Chapter 2: A Bet, a Miracle, and a New Beginning

As Halima enter, everybody for class focus our side. Some dey cover mouth, others dey smile like say dem win lotto. Halima fine, her family get money, always carry first. Me? I be the guy wey always dey bottom, never pass 200 for any exam. My shoes tell story, my shirt pale like old newspaper. As school belle, Halima suppose no dey my level.

Now, she stand near me, people dey look us like BBNaija live. I press lips, no talk. Sometimes, silence better. Everybody wait, but I just bone.

Halima smile small, then e fade. She fling her braids, look me with small scorn.

“Kunle, person ever tell you before—when it reach boyfriend matter, no be only other people you go look.”

Her voice soft but sharp like blade. She say am like person wey dey deliver last blow for street fight.

Her eyes land on my maths test paper. Big red ‘17’ dey top. Teacher write am like flogging. Halima smirk, snatch the paper, tear am into two.

My hand stiff for table, but my eyes no drop. If I talk now, dem go laugh more. I just dey count the lines for my palm. She throw torn paper aside, finish her talk.

“You suppose look your own level too. Kunle, last warning: abeg stop dey get nonsense idea say you like me.”

She hiss small, turn face away like my presence dey spoil her air.

Class hold breath, then burst laugh. Some slap desk, voice loud. The noise nearly break ear. As Halima dey run her mouth, I dey calm. The noise fade. I look her sharp, talk, “I no like you, and I no thief your bead.”

Nobody believe. I see am for their eyes. Dem don judge me before I open mouth. Even Halima. She give me side-eye, waka comot before teacher enter. Her perfume still dey hang, sweet scent follow her.

I bend down, pick my torn paper. I smooth am, put am for file. The paper rough, but still get my handwriting. I no reason Halima wahala. WAEC dey come, I no fit waste time.

After night prep, I still dey my seat dey study. My biro scratch paper, only sound for class. Nobody sabi why I dey try hard but still no pass 200. Some talk say na village people dey follow me.

Eleven o’clock, I pack my bag. I arrange books, check bead. Instead of going house, I waka go city hospital. Street quiet, only keke and danfo dey disturb night. For hospital gate, I breathe deep, call system for my mind. E answer, lazy: “Host, wetin dey?” E sound like radio jingle for midnight.

I rub head, ask am how many points remain to cure Ifeoma. System dey calculate. I watch small moth dey dance around security light as I wait. After some seconds, e say, almost done.

“Oga Kunle, points dey finish o! Make you no slack. As you just drop small points for next few exams, Ifeoma go heal before WAEC.”

My body relax small. As long as Ifeoma go heal.

Ifeoma na my childhood friend. We play for gutter together, chop akara for same plate. She dey always get good result, but after accident, she turn vegetable. Her parents try everything, prayer house for Mile 12, but nothing.

Since small, I no get friends—na only Ifeoma dey defend me if people bully me. She get big heart, dey share chin-chin, even when e small. For me, she dey different.

On my birthday, one system called “Score for Health” find me. E tell me say if I purposely fail, e go turn points to health for Ifeoma. At first, I no believe. But after I begin fail, Ifeoma really dey improve. First time her finger move for bed, na small thing but my eye red with joy. Since then, I never pass 200.

E sound crazy, but na true. I hold bead tight, go Ifeoma ward. Nurse dey drag slippers pass, generator hum dey background, and smell of Dettol full the ward. The ward cold, white light dey shine. She still dey sleep, dey breathe gentle. I place am near her pillow, whisper, "Na for you, Ify. Make you wake, make we chop puff-puff together."

As I look her, system remind me: “Host, try cure Ifeoma before WAEC.” The voice echo for my mind, like all those pastors for TV. We don agree: day of WAEC, whether Ifeoma heal or not, system go leave me. Countdown don start.

I gently brush Ifeoma hair, whisper, “I go do am.” My voice low, but hope dey rise for my chest like bread for oven. System talk true—I need try more.

Next day, English pre-exam wahala. Everybody dey complain. Teachers mark am sharp sharp. During night prep, class prefect call me go see homeroom teacher. I sigh. I fit guess—another round of talk wey no go change anything. This time, I answer one comprehension, leave rest blank.

Teacher fling my English paper in front of me. Her face squeeze like person swallow bitterleaf. “Kunle, I no even know wetin to tell you again. Mud no dey stick for wall. WAEC dey come, you no fit even finish paper…” She shake head. “I remember you try for common entrance that year. Wetin do you now?”

I keep quiet, dey hear her. Her voice ring for my ear, but my mind far. After minutes, she tire, wave me go. “Go siddon jare, before I vex.”

Just then, Halima enter with plenty homework books. Her result good, her mouth dey sweet. Even though she no dey our class, teacher like her. Halima hear ‘WAEC’, her eyes bend like say she hear joke. “WAEC? That one don tay… People dey change, no be so, Kunle?” She twist mouth, corner raise. I look her mocking eyes, no talk, waka comot.

As I pass, I see her English paper. She get 130. Exam no easy—score high. Some still dey quarrel for corridor because of am. Halima stand well, proud. She adjust skirt, make sure everybody see.

System pop up, voice sharp: “Oga Kunle, you sure say e worth am? To save Ifeoma, you spoil your own secondary life, take insult.”

As I hear system, I look window. Na dark outside, moon dey hide. After long silence, I answer soft, “She still deserve to be saved.” My chest tight, but my heart sure. I no fit give up Ifeoma own chance for life.

I still dey read well. Sometimes, I dey recite formula as I dey chop eba. Day of WAEC, system go leave me. I need use every chance to bring Ifeoma back.

Mock exams continue, my scores drop. Some joke say I dey use jazz to fail. Halima and her gang dey wait for my disgrace. She come my class collect my paper, dey laugh at all blank spaces.

“You no fit answer these simple questions. I no even know how you take get school. But… soon, you no go get.”

Her laugh long, friends echo am. Others just dey laugh. I no answer. I pack books, pray make bell ring. As my scores dey fall, my mistake notebook empty. To be honest, these questions easy for me. My brain dey solve everything sharp, but my hand go idle. To explain to Halima no make sense. For her eye, I just be hopeless guy wey dey chase her. But I never like her at all.

I get only two wishes: enter physics department for Unity University; make Ifeoma get well. I dey repeat am for my mind every day, like prayer point for crossover night.

One time, area boys collect my money, na Ifeoma pull my hand, help me escape, put plaster for wound, tell me e no go pain for long. She always treat me well. If no be her, I for don run commot since. As I see system health points rise, I know Ifeoma dey recover. Sometimes, I dey dream say she go wake, call my name, we go gist for field again.

Day of WAEC, system really leave me as e promise. Unlike before, this exam mean everything. My body hot, mind sharp. For two days, I pour my heart for exam. I write like person wey dey chase government contract. After exam, I rush hospital to see Ifeoma.

I need know if she really recover. If she still get wahala… I no even know where I go see another system help her. I dey pray for bus, count every street light. My heart dey beat, I reach city hospital. My palm sweat, leg shake. Before I reach Ifeoma ward, I breathe deep, push door.

But na that time sharp voice shout: “Kunle, wetin you dey find here?”

Na Halima. She stand with her friends, bag of medicine. She dey form big madam, her voice loud like market woman for Oyingbo. Halima voice get small cold. She look me up and down, raise eyebrow. “So, you finally come hospital for your own mental wahala?” Her friends burst laugh. Their laughter echo, nurse for counter look our side.

I frown. People for corridor dey look us. I feel their eyes dey measure my shoe, my shirt, dey judge me. I face her. “You wan bet?”

Halima look confused, fold arms, dey look me cold. She drag mouth, face squeeze. I talk again. “My WAEC score go pass your own.”

Halima freeze. The words shock her, eyebrow raise. Then she start laugh. “Kunle, you really dey mad.” She laugh so tey body bend. People for corridor almost clap. I just look her. “You wan bet?”

Halima laugh more. “Okay! If I lose, I go apologize. If you lose… you go crawl for ground during class reunion. I lose, I go crawl too—no forming.” Her voice loud, sure say I no fit beat her. Our class reunion na after results. Halima plan am, wan see me disgrace. Some for back dey video us.

I never answer when suddenly, person grab my arm. One clear, lively voice shout: “Ah, why be say if na you, na just apology, but if Kunle lose, he go crawl for floor? That one no balance! If you lose, you too go crawl.”

My heart jump. That voice—no fit forget. E get that ginger, like early morning tea. I turn, na Ifeoma stand beside me. She don recover. Her face fresh, smile wide. Ifeoma face Halima, her eyes dey shine. “So, how far? You dey or you no dey?”

Ifeoma grip my hand, two of us stand gidigba. For that moment, all the suffering, insult, midnight struggle finally get meaning. Even Halima mouth hang—she no expect am. I look Ifeoma, my own moonlight, and I know say my choice no be mistake. Ifeoma squeeze my hand and whisper, “This na just the beginning.” For the first time, I believe say better fit really happen for me.