"𝓒𝓪𝓷 𝔀𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝔁 𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓬𝓽?"
Multipotentialite, yet overly insecure, bashful, and socially naïve; Reagan Dike is a music and graffiti-art loving 18 year old living fairly in Kumase - a relative...
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OJ forcibly yanked at her arm and swirled her jolted frame to face him, causing her camera to ricochet off her hands unto her chest.
"Excuse me?!" She spat in an accent that clearly distinguished her from the random girls in the streets of our community, while adjusting the camera belt that hung faithfully on her neck. "You nearly made me drop my camera!"
"Why are you taking pictures of our paintings? Who send you? Ahbi dem don hire you as spy?" OJ asserted. He was most likely than not, the same height as her, but he looked much more intimidating due to his bulk.
I and Kanu quickly closed in on them before things got much worse. OJ already had his hands fisted into a hard ball when Kanu restrained him a few steps back with a arm around his chest. With the way things were going, his quick-to-anger tendency would have cost the girl a punch if we hadn't intervened timely, I was sure. I stood in the middle of the duo, whilst Kanu held OJ. "What's happening? OJ, what did she do to you?"
"I don't understand. What do you mean by spy? They hired me... who hired me? Did you miss road or something? Or are you blind? Do you go about dragging people and accusing them of absolute rubbish?" The girl flared even more; the wide neckline of her pink-blue cotton crop-top awkwardly leaned towards one end, revealing a bit of her smooth shoulder. Honestly, even I too couldn't understand OJ's stress. What's spy? At this rate, it was obvious that OJ just needed an unfortunate vessel to vent his frustration upon.
"Why she go dey snap the wall? Na my issue be that," OJ spoke up, all daggers with his eyes at her. "You don ever see people come here come dey snap the thing?"
"Excuse me, excuse me! Please, people literally come to admire and take pictures of the art here, so why the fuss? I didn't start it, and by the way, is it your art?" She cut in sharply before I could reply OJ. I was left in my spot, unsure of how to arrest the situation. My introversion has always made me apathetic towards any form of one-on-one violence. Or maybe I didn't want to arrest the situation just yet because I admired her voice - the energy and determination of a strong woman who knew her rights.
"Yes. It's ours," I cut in blankly before OJ could make a statement.
"Not ours - ours per se, but it's... uhm, we are behind the graffiti artwork," I rephrased, shrugging oddly as soon as she looked me directly in the eyes. It was obviously a wrong time to crack a smile, but I did - nervously at that. I've always tried to look nice when interfacing with new people, and I was beginning to suspect it was a fault I had.
"Which one be 'not ours per say'?" OJ interjected sharply. He knew my weak spot, and he gave me one of those disgusted looks that said: Snitching on your homies? Really?
"Shut up. Just shut up." I flatted back at him, low and stern, summoning every ounce I had in me to keep my true thoughts about his actions reserved. He was the reason we were in this mess right now after all. I had been trying to keep my calm with OJ's attitude since the birth of our operation at Mr. Donald's, but my reactivity meter was getting full, and it wouldn't speak nicely of me if I exploded in front of a girl. Not her at least.
