Writers 
I stared at the chemical equation chalked across the board, but my mind kept flashing back to what I had witnessed at the oak tree the previous day.
Right after Kambili had sat beneath those sprawling branches for heaven knows how long, she had begun cutting the grass. She moved the cutlass so gently, as though she believed that if she applied even a fraction more force, the earth beneath her would bleed. She was truly an enigma, and her strangeness only fed my burning curiosity about her past.
"How did her friend die?" I asked out of the blue, startling Nonso, who was busily copying down the equation from the board.
Nonso placed his pen flat against his exercise book, then lowered his head, casting a cautious glance around before leaning in to whisper. "She invited her friend to the school at night to perform some kind of ritual, because that girl is obviously a witch."
"Rituals?" My left eyebrow arched upwards, a habit I could never quite break whenever I heard something absurd.
"Well, that is what the locals are saying."
"Locals?" His choice of words only confused me further.
"He means the other students," Peter chimed in softly, his eyes never leaving the board as he continued writing down the formula.
"Students, locals, rituals . . . go on." I urged Nonso to keep talking. It was not as though I could get any real answers from the primary source herself. Her explosive outburst at me yesterday had made it abundantly clear that questions were strictly forbidden.
"The ritual went wrong, and her friend died." That was it? The moment he brought up rituals, I had assumed he held some intricate, juicy tale up his sleeve, but I could not have been more wrong.
"Don't listen to Nonso, he is talking utter rubbish," Peter scoffed, completely dismissing everything Nonso had just claimed. The dynamic between them instantly flipped; Nonso was now the one scribbling away and staring intently at the board, while Peter laid his pen down against his pages. "Kambili invited her friend to school to meet up with some older guys. Onize refused and threatened to tell the entire school. Kambili couldn't risk the exposure, so she killed her. Now she acts like she's in shock. Such an ungrateful friend."
I did not need a sothsayer to tell me that neither of them knew a single shred of the actual truth. My eyes drifted away from them and settled on Kambili. Just like yesterday, she was staring out of the window, completely detached from the room.
"Did Kambili actually say that?" It was the very first time her name had ever left my lips.
"She doesn't have to. We all just know," Peter stated with absolute confidence.
I said nothing more. I lowered my gaze to my open notebook, gripped my pen tightly, and began scribbling down the heavy words swirling inside my head:
Rituals. Meet up with older guys. Death.
§•§
It was time for long break, and the classroom was surprisingly full. No one seemed to be in the mood to step outside into the sun, not even Kambili. She had her head laid flat on her desk, either sleeping or pretending to be.
I sat in my usual seat alongside Peter and Nonso, who were both attempting to revise the chemistry lesson we had three periods ago. Nonso slammed his textbook closed with a loud groan, running a hand over his face before staring straight ahead.
"Edosa," Nonso called out. I did not answer, nor did I give him a nod to continue, but he pressed on regardless. "Which girl has caught your eye so far?"
I snorted softly at his question, choosing not to reply with words. Instead, my eyes involuntarily did what they had been doing all day — they drifted back to Kambili.
"Let me introduce you to the girls that actually matter," Nonso continued, completely unbothered by my silence. He pointed directly toward a familiar face across the room. The tall, dark, slender girl from yesterday.
"That's Edidiong. She used to be Kambili’s friend. In fact, they were so close they could have been labelled best friends. Now she's the Head Girl. I kind of like her, if only she'd actually look my way," Nonso admitted, ending his sentence with a nonchalant shrug.
"Next up is Peculiar." He shifted his finger to point at the dark-skinned, shorter girl with a visibly fuller figure. I could also remember her from yesterday. "That's Peculiar. She usually makes guys turn their heads whenever she walks into a room because of her figure-eight body. Honestly, if you ever need to draw the female reproductive system's figure eight in biology, just draw her. She's my backup crush, just in case Eddy never looks my way."
"Interesting," I mumbled, my tone completely devoid of enthusiasm.
