Amara's POV
Family gatherings in my house weren't just meals. They were performances.
If you were smart, you kept your head down and ate your food. If you were unlucky, you became the topic of discussion. And if you were me? You were always the unlucky one.
The Okoye family didn't just eat together—we sparred. Our dining table was the boxing ring, our aunties and uncles the commentators, and my mum the undefeated heavyweight champion.
The table stretched almost wall to wall in the living room, polished mahogany hidden under endless dishes. Jollof rice steaming so bright-red it could blind you, egusi soup glowing with palm oil, fried chicken stacked in mountains, grilled fish with lemon slices, plantain glistening like gold. It smelled heavenly, but I couldn't taste a thing. Not when I knew that at any moment, someone would throw me into the spotlight.
I sat halfway down, between two cousins who kept kicking me under the table. My fork stabbed a lonely piece of plantain while chatter bounced around the room. Aunties laughing about one pastor's new wife. Uncles arguing over Arsenal versus Chelsea. Little cousins snatching puff-puff like thieves.
The noise was so loud, it was almost comforting. Almost.
"Amara, darling," Auntie Rebecca's soft voice drifted over the clatter. She leaned forward, bracelets jingling with every move. Her smile was warm, the type that made you believe she wasn't setting you up. "How's school going?"
I looked up. She was the kind one. She always asked questions like she genuinely wanted to know, not to compare me to someone else's perfect child.
"It's fine, Auntie," I said, forcing a small smile. "School's… great."
I should've stopped there. A safe, neutral answer. But I forgot the golden rule: every casual question was ammunition for my mum.
Because her head turned sharply like she'd been waiting for her cue.
"Fine?" she repeated, voice carrying across the table. Forks slowed. Conversations dipped. The spotlight was mine now, whether I wanted it or not.
She smiled that smile—the one that meant she was about to deliver a sermon disguised as praise. "Do you people know the principal's son is in Amara's school? Ah! A fine boy. Brilliant. Respectful. Straight A's. Exactly the kind of child parents pray for."
My stomach dropped. I knew exactly who she meant. Ethan.
"And not like some people," she added sweetly, eyes flicking at me.
Some people = me. Always me.
I focused on my plate, praying she'd stop. But she was just warming up.
"You know him, Amara?"
Her voice sliced through the noise. Everyone turned. Waiting.
I swallowed. My throat was dry. "You mean Ethan?"
Her face lit up like she'd won the lottery. "Yes! Ethan! You know him already? Wonderful! You should be friends. In fact, he can help you."
A chorus of approving murmurs rose from the table. "Ehn, Ethan is sharp o." "That boy is always top of the class." "Very disciplined."
My ears burned.
"Mummy, please," I whispered, hoping she'd drop it.
But my hope was laughable.
"Imagine—Ethan and Amara. He's a role model." Her eyes swept over me, her smile sharp. "Meanwhile, my own daughter…" She let the words hang heavy. "This her modeling idea, eh. Modeling. As if books have gone out of fashion."
A few uncles chuckled. The humiliation clawed up my throat.
I gripped my fork until it shook. "Why do you always compare me to him? I'm not Ethan."
The silence that fell was brutal. Even the little cousins froze mid-bite.
Then—SLAM.
My mum's palm hit the table. Plates rattled. Soup nearly spilled. My cousins sat straighter.
"Will you shut up!" Her voice cracked like thunder.
Her finger pointed at me, sharp as a dagger. "Ethan is making his parents proud! Straight A's, respectful, focused. And you? Stressing me with foolish dreams. You can't even pass mathematics, but you want to be a model. Model ke? Model ni? Over my dead body!"
The words stung worse than the slap I half-expected. Over my dead body.
"Ahn ahn, Sister," Auntie Rebecca cut in quickly, her tone gentle. "Don't be too hard on her. She's still young. Children need space to discover themselves—"
But she didn't get to finish.
