Red Like Love

By Tamara Ali

Taunted teenager, Adara Wells, spends her days penning poetry, envying ex-best friend Marina, and drooling over her addictive crush, Xan Saile. Adara is the kind of girl who falls in love after the first kiss, while Xan is the type to not even remember the girl's name afterwards. Of course, in Adara's mind, that makes her and Xan the perfect match!
Adara quickly realizes that the boy she's chasing after isn't that hard to get; he's just extremely difficult to keep. One person who always manages to hold Xan's attention though, is Marina; but for some reason, she never seems to want it, which irks Adara.
As Xan's name continues to be a stain across her fragile heart, Adara starts to question her self worth. When Marina tries to rekindle her and Adara's forgotten friendship, it gives Adara something other than her situationship with Xan to focus on. But, as soon as the two girls are alone, her worth isn't the only thing Adara finds herself questioning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tamara Ali
• Release date: Nov 19, 2022

Tamara Ali

Tamara Ali is a Trinidadian writer and professional daydreamer. When her mind doesn't have her lost in a fantasy world, Tamara spends her time listening to music and ruining her favourite songs with her subpar guitar skills. Born to two writers, Tamara was putting her purple pen to paper from an early age, writing everything from song lyrics to poetry. Eventually, she decided to try her hand at novel-writing; several manuscripts later, she actually completed one! Tamara plans to dedicate the rest of her days writing novels that will be both inspirational and relatable to Caribbean teens.

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RED LIKE LOVE

Tamara Ali

Copyright © Tamara Ali 2022

Paperback ISBN: 978-976-8308-79-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or used in any form or by any means without written permission from the copyright owner. The use of quotations in a book review is the only exception.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, or actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Edited by Ayana Chester of Ayana Chester Editing Services (ACES).

Cover design by Renee Yearwood of Yearwood Graphic Design.

I dedicate this story to the people who feel everything, and to the ones who pretend to feel nothing.

To the people who love too much, but never feel loved enough.

Acknowledgements

This book would not exist without the support and encouragement I received from all of the incredible people in my life. 

I want to start off by thanking my family, especially my father and grandmother, for always pushing me to pursue my writing dreams. Thank you to both of my parents for passing down their love of writing to me. I am forever thankful for my aunt Carla, who supported me through it all and believed from the very beginning that I had what it took to become a published writer.

Thank you to my close friends – Renee, Cherise, Empress and Benjamin – who, throughout the entire writing process, gave me an endless pool of support, listened to me vent about plot points, and most importantly, kept me sane during writer's blocks. Thank you to my peers, Mykael, Hema and Jenelle, who always showed their support and kept me motivated.

Thank you to my editor, Ayana Chester, of Ayana Chester Editing Services (ACES), for turning my manuscript into a masterpiece. Thank you to my cover designer, Renee Yearwood (Yearwood Graphic Design), for giving my novel a beautiful face.

To the person who originally inspired this story; Israel, thank you for painting me red. 

Last but not definitely not least, thank you to the readers. I did this all for you.

one

Listen, I don’t want to make it sound like one of those clichéd, ‘From the second I saw her, I knew that every day in my life was preparing me for this’ moments; but if you were there, with your eyes captivated by the radiant glow coming off of her caramel skin, I guarantee you, your heart would immediately start to question everything you were ever taught to love.

Adara, you okay? I heard my father’s voice ask from behind me, snapping me out of my fantasizing.

I wiped the sides of my mouth with the back of my hand, just in case I had any drool there. I spun around to face my father, mentally crossing my fingers that that girl didn’t see me staring at her. I didn’t know her name yet, or if we were even going to be in the same homeroom class. But one thing I did know, was that she was the most majestic girl I had ever seen.

Daddy shook my shoulders excitingly, Focus, Adara, we have to find room 151. Your new classroom! He was squealing like a little girl on Christmas morning.

Truthfully, I was eager too, but I couldn’t show it. I had to act as though I was mature and sophisticated. After all, I had just turned thirteen and was about to enter secondary school, so there was no way I could walk around behaving like some primary school baby anymore!

That morning, I did my hair in twists, all by myself. I originally wanted to straighten it, but Daddy said, It’s not healthy for girls of African descent to associate special events with having straight hair, whatever that meant.

My father always complained that I was too ‘Americanized’, yet he would never admit that his decision to put me in a private primary school was to blame. I mean, everybody knows that private schools here in Trinidad were only for wealthy families and their ‘wannabe white’ children. So, what exactly did my father expect of me?

