The announcement came after assembly.
"All SS3 students are to submit their extracurricular participation forms by Thursday. Activities include sports, cultural clubs, creative arts, debate, and others. Forms will be distributed during second period."
The form came in a flimsy yellow sheet, folded neatly and slipped into our notebooks during class.
Zainab looked at hers like it was a makeup tutorial—eyes scanning each section with a kind of sparkle. "We're allowed to choose two max," she said, nudging me. "I'm definitely picking fashion club. And cheerleading. You?"
I didn't reply.
Not right away.
Because the moment I opened the form and saw the section for Sports, my heart thudded.
There it was, listed in all caps like it was waiting for me:
BASKETBALL.
I didn't need to overthink it.
No weighing options.
No second guesses.
My pen touched the paper before my mind could catch up.
✅ BASKETBALL
☐ Football
☐ Athletics
☐ Cheerleading
☐ None of the above
That last box—None of the above—mocked me for a second.
Because for years, I had felt like that box.
But not today.
---
Later that afternoon, a few girls in our class were still debating between dance and cheerleading, treating it like the most life-altering decision of the year.
One looked at me and frowned. "You ticked basketball?"
"Yeah."
She raised a brow. "With the boys?"
"With the ball."
Zainab laughed from across the room. She didn't mock me. She just shook her head in her usual this girl is something else way.
---
On our way home, she brought it up again.
"You know Eli is captain of the basketball team, right?"
"Okay."
"Just saying. He's intense on the court. And the team's mostly boys."
I didn't respond.
Not because I hadn't heard.
But because I had played in backyards with real sweat, real scrapes, and no audience.
I wasn't here to impress.
I was here because basketball was one of the few things in this world that didn't demand I talk first.
And if Eli was on that court…
Well.
He'd find out soon enough that I don't play to be noticed.
It happened on Wednesday. Lunch break.
The school cafeteria was a blur of trays, laughter, and loud sneakers. I wasn't hungry. I had already gotten used to eating just enough to function. But I sat in my usual corner near the window with a bottle of water and half an apple.
Zainab wasn't with me. She had gone off to finalize her cheerleading uniform fitting.
I didn't expect peace. But I wasn't prepared for noise aimed directly at me either.
"So you're the new girl."
The voice wasn't kind. Not curious. It was... sharp. Like someone trying to cut something they didn't understand.
I looked up.
Tall. Slender. Edges laid like they came with instructions. Her uniform skirt was tighter than school regulations, and her lips were glossed like she was always ready for a selfie.
"And you are?" I asked, without standing.
"Bianca. Head of the cheer team."
Her smile was fake—one of those Instagram smiles people do when they're about to shade you in HD.
I nodded once. No real interest.
"Heard you joined basketball."
So that's what this was about.
I leaned back slightly. "Yeah."
"You know we don't usually have girls on the team, right?"
"That a rule?"
She blinked, thrown off for a split second.
"It's just... people stick to what fits them, you know?" Her tone was airy, like she wasn't being offensive on purpose. Just accidentally full of attitude.
"I fit basketball. You fit sparkles."
I took a bite of my apple.
Her smile thinned. "You're brave. Talking like that on your first week."
"I'm not talking. You are."
That did it.
The sparkle in her eyes dimmed into something bitter.
People at nearby tables had started to go quiet. Not enough for drama, but enough for the heat to rise.
She looked me over, eyes scanning from my black joggers to my plain braids.
"Just remember," she said, flipping her hair over one shoulder, "this school was balanced before you came. Don't go thinking a pair of sneakers makes you special."
I didn't reply.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
She walked off, heels clacking like she wanted everyone to know she was leaving on purpose.
---
When Zainab returned, she looked at me, then glanced toward Bianca's retreating back.
"What happened?"
"She introduced herself."
Zainab winced. "Bianca doesn't like anyone who might distract attention. Especially not from Eli."
I paused mid-chew. "This has something to do with him?"
"You joined his team. That's enough for her."
I drank the rest of my water.
Let them talk.
Let them watch.
I didn't come here for anyone's crown. Just the court. The silence. The peace that came when the ball hit the rim and dropped clean through the net.
Still…
Grandpa always said, "You won't always start a fight. But people will still throw punches at your presence."
Now I understood what he meant.
The library was the only place in the school that felt like I could breathe.
No loud cheerleaders, no bouncing basketballs, no whispers about the new girl. Just rows of books that smelled like dust and old answers. I preferred it that way. Quiet. Simple. Structured.
It was Thursday afternoon, right after Literature class. I had decided to skip lunch and come here instead. The cafeteria always felt like a performance stage I had no script for.
I moved to the second row of the fiction section, running my fingers along spines of old novels with tattered covers. Achebe. Adichie. Soyinka. Morrison.
A book caught my eye—The Famished Road. I slid it out, brushing off the fine line of dust on the edge. The moment I turned, it happened.
A shoulder collided with mine.
A hard one.
The book nearly slipped from my hand. I took a small step back, holding it steady. My head turned slowly, eyes meeting the intruder.
Three of them. Boys. Well-dressed in freshly ironed uniforms. Polished shoes. Gold chains barely visible beneath buttoned collars. Their cologne hit before their voices did—something imported and heavy.
The one who bumped into me tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowed like I was the one out of place. He had a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. The school crest was embroidered in gold thread on his breast pocket, but the real crown was the way the two others hovered around him.
