Chapter 9: The Library Confrontation
1576 Words
Ada didn’t go to the Law Library at 4pm.
She told herself it was because she had Anatomy practical. It wasn’t. Group B finished at 3.
She told herself it was because she was tired. She wasn’t. She hadn’t slept since Lisa left Room 12.
The truth was simpler. And uglier.
Bad boys pay. Good boys watch you starve.
Lisa’s words were acid in her head. And Desmond’s text was still on her phone, unsent. 150k. Offer expires at midnight.
Midnight had come and gone 14 hours ago. She’d deleted the three words she typed. She’d cried. She’d fallen asleep holding Samuel’s hoodie.
And now it was 4:17pm. The BIO 111 tutorial had started without her.
Her phone buzzed.
Samuel: You didn’t come. Are you okay?
Ada stared at it. No pressure, he’d said. But the pressure was crushing her anyway. Because “no pressure” was what people said when they didn’t have to choose between garri and First Semester textbooks.
She shoved the phone under her pillow.
A knock.
Her heart stopped. Lisa? Desmond?
She opened the door.
Samuel.
Dark jeans. White tee. No Bible. No smile. Just him, holding a brown paper bag and his leather notebook. His eyes were red. Like he hadn’t slept either.
“You weren’t at the tutorial,” he said. Not accusing. Just... tired.
“I had Anatomy practical,” Ada lied. The words tasted like Lisa’s chipped nail polish. Bitter.
Samuel didn’t call her out. He just held up the paper bag. “Chicken pie. From Mama Nkechi. Still warm.”
Her stomach betrayed her. It growled. Loud.
Samuel’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. “Can I come in? Or we can talk at the library. Your choice. No pressure.”
No pressure. There it was again.
Ada stepped back. She hated herself for it. “Library.”
The library smelled like old textbooks and floor polish.
Ada picked table 4B on purpose. Back corner, near the window, hidden by the Medical Sciences shelf. If Lisa showed up, she’d see her coming. If Desmond’s boys showed up...
She wasn’t sure what she’d do.
Samuel slid into the chair across from her. He didn’t open his notebook. He didn’t push the pie at her. He just watched her.
Her _ABSU ID_ was on the table between them. Obinna, Ada Fidelis. Dept of Medicine and Surgery. 100 Level.
She flipped it face-down.
“Lisa came to see me,” Ada said before she lost her nerve. “Last night.”
Samuel’s jaw tightened. Just for a second. “I know.”
“She told me about you.”
“Did she?” His voice was calm. Too calm. “What did she say?”
“That you’re a user.” Ada’s hands were shaking. “That you act sweet so I’ll owe you. That you’ll watch me starve and call it a test from God.”
Samuel closed his eyes. When he opened them, something in him had changed. The “Mr. Holy” Lisa described was gone.
This Samuel looked... wrecked.
“She’s not wrong,” he said quietly.
Ada’s breath caught. “What?”
“I do want to save you.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Not because I’m holy. Because I’m selfish. Because when I saw you that first day in the rain, looking like you’d rather die than ask for help, I thought... ‘Finally. Someone who understands.’”
“Understands what?”
“What it feels like to be cheated.” He tapped her ID card, even though it was face-down. “Medicine and Surgery. 100 Level. But you shouldn’t even be here, should you?”
Ada froze. “How did you”
“Lisa told me.” He laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “She said ‘Ada is too stubborn for this school. She scored 275. Highest in our street. Medicine cutoff was 250. But they still told her mama ‘no slot’ until somebody shouted.’”
275. The number Mama framed. The number that was supposed to change everything. The number that did because somehow, the daughter of a foodstuff seller from Umuahia scored 25 marks above cutoff and still had to fight for her admission letter.
And now she was tutoring JSS 3 kids so she could buy _Gray’s Anatomy_.
“Twenty-five marks,” Ada whispered. “I beat the cutoff by twenty-five marks. And the Admissions Officer still told Mama ‘Medicine don full. Make she do Anatomy.’ If Dr. Nwosu hadn’t seen my name and fought...”
