Page 11 of Two’s Better

“No be only je ne sais quoi,” I said, the pidgin making him laugh.

Uzezi shook his head, then his expression turned serious. Uh oh, here we go. “Look, Ofure, I think when you get nervous, your presentations become very ... matter of fact. ‘Here’s a building. Here are my designs. Here’s what it’s for. The end. Thank you.’”

“What’s wrong with that?” I pouted.

He gave me a flat look.

I groaned. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I suck, thanks. Can we eat our burritos? Presentation talk is hereby banned until tomorrow.”

Uzezi chuckled. “Think of it like this: three or four more presentations and it’ll be Easter break, then it’ll be our final portfolios, and then we’re fucking done.”

Are we really, though? I thought with a despair I quickly strangled. After our undergrad, there was going to be our Masters, then applying to become members of RIBA, A.K.A. the Royal Institute of British Architects—with two years’ worth of internships between each degree—then possibly going back to work in our fathers’ joint firm in Nigeria. Almost every time my father called to ask about how I was doing and how school was going, he made sure to outline the entire “plan” for me, like he was afraid I’d forget. I never forgot; it was practically branded behind my eyelids at this point, glaring at me each time I blinked.

“Don’t forget our tech and humanities submissions,” I said lightly, focusing intensely on my burrito so Uzezi wouldn’t notice me freaking out.

He waved me off. “Oh, that stuff’s easy.” He was right, but I didn’t have to like it. “What I’m trying to say is, you still want that first class, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” It was the least I could do, if I really was considering ... I didn’t know. Wasn’t it a little too late to be thinking about this? Especially when I didn’t even know what I actually wanted to do if I did decide this path wasn’t for me.

Uzezi grinned, though his eyes were boring into me, seeing right through the carefree façade I’d hastily erected. I took a large bite of my wrap, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Exactly,” he said. I still felt relieved, even though I’d known, no matter what he saw in my expression, he wouldn’t push. Not until I was ready. “And while our portfolios cost most of our grade, we’re still judged a little on how well we can present our work. These last few presentations are going to be crucial.” As he stopped talking, he got that look on his face he did when he had a problem he desperately felt he needed to fix.

I felt a swell of fondness. “Uzi, let’s not worry about this right now, abeg. For God’s sake, you’re ruining the vibe of my burrito.”

He let out a little laugh. “Yeah, all right. We’ll figure it out anyway, after all, two heads …?”

“Are better than one,” I completed with a grin, some of my anxieties dissipating at our mantra.

“Mm. God, I miss Danjam shawarma,” he said after a few bites. “Making it over here—it just doesn’t taste the same.”

“Of course it doesn’t. Not with Tesco’s sorry excuse for pepper.”

“Not really what I meant, but okay.” He laughed. “We should go out tonight.”

It was my turn to laugh. “We can’t keep going out every time I survive a presentation! Barely.” I added that last word under my breath.

“Yes, the fuck we can.”

“How can you tell me my presentations suck and then celebrate me after, eh? You’re going to give me some kind of complex.”

“Now, who said anything about celebrating?” Uzezi had finished his burrito. He balled the thin paper it’d been wrapped in and threw it at me. I ducked, laughing. “It’s not my fault Afrobeats night at Sound Control just so happens to coincide with the day of our presentations.” He winked.

“Wow, that makes me feel so special.”

He laughed again. “I’ll send a message to the group chat. Get ready.”

I finished my wrap and checked the time on my phone. It was nearing six in the evening. My phone buzzed in my hand as Uzezi did as promised, the speed and frequency of the responses telling me our friends were all in. Excitement fizzed in my blood.

Yeah. Uzezi was right. A night out was definitely what I needed.

I glanced up at him, at his mouth, my stomach trying to tie itself into a knot.

Yeah, I needed a night out, and perhaps some liquid courage.

I should’ve had more to drink, I thought when we got back to our street, and the guys—Uzezi, Prince, and Dayo—along with Tamara and Ezra, who lived closer to the city centre—followed me, Bernice, and Fiona to ours.

I felt mildly ill as we gathered in the sitting room, gisting about nonsense, while I was hyperaware of the fact that I was going to ask Uzezi to kiss me before he left tonight.