VOICEOVER
Second semester in universities like MU are usually shorter than the first. The first is almost six months and the second is what? Half that? Maybe less? However that still doesn't mean some fucked up shit doesn't happen. In fact, it's the thrill of summer that makes young adults do the most questionably bold acts you can think of. Especially if your name is Aaron, and you left things worse than you found them. Especially if your name is Rose, and you have a garden to protect. Especially if your name is Ese, and no one knows you exist. Second semester doesn't care about your resolutions. It cares about what you do when no one's watching.
THE DORM – JANUARY, FIRST DAY BACK
The room smelled different.
Not bad. Just different. Like the absence of people had changed the air. Oliver was the first to return. He'd unpacked his bag, made his bed, and was now sitting on the windowsill with a book. No cigarette. Just a paperback with a cracked spine.
Charlie burst through the door like a storm. His hair was longer. His face was tanner. He was carrying a bag of plantain chips and a bottle of something he'd definitely stolen from his mother's kitchen.
"I'm back, bitches!"
Oliver turned a page. "I see that."
"Did you miss me?"
"Like a headache."
Charlie threw himself on his bed. The springs groaned. "You know what I did over break? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was glorious."
"You didn't go anywhere?"
"I went to the kitchen. To the bathroom. To the couch. That's it."
Oliver almost smiled. "Sounds productive."
"Don't be sarcastic. It doesn't suit you."
The door opened again. Wesley walked in, rolling a suitcase that cost more than Charlie's entire wardrobe. He was wearing sunglasses indoors. His hair was perfect.
"Look who's back," Charlie said.
Wesley took off the sunglasses. "Look who's still short."
"I'm not short. You're just average."
"Whatever helps you sleep."
Wesley unpacked slowly, deliberately, like he was performing a ritual. Shirts on hangers. Shoes in a row. His side of the room looked like a magazine.
Aaron came last.
No fanfare. No announcement. He just walked in, dropped his bag, and sat on his bed.
Charlie studied him. "You look like someone died."
"Good to see you too."
"No, seriously. What happened?"
Aaron didn't answer. He was looking at his phone. Vicky's name. The last text from before break: We're done.
He put the phone down.
"Nothing happened. I'm just tired."
Wesley glanced at him. "You're lying."
"Maybe."
"At least you're honest about it."
Charlie looked between them. "Okay, what did I miss? Who broke what? Who's fighting who?"
"Nobody's fighting," Aaron said.
"Then why does it smell like sadness in here?"
Oliver closed his book. "Because Aaron and Vicky broke up."
Charlie's mouth fell open. "WHAT?"
"Aaron used his words. You know he's not good at that."
"I'm sitting right here," Aaron said.
"You're also not denying it."
Charlie grabbed his phone. "I'm texting her. I'm going to fix this."
"Don't."
"Why not?"
"Because there's nothing to fix."
Charlie stared at him. Then he put the phone down. Slowly.
"Damn, son. You really messed up."
"I know."
The room went quiet. Not the good kind. The kind that sits on your chest.
Wesley broke the silence. "Anyone hungry?"
THE CAFETERIA – LUNCH
The cafeteria was chaos.
Students hugged. Shouted. Traded stories about break. Someone had gotten engaged. Someone else had gotten arrested. A girl was crying because her boyfriend had cheated with her cousin. A guy was laughing because he'd won money betting on football.
Josephine was sitting alone at a corner table, scrolling through her phone.
Charlie spotted her immediately. His heart did something stupid.
"Go," Aaron said.
"What?"
"Go talk to her. You've been moping about her all break."
"I haven't been moping."
"You sent her seventeen texts. She replied to three."
Charlie's face went red. "You checked my phone?"
"No. You told me. Repeatedly."
Charlie stood up. Straightened his shirt. "Wish me luck."
"You'll need it."
Charlie walked across the cafeteria. His legs felt like jelly. His palms were sweating.
Josephine looked up. Her face didn't change.
"Charlie."
"Josephine."
"You're blocking my light."
He moved. Sat down across from her.
"How was break?" he asked.
"Fine."
"Just fine?"
"Just fine."
She went back to her phone.
Charlie sat there, watching her scroll. This wasn't going how he'd imagined.
