A Few Hundred Poppies

5. Cornered

The biggest moral dilemma that I would face if Aladdin's genie decided to show up in my life would be fighting the urge to permanently erase calculus from the face of the Earth instead of pollution. Glancing at the clock, I impatiently clicked my tongue and scratched off the equation I had just written on the worksheet. I was supposed to meet West at the curb ten minutes ago, but this calculus shit was impossibly lengthy.

He's waiting...

But so what? He's a jerk.

With my back to the door, I was busy exerting an immense concentration on exerting concentration on solving the math. Therefore, I noticed neither the creak of the iron gate opening nor that of the front door, and the mischievous footsteps to my door went unheard.

Suddenly, a firm hand landed with a thump on my shoulder.

"Boo!" A familiar voice yelled, making me jump up from my chair with a terrified squeal.

"AAH THe FuCK?!" I stumbled and not-so-gracefully landed on the floor - with a foot still stuck on the chair. Taking off my glasses to increase the ferocity of my glare, I fixed West with an incredulous glare.

"WEST, THE HELL? WHAT. Are. You. Doing. In. My. HOUSE?!"

"You should've seen your face, scaredy cat." He allowed me a smile, the kind that makes your eyes widen just a little. The clarity with which I could see the ridges along the edges of his front teeth made me conscious of our proximity, and I pushed him away with my palm.

"Don't avoid my question. What're you doing in my house, creep? I swear I'll tell my parents that a creep is following me- " a sudden wave of panic slammed into my chest. My parents.

"Holy shit you need to get out! Now!" I lowered my foot from the chair and hastily launched myself up, pulling him out of my room by the hand.

"If you wanna hold my hand, just tell me," he teased, making me picture the smirk spreading across his face in my peripheral vision and promptly loosen my grip around his wrist.

"Not the time, nor the place for jokes. Do you know where you are right now?" I asked him in all seriousness, too bothered to roll my eyes.

"Um, a kennel? 'Cause you a bitch."

My teeth gritting, I shot him a stinky look. "Wrong, asshole. You are in a brown household. If my parents find out that a boy was in the house while I was all alone, I'm getting shipped right back to Bangladesh. Actually no, that wouldn't be that bad, they're gonna make me stay at Khammi's for redemption!"

His confusion dissolved into realisation as we stepped into the foyer and he sheepishly scratched his neck. I ushered him out of the door.

Fishing out the key from the pocket of my jeans, I locked the door and cast a longing look at DiCaprio, my bike, propped up against the red-brick wall - a five-minute bike ride was way better than a fifteen-minute walk with a guy who'd slashed my canvas.

As I hurried out of the iron mini-gate with him on my tail, I noticed that the navy blue flannel he wore complimented his figure like pb & j on bread, making me conscious about my own sense of fashion, which by now was a mess - a mix between Art's funky improvisations, Lee's classy suggestions and Ma's death glares at anything that showed skin.

10 yards further down the road, a familiar black Mercedes stood. West casually began to lead me to it. "We could've just walked to the venue, it's not far from here," I muttered. Unable to resist the urge to provoke him, I continued, "Or is the dark prince unable to walk his majestic arse to the stadium?"