**** MONDAY. 5:30 AM *****
Just getting things out of the way, I regret falling for Andrew's taunt. We have a semi final match against Jarquin high this Wednesday. A journey that's not even taking place here in Lagos or even the western part of the country as a whole. We're travelling to the eastern part of the country, Anambra state to be specific. Now, why would an important single legged semi final be played on the home ground of Jarquin high, thereby putting our school at a disadvantage?. I don't even know. Maybe we have Mr okoro to thank for this absurd wickedness and unfairness. So, Why do I regret falling for Andrew's taunt then?. The journey to Anambra normally takes a full day. Therefore today Monday is already gone. Meaning we have only tomorrow Tuesday to rest before matchday on Wednesday. And even though I'd love to act like I'm fine, I'm not. My ribs hurt with every breath I take. My jaw aches. I feel pain all over. But I won't bitch about it, he got what he deserved and so do I.
I had already boarded the school's official "long distanced journey" bus. A bus that was tagged 'the beast', as usual a stupid name. I was slumped in the back row, my hoodie pulled so low only my nose was sticking out, trying to find a way to exist that didn't involve moving a single muscle. Every breath reminded me that my ribs were currently held together by athletic tape and my own short-sightedness. Inside the beast there were four seats in a row, and a passageway between them. Meaning each player were giving two seats each for maximum comfort, enough leg space and full body space if you may. So can someone explain to me why Jensen is sitting on my leg space, there's a shit ton of other places to sit, this is not one of them. But it's Jensen, what can I do?. I threw a look at him only to see he was too busy organizing his snacks like it was a tactical mission.
Me: (Voice barely a whisper) Jensen. My water bottle. It's in the side pocket of my bag.
Jensen: (Not looking up) So?, Reach for it.
Me: I can't move. Moreover, it's a lot more closer to you, so please.
Jensen: You're unbelievable. (Passing it to me) Take.
He shoved the bottle into my hand. I didn't even say thanks, I just took a sip and leaned my head back on Jensen's shoulder. He groaned, but he didn't move. Why would he?, he using my space, so he's gonna do the work of being my space.
The bus went dead quiet as Coach John finally came on. He stood up at the front and didn't even bother to look at the team. He looked at a piece of paper in his hand, his face looking like it was carved out of old wood.
Coach John: (Voice echoing in the silent bus) Before we move an inch, you all need to know something. Mr. White wanted to cancel this trip. In his words, I'd rather lose than send children who can't control their emotions to something of this importance.
He walked down the aisle, stopping right where we were sitting. He looked at me, then his eyes shifted to Jensen and Jace.
Coach John: He's disappointed, Jensen. Not just because you're the team captain, but because he trusted you as his own son to keep the other players in check, and you rewarded that trust by acting like a street fighter. And you keima, I don't even know what to say to you, right now I feel like you're nothing but a disgrace to this team name and what we're fighting for. Every single report insisted that you were the one who even made Jensen and Jace step into this, why would you want to get to a fight?. I know you're still a child, but can't you act matured for once in your life?.
Me: (looking down) I'm sorry coach . But the five of them started it.
Coach John: except you drew the first blood didn't you ?. You're supposed to be the cool headed one. My calculator, is this part of your calculations?. Uhh?. And Jace, I have nothing to say to you, you were supposed to be His stabilizers. Instead, you jumped in and turned a scrap into a riot.
Jace: (Voice steady, no regret) I wasn't going to let him get jumped, Coach.
Coach John: (Cutting him off) You were going to be smarter!. That's what you were going to do. Now, the school owner thinks his elite team is a pack of wild dogs. He told me to tell you, this will be the final stunt you guys will ever pull, and the deal with the Zantes is off.
The silence that followed was heavy enough to choke on. Coach John turned and sat back down at the front. A second later, the air brakes hissed, and the bus finally began to roll out of the school gates.
Jensen: (After a long minute, his voice low) Well. That was a vibe killer.
