Chapter 12 – The Principal’s Office

By Friday morning the rumour wasn’t a rumour anymore it was a full blown story with teeth.

It had jumped from student W******p groups to parents’ chats overnight. Chidi’s younger cousin in SS1 overheard it in the tuck shop line on Thursday and repeated it at home over dinner. Chidi’s mum a sharp bank manager who knew half the school parents through church listened with growing horror. By 9 p.m. she was on the phone with two other mothers. By midnight the tale had reached Tobi’s mum, who worked in the Ministry of Education and had the principal’s number saved “just in case.”

At 7:12 a.m. on Friday, Principal Mr. Ibrahim’s phone started ringing.

By 7:45 a.m. he’d taken four calls two from parents, one from a worried teacher who’d “heard disturbing things” from the cleaning staff.

None of the stories had real proof. But the pattern looked bad: locked doors after hours, the same four boys always staying late, strange smells, one boy supposedly spending the night at the teacher’s place (a detail Chidi’s mum had stretched in her telling, turning Khalid’s smug walk to the gate into something much worse).

The principal didn’t wait for Monday.

At 8:03 a.m., right after assembly but before first period, the intercom crackled through the whole school:

“All staff and students: classes continue as normal. Ms. Adeyemi, please report to the principal’s office immediately. Khalid Adewale, Chidi Okoro, Tobi Adeyemi, Yusuf Ibrahim report to the principal’s office at once. Do not delay.”

The whole school felt it like a cold wind sweeping through the corridors.

Heads turned. Phones came out under desks. Whispers turned into murmurs turned into open stares.

Ms. Adeyemi walked the long hallway to the admin block with her head high, wrapper tied neatly, face calm. Inside, her stomach twisted.

The four boys arrived almost at the same time Khalid first, expression blank; Chidi last, eyes red and angry.

They were shown into the outer office to wait. No one spoke. No one looked at each other. The silence felt heavy.

At 8:17 a.m., the inner door opened.

Principal Ibrahim late fifties, greying temples, voice like gravel stood in the doorway.

“Ms. Adeyemi. Boys. In.”

The office was big, wood panelled, smelled of old books and air freshener. Mrs. Okeke sat in one visitor chair already, arms folded, face stern. The guidance counsellor stood by the window, notepad open.

The principal didn’t sit.

He looked at Adeyemi first.

“Explain.”

She kept her voice level. “Sir, there have been rumours. False rumours. My students have been preparing hard for WAEC Literature mocks. I offered extra time after school for focused revision. Nothing more.”

Principal Ibrahim turned to the boys.

“Khalid. You’re class captain. Speak first.”

Khalid met his eyes without flinching. “Sir, it’s exactly what Ms. Adeyemi said. We stay late sometimes to discuss texts. Things Fall Apart, The Lion and the Jewel, past questions. That’s all.”

The principal’s gaze moved to Chidi.

“Chidi?”

Chidi swallowed. His voice came out hoarse. “Same thing, sir. Extra help. Nothing else.”

Tobi and Yusuf said the same short, matching answers.

Mrs. Okeke leaned forward. “Then why do parents claim one of you spent the night at Ms. Adeyemi’s residence? Why do cleaning staff report unusual odours in the classroom? Why are the four of you always together with her, door locked, blinds down?”

Adeyemi answered before the boys could. “The overnight claim is completely false, ma. No student has ever been to my home. The odour? Boys sweat after school. We moved furniture for group work that’s all.”

The principal studied her. Then the boys.

“I’ve spoken to parents this morning. They want an investigation. If this reaches the school board or the police it becomes very serious. Very fast.”

He paused.

“I don’t want to suspend anyone. I don’t want to fire a teacher who’s consistently produced excellent WAEC results. But I can’t ignore this.”

He turned to Adeyemi.

“You are on administrative leave starting Monday. Two weeks. Paid. Hand over your lesson plans and registers to Mr. Eze by end of day today. No contact with these students none until this is resolved.”

Adeyemi’s face stayed calm, but her nails dug into her palms.

The principal looked at the boys.

“You four are suspended for three days Monday to Wednesday. No school. No extra classes. No communication with Ms. Adeyemi. When you return, you’ll be moved to different Literature sections if we can arrange it. If any parent pushes harder, suspensions become expulsion hearings.”

He looked around the room.

“If there’s anything you want to tell me now, in confidence, this is the moment.”

Silence.

No one spoke.

The principal let out a heavy breath.

“Dismissed. Ms. Adeyemi, stay behind.”

The boys filed out single file, heads down, no glances exchanged.

When the door closed, Principal Ibrahim sat.

“Adeyemi,” he said quietly. “Off the record. If there’s truth here if this is more than revision tell me now. I can protect you better if I know the full story before the board gets involved.”

She looked him in the eye.

“There is no truth to the rumours, sir. Nothing happened beyond academic support.”

He studied her for a long moment.

“I hope you’re telling me the truth. Because if you’re not… this will destroy more than just your career.”

She nodded once.

He waved her out.

In the corridor, the four boys waited near the water fountain, pretending not to notice each other.

When Adeyemi came out, she didn’t stop. She walked past them without a word, without a look.

But as she passed Khalid closest to the exit she let her hand brush his just once, fingertips grazing knuckles so quick no one else saw.

A promise.

Or a warning.

The school day went on around them like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

Three days of suspension.

Two weeks of leave.

A circle of eyes watching.

And four boys who had tasted something they were now forbidden to touch while the jealousy that had nearly torn them apart simmered in the forced silence.

Monday would bring no “extra discussion.”

It would bring reckoning.