Chapter Two: (Bernice's POV)
I took a steady breath, smoothed down the front of my skirt, and marched over to him. "Hey, fellow government student," I said, heart thudding in my throat. "Would you like to help me arrange the chairs?"
He looked up—those same curious eyes that had caught me in class—and offered me a small, shy smile. "Sure," he said, gathering the nearest stack. Up close, I noticed the way his voice cracked just a little at the end of each sentence, like he was as nervous as I was.
We worked side by side, sliding chairs into neat rows. I tried to keep the conversation going—asked him what grade he was in, what he thought of Mr. Douglas's lectures. He answered politely, but I could tell he was half-listening. Guilty confession: I'd instigated this whole chat just so I'd have an excuse to speak to him.
Soon, a dark corrola pulled up outside the window, and a tall man got out. The boy straightened, glanced apologetically at me, and said, "That's my dad."
I managed a wave as he disappeared through the door. "Bye," he called. "See you tomorrow."
I watched until I couldn't see him anymore, then realized I'd forgotten to ask his name. My chest tightened with a mixture of disappointment and hope: would I ever learn it?
Behind me, my friends' laughter drifted down the hall. Clara was teasing Ernest—her boyfriend—about something, and Kim was doubled over laughing at Festus's latest joke. "Come on, Bernice," Clara beckoned. "We're walking home together!"
I joined them, and Ernest launched into an elaborate routine of silly faces that had us all in stitches. Festus hopped around like a rabbit, arms flailing in mock terror, and even shy Kim managed to crack a grin. With my sisters-in-arms, there was never a dull moment.
At home, Mom was bustling in the kitchen, dicing tomatoes for jollof rice. I called out a greeting, but kept my recount of the day short—"It was interesting"—because I knew a "long pep talk" was coming if I said more. Instead, I slipped away to my room for a quick shower and a siesta.
Later, the house erupted into chaos as my three younger siblings tumbled in. Little Samuel—the baby of the family—sprinted into my room, puppy‑dog eyes in full effect. "Bernice," he pleaded, "Kalypo, please?"
I sighed, but that look was impossible to resist. I handed over the mango juice, ruffling his hair as he beamed. In that moment, even though the day had its awkward moments, I felt surrounded by so much life and love—friends who laughed with me, family who needed me. And somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny spark of pride flickered: maybe I was worth looking at, after all.