Chapter 3: What a day
1205 Words
What a Day?
Amara stared at the lunch bag for what felt like forever. The warmth seeped through the paper into her cold fingers, but it did little to comfort her.
No one had ever packed lunch for her before.
Not her mother.
Not her father.
Her father never would.
Her stomach begged her to open it, but fear was louder than hunger.
Slowly, she walked toward a nearby trash can.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered, though she wasn't sure who she was apologizing to.
With trembling hands, she dropped the lunch bag into the bin and walked away without looking back.
She couldn't afford to get close to anyone. If people discovered the monster her father truly was, Marcus would lose everything—and she knew exactly who would pay the price.
Her.
The thought alone made her shiver.
Ignoring the painful ache in her empty stomach, Amara continued toward school.
Behind the kitchen window, Grandma Ruth watched everything.
The lunch she had woken up early to prepare disappeared into the trash without being touched.
Her heart broke.
She wanted nothing more than to pull that little girl into a warm embrace and tell her everything would be okay.
But she knew healing a wounded heart wasn't that simple.
"No," Grandma Ruth whispered to herself. "I won't give up on you, child."
"Splash... Splash... Splash..."
Rain poured heavily from the dark morning sky.
Amara groaned in frustration and stomped her tiny feet against the wet ground.
"Seriously?" she muttered.
The rain only became heavier.
She still had to get to school before Miss Martha arrived. Being late meant another lecture she wasn't ready to endure.
As she turned into the narrow road leading to the school, a cold breeze swept through her soaked hoodie, making her shiver violently.
Her entire body ached from yesterday's beating.
Then—
SPLASH!
A speeding Toyota Camry sped past, sending muddy water flying all over her.
Her hoodie, already soaked from the rain, was now covered in filthy brown water that smelled like a drainage gutter.
"Ahhh!" Amara cried out.
The car never stopped.
For a brief second, she considered running after it.
Then she looked at her tiny legs.
She was cold.
She was exhausted.
She was hungry.
There was no point.
"What a day..." she muttered as she continued walking.
Inside the Toyota Camry, a young boy sitting in the back seat frowned.
"Uncle Mark," he said softly, "you splashed muddy water on that girl."
"That wasn't fair."
Mark glanced at the rearview mirror.
The little girl stood frozen in the rain, staring helplessly at her stained clothes.
Guilt tightened around his chest.
But he couldn't stop.
His employer had instructed him to get his boss's son to school within ten minutes before returning to drive him to the Government House.
He simply didn't have the time.
"I'm sorry," Mark murmured, though he wasn't sure whether he was apologizing to the boy or to the girl he had just driven past.
The child beside him wasn't satisfied with the answer.
He turned around one last time, watching the lonely girl disappear behind the curtain of rain.
The moment the car came to a stop in front of the school gate, Xavier froze.
He turned to Uncle Mark, his fingers nervously twisting the strap of his backpack.
"Uncle Mark..." he called softly.
Mark looked at him.
"Can you please lend me twenty buck? I'll pay you back when I get home."
There was something in the boy's trembling voice that made it impossible to refuse.
Without asking questions, Mark reached into his wallet, pulled out two hundred naira, and placed it in Xavier's hand.
"Thank you," Xavier whispered.
He climbed out of the car and stood outside the school gate for a moment.
There was nothing about school that excited him.
He hated it.
Every single day felt like another battle he had no choice but to fight.
But because of his father—and the silent promise he had made to make his mother proud—he forced himself to walk toward the school café.
By the time Xavier returned to class, the first period had almost ended.
He had delayed as much as he could.
Maybe if he stayed away long enough...
Maybe Victor wouldn't find him.
Unfortunately, luck wasn't on his side.
"If you don't have a good reason for being late," Miss Martha said without looking up from her lesson notes, "remain where you are."
Amara stopped at the classroom entrance.
Her head remained lowered.
Slowly, she stepped back outside the door while Miss Martha continued teaching as though nothing had happened.
A loud growl escaped from Amara's stomach.
The classroom fell silent for a second.
She quickly placed a hand over her stomach, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her.
Bang!
Miss Martha slammed her lesson notebook onto the desk.
Several students flinched.
Others simply stared.
"Do you always have to come to school on an empty stomach?" she asked sharply.
"Why must you interrupt my class every single day?"
Amara said nothing.
"Look at me."
Silence.
"I said look at me!"
Slowly, Amara lifted her head.
Miss Martha's expression softened for the briefest moment as she noticed the girl's pale face.
"Come inside."
Amara obeyed.
"Stand in front of the class."
She did.
The whispers began immediately.
Miss Martha sighed.
"Did you run away from home again?"
No answer.
Amara simply stared at the floor.
She had grown used to these public interrogations.
Miss Martha cared...
But sometimes, her way of showing it only added to Amara's humiliation.
"Follow me to my office after class," Miss Martha said, picking up her notebook.
Just then—
Bump!
A boy wearing oversized glasses accidentally crashed into Amara.
The carton of banana milk in his hand slipped from his fingers.
It burst open as it hit the floor, splashing all over Amara's hoodie and hair.
The classroom went completely silent.
"I... I..."
The boy's hands shook violently as he searched through his bag for a handkerchief.
"I-I'm... s-sorry..."
His words stumbled over one another.
He looked as though he was about to cry.
Then—
Laughter erupted from the back of the classroom.
Tiffany.
She laughed so hard she had to hold onto her desk.
Amara slowly raised her head.
Without saying a single word, she looked directly at Tiffany.
The laughter died instantly.
Tiffany swallowed hard and looked away.
Even she wasn't brave enough to hold Amara's cold, unreadable gaze.
Amara gently moved the frightened boy aside and walked out of the classroom.
As she stepped into the hallway, more laughter echoed behind her.
She closed her eyes for a second.
At least she had escaped before the embarrassment became any worse.
Miss Martha watched her leave.
For the first time that morning, pity flickered across her face.
"Go to the washroom," she said quietly.
"Clean yourself up, then come to my office."
Without waiting for a response, she walked away.
Amara stood alone in the hallway.
Her shoulders slumped.
She was exhausted.
Hungry.
Cold.
And more tired than any twelve-year-old should ever be.
She let out a slow breath.
"What a day..."
With heavy steps, she walked toward the girls' washroom.
- Writer