Still, I didn’t mind his ban on flat irons. I taught myself how to style my tightly curled hair when I was nine; that was when I realized that Mommy wasn’t coming back, so I might as well stop bothering my father with weekly trips to the hair salon. That way, I could use his credit card for more important things, like treating myself and our housekeeper, Miss Anne, to weekly tubs of cookie dough ice cream.

Speaking of Daddy’s credit card, the week before school started, I bought myself a brand-new pink book bag, in a desperate attempt to add some personality to the dreadful uniform I had to wear: a white shirt with the school’s logo on the right breast pocket, and a pleated black shirt. The boys wore pants, though, because gender policing exists.

All of the new students were guided into the school’s assembly hall, where we awaited further instructions. A plump lady with a grumpy face sat behind a desk, handing out a long sheet of paper to each new student that walked up to her. When it was my turn in line, the lady asked me my name, then scanned through the mountain of papers before handing me one. My father took the paper for me. Written across the top of the paper was:

Form 1

Adara Wells – Room 151

My father and I rushed out of the assembly hall, as he wanted me to get a good seat at the front of the class. I waved goodbye to the girl who was keeping my brain happy during that boring time in the hall. Of course, she didn’t wave back, as she still had no idea that I even existed, much less that I was wishing for us to end up in the same class so that I could see more of her.

When we found the classroom, a short woman, whom I assumed was the teacher, judging by her ugly pantsuit, stood by the door.

I’m sorry sir, you have to say your goodbyes out here. Parents aren’t allowed in the classrooms. She smiled, one that was clearly fake.

My father shrugged and tapped me lightly on the head, On your own from here. Have a good first day.

I skipped into the classroom before he could even try to hug me. As I walked into the depressingly-blue-painted room, I braked at the first desk I saw. It was right by the door, in the front corner of the classroom. All the other seats in the class were grouped two-by-two, but this seat was all by itself.

I took my bag off of my shoulder and slung it onto the desk. Out of nowhere, a boy swooped in and planted himself in the chair. He tossed his fluorescent orange book bag on top of mine.

Aye! I was gonna sit there. I crossed my arms over my chest.

Without responding, the boy looked up at me with his right eyebrow raised. He smirked and batted his eyes as if he was having trouble seeing. I’d never seen such luscious eyelashes on a boy before. And his eyes, they were so bright, as though they were ocean blue instead of the chocolate puddles he actually had. I felt a strong urge to drown myself in his unapologetic stare. His face reminded me of those angels I would see in church. You know, the ones that would look less and less virtuous the more you stared at them.

I shifted my eyes from his face to the 360 waves his hair made, then back to his eyes. His mouth stayed closed, as he just stared at me as though I spoke in another language. After noticing that people were watching, I accepted defeat, and did a walk of shame to the back of the classroom. There were no more seats left in the front or middle, unfortunately.

***

Seeing you, was like seeing God himself.

But if I said it out loud, only the devil would believe me.

Adara

***

Our teacher, who introduced herself as Mrs. Smith, walked around the classroom listing the main school rules, along with some class rules. I didn’t hear a thing that she said, because I was so distracted by him.

My seat in the back was on the opposite end of the classroom, so I was only able to see portions of him. But that was enough to observe him without making it obvious that I was watching him. He kept bumping his knee against his chair leg and biting his nails, so I got the sense that he was nervous about something. I thought to myself that a boy who looked like that had nothing to be nervous about. I was sure that all the girls would be swooning over him soon enough.

While my teacher was speaking, more students continued to stroll into the class. For some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him to take a look at the latecomers. Watching him chew on his nails while sitting in the seat he stole from me, was much more important than my tardy classmates. From the corner of my eye, though, I saw Mrs. Smith spin around on her heels to greet a student. She pointed towards a seat, but I didn’t care enough to observe which one.

Hi babe, this seat taken? The voice was so silky smooth that I knew it was a girl speaking to me before I could even take my eyes off of him and onto her.

Her familiar beauty paralyzed me for a split second. Her complexion was a few shades lighter than mine, but she had a dark aura, like she had another person in the shadows of her soul. She swiped her defined, curly dark hair behind her ears while she waited for my response, with an eager look in her honey brown eyes. And that was when I remembered where I saw that face before. She was the girl from the assembly hall! The one who made my heart jump! But up close, she made it want to explode out of my chest.

Hi, I’m Marina, she said, showing off her chalk-white teeth.

I’m…Adara? I forced a short laugh to distract from the fact that I had almost forgotten my name. I felt embarrassed, but she didn’t seem to mind my awkwardness.

Marina plopped down in her seat. Although the chairs were far enough apart, her ankle kept rubbing against mine. I wondered if she was doing it on purpose.

Okay, who would like to go first with the introductions? Mrs. Smith asked.

