Chapter 13
The school buzzed with chaos—juniors, seniors, and even teachers spilling out of classrooms and crowding the sports complex. They formed a massive ring around the bleachers, leaving the walkways, corridors, and usual hangouts eerily empty. The seniors lingered at a distance, perched like spectators at a strange ritual. Tony stood among them, arms crossed, watching from afar. The bleachers—built years ago for the school’s athletic events—were packed with early arrivals, while latecomers stood on the grass, craning their necks to see what was unfolding.
The sports complex sprawled beneath the afternoon sun: a football field stretched wide, a basketball court gleamed under a glass-roofed pavilion, and a tennis court sat at the far end. Beyond that, a small room housed a table tennis table, and a volleyball net fluttered faintly in the breeze. It was an impressive setup, a testament to the school’s pride in its athletes. But today, the focus wasn’t on sports.
At the edge of the complex loomed the Iroko tree—Cassandra’s sanctuary. The gnarled giant cast a long shadow over a weathered bench where she often sat, whispering her troubles to the wind. She swore it held some kind of magic, a place where her burdens dissolved. On mischievous days, though, her classmates from SSS 2—juniors in the science track—would invade her spot just to rile her up, smirking as she stormed off.
In the center of the football field, Ugochukwu paced. A stocky boy from Samantha’s SSS 2 Science class, he’d orchestrated this bizarre gathering. His friends—a ragtag band of musicians—stood behind him, poised over a drum set, a snare, a bass drum, a timpani, and a lone flute. The rhythm erupted, sharp and wild, each player hammering out their own style. The crowd stilled, caught in the pulse. Then, just as abruptly, the music stopped.
The silence shattered into a roar of chatter. Whispers swirled: What’s Ugo up to? Has he lost it? Some snickered, calling him mad. Others just wanted answers.
“Hear me! Hear me!” Ugo’s voice crackled through a microphone, cutting the noise like a blade. The crowd hushed. He held up a thin novel in one hand. “One book,” he declared. Then a hundred-naira note. “One hundred naira.” Finally, a thousand-naira note. “One thousand naira.” He sniffed dramatically, his eyes glistening as if tears were near. “It’s sad. So sad. People don’t see the value of chasing something bigger anymore.”
He paused, scanning the bleachers, the field, the faces staring back. “Education. Money. Most would pick money, right? Why? The thrill of it. The pleasure. But they chase the reward, not the road that gets you there. A man who earns his cash the hard way—he knows how to use it. He’s got confidence, grit. Not like those scammers drowning in easy pleasure. Me? I’d choose education every time, no matter how long it takes. I dream of being better than Elon Musk. Now, say it with me: ‘To become the best, you have to think like the best.’ Come on, together!”
He thrust the mic forward, waiting. But the crowd didn’t echo him. Instead, they shuffled, murmured, and then drifted away—juniors first, then seniors, teachers trailing behind. The bleachers emptied. The field cleared. Only Ugo, his band, and Tony remained. Tony hadn’t budged, his Nike Air Max Plus rooted to the grass.
Ugo dropped the mic with a thud and jogged over.
“Hey, Tony! Want the novel?”
“Nah, maybe another day,” Tony said, hands in his pockets.
“Come on, read it!” Ugo pressed, waving the book.
“No, thanks.”
“Just take it—"
“Ugo, I’m good. I’m an art student, okay? I’ve got a novel for class I haven’t even finished.”
“Fine, I’ll tell you the story then.”
“Please don’t.”
“It’s about this evening—some boys, some girls—”
“Oh my God.”
“They were siblings—”
“Dude, seriously—”
“They lived this sweet, anonymous life—”
“Excuse me, what?”
“Sorry, not anonymous. Sweet and annoying.”
“Ugo—”
“I’m not done!”
“Man, I’m out,” Tony said, turning to leave.
“They had no one but each other. So sad,” Ugo called after him.
Tony stopped mid-step, glancing back. “How do you deal with it, bro? People not taking you seriously?”
Ugo shrugged, unbothered. “Not my problem. I’m used to it.”
That was Ugochukwu in a nutshell—always digging for the good in people, even when they couldn’t stand him. He was a hustler too, obsessed with online ventures. He’d tried dozens, lost money to scams in 84% of them, and still kept going. The funny part? Whenever he got burned, he’d spread the word—not to warn folks, but to drag them into the mess with him. Shared misery was his thing. A clown through and through, just like his buddy Geoffrey.
“That’s… kinda messed up,” Tony said, frowning.
“Yeah. So, sit and hear my story?”
“I don’t know, man. I should go,” Tony replied, jabbing his thumbs backward as he edged away.
“You’ve got nowhere to be! No classes right now,” Ugo insisted.
“You’re science track. I’m arts. Different schedules.”
“So?”
Tony sighed, pulling out his phone. “Fine. Just give me the title and where I can find it.”
“Life Outside Parents,” Ugo said proudly.
“Huh?” Tony’s fingers hovered over the screen.
