Sharon’s real name was Sharon Idia Okoro.
Not Sharon Buka.
Not Sharon Okpa.
Not the girl they gathered at break time like a food vendor.
She lifted her head slowly, her eyes steady, not wet, not shaking, just steady. She took one long look at Binta who had screamed, “Ewoooo! Na Okpa ooo!” Then, without saying a word, she reached under her desk.
The class leaned in.
She brought out a bottle of Chilled Coke.
The room exploded again.
“Kubwa don turn Nsukka!”
“Okpa and Coke? This girl wan kill person!”
“See combo!”
The laughter was crueler now, louder, layered with mockery. The kind that tries to reduce a person to a punchline.
Binta stepped forward, adjusting her skirt like a queen inspecting her subjects.
“Fine girl, why na?” she said, voice dipped in sugar-coated venom. “Don’t you know we are in JS3? Even the househelps in my house no go chop this kind thing.”
Binta ordered snacks she didn’t need and paid with a casualness that screamed power. Around her, admiration and fear mixed into something ugly.
A few girls gasped dramatically. A few boys laughed too hard.
Sharon did not respond.
She only opened the Coke.
The hiss of the bottle sounded like resistance.
Binta turned sharply. “Abeg make we go Lily.”
Her minions followed immediately. If you bought anything from Lily’s Tuck Shop, you were a big boy or big girl. That was the unspoken law of Bloom Academy.
Sausage rolls lined up like trophies. Imported biscuits in shiny wrappers. Cold drinks sweating inside a glass fridge. The prices? Slightly higher than necessary but prestige was included in the cost.
Some teachers could not afford daily patronage at Lily. Not on their salary.
But Binta? Binta floated in like royalty.
“Isn’t Obed around?” she asked, flipping her braids like an mgbeke feeling funky.
Everyone knew Binta’s story. Or so they thought.
Her father was SSA to the Kogi State Governor on Education. The day she and Oyiza were admitted, they arrived in a convoy that raised more dust than harmattan. School fees had never delayed in their house. Uniforms always crisp. Lunch money never short.
She spoke of money the way other students spoke of football.
Teachers treaded carefully around her. Punishments were negotiated silently. Even discipline feared politics.
Binta ordered snacks she didn’t need and paid with a casualness that screamed power. Around her, admiration and fear mixed into something ugly.
Back in JS3 Silver, Sharon sat alone.
The Okpa was still warm.
She broke a piece and ate quietly.
Meanwhile, in the staffroom, the air was thick with mild gossip and overboiled tea.
“These children no get sense,” Baba said, shaking his head. “They no know say Sharon dey enjoy.”
Uncle Americoco adjusted his glasses. “Last time I see this kind rich Okpa, na three years ago when I travel home. That thing no be small thing o.”
Mrs. Okoro’s ears perked instantly. “Abeg make una join me talk. Who be Sharon?”
Her love for gossip was premium grade.
“The fine girl for JS3 Silver,” Miss Ada replied, smiling. “Everything about her is demure and classy.”
“Ibiakwa!” Madam Ekwi exclaimed. “All these Gen-Z slangs. Yesterday una dey wall clock things. Today na ‘demure.’ Wetin that one mean again?”
The new corper laughed until she nearly spilled her drink. “Ma, demure means calm, reserved… elegant.”
“Ehen! Just say quiet and fine,” he replied. “No be everything need oyibo subtitles.”
They all laughed.
But Madam Okoro grew quiet.
“Wait,” she said slowly. “Sharon Idia Okoro?”
The room paused.
“Yes now,” Baba replied. “Why?”
Madam Okoro’s eyes shifted slightly, calculating, remembering.
“That name… it sounds familiar.”
||THE BLOOM ACADEMY series is a work of fiction and for entertainment purposes only; Any resemblance to actual persons, places or events is strictly coincidental.||
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