CHAPTER TWENTY- THREE WHEN WRONG IS LOUD!

© Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the Creative Word

We had just entered the school compound when I saw Tunde standing near one of the flower beds with two other boys, laughing about something that was none of my business. Assembly had not started yet. Students were still walking in through the gate in twos and threes, some rushing with half-tucked shirts, some greeting friends loudly, and some pretending they had come early on purpose. Mark was walking beside me, quiet as he had been since we left the house.

I should have continued walking with him. I should have gone straight to our line before assembly. I should have allowed the prayer Mum prayed over my head that morning to still have breathing space, but the moment I saw Tunde, another plan rose inside me.

“Tunde,” I called.

He turned and smiled. “Pastor boy!”

I left Mark’s side and walked towards him. Mark slowed down, and I knew he was watching me, but I did not look back. “Tunde, I need to talk to you,” I said, trying to sound normal.

Tunde raised an eyebrow. “Talk to me?”

“Yes.”

“Here?”

I glanced at the boys around him and shook my head. “No. Privately.”

The moment I said that, even I knew it sounded suspicious. Tunde knew it too. The two boys looked at me, then looked at Tunde, then looked back at me with the kind of interest that made ordinary conversation look like breaking news. Tunde laughed, but the laugh did not reach his eyes. “Pastor boy wants private meeting with me before assembly? Ah. This one is serious.”

“Please,” I said.

He studied me for a few seconds, then followed me a little away from the boys. We stood close to the side of the building where students were passing, but not close enough for them to hear clearly. Tunde folded his arms and leaned slightly towards me.

“Pastor boy,” he said, lowering his voice, “what is happening? Hope the devil has not gotten your phone number and started offering you deals?”

He said it laughing, but he meant every word.

That should have been a red traffic light for me. Not yellow. Not “be careful.” Red. Full red. Stop. Turn back. Go and stand beside Mark. Let assembly start. Let the day continue like the mercy God had tried to give me.

But I continued as if I had already disabled every warning system inside me.

“Tunde, I need your help.”

His smile reduced. “For what?”

“I need to get out of school to…” I stopped.

To what exactly? To confront Sikemi? To confront Martins? To ask why they used me? To ask for answers? To ask for pills? The last thought came so quickly that I hated myself for hearing it.

Then I remembered the supplement. The brain booster. I remembered Tunde’s interest. I remembered the way his eyes had lit up when I mentioned it. I remembered the other students who had said, “Yes o, bring for me, I want to try.” And suddenly, my lie stood beside me like an assistant, ready to help me continue.

“I need to get the brain booster,” I said.

Tunde stared at me. “Brain booster?”

The way he said it made it clear he knew it was a lie, or at least that the truth was wearing borrowed clothes.

I nodded. “Yes.”

He looked at me for a long moment, then smiled slowly. It was not the playful Tunde smile. It was a dry smile, the kind a person gives when he has just confirmed something he had suspected. “Okay,” he said. “What do I get in exchange?”

I froze.

There it was.

The price.

Tunde asking me for something felt like the devil stretching out a receipt. I knew that if I asked him what he wanted, he could name anything. Money. Pills. A favour. Silence. Access. Something I could not afford to give. Something that would drag me deeper. So before he could set the price, I decided to set it myself.

“I will give you enough pills,” I said quickly, then corrected myself, “I mean supplements.”

Tunde caught it. Of course he caught it. His eyes sharpened, and his dry smile became even dryer.

“Pills?”

I swallowed. “Supplements.”

He nodded slowly, but his face said he had heard the first word clearly. “I knew it.”

My stomach tightened.

“I knew the church boy is now on the devil’s payroll.”

“Tunde…”

He lifted one hand. “No, no. Don’t explain. You don’t have to preach to me. I’m not Mark.”

I looked away.

He leaned closer, and for a moment, the laughter disappeared from his face completely. “Bro,” he said quietly, “you should have just stayed on the other side.”

I looked at him.

He was not mocking now.

“It is safe there,” he said. “Out here is brutal.”

The sentence entered me in a way I did not expect. Tunde was not Mark. He was not the boy quoting Scripture every two minutes. He was not Rosie with her blunt moral mirror. Tunde was street-smart, playful, sharp, and always pretending nothing was serious. He had seen things most of us only heard as rumours. His father’s world had given him a type of education no classroom could teach, and that was why his warning sounded heavier than a joke.

If even Tunde was telling me there was another side I should have stayed on, then maybe heaven was sending me warnings through everybody available.

