He was leaning on the school fence when I stepped out after prep.
Tari.
Even in fading sunlight, the boy looked airbrushed. Clean-cut hair, deep brown skin that glowed, lips too soft for a boy, and a quiet kind of confidence that didn't shout — it whispered. And his eyes? Warm. Too warm. Like someone who'd already written my name in his dreams.
"You waited?" I asked.
He smiled. "Yeah. I said I wanted to talk."
There was that calm voice again. Soothing. But I had learned not to get swept away by softness.
Because softness didn't pay school fees.
He walked beside me, close enough that our hands nearly brushed. "You looked stressed earlier. Everything okay?"
I gave a half-shrug. "Just regular stress. Life."
He nodded, clearly wanting to dig deeper, but too polite to push.
We talked about school, random memes, and favorite food. He laughed easily. Smiled often. And he stared at me like I was a galaxy he wanted to explore slowly.
Poor boy. He didn't know I was a black hole.
As we parted, he said, "I like talking to you. You're… different."
Different? Sure. I was a shark in lip gloss.
And yet, as he walked away, I caught myself smiling. Not because of him—but because he was perfect.
Rich.
Soft.
Kind.
Everything I needed in an ATM with emotions.
The next morning, assembly felt like Judgment Day.
The principal stepped up, holding a long list like it was a scroll of doom.
"Those whose parents have NOT paid fees, step forward when I call your name. You will NOT be allowed to write exams."
My stomach twisted. I hadn't asked my mom about it, and with the way things were going at home, I half-expected to hear my name echo across the courtyard like a death sentence.
He started reading. One name. Another. And another.
I braced myself.
But mine never came up.
Not Ella.
Relief flooded me like cold water. I knew who to thank.
Mum.
She must've stretched herself thin again — paid from money meant for food or rent. Sacrificing what little she had just so I wouldn't be shamed in front of the school.
Meanwhile, my father? Still pretending like money vanished in the air.
And yet, I saw the credit alert on his phone.
If he had money, why wasn't he using it to help us?
Where was it going?
And what exactly was he hiding?
Later that day, our group chat was on fire.
Kosi: "Have you guys noticed Mr. Ojo and Miss Ronke keep arriving at the same time now?"
Zinny: "LMAO they think they're slick. Man's out here thinking nobody notices the way he fixes her projector every time."
Ella: "Next thing he'll be marking economics scripts instead of maths."
Kosi: "I ship it though. They'd make a fine scandal." Then suddenly zinny received a call from her mum..who tried to warn her to stop taking phone to school like she knew she'd take it..they argued for a while and hung up
I smirked at the screen, amused. But as their banter continued, my mind drifted.
To Zinny's family.
I'd been there once.
Her parents had been laughing in the kitchen, playfully arguing about seasoning soup. Her dad had picked her mum up and spun her around, like they were teenagers.
Zinny rolled her eyes the entire time, but I could tell she loved it.
It wasn't just a house. It was a home.
Mine? Mine had secrets in every room. Silence in place of laughter. Debt in place of trust.
And a father who was more mystery than man.
I needed proof. Something that could expose him. Break the walls he'd built. I didn't know what I'd do with it yet — but knowing the truth would give me power.
And I needed that more than anything.
That night, my phone buzzed at 12:02am.
Tari.
I hesitated. Then answered.
We talked.
For an hour and seventeen minutes.
About childhood dreams. Favorite cartoons. Books. Fear. Faith. Nothing and everything.
He asked, "Why do you always sound like you're hiding something?"
I laughed. "Because everyone is."
His silence told me he didn't know how to argue with that.
He said goodnight with a softness I didn't deserve. I said goodnight back with a smile he couldn't see — one that wasn't real.
I left my room to grab water.
That's when I heard the voice — low, trembling, broken.
I froze at the kitchen door.
It was my mum, kneeling on the floor, arms lifted.
"God, please… help me. I'm trying my best. I'm drowning. And he's watching me suffer. That man—he's draining me. He's draining this home."
Her voice cracked. "If not for my children… I would've left long ago."
Something inside me snapped.
I stepped back, quietly, breath caught in my chest.
My chest burned. My hands clenched.
Whatever secrets my dad was hiding — whatever lies he was living…
I would uncover them.
I would expose him.
Because no one — not even my own blood — would be allowed to break my mother.