A Reply

Anne glanced at her phone, ambivalent.

A text hid the rest of her screen. A good text, to some. A bad one to others. A friend, maybe, or more, or less.

Want to meet for a drink? the text read.

Anne did and didn’t. He was nice, or had been to her at least. She new to the school, though, only just starting a month or so before. New to the country, having only arrived two weeks before school.

Anne didn’t have any problem with this. He was cute, he was interesting, and he was, as she kept thinking, nice. But her mother had warned her about the white boys, how they would do what they could to fool her, take they wanted and leave her sad and damaged, unmarriageable. That was Anne’s mother.

She stared at the text, and wondered what she should do. The longer she waited, she knew, the more awkward would be her response. Did she want this? She had chosen this place to try somewhere new, to be away from the old life. It was important to her. But important enough? Did this fit?

The more she thought about it, the more she thought about how it was only a drink. That could mean many things. Maybe it was just a friendly chat. Maybe he needed help with his paper. It would be impossible to know, until she found out.

Anne tapped the screen, bringing the phone back to wakefulness. She quickly typed in a Sure. Where and when?, then breathed out to relax herself.

She sat, waiting for the reply, excited and scared.

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