SPONSORED BY LOVE

SPONSORED BY LOVE CHAPTER 1: The Only Child With One Uniform Sammie Dickson owned one school uniform. Not one clean one and one dirty one. Just one. She washed it every Sunday with her mom in the small yard behind their village house, spread it on the zinc fence, and prayed it would dry before Monday. If it rained, she would iron it damp and wear it damp. The damp smell was what Sophie always talked about. "Village smoke," Sophie would say, holding her nose. Sammie lived with only her mom. No father. No siblings. Just two of them in a two-room house where the kitchen was outside and the rain made music on the roof. Her mom, Mama Sammie, sold akara in the morning and hawked pure water in the afternoon. Sammie hawked after school. Groundnut, gala, sometimes pure water if her mom was too tired. That was their life. But Sammie was brilliant. She was always top 3 in SS2 Gold, even with no lesson teacher, even reading with a small torchlight. Today was first day of new term. Senior secondary school. Sammie entered SS2 Gold at 7:20 AM, early. She liked early. The class was still empty. She sat in front, second row, brought out her Maths notebook. At the back of the notebook, she wrote poems nobody ever saw. If love was money, would the rich finally be poor? If kindness was uniform, would mine still be torn? She closed it quickly when footsteps entered. Sophie. Jessy. Cyndi. Poonam. Four girls, same perfume, same expensive lunch boxes, same straight Brazilian hair their rich parents bought for them. Sophie was the head. Her father was a Commissioner. Everyone feared Sophie. Sophie stopped at Sammie's desk. "Oh. It came early," Sophie said, smiling. Jessy laughed. "Sammie Dickson, the village champion." Sammie didn't answer. That's rule number one. If you don't answer, they get bored faster. But Sophie didn't get bored today. She looked at Sammie's old backpack. The zip was broken, held with safety pin. "Eww, what's that smell?" Cyndi said loudly. "Village smoke!" Poonam took Sammie's backpack before Sammie could hold it. "Let's help her wash it," Poonam said. And in one second, they threw it inside the big dustbin at the back of the class. Banana peels, paper, cold spittle. Sammie's heart fell. "Pick it," Sophie whispered, leaning close. "Pick it, village girl." Sammie's eyes filled but she refused to cry. Not in front of them. That's when the back door opened. Rooney Damian entered. He was tall, fair, hair low-cut, uniform always crisp, school bag expensive but careless on one shoulder. AirPods in, eyes tired, like he didn't want to be here. The last born of five, the only one still in Nigeria, son of the man who owned the whole school. Rooney Damian. Rude. Rich. And he minded his business. Always. The whole class knew: Don't talk to Rooney unless he talks to you. And he never talks. He saw the dustbin. He saw Sammie's bag inside. He saw Sammie standing with shaky hands. He looked. For two seconds, their eyes met. Sammie thought he would laugh too. Rich boy supports rich girls, right? He didn't. He removed one AirPod, walked past Sophie without looking at her, went to his seat at the very back — the corner seat nobody else dared to sit — sat down, put his AirPod back, and opened a book. He didn't say a word. But Sophie felt embarrassed that he ignored her. She hissed and left Sammie's desk. "You're lucky today, hawker," she whispered. When they left, Sammie rushed to the dustbin, picked her bag, cleaned it with her uniform sleeve. Her notes smelled. She sat down, head down. From the back, Rooney was still watching. Not staring. Just... noticing. For the first time in that school, Sammie Dickson, only child of a single mother with one uniform, was noticed by Rooney Damian, the boy with four siblings and a mansion who minds his business. And he didn't even know her name yet.