There is an unspoken law that when you meet your ex, or crush, or ex-crush, or FWBs, or anyone you’ve been romantically entangled with! especially in a restaurant that is far too fancy for your measly salary, that you dissipate into thin air, strike the ground and fall into the endless abyss of pure darkness, or simply just fly away. Or, if you were me, duck behind the menu a posh-looking waitress had brought merely a second ago before you took one look at the counter and beheld the most life-plan-shattering sight of your life.
Why had I even come here? It’s not like I could afford to pay 25k, I eyed the menu, my heart dropped. Jesus, 30k! for a single plate of jollof rice and chicken. But my friend had said if I wanted a “rich boyfriend” then I should be going to where rich people hang out. Who didn't like the idea of ‘rich boyfriend’? And I also wanted to treat myself small. I deserve it na. But I hadn't expected to see him here.
Of course, this is the kind of place he'll be at! He was rich, or at least his parents were back when we were in secondary school. So, he'd be here. Unexpected. But he was supposed to be in Lagos. Don't ask me how I know. Well. Ok. Let's just say I follow him everywhere. IG ooh. Twitter ooh, Tiktok ohh. No one still uses FB, but FB ohh. And I even follow him with an extra account, a fake account where I could freely like his photos and watch his videos over and over again without being afraid I'd mistakenly like a video from 2013. Yes, even the ones he was with whatever new woman that tickled his fancy.
Weird, yes, but that's how we'd been since sec-school when he'd fight off boys from Olodo class, famously known as o'class, made up of deliquescents that loved to skip classes, and hang out on the staircase, kissing and doing all sorts of unmentionable things, then when the quiet girls passes bye, tries to grope them or make them join them.
I was a quiet girl, with capital q. The kind that couldn't meet the eyes of even her own classmates. The kind that was like a shadow, unnoticed, maybe until something like a maths competition or award, though I was never as good as SP or as bold as DSP, so even when I won more awards I was still unseen. I liked it that way though. I could come and go freely, and unlike the popular girls, could wear my faded shirt I had been wearing since Jss1— senior and junior section had the same uniform, unlike in most schools— because my father couldn't afford to buy me a new one and my patch-patch shoe. Those annoying patch-patch shoes that would soak my socks and blacken it during the rainy season.
However, I started regretting it when SS2 passed, and SS3 was about to end and I hadn't gotten my first kiss or first boyfriend even after finally buying a new set of school uniform and fresh all-stars, the ankle one that hid my socks like the big senior I was. What was wrong with me? I was fresh now, remade my all-back every week using the pieces of mirror in my room, pressed my uniform so that the lines would slice through your fingers. Even when there was no light for weeks, I take our spoilt iron, put it over the stove until it heats, then iron my clothes till each line was prominent, and polish my shoes and if there was no polish I used water and vaseline, though the latter made it to pack sand eh. But the fact is, I was now looking good, and although I wasn't the prettiest girl in our set, I was still easy going in the eyes, at least better than the girl that always carried ishi eri that seemed to be too old year in year out, never irons her clothes, never washed them either and the worst part was that she smelled like crayfish. Yet, the boys, some boys still chased her around and she got many kisses.
Me sef I get eye na. There was no way they'd hit on her and not on me. So I made the worst decision ever made by mankind and went to the staircase, in the guise of wanting to use it, neglecting years of ingrained doctrines.
I never went there, not when I had to visit the admin offices upstairs during learning hours, especially not during break-time when teachers weren't patrolling it to make sure the ‘olodo kids' made it to classes. And I was a quiet girl. The quietest of all quiet girls in the school, in the world even, but I had to take matters into my own hands. O'class boys were unserious, yes, but they had the hottest boys, not nerd hot boys, but hot hot boys who had no business having muscles in just secondary schools. The ones that would tuck-in and wear palms and still look hot doing it. The ones that never left their house without pressed shirts and trousers, and carried a crossing bag, not the backpack we carried, that is if they even bothered with a bag at all. They didn't know how to do basic maths or point out an adjective from sentences, but they were fine and clean and popular and I was soon to graduate, and needed to be hit on, noticed in any kind of way.
I never got Val gifts, or love letters but at least I'd get hit on. So, I'd gone to the staircase and I'd seen them seated in tiers as if the highest level was for their unspoken leader, doing one of those gyrations that they normally do. I'd said a politeness marker, but they feigned ignorance. I should have taken that as my cue to bounce. They were seniors after all, the highest level of students. Staying in school six years and finally becoming the highest level of senior was no small feat. We, they had the leadership positions in the school, the rules were bendable around them, not to talk of the boldness that came with it. The usual sliding themselves behind a girl so that her backside connected with their groin or positioning themselves in such a way that her frontside would slide past their hands then apologize like it hadn't been intentional, was now beneath them. But I was determined to pass from there. Foolishness on my part really. I wouldn't say I was particularly still fueled by my desire to get hit on, I was just annoyed that they didn't value me enough to let me pass, me sef be senior too na, and I became blinded by rage, or nerves and had tried to force my way through.
