Double cross

There are nights when my thoughts grow darker than the sky outside my window.

Nights when I imagine pressing a knife against my mother’s neck — not out of hatred, but frustration. I imagine her begging, her voice trembling, asking why I, her daughter, would do such a thing. And I wouldn’t say a word. No tears. No explanation. Just silence. A silence she deserves after everything.

Because this same mother — the one I deeply respect, the one I’ve never raised my voice at—is too kind. Too soft. Too much of a giver. And it drives me mad.

“Mariam! Be fast! You’re late for school. I don’t want you punished. I made your favourite — dodo and egg!”

Her voice pulled me from my thoughts. I blinked, breathing deeply as the image of the knife faded into guilt.

“Mum, it’s not dodo and egg. It’s plantain and egg.”

“Ehn, anyone sha. Go and wear your clothes!”

She giggled, wiping her hands on her faded wrapper. I looked at her — looked — and I felt pity. She was too innocent for the world we live in. Too naive to notice that her kindness was being used as a weapon against her. Every little bit of money she made, she gave away. To family. To neighbours. To strangers. But never to herself. Never to me.

“Okay, Mum. Bye. I’m off now.”

“Okay, dear. Remember, I put the key under the welcome mat. I’ll be late today — going to help my sister carry her sick daughter to the hospital.”

Of course. Her sister again. The one who only calls when she needs something. The one who disappears once she’s gotten it. And my mother? She always runs to help like some kind of superhero. Even when we have nothing. Even when we’re barely surviving.

“Mariam,” my father’s voice barked from the sitting room, “make sure you come back early and prepare dinner for the family!”

I rolled my eyes. That man. The most useless man I’ve ever known. He contributed nothing, yet walked around like a king in a palace. All he did was sit, give commands, and expect respect he hadn’t earned. My mother — not he — was the real head of the house.

“Okay. Bye, people,” I muttered under my breath as I stepped outside.

My daily journey to school was hell. I trekked two full hours every morning. But that changed this term — thanks to Bella.

She was more than a friend. She was like the older sister I never had. Since I entered SS1, she’d been picking me up in her father’s car. Life felt a little easier.

But, of course, she was late. Again.

“Oh my God, Bella. It’s already 8:20. Not again!”

“Mariam, hop in!” she said as the car screeched to a halt. “Sorry, I had to eat and take my ulcer meds.”

“Ulcer ke? Bella, you always have one excuse or another. I’m not even surprised anymore.”

“Okay, fine. I’m lying. But you’re scary when you’re angry, you know that?”

“Just don’t lie to me, Bella. Promise.”

“Never. You’re my sister, remember?”

I smiled. No matter how annoying she could be, Bella was my comfort.

“Driver Abu, please remember we will drop Mariam off before heading home today.”

“Small madam, I know now. It’s our culture,” he chuckled.

“Thank you, sir,” I said politely.

“You’re welcome, Mariam.”

As I stepped into the school compound, the assembly had just ended. The class was its usual chaos, noisy and messy. Students are talking, shouting, and laughing too loudly.

“Mariam, sit down now!”

“Bella, are you blind? Look what’s happening in the middle row.”

I stared.

“Jesus. Kingsley? His hand is literally under Amaka’s skirt.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. In broad daylight, in class, with students walking in and out, and no shame at all. Her legs were wide open, his hand deep inside her. Anyone walking past could see her nakedness. No one cared. Or maybe no one dared to speak.

“I swear, Bella,” I whispered, “Mariam, I will leave this school the same way we came in — a virgin. No boy will touch me.”

“Amen, oh,” she whispered back.

Mrs. Ajayi walked in, her high heels clicking against the floor.

“Good morning, class.”

“Good morning, ma.”

“Amaka and Kingsley — what’s happening there?”

“Nothing, ma.”

“Nothing? You think I can’t see under the table? You two are in the middle row. Kingsley, to my office. Amaka, adjust your skirt — slut.”

Gasps filled the room. Then laughter. Nervous. Awkward.

“SS1 Science — shut up! You people should be ashamed. Just because your parents are rich doesn’t mean you can do anything. And you scholarship students — be wise. You’re here on grace. If your grades drop, you’re out.”

Her words cut deep. I was one of those scholarship students.

“Now, who can remind us of our last topic?”

“Yes, Samuel?”

“You taught us Environment and Pollution, ma.”

“Good. Today, we move to the next topic. And don’t forget — first term exams are around the corner.”

Samuel was hot. I couldn’t lie. Tall, quiet, intelligent. But Bella had her eyes on him. I stayed in my lane.

“Samuel, can we be close friends?” Bella asked during break.

“I thought we were friends already?”

“No — I mean best friends.”

“No problem. But hope your sister, Mariam, won’t mind?”

“She won’t. We’ll all be friends.”

“No wahala,” I said. “You both can be best friends. I’ll just be a normal friend.”

“There’s a difference, you know,” I added. “A friend is someone you enjoy spending time with. But a best friend? That’s someone you deeply trust — someone like family.”

…………………….. page break ………………..

Meanwhile, in a quiet, dark corner of the school — far from the staffroom — something else was happening.

Kingsley stood facing Mrs. Ajayi. Alone.

“Why do you always bring me here?” he asked. “This isn’t your office.”

“To protect your dignity,” she replied.

“Or because you don’t want the others to see what you want?”

Her face changed.

“Don’t be silly. I’m your teacher.”

“But you call me handsome every time. You singled me out. You insult Amaka — my girlfriend — but not me. Why?”

“Shut up.”

“Or maybe… your husband doesn’t satisfy you?”

She flinched.

Kingsley stepped closer.

“One step closer and I’ll cane you,” she whispered.

“Then cane me,” he dared.

She trembled. Her breath quickened. Her body responded before her mind could stop it. She hated it. Loved it. Feared it.

“I’m not disciplining you anymore. You can go,” she said, turning away.

“Ajayi,” he whispered, using her first name.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Then tell me the truth. Do you like me?”

She paused. Her heart beat faster. Her body ached in silence.

“Go, Kingsley,” she said, more to herself than to him.

As he walked out, a smirk on his lips, she leaned against the wall, confused, ashamed, and soaked in desire.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered.