AND THERE HE WAS.

CHAPTER: 2.

••••••

Three years had passed and I finally thought I had my life under control. At least, I tried to. I never got into any other troubles, and neither do I cause any. 

I was your typical book nerd. 

You will always find my face buried in a book, any book. 

It was my escape. 

There is always something special about the fictional world. When you're engrossed in a particular book you begin to imagine a life quite different from what you are used to and at that moment you are filled with excitement, you find yourself merging into a character and you become part of the action. Then the book ends and you just sat there reminiscing about what you had just read. Then you remembered that particular character who had died wrongly or didn't end with the right person romantically and you wanted a better ending for them. You began to recreate them in your minds, giving them a better ending for your peace of mind.

It has always been like that with me. 

At ten, I was a good kid, I made sure I didn't come home at the end of a school term with nothing short of first, second, or third place because anything less than that would warrant a marathon of beating from Daddy and I never wanted to be on that receiving end ever again. 

I learned that the hard way.

Nigeria's education system is basically: one-year pre-primary education, six years primary, three years junior secondary, three years senior secondary, and a minimum of four years of tertiary education. The academic year typically runs from September to July. Most universities use a semester system of eighteen to twenty weeks. Others run from January to December, divided into three terms of ten to twelve weeks, and at the end of each term, parents are eagerly expecting their youngsters home with good grades and I made sure I was one of those. Not once did I ever fail or repeat a class because my father would have my head for dinner.

So, I read a lot and made sure I never joked with my studies since all I can do to show my gratitude to my parents for their hard work is to make sure I came home at the end of the school term with a good Report Card and I made sure I always delivered. 

Life went on smoothly and school was going pretty decently until he showed up. 

Yeah...He.

He goes by the name, Chima. An only child of a rich businessman. He wasn't even born in the country. Apparently, his parents had to move to Enugu State for some business thingy and he was enrolled in my school. He was my age, fair in complexion with almond brown eyes. When he looks into your eyes, you would automatically grow self-conscious, his eyes were stern yet soft. Well-defined jawline which stands out sharply, as if chiseled by a sculptor, with perfect eyelashes. Like he wasn't good-looking enough, he topped it all with thick black afro hair almost the length of Chichi's when packed into a ponytail.

We had just settled in our seats when the door opened and Principle Lawson peeked into the class with a smile on his fat cheeks.

"Hello, class." He waved while walking fully into our class. We greeted him. "We have a new boy joining us and I would like your kindest welcome." He smiled and the boy walked into the class, his backpack strapped neatly behind his back, he was already in his uniform. 

I think I was the first person to see him and he saw me just immediately and my eyes were glued to his. 

Every other word the principal said fell on deaf ears.

I couldn't look away for the life of me.

He didn't either.

We held eye contact until the principal ushered him to a seat just next to mine. 

In my ten-year-old eyes, he was the most handsome boy I had ever seen.

And it was true.

I never called a boy handsome before, heck I thought I was the ugliest boy so you should have seen the size of my head when I realized I had just called another boy handsome in my mind.

"Hi." He smiled grandly at me and I smiled back, it was infectious. Then he was offering me his hand for a shake. He was the first boy who offered me his hand for a shake at ten, we usually just hug. For a ten-year-old boy, he's always acted so maturely. 

Maybe because he was an only child or maybe he grew up too fast, I don't know. 

As soon as our hands touched a friendship was born.

He liked me just immediately as I had done him. 

As if the principal knew, he had blessed our union by giving him a seat that's just right next to mine.

We became best friends from that day.

We clicked so perfectly together.

He was the cream and I the chocolate.

He was easy to talk to and the sounds of his laughter were music to my ears and he laughed a lot. 

A little joke told by the lamest of the pair would make him laugh. 

His face was never without a smirk even when he was angry, he still smiled.

I never saw anyone like him. 

He was this special boy in my young eyes.

He took me to his parents and told them I was his best friend after that I felt I needed to return the favor and the next week I told him I was taking him to my house. 

I wasn't close to being as rich as he was.

I wouldn't even say we were rich.

Just your average family with two hard-working parents. 

My mother was home the day I brought him and she liked him just instantly. 

He has this charm that glows around him.

They are magnetic.

No one meets him and does not like him.

He was humble, smart, kind as well as protective of his friends.

He once fought for me. There was this fat kid in class who would always pick on me. Either he is knocking my books off my hands or he is hitting both hands on my locker, startling and detracting my reading concentration. 

Chima hated that and he fought him, not that I couldn't fight the boy but I preferred to just ignore him because to show him that what he was doing affected me would only help boost his stupidity but Chima wasn't that patient and in the end, they both got punished for getting into a fight and Joe never messed with me again.

I admired him.

I adored him.

But I especially loved running my fingers through his fros and they always got stuck in the tangles and while I tried to rescue my fingers from being eaten by his hair, he would laugh at my struggles. 

Until this day, I never understood how my fingers always end up trapped in his hair.

One day our teacher came into the class and saw me trying to pull my fingers out of his hair. The evil mane was swallowing my fingers and wouldn't let go.