Me: (Eyes closed, leaning heavier on Jensen) Jensen... your shoulder is too bony. Please just go to your seat, I'm trying to sleep.
Jensen: (Hissing) Are you for real?. We just got the stern of a lifetime and you're complaining about my shoulder?
Me: Can't worry about exile if I'm asleep. So Just move away man.
Jace: (From behind, reaching up to pull the curtain shut to block the rising sun) Let him be. He's right. We can't change what Mr. White thinks of us now. We just have to win.
Me: win?. That's gonna be one of those easier said than done case. Why the fuck should we have to make this travel?.
Jensen: beats me. The basketball association is in serious shambles cause now Jarquin are gonna be playing with an home advantage.
Me: these are the times I need your dad to be pulling his own string you know?.
Jace: yeah, not threaten us.
Jensen: (laughing) I know right?. But then, coach is on one today. I've never seen him that cold. He made it sound like we're heading to a firing squad, not a basketball game.
Jace: (Leaning forward between the seats) Can you blame him?. Look at us. We look like we just walked out of a riot.
Jensen: (Looking at me, his blue eyes narrowing) But for real, Kei... Coach is right about one thing. You usually don't snap. You're the calm and collected person. You even dubbed yourself the guy with ice in his veins. What did that prick actually say to make you throw the logic out the window?.
I stayed quiet for a second, watching the dim lights in the school building start to flicker past. My jaw ached just thinking about it.
Me: It wasn't about me , Jensen.
Jace: Then what?. Because you didn't just hit him, Kei. You tried to end him.
Me: (Voice flat, cold) He started talking about Tephnine. He called her trash. Said he was glad he could 'discard' her and pass her on to me. Like she was some used equipment he was done with.
The air in the back of the bus suddenly went dead. Jensen, who was about to mess with his phone, stopped completely. I felt Jace's hand on the back of my seat tighten until I heard the plastic frame groan.
Jace: (Voice dangerously low) He actually said that?
Me: Yeah. My brain just... it just shut off. I didn't see the tournament. I didn't see the consequences. I just saw his mouth moving and I wanted to make sure he never spoke her name again.
Jensen: (Exhaling a long, slow breath.) Okay... yeah. Forget what I said. If that's what came out of his mouth, he's lucky you're the only one who got a piece of him. Coach can be disappointed all he wants, but some things are off-limits. I'll be making his life a living hell for objectifying my sister.
Jace: (Nodding firmly, his expression hardening) We've got you, Kei. Don't sweat the lecture. You did what any man would've done. We'll carry the load against Jarquin until those ribs are back in one piece.
Me: thank you. I really appreciate that. Oh yeah I almost forgot. We're going to my home.
Jensen: your home?.
Me: yeah, I'm from Anambra.
Jace: wait, really?.
Me: yeah, I don't know exactly where Jarquin is located though, but I'll make sure to make this experience one of the best for you guys. You've just gotten yourselves the best tour guide.
Jace: damn. I can't wait.
Me: oh yeah, one more thing. Jensen, get the fuck outta my space. I'm trying to sleep here.
Jensen: can you just stop bitching about this ?.
Me: fuck no.
****** 10:25 AM. ORE, ONDO STATE.******
The Beast wasn't purring anymore, it was growling. The sun was officially at that 'wicked' Nigerian angle where the AC in the bus was basically just moving lukewarm air around. And this is a flex to the sun cause that AC was pretty powerful. We had been on the road for nearly five hours, and the atmosphere inside had shifted from a tense, sleepy silence to a restless, sweaty cage.
The bus began to slow down as we approached the notorious Ore stretch. Red dust kicked up from the roadside, coating the windows and turning the world a hazy, sun-baked orange.
Random voice: Coach!. I'm literally going to explode, Bathroom break or I'm doing it in a Gatorade bottle!. .
Another rando: Shut up, Ovie!. You've said that since Shagamu!.
Sometimes I really pity coach John, cause handling us is no different from handling wild monkeys in a zoo. He probably ages twice faster from the stress we put him through.
