At Edgewood High, Mondays had a familiar buzz—a mix of dusty air, the sound of tired footsteps, and that feeling of something just beginning. SS2 students shuffled in, with some still rubbing sleep from their eyes and others laughing a bit too loudly about things that wouldn't matter by break.
Rudd was already settled in his usual spot—by the window, third row from the back. He had one earbud in, half-listening to music while the other dangled down from his navy-blue school sweater. He observed people from a distance. Watching was just easier than actually interacting. His hand rested on a spiral notebook that was blank on the outside—filled only with lyrics, random thoughts, and short poems that nobody knew he wrote.
Outside the classroom, there was chaos. The usual drama unfolded. Timi was in a heated debate about who borrowed his locker padlock. Aisha was speeding through a story about a Nollywood movie she hadn't finished. Mr. Bello, the physics teacher, was already yelling down the hallway about tardiness, even though the bell hadn't rung yet.
Then, Scarlet walked in.
There was nothing particularly special about her entrance. She wasn't trying to make a statement, but the way her ponytail bounced with each step, her calm confidence, and the casual smile she shared with her friends just caught attention. She wore her signature fitted pinafore, her navy socks slightly below the standard, and a small red scrunchie that was, quite literally, a staple of her Monday look. Rudd noticed it every time.
As she walked past him, he glanced up for just a moment—enough to catch a glimpse of her profile. But when she tilted her head as if she might look back, he quickly turned his gaze to the window again. Coward, he thought to himself.
Scarlet didn't slow down; she joined her friends, Amara and Kiki, by a corner seat near the class cupboard. Within moments, their little space filled up with lively stories, animated hand gestures, and soft laughter. Rudd listened from a distance, pretending not to.
When the first period finally began, the class was noisy and packed. Mr. Okon strolled in late—just like always—carrying a file under his arm and not caring a bit about the noise.
"Morning, class."
"Good morning, sir."
"Open to page 82. Kiki, stop chatting."
This was Edgewood: strict routines wrapped in laid-back habits. People didn't really change; they just got better at playing their roles over time.
Break arrived quickly, bringing heat along with it. Students flooded the hallways like a rushing river. Some dashed off to grab meat pies, while others sought out gossip. Scarlet stood by the door, sipping from a sachet of water when he approached.
Gabriel.
Gab was a prefect—sharp haircut, polished shoes, and a voice that could command attention like a siren. He didn't just speak; he ordered.
"You were supposed to submit the staff room report last Friday," Gab said, stepping in front of her.
Scarlet raised an eyebrow. "Sandra said she'd take care of it. I helped her clean—"
"I don't care what Sandra said. Your name wasn't in the log."
There was a tense pause. Scarlet didn't appreciate being challenged, nor did she like unnecessary noise. She narrowed her eyes. "Next time, check with her before trying to put me on blast."
Gab leaned closer. "Watch that tone."
She glanced at the prefect badge on his chest, then back at his face. "You should watch your breath."
The area fell silent. A few students nearby froze, unsure whether to laugh or walk away.
Gab's expression darkened, but he didn't respond. Scarlet calmly stepped around him and walked away, tossing her empty sachet into the bin without breaking her stride.
Rudd had witnessed it all from his seat. In silence.
He despised how Gab treated others—hovering, making threats, all while getting away with it. But what could he have done? Stand up and make it worse? Or just put himself in the line of fire too? Or maybe reveal the fact that he couldn't even speak a full sentence to Scarlet without overthinking everything?
She was brave. He wasn't sure what that made him.
Later that day, the last bell rang with a sense of finality. Students surged out again—some headed to the hostel, others toward the exit. Rudd stayed behind, as usual. He loved the way the classroom emptied, like it was exhaling a long sigh. Quiet returned, and his thoughts came rushing back.
He started doodling something—nothing significant—when he noticed Scarlet walk past his desk, all alone. The girls had moved on ahead.
She didn't say a word.
Neither did he.
But her steps slowed just a tad as she walked by.
He felt that little pause, that unspoken moment. His heart raced, and his pen halted mid-stroke. Just say something. Anything.
But he didn't.
The moment slipped away, and so did she.
That night, staring at his phone's dim glow, Rudd noticed her WhatsApp status. A quote was displayed on a black background:
"People get tired of waiting. Even the good ones."
He opened the reply box and typed:
"Was that about today?"
Then paused.
Backspaced.
Typed:
"You handled Gab well."
Paused once more, then backspaced again.
He locked his phone and laid it face down on his bed.
There would be other chances.
Wouldn't there?