Chapter 4: When Results Break and Hearts Shatter

The food finish quick, and after that day, I no see Seyi again.

Days slipped past like beads rolling off a string. Each one left me emptier than the last.

For July, I download PUBG for my phone, but my hand stiff, dem dey always report me say I dey spoil game.

I fumbled the controls, my screen filling with red warnings and angry teammates. I almost deleted the app, but something stubborn made me keep trying.

Early July, I start part-time job.

It was teaching, nothing fancy—just helping twins from the next street with homework. The pay was small, but it kept me busy.

Ifeoma dey chat with Seyi for WhatsApp—she just dey happy, dey smile all summer.

Her laughter filled the house, her fingers glued to her phone. I tried not to listen, but sometimes, her giggles made my heart ache.

The day result come out, I pack my bag as usual, ready go teach.

I tied my scarf and checked the time twice, nerves jangling in my belly.

Ifeoma dey sit for parlour, wear small dress, her hair curled, dey do makeup.

She hummed as she dabbed powder on her cheeks, the room smelling of coconut oil and body spray.

I quiet for small, dey reason why she dey do makeup for parlour.

I watched her through the corner of my eye, wondering if she was waiting for someone.

"Amaka, see my lipstick. E fine?"

She blink big eyes, lips red.

Her voice was soft, almost shy for the first time in ages. She twisted her mouth, seeking approval.

I just answer, "E fine well."

I nodded, forcing a smile, my own lips dry. I tried not to sound jealous.

Ifeoma frown, not satisfied. "You think say Seyi go like am?"

She worried her lip, voice low. I could see her nerves showing for the first time.

"...He go like am."

I just talk am anyhow.

My voice cracked a little, but I covered it with a cough. I tried not to let the bitterness show.

Ifeoma smile, happy. "Good. We dey go out tonight. I hope he go like am."

She twirled, her joy spilling into the room, making it impossible to stay upset.

I adjust my sleeve, wan ask, "Una dey date?"

The words reach my mouth but I no talk.

They sat heavy on my tongue, too heavy to lift.

How I go fit ask?

If I no know, I fit still dey dream.

It was easier to live in the maybe—in that small hope.

The children wey I dey teach na two small boys—twins.

They were always barefoot, faces smeared with groundnut paste, energy like bouncing ball.

Boys for that age no dey ever quiet.

Their voices echoed through the compound, sometimes louder than the mosque's megaphone.

"Aunty Pear, why you no dey smile?"

One of them tugged at my sleeve, his eyes wide and mischievous.

"Aunty Pear, you don chop shit before?"

I just burst laugh. "Abeg, I never chop that kind thing."

Children mouth sharp, e fit wound person if you no ready.

I laughed so hard, I almost fell off my chair. Even their house girl peeped from the kitchen and covered her mouth.

But them only dey hear wetin dem wan hear.

Their minds jumped from one funny thing to the next, never stopping.

Dem just dey talk.

"How e go taste?"

"E be like stinky beans—smell bad but taste sweet?"

They debated it like professors, faces serious.

My head dey pain me. I wan talk, "Why you no try am yourself?"

But I no talk am.

Because boys for this age fit really try am.

If e happen, na big wahala.

Omo, estate group chat go scatter that day.

After I teach vertical and parallel lines tire, finally time reach to go house.

My voice was already hoarse, my back aching from bending over their homework.

I tell the parents bye-bye, then go wait for keke for estate gate.

I tied my scarf tighter, feeling the first signs of evening breeze, looking out for yellow tricycle coming down the dusty road.

My phone dey vibrate anyhow. I check am—class group and family group dey hot.

My heart skipped, wondering if results had dropped. Messages were coming in fast—emojis, exclamation marks, even my teachers joining in.

Na already four thirty.

Result fit check now.

My stomach twisted, excitement and fear mixing together.

Daddy dey travel, so na only @ me and my sister for group, say make we check result and give am good news.

He added, "Make una do me proud!" as if he was sending blessings from his hotel room in Abuja.

My sister say she dey outside, go check for house with computer.

Her messages came with plenty gifs, all confidence.

I no reply, because Daddy no really dey send my result.

He always believed in Ifeoma's scores, but with me, he just asked if I tried my best.

I open the result page, but the site dey load slow.

The spinning wheel on my phone mocked me, each second dragging.

Just then, keke come. I pay and enter, sit for back as usual.

I handed the conductor my crumpled fifty naira note, my hand trembling.

My hand dey shake, e take me two minutes keep my card.

I nearly dropped my wallet twice, my mind on the score waiting for me online.

The website still dey load.

Even though I sure of myself, I still dey nervous.

My armpits felt wet, my heart pounding so loud the keke driver looked back at me.

Keke dey move steady under mango tree shade, the inside dark small.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling my face in gold patches. I closed my eyes, whispering a quick prayer.

God abeg, make my hand no shake when I dey check this result. Baba God, run am for your girl.

My phone screen just dey shine, then finally turn green.

I opened my eyes, and the brightness blinded me for a second.

My eyes just go straight to the total score.

Three dey front.

I stared in disbelief. Was it really my score?

I breathe out long.

A long, shaky breath escaped, mixing with relief and gratitude.

E do.

I whispered, "Thank you, Baba God." My joy was silent, but it filled my whole chest.