CHAPTER THIRTEEN “WHEN WRONG IS LOUD!”

© Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the Creative Word

I went to school, and the day was like no other.

I was highly irritable.

Everything annoyed me.

The teachers annoyed me. Their voices sounded too slow, too ordinary, too dry. The chalk on the board annoyed me. The noise from the corridor annoyed me. Even the so-called bad boys in class annoyed me.

Everybody suddenly seemed inadequate.

Too small.

Too basic.

Too boring.

All I could hear in my head was Sikemi’s voice and Martins’ voice calling me back to their house.

It was as if the Alabi house had become a radio station in my mind, and someone had turned the volume to the highest.

For the first time, I began to see my own life differently.

Not with gratitude.

Not with contentment.

But with irritation.

I began to see my parents as inadequate.

I began to think of God as partial.

Why did He make life soft for some people and hard for others?

Why did some people wake up in houses with gates, guards, chandeliers, and rooms that looked like hotel apartments, while others woke up calculating transport fare and praying that garri would not finish before Saturday?

Why was Sikemi born an Alabi?

Why was I born Matthew, the cleaner’s son?

For the first time, bitterness made sense.

I thought about how my life would have been if I was an Alabi. Maybe I would not be carrying scholarship dreams like a lifeline. Maybe I would not be using my mother’s phone to check my own social media. Maybe I would not have to explain why I could not afford things other boys did not even think about before buying.

Maybe I would not be ordinary.

The thought was still sitting proudly in my head when Tunde passed in front of me.

Tunde was one of the scoundrels in my school. The type that had no respect for school authority, school rules, school prefects, school bell, school anything.

And his phone was sticking out of his pocket.

Only Tunde had the audacity to boldly carry and use a phone in school.

Nobody else dared.

Not because he was the principal’s favourite. Far from it. Tunde was the kind of student teachers corrected with wisdom and fear mixed together.

His father was the head of the scoundrels and touts in our area. The man had specifically told the school that his son needed to be with his phone always.

Always.

The school agreed.

Not because it made sense, but because it would not take the man one hour to pull down the school gate and call it community development.

So Tunde moved around with his phone like he was carrying a government-approved weapon.

Before I could think properly, I stood up and walked towards him.

“Tunde,” I called. “How far?”

He stopped.

The look on his face was worth framing.

Surprise first.

Then confusion.

He looked to his side to be sure I was actually speaking to him.

“Apostle Matthew,” he said slowly. “You dey follow me talk? I be devil son o.”

Are you talking to me? I am the devil’s son.

I forced a smile.

“No, you are not.”

Even as I said it, I knew that was not the reason I had come to him. I was not there for evangelism. I was there for his phone.

“Please, I need a favour,” I said. “Can I quickly use your phone to check my inbox?”

Tunde stared at me.

Shock, confusion, and a tiny bit of disappointment appeared on his face like a signpost.

It was funny.

Tunde could insult teachers, threaten junior students, and walk out of punishment like it was a birthday party, but somehow, Matthew asking to use his phone broke his spirit.

Unlike the way he would have proved difficult with other students, he handed it to me.

Still with that surprised look.

I wondered how I looked in that moment because the entire class went quiet.

People were staring.

Confused eyes.

Disappointed eyes.

Curious eyes.

Even some of the boys who normally wanted to impress Tunde looked like, “Apostle don join us?”

I cared less.

That was another thing I noticed.

Shame was becoming weak.

I used one of his browsers to log into my account.

My heart was beating fast as the page loaded.

And there she was.

Like a bride waiting for her groom.

Or a witch waiting for her prey.

Or a hunter waiting for his hunt.

Sikemi was in my DM.

I opened the message.

I am sorry if I scared you off. I just wanted you to feel good. Please don’t avoid me. Please, you are the realest person I have met in my life. Tell me where I can meet up with you. I will have Martins bring me. I love you.

My head exploded.

Not physically, but something in my mind scattered and flew everywhere.

I screamed in class.

Not a fear scream.

Not a pain scream.

It was the scream of finally.

Finally, I was not ordinary.

Finally, I was not invisible.

Finally, somebody like Sikemi Alabi wanted me.

Everybody looked at me.

Mark looked briefly from his seat and continued with what he was doing.

That one hurt in a way I could not explain.

It was as if he had already decided not to rescue me again.

Rosie kept staring at me.

Her eyes were fixed on me like if eyes could plant sense, she was trying to sow a whole farm of wisdom inside my head.

I looked away.

I typed.

Hi.

Her reply came almost immediately.

Hey babe. Thank you for replying. Where can I meet you? Your mum said you won’t be coming again.

Babe.

I read that word again.

Babe.

My chest warmed up.

I replied.

I don’t know where we can meet.

That was the truth.

I was not the kind of boy who met people at spots. I did not know hangout places. I knew school, church, home, library, tutorial centre, and occasionally, market when Mum needed help.

That was my map of life.

But then I looked at Tunde.

Tunde would know places.

Wrong people always seemed to have directions to wrong places.

“Tunde,” I said quietly, “a friend wants to come and see me. Where is a good place I can recommend around here?”

Tunde collected his shock again and wore it properly.

“Okay now,” he said, smiling slowly. “Apostle is in love. I see.”

“Just answer me.”

“If it is what I think,” he said, lowering his voice, “she should meet you at Love Triangle. You can do one or two things quickly. You pay per hour.”

Love Triangle.

I knew that name too well.

Everybody in school knew it.

It was the cheap motel students whispered about whenever they wanted to disgrace their destiny in private. It was the kind of place people mentioned with laughter but avoided when teachers were passing.

My spirit reacted immediately.

“No,” I said quickly. “We are not meeting for that. I mean like a restaurant.”

Tunde smiled like he knew something I did not know.

“Oh, I get. Holy talk.”

“Tunde.”

“Fine,” he said, raising one hand. “Then take her to Chairman Restaurant. But make sure you have money. One shawarma is ten thousand.”

Before he finished speaking, I had already typed the name.

Chairman Restaurant.

I sent it.

The message delivered.

My heart started beating fast again.

I was no longer thinking about school.

I was no longer thinking about Mark.

I was no longer thinking about Rosie.

I was no longer thinking about my mother.

I was thinking about Sikemi Alabi coming to meet me.

Me.

Matthew.

The cleaner’s son.

The boy who was no longer satisfied with being ordinary.

And that was when I should have known that something had shifted badly inside me.

Because the old Matthew would have been afraid of disappointing God.

But this new Matthew was more afraid of going back to being unseen.

To be continued…

DEEP THOUGHTS NOVELS
Written by Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the Creative Word

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