The morning after the library break-in, the Lusaka sun was unforgiving. It bleached the red-brick corridors of ZIA, making the shadows look deeper.
Leya sat in the back of the cafeteria, picking at a plate of nshima and greens that she couldn't swallow. Every time a chair scraped against the floor, she flinched, expecting Chileshe Tembo's security detail to walk in and haul her away.
"Eat," a voice commanded.
Zazu dropped into the seat opposite her. He looked impeccable—blazer pressed, hair neat—but the dark circles under his eyes were a map of a sleepless night. He slid a carton of juice toward her.
"I'm not hungry," Leya said, her voice a low, jagged whisper. "Zazu, your mother knows."
"She knows we were there," Zazu said, leaning in until their heads were nearly touching over the table. "But she doesn't know what we saw. She thinks I was looking for a childhood toy. She thinks you're just a distraction. Let's keep it that way."
"Keep it that way? Zazu, I have forty-eight hours until the board meets. If I don't have twenty thousand Kwacha, I'm gone. The 'truth' in that blue notebook doesn't pay the bursar."
Zazu's gaze sharpened. He reached into his bag and pulled out a single sheet of paper—a printout of the school's charter.
"Look at Article 4, Section 2," he said. "The 'Legacy Scholarship' can't be revoked by a simple majority if the student is in the top five percent of their year and holds a leadership position in a sanctioned club."
Leya frowned. "I'm third in the year for English and History. But I'm not a leader of anything. I'm the girl who hides in the music room, remember?"
"Not anymore," Zazu said, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "The 'Heritage Society' has been dormant since the 2012 transition. It's the oldest club in the school. My father was the president. Your mother was the secretary."
Leya felt a spark of something that wasn't fear. "You want me to restart it?"
"I want us to restart it. If we reactivate the society today, and I nominate you as Chairperson, the board can't touch you without a full legal audit of the school's founding bylaws. Musi's father is a bully, but he hates paperwork. He won't risk a public audit that might dig into where the school's 'Endowment Fund' actually comes from."
Leya looked at him—the Golden Boy using his knowledge of the system to dismantle it from the inside. "It's a gamble, Zazu. If we do this, we're announcing to everyone that we're working together. The rumors will get worse."
"Let them talk," Zazu said. His hand moved across the table, his fingers briefly brushing the side of her arm. The contact was electric, a silent promise in the middle of a crowded room. "I'd rather be a rumor with you than a hero without you."
Leya looked down at his hand, then back at his eyes. For the first time, she saw the boy behind the title—the one who was tired of being a statue.
"Fine," she whispered. "How do we start a revolution in a lunch break?"
"We don't," Zazu said, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "We start it in the library. Bring your cello. We're going to need a soundtrack."
As he walked away, Musi and his group watched him from across the room. The tension was no longer just between families; it was a cold war in the hallways. Leya felt the weight of the blue notebook in her mind. She didn't have the money, and she didn't have the power—but for the first time in ten years, she had an ally.
And that felt more dangerous than the debt itself.
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