"I missed you," he said.
She looked up. "Did you?"
"Yeah."
She put down her phone. Studied him. "That's sweet. But I'm not looking for a boyfriend."
"Who said anything about a boyfriend?"
"You did. With your eyes."
Charlie blinked. "I didn't know eyes could say that."
Josephine almost smiled. "Yours do."
She stood up. Picked up her tray.
"See you around, Charlie."
She walked away.
Charlie sat there, stunned.
Aaron appeared beside him. "That went well."
"Shut up."
"I'm just saying. She didn't throw anything at you."
"That's a low bar."
"It's a start."
THE LECTURE HALL – AFTERNOON
The professor was new.
Dr. Adeola. She was in her forties, with braids that fell past her shoulders and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She taught something boring. Sociology of Deviance. Required course. Everyone hated it already.
Except Nelly.
Nelly sat in the front row, her notebook open, her pen ready. She'd been watching Dr. Adeola since the woman walked in. Something about her felt familiar.
"Class," Dr. Adeola said, her voice smooth, "we're going to do something different. No syllabus. No textbooks. Just conversation."
A guy in the back groaned. "We paid for textbooks."
"Then you wasted your money. You can return them."
The class laughed. Dr. Adeola smiled. This time, it reached her eyes.
"I'm not here to torture you. I'm here to help you think. About why people do what they do. About the line between normal and deviant. About who gets to draw that line."
She looked at Nelly. "You in the front. What's your name?"
"Nelly."
"Nelly. Have you ever done something you knew was deviant?"
The room went quiet.
Nelly's throat tightened. "I don't know."
"Good answer. Most people don't."
Dr. Adeola moved on.
Nelly sat there, her heart pounding.
She knows, Nelly thought. She knows something.
THE GIRLS' DORM – LATE AFTERNOON
Zuru was holding court.
She stood in the middle of the room, gesturing wildly, while Vicky, Zizi, and Ese watched from their beds.
"So I told him, 'If you're going to cheat, at least be smart about it. Leave your phone at home.'"
"Did he cheat?" Zizi asked.
"I don't know. But now he's scared. That's the same thing."
Vicky laughed. It was hollow.
Zuru looked at her. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You've been saying that for weeks."
"Because it's true."
Zuru sat on Vicky's bed. "Talk to me."
"About what?"
"About Aaron. About the breakup. About whatever is eating you."
Vicky stared at the wall. "I don't want to talk about him."
"Then talk about something else."
The room was quiet.
Ese turned a page of her book.
"I saw him," Vicky said finally. "Yesterday. Before he came back. He came to my house."
Zuru's eyes widened. "WHAT?"
"He wanted to explain. I didn't let him. I closed the door in his face."
"Good."
"It didn't feel good."
"It never does."
Vicky looked at her hands. "I still love him."
"I know."
"Is that crazy?"
Zuru sighed. "It's not crazy. It's just stupid. There's a difference."
Vicky almost smiled. "You sound like him."
"Who?"
"Aaron. He used to say stuff like that."
Zuru took her hand. "I'm not him. I'm never going to be him. But I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
Vicky squeezed her hand.
Ese turned another page.
THE FIELD – EVENING
The football pitch was muddy. The goalposts were rusted. The lights flickered overhead.
Aaron stood at the center circle, a ball at his feet. Around him, his teammates stretched, jogged, shouted. They were loud. They were young. They were hungry.
Coach Okafor blew his whistle. The sound cut through the dusk.
"Listen up!"
The team gathered. Sweating. Breathing hard.
"This is our year. National University Competition. You know what that means."
"Free merch," someone said.
"Shut up, Femi."
The team laughed. Coach didn't.
"It means we stop being individuals and start being a team. It means we stop playing for ourselves and start playing for each other. It means we bleed together. We win together. We lose together. Together. You understand?"
"Yes, Coach."
"I can't hear you."
"YES, COACH!"
Aaron looked at his teammates. Their faces. Their eyes. They believed. He needed them to believe in him too.
"Captain," Coach said. "Anything to add?"
Aaron stepped forward. His heart was pounding. His throat was dry.
"We're not the best team on paper," he said. "We don't have the best players. We don't have the best facilities. We don't have the best anything."
