---
Chapter 8: The Prefectship Begins
By Monday morning, Bosol was humming with a new kind of energy. Posters fluttered on the school notice board, papers passed between hands, and whispers filled the air like morning mist.
"Today's the day," Ayomide said, straightening her green-on-green uniform and brushing imaginary dust from her white socks. Her polished black shoes tapped softly against the classroom floor.
Victory nodded, her usual cheerful grin lighting up her face. "Form day. Let the games begin!"
At the front of the school, just beside the staffroom, a table had been set up for prefectship registration. Students crowded around it, collecting forms, asking questions, and pointing excitedly at the categories listed:
> Head Boy / Head Girl
Assistant Head
Time Keeper
Chapel Prefect
Social Prefect
Health Prefect
Sports Prefect
Sanitation Prefect
Library Prefect
Dining Prefect
Ajiboye and Ayomide were the first from SS2A to collect forms for Head Prefect. No surprise there.
Precious Fadeyi, still feeling the weight of her last mistake, quietly picked up a form for Sports Prefect. Elumezie, with his quick wit and love for order, went for Time Keeper.
"Me?" Victory asked, flipping through the form. "I don't even know what to apply for."
"You could go for Social Prefect," Ajiboye said as he walked past. "You're always organizing birthday gifts and class events."
Victory laughed. "So that qualifies me?"
"Definitely," Ayomide added. "You've got people skills. And that's what leadership is about."
By noon, campaign mode was in full swing. Students walked through the corridors handing out fliers. Some were simple: a name, position, and slogan. Others had colored borders and even small photos attached.
Ajiboye's flier read:
> Precious Ajiboye for Head Boy
Integrity. Intelligence. Influence.
While Ayomide's read:
> Adeniji Ayomide for Head Girl
Smart Leadership. Quiet Strength. Clear Vision.
"Nice slogan," said Bimbo, reading Ayomide's paper. "Simple, but powerful."
"You need help designing your speech?" Victory asked.
"I've already written a draft," Ayomide replied. "But I'll need help rehearsing."
The school buzzed with predictions.
"Ajiboye's too friendly. Everyone likes him," a boy from SS2B complained.
"But Ayomide has the brains," added a girl from SS1.
"What if both of them win?" another voice asked.
As the school prepared for the election speech day, Mr. Daniel decided to give SS2A a quick civics talk.
"Leadership is more than big words and flattery," he said, standing at the front of the classroom with his usual grace. "It's about example, service, and making tough decisions even when they're not popular."
He looked directly at Ayomide and Ajiboye. "Popularity is easy. Responsibility isn't."
"Yes sir," the class chorused.
That evening, while most students returned to hostels or headed home, Ayomide stayed behind in the school library, crafting and rewriting her speech. Victory sat with her, reading it aloud line by line.
"You should make this part more personal," Victory suggested. "Talk about how you helped Fadeyi through her civic punishment. That was leadership."
"You think it'll matter?" Ayomide asked.
"Yes. It shows you lead by example, not just talk."
Meanwhile, outside near the basketball court, Ajiboye was surrounded by a small group of students who had formed a campaign team.
"I don't want this to be just about friendship," he told them. "We have to show we can lead. Let's plan a clean campaign—no badmouthing other candidates."
"You're too nice, Ajiboye," one of the boys said.
"No," he replied. "I'm just not desperate. If I win, I want it to be because people believe in me—not because I tore others down."
The week rolled by fast. Friday arrived with announcements about manifesto day—when candidates would deliver their campaign speeches to the entire school in the multipurpose hall.
Everyone was talking about it.
"Will she cry?" "Will he shout?" "What if they forget their lines?"
At lunch, Fadeyi gave Ayomide a small gift—a blue pen wrapped with a note: Write history.
"Thank you," Ayomide said, touched.
"And for the record," Fadeyi added, "you've already won my vote."
That evening, the Directress addressed the school in a brief meeting.
"As prefectship season begins," she said, standing firm in her usual navy blue gown, "remember our school motto—God is our Refuge. Do not lie. Do not cheat. And do not bully others for votes. The prefects of Bosol are not just leaders—they are reflections of this school's character."
The students nodded solemnly.
As they dismissed in lines, chatter began again—this time softer, more serious.
Campaigns weren't just fun anymore. They were real.
Back in the dormitory, Ayomide rehearsed her speech again under her breath. Across campus, Ajiboye stood near the chapel, watching the sun dip behind the fence, quietly praying.
Somewhere near the SS2B block, a new candidate, shy but determined, was also preparing a speech—ready to surprise everyone.
And all across Bosol, the green-and-white flag fluttered in the evening breeze, dancing beside the bold inscription above the gate:
> "God is our Refuge."
Prefectship had begun. And in its wake, friendships would be tested, values would be measured, and the true leaders would rise