CHAPTER TWENTY “WHEN WRONG IS LOUD!”

© Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the Creative Word

I did not realize how far I had walked until I looked up and noticed I was almost halfway to school.

My legs had been moving, but my mind had remained in Martins’ room, seated in front of that dangerous financial presentation. I had left the Alabi house physically, but something in me was still upstairs, listening to Martins explain how a boy like me could stop being a delivery boy and become something bigger.

Something richer.

Something darker.

Before leaving the house, I had tried to see Sikemi. I knocked on her door once, then twice, but she did not answer. For a moment, I stood there like a fool, waiting for the door to open so that her face could help me make sense of the madness Martins had just poured into my head.

Martins came out of his room and saw me standing there.

“She is sleeping,” he said.

“Sleeping?”

“Yes. She slept late last night.”

“Oh.”

“She was doing some business.”

The way he said business made me look at him.

He smiled.

“Sikemi is not a baby in this thing, Matthew. She is one of the big distributors among girls-only secondary schools.”

I stared at him.

“Sikemi?”

“Yes,” he said, almost proudly. “Your Sikemi is sitting on plenty money.”

My mouth opened a little, but no words came out.

Sikemi.

The same Sikemi who laughed softly.

The same Sikemi who sent me Love you. Cheers to Harvard.

The same Sikemi whose perfume could make my sense behave like it had gone to visit relatives.

She was one of the big distributors.

Martins laughed at my expression.

“Why are you shocked? You think all this beauty is funded by good morning and good night?”

I said nothing.

He walked closer and tapped my shoulder lightly.

“You need to make plenty money o,” he teased. “How do you want to marry Sikemi if you are broke?”

I should have corrected him.

I should have said, “Who is marrying Sikemi?”

I should have said, “I am not even supposed to be here.”

But instead, the foolish part of my heart heard *marry Sikemi* and started behaving like a village boy who had just been promised a princess.

So I left the Alabi house with more confusion than I had brought there.

As I walked towards school, the road began to show me two different sermons.

The first sermon came through the broken people I saw.

Near a junction, a young man was walking barefooted, talking to himself and laughing at something nobody else could see. His clothes were dirty, his hair scattered, and his eyes looked like they had travelled far away from his body. A few people avoided him. One woman pulled her child closer as they passed.

A little further down, I saw another young man sitting by the roadside, shaking his head repeatedly and muttering. He could not have been more than twenty. Maybe twenty-two. His whole future looked like it had been folded and thrown beside him.

Something in me whispered, This is where pills can lead.

I swallowed.

That should have been enough warning.

That should have been the altar call.

That should have been the moment I turned around, went home, knelt beside my mother’s bed, and confessed everything from Sikemi’s “I like you” to the pill in my mouth, the package, the Airbnb, the money, and Martins’ business plan.

But the road had another sermon.

A few minutes later, two young guys drove past in a car so clean and expensive that people turned to look. The music was low, the windows were slightly tinted, and the boys inside looked barely older than some of the senior boys in my school. One of them had a watch on his wrist that looked like it could pay a family’s rent for a year.

My eyes followed the car.

Then another one passed.

Another clean car.

Another young face.

Another life that looked like it had found a shortcut my generation would never be able to boast of if we kept waiting for honest miracles that came once in ten years.

My mind began to speak again.

Maybe this was what Martins meant.

Maybe life was not as simple as Sunday school made it sound.

Maybe somebody in every family had to be the scapegoat.

Maybe somebody had to enter the fire so others could enjoy warmth.

Maybe I had to be the sacrifice that would deliver my lineage from generational poverty.

It sounded noble.

That was what frightened me later.

At that moment, it did not sound wicked. It sounded like burden. It sounded like responsibility. It sounded like a boy trying to save his mother from tiredness and his family from shame.

That is how the enemy works sometimes. He does not always give you an idea that sounds evil. Sometimes, he gives you a sinful idea and wraps it with a family testimony.

By the time I got closer to school, ideas had started coming.

Too many ideas.

Names started appearing in my mind.

Tunde.

Isabella.

Some senior boys.

Some girls who were always complaining about weight.

Some students who loved shortcuts.

Some students who were always tired before exams.

Some students who admired my grades.

Some students who wanted confidence.

Some students who wanted to belong.

It is interesting to note how the enemy gives you several ideas once you open the door. Before then, you can be struggling to know what to do with your life. But the moment you agree with darkness, darkness starts supplying strategy like a consultant.

I entered school with a head full of plans and a heart full of fear.

All through the day, conscience fought me.

Fear fought me.

Memory fought me.

Every time I looked at Tunde, something told me, Ask him.

Then another voice would say, Don’t you dare.

Every time Isabella passed with her group of girls, laughing like the school belonged to her father, a thought came: She is perfect. If she likes it, everybody will want it.

Then another voice would say, Do you want to destroy someone’s daughter?

