Taming Mr. Know-It-All (The Taming Series Book 3)

by Nia Arthurs

  According to the information I was gleaning, the main characters in this saga included God (the King), Jesus Christ (the Lawyer) and the Holy Spirit (I was still trying to figure out what or who He was). From what I understood of it, one day they were all chilling up in Heaven and God was like,

  “Hey, we already own everything, so let’s make a new colony for our Kingdom and call it earth”

  And then Jesus and the Holy Spirit were like,

  “Yeah!”

  So God did His thing and formed the world and then he made Adam and Eve. Problem was, the King decided to give Adam and Eve ‘dominion’. That meant even though He had all the power, He no longer had authority on the earth, because He gave it to the two munchkins. Then a disgruntled former employee that The King had kicked out of Heaven Incorporated slithered up to Evie in the garden was all,

  ‘Hey, girl wanna be like The King?’

  And Eve was like,

  “But I’m already like the King, I was made in His image,” (in a really white girl voice, not being racist at all, just saying)

  And then the employee in the snake costume, (I guess) was like,

  “Nah, girl. You only think you’re like him. I can give you something that will make you exactly like Him.”

  So Eve picked up the phone and dialed the number of the infomercial and bought the fruit. She made a pie and then told Adam to eat it because she already spent $9.99 plus shipping and handling to have it flown all the way to the Garden. Sadly, both Adam and Eve ate the fruit of the pie and sinned. Unfortunately, because they broke the Kingdom Constitution, they were no longer righteous or right in the King’s eyes and so they had their passports taken away. Fortunately for them (and us, I think) God sent a Lawyer that restored their position in the Government and made them right with their Master.

  I’m sure I made some tiny tweaks to the story, but basically that’s what I got.

  I set down the book and noticed that it was dark outside. Whoa, I hadn’t even felt all that time pass. My tummy grumbled noisily and I stepped toward the kitchen to decide what to eat for dinner, since lunch time had passed long ago. While the toaster strudels heated in the toaster, I booted up my computer and plugged on to Facebook to catch up with my sister. With everything that had been going on lately, I’d done a terrible job of keeping my family updated. I sent a standard email every so often to let them know I was alive, but I rarely found the time to call them or speak on Facetime. I settled into the sofa and messaged Sandra, requesting that we Skype. A few minutes later, my sister’s face popped up on screen.

  “Oh my gosh, you look so tan!” Were her first words to me.

  “I always look tan.” I rolled my eyes, “How’s everything back home?”

  “We’re okay. Mom met a guy on Lovestruck. Go figure, right?”

  I gasped, “I hope you did a background check.”

  “And a double and triple check. This is mom after all.”

  We shared a laugh.

  “By the way,” Sandra sobered, “Brian was asking for you the other day.”

  “Really?” I said aloud, “I thought we wrapped things up nicely before I left.”

  “Obviously not. He was asking me about where you went to study.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No, I didn’t. But I don’t have to. Anyone who has a Facebook account can see that you’re in Belize. Stellar photos by the way. And who is the handsome guy with the beard and tattoos that you’re always posting pictures with?”

  “I barely post pictures with him.” I protested.

  “Well, you’re always getting tagged with him. The point is what’s going on there? I thought you’d joined us females who have sworn off relationships.”

  I settled back into the sofa and clutched a pillow, “We’re not dating,”

  “Could have fooled me,” Sandra said, pushing her hair behind her back, “But whatever. It’s your life. He’s a little too edgy looking for my tastes.”

  I laughed, “Don’t be so quick to judge him. He’s a really nice friend and I like spending time with him.”

  “Honey, I just want you to be safe and happy.”

  “I am,” I reassured her, “I’m happy.”

  “Okay, now tell me about your classes.”

  I sighed. “Most of them are bearable. There’s this one teacher, though. Her name is Mrs. Peters. She hates me. She gave me a high score once, but I think she regretted doing that. She’s graded me harshly ever since. Now I’m barely making an 82% in her course.”

  Sandra whistled, “That’s tough. What are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m not sure.” I confessed, “She scares the crap out of me.”

  “Well, good luck with that.” Sandra offered, “I’ve got to get to sleep. I have work tomorrow. Love you, little sis.”

  “I love you too, Sandy. Talk to you later.”

  “Bye!” she called before signing off.

  I set the laptop down and went into the kitchen for my now cool Pop-tarts. Talking to my sister always made me feel more connected to home. I loved my Belizean family. The Reyes-es were warm and caring and so welcoming, but they weren’t blood, as wonderful as they were. That night I went to sleep with a smile on my face. L.A. was two hours away, but tonight my home felt closer than ever before.

  “Hey Juney!” I climbed onto the thirty seat bus and sat behind my favorite bus driver. Today, Juney wore a red shirt emblazoned with the words, “KEEP CALM AND BELIZE IT” on the front. Tuesday and Thursday mornings was Juney’s unofficial therapy session with me. During the fifteen minute ride to school, we discussed all manner of things. We could talk for hours in the space of five minutes. Interestingly, Juney always found a way to link our conversation to his first ex-wife. I’d learned to just roll with it.

