Chapter 1: School Days, Dusty Shoes

When I dey junior secondary school, my seatmate na small girl—she short, her skin dey dark, and she get one kind boyish look. Her skirt always one inch shorter, as if tailor use leftover cloth.

She get that stubborn hair wey always dey poke out for front, the kind wey even hair cream no fit tame. Her school sandals dey always carry dust, even after rain. You go see red mud mark for the side, no matter how she try wipe am. Her voice sef deep pass as you go expect, and when she laugh, e dey burst out from her belly, no holding back. Sometimes she go use her biro knock desk, dey hum some waka-waka tune, just dey inside her own world.

I no even dey see am as girl, and she no dey treat me like say I be boy either.

Na true talk be that—nobody dey carry gender for head that time. If she want gist, na gist; if wahala show, she fit stand for you like person wey no send. I remember one day, rain start dey fall after closing time, she just tear her nylon bag into two—she no even look my face—just tear am, pass half give me, like say na normal thing. That kind friendship—no be today e start.

That time, na "Legend of the Spirit Warriors" reign pass—all those fantasy novel wey everybody dey craze for. Our school kiosk sharp—once dem hear say new book drop, dem go arrange am for window, dey shout price loud loud to all the secondary and primary school pikin. Each one na 500 naira—big money for us that time o. 500 naira fit buy puff-puff for whole week, but we still dey find way buy book.

Some people go even hide their lunch money, just to buy am. I fit remember as boys go dey use biro mark their name for the first page, like say na passport. For assembly ground, you go see people dey argue about who get which volume. Even teachers sef dey hide am for staffroom drawer, dey peep am during break.

Still, any time new volume drop, e go finish during first break. If you come late, na just to dey look as the lucky ones dey waka commot, dey hold their shiny new book, dey smile like say dem win lottery. Their grin sef dey wide, like say e pass the kickback of AK-47.

You go just dey hear whisper for corridor—"Guy, you see am? Volume 6 don drop o!" Some dey trade old volumes for biscuit and sweet. "Guy, abeg swap your Volume 3 for my chin chin!" That pride of owning your own, e get as e be. If you borrow, you dey fear to stain am, because wahala go land.

But me, I no dey struggle with anybody—my seatmate na day student.

Her own na sharp level. She dey go out, come back, nobody dey stress her. Some people dey even envy am, say she fit smell home food before anybody else. Me I dey hear gist say her mama sabi cook egusi soup, e dey enter compound every evening like perfume.

She dey go house every afternoon and every evening. One time, I ask am why she fit dey go house steady like that.

I remember say that day, her socks dirty well, I dey yarn her make she change am. But instead, I just yarn the question, dey chew my biro like I dey calculate.

She just roll eye for me. "Because my house dey beside the school na."

She kukuma use her hand sweep imaginary dust from her skirt, like person wey don answer this question tire. Na the kind answer wey get small pepper inside, but na truth.

That time, I no even reason am well. I just think say, e good to dey live near school like this.

To me, e be like say she dey enjoy special grace. I dey imagine am just waka enter her parlour after school, drop bag, collect cold water, lie down small before coming back. I no even sabi say e mean pass so.

Na years later I come sabi wetin e mean—she dey live for 'school catchment house', that kind face-me-I-face-you house wey landlord dey shout every evening, wey dey inside area where correct schools dey, wey plenty parents dey hustle to get.

Some parents go lie on top form, just to talk say their pikin dey live for catchment. For that area, house rent dey high, but e dey worth am because you go fit enter school sharp sharp. Dem say if you get house for catchment, na like you win lottery. Na all those my aunties for WhatsApp group go dey talk about am when admission season reach.

We dey call each other 'bro'. She dey help me buy "Legend of the Spirit Warriors", I dey allow am copy my homework.

Sometimes, when I call her 'bro' for class, other girls go twist mouth, dey whisper. But two of us no send. After all, better padi no get gender. For library, na she dey borrow book for me when librarian dey vex for my head. I dey help am number math homework, she dey gist me who dey crush on who for class.

That time, she slow small for book, and she no too like homework. But me, I dey always finish sharp sharp, so I fit use evening prep time read my novel.

She go dey there dey squeeze her face, dey drag biro as if na punishment. Sometimes I go tap her shoulder, "Abeg hurry up, I get new chapter to finish." She go hiss, push her paper come my side, make I help am small. If teacher catch us, na only me dey get warning. But I no mind, because I know as e dey sweet to help your own person.

That summer evening breeze go just dey blow enter class. Sun sef dey fade for horizon, night dey swallow am. Lights go dey on everywhere for city. Our school dey for hill top; if you look window, na sea of lights you go dey see.

Mosquitoes go dey hum for window, their wahala no dey end. Scent of dust and old books dey fill the air. Sometimes, for far corner, you go hear gardener dey water flower bed, the soft hiss of hosepipe like background music. That time, life slow, gentle—just the kind you fit miss when you don grow finish.

Old fan dey creak for up, dey try scatter the hot air. Her face dey red as she dey rush her homework. Me, I don finish, just dey there dey think.

Her hand dey sweat small, biro stain for her thumb. Every time she write, her nose wrinkle like person wey dey smell onions. I go just dey press my book under table, dey sneak read my novel. Sometimes, I fit catch her eye, she go stick tongue out, make we both laugh. All those small small memories dey stick for my head.

Years later, anytime I remember those school days, e be like say that hot summer dey chase me for dream. I dey remember her red face, the scattered notebooks, and "Legend of the Spirit Warriors" wey we hide under the books.

If heat too much, we go use notebook fan ourselves, dey blow hot air come out from armpit. The way we go dey hide novel for between chemistry and English notes, like say na secret treasure. Sometimes, I go wake up for night, dream say bell ring, we dey run go kiosk to buy new volume. That nostalgia e dey carry pepper for my chest.