SPONSORED BY LOVE

CHAPTER FOUR

SPONSORED BY LOVE

CHAPTER 4: THE BOY WITH A TRAY ON HIS HEAD

People were staring at us.

A boy in expensive sneakers carrying a tray of gala and pure water on his head is not normal at Park Junction. Cars slowed down. Market women left their shops to look.

"Is that not Rooney Damian?" someone whispered.

I walked beside him with my head down. I wanted the ground to open and hide me. I wanted to tell him to put the tray down.

But my legs had no strength. And the night was coming fast.

"Rooney, please give it back. People are looking," I whispered.

He did not answer. He was walking straight, balancing the tray like someone who had never done it before but was trying his best.

"Where is your house?" he asked again.

"Not far. Inside the small street behind the market," I said.

We turned into the narrow road. The tarred road ended. The sandy road started. There were open gutters and small houses made of zinc. Children were playing with bare feet.

This was my street. No rich boy had ever entered here.

His white sneakers were now brown with sand. His white t-shirt was wet with sweat.

"Stop here," I said when we reached our house.

Our house has two rooms and a small kitchen that leaks when it rains. The door is made of wood that has eaten by termites. In front, my mother was sitting on a low stool, frying akara. Her face was pale.

When she saw me with Rooney, she stood up quickly and wiped her hands on her wrapper.

"Sammie? Who is this?" she asked, scared.

"Mama, he helped me. He carried my tray," I said.

My mother looked at Rooney. At the tray on his head. At his fine face.

Rooney carefully brought the tray down from his head and placed it on the ground. His arms were shaking.

"Good evening, ma," he said politely.

My mother did not know what to say. A rich boy greeting her in her small compound. She cleaned a small stool with her wrapper.

"Come and sit, my son. Sammie, bring water."

"No, ma. I am okay," Rooney said. "I just wanted to make sure she got home safe. It is late. The junction is not safe at night."

My mother looked at me. My eyes were swollen from crying. She knew something had happened.

"Thank you," she said to Rooney. Her voice was shaking. "Thank you for bringing my daughter home."

Rooney nodded. Then he looked at me.

"You should rest now," he said to me.

I nodded. I could not speak.

He turned to leave. His driver was waiting at the top of the street. The Benz could not enter our small road.

After two steps, he stopped and turned back.

He brought out something from his pocket and placed it on my tray.

It was five thousand naira. Clean notes, folded.

"I did not ask for money," I said quickly. "I have four hundred naira from today."

"It is not for the gala," he said. "It is for your mother's drugs. You said she is sick."

My mother covered her mouth with her hand.

Rooney walked away before we could say anything. His white t-shirt disappeared into the dark street.

My mother held my shoulder.

"Sammie, who is that boy?" she asked.

I watched him go, the boy who minded his business, who just carried my shame on his head.

"He is Rooney," I whispered. "The owner of our school's son."

That night, my mother and I counted the money. With his five thousand naira, we could buy her drugs and also my new school socks.

But I could not sleep.

I kept seeing him. Walking in my dirty street. Carrying my tray. People staring at him.

And I kept thinking, why would a boy who minds his own business carry a poor girl's tray?

I touched my pocket. His handkerchief was still there from yesterday. Now his money was on our table.

I did not know his name was already writing itself in my chest.