CHAPTER TWO
A Loud, Loving House
The road to school in Igwuruta was a living thing.
By the time Victoria and her brothers reached the main junction, the morning had fully awakened. Keke drivers shouted for passengers. Women arranged tomatoes and pepper in neat pyramids. A man pushed a wheelbarrow loaded with plantains, calling out prices in a voice that sounded permanently hoarse. The air smelled of dust, fried akara, and petrol.
Michael held Victoria's hand tightly whenever motorcycles sped too close. Samuel pretended he wasn't afraid, but he always walked on her other side.
"You're squeezing my fingers," Victoria said gently.
"I'm not," Michael said, squeezing harder.
Samuel snorted. "You're like glue."
"I'm not glue!"
Victoria laughed softly. For a moment, the heaviness she'd felt at home lifted. Out here, life was noisy and fast and distracting. Problems had to shout to be heard — and hers were still whispering.
At the school gate, the guard nodded at her. "You're early today."
"I'm always early," Victoria replied politely.
"That's why you'll go far," he said.
She smiled, but she had learned something about adult promises — they were kind, but not always true.
Samuel ran off to meet his friends. Michael followed more slowly, turning back twice to wave. Victoria watched until he disappeared into the classroom block before heading to hers.
Inside, the classroom buzzed with gossip and unfinished homework. Her best friend, Amaka, waved her over urgently.
"You won't believe what happened yesterday," Amaka whispered.
"You always say that," Victoria replied, sitting down.
"This time it's true. Our landlord locked their gate because they haven't paid rent. They had to climb the fence to enter their own house!"
Victoria blinked. "That's not funny."
"I didn't say it was funny. I said you wouldn't believe it."
Victoria opened her notebook, but her mind drifted. Money problems. Locked gates. Tight faces. Too many adults she knew were beginning to look worried in the same way.
"Are you listening?" Amaka asked.
"Yes," Victoria lied again.
She was thinking about Daniel.
He used to walk her to school sometimes, teasing her about the way she organized her books by color. He used to say, "You'll be a big woman one day. Don't forget me when you're famous."
But lately, he was always "busy." Always stepping out. Always returning late.
Their teacher, Mr. Okorie, entered with his usual serious expression. The class stood and greeted in chorus. Lessons began, chalk dust rising into warm air. Victoria tried to focus, and mostly succeeded — she was good at school, good at listening, good at remembering.
But twice, she caught herself writing her brother's name in the margin of her notes without realizing it.
Daniel.
She scratched it out quickly.
At home that afternoon, the house was louder than usual.
Voices overlapped. A pot lid clanged. The radio played highlife music too loudly. For a second, Victoria thought — with relief — that maybe the tension she sensed in the morning had passed.
Her father was home.
He sat outside on a low stool, arguing cheerfully with a neighbor about football. That was a good sign. When he had no work, he was quiet. When he had hope, he argued about football.
"Daddy!" Michael ran into his arms.
"Ah! My last born!" her father boomed, lifting him. "Have you become taller than me?"
"Yes!" Michael declared.
"Liar," Samuel said.
Victoria watched closely. Her father's smile was real — but thinner than before. His shirt collar was frayed. His phone screen was cracked. Small signs. Easy to miss if you didn't look carefully.
Victoria always looked carefully.
Inside, her mother cooked beans, stretching it with extra water. Daniel was washing plates — unusual. He hated kitchen work.
"You're helping today?" Victoria asked him quietly.
He shrugged. "People can change."
She studied him. His jaw was tight. His eyes avoided hers again.
"What are you doing later?" she asked.
"Going out."
"Where?"
"Out."
She waited. He didn't explain.
Her mother glanced between them but said nothing.
That evening, they ate together — all six of them — knees touching under the small table. It should have felt warm and complete. Instead, it felt like everyone was performing happiness for everyone else.
Her father prayed longer than usual after the meal.
When they said amen, no one moved right away.
Then Daniel's phone buzzed.
He checked it. Stood up immediately.
"I have to go," he said.
"Now?" their mother asked.
"Yes."
"Come back early," her father added.
Daniel nodded — too quickly — and left.
Victoria listened to his footsteps fade down the road.
Again, that tight feeling returned to her chest.
A noticing feeling.
A warning feeling.
She didn't yet know what it meant.
But she knew this:
Their loud, loving house was beginning to sound different.