I spent the class shooting angry stares at the back of Ibuka’s head from my new seat beside Joseph at the back of the class. I was so displeased that I refused to answer his repeated questions. “Why is Amina Nwaogwugwu sitting with Ibu?” he hissed the question for the umpteenth time.

I ignored him and continued writing into my notebook as the teacher dictated her lesson.

At the end of the class, Ibuka hurried over to where we stood waiting for him. His eyes were a goggled mix of contriteness and smug delight. “Eze, I’m sorry. I’m so-so-so sorry,” he implored with a smile. “But it was Amina. Amina Nwaogwugwu talked to me.”

“I know, I was there,” I said testily.

“What did she want with you?” Joseph asked, crossing his arms. His brows were furrowed.

“To ask if she can sit with me.”

“Why?”

“Because she didn’t have anywhere else to sit.”

“Why you?”

“Because she thinks I’m nice and special.”

Joseph waited a beat, until he was sure Ibuka was serious, then he broke out into a loud laughter. He was totally cracked up, held his sides as he laughed. He pointed a finger at Ibuka, trying to speak through gasps of mirth.

“What is funny?” Ibuka snapped petulantly.

Joseph’s mirth finally died down. “That you’re nice and special?” he said chuckling. “She said that? She actually said that to you?”

“Yes, she did,” I said. I had thought it was a sweet thing for her to say, and I didn’t understand Joseph’s amusement.

“Oh come on, Eze. You don’t seriously believe that girl meant what she said, do you?”

“Yes, she did!” roared Ibuka. “Why are you being so mean?”

“Well, look at it this way. She is Amina Nwaogwugwu, and you are…you.”

Ibuka bristled. “And what is that supposed to mean?” (more…)