Crap. Mona Lisa had found me. And she was probably hoping I'd pay attention like I'd done earlier. I reached into my locker. Maybe if I pretended like I was busy searching for something, she'd leave and let me be. She'd understand that things couldn't go back... I groaned when I felt her thin fingers come in contact with the woolen material on the shoulders of my shirt. Why did letting go prove to be this...frustrating?
"Emeka." I reconstructed my already irritated facial expression into an indifferent one. And managed to smile at her. Her face was as sugary sweet as I remembered. Never angry. Always pacified in the littlest of actions and pained at non existent actions towards the "female gender".
