The first time we met ( in love with the school idol)

I clutched my school bag tightly, fingers trembling as my elder sister led me through the crowded hallway. “Are you nervous?” she asked, flashing a grin as we arrived at my new class. Was I? Of course I was. Who wouldn’t be? My whole body felt like it was vibrating, my chest rising and falling faster than normal. Nervous didn’t even begin to cover it. This was my first day in high school and I was the newbie. I stayed seated in class until it was time for the morning devotion. Then came the checkpoint. The seniors paraded us like cattle, inspecting us one after the other. My heart pounded as they looked me over. I was terrified of being flogged. And rightfully so. One senior grabbed my hand, scowling at my neat, long, milky fingernails. “You think you're stylish, abi?” she hissed, then forced me to cut them before lashing my palms with a cane. Another came for me because I didn’t have a pocket Bible or a church hymnbook. One accused me of applying mascara, another complained about the scent of my body spray. And for each infraction another round of strokes. “Hmmm,” I thought, gritting my teeth. “What kind of school is this?” Then someone else flogged me for not having a white handkerchief. They seized my pink bandana like it was contraband. My eyes burned as tears spilled freely down my cheeks. I glanced at my sister who stood nearby, her expression helpless, like she didn’t know what to do. “Sorry,” my new friend whispered beside me. That was the only thing that brought me some comfort until school was over. Later that day, I told my parents I didn’t want to go back to that school ever again. But they didn’t even entertain the idea. Instead, they said I’d grow to love it, sooner or later. I didn’t believe them. I cursed those seniors silently, the ones who marked up my skin like they were branding me. They didn’t care that I was new, or young. They just wanted to remind me that they were in charge. After dinner, my friend came to fetch me so we could go collect water. As we carried our buckets, we shared stories from the day laughing at the absurdity of it all. Especially when the senior boys had made us write “I am a new dog” ten times. Seriously, who does that? The next day, at checkpoint again, one of the female seniors called me out. My stomach dropped. I braced myself for another round of punishment. “Cry-cry baby,” some seniors whispered mockingly as I followed her. But this time, something different happened. She turned to me and said, “I don’t want anyone flogging you again.” My eyes widened. Relief washed over me like cold water. I thanked her breathlessly, my heart pounding with unexpected gratitude. She chuckled. “You’ll be writing my notes in return. I’ll protect you.” “No problem,” I replied instantly. I would’ve agreed to anything in that moment. At break time, a group of senior boys called me, my friend, and three classmates out. One of them handed me a tattered old note and rattled off a list of things to buy. Then, he told me how much change I was to return. I stared at the money in my hand, baffled. “This money won’t even buy one thing on that list, talk less of change,” I said boldly. SLAP! My cheek stung before I even realized what happened. He told me to kneel. I stayed on the ground for what felt like an eternity. He said nothing, just walked away, leaving me to stew in shame under the hot sun. My classmates used their own money to buy what was needed. I was left kneeling. They all enjoyed seeing me like that, I could feel it. When he finally let me go, I stood up and walked away, refusing to thank him. But little by little, I began to make a name for myself. Teachers noticed me. Corps members, student-teachers, and even the other students started to know me. Among the staff, I was known for my intelligence and sharp memory. Among my classmates, I was the soft one. The one who cried. A lot. I made friends in every class—from A to K. Yeah, there were that many of us. But I stayed focused on my studies too. One day, I was writing notes for the senior girl when I suddenly heard someone shout, “Free three-three!” Before I could react, kpa! kpa! kpa!—three lashes struck my back like thunderclaps. I screamed. The pain hit deep. My face swelled from the crying. I wasn’t the only one flogged that day—almost everyone was. Except the girls who were secretly seeing the seniors. The guy who flogged me didn’t even look back. I cursed him out loud. Let him hear it all. I didn’t care. Then I turned on the senior I was helping and threw her notebook back at her. “You lied,” I said through tears. “You promised to protect me.” No one said a word. I dragged myself home that day, barely able to walk. The compound master heard about what happened. He was furious when he saw our tear-streaked faces, but it was nearly time for dismissal. There wasn’t much he could do. After school, while I was packing up, the senior boy who flogged me earlier approached. I tensed. “I’m really sorry,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to flog you that hard. Seeing you cry… it hurt me.” I blinked at him, unsure of how to respond. “I don’t want you to report me,” he added. “Please forgive me. Be my friend.” Ahh! Ahh!! That sounded like a setup, right? I slung my bag over my shoulder and turned to leave, but he ran after me, still pleading. Whispers followed us. Students stared. Some said we were dating and had broken up because he was a flirt. But truthfully, I had never really spoken to him until that day. I was just eleven. I wasn’t ready for any of that. Still, I told him it was okay. When he insisted on paying my way home, I let him. Not because I liked him, but because I was exhausted—physically and emotionally—and I couldn’t make it home on my own. As we walked out of school together, all eyes were on us. I had become the center of attention—me, the girl who cried on her first day walking home with the school idol. And only then did I realize… He was the school crush my sister had been talking about all along.