SANTA MARIA HIGH (COMPLETED)

Part One: 7

“Yes, Mum.”

“No, Ma.”

Those are the two sentences Obi’s father encouraged when the twins talked with their mother. “just keep to those lines,” he would say, then wink, “I’ll handle the details.”

Well, father who was the usual intermediary now worked in England, and Obi felt sick the more he had to say “yes Mum.” Or “no Ma.”

“you promise to be a good boy,” Mrs Ngozi said, bending over Obi who was shifting on the balls of his feet, eager to leave.

“I won’t be getting any report of any bad behavior right? I wouldn’t need to call your father or my lawyer right?

“Obi hon, you would not have anything to do with those alcoholic boys No?” he was quiet and his mother just kept talking.

“we talked about this Obi honey, remember?”

Obi wonder if his looks equates how he felt: mortified. Hearing Mrs Ngozi droned on over and over again. “yes Mum.” He replied, and for a moment felt like saying, “No Mum, you know I think I like vodka now.” But he dared not. It was just a onetime incident, that in recent time seem to be the only thing his mother sees. A young boy dabbling with alcohol at the behest of peer pressure.

Mrs Ngozi, a petite woman, didn’t have the size but she sure has the lungs for it and if Obi wanted to hear it end he knew the way, the one and only way. The straight and narrow high road, “yes Ma.”

It was bad that his father had to leave. What was worse about his absence is the fact that he wasn’t here to rescue him from the two female folk that were making hell of his life at the parking lot with about half a dozen pair of eyes watching.

Ada, his twin sister was watching them, with humor in those eyes that sparkle with subtle mischief. She was grinning, her head cocked to the left, as she sways to the music only she could hear. Of course, she knew best not to interrupt. But Obi knew her, she was drinking it all in, memorizing each word, each intonation, every phrase, the nuance, rehearsing it all, and when mother would be done, that’s when she would start.

His jaw clenched. “Mum can I go now?”

“and you promise to attend the student Christian fellowship regularly, right?” she said with soulful eyes this time, bending to level up with him eye to eye. She looked like she might cry.

All the whiles! Obi thought. One moment his mother could be all fire and brimstone, the next she is literarily staring at you with puppy dog eyes. He swallowed. “Yes Mum, I promise.”

If there were few people who complained about the new principal’s laissez faire attitude to enforcement of religious practice, Mrs. Ngozi was one of them. In fact, she had deliberately ignored Principal Charles’ greetings earlier, her eyes suddenly focused on the windshield like she was taking them right out of the gate to a better catholic school that prays six times in a day or more.

“Yes mum.” Obi repeated, answering the silent scrutiny that ensued. Mrs Ngozi was staring intently at him as if hoping to gain a psychic perspective on the state of his soul, looking him up, then down, head to toe like she has some scanner working behind those eyes. Evaluating if Obi’s heart was finally set right.

“I promise Mum.” Obi said. The woman sighed, Obi guessed that whatever her mother’s heart scanner had found, there was nothing she could see that could trigger her state-of-emergency alarm.

Then there came the part Obi couldn’t endure, not with every eye watching, eyes of parents and students, new and old, watching the drama: Mrs Ngozi leaned close, her breath tickled his forehead. That was when he felt it coming. Her lips were just an inch from the top of his head. Obi yelled, “Mum!” and ran.

Mrs Ngozi looked stunned, but Obi didn’t care, “please.” He wheezed, when he was finally able to put a safe distance between. “I’m not a child anymore.”

His mother smiled, a cryptic smile, he couldn’t tell whether they held another promise. Oh Boy! “Please, I need to go.”

“Ada come have my blessings.” Mrs Ngozi said, her arms wide open.

Ada came forward and Mrs Ngozi kissed her. Ada was looking back at him, she was smirking, nothing like the smile that lingered on his mother’s face as if to tell him: this is how good children behave.

She had her way in the end like she always does, and she kissed the top of his head more than once, “be a good boy, no bad record and we’ll consider that laptop we talked about,” she said, but Obi was barely listening, it was the peal of laughter, the amusement that registered on Ada’s face and some other kids watching. It all left Obi’s livid face beet red as he was finally permitted to leave. He didn’t hesitate one second.

His mother drove off.

When he heard the clip clap sound of Ada’s shoe behind he knew what would come next, “be a good boy o, no more vodka o, if you do o, I’ll tell daddy o.” she was saying in a sing song voice after him, adding an ‘o’ after every line, her voice pitched in that annoying nauseating nasal lisp of their mother.

“stop it.” He warned tightening his fist.

Ada laughed, covering her mouth, her eyes crinkled, gleaming with tear. “you should see the look on your face.” She said, “it was just a kiss.” She shrugged, “Didn’t bite the last time I checked.”

“easy for you to say.” Obi muttered, thinking of how he may relive this scandal the entire session, the boys would never let him hear the last of it. He rubbed his head as if wipe off the kiss he could still feel on his scalp, something he had once liked years ago.

Obi might have his quirks and oddities, but Ada wasn’t any different. While Obi had drove of friends to (according to Mrs Ngozi) corrupt him, Ada’s anger issues made sure she had very few friends.

Some girls caught up with Ada on their way to the hostel. While Obi knew better than to think their false exaggerated giggles had anything to do with him, He was glad to part ways, and finally headed for the boy’s hostel. On his own. Alone.

As if even SMH has conspired against him, (which it had ever since the vodka incident) his new roommate was in SS3, the nerdiest of nerds (and presently, Library prefect). Mother did ask him to shore up his academic performance but he wasn’t aware of the length mother had gone to influence his accommodation for the session.

The boy, whose nickname was Harry potter was reading a book, obviously borrowed from the library judging from the stamp. On the cover was the title, ‘Osei Ababio, AP Chemistry’ and the background was a riot of colors. Psychedelic, Obi thought.

If Harry Potter noticed he’s entered, he never acted like he did, his goggling eyes just stared behind the lens of his eyeglasses at the pages like he was staring at the latest release of hero world comics. His left hand was mindlessly scribbling on a jotter.

Obi went for a shower, when he returned Harry potter was gone, probably to the library, or dining hall, what does he care? He dressed up in a checkered blue short sleeve and khaki shorts. He left for the dinner.