Diary of the Crazy Shaniqua Bello

Log Sixty: GUEST

SIXTY
GUEST

Wednesday

8:30 pm

Dear, Diary

I was responding to what seemed like the hundredth email when he walked up to me and sighed. The kind of sigh that one knew required a question. The manipulative sigh. I played along.

"What's the matter, sir?" I still had my eyes glued to the screen of my work phone.

"The driver with the camera they need is stuck in traffic and all the crew members are tired. The directors want to push it."

"Oh, that's bad." I pretended to care. I was tired myself and the only reason why I stayed with him this late at night was that my house was within a trekking distance and, to be honest, I was enjoying the free meals and celebrity sightings.

"I know right?"

"Yeah..." I faltered, looking up at the mysterious grin on his face. "What's wrong sir?"

"I told your mum and she insisted that I stay over—she says there's a spare room and that the driver can sleep in the living room."

"Sir?" I stopped typing as I began to picture mum saying those actual words. I could almost even hear her.

And why the hell did he call her?

"Can't they make hotel reservations or something?"

"They're cheap like that and I would have, but I don't think they're any hotels available."

"I can help you—,"

"I'm beginning to think you don't like me much, Shaniqua." He cut me off and I froze.

"Ah, why will you think that sir?" I heard the sourness of my own voice.

"Then let me crash in your guest room if you don't have a problem with me." He smirked and I threw him a plastic smile.

DAMN!

That's how I'm here making his bed while he's talking in the kitchen with my mum o.

Hmmm

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