I can’t let this boy know I like him. I have to act normal around him. I can’t show any sign to him. He’s walking towards me. Now he’s smiling. He hasn’t seen me yet. Please God let him see me. Why won’t you see me?? Stupid boy. Stop talking to her, you’re mine. You’re just mine. Oh God. I can’t take this. I feel like slapping that girl talking to him. Why won’t he notice me?? Finally he has stopped talking to her. Thank God. Now he’s coming to my side. Please sit down beside me. Please. Please. Please. Should I call him?? He’s looking at me. Is he talking to me?? He wants to know if the space is free. Yes, it’s free. And my heart is free too. My mouth. My breasts. My body. Take everything. He’s talking to me now. He’s smiling. He’s genuinely asking about me. He remembers my family problem that I told him?? Ah God 🥺. He’s asking about my birthday. My birthday does not matter as long as you’re my birthday gift. Did I say that loud?? I’m definitely telling him my birthday. He’s writing it down so he won’t forget. I love this boy. But he doesn’t love me back. I think he has a type. And I’m not his type. Should I ask him what his type is?? Maybe he likes big breasts. Should I make my breasts look bigger so he will notice?? God. I need this boy…..he’s the only thing I can think of…..Shit. Dr. Oloyede is in class. I need to concentrate so I’ll be able to answer any questions he asks me. I don’t want to look stupid. Maybe he likes intelligent girls?? I can ask him to give me tutorials after class. we can do night reading. Does he stay on campus?? If he doesn’t stay on campus, I can go to his place so he can teach me what he knows. I like the way his lips move when he’s talking, God……I need to concentrate on Dr. Oloyede. But he’s not Niiyi. What has this boy done to me?? Fuck. Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate. What is that fragrance?? I like it. Who is wearing it?? I think it’s him. God. He’s turning me on without knowing. I hate myself. He smells so nice…so raw…I want to remove that stupid facecap from his stupid face. I need to know the name of the fragrance
Should I shift closer to him?? This place is tight, maybe he won’t notice. I’ll just move small. Just a little. He noticed. He’s even shifting for me. “Put your hand around my neck so that there can be space”…..
While these thoughts were running wild in Tola’s head, somewhere else in the class, there was Femi.
Average height, average weight, surprisingly good grades Femi. He was wearing a dirty blue t-shirt, and almost faded black jeans. The bucket hat on his head was for covering his face while he slept. His head was on the desk in front of him, and the drool from his mouth was forming a small pool on the table, trailing down from his mouth to his upper arm. Thankfully, he didn’t snore, or this would have been a big issue for King sitting beside him.
In many ways though, King and Femi were very similar, but couldn’t be any more different.
Born James Olawale Precious, King was a very tall and long limbed guy. He was thick too, physically and academically. He was already taller or at equal height with everyone in his family at age 17, both nuclear and extended. And these were by no means short people.
And if you knew King, you knew he was all for sports and cleaniness. The King name was a reference to LeBron James. Although King wasn’t just a basketball player. He played anything and everything that caught his fancy and was available to him. He was king of any sport.
Like King, Femi came from a very humble background. He had had to stay home for two years trying to save money to get into a university. And he hadn’t even taken any exams yet. King had taken those exams every year since graduating secondary school, not passing them, but also saving up money.
The difference between them was while King has sports, Femi was smart. Street smart. He could pick a hustle out of anything. He was a natural born economist, the mental equivalent of R.T. Malthus, but with the grace and finesse of anybody born and bred in Oshodi.
Femi’s bottom line was money. It never changed. Fast money, slow money, multiple streams of income, legal and/or illegal. There was no line for Femi. It wasn’t blurred or smudged. The line was just nonexistent. For him, money made the world go round. Not the Gravitational effects of the Sun.
In the streets of Lagos, Femi was a legend. But he wasn’t in Lagos now. He was in Ilorin. He wasn’t new to the streets of Ilorin anymore though.
After two and a half years being around, he was able to pick things out. Make some friends, a few enemies, know who was who, and where was what.
Last night just hadn’t been good for him, else he wouldn’t have been sleeping in class like this.
Last night at Club 64, he had almost run out of his luck, but like he always said “ori iya mi o pada leyin mi”.
He wasn’t at the club to party, He had made a deal with the manager of the club some months prior. The club sold expensive bottles of wine and vodka to its patrons. Usually spoilt and stupid young men and women who had just made it in one part of the entertainment industry, or some new and high paying online scamming business (yahoo yahoo) or the ones with daddy’s money. And Daddy was almost always a politician that had looted money and diversified some of it to look legit, then kept looting.
The club’s prices were actually quite fair for a town like Ilorin. The always sold everything at 300% of purchase price. In Lagos, it could go as much as 1200%, or maybe even 1500%.
Femi’s deal with the manager of the club was simple. He wanted to be in charge of their alcohol purchase. The would be the only person supplying all the alcohol to the club.
While the Femi’s prices were more expensive than the old suppliers costs, the price difference would belong to the manager entirely. That was the deal. So as far as the manager was concerned, he was only making more money for himself, and it was legit. Plus a price increase meant an increase in profits as long as the price difference wasn’t too much for the big money spenders to notice. It also helped that Femi promised a higher quality of products as well as an increased variety too. That club was the first to put the StarBoy Cirôc on its menu.
300 bottles were sold in the first week alone.
After securing this deal, Femi has gone back to Lagos and spent a week straight there. He knew someone who jacked alcohol transport cars. And when he couldn’t get the cars while they were in transit, he usually just robbed their warehouses, how exactly he did it and hadn’t been caught in the last 5 years was something Femi had always wondered about, but everybody had trade secrets.
Apart from the jacker, Femi also made a connection in Ife. With a guy who made bootleg alcohol. He didn’t need a lot, just some certain brand names..
Between his bootleg supply, and the stolen ones, he would make more than enough money to own the club in a few months if everything went well.
Last night was the first smell of trouble for him. His supply of the stolen alcohol crashed in the middle of nowhere. He had to find a mechanic and a vulchaniser to fix the car in the middle of the night and bring the rest of it’s contents back into the city, then get back to Ife to pick up an emergency order of the bootleg for the club. And he had to do this before daybreak. They hadn’t been able to move everything, but they moved most of it. The important ones at least.
It had taken two back and forth trips in two cars, but somehow, he managed to get it done. He got into Ilorin at 7:50am.
Past daybreak, but not bright enough for the authorities in the city to be on the road. He made it through.
He couldn’t go to his place though. His roommate would have locked him out. He was kind of a mummy’s boy. Plus he was on his 2nd week straight of absence from school. He needed to fix up. So he just went to school straight. Picked a spot at the back of his class and just sat there till lectures started.
That was how Femi got there. Sleeping in class with no idea of the world around him.
King’s story was a lot more different though…
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