Long story cut short, well I don't know if I can cut it short, they blocked my path, eyes snapping to me like they just noticed me and when they saw my face, they smiled—the one in my line of sight did—and spoke in English. Since when did they use English to talk? But then again men always found the need to converse with women in English and not pidgin.
“What's your name?” The guy that had smiled at me asked.
I frowned, “how is that any of your business? I want to pass. VP is waiting for me.” VP was definitely not waiting for me. No one was waiting for me. I had nothing important to do with my life. That was why I was here.
“What class are you in?” his smile never left his face, as if he truly had all the time in the world and had just caught himself the best thing to pass it with.
“She dey our set ohh. Ss3X” another person said.
The other guy’s —let's call him guy A, the one smiling— brows shot up in surprise, “how come I haven't seen you before?”
I blushed, almost dropping my head to the floor. I knew guy A. He'd been in this school since JSS1 as I have been and the fact that he didn't recognise me was embarrassing as hell. I tried to pass through again or was it to just go back to class? And he had stood and blocked my way. “Get out of my way.” I warned.
“Or what?” He was smiling again, and blocking each new path I was trying to take.
He snatched the pen I hooked on my shirt.
“Give it to me.” I tried to take it back but he raised it above his head and God he was tall. Any other day, I might have sat and drooled on how tall he was but I just wanted my pen back and I wanted to go to class, and I had realised somewhere between him not recognising that I was his mate, and trying to leave, that this had been a bad idea. No. No, I always knew this was a bad idea. I wasn't among the popular girls that rolled shoulder to shoulder with them. I sure as hell wasn't as neat, or as fine and never had the balls to wear contraband and I probably didn't deserve to get valentines gifts. And was too good a girl to get a kiss anyway and was better off like that.
A knot settled in my throat and my eyes stung so badly, I was sure that any moment I'd break into sobs. My breasts were pressing against his chest each time I reached up to collect my pen, my skirt sliding up each time I stood on my toes, leaning in. I was making an absolute fool of myself. And entertaining them. Absolutely entertaining them.
I heard the sound of bone connecting with flesh. He was pulled back, then falling on the floor and another person who I couldn't see his face but immediately recognized, was climbing on him and was hitting him over and over again. The boys were screaming, some in excitement, others in horror, trying to pull them apart. Then the teachers came and pulled them apart and I picked up my pen that had fallen on the ground. Like the shadow I was, I slipped away and back into my classroom. But I knew they had fought because of me. No, that guy A had been beaten up because of me.
So, I sat patiently on my chair, slid tightly under my locker desk and waited for one boy to appear in my class and tell me that the VP was calling me. But none came. Even when chem teacher had entered class and started with the usual lecture on how much of a disgrace our set was, then proceeded to talk about the fight. I'd waited for him to call my name, punish or send me to VP's officer, but he hadn't.
The day ended, and the news that the parents of the guys that got into a fight had come to school reached me. Guy A was suspended and guy B or let's call him Ifeanyi since he was my hero and the one I was currently pining over, wasn't. That was the perks of having rich parents that characteristically made donations to the school. However, the reason for the fight never came out. Not even a whiff.
Weeks passed and everything went back to normal. I was once more in the shadows and the O'class boys were still the O'class boys. And Ifeanyi, a very crucial member in the O'class— In fact, if he'd been born in the early 90s when this school was founded, he'd have been the very founder of O'class. He was a delinquent but not an Olodo though. I used to think his good grades were because the teacher favoured him. I still thought that— acted like he didn't even know me. Even when girls and boys would mix in the assembly for whatever commotion that had started, or perhaps he slipped away to hide from the punishing eyes of a Sir. Nwankwo— the most wicked man in this world, brutal to even good students like me— he'd stand behind me, but act like I wasn't there. One time he held my shoulder and ducked his head ever so low, when Nwankwo's (I can call him nwankwo now. I'm a graduate after all) eyes nearly found him, but never for once had he spoken to me.
Even when our eyes would meet when we walked past each other on my way to lab , or I walked by his class—his real class. Like in the classroom— and walking really close to him sitting on the window, he said nothing. Even when I attempted to talk to him and didn't quite get past “Hi”, he didn't look at me or return it. Nevertheless, when I'd reckless though out of necessity used their designated staircase, my heart beating really hard against my chest, they'd just smiled and let me slip by and when one guy had tried to play foul, guy C, the one that had said “she dey our set ooh. SS3x” said, “na Ifeanyi babe ooh. Better mind yourself.”