"Rebecca, please!" My mum's voice rose like a blade. "You want to lecture me? Look at your Tosin—roaming the streets, joining gang. That's what happens when you give children too much space. And you're here telling me to relax? God forbid!"
The air in the room thickened. Auntie Rebecca's smile faltered, but she didn't snap back. She just adjusted her wrapper and went quiet, dignity intact.
I wanted to disappear under the table.
"Enough," my dad's voice finally broke through, calm but commanding. He'd been quietly eating his fish, ignoring the theatrics, but even he couldn't stay silent now. "Let the girl eat in peace. This is not the place."
But my mum wasn't done. Her eyes locked on me. Cold. Unshakable.
"In fact," she said, voice low but dangerous, "since you want to be stubborn, I've decided. You will be tutored. By Ethan."
The words slapped me harder than anything else could.
Tutored. By Ethan.
My whole body stiffened. Heat crawled up my neck. This couldn't be real.
"No way," I burst out, louder than I meant. My chair screeched as I shoved it back. "You can't do that!"
Gasps rippled around the table. A cousin muttered, "Chai, Amara."
My mum leaned back in her chair, smiling now. That cold, dangerous smile. "Watch me."
The whispers started immediately. "See how she's talking to her mother." "Children of nowadays, no respect."
My chest burned. Rage and shame fought for space inside me. I couldn't stay there another second.
I threw my napkin down, turned, and stormed out of the dining room.
The hallway was cooler, quieter, but my heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear.
"Amara," a soft voice called.
I turned. Toyin—Auntie Rebecca's daughter—stood behind me. My cousin. My friend.
"You heard all that?" My voice cracked.
She nodded, walking up to me. Her eyes were steady, her presence calm in a way I desperately needed. "Of course I did. Don't mind them. Auntie doesn't get it. You're not Tosin. You're not Ethan. You're you. And that's enough."
Something in me unclenched. I managed a weak laugh. "Tell that to my mum."
Toyin looped her arm around my shoulders. "Forget her. Let's go."
We slipped out together.
---
The car ride home was the definition of uncomfortable.
I sat by the window, forehead pressed to the glass, watching streetlights blur past. Toyin hummed quietly beside me, scrolling through her phone, while the silence between us stretched. The driver didn't dare say a word.
I kept replaying my mum's words. Ethan. Tutoring. Over her dead body. My chest ached. My throat was tight. I refused to cry. Not here. Not in front of Toyin.
When we finally pulled up to the house, I bolted upstairs without saying goodnight. My room swallowed me whole, the only place I could breathe.
I collapsed face-first onto my bed. For a moment, I just lay there, numb. Then I reached for my phone.
One ring. Two.
"Babyyy," Adela's voice burst through, loud as ever. "Why do you sound like someone just snatched your wig?"
I groaned into my pillow. "They want me to be tutored. By your boyfriend."
Silence. Then an explosion of laughter so loud I yanked the phone from my ear.
"You're lying," Adela gasped. "Oh my God. You're serious?!"
"Dead serious," I muttered. "This is literally the end of my life."
She tried to swallow her laugh, but failed miserably. "Wow. Wow. This is about to be messy. Netflix-level messy."
I squeezed my eyes shut, hating how true that sounded. "Adela, don't you dare find this funny. This is hell."
She cackled again. "Hell for you maybe. For me? Front row seats."
I hung up before she could make it worse. Tossed my phone aside.
But the damage was done. My brain was already replaying Ethan's face. His calm, polite smile. His annoying straight-A aura. The way he'd probably look at me when he found out—like I was an inconvenience he had to endure.
And the worst part? The thought of sitting across from him, week after week, pretending I didn't care, when something in my chest was buzzing like it had been switched on.
Curiosity. Anger. Something I didn't want to name.
I buried my face in my pillow, muffling a scream.
This wasn't just tutoring. This was war.
And I had no idea who would win.