“Psst! Pssst! Nora!”
I didn’t want to turn towards her so I pretended not to hear her. I felt a tap on my back. I pretended it was just a housefly perching on my back. Another pinch. Pinch. Tap. I leaned back and tilted my head a bit.
“Please do you know number three?” She asked.
I shook my head.
“Please let me just see what you’ve shaded, that’s number three shae?”
“I’m not sure if it’s correct. Sorry.” I quickly whispered back and leaned forward to focus on my work. When I thought I was safe from any further interruptions, I began shedding again, piecing together strings of ideas and thoughts on how to attack the questions. I was so sure of them! Then I heard the ruffling sound of papers behind me. So this babe even went as far as bringing in micro-chips!
“Issoraid!” I thought to myself and kept on writing. After something like 10 minutes, someone walked into our exam hall and I heard a book fall behind me, and someone’s feet shuffling and trying to kick something away.
The man who came into the exam hall seemed like the director of GSS, I wasn’t sure anyway. It wasn’t as if I ever attended my GSS lectures. Leave serious student aside, 7am was just too early to scramble to a class where at the end, either the GSS lecturer didn’t show up, we ended up sitting six to a desk meant for just four, or I ended up standing amongst students from various departments and faculties.
“Hey you!” I heard someone call, I didn’t bother looking up. I was squashing my paper.
“I said you stand up!” A big hand grabbed my left shoulder.
“Sir… Me?” I nearly peed in my trouser as I stood. The director was towering above me.
“What is that under your chair?” He asked.
I looked under the chair and saw a notebook. I had one like that but it was most definitely not mine. I mean, that book was sold everywhere.
“Give it to me.” He said.
I picked it up and gave it to him.
“Chisom Nora Bonnyface.” He read out.
My pee was nearly dripping now.
“Sah dazz not me. Please let me see… I mean, dazz my book but, noo.. I gave it to someone to read.” I blurted out.
“And the person put it under your chair. Is that so?” Mr. Director asked.
I looked behind me. She bent her head as though she was focusing on her own work. Tears filled my heart and anger filled my eyes. How dare she? How dare she pretend to collect my notebook to read, only to bring it into the exam hall. How dare she sit behind me and even have the temerity to ask me questions.
“I said, out!” He thundered again.
I pointed my finger, my middle finger to be exact, towards her.
“She’s the one I gave my note to.” I couldn’t take the downfall for my foolishness and someone else’s craftiness.
I stepped aside from my chair. I had already sheded 40 questions out of 50. Nothing was going to stop me.
“She’s the one sir.” I repeated again.
By Mirabelle Morah