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"Oh my God! Awe, we missed the AMVCA awards. I just saw it on LIB's now." Sara came into the living room, ipad in hand, and flung herself on the couch.

"Ouch! How did we forget?" I looked up from my phone.

She leaned towards me. "Check this out. My love, O.C. Ukeje, won the best actor." She giggled.

I rolled my eyes and collected the ipad from her. "Love ko, husband ni. The guy doesn't even know you exist."

"Whatever! Killjoy." She pouted.

I scrolled down the page. "But this is great o. Ivie Okujaye got the trailblazer award. I love her acting. I think she deserves it."

"And Jacqui Bannerman got the award for best make-up. I'm happy for her." Sara leaned in to see the pictures again. "Awe, that's my dream o. To get into movie and TV make up, do great exploits like this lady and Jennifer Alegieuno. You know there is a hot talk about the wonderful job she did on Rita Dominic in 'The Meeting'? I bet she will have tons of awards this year." Her eyes had the faraway, dreamy look. I knew she was imagining herself mounting the podium to collect her plaque.

I smiled.

She sighed. "Awe, I can be like these people. These small small jobs and pouty brides don dey tire me."

"Come on, Sara," I replied. "Don't worry now, you will get there. You just keep at it."

"Of course, baby. All I need now is a gig from my second love, Kunle Afolayan and bam! I'm there." she snapped her fingers.

I rolled my eyes and tapped her. "All you need now is to attend a real beauty school, build a portfolio, then we can talk about knocking on doors like Kunle Afolayan."

"Mm-hmmm," she replied.

There was a turn in the lock and our heads turned towards the door. We definitely knew who it was—only Bola had the third key. Just about time. Bola had not only spent the weekend out but the whole week and I was beginning to wonder if she had decided to start living with her boyfriend. One couldn't put it past Bola. She was capable of anything.

The door burst open but it was only shopping bags we saw. And then Bola staggering in with the rest of the bags.

Sara jumped up and ran towards her. "Girl, where are you coming from with all these loads?"

"Abeg, help me first now," she replied.

Sara took some of the bags from her and came to drop them on the centre table. Bola also walked to the centre of the room and dropped the remaining bags on the floor. Some of the bags were from Vera's, one of the most expensive shops in Ibadan. I raised my eyebrows.

"Ha," she murmured as she flopped on the couch. "It's been a long day, girls."

"Babe, what have you got here?" Sara started to delve into one of the uncustomized bags. "Oh my God!" She screamed as she pulled out a pair of baby pink Pigalle Spikes peep pumps. Pure unadulterated Loubs.

And my own jaws dropped.

How in heavens was she…my eyes popped as I realised that it was the same shoes we had seen on adiba.com when we were browsing some weeks ago.

That was what we usually did on lazy Saturdays, when everyone was around, browse online stores to check out the latest fashion pieces in stock and dream of our next prized possessions. Even though we knew we would have to save and save to get any thing that caught our fancy.

We had logged on to adiba.com and went to the shoe section. This pair of pink Loubs stood out on Sara's ipad screen in all its beauty. We knew its price would match its beauty.

Straight sixty thousand naira!

We fawned and fawned over the shoes, discussed what bag and what accessories would go with it and on what dress. Then we took our eyes off and proceeded to the next item. There was no way we could spend 60k on shoes—a rookie banker, an upcoming make up artist, and an unemployed gal.

But here was our unemployed gal, Bola, with no business, no savings, a proud owner of a pair of pumps worth a whooping sixty thousand naira.

You see why my jaw dropped.

"I know I know," Bola grinned. "The Lord is good, girl."

"Huh huh," Sara said, pulling out a matching Louis Vuitton tote bag from another shopping bag. "You can say that again!"

My eyes narrowed and I wondered how the Lord had been good to Bola this time.

"Babe, gist me, " Sara said, as she delved into one of Vera's bags. "How has the Lord been good?"

Bola smiled. "I met this charming guy, we fell in love and he decided to show me how much he loves me." She waved at the goods before us and shrugged. "Now, this is true love."

"Hmmm. I thought you were at Kola's place?" I finally uttered.

Bola scoffed and waved it off. "I changed my mind about going to his place. I went to Obi's place instead."

"Obi is this new guy?" Sara asked.

"Yes." Bola smiled again, leaning her back against the couch.

Sara shook her head and smiled back. I shot her a cold look and the smile evaporated.

"I bought you something, Sara." Bola said. She reached into a bag and brought out a bottle of Hermes perfume. Terre d'Hermes, the label read.

"Wow!" Sara jumped up. "Bola, thank you so much."

"And I didn't bother to buy anything for you," Bola crossed one leg over the other and pointed at me. "I am not in the mood for sermons."

I shrugged and smiled. Sara was busy opening her gift and taking a sniff.

"So, I called Flora to ask for an update about your interview, and she said you didn't turn up. Again." I said sweetly.

Bola shrugged. "I changed my mind."

I sat up. "What do you mean by you changed your mind?"

"Yea, I don't want to do broadcasting again." Bola replied. "Someday, maybe, but not now."

I shook my head. "I thought you wanted to become the next Toolz."

"Nope. I'm better than Toolz."

"That was not what you said some weeks ago."

"What I said yesterday doesn't matter anymore but what today has to offer." She said. "I'm gonna be a model now. Obi said I should consider it. I have the looks and figure."

I rolled my eyes. What is this twenty-five year-old thinking, deciding to pursue a modelling career now, because a guy she met yesterday said so? "Obi is your counsellor now?"

"None of your business. I don't remember ever choosing you as my counsellor either or my mother for that matter." She started to rise up. "And I'm done with this conversation. I've had a long day."

"That wasn't what you said when I was pleading with my friend to help me work out a space for you. Do you know how this looks? What it portrays about me?"

"Whatever, girl! Stop being self-righteous." She waved me off and walked towards her bedroom, leaving the shopping bags and their contents, obviously for Sara to pack.

"Awe, go easy on this girl. Why don't you just keep praying for her."

I turned to Sara and scowled. "What else would you say? Iya oko Bournvita!"

She giggled and stood up, carrying some of the bags. "Whatever!"

I shook my head and leaned back on the couch. I dropped Sara's ipad beside me in frustration. I couldn't understand how a lady could be like that, changing guys on a whim. Having her as my flatmate was devouring all of my patience. Coupled with the fact that she was a bad influence on my not-yet-steady-in-the-Lord girlfriend, Sara, and that influence was frustrating the work I was doing on Sara.

Yet the Holy Spirit kept telling me that Bola was my work, too. And that I would need a lot of patience, the more reason why I have made myself a self-appointed 'counsellor'. But where Sara is malleable, easily bent to any side (which is why I'm scared), Bola is as stiff as a rock, unbendable, and I didn't know how far I could go before I gave up on her.

Patience, Awe.

"Lord, I keep hearing patience but I need help. I don't like these insults I get from Bola all the time. She insults my personality and my dedication to you. She makes me feel I'm a pretender. Please, help me not to react to her in a way that will push her further away. Help me to be the real Christian I'm meant to be." I prayed.

Laughter erupted from Bola's room. Sara's voice was more prominent. She must be enjoying the Obi gist.

I sighed.

…to be continued.

This story or any of its series may not be copied, reproduced or transmitted without acknowledgement of the original author—Oresanya Adeyinka J. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.  This story is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, localities, organisations  or  persons,  living  or  dead,  is  entirely coincidental  and  beyond  the  intent  of the  author.