?A Chance For Love?
Episode seven
?Allergy
“If you had a brain, even a pretty dull one, and obviously you don’t, you’d know that soft surfaces make the process ineffective.”
***
Just when I thought my life had gotten a tad better, I found myself in a whole new hell. From the moment Madam Charity intervened, I knew I had lost the battle. I would have to accept my fate as Raheem’s unwilling seatmate.
While everyone bought his Hypermetropia crap, I did not. And Amarachi’s ‘I-don’t-buy-it’ look told me she seconded my belief that he had made up the story. Would he not wear glasses if his story were true? Unless of course he wore contact lenses, which I doubted. He’d only made this up to taunt me.
I watched Madam Charity move around, gesticulating as she taught about poetic devices, but rage roared in my ears, tuning out her voice. I could only think of my current situation; a situation I would have to endure for the rest of my school year. Once assigned to our seats, we were not allowed to sit elsewhere unless our form teacher allowed it. The hopelessness of my new reality hit me like a blow.
I had scooted to the far end of the seat to create as much distance as possible between Raheem and I, but this didn’t bring me the security I craved. I lowered my gaze to my backpack sitting on my laps like a favored child. Thinking fast, I wedged it between Raheem and I. I knew the childishness in finding safety in the barricade the backpack built, but I couldn’t help it.
Amarachi and I had literally let a boy come between us. We’d sworn to never let this happen. I thought back to the small talks we’d had during class, the notes we exchanged, and every other thing we used to do. With Raheem between us, these were all things of the past. I missed them already. I missed my best friend.
She felt just as lonely as I did. I could see it in the glum look in her otherwise sharp eyes, the look as though a part of her had been s—-d into a vacuum. Together, we had protested when Madam Charity asked Raheem to sit between us. When the finality of Madam Charity’s decision dawned on us, we’d asked her to have Raheem sit at the edge of our seat. But our offer had fallen on deaf ears. His smoldering presence between my best friend and I would be a constant reminder of our defeat.
If it depended on me, I would shut him out of my senses and pretend he didn’t exist. But his expensive perfume assaulted my nose with a tickling sensation, nauseating me, making me too aware of his presence.
Wrinkling my face, I scrunched up my nose, praying it would shove off the sick feeling. But it didn’t go away. If anything, my resistance made it all worse. Again, I scrunched up my nose.
Casually, I studied Amarachi and others close enough to share with me in this hell. They were in paradise, oblivious of my struggle to breathe. This perfume, from the depth of hell, had preyed on my rage.
A light bulb lit up inside my head. It all made sense. Yesterday, I hadn’t sneezed until my encounter with Raheem. It had to be his perfume. It no doubt contained one or two ingredients I found toxic. I had an allergy, and I never knew of it until this moment. This explained why nobody else seemed affected by the unbearably strong smell. Curse him and the stench of death he brought with him.
Now that I thought of it, I wished I had dumped snot all over his face when I had the chance. He deserved that and more for ruining the health I had managed just fine until he came along.
Digging into my backpack, I pulled out my neatly folded handkerchief. I gripped it, waiting for a sneeze. And it didn’t disappoint. I pressed the handkerchief to my nose and cursed under my breath. I sneezed again. And again. Tears pooled around my itchy eyes. I blinked to keep from scratching them. It didn’t seem to work. I blinked again. Frantically.
Was it just me, or were Raheem’s eyes fixed on me? I didn’t look up to confirm.
“Vicky?” Amarachi called, her voice low.
I understood she meant to ask after my health. “I’ll survive.”
She gasped as I turned to look at her. Panic engulfed her at the sight of my blood shot eyes. “Your eyes. Are you alright? Should I take you to the sickbay? Surely, your fairy godmother will know what to do.”
“It’s nothing.” I caught Raheem’s eye. He regarded me not with an everyday stare, but the stare a hunter would give a wounded animal just before picking it up, gutting it and hanging it over a crackling fire.
I didn’t think he would speak to me. I didn’t even want him to. But then, his lips parted to give way to words. And in that moment, I let myself believe he would apologize for the inconvenience his perfume had caused me. I braced myself for how to respond. Would I accept his apology or give him a taste of his own medicine?
“I asked around and you’re the class brain,” he said. “Tutor me.”
It took a moment for his words to register, and when they did, I fumed. He’d asked around and found me to be the class brain. So what? I would never tutor him. Giving Madam Charity my undivided attention, I played deaf to Raheem’s order. How greatly he must think of himself to think he could order me like that. Tutor him?
An angry frown creased my forehead as he spoke again. “Do we have a deal?”
“Screw you!” I said, my voice louder than I had intended. Eyes turned in my direction. Madam Charity headed for our seat. I fought to contain my rage.
“Why’s she crying?” I heard someone whisper. I heard other voices, but paid no attention.
Madam Charity panicked at the sight of my eyes. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”
“Irritation,” I said.
“Maybe there’s something in her eyes,” a girl said. She sounded genuinely concerned. But what did I care?
Madam Charity drew closer to me and held my face, tilting it up. She placed two fingers on my eyelids and pulled to have an undisturbed view of my eyes. Her gaze fished for any foreign body.
“There’s nothing,” she said. “Maybe sand got into your eyes. Think you can do us a favor and stop scratching?”
“Yeah, I can manage that,” I said.
That seemed to satisfy her. She turned to face Raheem. “Problems?”
Raheem stood up and raked his hand through his hair. “Actually, miss, there is a bit of a situation here.”
Madam Charity folded her arms, wordlessly pledging her undivided attention to him.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. For a dramatic effect, he appeared to be thinking. “I’ve already missed close to half the term. If I am to catch up, I need a tutor.”
Madam Charity nodded her understanding. “Yeah, you need someone to put you through. This is the best decision one in your situation could ever come up with. I was even going to suggest it to you.”
“Oh,” Raheem said.
“Yeah. So, do you have any special preference, or do you want me to nominate someone for you?”
“I already have someone to serve this special privilege, thank you,” Raheem said. “I asked around, and everyone recommended a certain Victoria Brown as first choice.”
“Here she is, sitting by your right.” Beaming with pride, Madam Charity gripped my shoulder. “She’ll gladly do this.”
Raheem smirked. The victory in his eyes seemed to mock me. He had just accomplished his purpose, using our form teacher’s intervention to coerce me into accepting to tutor him. I would not let this be forced on me.
“I’m afraid I can’t tutor him,” I said.
Raheem’s upturned lips told me he had seen this coming; the squirrel wiggling between the hunter’s trap moments before it gave in to death. In the blink of an eye, the once organized class morphed into a marketplace. Quite the expected reaction.
Amarachi stepped in to save me. “Actually, she’s under the weather. It just won’t be possible.”
“Cynthia will gladly put him through,” I said.
Awed into silence, Cynthia could only afford to gawk at me. She blinked. And blinked again. Her brain seemed to have a hard time processing that I had handed over Raheem to her. Precious nudged her with an elbow to fetch her attention.
“Oh, yes,” Cynthia jumped to her feet. She hyperventilated with sheer excitement. “Yes. I’ll gladly tutor him. What’ll give me more joy than helping a new student catch up?”
Madam Charity took a moment to weigh Cynthia’s motive. She seemed to be fine with it. “Very well then. Raheem, Cynthia will be your tutor. Are you okay with that?”
“I thought I made myself clear when I said I wanted the best,” Raheem said. “Is not the other girl the best?”
“Yes,” Madam Charity said. “She is, but—”
“Why then should I settle for less, good lady?” His eyes held all the innocence he could muster. But beneath it I could see flames of a fiery temper.
“I’m just as good!” Cynthia snapped. Frustration flitted across her face.
Raheem narrowed his eyes to slits. From the way he sized her up, I could almost swear he would reconsider. Cynthia had the looks to please the eyes and trouble the mind. Even an arrogant foreigner didn’t stand a chance to resist. Or so I thought.
“Really?” Raheem asked, his voice laced with mockery. “And she’s the one who passed the scholarship exam, yes?”
Too beat-up to speak, Cynthia settled back in her chair.
“We should have this conversation later,” Madam Charity suggested. Her tone held no room for negotiation. “Raheem, meet me once school is over and let’s sort this out.”
She waited for Raheem to sit down before she resumed teaching. She only had a few minutes before the bell rang, but every second seemed to drag on for an hour.
One…Two…Three…
Counting, I trained my eyes on Madam Charity and held my breath to escape Raheem’s perfume, the death stench from hell. Madam Charity might think I paid full attention, but a closer look would show my discomfort.
Forty…Forty-one…
Feeling pressure around my throat, I rapped my fingertips on my desk in a quest to raise my tolerance level. I knew it would only be a moment before I s—-d in the air Raheem had so carelessly contaminated.
At the sixtieth count, I gasped for air. I hadn’t intended for it to draw attention, but when Madam Charity’s teaching reached a sudden halt, and heads snapped in my direction, I knew I had failed. Greedily, I s—-d in lungfuls of air.
Slamming my book shut, I dumped it in my backpack and rested my head on my desk for some shut eye.
I don’t know how long I slept, but when I pried my eyes open, I found Amarachi sitting beside me, right where Raheem had sat. Literature class had ended. Everyone had left for break, except us.
“I can’t stand the arrogance of that boy,” Amarachi said. “Raheem or whatever he’s called. Son of the devil.”
Her last comment made my lips twitch. I raised myself to sit upright. “I can’t believe how long I slept.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you. You probably didn’t have any rest last night, thanks to you-know-who.” She gave me the walls-have-ears look.
“Let’s go grab some food,” I said, strapping on my backpack. My stomach rumbled in response.
“What’s with the bag?” Amarachi asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe I won’t be coming back after my meeting with Stella. Climbing these stairs again to fetch my bag would be tiring.”
????????
On a normal day, our walk to the canteen would take no more than five minutes. But no thanks to my ill health, the walk lasted twice as long. Standing at the end of the lunch line, an urge to look around brought Raheem into my line of sight. At the far end of the hall, he sat, eating away at a snail’s pace as though he had all day.
A seductive mix of aromas wafted around the canteen, flirting with my nostrils. My stomach rumbled, reminding me of my duty to fill it. I’d had bread and tea for breakfast, but my ill health had emptied my stomach almost immediately.
During our walk here, I had tossed an avomine tablet into my mouth. Now, here I stood, confident that whatever I ate would remain in my breadbasket. Bless you, fairy godmother.
Done serving herself, a girl carried her food towards Raheem’s seat. Mary. I recognized her from science class. Although we never spoke, I could swear she had a fine personality and wouldn’t deserve Raheem’s untamed character. Hadn’t she heard about him? I’d thought everyone would by now, considering how fast news spread.
Everyone—at least those who knew his arrogance—watched to see his reaction. I did too. I wished I could reach out and warn Mary. Raheem’s lips moved as he lifted his eyes to acknowledge her presence. I wished I could hear what he said.
“Next!” The lunch girl’s voice returned my focus to the lunch line. I moved forward and grabbed my utensils. Fried rice looked good. Thanks to the deteriorating Nigerian economy, the canteen had only provided fried rice once in two weeks.
Towards the end of last term, our disgruntled sighs had reached the director’s ears, prompting him into action. He had organized a meeting with parents, wards and staff, and they discussed ways to improve the school lunch. With a seven percent increase in our lunch allowance—and by extension our school fees—rice meals were prepared in abundance, and on a daily basis.
So far, every parent seemed fine with the increment in fees, no doubt seeing it as ineluctable, something every school had to do to cope with the recession. Without this ineluctable increment in fees, schools would be at huge losses. Especially schools like ours that included food allowance, textbook allowance and other expenditure in the school fees.
Even with the seven percent increment, the fees remained affordable, at least compared to other schools paying over five million Naira tuition fee per annum, with other additional fees like uniforms, books, feeding and the rest of them. And for this reason, Western High had more patronage than many of its contemporaries that saw extravagant fees as the order of the day. At one point six million per annum for day students and two point five million for boarding students, our fees covered tuition fee and every other fee. To top it all, we provided all the facilities the other schools provided. Thus, nature took its course, by way of parents flocking in with their children.
Our director had lived in Chicago, USA all his life. On his return, he’d set up this school, incorporating Western standards into the school system, hence the name Western High. With it he promised every child an opportunity to enjoy the American educational system from the comfort of our country. This won the hearts of many exclusively rich parents who could readily splash millions on their children. While most of them would love sending their children abroad to study, they didn’t want to have them ridiculously far away from home just yet. To bridge this gap, Mark Etto’s Western High came in.
I dished a generous quantity of rice onto my disposable lunch tray and scooped two spoonfuls of salad beside it. Grabbing an apple and a cup of chocolate and vanilla ice cream, I stepped aside to create room for the next person.
Joining me, Amarachi gestured to a vacant table. She’d settled for pizza, more pizza, more pizza and little bit of something else.
“Next!” the lunch girl called out. Feet shuffled behind us as students stepped in toward her.
“Can I join you guys?” Flora asked, a wavering smile on her face.
Amarachi and I smiled back. “Of course.”
Once settled in our chairs, we dug into our food. Every now and then, Flora and Amarachi would look over to Raheem and Mary. So far, nothing bad had happened. Engrossed in a conversation, they seemed to be getting along just fine, which struck me as weird. I’d thought Mr. Arrogant saw himself as too important to mingle with lowlife Blacks. Why then did he seem so comfortable with Mary?
“Think she’s his girlfriend?” Amarachi asked.
Flora slurped her coke. She obviously didn’t want to start a conversation about him.
Amarachi waited till she set down her coke. “What do you think of him?”
“He’s human.” Flora grabbed her coke again, seeking escape. Her shyness always found a way to amuse me, but letting my amusement show would only make her uneasy. I tried not to look at her. I doubted she would properly bite down on her food before swallowing if she found me staring.
“And?” Amarachi pressed on, enjoying Flora’s uneasiness. “You don’t like him either, do you?”
“Amarachi, stop,” I said. “This is her first time having lunch with us and you’re already scaring her off. He’s cute, but that doesn’t erase the fact that he’s the sickest bastard on planet earth. Sick with a capital letter ‘s’ and three letter ‘k’!”
Raheem looked up at me as though he had heard every word. Had he?
“She could be his girlfriend,” Flora said. Shrugging, she added, “I saw them yesterday.”
“Doing what?” Amarachi asked, eyes widening.
My eyes didn’t stray from Raheem. I would not be the first one to back out of the stare battle. Gawking at me with cold eyes, he spoke to Mary and she turned around.
“Look at him,” I told my crew. They complied at once, although Flora backed out almost immediately. Amarachi and I continued to stare at them.
“Think they’re talking about us?” Amarachi asked, chewing on her food.
“D–n them if they are,” I said.
Raheem spoke. Mary responded. Raheem shook his head as he spoke again. They seemed to be talking about us.
“Well, d–n them,” Amarachi said.
Mary’s blank face brightened with excitement. A kind of ‘I’m dating the hottest, most popular guy in school’ excitement. Had it been anyone but Mary, I would believe to be the motive behind her excitement. She waved at us. We waved back and returned our attention to our table.
“They sure are talking about us,” I said, gritting my teeth.
My eyes found Raheem again. I watched him and Mary vacate their seats. Once they caught me staring, Raheem held her hand, flaunting her. A smile lit up Mary’s face. Having him to herself while he made everyone else feel like poo sure placed her on cloud nine. Raheem smiled too. That gesture, simple as it looked, left me breathless. His conflicting personalities mesmerized me. While he had the face of an angel, he had a heart black as coal. I watched them exit the cafeteria.
“Don’t let him get under your skin,” Amarachi said.
“I hate him!” I dabbed my serviette on my lips and tossed it onto the plate Amarachi had helped me to empty. Picking up my apple, I bolted to my feet. “I better go now.”
“We’re coming along,” Amarachi said. She and Flora stood up simultaneously.
“Where are we going?” Flora asked.
“Sick bay,” Amarachi said.
Flora’s gaze darted between Amarachi and I. “Who is sick?”
The lost look on her face forced laughter to bubble within me. And while I fought to contain mine, Amarachi burst out laughing. “Vicky isn’t well.”
“Is it his perfume?” Flora asked innocently.
I nodded. “To an extent. How did you know?”
“Hunch.”
Now, Amarachi played the part of the clueless one. “What’s this about a perfume?”
“Raheem’s perfume,” I said. “I’m allergic to its ingredients.”
“Fragrance sensitivity,” Flora said.
Standing at akimbo, Amarachi shook her head, disbelieving. “Wow. We’ve been bestfriends for years and I didn’t know you’ve got allergies.”
“Such is life,” I said. We headed out of the cafeteria.
“You should tell Madam Charity,” Flora said.
Amarachi draped an arm over my shoulder. “She’s right. You know, this might just be a legitimate way to kick Rah’s pompous ass out of our seat.”
Taking a pack of orbit gum from her pocket, Flora popped one into her mouth. She passed it to Amarachi who did justice to it and passed it on to me. We remained silent for the rest of our walk.
??????????
While Amarachi followed me inside the sickbay, Flora just stood in the doorway. “Come in,” I said.
“I will just wait here,” she said.
“You sure you don’t want to come in?” Stella asked, stretching her neck from behind the counter. “This might take some time.”
Tentatively, Flora stepped in and stood beside us. Gesturing for us to sit, Stella advanced to us. I noticed a white envelope with her. “I picked up your test results.”
“How bad is it?” My voice betrayed me, baring my nerviness. I drew in a deep breath, willing away my fear, but it had other plans. Amarachi’s hand found mine. She squeezed gently, wordlessly assuring me of her support.
“Calm down. It’s malaria, as expected.” She presented the test result to Amarachi.
“There’s also typhoid,” Amarachi noted, staring at the result.
Stella walked to the counter and returned with two white bags, one of which sought to comfort me with its small size—at least when compared with the other.
She raised the smaller bag. “This one contains all your drugs.”
She placed the bag on my lap. I cringed at its contents. A bitter taste rose from the bag and settled on my tongue. I swallowed the invisible pill, a lump in my throat. I could still hear Stella talking about the drugs, but the words never made it to my ears. I could only think of the drugs. For the next few days, my life would be hell. I could only hope it didn’t extend to weeks.
“Are you even listening to me?” she asked.
“What’s in the other bag?” I asked, although I could already guess.
“IV drips,” she said.
A lone tear glided down my cheek. Images of a needle piercing its way into my skin haunted me. I saw a second image: a bead of blood where the needle had been. I blinked back these images, but they didn’t go away.
“Isn’t there another way?” I said. “Can’t I skip the whole drip thingy? I mean…these drugs can single-handedly do the job, right? I promise I’ll take them according to prescription. I won’t take them on an empty stomach. Please. Just scratch the drip thingy, please.”
Wrapping an arm around me, Amarachi guided my head to her narrow shoulder. I sobbed. I couldn’t stand a needle piercing through me for a few seconds to draw blood. How then would I survive a needle being buried in my skin for hours? Wouldn’t it just keep burning the raw side of my skin the whole time?
“On a scale from 0 to 10, how instrumental is the drip to her recovery?” Amarachi asked, gently patting my head.
“It’s just as important as the pills,” Stella said.
“B-but,” I stuttered. “I don’t even feel too sick. Isn’t drip for someone who’s confined to a sickbed?”
When Stella didn’t respond, I said, “But this is about my health. Shouldn’t I be the one deciding the nature of my treatment?”
Flora patted my arm. “It can’t be that bad.”
“You don’t understand!” I yelled.
“Vicky, Vicky, Vicky,” Stella called, her voice sugar-coated. She plopped down on the bed opposite ours. “I thought we already got past this yesterday.”
“Sounds like there’s a story I don’t know of,” Amarachi said.
Placing the bag of drips beside her, Stella brought out a transparent bag of IV fluid, a syringe, a pair of sterile disposable gloves and other materials I didn’t care to identify.
“Yesterday wasn’t easy,” she said. “She created a scene when the nurse approached her for the blood test. I had to step in and do the job myself. Don’t worry, Vicky. It won’t hurt.”
“That’s what you said yesterday,” I said.
“Okay. Tell the truth. Did it hurt yesterday?”
I sniffed. Moments passed and I didn’t answer.
“You see,” she said. “You’re working yourself up over nothing. Let’s be honest here. Being nervous causes your veins to constrict. And I’m sure you don’t want to know where vasoconstriction leads.”
I’d heard stories of needles snapping in constricted veins. My throat tightened at the thought of it, spreading a ghastly whiteness over my face.
This seemed to please Stella. “Yeah. You really don’t want to know.” To Flora, she said, “Fetch me my scissors, dear. It’s on the counter.”
Once Flora brought the scissors, Stella put on her sterile gloves and set to work. She cut off the tip of the tiny medicine bottle and inserted the syringe. Filling the syringe with the fluid in the bottle, she injected it into the IV fluid bag. She did other things I didn’t care to watch.
“Take off your jacket,” she said. I did just so.
When she advanced to me, I knew the moment had arrived. Tears gathered in my eyes as I watched her roll up my sleeve.
“Lie down,” she said.
I complied, my throat heavy. She sat beside me and took my hand in hers. While she searched for the right site to administer the IV, I prayed her search yielded no reward. But it did. Her gaze lingered on the inner crook of my elbow. I shed a tear for my elbow and the rest of my body.
“Ready?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“You really don’t have a choice now.”
“Sing me a song,” I said. “The song you sang at the hospital.” I didn’t want to look superstitious, but that song had washed away my fright.
She sang, smiling at me the whole time. I felt the tightening of a tourniquet around my upper arm. Moving out of my line of sight, she pulled my hand toward her, or in this case, to its death. I tilted my head to watch.
“Uh uh,” she said.
Seething with frustration, I lowered my head. Soaking a piece of cotton wool in methylated spirit, she cleaned the administration site with it.
As she sang on, I let the beauty of the lyrics steal me over. It led me to a place where I wouldn’t have to worry about needles and drugs and arrogant bastards. Someday, I would be in this beautiful place, leaving all my troubles far behind me. I would fly as high as my wings dared.
I felt a sting as the needle slid into my vein. “Ouch!”
Although the sting didn’t hurt half as bad as I’d thought it would, it still qualified as unpleasant.
Amarachi smiled at me. She brushed my hair with her palm. “There. All done.”
Stella secured the IV syringe with a tape. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper as the song neared its end. I doubted I would be awake to hear the end of it.
The tourniquet loosened from my arm, but I barely paid any attention.
??????
I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep. Not until my groggy eyes pried open, squinting as they adjusted to the sunlight peeking in through the blinds. Where was everyone? Flora and Amarachi had no doubt returned to class. And Stella?
The needle in my vein stung a little, bringing my attention to it. My gaze climbed up the plastic IV tubing till they settled on an elevated iron stand towering above me. It held the bag of fluid, now half-full, giving me a clue of how long I’d been asleep.
A rustle of paper alerted me as I moved my non-dominant hand. I raised it to my face. It held a message:
We didn’t want to disturb you when you dozed off. Your friends are in class. I’m having a short meeting with the principal. Will probably be back before you even notice am gone.
With Love From Your Fairy Godmother.
I smiled. Amarachi had obviously told her how she believed my life to resemble Cinderella’s. Once again, sleep tugged at me. I embraced its invitation. Sleeping my way through the drip session would be more fun than just laying in bed, watching lazy drops of fluid slide down the tubing one by one. I let my drooping eyes close.
The door flew open, yanking sleep off me. Stella would never throw open the door like that. Not unless the building was ablaze.
“Back off!” Raheem? What was he doing here?
I shifted in bed until I had a full view of him as he trudged into the room, carrying an immobile female student in his arms. Her hair dripped with water as though she’d been in a long shower. Her legs and hands hung limply. Her head dipped backward, baring a thin, vulnerable neck. A group of students trailed behind, hurling questions at Raheem.
“What happened?”
“Will she be alright?”
Raheem cursed under his breath and kicked the door, slamming it in their faces. Wedging his foot against the door, he slid a hand half-way from underneath the unconscious girl and locked the door.
“Nurse!” he called out, his eyes darting around the room. “Where’s the cursed nurse, d–n it!”
Students crowded around the window, straining their necks to peek through the blinds.
“What happened?” a girl asked.
“Nothing,” Raheem retorted. “Nothing that concerns you. Now get out of here. All of you! Move!”
Placing the girl on the bed next to mine, he raked slender fingers through his disheveled hair. His panting told me he’d broken into a race to beat time.
“Where is the damned nurse, I said!”
Realization hit me as I stared at the girl: the innocent petite girl I’d bumped into outside the principal’s office.
“Doreen!” I gasped. “What happened to her?”
Raheem sized me up. His unimpressed gaze told me he would not speak to anyone but the nurse. But then he shrugged.
“Swallowed water,” he said. “Maybe there’s more, but we can’t tell until she awakens. Now tell me where the damned nurse is!”
I bolted upright in bed and yanked out the IV drip. Luckily, I knew some ways to help Doreen. I sprang to my feet. The room ran fierce circles around me as though I’d been spinning my life away. Slamming my eyes shut, I fought to steady myself.
Relief washed over me as control seeped back into my arms. The strange whoosh weaving its way around my head subsided just enough to bring my attention to the tightness of arms around my profusely perspiring body. I stiffened.
My eyes narrowed open and I stared into the face of my hero. He stared back at me. Had he not rushed to my side in time to slip his hands to my waist, I would be sprawled up on the floor.
“What the hell, girl!” he said. Anger flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t turn them away from me. Neither did he let go of me. The close proximity of our faces made me shudder.
“We already have one case here and you’re so desperate to add to it?” he asked.
“Get your hands off me,” I snapped.
I splayed a palm on his chest to shove him off, but he didn’t budge. His firmness told me the message he tried to pass across: nobody pushed him around and he only acted on his own accord.
My head hadn’t stopped spinning, but I could manage just fine on my own. His clasp on me loosened just enough for me to disentangle myself from him. I staggered backward and plopped down in bed, willing myself back to normal. When his gaze lingered, my ire spiraled out of control.
“What are you doing staring at me?” I yelled.
“Figuring how I can help you,” he said. “Why else would I look at you?”
“Who said I needed your help? Don’t help me! Help her!”
“Well, what am I to do?” he yelled. “The nurse isn’t here!”
Again, he combed through his hair with his fingers. I figured it came naturally when he battled with nerviness.
“Call the principal,” I said. “She’s with him.”
He pulled out his Smartphone. It had to be the iphone7 everyone held in a ridiculously high esteem. News had already spread high and low about him flaunting an iphone7. I could never understand why a person would give out bundles of naira in exchange for an ordinary phone. Were there not reasonably priced phones with good features in the market? Obviously, it all boiled down to ego.
“Not available.” He groaned, slamming the phone into his open palm.
Walking to the students crowding the window, he ordered, “Go fetch the nurse from the principal’s office. Run!”
Feet shuffled as the students backed away from the window.
“We shouldn’t wait for them to arrive,” I said. “I know a thing or two. Let’s get her on the floor.”
“Are you crazy?” Raheem asked. “The floor is full of germs!”
“If you had a brain, even a pretty dull one, and obviously you don’t, you’d know that soft surfaces make the process ineffective.”
Raheem seemed genuinely clueless. “What process?”
“Are you going to help save a life or not?” I asked.
Arms folded, he pressed his lips together and watched me. It dawned on me that he wouldn’t help. I wrapped my arms around Doreen and pulled her toward me, but found myself falling toward her instead.
“Will you just stand there?” I yelled.
Hearing his footsteps approach, I stepped away. He brushed past me and gingerly swept her into his arms as though she weighed no more than a leaf. He set her down on the floor, between the rows of bed.
Taking my mind back to movie scenes where drowning people—or people who swallowed water—had been rescued, I knew what to do. A mouth to mouth resuscitation had to be it. I sank to my knees and undid the buttons on Doreen’s waistcoat. Pulling at her tie, I let it sag.
Turning her head to the side, I stared into her face. And there I found beauty. Not the regular beauty, but one reminding me of sleeping beauty. After allowing water drain from her mouth and nose, I slowly returned her head to the center. I splayed my palms on Doreen’s chest and pressed down rhythmically. Her nose and mouth spurted water. She remained motionless.
“Please wake up,” I said.
I continued pressing down on her chest. Pinching her nose, I lowered my face to hers, pumping strong breaths into her mouth. Western High would not lose another student. I breathed into her again. Once. Twice. Thrice.
Someone turned the doorknob from the other side. A knock followed.
“Open up,” Stella said.
“That’s the nurse?” Raheem asked. I nodded, but he’d already opened the door. Stella rushed to my side. Sir Amadi stepped in after her.
“Let me take it from here,” she said.
Just as I withdrew my hands, Doreen jerked, letting out a strangled gasp. Her eyes flew open. A nervous laugh escaped my lips. Coming out in ragged bursts, it sounded weird in my own ears.
“You made it!” Grinning, I looked over to Raheem, Stella and Sir Amadi. Their joy mirrored mine.
Doreen raised herself to sit, her move robotic. Her lifeless gaze peeled its way into the wall across from her. My brows furrowed at her reaction. I had expected a smile, or just about anything to express her delight in escaping death. But she burst into tears, banishing the smile from my face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Stella gently shook her. “Tell us what’s wrong. Are you hurt?”
She searched Doreen’s body, but found no visible sign of pain. Doreen’s gaze stayed fixated on the walls. Although I knew I’d find nothing but white paint, I followed her gaze.
I looked back at Doreen. Her cry rose like wildfire, piercing my eardrums. With every breath she took, her chest rose and fell like she would fall into a seizure. She clapped her palms over her mouth to stifle her cry.
“Doreen?” I called.
With wide eyes casting a distant look at the walls, and her face drained out of color, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.
“She’s real!” she cried, turning to face me.
Her hands reached out and grabbed my wrists, the suddenness causing my heart to lurch. The look in her eyes sent a chill enveloping me. I would wrap my arms around myself if she didn’t have them in a death grip as though without gripping me painfully tight she could not find the words to say.
“She’s real! She tried to kill me…”
Frantically, her fingers flew from my hands to her neck. They stretched around it, giving me the idea that whoever tried to kill her had wrung her neck. My eyes held Stella’s for a second. She nodded, getting the message.
Moments passed and I waited for someone else to try squeezing the answer out of Doreen. But everyone held back. I could tell they wanted me to carry on.
I cleared my throat and opened my mouth to speak, but Doreen cut me off. “I swear I’m not making this up. She was there. There was a presence.”
“Please calm down,” I said, my voice laced with an unscheduled fear. My gaze flitted to Sir Amadi, and then to Raheem and Stella, wordlessly begging them to help calm her down.
Raheem crouched beside her. “What did you see?”
Crying harder, Doreen threw herself at him in a desperate embrace. Raheem blinked, knocked off balance by the impact. Uncertainty clouded his features. Sir Amadi held out a hand, wordlessly ordering him not to shove her off.
“What’s your name?” Raheem asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. His hand patted her back like a father would a child.
Doreen sniffed. “Doreen.”
“Doreen,” he echoed. “Please, have no fear. Whatever tried to hurt you is gone now. I’m here. We are all here. And you are safe. But we need you to tell us what you saw.”
“She’s no human,” Doreen said. She looked up at Raheem’s face. “She doesn’t have a face. It’s all hair. Long, black hair where her face should be. And she…and she attacked me because I saw her.”
A chill slid down my spine. We had a potential murderer amongst us.
“D–n it, girl!” Raheem snapped. Seething, he detached himself from her and stood up. “Are you telling us or not? Tell us who attacked you or we are filing this as a suicide attempt!”
Doreen gulped down her fear. “Bloody Miri.
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