Someone coughed.
"But we have each other. And that's more than most teams have. That's more than enough."
He looked at each of them. One by one.
"I'm not going to give some big speech. I'm not going to promise you trophies. I'm going to promise you this: I will bleed for you. I will sweat for you. I will break for you. And I expect you to do the same for me."
The team was silent.
Then Femi clapped. Then another. Then another.
The noise swelled.
Aaron nodded.
"Good. Now let's run."
They ran.
THE BASKETBALL COURT – SAME TIME
Oliver was alone.
The court was empty. The hoops were bent. The concrete was cracked. He dribbled. Shot. Missed. Dribbled. Shot. Made it.
He did it again. And again. And again.
His lungs burned. His legs ached. His head was clear.
No drugs. No alcohol. Just the ball and the hoop and the sound of his own breathing.
Peculiar appeared at the edge of the court. Watching.
"You're still here," he said.
"I'm always here."
He passed her the ball. She caught it. Shot. Missed.
"You're terrible," he said.
"I'm not trying to be good."
"Then why are you here?"
She walked toward him. "Because you are."
He looked at her. The court lights made her shadow long.
"I'm trying out for the team," he said.
"I know."
"The competition is national. It's a big deal."
"I know."
"If I make it, I'll be gone for weeks."
"I know."
"Does that bother you?"
She stepped closer. "Does it bother you?"
He didn't answer.
She kissed him. Quick. Soft.
"Try out," she said. "Make the team. Leave. Come back. I'll be here."
She walked away.
Oliver watched her go.
Then he picked up the ball and shot again.
Swish.
THE ABANDONED STUDIO – NIGHT
Rose stood alone in the dark.
The room was the same. Dusty. Cold. The single bulb flickered.
She looked at her phone. Kelly had sent the updated list. Four names now. Two new ones. One she didn't recognize. One she did.
Temi.
The girl had texted her every day over break. I miss you. When are you coming back? Did you fix it?
Rose hadn't replied. Not once.
She opened Temi's contact. Blocked it.
Then she opened the group chat. The Garden.
Rose (8:15 PM): Anyone who talks to The Watchmen is out. No warnings. No second chances. You're either with us or you're against us.
Kelly (8:16 PM): Understood.
Zara (8:16 PM): Understood.
Chloe (8:17 PM): What about Temi?
Rose stared at the message.
Rose (8:18 PM): Temi is no longer in The Garden. Do not contact her. Do not speak to her. She doesn't exist.
Chloe (8:18 PM): But she's our friend.
Rose (8:19 PM): Was.
She put down her phone.
The garden was shrinking.
She would make it grow again.
Even if she had to water it with blood.
THE DORM – 10:00 PM
Aaron lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Charlie was on his phone, texting someone. Wesley was reading. Oliver was stretching.
"Big game tomorrow," Charlie said.
"Qualifiers," Aaron said.
"You nervous?"
"Terrified."
"That's good. Means you care."
Wesley looked up. "The captain of the football team is terrified. That's comforting."
"I'm terrified because I want to win. Not because I'm scared of losing."
"What's the difference?"
"One is hunger. The other is fear."
Wesley nodded. "You've been reading quotes again."
"I've been trying to be better."
"Has it worked?"
Aaron didn't answer.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown number (10:07 PM): Good luck tomorrow, Arie. You're going to need it.
He stared at the screen.
Aaron (10:08 PM): Who is this?
Unknown (10:08 PM): Someone who knows what you did. Someone who knows what you are.
Aaron (10:09 PM): If this is a joke, it's not funny.
Unknown (10:09 PM): Who said I was joking?
He tried to call. The number was dead.
He looked around the room. Charlie. Wesley. Oliver. All on their phones. All innocent. All suspects.
Someone in this room, he thought. Or someone close.
He put down his phone.
His hands were shaking.
VOICEOVER
Second semester. Twenty-four hours in. Already someone was watching. Already someone was waiting. Aaron didn't know who. He didn't know why. But he could feel it. The way you feel a storm before it breaks. The way the air gets heavy. The way your skin prickles. Something was coming. Something worse than cheating. Worse than betrayal. Worse than anything he'd done. And it had his name on it.