of that heartbeat down there. My thoughts then slip through my lips.

“Zara... don’t even think about it,” I giggle in disbelief. Exactly five minutes roll by and I finally climb off the bed. I plug in my earbuds vibing to Sza as I leisurely prepare my uniform for tomorrow and organize my already spick and span room. You must have OCD.

No... I just needed a distraction.

I smile and get my dinner right after. Sizzling, saucy butter chicken. Spicy just how I like it with fufu and a bottle of Fiji water. My plate is perfectly clean in no time, my hands messy. I take a swig of my water and head to the kitchen to find my father washing the dishes. Wow. That’s a first.

I move around him to use the left side of the sink then he exhales.

“Just put down the plate Zara,” I do as he says and stroll back to my room.

As a sophisticated hot gyal, I have to brush my teeth before I go to bed.

Mouth fresh, coochie clean. I climb in my bed, ready to sleep.

My phone starts vibrating. Chro! I unlock the phone quickly and gasp when I read Malik’s text.

Never Again.

*I miss you*

I read the message over and over before I dial my bestfriend’s number. “Gavin?” I say biting on the inside of my lip. Shuffles fill my ear, yet no response. Him extra essi. I roll my eyes.

“Yes Zara?” his voice finally floats through the line, sounding a bit muffled. Great. He knows why I’m calling.

“Malik text and say him miss me,” I say hesitantly.

Wait for it.. “Yuh sure you wah hear wah mi have fi say?” he asks and I face palm myself.

Not really.

Yuh know Gavin nuh fraid fi shame yuh.

“Yes, why’d I call?” I ask with an attitude.

“Block him Zara... block him,” Gavin deadpans.

A loud laughter left my throat. “Okay..” I trail off and gasp at what he says next.

“This nyam cratches bwoy eva deh mess up and expect yuh fi tek him back?” Jesus Gavin. Him don’t even do dem suhm deh. A faint sigh slips through my lips as I slightly press my palm against my cheek, staring at the call timer running.

“Look how yuh pretty, sexy and educated and him a fumble yuh? Mek a goodaz like you a cry every time, thinking that yuh nuh enough! Dash weh the dutty liyad drankro out a yuh life once and for all, him nuh deserve yuh!”

It hurts... but it’s facts.

Gavin is the type of person who has no idea of what it means to mince your words. He’s blunt and speaks with a sense of humor. So, when him open him mouth yuh jus affi laugh.

“Yea but he wanted to focus on medical school,” I say, trying to find an excuse for my ex-boyfriend who puts me last in everything.

Mek yuh nuh shut up??

“Weh mi say?!” his voice blaring. “Block him! Yuh know mi nuh fraid fi come round deh come block him fi you enuh likkle gyal!”

“Alright,” I mutter before I hang up.

I don’t listen, every word he says flies from one ear and exits through the next. I’m the type to ask you what to choose between two options, then go ahead and choose what I want.

That’s what I’m doing right now... I stare at his message for the hundredth time. My fingers impulsively tapping the words on the screen. With a deep breath, I hit send.

*I miss you too*