Just as Coach John was about to tell everyone to pipe down, a loud, metallic pop echoed from behind us, followed by the screech of rubber. I squinted through the dusty rear window. The second bus, the one carrying the medics, the other bench players and the extra gear was veering slightly, its front right tire shredded and flapping like a dead fish. After almost 30 seconds of coach visibly swearing under his breath, he eventually stood up to address us.
Coach John: Alright, listen up!. Bus Two has a flat. We're stopping here to change it. Nobody, and I mean nobody leaves the immediate vicinity of the bus. This isn't a sightseeing tour. If you wanna leave, do so with the driver, I won't be responsible for any missing fool who couldn't pay attention to this simple instructions I'm giving out.
Within seconds of coach stepping out, the bus was surrounded. I watched from my window, still leaning on Jensen as a literal army of hawkers descended. They weren't just walking, they were sprinting, balancing heavy crates of bottled water, mountains of wrapped bread, and glass boxes of plantain chips on their heads without using their hands. It was a chaotic, high-speed ballet.
Jensen: (Eyes wide, pressing his face against the glass like a kid at a zoo) Yo... Keima. Is that lady?... is she holding a live turkey?, Why is she holding a turkey at the bus window?
Me: (Wincing as I tried to shift my weight) It's a roadside market, Jensen. Everything is for sale. Welcome to the real part of Nigeria.
Jace: (Leaning over from the seat behind, looking genuinely concerned) How are they doing that?. That girl is like ten years old and she's running faster than some of our players with a tray of eggs on her head. Is this safe?
Me: Safe?, It's survival.
Jace: survival?.
Me: yeah, it's the only way they can fend for theirselves and their families. So survival.
Jensen: that's just sad.
Me: I know. Jensen, Window. Open it.
Jensen: (Hesitating) I don't know, man. It's loud out there. And it smells like... spicy exhaust fumes.
Me: Open it. I need plantain chips. The yellow ones, not the dark ones. And get me a cold bottle of Five Alive. If it's not icy, don't take it.
Jensen gingerly slid the window open, and the noise rushed in like a physical wave.
Hawkers: Fine bread!, Cold pure water!, plantain Chips!, Bros, buy plantain chips na!, Fine boy, buy for your girlfriend!
A dozen hands thrust products toward Jensen's face. He recoiled, hitting his head on the luggage rack. It was funny, really funny.
Jensen: (Panicked) Whoa! Back up!, I just... uh... how much for the chips?.
Hawker: (A guy with a grin that could light up a stadium) Five hundred Naira, my color!. Buy two, I give you better price!
Me: (Pulling my hoodie lower, whispering) He's trying to tax you because you're white, Jensen. Tell him two hundred or you're closing the window.
Jensen: (Looking back at me, stressed) I can't do that, He looks like he needs the money.
Me: of course he does, but being dishonest isn't the way to go about it. Tell him two hundred naira.
Jace: (Watching a different window where some of the other non-Nigerian players were being harassed) Look at Smith and Miller. They look like they're about to cry.
I looked down the aisle. Miller, one of our shooting guard from California I think, was staring in horror at a hawker who was thrusting a stick of roasted gizzard at him. He was backing away into the aisle like the man was holding a grenade.
Miller: No!, No gizzard!. Does it have gluten?. Is it organic?!
The hawker just laughed and shoved it closer. I mean, in all seriousness what kind of dumbass question was that ?.
Hawker: Organic wetin?, E sweet o!. Taste am, fine boy!
Me: (Sighing) Jensen, stop being a tourist and buy the chips. My ribs are aching and the only thing that'll probably make it better is salt and starch.
Jensen eventually managed to complete the transaction, though I'm pretty sure he still paid double the price. He handed me the chips, looking completely drained by the thirty-second interaction.
Jensen: That was... intense. I feel like I just went through a hazing ritual.
Me: (tearing the nylon with one hand while leaning back) You did. Now, go tell Jace to watch the other side. People are starting to peek into the luggage compartment while the driver is busy with the tire.