I blushed. Really hard. He was wrong. So wrong. Ifeanyi and I have never spoken once in six years, I wanted to say but held my tongue and used my leverage to go about my activities. But to say I hadn't thought about what guy C had said would be a lie. I had, trying to narrow the possible rationale on why he’d said that. Or why Ifeanyi had even saved me in the first place. Nothing at all came to mind, aside maybe he was a really good guy. He was, after all, ignoring my existence even when I'd tried talking to him.
Then it was time for our graduation and I used all my savings to sew for myself the best gown, and my dad gave me money to make my hair. I had shown up, taken pictures with a few of my classmates who I wouldn't say were my friends, then I went to the bash because everyone was going and one of the best things of my life, till current day, happened.
Ifeanyi leaned on the bar counter of the hotel they'd chosen and I had been standing in front of it, and smiled at me as if to say hello. The Ifeanyi I had had a crush on since we were in JSS1 and were all short and babyi. When he'd grown fully into a man, six foot something and dark skin was glowy as if it was putting on a show, his pink lips topping everything off, I just wanted to die or give my soul to him. I can remember marveling at how much he grew in the three months of our junior waec vacation. But, wait, he was smiling at me?
My heart was pounding so rapidly, my cheeks so hot I was near passing out. He might have been saying something. I didn't know or remember. All I knew was I was running out of the bar, then the pool area, then the gate and because the place wasn't far from my house, then was trekking back home and when I got home I fell on my bed and daydreamed about how his perfect lips had curved one side in a smile and that he had a dimple. A very perfect, deep dimple.
That was the last time I saw him in person. Years later, when I finally got my first phone, the first thing I did was download every social media app and kept scrolling through lists of Ifeanyi Micheal Ezeanyi until I found him and followed him. Not all at once of course. Slowly, as if I just stumbled upon his name and decided to add him to my friend list.
He followed me back! In a matter of minutes. But he never hit me up and I never got the guts to hit him up either.
It'd been decades and now he was standing in front of me, a woman at his side and holding onto a child. I couldn't quite remember seeing any post on getting married, but then again I'd become too distracted by work to follow him up closely.
I peered through the rim of the cardstock to where he'd been. He should have left by now. It’d been minutes. Unless he wanted to stay and eat here. In that case I'd have to leave. He smiled at the woman beside him, a beauty really, and then turned to my direction. Our eyes met. Oboy! I raised the menu higher, more like it sprung up involuntarily, and slithered lower in my chair. Inelegantly I should add, or was it ‘’if I might add', how did the English say it? I prayed to God, to my mother in heaven, to all my ancestors in any plain that he had been looking above my head and even if he did see me that he wouldn't approach.
Too late. I heard the scrapping of metal on tiles, followed by a grunt as someone settled down in front of me.
No. No. No. This was not happening. I tried to calm my heart.
“Ahem”
I slid the menu down to my nose level to peek if truly it was in front of me whoever it was had sat down. And of course, if it was—
It was him. It was him. I ought to dissipate now. Or fall into the ground or fly. Yes fly, where were my powers?!
I straightened in my seat, resisting the urge to bolt out of the restaurant and placed the menu on the table. He looked taken aback, like he didn't quite believe it was me, before he caught himself and smiled, dimple and all. That smile.
“Ifeanyi,” I started, surprising myself that I sounded very calm— I was becoming a big girl! “It's been a while.”
His smile remained, “it has.”
He paused, then opened his mouth again to say something but I beat him to it.
“I didn't know you were in town.”
He cocked a brow, “do you ever know when I'm in town?”
Right. It was true. What was I saying? But I did know. I always did. But why was I saying it out loud?
“No. It just seemed like the nice thing to say.”
He chuckled, a deep rich tune, “How have you been?”
“Good. Fine. Great. You?”
“Good, really good.”he dragged it out as if he was mimicking me somehow.
“Of course.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“You look,” I made a wide gesture at him, “good.”
His smile widened, a grin now. “Thank you.”
I waited for him to return the compliment. He didn't, just stared at me in that way of his. The one I had seen him use countless times, when he was trying to talk an SS3 girl into believing that the SS2 girl she had seen him with was just a friend. Since when did men have female friends and not want something in return? Especially teenagers that had nothing to do but try to touch breasts and nyash and measure who had the longest or largest pricks? Ok, the last part sent hot waves to my stomach. The good kind, but here wasn't the place.
I nodded, breaking the eye contact and turned my gaze to the menu. I should order something before they kick me out. Just imagine being kicked out in front of him, that would be embarrassing! My eyes roamed from dish to dish. Omo, amaka has killed me. How did she even find this place?
Moimoi 5k, What's inside it? If you order it now it would be the size of a tablespoon. Shawarma 10k, shey shawarma no be 2k again? Or maybe 3k if you want a very sharp one.
“You should get the spaghetti stir fry, or the chicken sauce and rice. But if you like fish, then buy the grilled catfish and pair it with just white rice. The absolute best.”