So I said nothing.

First period passed.

Second period passed.

Break came.

I said nothing.

Tunde even joked with me, but my mouth refused to do what my mind had planned.

For a while, I felt relieved.

Maybe I would not do it.

Maybe fear was mercy.

Maybe conscience was still alive enough to block my madness.

But after Mathematics class, the opportunity came like it had been arranged.

Our teacher had given us a hard question on the board. The class was noisy at first, then quiet when nobody could solve it. I looked at it for a few minutes, walked to the board, and solved it step by step.

When I finished, the class made noise.

After the Teacher left, Tunde shouted from the back, “King of Maths!”

Somebody else clapped.

Another person said, “Matthew, abeg, what do you eat?”

People laughed.

I smiled.

Then Tunde said, “No, seriously, guy. Your brain is not normal.”

And before I realized what I was doing, my mouth opened.

“Thanks to the brain booster I have been using recently.”

The class became interested.

It was as if I had thrown meat into a gathering of hungry dogs.

Tunde leaned forward immediately. “Which brain booster?”

My heart skipped.

Mark, who was sitting not too far away, turned and looked at me.

I saw the question in his eyes.

*What are you talking about?*

I ignored him.

“It is not common here,” I said, trying to sound casual. “A family friend who travels abroad gave me some.”

“Abroad?” Tunde asked.

That one worked.

In our environment, once you added *abroad* to anything, people’s respect increased.

“Yes,” I said. “It is like a brain booster multivitamin. It helps with focus, energy, and sharp thinking.”

Somebody asked, “Is it safe?”

My throat tightened.

“Yes,” I said.

The lie came out too easily.

Another girl asked, “Is it only for reading?”

I remembered Martins’ words.

Pain points.

Labels.

Match the pain.

“No,” I said, lowering my voice a little as if I was sharing premium information. “It also helps with weight management.”

That was when I saw the girls’ eyes change.

Not all of them.

But enough.

I had hit two pain points without planning it properly.

Ego and appearance.

For the boys, sharp brain.

For the girls, body.

The class became more attentive.

Even people who had been packing their books stopped packing.

Tunde’s eyes widened. “You mean it can make person sharper and still help weight?”

“That is what they said,” I replied quickly, trying to distance myself from the lie while still selling it. “It is a daily pill. It makes your brain sharp. It gives you energy..”

Mark was still looking at me.

This time, his face did not only look confused.

It looked afraid.

I avoided his eyes.

Tunde asked, “Can you bring some?”

That was the exact question I had been waiting for.

And the exact question I had been afraid of.

“I could bring some tomorrow,” I said.

A few voices came together.

“Yes o.”

“Bring for me.”

“Me too.”

“I want to try.”

“How much?”

I raised my hand slightly, like a responsible person controlling demand.

“Let me confirm first,” I said. “It is not plenty with me.”

That was another lie.

There was none with me.

But lies were beginning to queue up behind one another, each one waiting patiently for its turn.

As soon as I got the chance, I borrowed Tunde’s phone.

“Again?” he asked, laughing. “Matthew, this my phone has become your personal assistant.”

“Just one minute,” I said.

He handed it to me.

I moved to a corner where I could still see people but people could not easily see what I was doing. I logged into my social media quickly and searched for Sikemi.

My hands were shaking, but I typed fast.

**Please tell Martins I need about 50 to 100 pills for my classmates. They are interested. How can I get them?**

I stared at the message.

Fifty to hundred pills.

My chest tightened.

This was no longer a mistake.

This was no longer forced.

This was no longer “I did not know.”

This was me asking.

I sent it before conscience could drag my hand back.

Sikemi answered almost immediately.

Tomorrow morning.

I stared at the message.

Tomorrow morning.

Just like that.

No shock.

No question.

No delay.

Then another message came in.

Have you thought about this? Do you really want to do this? There is no turning back.

I froze.

For a few seconds, I just stared at the message.

It was from Sikemi, but it did not sound like the Sikemi I knew.

It sounded like the human being buried under the perfume, pills, money, and soft dangerous voice.

It sounded like a warning.

It sounded like a door still giving me one last chance to refuse before it locked.

But in less than five seconds, the message disappeared.

Deleted.

I stared at the empty space where it had been.

Then another message came.

I will let Martins know.

That was all.

I swallowed.

So she had a rethink.

Or maybe something in her warned me, and something else in her silenced the warning.

I logged out quickly and returned Tunde’s phone.

He collected it and asked, “So?”

I forced a smile.

“Tomorrow,” I said.

His face lit up.

And just like that, the thing I had feared had become an appointment.

Across the classroom, Mark was still looking at me.

This time, I did not look away fast enough.

Our eyes met.

He did not say anything.

But his face said what his mouth had promised not to say.

*Matthew, what are you becoming?*

To be continued…

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

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