Jensen: yeah, I got it. Nobody's touching our gear.
I watched the chaos through the window as I crunched on a chip. Outside, the heat was shimmering off the asphalt. The driver and the assistant were sweating buckets, struggling with the jack on the uneven gravel. Coach John was standing by the door, arms crossed, looking like he wanted to fight the sun itself.
It was loud, it was dusty, and it was chaotic. For Jensen and Jace, it was a nightmare. For the other Lagos big boys on the team, it was a nuisance.
But for me?, The smell of the dry grass, the spicy scent of Suya wafting from a nearby stall, and the rhythmic shouting of the hawkers felt like a slow-burning fuse. Once we get to the Benin bypass, the Beast is going to find out that the road to Anambra doesn't care about your luxury seats or your Lagos reputation. And my ribs... I just hope they hold together long enough for me to step off this bus.
I looked at Jensen, who was currently trying to figure out how to peel a piece of roasted corn without getting his hands dirty.
Me: Jensen?
Jensen: Yeah?
Me: You're still in my leg space.
Jensen: I'm literally the only reason you have food right now
Me: thanks. Now move.
The silence after the "now move" comment didn't last long. With the bus engine off, the air conditioning, the only thing making life bearable slowly died a pathetic, lukewarm death. Within ten minutes, the so-called Beast turned from a team bus into a high-pressure oven.
Me: (Wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand) Jensen... I'm actually dying. I think my soul is evaporating.
Jensen: (Pulling the collar of his shirt) Shut up, Kei. I'm the one sitting in a pool of my own sweat.
Jace: (Leaning forward, his face glistening) It's 10:45. How long does it take to change a tire?. My phone is getting hot just holding it.
I shifted, trying to find a cool spot on the seat, but the leather was sticking to my skin. My ribs were killing me as usual, everything was just going downhill. I felt heavy, lazy, and irritable. I just wanted to be in my bed back home, far away from the smell of this hot rubber and the noise of a hundred people trying to sell us bread.
Miller: (From three rows up) Coach!. It's over a hundred degrees in here!. Open the emergency hatch!.
Coach John didn't even look back. He was outside, standing under the shade of a dusty tree, looking like he wanted to quit his job. Miller didn't wait for an answer. He stood up and popped the roof hatch.
Me: (Groaning) Bad move, Miller.
The moment the hatch opened, the noise of Ore rushed in like a physical blow. It wasn't just heat anymore, it was the smell of burning trash, the roar of passing trucks, and the high-pitched screaming of the market.
Jensen: (Grimacing) It's worse. Why is it worse?
The Beast was officially surrounded. Because the windows were lowered for air, the hawkers weren't just standing outside, they were practically inside. A tray of eggs was hovering inches from Jensen's nose. A man with a bundle of sunglasses was tapping on the glass with a ringed finger.
Hawker: Fine boy!. My color!. See this glass, original Ray-Ban!. I give you for three thousand!
Jensen: (Trying to lean back, his face turning a dangerous shade of red) I don't want the glasses, man. Please, just... move.
Hawker: Ah, fine boy, why you dey fear?. Take am try. Three thousand na small money for you. You be big boy na. Oya, two thousand five
He thrust the glasses through the gap in the window. Jensen recoiled, his head hitting the luggage rack for the second time. The heat, the smell, and the constant poking finally snapped his last nerve.
Jensen: (Exploding) I SAID NO!. GET THAT STUFF OUT OF MY FUCKING FACE!. BACK THE FUCK OFF!
The hawker didn't back off. He laughed, a loud, mocking sound that drew the attention of three other sellers.
Hawker: Oh. Fine boy dey vex?. Why you dey shout na?. You think say na your papa house be this?. Buy something or you close window. See this one oo.
Jensen looked like he was about to lunge out of the window and commit a crime that would get us all arrested. His hands were shaking, and his face was contorted with pure, unadulterated frustration.