I looked from the menu to him, then back to the menu, found the catfish price and my eyes nearly bulged out of its sockets. 90k for catfish and pepper. That's everything in my account currently, I just finished paying rent. Hei God!. And the rice doesn't come with it ooh. Rice alone is 7k. Everything together amounts to almost 100k. Wetin remain make e reach my salary? I coordinated myself and smiled up at him. “I'm not really hungry.”
“Didn't you come here to eat?”
“No. Yes. I mean, I just want to eat something light. Like moimoi.”
“Nonsense. I'll order it for you. You can't visit this place and not try it out.”
“I'm not really hungry.”
“Then take it home.”
Hei God. What do I do now? I made to talk and he held up his hand to stop me.
“I insist. I'll pay for it.”
I let out a breath. Wait ooh. “I can't let you pay for my food. We're not on a date.” I blurted out so fast I didn't catch the last part. Or even realise I was just putting myself up to spend 97k, 7k above the money currently sitting in my account. Mean say I go even trek go house.
The curve on his mouth snapped me out of it. What's wrong with this one now? “What?”
“Of course we're on a date.” He said clearly amused by the whole thing, “you're here. I'm here. It's a date.”
“You didn't ask me out. So we're not on a date.”
“So I need to ask you out first eeh?”
I ignored him, my mind working overtime on how to get out of this mess before it got any worse. It didn't feel good to see an old crush you hadn't gotten over. And it was even worse that I was not in a better place in life. Clearly life was going well for him. My mind went to the lady who had been standing beside him and his child. I glanced towards them and saw them now seated but the woman did glance over once in a while.
What a jerk! Leaving his wife and kid to talk to a girl. I couldn't allow that. “Your wife is looking over here. You've left her long enough don't you think and even if you're…whatever you are, at least respect her enough not to do it in front of her.”
Why was I giving a lecture? It wasn't my place. But still—
“If you wanted to know if I was married you should have just asked. Not playing around with words.”
What
“What?” Now I was annoyed and a little… curious.
“That's my little sister and her son.”
“Oh” I mouthed, then added. “Are you sure?” Because Nigeria married men, they can lie for Africa.
“Are my sure that my sister is my sister?” His tone was derisive. I scowled but did a one take of her again and saw similar features. The eyes, the lips, the nose, Christ she was like the female version of him. How had I not seen that before?
“Still, it's rude to keep her waiting.”
“Why exactly did God give me a little sister if I can't keep her waiting?” As if he believed in God, with the amount of women he had slept with.
I sighed, then rolled my eyes.”You're an ass and if I were her I would have left you by now.”
He chuckled again. That sound. “I already told her to. She wanted to wait.”
I visibly relaxed and he smiled like he noticed.
“So. Do you want me to ask you out on date to make this,”he pointed between me and him, “official? This date of ours I mean.”
“No one tells a man to ask her out.”
“So I should do it if I want, right?”
“If I don't give my consent it's a waste of time. But do you.”
“Of course you'll agree. You don't have a choice.”
I pursed my lips. “Like I said, do you.”
“So you don't want to go on a date with me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I eyed him. Like from head to toe, or from head to belly, since the rest of his body was obscured by the table. “why would I want to date you?”
“Because it's me. Ifeanyi. The hot Ifeanyi.”
I nearly choked on air. I had said that, sometime Jss3, when we were pouring each other pure water in celebration of finishing junior WAEC. Cynthia, my only friend then, who didn't return to school after the holiday, had asked me who was my absolute crush in school and had promised not to tell anyone. I said those exact words after she failed to pick up on who he was based on my description but unless he was standing behind him, which shouldn't have been possible or was it? Everything was a fog now, he won't know that. And I'm certain she hadn't told anyone because I had followed in her shadow after that, till we made a trek to her house and then a trek back to the park I had taken a bus home. Thinking back now I should have visited her when she didn't return. It's been years and I didn't even know if she was alive.
I blushed, then became sad in a matter of seconds but said anyway, “and I'm Zinachidi.” Raising my voice higher and my head with it.
He leaned in closer, waiting for me to continue with a tag for myself and when I didn't he said, “The run away when a boy talks to you Zina?”
No! I couldn't hold back the shame that threatened to draw me below the waves. Oh God. Oh God! He remembers. He remembers that day. Specifically how I'd made a fool of myself. I wanted to slap my forehead, to really dissipate this time, or fly into the open crack in the ground that was filled with molten metal instead of darkness. Yes, that would feel better than this moment.
He smiled, like a wide smile, the stupid handsome thing and I just stared at him like the idiot I was, stupefied. He stood, his chair scraping against the tile once more. “I'll pick you up at 8pm toda–, Tommorrow. 8pm tomorrow. Wear something really nice ok.”
He turned around and walked towards his sister before I could give an answer.
What in the name of stupid things just happened?