"THE PREFECTS ZONE

CHAPTER 1 : "LIGHTS OUT" The bell rang for lights out. But in Dorm 3, the real rules were just starting. Amara pulled the wrapper over her head and pretended to sleep. The dorm smelled like dettol, sweat, and fear. 20 metal beds. 20 girls. But only 5 people actually had power. 10:02pm. The fan was making that kaa-kaa-kaa sound again. It had been making that sound for 3 weeks. She had reported it to the housemistress. The housemistress said "my dear, manage it." 10:07pm. Someone was snoring in the corner. Chizzy from JS2. She always snored when she was stressed. Exams were next week. 10:10pm. Click. The sound was soft. Almost polite. But it made Amara’s stomach drop. The padlock on the door turned. Slow. Deliberate. Like the person on the other side wanted everyone to hear it. Torchlight cut through the darkness like a knife. It moved across the room, checking each face. Pausing on the new girls. Pausing on the ones who had been quiet in class. Then moving on. "Everybody up," Head Girl Nkechi’s voice was honey on top, and razor blade underneath. "Friday meeting." A collective breath was held and released. Beds creaked as 20 girls sat up. No one complained. No one asked why. Complaining was how you ended up on The List. Amara’s heart was hammering so loud she was sure Nkechi could hear it. Friday. Protection Money. And The List. The List. A small black jotter with a red pen. Nkechi never let it out of her hand. Not in class. Not at dining. Not even to the bathroom. Names were written there in red. Names of girls who "forgot" to bring 500. Names of girls who "disrespected" a prefect by looking at them wrong. Names of girls whose food "accidentally" went missing and they had the audacity to ask questions at dining. Last Friday, Blessing’s name was there. Blessing from SS3. For three nights, Blessing washed all 15 SS3 uniforms in the bathroom. With cold water. At 2am. Her hands were still peeling. Amara saw her in the bathroom yesterday. The skin on her fingers was coming off in sheets. Amara’s hand slid under her pillow. Her old Tecno phone. 8% battery. The screen was cracked at the corner. But the voice recorder was on. Silent. She’d been doing this for 3 weeks. Evidence. For her sister. For all of them. For the day she would finally be brave enough to send it to someone on the outside. "Stand in two lines," Nkechi ordered. Her voice was casual, like she was asking them to stand for morning devotion. "Quickly. We don’t have all night." Her 4 other prefects flanked her like soldiers. Tonia, the Deputy. Tall, sharp eyes, always chewing gum. Chioma, the Social Prefect. Pretty, but her smile never reached her eyes. Ada, the Timekeeper. She had a whistle around her neck. And Uju, the one with the belt. Everyone knew about Uju’s belt. They all stood. Barefoot on the cold tiles. The tiles were always cold at night. Chisom was 3 people in front of Amara. JS1. 12 years old. Her wrapper was too big for her. Their uncle had bought it during Christmas. It was supposed to last her till SS1. Amara wanted to reach out and hold Chisom’s hand. But she couldn’t. Showing fear was weakness. Showing weakness was how you got targeted. Nkechi walked slowly down the line. Her slippers made no sound. The torchlight moved with her. Checking faces. Checking wrappers. Checking if anyone looked like they had cried that day. "Protection fee," Nkechi said casually, like she was talking about the weather. "Friday is for protection. You want to sleep with your two eyes closed, you pay. You want your food to not disappear, you pay. You want to graduate from this school without wahala, you pay." One by one, girls stepped forward. Crumbled 500 naira notes. Some 1000. Some borrowed from seniors and would pay back with interest. Some gave 200 and promised to bring the balance on Monday. Nkechi always accepted the promise. And always wrote their name down. Then Nkechi stopped. Right in front of line 2. "Chisom," she called. Sweetly. Chisom flinched like she’d been slapped. She stepped forward. Her hands were shaking so badly the hem of her wrapper moved. "Your brother in SS3 sent you garri and groundnuts today," Nkechi said, reading from memory. She knew everything that came into the dorm. "Nice. Big sister money. 1000 naira. Protection fee." Chisom’s mouth opened. Closed. She looked back at Amara. Her eyes were wide and wet. Amara’s blood turned to ice. They didn’t have 1000. Mama had sent 2000 for the whole month. For soap, for sanitary pads, for emergencies. For the day one of them would fall sick. If they gave 1000 now, what would they use for the rest of the month? Amara gave the smallest, tiniest head shake. Don’t cry. Don’t talk. Don’t beg. Begging only made it worse. Begging made them charge you more next time. Nkechi saw it. Her eyes, sharp like a hawk’s, flicked from Chisom to Amara and back. She missed nothing. Nkechi smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. "What’s that, junior? You have something to say?" The room went dead silent. Even the gecko on the wall froze. Even Chizzy stopped snoring. Uju cracked her knuckles. One. Two. Tonia pulled out the List and uncapped the red pen. The sound of the cap coming off was louder than the fan. Amara’s thumb hovered over the red record button on her phone. One press. One voice. And everything could change. But if she spoke now, they’d know. They’d know about the phone. They’d know about the diary under her mattress with dates, times, names, and what was done to who. They’d know Amara was the reason 3 girls had been "transferred" last term after their parents came to the school. If she didn’t speak, Chisom would be on The List. And Chisom would spend the next week in the bathroom at 2am. With cold water. Like Blessing. The torchlight was now directly on Amara’s face. Blinding. She could see spots. Nkechi took one step closer. The smell of her perfume filled the space. Something expensive. "Amara. SS2. You’re Chisom’s sister, abi? You’re her guardian in this school. So if she can’t pay..." She let the sentence hang. Amara could feel 19 pairs of eyes on her back. She could feel her heart in her throat. She could feel the weight of the phone in her hand. 8% battery. If she started recording now, would it last? She opened her mouth. No sound came out. The suspense was choking. It was in the air. It was in the way nobody breathed. And then, from the back of the line, a voice whispered. "I’ll pay for her." The voice was tired. It was familiar. It was not Amara’s. Every head turned.