Page 19 of Not My Type
“They’ll sign here,” her French tip nail taps the line, just before she moves it to the bottom right. “And you sign here.”
“Okay,” I nod then she ambles toward the crowd of people.
“The pandemic might seem over, but parents, please spread out a little bit!” I hear her say. Most of the parents honour her request, while afew display their bad attitude— one woman in particular grabs my attention. She crosses her thin arms as her legs shake vigorously in her pencil foot pants.
“A muss prank!” she blurts out. Everyone turns their head in her direction. One thing with Jamaicans.
“A how long me fi wait lady?” her tone is sassy. Her dark brown eyes piercing through Mrs. Adams.“Mi need fi go open the shop,” she continues. That’s a you problem, the girl in my head retorts with her nuff self.
“We are working by the numbers,” is the only thing Mrs. Adams says. Cool like cucumber.
“Mi in a rush! mi fi wait fi everybody yah so get through!?” She questions. Yes lady, who tell yuh fi come late?
“It would be unfair if I gave you your child’s report before others who are here before you,” Mrs. Adams’s voice calm. The woman looks at me. Not here.
“Mi can go to deh teacher deh?” she asks, pointing at me.
“What grade is your child in?” Mrs. Adams asks.
“Grade seven,” she tells her and Mrs. Adams shake her head no.
“I have seven to nine, Ms. Williams has upper school.” She hisses in response. “Cya tek foolishness enuh,” she drops her hands to her side and cross them on her chest. Mrs. Adams stares at her intensely and speaks coldly.
“If you can’t conform, then leave the school immediately,” her calm voice gets hostile, “Cause mi nah tolerate your behavior!” To my surprise, Ms. hot pepper sauce remains silent. I finally look away. The moment I do, my phone starts ringing.
“Yes Gavin?”
“We a guh a Sash man, uncle dead yard lata. You a come?” he asks.
“Yes,” I hesitate, thinking of better things I could do. I’m honestly a home baddie kind of girl. While I do like to go out and go on excursions; I love to have some time to myself at home— buying expensive things with money I barely have and watch Netflix. Why Gavin want carry me go a nine night?
“Yuh deh over school?” he questions.
“Yes.”
“Oh that’s why the backgrou—” is the last thing I hear when I spot him. This must be a joke. Everyday so? How me a see him so often, wah him want with me?
“Zara,” Gavin calls because I zoned out.
“Yes, mi ago call you back later,” I hang up. I try to force a smile.
“Yuh teach yer?” his raspy voice asks in a rich Spanish Town accent. No doubt, he’s from around here. Me with my nice Portland self.
“Yes,” I respond and shift my gaze to Jordane who’s almost as tall as this guy. I notice their uncanny resemblance too. “What’s up Ms. Williams?” he smiles.
“Trying to find your report card,” I say, trying to sound casual. Me well wah find it so dem can leave. “What’s your last name?” I ask Jordane.
“Jacobs,” he answers. I find it quickly, the average is 68%—Not bad for someone like him. He looks at it, then I slide the book to his brother. He’s too young to be his father. I watch as he signs his signature: N. Jacobs.
“Sign here Jordane,” I try to take the book from his brother but he holds onto it purposely. Our eyes lock together and my legs get weak. Whew. The chemistry. Zara, you feel that?
I don’t even know what’s happening. I look away from him. I had to. That was so weird and whatever that was? I don’t want to ever experience it again. Getting butterflies for the bad guy? He smiles at me. “YuhGov?” I probably look like I’m about to pass out.
“I’m okay,” I take the book and hand it to his brother. “Sign here.” He signs his signature and I smile: J.Jacobs. I sign mine but it’s more like the kind you can’t make out. Just incase anyone is being nosey.
“Gwaan a the car bro mi soon fawud,” he tells his brother, surprising me. He’s staying? I sit, drinking the bottle of I-cool water that Mrs. Adams has here for me. Such a torture... But I need it right now. He leans over casually, but everything is awkward to me— especially after that strange feeling.
“Yuh asthmatic?” he asks, and I stare at him blankly.