I couldn't stay slumped anymore. The pain in my side flared as I sat up straight, but seeing Jensen about to lose it at a guy who did this for a living was worse. I reached over, my voice sharp and cutting through the noise.
Me: (Leaning toward the window, face hard) Oga, wetin be your own?. You no hear say he no want?. Abi Ogun wan wound you?. Comot for here before I do you wetin you no go like.
The hawker blinked, surprised to hear the rando in a hoodie speaking the language like he'd been born in the market.
Me: (Angrily) You see say the sun dey hot, you still dey come disturb person. Get out jare!, No be only Ray-Ban, na Sun-Ban. Comot for here sharp-sharp.
The guy grumbled, realizing I wasn't a "tourist" he could bully. He moved his tray of glasses to the next window, muttering something about "Lagos children" under his breath.
I slammed the window shut and slumped back down, my chest heaving, which made my ribs scream.
Jensen: (Staring at me, stunned) What did you even say to him?
Me: (Eyes closed, voice flat) I told him to go away. Now, please, stop being a target. You're making it hotter in here with your shouting.
Jace: (Looking out the window) Driver's tightening the bolts. Finally.
We sat there in the sweltering silence for another forty minutes, watching the sweat drip onto the floorboards. It was the longest hour of my life.
Around 11:37, The air brakes finally hissed, the engine roared back to life, and the Beast gave a violent shudder as the jack was pulled away. Coach John climbed back on, dripping with sweat, his face darker than the asphalt.
Coach John: Everyone sit down. We're moving.
As the bus pulled away from the red dust of Ore, the AC finally kicked back in, blowing a tiny, blessed stream of cold air onto my face.
Me: (Whispering) Only seven more hours to go.
Jensen: (Leaning his head back, exhausted) I hate this bus. I hate this road. And I think I hate life as a whole.
Me: I don't even know what to say to you.
Coach John: (from the front row) oh, I almost forgot, catch this keima.
Saying this he threw some kind of medicine towards me.
Coach John: the nurse asked me to give it to you. One morning, one night. Should help in subsiding the pain.
Me: uhh
Coach John: she said you didn't break anything, but that doesn't mean you won't be in pain. That is for the pain.
Me: coach if you had this all these while, why didn't you give me ?. I've been dying here.
Coach John: isn't it obvious?. I wanted you to suffer.
Me: I don't even know whether you love or hate me.
Oh yeah, I should do translation duty, what I said to the hawker was basically " what's your problem?, didn't you hear him clearly say he wasn't interested?. Or do you want Ogun (a god) to kill you?. Get out of here". That's just it I guess.
***** 1:25 PM. BENIN BYPASS, EDO STATE.*****
The steady, rhythmic rattling of the bus had finally done what Coach John couldn't, it had knocked everyone out.
I was in that deep, heavy sleep you only get when you're physically exhausted and trying to escape pain. My head was tucked into the corner of the seat, my bag and hoodie were acting as a reluctant pillow, Jensen was already swimming in dreamland and even Jace was out cold behind us, his chin tucked into his chest. Half the team was snoring, the air was thick with the smell of stale chips, and for a moment, the world didn't hurt. Then, reality hit.
One second I was dreaming of a cold swimming pool, the next, the world lurched violently. The screech of tires on dry sandy road sounded like a scream.
Because I was slumped and relaxed, I didn't have any grip. I was flung forward like a ragdoll. My chest slammed into the seat in front of me, and the impact sent a white-hot spike of agony directly through my taped ribs.
Me: (Gasping, the sound dying in my throat) Gah...
I wasn't the only one. Jensen went flying into the seatback too, his forehead making a sickening thud against the plastic frame. Jace let out a startled shout as he was nearly thrown into the aisle.
Jensen: (Waking up in a panic, rubbing his head) What the hell?. Did we hit a wall?.
Jace: (Gripping the headrests to steady himself) No. Look.
