Beyond Hate

ONE

Zara.

I sat idly, anticipating the big black gates to come into veiw. Joe, the driver whistled as he drove closer into the road. My eyes wandered around. Looking anywhere and everywhere. It suddenly landed on a filling station, people were parked in front of it, the line moved slowly. The fuel scarcity had become a problem over the months. Hopefully things would go back to normal. My mind drifted back to my initial argument with my mother just because I had been staring at a picture that belonged to him. She had ripped the picture in pieces and thrown it at me. My hands glazed over the pieces of a once fine work of art. Furiously, I wind down the window and let the pieces fly.

Your father is dead. He died. You were at his burial.

My hands tapped softly on the leader as I thought of what she had said. Years ago, she would have sat with me, telling me of how much she loved him, and how much she wished he had been here, with us. Seven years ago, when we still resided in portharcout, I had returned from my summer holiday from my aunts home, only to discover that my father had died, in a car accident on his way to Aba. His funeral wasn't well planned. It had been quick, rushed and disorganized. The next year, we moved to lagos. And I was enrolled at a boarding school.

My eyes widened and I smiled knowingly as my school, Regan's Memorial College came into veiw. It had formerly been a federal school, belonging to the government. However, eight years ago, it had been bought.

Josiah stopped the car. "Zara, oya oh."

I alighted swiftly from the honda CRV jeep and turned to the booth of the car. Josiah alighted as well and helped me carry my luggage to the school gate. There, he waved at me and hurried away. I walked into the school, Feeling satisfied with the fact that the people to now check in were my mates. And they certainly would not demand much of me.

I walked over to the canopy for sapphire house, grinning like an idiot.

"RealZee!" Afam shouted.

His formerly full afro now gone, replaced with little hair and a scalp that glistened under the sun. Afam was an acting house captain and a good friend of mine.

"Guy! You are practically bald!" I snickered, clutching my luggage.

He huffed, his smile died dramatically as he glanced sideways. It landed on one of our house masters. The man was also my government teacher and he was known for the treating notorious boys mercilessly. However, most senior boys were gunning to get him in their trap and cut of the long white beard that grew on his jaw.

"I'll still cut off his beard. I'll be among the first people to do it sef," Afam hissed.

The man turned and my eyes locked with his. He raised a brow at me. I greeted him happily. "Good afternoon sir!"

"Obih!" He greeted.

I smiled knowingly and looked away. More hailing came. And the nickname Ene, my best friend had given me-the realzee, flowed out on everyone's lip lick it was music. I wasn't quite popular, despite me being from an extremely wealthy family. However, I was well liked by my friends. If I were to classify myself, I'd say i belonged to the middle class.

Now, in my school, I believe there were three classes of people. One,the popular ones,the ones people knew well, respected and who held themselves at high esteem. Liked by all and known by many, including the juniors. These ones are referred to as the 'mouthed ones'.

The second, were the ones who weren't quite popular, however they had good amount of friends and were known as well. Well known doesn't mean in the sense that people don't know your name, they know your name alright but they don't hold you to certain heights in which the person of the first grade is being held. In the third category, these ones are seen as bolors. They tend mostly to be too quiet, lacking social life and mostly people talk to them anyhow. They were called the 'Unash' meaning Unknown. It was a slang, carved from the word unnecessary.