CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: CONCLUSION OR ARGUMENT
I watched her leave our class for her own classroom, her small frame disappearing down the corridor before I even had time to process what had just happened.
I turned to face John almost immediately after Vanessa had left. His calm demeanor was infuriating sometimes, as if he had a shield against curiosity, against people who wanted to pry into his life.
"What?!" he asked the moment he noticed my gaze. His voice wasn't annoyed; it was more of a lazy, indifferent sort of irritation. He didn't even bother turning to look at me properly when he asked.
"Do you know her?" I asked, my voice quiet but charged with curiosity. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer, and yet a small part of me hoped I would. Vanessa could be so suspicious sometimes—always fishing for information but never giving any in return.
"I thought Vanessa already answered you," he said without lifting his head, continuing to sketch in his notebook as if I hadn't spoken.
"How do you even know her name?" I asked immediately, my eyes narrowing slightly, because the truth was, Vanessa had only mentioned her in passing. She hadn't said much, and yet John acted like he already knew everything.
He didn't answer.
"I didn't even say her name in any of our conversation," I pressed, my curiosity now bordering on frustration.
"Jeez… can you stop that already? You are annoying me with these unlimited questions you're asking," he snapped, dropping his sketch pen on the desk and finally turning to glare at me. His eyes held that usual sharpness, the kind that made anyone pause.
"Are you not going to answer me?" I asked, my voice calm but firm, trying not to let my irritation show.
"If I choose not to answer you, it is final. If I choose to answer, then I will," he said, turning back to his sketchbook with that air of finality he always carried.
"Okay, I'll assume that you know her," I said with a small shrug, refusing to let him see that his words had annoyed me slightly.
"How do you even know that? Stop false witnessing there," he replied, shaking his head and picking up his sketch pen again.
"When you won't answer me nko?" I said, slipping into Yoruba for emphasis, the tone teasing but serious.
"I have no word for you. Don't disturb me. Ask your friend to answer you," he muttered as he focused back on his sketching.
The French teacher entered the classroom then and started teaching immediately, leaving no opportunity for further questioning. From the start, I had always thought Vanessa was… well, suspicious, and perhaps a little manipulative. Mind my word: fishing or suspicious—they almost meant the same thing in this context. I wondered if I asked her directly, would she actually tell me the truth about knowing him?
"So, what was the last topic I taught the last time I came to your class?" the French teacher asked, launching straight into the lesson. I blinked, momentarily distracted, trying to shove my questions to John aside while taking notes.
…
"We will discuss more on it in our next class. Make sure you do your assignment; failure to do that will lead to punishment," the Basic Science teacher said as he began packing his books, setting them under his arm before moving toward the door.
Both the Basic Science and French teachers were really something, especially during prep, I thought. They had no patience for distraction, and neither did John apparently.
Brrrrrrrrriiiiiiinnnngggg‼ The school bell rang, signaling the end of prep. Just in time, I thought.
I quickly packed my books into my bag. John, ever efficient, was already standing and carrying his own bag. He was always the first person to leave the classroom after the teacher. Maybe he was avoiding me, avoiding the flood of questions I wanted to ask, or perhaps he just moved faster than everyone else. I scolded myself silently: why even call my questions stupid? They weren't stupid—they were curiosity, plain and simple.
"Hey Floral, you've been staring at the door for more than a minute. Aren't you going to stand up?" Morayo asked, tapping me out of my thoughts.
"Lol, I didn't even realize," I said as I turned to face her and then stood up.
"Why were you looking at the door anyway?" she asked, tilting her head curiously.
"No reason, actually," I said, zipping my school bag.
"You are so strange," Morayo said with a weird expression, as if trying to comprehend my quiet intensity.
"At least I'm not as strange as Vanessa," I said, nodding toward the door where she had exited.
"What do you mean?" Morayo asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"Don't you find that girl sneaky?" I asked, glancing between her and Victoria.
"Sneaky? Well, I did notice that," Morayo admitted with a shrug.
"I guess I'm the only one who doesn't find her sneaky at all," Victoria said calmly, looking between the two of us.
"That's because you're so oblivious and you turn a blind eye to things like this," I concluded, feeling a little exasperated.
"What is that supposed to mean? You don't really know much about me at all," Victoria asked, her tone a mix of surprise and defensiveness.
"Victoria, what Floral is saying is true. You did the same thing when it came to her cousin," Morayo added, nodding.
"Come on, it isn't actually written on anyone's face that this person is this or that," Victoria argued, her voice rising slightly.
"You will know by the way they behave. I noticed Vanessa has been sneaky ever since Benita mentioned she knew her," Morayo said firmly.
"You're saying you don't trust her at all? Then why do you agree to let her be friends with us?" Victoria asked, wide-eyed and incredulous.
"It's not that we don't trust her. It's just that she's keeping details from us," I said, glancing toward the door, almost expecting Vanessa to walk back in.
"Is she supposed to tell us everything about herself?" Victoria asked, clearly shocked at my response.
"Yes, of course," I said without hesitation.
"What if she chooses not to tell us anything?" Victoria pressed further.
"Then we can't continue to be friends with a stranger," I concluded, my tone final.
"But, you didn't tell her anything about yourself, except that you have a brother," Victoria countered.
"That's because she didn't tell me anything about herself," I replied.
"What about the time she told us about her family?" Victoria asked, narrowing her eyes.
"That's different. Did you even tell her about your own family?" I shot back, curious to hear her reply.
"Because I chose not to," she said firmly.
"Victoria, are you supporting her or us? Because I don't understand at all," Morayo asked, sounding frustrated with the back-and-forth.
"I don't understand you guys," Victoria muttered, crossing her arms.
"Listen to yourself. 'Because you chose not to?' See? Pot calling kettle black," Morayo said, rolling her eyes.
"So… what are you guys trying to say now? What's your conclusion in all this?" Victoria asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
"Hey guys!" Vanessa's voice suddenly rang out from the doorway, interrupting our heated debate. She had returned, her expression bright and casual, unaware—or perhaps deliberately ignoring—the intensity of our discussion.
We all turned to her, a mixture of relief and annoyance crossing our faces. The argument was paused, unresolved, but Vanessa had just barged in as if she owned the moment, her presence shifting the energy of the room entirely.