I struggled to sit back, my vision swimming with black spots from the pain in my side. Through the windshield, I could see what the driver had been trying to avoid. It wasn't a pothole. It was a crater, a jagged, deep trench that spanned half the road. I know one for certain, If the Beast had hit that at full speed, we'd be upside down in the bushes.
Me: (Clutching my side, voice strained) Is everyone... okay?
Coach John: (Already standing up, looking frustrated) Nobody move!. Stay in your seats and check yourselves
The bus began to crawl forward at a walking pace, the engine groaning as the driver maneuvered onto the dirt shoulder to bypass the hole. But we didn't get far. About fifty meters ahead, a group of men in dark uniforms with reflective vests stood in the middle of the road. A makeshift barrier made of old tires and a wooden plank blocked the path.
Jensen: (Squinting) Is that the police?. Why are they stopping us here?.
Me: Checkpoint. It's a standard stop on the bypass.
Jace: They look... intense.
Me: maybe because they are.
Coach John sighed, a long, weary sound. He reached into the glove box, pulled out a small wad of crumpled Naira notes, and tucked them into his palm before stepping off the bus. Through the window, we watched another film unfold.
The officers didn't look like they were checking for licenses. They were circling the bus, tapping the side with their batons, looking at our 'Starling Strike' logo with unimpressed eyes. One of them, a man with a toothpick hanging out of his mouth, leaned toward Coach John.
Officer: Ah, Starling strike. Big school. Fine bus. Anything for the boys?
Coach John didn't argue. He didn't lecture them on the law or his rights. He knew what to do at that point. I'm guessing this isn't his first rodeo cause for an American, he's way too familiar with a shit ton of things strictly related to us. He shook the officer's hand, the money passing seamlessly between them.
Jensen: (Voice low, disgusted) Wait... did he just bribe them?. Right in front of us?
Me: (Leaning my head back against the seat, trying to breathe through the rib pain) He's buying us time, Jensen. If he doesn't, they'll spend the next two hours inspecting our fire extinguishers and looking for reasons to impound the bus. We have a game on Wednesday. We can't afford a two-hour lecture on road safety.
Jace: that's just sad
Me: welcome to the realest part of the country.
The officer stepped back, waving his hand lazily for the driver to move the plank. Coach climbed back on, his face a mask of cold professionalism. He didn't acknowledge what had just happened.
Coach John: (To the driver) Move it. We're losing light.
As the bus accelerated back onto the broken asphalt, the vibrations started again. Every tiny bump was a reminder that my ribs were barely holding on. I looked at the clock. 1:45 PM.
Me: (To Jensen) You might want to hold onto the seat handle this time. The road only gets worse from here.
Jensen: (Looking out at the endless greenery and the red dust) I think I'm starting to understand why you called yourself a survivor, Kei.
***** 4:45 PM. ASABA, DELTA STATE. APPROACHING THE NIGER BRIDGE. *****
If the Beast was a predator back in Lagos, here in Asaba, it was just a very expensive, very shiny sardine in a giant tin can. We were officially in the Bridge Crawl, a place where time goes to die and horn-honking is the national anthem.
I sat up, rolling my shoulders. The stiffness was there, but the agonizing 'stab-me-with-a-fork' sensation in my ribs had vanished into a blissful, pharmaceutical cloud.
Me: (Patting my chest) Okay, I don't know what Coach gave me, but I'm pretty sure I could bench press this bus right now. I feel like I'm floating.
Jensen: (Looking at me with one eyebrow raised) You're smiling, Kei. It's creepy. Stop it. You look like you're about to sell me a kidney.
Me: (Grinning wider) It's called being pain-free, Jensen. You should try it. It's a vibe.
Jensen: spoiler alert. I'm pain-free
Jace: (Leaning on my seat, looking at the absolute mayhem outside) I think the traffic is high on the same stuff as you. Look at that guy
He pointed to a yellow minibus that was currently trying to climb the curb to overtake a truck. The driver was leaning halfway out his window, screaming at a man selling oversized wall clocks.
