Chapter 2: Silent Competition

I don dey dislike her since that day.

No be say I get reason wey pass say she too dey talk, but e dey pain me. Her wahala too much. I dey always ask myself why I gats sit down with am.

Apart from say her book dey okay and her face no bad, compared to me, she no get anything.

If no be say she sabi book, nothing else dey for her. Her wahala dey make me avoid her, but I no fit talk am for public. Her skin fine sha, and sometimes, when she dey laugh, you fit forget say her life hard.

But as her book dey okay, teachers dey always defend her.

Anytime wahala bust, teacher go just talk say make we leave her, say she dey try for book. Sometimes, dem go use am example for class, dey tell others make dem copy her handwork.

I fear say my papa go come school come shout, so I just hold my nose go apologize.

For my mind, if my papa hear say I fight, na belt and koboko go greet me for house. I humble myself, go tell her sorry, even though the thing still dey pain me.

Since then, I no talk to her again.

Even if we sit near, na only eye we dey use talk. The gap wide, everybody for class sabi say we no dey run things together again.

But for senior secondary, after my papa spend one hundred thousand naira for my school fees, na so she still land for the same school with me again.

My papa no even believe. He dey complain say school too expensive, yet the same people dey show. For my mind, wahala just start afresh.

Same class.

Na so dem just pair us again. God no dey look my side that year.

First day, my papa still remember her, greet her with smile, say make we help each other, especially her—since her book dey sharp, make she help me well.

My papa na community man, e like people. He dey shake her hand, dey smile like say she be family. The embarrassment catch me small, but I bone face.

She no waste time: “I senior you, I be your big sis, so I suppose help you. Hope say we go still be seatmates.”

She talk am with confidence, mouth dey sweet, eyes dey shine. People for class dey look us, dey size us up. I just nod, no wan talk plenty.

She dey smile dey talk, start dey boast again about how her mama happy say she do well, say her mama go buy her bag—still dey boast.

Na so she dey run her mouth, her laugh dey loud. As she dey talk, people dey look the bag wey dey her hand.

I look the old nylon bag wey she hold, I just wan ask if na that same bag her mama wan give her.

But as I see her face, I just hold myself. Sometimes, you go see pain for person eye, you go just keep quiet. That day, I just swallow my words like cold garri.

After Christmas break, from her right jaw down reach her neck, I see new scar, like say hot water burn am.

The scar wicked, e rough well. I just dey look am, dey wonder wetin fit cause am. People dey whisper for back, dey pity am small.

Red, white, rough.

Scar no dey hide. If breeze blow, the skin go show, like say the pain still dey fresh. E add another level to her story.

Now, one advantage don waka.

I feel say maybe, e go humble her small. Maybe, people go leave her alone. But nothing change.

Na only her book still remain correct.

No matter how life hard, na only book she get. Her handwriting still dey sharp, notes clean pass everybody own.

Once I catch up for book, make I see if my papa go still dey praise her or me.

For my mind, na silent competition. I gats win am for once.

I dey wonder if this time, the story go change, or if na the same wahala go repeat.