Chima just laughed at my suffering while I tried miserably to yank my fingers free. 

Mrs. Vivienne asked that we quit playing but I wasn't.

I was only trying to get my fingers back.

When she looked back from the board and saw my fingers still in that hair she became furious at us. She called us to kneel before the class and while she taught, she made us take notes from our kneeling position and by then the evil mane had vomited my fingers back to me.

I never learn and I would always do it again and again.

We were the little mischiefs in the class. The teacher would switch our seats but somehow we always found our way back to each other and we would be sitting next to each other again. All the teachers loved us because we were more or less the smartest kids in class.

Well, I was. But, Chima, not so much, he only basked in my shadow. I taught him everything I know and what I didn't, he would teach me.

Soon, we started visiting each other's homes, staying over to complete our assignments, and playing some games together, most of which consisted of games that we had invented.

Crazy stupid games that had no meaning but we enjoyed playing them together.

It was our favorite pastime. That and me reading out loud while he just rests his head on my stretched-out legs on the bed and my fingers constantly combing into his hair.

He enjoyed it when I read to him like that since he was too lazy to read a book.

Everything we did, we did naturally. 

It felt normal.

Everything was fine.

We took a common entrance Examination which would enable us to get into Secondary school if we passed and we did.

Before the results came out, we had picked the school we wanted to enroll in and his parents promised that they would make sure he went to the same Secondary School as me and they did. 

At twelve, we both were in our first year of Junior Secondary and really excited about the school year which went by pretty fast. 

Chima hit puberty before me. Soon he was sprouting hairs in certain areas, and his testicles and penis began to grow, and we took baths together so I noticed. I don't even understand how I was noticing something like that, it felt weird thinking back on it now. He had a few pimples on his face and by the time we were fifteen his voice had deepened, he was even beginning to muscle up and he's grown a few inches taller. He even looked older than me.

And I was still like a child. 

Same face.

Same voice.

As smooth as the baby's bottom.

The only difference that I was growing was my increase in height. 

Talk about a late bloomer.

At fifteen we were both in senior Secondary and that was when things started getting weird for me.

Puberty had hit.

I got grumpy.

I started sprouting hairs under my pit and pubes, I grew a little under there too but that was it. I didn't get pimples, my face was still very smooth no facial hair or any on my arms just a few that looked like a dried-up forest on my legs.

What the hell was happening to my body?

Now I got irritated very quickly and I talked back to my mother and became rebellious but not by much because no matter how old you are, your father or mother can always slap you back in order so I made sure I don't overdo it or I'll get it. 

I think he's always done it but I never noticed until now, my older brother started sneaking girls into the house when no one but me is around.

They will stay hours in his bedroom, doing only God knows what, and before it's time for Ada to return from her lessons, he would sink them out again.

I never understood why he was into girls that much. 

He made sure to sneak in different girls and it doesn't matter what the pastor said on Sunday about the sins of immorality, he never listens.

No fear of God in him or fear of our father at least.

He played his games so well that in the face of my father and everyone else's, he was a Saint but I knew his secret.

And I played the role of a blind bat and pretended like I didn't see anything. 

And if you asked me, I didn't. 

I never liked girls.

I don't hate them either.

I just don't talk about them.

I don't admire them or find them attractive in that manner.

I don't even think about things like that.

They don't exist for me.

The boys in my class always talked about a certain girl they liked or how they bought a gift for a girl or wrote a girl a love letter but not once did I ever feel the desire to do that.

Do I even have a girl I was interested in? 

The answer was simple, No.

Even Chima sometimes comments on how pretty a girl who just happened to walk by looked and I will just give him the look and ignore the comment as if he hadn't said anything. 

He had asked me sometimes back, what type of girls I was into. 

I was certain I looked like the world's most dorky idiot that day with my eyes bulging and mouth wide open, gawking at him because I didn't understand his question.

He repeated the question a second time and I still didn't get it then he gave up and we never spoke about it again.

There is only one girl who was pretty in my eyes. 

My sister.

As a teenager, she was a lot taller than I am. 

She said she was going to be a model but my mother told her that the profession was too revealing and she would have to show her body out in public. And then she would go on advising her of how her body was her pride and she needed to protect it and nobody was meant to see her only her husband when she is married.

Sometimes, I swear I don't understand that woman.

If I was ever going to be interested in any girl it would be Chichi.

But that is impossible and not to mention the greatest of abomination.

My family would crucify me if I dared say that out loud.

But my point is because it's impossible to happen only means that I can't find interest in any girl.

It was never there.

Not the slightest feeling.

To me, I was just a mindless innocent teenager who is only interested in studying to think about girls.

Oh, how terribly wrong that was. 

I had no clue, not the slightest.

But, I was pretty much satisfied with how my life was turning out.

Obinna was a whore and I didn't want to be like him.

If all it meant to be talking about girls was to change them like the clothes I wear every day then I don't want to talk about them.

They are to be respected and not used but all Obinna did was use them.

I shouldn't have to worry about him. 

I don't even care about those sorts of things anyway.

But, all that was about to be changed in just a bit.