Jensen: (Eyes wide) Is that a clock with a neon-light Jesus on it?. I want it.
Me: (Laughing) Jensen, if you open that window to buy a neon Jesus clock, Coach John will actually throw you into the river.
Jace: Seriously though, how is nobody crashing?. It's like everyone is sharing one giant brain and they all know exactly when to inch forward.
Me: I think It's something of a dance, Jace. It's organized chaos. You see that guy over there with the crate of gala?. Watch.
I pointed to a hawker who was weaving through moving motorcycles like he was in the Matrix. He didn't even look left or right, he just moved.
Jensen: (Leaning his forehead against the tinted glass) It's insane. Back at Starling, we complain if the school gate takes thirty seconds to open. We've been sitting next to this same truck for twenty minutes. I've started a friendship with the driver. His name is Mike. He likes my hair.
Jace: (Snickering) Did he actually tell you that?
Jensen: He gave me a thumbs up!. That's basically the same thing.
The Beast gave a powerful roar and surged forward exactly three inches. The sound of the bridge was getting louder, a deep, metallic thrum that you could feel in your teeth.
Me: (Looking at the massive silver arches ahead) Get ready. The bridge is the point of no return. Once we're over, we're officially in the Eastern part of the country.
Jensen: (Suddenly serious, but still playful) Do I need a passport?. And why you making it sound like a threat?.
Me: you don't need a passport and I don't know what the fuck you talking about.
CLACK-CLACK. CLACK-CLACK.
The Beast's high-end tires hit the metal grating, and the sound inside the bus changed to a heavy, rhythmic drone. The vibration was intense, but with the meds working, it just felt like a giant massage chair.
Me: (Vibrating with the bus) Th-th-this is it. We're crossing.
Jensen: (Trying to talk through the vibration) Wh-why is the b-b-bus doing th-this?. It feels like my brain is being whisked
me: (Laughing) It's the metal deck. It's the bridge's way of saying 'Welcome to Anambra'.
Outside, the sun was hitting the river, turning everything into a blinding, golden glare. Hawkers were still running alongside us on the bridge, shouting about cold water and plantain chips while we moved at 5mph.
***** 6:40 PM. JARQUIN HIGH, NNEWI. *****
The Beast finally hissed to a stop, its headlights cutting through the darkening campus of Jarquin High. After thirteen hours on the road, the hum of the engine finally died, leaving an eerie, heavy silence inside the bus.
Me: (Stretching my arms, feeling the stiffness returning as the meds started to fade) Finally. I thought my skin was going to fuse with this leather seat.
Jensen: (Peering through the window at the dim, grey buildings) This is it?. It looks more like a fortress than a school. Where's the welcoming committee?
Jace: (Grabbing his duffel bag) Probably waiting inside with the keys to our rooms. Man, I just want a shower and a bed that doesn't vibrate.
We stepped off the bus, the humid Nnewi air hitting us like a damp towel. Coach John was already ahead, his posture stiff, meeting a group of three men in faded shirts who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. We followed them down a dimly lit hallway that smelled of floor wax and old chalk.
Then, the 'Host' opened the door to our quarters.
Jensen: (Stopping dead in his tracks) You've got to be kidding me.
The room was a hollow shell. No beds. No pillows. Just a stack of thin, blue foam mats piled in the corner and a single, buzzing fluorescent light that made the peeling paint on the walls look even worse.
Jace: (Voice flat) Is this... the storage room?
Host Teacher: (Folding his arms, voice completely indifferent) This is the accommodation. Three rooms for your team. Mats are there. Use them well.
Coach John: (His voice dangerously low) Excuse me?. I was told we would have standard dormitory housing. These are floor mats. My players have a semi-final in less than forty-eight hours.
Host Teacher: (Shrugging) This is what is available. Jarquin High is a place of discipline, not a five-star hotel. If you don't like it, you can sleep on your fancy bus.
I watched Coach John. Usually, he was the mountain, unshakable, cold, and disciplined. But today?. Today he had dealt with a riot, a foolish student with a supposed broken rib, a flat tire, and some corrupt police men. Something in him finally snapped.