But by then, I was already too far inside my own explanation.

That was another thing I was learning about sin. It does not always need people to lie to you. Sometimes, it only needs to sit down and watch you lie to yourself.

Tunde stared at me for a few more seconds, then something changed in his face. It was almost like a switch. One moment, he was sounding like a counselor warning me to return before the bridge collapsed. The next moment, his eyes became sharp, practical, and unserious again in that dangerous way.

“But since it has happened,” he said, shrugging, “what time do you want to leave so I can help you out?”

I should have stopped there. That was another door. A door God had left half-open for me to run back through. Tunde had warned me. My mother had prayed for me. Mark had exposed me. Sikemi had sent a message and deleted it. Even my own conscience had been shouting since morning.

But I still answered.

“Around 10 a.m.,” I said. “When everyone is in class.”

Tunde nodded slowly, already calculating. “That one is possible.”

“How?”

He looked at me with that his street-boy confidence. “Leave that one. There is a way.”

Coming from Tunde, “there is a way” was not ordinary English. It could mean somebody at the gate owed him a favour. It could mean a junior student would be sent on a fake errand. It could mean one security man would look away. It could mean his father’s name would do the walking before our legs even moved. Whatever it meant, I knew it would work, and that was the problem. I did not ask for details, and maybe that was the problem. The moment you don’t want to ask how something will be done, it usually means you already know the answer will not be clean.

“Just make sure you don’t start shaking when it’s time,” Tunde said.

“I won’t shake.”

He smiled. “Pastor boy, you have been shaking since yesterday.”

“I said I won’t shake.”

“Okay.” He leaned back and looked at me from head to toe. “And my own supplements?”

“I will bring them.”

“Enough?”

“Yes.”

“For free?”

I hesitated.

He smiled…. ” Or we can do Business together”

There it was again.
Business.

The word crawled into my mind like a snake that had already found a hole in the wall. If Tunde liked it, Tunde could influence many students. He knew boys in our class, boys in other classes, boys in other schools, and youths in his area. Tunde was not the most serious student, but he was connected in that rough, streetwise way that made people listen to him. If he became a customer, or even a link, that could mean serious money. Maybe that was what Martins meant by chain. Maybe Tunde could move me up fast.

Then I caught myself.

Business?

Where did that thought come from?

I was not going to the Alabis’ house for business. I was not going there to join the chain. I was not going there to become anything. I was going to see Sikemi for clarification. That was all. And if Tunde helped me out of school, I would ask Sikemi for some pills to give him and the others because I had already opened my mouth in class. That did not mean I was continuing.

That was how I explained it to myself. That was how I made the wrong road look like a short detour.

“Yes,” I said finally. “For free..No Business.”

Tunde studied my face. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

He laughed quietly. “Nothing is free in this life, Matthew.”

The way he said my name made me uncomfortable. Not Pastor boy. Not Apostle Matthew. Matthew. As if he wanted me to remember myself before I lost the whole person.

The assembly bell rang before I could answer. Students began moving towards the assembly ground. Tunde tapped my shoulder and leaned closer. “10 a.m.,” he whispered. “When I give you signal, just follow me. Don’t look like you are planning coup.”

I nodded.

He walked away with his boys, and I turned to see Mark standing a few steps away. He had not heard everything, but he had heard enough with his eyes. His eyes moved from me to Tunde, then back to me.

He knew.
Maybe not the full thing, but he knew enough.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

Mark looked at me for a few seconds, then shook his head slowly. “You are still lying after Mum prayed for you this morning?”

His words entered me, but I pretended they did not.

“Assembly has started,” I said, walking past him.

He followed me without speaking.
As we stood on the assembly ground, I tried to sing the hymn. I tried to close my eyes during the prayer. I tried to behave like a student whose life was still simple, but my eyes kept opening by themselves, looking for Tunde across the lines.

After assembly, we entered class. The first teacher came in and started teaching, but her voice sounded far away. My notebook was open, but my mind was not inside it. Mum’s prayer came back to me again.

Lord, let him hear Your voice louder than the voice of temptation.

I swallowed.
For a few seconds, I almost changed my mind.
Almost.
Then I remembered Sikemi’s deleted message.
There is no turning back.
I told myself I was going to prove that there was turning back, but my eyes were on the clock.

9:10.
9:20.
9:35.
Every minute was walking slowly on purpose.

I was waiting for 10 a.m.
Waiting for Tunde’s signal.
Waiting to leave the safe side and step once more into the brutal one.

To be continued…
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