"Next is Valentina, my sweet porraroo," Peter chimed in, taking over the commentary and pointing toward the albino girl standing in the middle of their group. She was almost as tall as Edidiong, but noticeably slimmer. "Punctuality Prefect. Born on Valentine's Day, which explains why she holds my heart. Her albino skin is so clean and pristine."
I quietly digested all their commentary, then tilted my head slightly toward the far corner where Kambili sat motionless. "What about her?"
"Who?" Nonso asked, following the direction of my gaze. "Oh, Kambili. She used to be popular back before the whole murder incident. Popular, loud . . . in fact, one of the noisiest people in this entire class. But seriously, stay far away from her before she kills you too. Can't you see how unnaturally quiet she always is? She's probably communicating with her Queen of the Coast."
I offered no reaction to Nonso's baseless claims, well aware that he was simply parroting the whispers of the crowd.
• • •
I stared at the building in front of me. I always came over every Tuesday and Friday during visiting hours. It did not take long to get inside the building, where I waited in the usual box they called a room.
The door to the room swung open, and I noticed a policeman holding the handcuffs binding my elder brother's hands. He led my brother to sit across from me, then stood by the door, monitoring us. I ignored the policeman and his gaze, focusing solely on my brother.
He looked quite unkempt and was skinnier than I last remembered. "Blue doesn't suit you."
My brother laughed at my attempt to start a conversation. "I won't wear anything blue once I'm out of here." His eyes roamed over my clothes, taking in my school uniform. "You've started school?"
"Wasn't that what you wanted?" I lifted my left eyebrow out of habit. The only eyebrow I could singularly lift, in my defence.
"I don't want you to be a dropout and end up like me," my brother said in a slightly shaky tone.
"You made just one mistake. Dad shouldn't be sitting at home doing nothing. It's not your fault either! I wanted to drop out because I wanted nothing to do with school anymore. It wasn't in any way connected to you, but Dad —"
"Wants the best for you, and so do I," my brother's calm voice stopped me from speaking further.
I relaxed into the iron chair, reining my rage in. I had limited time and did not want to spend it yelling and ranting my anger out. "But he thinks I'll turn out like you if I drop out. When you made just one mistake that wasn't even your fault."
My brother smiled softly and shook his head. "Forget about me. Let's talk about you. What is your new school like?"
I did not want to drop the topic, but I refused to go against my brother.
"Different from my old one." My brother wore a confused look. "I'm attending a government school, which is a complete contrast to the elite private school I went to in the past."
"You really meant it when you said you were choosing your own school," my brother said through a light chuckle.
"I saw Chinonso, the guy who usually comes to my art gallery. He's in my class," I informed my brother, filling him in on my school life. "I haven't had a smoke since, because he never leaves my side. Always so clingy."
"And I hope he stays that way, because I never liked the idea of you smoking, let alone continuing to smoke," my brother's voice turned firm and cold.
"And I met a girl," I ignored his lecture. Smoking was the only thing that helped me, and I did not think I would ever stop. "She's . . . a little bit like me. In shock."
"First stage?" My brother nodded, likely grasping where I was heading. "What's happening to her?"
"Tales going around the school say she killed her friend. Nonso said it was rituals, and Peter . . ." I trailed off, pressing my lips together. ". . . said she was involved in something sexual and killed her friend to keep the news from spreading."
"And what do you think?" I was no longer looking at my brother, but down at my intertwined hands.
"I don't think it's rituals, that's absurd. I don't think it's about anything sexual either. She doesn't cry when she's alone; she just stares. Either out of the window, or her head is laid on her desk." I exhaled softly. "She has a beautiful voice, but she never talks."
"Your time's almost up," the policeman announced with authority. I disliked staying until my time was fully up because the one time I did, my brother was dragged out like a criminal — which he clearly was not.
"I should be going," I stood up, brushing invisible dust off my uniform.
"Your uniform looks great on you," my brother complimented, his eyes appearing slightly glassy.
"Thank you," I acknowledged softly. "Pius."