  This Thursday morning was no exception.

  “Did you know that Debby always had a problem with my beard?”

  Juney rocked the caveman beard. His moustache was thick and full and he enjoyed rubbing it when he spoke. I’d personally prefer if Juney would commandeer this huge vehicle with both hands, but I glibly decided never to point that out.

  “What did she not like about your… beautiful facial hair?” I played along.

  “She said it was too dirty.” Juney stared out the window and steered the bus down a narrow lane, “Why would she think that. Everybody gets food stuck in their beards. It’s a cycle of life.”

  I snickered softly, “Juney, I hate to point it out, but that is gross. Why didn’t you just shave your beard?”

  He met my eyes in the reflection of the huge rearview mirror, “You never ask a man to shave his beard, Susan. You just don’t do it. When he’s ready, he’ll cut it all off if he wants to.”

  I laughed out loud, “Okay, Juney. And you wonder why she left you.” I teased.

  “Hey,” he stopped the bus in front of the bus stop near my school, “I left her.”

  “If you say so, buddy.” I muttered, patting him on the back as I deposited my dollar coin and stepped off the bus.

  Today was my first session with Persia the Blackmailer. I directed my steps toward the library. Usually, I arrived an hour earlier than my 11:00 class because I enjoyed riding Juney’s bus and because it gave me an extra incentive to get a head start on any homework for my Humanitarian Law class.

  As I stepped into the quiet building, my eyes swept the space for Persia. The UWI Library was a huge space with stories. I had not set up an exact point of contact, so I walked through mazes of high bookshelves to see if Persia had already arrived. After a cursory inspection of the upper floor, I decided that she hadn’t shown. I gave up with a shrug of my shoulders and went back downstairs to my favorite nook in the library. My desk was nestled behind Theology section. The window in between the bookshelves overlooked the quad and allowed streams of bright light through. I settled into the cubicle and reached into my bag for my textbook and a notepad.

  I was immersed in the muck of the International Nuclear
Assistance Convention of 1986 and jotting down the notes as I went, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I gripped my pencil and whirled around to let loose some specific four letter words on the person that dared to interrupt my study. It was Persia. I loosened my hold on the potential stabbing tool and growled,

  “You’re late.”

  “I had to search this place to find you.” Persia grumbled, slinging her back pack beside me and pulling up a chair.

  “In the future, this is where we study and it would bring me great pleasure if you would be on time.” I said sarcastically.

  She narrowed her eyes at me and flipped her long, black hair behind her, “Geez, who would be crazy enough to propose to you twice.”

  I boiled silently and counted backwards from ten until I felt like a functioning human being again.

  “Let’s just get started, ‘kay?”

  “Fine,” she drew her text book from her bag and slammed it onto the table. I winced at the noise. “So what are we doing?” she asked.

  “We’re reading.”

  “Reading?”

  “Yes, it’s that thing you do when you stare at a word and then you stare at another one.”

  “I don’t like your attitude,” Persia folded her arms across her chest.

  Calm down, Susan. Remember, she could still go to the dean with that video.

  I breathed through my nose, “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s better,” she smirked, “Now what are we reading?”

  I showed her the book on the Convention. Puzzled she wondered, “Why are you reading that? The essay is based on our class lectures and the material Peters gave us.”

  “That’s true,” I agreed, “But when you do extra reading, you can approach the questions from different points of view. Peters appreciates a well-rounded essay.”

  At least I think she does, my grades weren’t exactly stellar.

  “Cool.” Persia said, surprisingly accepting my answer with ease, “do we read the same book or…”

  “You can,” I agreed, “Or you could choose your own. The Caribbean doesn’t really have much in the way of Nuclear Conventions so I branched out, but you could find and reference a Caribbean convention to make your essay more authentic.”

  She shrugged, “Sounds good to me.”

  Persia stood with a clank of her bracelets and went off for a few minutes to browse the library for the necessary text. When she returned, she simply sat down across from me and read. Every so often, I peeked at the concentrated set of her face. Whatever I thought about Persia’s personality as a human being, I could clearly see that she took her education and academics seriously. The hour passed quickly and without much interaction between the two of us. My phone vibrated with a notification that I’d set to let me know when it was time to head to class.

  “I’ve got to go,” I said to my quiet associate.

  She shooed me away with her hand, “Same time, same place on Thursday right?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered back and headed toward the exits.

  I felt a twinge of shame as I walked into the Belizean sunlight. I’d judged Persia based on her appearance. She wore a nose ring and had a ton of bracelets on her hand. She was pretty and obnoxious and outspoken. I’d simply written her off as an airhead with a rich daddy. The way that she, maybe not humbly, but so fully followed my directive stunned me. Maybe there was more to Persia than met the eye. Since coming to Belize, I was realizing a lot about myself. I had a tendency of judging people on sight and based on my own stereotypical ideals. What right did I have to label people based on my narrow perceptions? And why did I subscribe to prejudice so easily? With these heavy questions on my mind, I walked slowly to my next class.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The next night, I sank into my couch and put a wet cloth on my face. Even though it was Wednesday, it had been a Monday kind of day. It started off with a whammy of a headache. As soon as I’d opened my eyes, a tell-tale ache in my throat alerted me to an imminent flu attack. Then during my shower, the bar soap flew out of my hands and landed outside the shower stall near the toilet. I drew the shower curtain to the side and reached for the soap. Unfortunately, I over calculated and the entire shower rod, hooks, and everything came raining down on my naked, wet back. It felt like a whipping. Apparently, the shower rod in my apartment had not been fused into the stall in the event that I wanted to change my curtain. Lucky me.