"Are you blind?" he asked, not loudly, just... firmly. Like a boss addressing someone who had spilled wine on his shoe.
I looked at him for exactly three seconds.
Then turned away.
And walked to the nearby table, book in hand, as if nothing had happened.
I could feel their silence follow me like a shadow.
The founder's son.
That had to be him.
I had heard whispers. That he didn't talk much but expected things done a certain way. That even teachers adjusted their tones when speaking to him. That his name was Nathaniel Adekoya, and people called him "Nate."
I didn't care.
I sat. Flipped open the book. Began to read.
But the silence didn't last.
Their footsteps returned—calm, measured.
A chair scraped beside me. One of them sat across from me uninvited. Another leaned against the shelf with his arms crossed. Nate remained standing, hands in his pocket, looking down at me like I was a misplaced object in a showroom.
"People usually say sorry," he said.
I turned the page.
"Especially when they bump into me."
"You bumped into me," I said simply, eyes on the print.
A pause.
Then the one sitting down—lighter skin, curled hair—chuckled. "Yo, this one has no idea who she's talking to."
"I do," I said, turning another page. "Founder's son. Library wanderers. Shirt ironed so flat it could cut glass. Voices used to being obeyed."
The boy beside Nate let out a low whistle.
"You trying to be funny?"
"No." I looked up. "I just came to read. You walked into me. I didn't make a scene. You did. And now you're trying to drag this out because I didn't bow."
Silence again.
A different kind this time.
Nathaniel stared at me—not with anger, not even offense. It was curiosity now. Quiet and sharp.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Ayoola."
"Ayoola what?"
"That's all you need."
The boy who had sat down stood now, clearly irritated.
"You know who you're talking to, right?"
"You've asked that question twice. Try another one."
He took a step forward, but Nathaniel stopped him with a gesture.
"Leave it."
I watched his eyes. He was measuring something. Not my height. Not my words. My calm.
Most people get louder when confronted.
I get still.
Grandpa always said, "Still water cuts deeper than rushing waves."
Nathaniel nodded once, not to me—but to himself. Then turned, and walked off. The other two followed reluctantly, shooting me glares over their shoulders.
I didn't flinch.
I returned to my book.
---
Later that day, as I walked out of the library, I saw students huddled near the corridor. Someone had already spread the story.
"She didn't say sorry."
"She looked him dead in the face and kept reading."
By the time the last bell rang that day, I could feel the weight of stares pressing into my back like invisible fingers. Some people looked curious. Others looked like they were calculating how close they should stand to me in the hallway.
Not because they liked me.
But because something dangerous had shifted.
The girl who didn't apologize to Nathaniel Adekoya.
The girl who didn't flinch.
I could already tell that in a school where most people learned how to walk lightly around power, I was seen as reckless.
To me, it was just reflex.
To them, it was rebellion.
---
In the changing room after school, a group of girls were talking in low tones while pretending not to watch me. One of them finally said it out loud:
"She must be from some ghetto school where they fight for attention."
I didn't respond. I tied my shoelaces and kept moving.
But the murmurs didn't stop.
"What's her surname?"
"Maybe she doesn't have one."
"She wears trousers like she owns the school."
"Did you hear she chose basketball?"
"She's acting like she's a boy."
I tuned them out.
Their words were loud.
But my silence was louder.
---
That evening, Zainab knocked once before pushing my bedroom door open halfway.
She stood in the frame, arms folded, eyes squinting. "Are you always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Calm. Rude. Unshaken. Pick one."
I paused from folding my clean laundry. "I'm not rude."
"You're Ayoola. I've accepted it." She stepped in and leaned against the wall. "People are still talking, by the way."
"Let them."
"Even the teachers noticed. Someone said you intimidated the school director's son."
I laughed—short, dry. "I didn't even raise my voice."
"Exactly. That's what's scary. You don't even have to try."
She walked over to my punching bag, ran a finger along the seam like it was sacred.
"That guy you bumped into—Nathaniel—he doesn't speak much, but he's powerful. Like... his father funds the school and gives out scholarships. Even the board listens to him."
"So what?"
"So people will watch how you move now."
I met her eyes. "Let them watch."
She stared at me for a few seconds, then grinned. "You know, I think I like you."
"I didn't ask you to."
"Still. It's happening. You can't stop it."
---
By Friday morning, it was clear something had shifted.
People moved out of my way in the hallway—not with fear, but with caution. Like they were still trying to figure me out.
Teachers eyed me a little longer during roll call. Not with suspicion, just… awareness. Like they were waiting to see what else I'd do.
Nathaniel didn't appear during assembly, but his absence still echoed.
At lunch, he sat on the opposite side of the courtyard, surrounded by the usual orbit of students. He didn't look at me, didn't acknowledge me.
But I saw the way people kept glancing from him to me, and back again. Like a tension line had been drawn across the entire school.
A silent line.
And I was standing on the other side of it.
---
In the library again—same hour, same shelf—I found my peace.
The Famished Road still sat where I left it. I opened to a folded corner and read a few more pages. No one interrupted.
But somehow, I knew next time, he might.
Nathaniel Adekoya wasn't the type to let a mystery sit too long.
And I?
I wasn't the type to explain myself.
Not to him.
Not to anyone.