No one moved.

She turned over to my seat thief, since he was the closest to her, Okay, young man, since you’re in front. Please stand and say your name, and one fun fact about you.

He stood up confidently, facing the class without a single trace of fear on his face. He cleared his throat and I almost fell out of my seat waiting to hear his voice.

My name is Xan. Xan Saile. I’m fourteen. And, um, one random fact ‘bout me is that I love football. And one day, when I become the biggest footballer in the world, he motioned to everyone in the classroom, You get to say that you did know me back when I was a nobody. He sat back down in his seat as the class clapped.

His voice melted out words and his name sounded like it was the password to open the gates of heaven.

At first glance, Xan was pretty basic: slim figure, average height for his age, cinnamon brown skin. But the more I stared, the more I saw. The way he smiled after every word he said. The way his voice was deep enough to make him sound like an eighteen-year-old, instead of a fourteen-year-old. The way every inch of him made the blood run through my veins just a little bit faster, and my heart beat just a little bit harder.

I turned to Marina, whispering, He so dreamy.

She shot me a half- smile but didn’t answer back.

Soon enough, the entire class had introduced themselves, with only Marina and I left to go. I shot up out of my seat before Marina had the chance to, because I did not want to go last.

Hi! My name is Adara Wells. And one fact about me is…I write poetry sometimes.

Oh, that sounds nice, Adara. Maybe you could recite one for us sometime, my teacher added.

Um, y-yeah, maybe. I sat back down, knowing damn well that I had zero intentions of ever saying my poems out loud.

Marina stood up, swiping her hands over her skirt, I’m Marina Monroe, and I doh really have a fun fact about myself. The only slightly interestin’ thing I do is play video games.

What kind of video games? Mrs. Smith asked, trying to get Marina to say more about herself.

Um, violent ones. She shrugged.

Our teacher stood with a blank stare. I couldn’t tell if she was regretting her question, or concerned about Marina’s answer.

***

When the lunch bell went off, everyone was too shy to leave the class. I couldn’t blame them, as I was also nervous about getting up and risking having all eyes on me.

You wanna go to the cafeteria? Marina leaned over and asked me.

I was relieved that she was brave enough to venture out of the classroom. At least I had a little company during this awkward first week. Also, I was starving, so I could not wait to see that cafeteria.

There were so many students roaming the halls. They were like giants looking down on us fresh prey. I saw a bit of fright in Marina’s eyes, so I held out my hand to her.

Just hold my hand, I smiled, and Marina smiled back as she locked her fingers between mine.

Marina and I clung to each other, trying to not bump into any of the bigger students. The school was clearly suffering from overpopulation.

After spending half of our lunch time waiting in the cafeteria line, Marina only bought potato chips, and I decided to try out one of their chicken sandwiches. Unfortunately, there weren’t any available seats around, and neither of us wanted to have lunch in that dusty classroom.

We searched for a place outside to sit, on the football field. On one side of the field, there was a bench next to a mango tree, so we decided to sit there. Little did we know, it was unofficially reserved for a group of girls from Form Five; and since Marina and I were in Form One, no doubt we were about to be treated like fresh meat. The group of three girls stood in front of us, crossing their arms over their humungous breasts.

You gonna move or just stay sittin’ there lookin’ like stick figures? the pale-skinned girl in the middle asked.

I raised my right eyebrow, still not getting up from the bench. The girl in the middle put her hands on her hips, while the other two raised their eyebrows and sucked their teeth.

W-We gonna go. Marina stuttered, grabbing my arm and pulling me off the bench.

What? was all I could mutter before I was yanked away.

They coulda beat the shit outta us! Marina exclaimed as we walked to the stands on the other side of the football field.

They wasn’t gonna do anything. Just tryna scare us, I comforted her.

Well, it work!

I was a bit taken aback by how afraid Marina sounded. It wasn’t like they actually threatened us or anything.

Didn’t you say you play violent video games? I asked.

Yeah. And?

So why you seem so…easily scared?

Marina kept her eyes on the grass, Video games different from real life. I could control what does happen when I play, for the most part. Can’t control real life.

If we were in a video game, I would pull out my machine gun and blow their heads off. I laughed, but stopped after hearing how intense my statement sounded.

To my surprise, Marina laughed too. And she kept on laughing even after I stopped. It wasn’t even that funny, but I guess I appreciated her support of my budding comedic career.

Getting closer to the stands, we started to smell something strong in the air. It smelt unfamiliar to me, but Marina shook her head like she knew what it was. After taking a few glances at each other, Marina and I turned our focus to the stands, where we saw a group of boys huddled up, while