  After painfully pulling on a bra and a dress because there was no way I was putting a shirt over the bruise on my back, I decided to make a sandwich. Whilst spreading the mayonnaise on my bread, I spotted a little brown nose in the corner of the kitchen in between the stove. I stepped closer and saw an ugly little rat stream through the kitchen and slip into a little crack near my bedroom. I screamed like a banshee and decided to leave my apartment without brushing my teeth. There was no way I was venturing into my bedroom in case that rodent decided to pay me a visit. To make things even worse, Ashanti was nowhere to be seen when I got to the bus stop. No one else seemed to be interested in hearing about my rat problem so I kept my mouth shut and waited for the bus.

  This morning, I was in the mood to shove, but no matter how hard I tried, the little school children bombarded me with their little elbows and their little feet. One precious little plum stepped on my big toe with such force, I heard a crack. My bellow was lost in the scramble of people fitting themselves on the bus. Once again, I cleaned the face of the automatic doors with my nose. I was pretty sure the sleazy looking man behind me was snatching feels at my backside. Every time I looked down the rotten man removed his hand so I couldn’t be sure that it was him. When I was finally free of that cage, I stomped off of the bus but realized that I hadn’t paid Juney. I turned back to wade my way through the passengers. Unfortunately for me, my dress got caught in the closing doors. The sleazy man stared at me with black eyes and happily watched as the bus started rolling with the flimsy fabric of my skirt in its teeth. The good news was the perv did not get the show that he was hoping for because my dress stayed firmly on. The bad news was, the vehicle took a hunk out of it. The sad little white fabric flapped forlornly in the wind as Juney drove into traffic. I snatched the skirt of my dress in my hands and groaned. A healthy tear revealed the black of my tights.

  Unfortunately, that little tête-à-tête with the bus cost me a good five minutes and it took me at least six to briskly walk to the Roskowski building. With every step I prayed that I’d make it before Peters. Breathlessly, I made it to class only to find the door locked and Peters’ piercing me with her cold, brown stare of condescension. I had two more classes for the day, but I could not brush off the look that Peters gave me when I spotted her through the glass pane in the door. I knew I’d have to ask Persia for the notes that I’d missed and that burned me even more. It was an all-around, terrible morning.

  I caught a break that afternoon when I caught a bus to Mia’s Designs, but as the afternoon wore on it quickly became evident that I’d caught something else as well. After nearly two hours of hacking, rushing to the bathroom to spit, and coughing, Mia sent me home with strict instructions to rest, take a flu pack, and sleep. She also leant me one of her own personally designed dresses to wear so I would not be ogled as I walked home. When I finally reached my apartment, I realized that I’d left my house keys at the store. Since I’d left Mia to man Mia’s Designs alone I had two choices. I could either find the superintendent of the building, hoping that he had a master key or I could walk back to the boutique, collect my school bag and then return home. I chose the longer route, trekking under the hot Belizean sun for my pouch and then walking all the way back home. By this time, the sniffling had become a chronic runny nose. I could now officially deem myself sick.

  As soon as I unlocked my apartment door, I headed straight for the cupboard to find the flu pack that I’d brought with me from L.A. for instances just like these. I noted a pack of bread, two cans of refried beans, and a can of peas. Apart from the fact that I
needed to go grocery shopping, there were no flu pills in sight. I rushed to my bedroom door and for a moment, wondered why it was locked. At last I recalled my rodent friend and realized that I was not going into that room as long as I knew that he was there. Only one of us could survive in this building, thank you very much. I chose instead to curl up on my couch with a wad of toilet paper from the bathroom and a plastic bag to catch all my waste papers. I left the lights off and turned on the T.V. and watched the nightly news wishing God would just kill me and get it over with.

  A few hours later, I heard a knock at my door. I had no idea who it could be and equally had no energy to get up and walk the few feet it would take to provide entrance to whomever was outside. I lowered the television and cried,

  “No one’s home. Go away.”

  The knock came again. Someone was insistent.

  “Susan,” Archie’s voice was crystal clear even though a wooden door stood between us, “It’s me. Open up.”

  I groaned and shuffled the distance to the door, plunging it open with a sigh and then promptly returning to my pillow fort on the sofa.

  “Oh my gosh, you look horrible.” Archie blurted when he saw my face.

  “Oh (sniff) thanks a lot.”

  He indicated the guitar strapped on his back. How many of those did he own?

  “I thought I’d stop by for another session, but you don’t look like you’re up for that.”

  “You think?” I said, but with my stuffy nose it sounded like, “thu think”

  He stepped deeper into the living room, “Have you taken anything for it?”