BELONGING - BOOK 1

16. The False Alarm

HANIFA

I sprinted down the hallway, my feet pounding the tiles as I desperately tried to shake off the exhaustion lingering from our grueling Technical Drawing marathon test. Miss Evelyn, our corp member and new teacher, had been riding us hard, pushing our drawing skills to the limit. That clock had seemed so harmless at first, but as the minutes ticked by, it transformed into a relentless taskmaster.

Bayero, as usual, had aced it. I begrudgingly admitted his prowess – the guy was a triple threat: book-smart, athletic, and artistic. Not to mention, he was ridiculously handsome. But his aloof demeanor made him practically inaccessible.

I grasped the navy blue blazer slung over my left shoulder, my tote bag stuffed with books weighing down my right hand, as I took the stairs two at a time. Why did our school have to be a three-story behemoth, anyway? The constant sprinting between floors was draining.

Just as I reached the final step, my feet tangled with someone else's, sending my books scattering across the floor. "Seriously?!" I exclaimed, frustration boiling over. Lately, I'd been operating on fumes – too little sleep, too much caffeine, and an endless reading list. My alertness was paying the price; I felt perpetually frazzled.

"Sorry," I muttered to Kate as she helped me gather my scattered books, her hands moving swiftly to collect my notes and textbooks.

"No problem," she replied with a warm smile, handing me my tote bag. I took it, feeling a surge of gratitude.

I darted into the classroom, the door creaking shut behind me. Almost everyone was already seated, their faces bent over their desks. Why was I late again? Miss Aisha, our History teacher, glided between the rows, distributing booklets for the test.

As I slipped into my seat, the rustle of papers and murmurs filled the air. Our senior year was shaping up to be a marathon, packed with activities and readings. The looming JAMB, WAEC, and NECO exams weighed heavily on our minds. Our school was already prepping us, mirroring external exams and offering glimpses into university-level education.

Miss Aisha handed me my booklet, her eyes encouraging. I took a deep breath, began shading the answer bubbles, and scanned the questions. History wasn't my forte – the endless dates, complicated geography, and obscure events swirled together in my mind.

But sometimes, it sparked curiosity. Like when I debated Mungo Park's "discovery" of the River Niger. How could he claim to have discovered something that had been home to Africans for centuries? I recalled reading about it in Chimamanda Adichie's Half of a Yellow Sun, feeling confused. Yet, history books confirmed it.

The fluorescent lights above hummed, casting an eerie glow. I refocused on the test, my pen moving swiftly across the paper.

"Cling!" The sudden, ear-piercing alarm made us all flinch. Destiny's Child's iconic tune, "Say My Name," filled the air, transporting me back to childhood memories. But who was responsible for this disruption? Whose phone refused to silence?

I exchanged bewildered glances with my classmates, our eyes scanning the room for the culprit. Mariya, seated behind me, shrugged, sharing my confusion. Miss Aisha's hijab tilted slightly as she turned toward me, her tired eyes narrowing.

"Give me the phone," she commanded, her voice stern.

"Phone?" I repeated, perplexed.

"Don't play dumb, Hanifa," she chastised, gesturing toward my tote bag on the floor. "That sound is coming from your bag."

My heart sank as I retrieved the bag, my hand digging inside to silence the alarm. But how was this possible? I distinctly remembered storing my iPhone in my locker before class.