Coach John: (Exploding, his voice echoing off the concrete walls) DISCIPLINE?!. This is sabotage!. You think I don't know what you're doing?. You want them tired!, You want them sore!. I am calling the Association right now!.
Host Teacher: (Unbothered) Call who you like. I am just a teacher. I don't have the keys to beds that don't exist.
I looked at Jensen. He was vibrating. His face was a deep, angry red, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tell them who his father was. He wanted to burn the building down. But he just stood there, his chest heaving, trapped by the realisation that outside Starling, he was just a kid.
Me: (Quietly, placing a hand on Jensen's shoulder) Jensen. Breathe. Don't give them the satisfaction.
Jensen: (Through grit teeth, his voice shaking) Kei... I am going to lose it. I am actually going to murder someone. We traveled thirteen hours for this?
Me: (Calmly) It's a move, Jensen. They're playing the game before the whistle even blows. Let Coach handle it.
For thirty minutes, we sat on our bags in the hallway while some made their way back into the bus. Coach John paced outside, his phone pressed to his ear. We could hear him shouting at Mr. White, the frustration in his voice clear even from a distance. The rest of the team was slumped against the walls, the Elite energy of Starling Strike were completely drained. If I said I wasn't pissed I'll be a liar. But they're are things where shouting does nothing.
Finally, Coach walked back in, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Coach John: (His voice weary but firm) Get back on the bus. All of you. Now.
Jace: (Hopeful) We're going home?
Coach John: No. Mr. White just authorized a budget for a hotel. It's twenty minutes away. Move!, Before I change my mind and make you sleep on the grass!.
I don't know why he's taking out his anger on us
***** 8:15 PM. THE CRYSTAL GARDEN HOTEL, NNEWI. *****
It wasn't the Burj Al Arab, but it had four walls, a working fan, and most importantly, mattresses. Because of the last-minute booking, the rooms were tight. The Unholy Trinity ended up in a single room with two beds pushed together.
The room was silent as we dropped our gear. Jensen walked straight to the window, staring out at the dark Nnewi skyline, his jaw still set.
Jace: (Falling backward onto the bed with a heavy thud) I have never loved a piece of foam more in my entire life.
Me: (Sitting on the edge of the mattress, slowly unpeeling the athletic tape from my ribs) We made it. Somehow.
Jensen: (Turning around, his voice low and bitter) They really hate us, don't they?. They don't even know us, and they treated us like trash.
Me: (Looking up at him) They don't hate you, Jensen. They hate what you represent. They hate who we represent. To them, this is their only chance of silverware this season, if you were them, wouldn't you do anything in your power to win?.
Jensen: not at the cost of hurting someone else I won't.
Me: wrong question. I forgot the type of person that you were. But the truth remains this. Out here is a jungle, no one cares about the other if it doesn't benefit them. Now, I want you to remember this pain. Rember this humiliation.
Jace: (Turning his head to look at us) you don't have to say it twice, I feel very reminded.
Jensen: (Finally sitting down on the edge of the bed next to me, his anger cooling into a cold, sharp focus) just to get it out of my chest. I was tired ten minutes ago. Now?, Now I just want to destroy them on Wednesday. I want to win by fifty.
Me: (Lying back, staring at the ceiling fan) That's the spirit. But for now... Jensen?
Jensen: Yeah?
Me: Get your foot off my side of the bed. We're not in the bus anymore.
Jensen: (Letting out a short, tired laugh) Fine.
Me: and Jace?, for someone who wanted to shower after coming down from the bus. You haven't
Jace: (half sleepy) there's always a tomorrow.
Before I go. Incase you were wondering why these fools were acting like tourist when we literally just came to delta some time ago. That's because Mr white flew us over there. Why didn't he just do the same now?. I don't know. He never acts like a boss when we need him to. I can't say this in front of Jensen, but his father sucks at pulling strings.