Chapter 4: Under the Mask, Under the Spotlight

"The VJ wey suppose follow Teacher Musa get emergency. You go follow am instead."

The staff dey rush, dey point my direction. I no even get time to talk, na so dem don pair me.

I look Yanshu Musa, surprise catch me.

He just dey stand, dey hold bottle water, eyes cool. Na only for inside you go fit know say e get wahala.

He wear normal sweatshirt, face calm, no dey show emotion.

Him face dey like river for early morning—everything just still. But na inside, e get current wey dey run.

Small breeze blow him hair, and for one second, na that same eighteen-year-old boy I remember.

The stubborn small boy, wey dey fight for snooker hall, na the same person wey dey stand here now. My heart skip small.

"Why dem dey call you Ijeoma, no be Ije Dayo? Ije Chika? Ije Damilola?"

He always dey use style tease me for name, like say e wan provoke me. The name talk self get style.

"Which kind pairing be this? Your grade bad pass my own—who dey help who?"

I remember the day teacher pair us, everybody just dey laugh. Nobody believe say I go fit help Musa, or say he go fit help me. We just dey argue like cat and dog.

"You too dey worry. Whether I read or not, no concern you."

Na him style—he always dey bone face, dey do like say my own na extra wahala. I dey always wonder if na me dey stress my own life.

"I wan sleep. No wake me for class."

The way e dey talk, you go think say school na prison. That time, nothing dey sweet am pass sleep for back seat.

"Ije. O. Ma."

E fit shout am like person wey dey win jackpot. Na so my name dey sound for his mouth that year.

...

Staff dey look me one kind.

The woman dey expect make I move fast. I fit see am for her eye, she dey pray make wahala no start.

I come back to myself, nod. "Okay."

My own na to work. No need for extra drama. I adjust my bag, check camera one more time.

I carry camera, waka go meet am.

I dey breathe slow, dey try calm myself. I dey tell myself say na just work, nothing else. But my hand dey shake small.

Yanshu Musa pause, stretch hand politely.

Him movement soft, fingers long. He dey look me for eye, like person dey search for something deep.

"Hello, Aunty Ijeoma."

He call me Aunty—e shock me small. For Naija, if person call you Aunty for work, e fit mean respect or e fit mean age don dey show.

I shake am. "Hello."

Our hand touch. His hand slim, fine, but I feel say e dey sweat.

Na small drop, but I fit feel am. My own hand cold, but him own dey tremble. E get as the thing be.

Yanshu Musa freeze, hand dey shake small as he look me for eye—confused, like say him dey reason something.

Na the first time I ever see him lose guard. For my mind, I dey ask, "Wetin dey happen for this one eye?"