» Regular People AU || Attoye Prompt Drabbles || Master List «
» Also a high school AU. «
Attuma wanted something. Okoye could tell, immediately, from the way he’d traipsed up to her favorite table in the library, all long limbed and awkward with that goofy smile of his putting his dimples on full display. She turned away from that grin, burying her head in the textbook she’d been reading before his noisy entrance had distracted her.
He’d had a growth spurt over the summer, and, clearly, hadn’t yet gotten used to the extra inches that had been added (and seemed to keep accumulating) to his frame. She wasn’t accustomed to them either, a flush forming on her face and sometimes—okay, most times—feeling butterflies in her stomach whenever he, and his changing body, were in her presence. Like now, with him looming over her workspace.
She recalled how unnerved she’d felt when they’d first reunited toward the end of their summer break. They’d met to exchange stories of their family vacations and compare their school schedules for the upcoming semester. Instead of looking straight into his ebony eyes, their height once of equal proportions, she’d had to tilt her head back to look up into his, no longer quite as boyish looking, face. It was then the jittering in her stomach had started, the muscles cramping as her mouth had opened and closed, wordlessly.
“I know, right? It feels like I grew two feet overnight,” he’d gushed, voice pitched much lower than she’d remembered.
‘Who is this man-shaped person, and what has he done with my friend?!’ She’d posed the question, silently, in her head before pulling herself together.
Punching him in the shoulder, in an attempt to dispel her discomfort, she’d laughed.
“I guess your brothers can’t call you shrimp anymore.”
“Yup, Aapo is so upset that I’m as tall as him now,” Attuma had gone on talking, hands gesturing as he’d enthusiastically spoke about his family’s month-long beach getaway.
Okoye had only half listened, making sounds of interest when appropriate. Really, she’d been observing him, watching to ensure that the boy she’d known so well, having lived next door to one another since infancy, was still there.
She was finding that, though his body was maturing, his habits and personality had remained the same. They were two months into the semester, and, like always, he spent more time, in each class, passing notes and joking around, with his other friends, then he did paying attention to their teachers.
“What do you want, Attuma?” She inquired, annoyed with his leaning over her table. The sleeves of his uniform were rolled up, flashing her the forearms that had begun filling out with his increased time in the weight room. She groaned internally, mentally slapping herself to keep from checking out her best friend.
“Okoye, my bestest friend in the world and the prettiest girl to walk these hallowed halls—”
Groaning, this time aloud, she rolled her eyes and pushed her chair back from the table, cutting off his attempt to butter her up.
“Bestest isn’t a word,” she informed as she turned her body to face his. “Just ask your favor. My free period will be over soon, and I have to finish reading this.”
“Okay, okay.” Straightening up his posture, he clasped his hands in front of his chest. “Please, pretty please, let me copy your homework for AP Biology. I was gonna do it, but the guys wanted to go out after soccer practice and then I was too tired to get it done,” he begged, his words rushing out.
Okoye glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Please, Okoye! Ms. Udaku threatened to talk to Coach M’Baku about not letting me play in the next game, if I missed another assignment. Please!”
This caused her to soften to his plight. Attuma loved soccer, the game a passion shared by everyone in his household. She knew that he even dreamed of one day playing professionally. Though, she wished he would take his schoolwork more seriously, it would pain her to see him miss out on his favorite activity, even for just one match.
He must have taken note of her crumbling resolve because the earnest expression that had blanketed his face, during his begging, broke into a broad smile—Okoye, again, graced by his dimples.
“Please,” he sang, having the nerve to fall to his knees before her. His hands hooked onto her arms, still crossed along her chest, and he shook her gently while smiling even wider.
How that was possible, she wasn’t sure, but the indents on either side of his cheeks had deepened—crater-like and apparently dug by God to hold her backbone and pride since she could never deny him when they made their appearance.
“Get off me, and stop making that face!” She demanded. Her outburst drew the ire of the librarian, who shushed in their direction.
Okoye nodded her head in apology, mouthing the words at the woman before returning her attention to Attuma. He’d stood, also giving the strict school employee a contrite look. He then settled across from her, at the table, retaking his enthused expression: his lips upcurved with an expectant look in his eyes.
“You know I can’t resist when you smile like that,” she muttered. Frowning, she reached into her backpack. Assignment in hand, she continued speaking, voice now clear, “Don’t ask me again. I’m not going to let you copy off me anymore.”
They both knew that wasn’t true, but Okoye bluffed, putting on a semblance of control.
