Chapter Three

The school compound smelled of wet sand and newly cut grass. A few students dashed past me, their laughter breaking through the usual Monday morning sluggishness. The bell for morning assembly had just rung, and the prefects were already at work, herding students into neat lines.

I adjusted the badge on my shirt—Assistant Sports Prefect—and stood at my usual spot near the SS2 block. My job wasn't as stressful as the senior prefects', but it came with enough responsibilities to keep me moving.

"Senior Aham, good morning, sir!" A small JS1 boy in an oversized uniform grinned at me as he rushed past.

"Morning," I replied absentmindedly, scanning the crowd for Emeka. He was probably still buying buns from the snack stand.

The principal's voice boomed through the microphone, calling for order. As students muttered their way into silence, I let my mind drift—no English class today. No Miss Chioma. Just Biology, Mathematics, and Economics.

The thought should have meant nothing, but it did.

"SS2B, move back!" I barked at a group of students trying to squeeze into the wrong line. They grumbled but obeyed.

A slap landed on my back. "Oga, why you dey do like principal?"

Emeka.

I turned to see him grinning, a half-eaten puff-puff in his hand. "You no even greet person first."

I smirked. "I've been here working while you were eating."

"And I'm still eating," he said proudly, stuffing the rest into his mouth.

Assembly dragged on, as it always did on Mondays. The national anthem, the school pledge, the never-ending announcements about neatness and discipline. By the time we were dismissed, the sun had climbed higher, making the cemented floors warm beneath our feet.

Biology was first. Mr. Olumide was already scribbling Osmoregulation on the whiteboard when I walked in. I slid into my seat just as Emeka collapsed beside me.

"Aham, you dey alright?" He studied me for a moment. "You've been acting somehow since morning."

"I'm fine," I said, flipping open my notebook.

"Sure?"

I gave him a look, and he shrugged. "Okay o. Just remember inter-house sports training starts today after classes. No excuse."

I had almost forgotten. As Assistant Sports Prefect, I had to help coordinate training schedules for the houses.

I sighed. "Alright. I'll be there."

"Good. Because this year, Green House must win."

I chuckled, shaking my head as Mr. Olumide launched into his lecture.

By the time school ended, my brain was tired from back-to-back calculations in Mathematics, but at least my uniform was still crisp and spotless.

But the day wasn't over. Inter-house sports practice was just beginning.

I changed into my sportswear and jogged to the field, where students were already stretching. The captains from each house—Blue, Green, Yellow, and Red—were shouting instructions. The sun was high, the heat pressing against our skin, but nobody complained. Sports days were some of the best in school—an excuse to run, sweat, and be something other than just students.

"Prefect Aham!" someone called.

I turned to see Zima, my childhood friend, balancing a volleyball under one arm. "You're late."

I smirked. "And you're bossy."

She rolled her eyes. "We need to pick the relay team before Coach arrives."

I nodded and followed her to the track, momentarily forgetting about Miss Chioma, about the weekend, about the way Papa's voice had sounded behind his study door.

For now, I was just Ahamefula Nwokedi—sports prefect, student, and runner under the scorching Lagos sun.

The sun burned against my skin as I jogged to the relay track. A few boys from SS3 were already lined up, stretching their legs and cracking jokes about how Green House never won anything except sack race.

I spotted Coach Adisa near the goalpost, a whistle dangling around his neck. He was a short man with a muscular build, always wearing a red cap no matter the occasion. The kind of man who never smiled but had a sharp sense of humor buried beneath his strict exterior.

"Prefect Ahamefula," he called out the moment he saw me. "You're late."

I stopped jogging and straightened. "Sorry, sir."

He nodded toward the relay team. "Pick your best four runners. Time trials start in ten minutes."

I glanced at Zima, who was already scribbling names into a notebook. She looked up and raised an eyebrow. "You're running, right?"

I smirked. "Of course."

Emeka appeared beside me, gulping down water from a sachet. "Omo, today go tough. Yellow House bring that their Igbo boy wey run like breeze last year."

"Ekene?" I asked.

"Yes na. Him legs long like train tracks."

I scanned the field until I saw him, standing with his teammates in Yellow House. He was tall, lean, his jersey tucked in neatly, looking like he had already won.

"Don't worry," I said, rolling my shoulders. "We'll handle it."

The first set of races started, and the field came alive with cheers. I stood near the starting line, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Running had always been easy for me, something that made sense even when other things didn't. The wind against my skin, the pounding of my feet on the track—it was one of the few times my mind felt clear.

The whistle blew, and I took off.

The world blurred around me—shouting, clapping, the distant sound of Zima's voice yelling my name. I pushed harder, my breath steady, my arms slicing through the air. Ekene was fast, but I was faster.

I reached the finish line just a fraction before him.

The crowd erupted. Emeka grabbed my shoulders, shaking me. "Aham! You don win am!"

Zima scribbled something into her notebook. "Green House has a chance this year."

I exhaled, wiping sweat from my forehead. My body buzzed with energy, but in the back of my mind, something tugged at me.

The weekend. The visitor. Papa's unreadable face.

I shook it off. There would be time to think later. For now, I just took the title of "fastest runner" from Ekene and it felt satisfying.

Suddenly, for a moment, my heart skipped three beats.

At the far end of the field, near the JSS block, Miss Chioma was walking toward one of the classrooms, her black gown swaying slightly in the afternoon breeze. I hadn't seen her all day, hadn't even expected to, but there she was, moving with that same effortless grace she carried into every room.

Did she see me run?

My pulse quickened as I imagined her pausing, watching, smiling when she realized I had won. Maybe she would mention it in class, say something like Ahamefula, I didn't know you were such a good athlete. Maybe—

"Ahamefula, good run, but don't get too comfortable," Coach Adisa's voice cut into my thoughts. "We're switching to baton exchange drills next. You'll be leading the demonstration."

I blinked, forcing my eyes away from the JSS block. "Yes, sir."

Emeka smirked beside me. "You dey alright?"

"Of course," I muttered, stretching my legs.

But as I walked toward the track, I stole one last glance at the classroom door, now closed behind her.