“Platform? My hand. Right here, right now.” Ugo thrust the book toward him.
“Wait—hold up. What’s it about? Siblings, you said?”
“Yeah. They lose their parents. The girl—get this—she gets high one night, knocks on her own door, waiting for someone to answer. Realizes it’s just her, freaks out, and kills herself.”
“What?”
“Sad, right? She couldn’t handle it. Left the world for people who love it."
Tony shook his head. “No way. Dead parents? Readers can take that. Suicide over something that weird? That’s too much, man.”
“Just try it,” Ugo urged, pushing the book closer.
“Nah, I’m good.” Tony turned and started walking.
“Let’s be friends at least!” Ugo shouted after him.
“I’ll plug Moferso in my next book!”
Tony didn’t look back.
Upstairs, Samantha leaned against hallway railing, gazing down at the dining hall. Below, students from every class clustered around tables, eating, chatting, laughing. The clatter of trays and the hum of voices filled the air. She stood alone, her outline framed by a trio of portraits on the wall behind her—legends of the school’s past. These were the best of the best, kids who’d aced the Joint Admission and Matriculation Board exams and hauled in trophies from national competitions. The school had never placed lower than second with them around. Now, Samantha, Angel, Cassandra, and Joy carried that torch for the science track, while Tony, Rex, Goody, and Keme held it down for the arts. Samantha, though, bore an extra weight: the school’s spotlight burned brighter on her, and it bred resentment in the shadows.
Downstairs, the laughter turned sharp. They were mocking Ugochukwu’s stunt on the field, calling it dumb, ridiculous, a waste of time. Samantha shifted, folding her arms, her back still to the portraits. She tilted her head toward the ceiling, then let it drop, her eyes landing on the first frame. A boy beamed back at her, dressed in the school uniform: a crisp white shirt, red checkered pants, and a matching tie. A bronze award from the Ministry of Education gleamed in his hands, courtesy of the Africa’s Pride competition. Below, his name: Seth Itua. She scoffed. “Bet he tried to off himself a hundred times.”
Her gaze slid to the second portrait. Another boy, this one with a warm, easy smile. Emmanuel Ifeanyi. “Aww, cute name, cute guy,” she muttered, mimicking his grin. “Those eyes, those pink lips, that fair skin—bro’s definitely not from here.” She was still chuckling when a burst of noise from the dining hall snapped her out of it. Clapping. Chanting. Laughter.
Ugochukwu had just walked in. The room erupted—hands slapping tables, voices hailing him with mock titles. “Oba!” someone shouted, Benin for king. “The only one, Pluto Presido!” another called, riffing on a Nigerian slang chant. “J.B. one-two Makanaki!” They cackled as he shuffled past, unfazed, heading for an empty seat at the back.
Samantha watched from above. Ugo glanced up, caught her eye, then grabbed his tray and bolted for the stairs. The jeers followed him—“Yo, Elon Musk, how you holding up?”—but he didn’t flinch. He climbed the steps, tray in hand, and stopped beside her. She turned, offering a tight smile, a silent nudge to shake off the sting.
“Hey, uh…” she started. “You okay?”
“Trying to be better,” Ugo said, his voice steady.
“Please do,” she replied softly.
“How about you?” he asked.
She smiled again, brighter this time. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Sweet.”
“Yeah.”
“What’re you up to?”
“Nothing. Just chilling.”
“That’s cool.”
She kept smiling, her warmth a quiet anchor.
“You’re so kind, Sam,” Ugo said.
“Thanks.”
“I don’t get why they hate you.”
She sighed, glancing at the portraits. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Fair enough. I don’t care anyway. You gonna read my book?”
“I can’t read something I’ve only heard about.”
“It’s called Life Outside Parents.”
“Huh?”
“See? Same reaction as Tony. Like brother, like sister,” he said with a laugh.
“It’s not the name,” she said.
“Ha, Tony said the story’s the problem.”
“Yeah? What’s it about?”
“Siblings. A boy and a girl. Brother and sister.”
“And?”
“Well, one of them kills themselves.”
Samantha’s mouth fell open. “H-how could you—”
“Dude, you’re gonna make our ears bleed. Stop,” Alex cut in, appearing from nowhere.
“Alex,” Samantha warned, shooting him a look.
Ugo grinned. “I think Sam and her apprentice should grab a copy.”
“No way, Sammy,” Alex groaned.
“Come on, boo, we’re doing it,” she said, elbowing him. “Ugo, Alex’ll go with you to get it. Go on, shoo.”
“Chill, woman,” Alex muttered.
“You gonna fight me?” she teased.
“Dude… you’re her apprentice. I won’t tell anyone—except James, Benedict, Mikel, and—”
“Snitch, and you’re done,” Alex snapped.
“Let’s go, lil’ kid,” Ugo said, leading the way.
“Alex, play nice,” Samantha called after them. She turned to the third portrait—a girl named Esther. “Hey,” she murmured, smiling faintly, then walked off.