BLOOD ON THE BLACKBOARD

The first light of morning struggled through the half-broken louvers of the Okoro family’s one-room face-me-I-face-you apartment. The air was thick — the kind that held the smell of frying akara from downstairs mixed with the staleness of a neighborhood that hadn’t known electricity in three days. Jayden “Jay Blaze” Okoro, 17, stood shirtless before a crooked mirror, his breath fogging the dusty glass with every exhale. He adjusted the collar of his white shirt — faded from age, but ironed with the same pride soldiers wore uniforms to war. His trousers clung to him awkwardly, a bit short at the ankles. He didn’t care. Today wasn’t about fashion. Today was about focus. Today… he was going back. > “Jayden,” his mama called softly, from where she sat on their only couch, peeling groundnuts into a bowl. “You sure say you ready for that school?” Jayden didn’t turn. He buttoned his shirt slowly. > “I no go run forever, Mama. Tega no die for nothing.” The silence that followed was heavy. His mother’s eyes were tired. Not the tired of work — no, this was the exhaustion of grief, a woman who had buried one son and watched another sharpen himself into a weapon. > “Just remember say the world no dey play fair,” she said. “Even chalk dey snap when e press reach limit.” Jayden looked back, smiled faintly, and picked up the tiny, rusted chain with a bullet pendant — the only thing left from his elder brother, Tega. He tucked it beneath his shirt and stepped outside. --- Dustown Dustown was alive — not with hope, but with survival. Kids chased after keke for sport. Women argued over water turns. Area boys played loud music on dead speakers. One corner smelled of weed, the other of burnt yam. This was home. Jayden passed by Chuks, the barber, who gave him a silent nod. Mama Nkoyo, the tailor, hissed and muttered, > “Instead make boys dey learn trade, dem dey carry bag go die for school.” He ignored them. He’d learned that in Dustown, everyone had opinions but few had answers. He wasn’t going to school just for education. He was going for revenge. --- Flashback — The Night Tega Died Rain fell like the sky had gone mad that night. Jayden remembered the screams. The sound of wood breaking. The heavy thud of fists. Then silence. He had hidden under the bunk while Tega faced them — four boys, red beads around their wrists, chanting something low like animals. They beat him, then dragged him into the streets. Jayden didn’t move. He couldn’t. Later, someone screamed. Then gunshots. By the time he came out, Tega’s body lay in the gutter. The red beads. That’s all he saw. Red Skullz. And he’d never forget. --- Crown City High The school stood tall with fake pride — barbed wires on the gates, broken windows patched with tape, and a rusting sign that read: > “Welcome to Crown City High — Moulding the Future” Someone had scratched “Moulding Killers” beneath it. As Jayden walked in, the stares began immediately. New boy. No crew. No fear. > “Na Dustown boy be that?” “I hear say e broda na cultist wey dem waste.” “Omo e dey find trouble.” He ignored them. The halls smelled of chalk, sweat, and tension. Desks were carved with gang symbols. Girls giggled like they were pretending not to know the war outside. Teachers carried tired faces like people who’d stopped caring long ago. He found his class. Back seat. Safe spot. Then he saw her. --- Kamsi Udoh Light brown skin. Neatly plaited hair. Gold-rimmed glasses. A quiet aura like she knew things people didn’t say out loud. She entered with slow grace and sat two rows ahead. Jayden didn’t know why he stared. She felt different. Not soft — just... aware. Like she could read people. Their eyes met for two seconds. She looked away first. > “Na who be that?” he whispered to the boy beside him. “You dey look Kamsi so? Omo forget am. She no dey follow street boys.” Jayden smirked. > “Street boys dey follow who dem wan.” --- The Classroom Shifted Just before break time, the atmosphere changed. The class went quiet. Even the teacher paused. Then the door opened. Titus “Skully” Nwachukwu stepped in. Black jeans. Polo shirt. Red bead on one wrist. Eyes like dead water. He strolled like he owned air. Jayden recognized him immediately. > Red Skullz. Skully scanned the room, then walked slowly to Jayden’s desk. > “You be the Dustown kid?” Jayden nodded once. “You sabi say blackboard dey wipe clean every term?” The room held its breath. Jayden met his eyes. Calm. “I dey pray say the duster fit reach all the blood.” Skully smirked. > “I go enjoy cleaning you.”