Knowing: Chideziri POV

Her name is Chimamanda Yara Ezeocha.

Yes, i got the full name.

No, i am not a stalker.

The first time she talks to me is in an Economics class, after Mr Uzoukwu had succeeded in ruining the class' mood for the umpteenth time with his ingenuity—Dictation.

She said "Please, can you lend me your note, i didn't get the last paragraph." 

My ears were too busy doing cartwheels while the men in my stomach opened bottles of champagne and made toasts to my heart.

It's funny how your wits leave you when you need them the most. How it can feel like your insides are squishy and your heart is playing a guitar.

"Um yeah" i said, stalling so my brain can reboot. It doesn't.

It doesn't, even when she asks if she can take the note home. It doesn't, even when Deziri cheerly starts singing Mj's Billie Jean in my ears.

All i can think of is the sound of her voice, a husky song that should belong to someone else.

It's nothing like the nose-air accent i expected from a half-caste. It is real and solid.

It's a Nigerian voice.

I realize i haven't heard her speak out loud before and i am imagining her voice when she is happy, i imagine the sound of her laughter till the bell for break-time goes off.