A GIRL CALLED OMOYE (FREE EXCERPT)

Chapter 1

LUCAS

This is not a story I like to recall. I have narrated it so many times, to the police, the lawyers, and I hate myself more each time. I am going to tell it again, to the judge and to you, of course.

Summoned by the judge, I slide off the chair and saunter down to take the witness stand. All eyes are on me, making my stomach churn as if I was on trial. I might as well be. No ten-year-old should have to go through this.

"Tell us what happened, kid, from the beginning." The judge examines me over his horn-rimmed glasses.

I look down at my hand, fitted in an orthopaedic cast and slowly haul the memories of weeks ago.

It was a sunny Friday afternoon. I rode my blue bicycle like I did every day after school. My eyes took in the passing scene of the old, thriving neighbourhood with people going about their daily businesses, some walking, or carrying produce from their farms, women cooking with mounds of firewood and buses crammed up in narrow streets. The town was what a village became with no city planning.

A barely completed building up ahead caught my eye. Someone was moving in. I remember the windows were undone, only the front of the house was painted and the door looked like it had been fixed in a rush. The new residents that moved to the neighbourhood were usually much older, but these newbies didn't look like the retired type.

That's when I saw her. Omoye. I could tell she wasn't from around there with her fluffy pink dress paired with high stockings. My eyes were fixed on her like she had the stars in her hands. Weird, I know, but that's how I remember it.

At that moment, I had no idea how much our lives would become entangled.

She sat on the steps, playing with a plastic doll. She stared at me and it held me in my tracks. An older woman—her mother, I presumed—paced from the car to the house, carrying their bags.

"See? A new friend already. I knew you'd like it here." The woman nudged the girl as she went back into the house.

"What are you looking at?" I spat out.

Her tiny finger pointed to my bicycle but I snapped back, "It's not for children."

"I am not a child." The wind carried her tiny voice across the street.

"How old are you?"

"Nine and...three months," she said, holding up three fingers.

"See? I am ten." I pushed my feet against the paddle and rode off like I had just told her that I was more advanced.

Every time I rode my bicycle past her house, I always saw her at the stone steps, watching me. I guessed her mother told her not to cross the street or go beyond the compound.

Like a child with a toy, I attracted other kids in the neighbourhood. They ran after me, laughing and playing. Every time she asked to join in, I refused. This continued for days, until one day I didn't find her in her spot. I was almost disappointed.

I stopped across her house and stood over the crossbar of my bicycle, searching for her. A pebble bounced off the ground and hobbled to my foot. It came from behind the house, where I sighted her running further away.

"Better run before I get you!" I picked up the pace, leaving behind my bicycle.

She screamed for her mummy, running down the narrow street behind her house. Soon enough, her legs gave in and she fell to the ground.

I loomed over her, not uttering a word. As expected of a child, she began to cry and dropped to her knees, not caring about the grit that dug into her skin. Her tears flowed without control.