“I know.” Samuel’s voice broke. “I know what that feels like, Ada.”
“No, you don’t.” She stood up. The chair scraped. “You’re a Law student. Final year. Your father probably bribed the whole Senate. You have—”
“My name isn’t even Samuel.”
The library seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“Samuel is my middle name.” He stood too. His eyes were green-brown in the afternoon light. Guilty. Desperate. “My first name is Ifeanyi. Ifeanyi Okoro.”
Okoro.
As in _Okoro Group of Companies_. As in the biggest real estate developer in the South-East. As in the mall that collapsed in 2019.
The paper bag with the chicken pie fell. It hit the floor with a soft, awful thud.
“Your father”
“Built the mall that killed your dad,” he finished for her. “Yes.”
“You knew.” Her voice was shaking. “That night in the rain. When I told you about 275. When I told you how hard Medicine is when your mama sells tomatoes. You knew who I was.”
“I didn’t.” He stepped around the table, hands up like she was a wild animal. “I swear, Ada. I didn’t know until Lisa showed me your JAMB slip. After we— after that night you returned my hoodie.”
After she almost gave in to Desmond.
“You’ve been lying to me since we met.”
“I’ve been terrified since we met,” he shot back. “Do you know what my father would do if he found out I was talking to the daughter of the retired teacher his mall killed? Do you know what Lisa would do if she found out I”
“That you what?”
“That I transferred to UNN because of you.” He was breathing hard now. “My dad said the collapse was ‘unforeseen ground issues.’ But I found the internal reports. The cement mixture was wrong. They cut costs. Your dad was there buying provisions for school resumption. He died helping kids out of the wreckage.”
Ada couldn’t breathe. A retired teacher. Buying biscuits for her, Chima, and Chidi. He wasn’t even supposed to be there.
“You... you knew about my dad?”
“I know everything, Ada. I know you scored 275 and bulldozed your way into Medicine. I know your mama sells foodstuff in Umuahia market so you can buy dissection gloves. I know you were going to text Desmond last night because _Chima_ needs new school shoes and _Chidi_ was sent home for fees.”
She flinched. He even knew their names.
“How”
“Because I’m the reason Lisa warned you.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Because I’m not good, Ada. I’m not holy. I’m an Okoro. And Okoro men don’t save people. We ruin them.”
He picked up the fallen chicken pie. Set it gently on the table between them.
“But I can help you,” he said. “Not with pie. Not with Bible verses. With money. No scholarship games — you already earned Medicine. With my trust fund. For your mama’s arthritis drugs. For _Chima’s_ and _Chidi’s_ fees. For your textbooks. For your hostel. You won’t need 275 anymore. You won’t need Desmond.”
Bad boys pay. Good boys watch you starve.
Except this good boy was offering to pay. With blood money.
“Why?” Ada’s voice cracked. “Why would you do that for me?”
Samuel looked at her then. Really looked at her. And for the first time, Ada saw it the thing Lisa missed.
He wasn’t trying to be her hero.
He was trying to be her penance.
“Because 275 got you here,” he said. “But 275 won’t feed you. Not when you’re a 100 Level Med/Surg student eating once a day. Not when your mama is borrowing to send you ₦5k and still has _Chima_ and _Chidi_ to feed. And because my father took your dad a retired teacher who was just buying milk and Milo for his three kids. The least I can do is make sure his daughter survives the school her score earned her.”
He left the pie on the table. Left his leather notebook. Left the library.
Ada sat down. Slowly.
On the table was the chicken pie. Warm. Free. A choice.
In her locker was Samuel’s hoodie. Safe. A lie?
On her phone was Desmond’s expired text. 150k. A price.
And in her head was _275_. The number that changed everything.
The number that shoved a foodstuff seller’s daughter into Medicine and Surgery with 25 marks to spare.
The number that might not be enough to keep her there... unless she took Okoro money to feed herself, _Chima_, and _Chidi_.
- Writer
