"Ugochukwu, sir! Principal say make I bring Ugochukwu!"
Ugochukwu felt something invisible surge and flee from inside him. Not his heart—he would have recognized it. Something else, something from the pit of his stomach, pushed up and out like steam from a boiling kettle. He didn't know which part of his body released it, but it was gone. Another thing made its exit too—evident in the warm wetness blooming on the front of his spotless white shorts.
Everyone at Federal Academy, Uzioma knew what it meant when the Principal summoned you—especially if the message came via Josiah, the Principal's military-stiff messenger. A World War II veteran, Josiah wore his khaki shorts like medals and marched as if he was still clearing enemy trenches. He saw himself as more than a servant—he was a pillar of discipline, an unflinching conduit of justice.
When Josiah pushed open the door and barked out the order, Mr. Ebube, the Geography Master famously called Computer, didn't even blink. He continued scribbling diagrams of sedimentary basins on the blackboard like Josiah was part of the room's furniture.
Ugochukwu stood up, knees weak, eyes searching for clues in his classmates' faces. None looked back. Everyone fixed their gaze on Computer. Only Emeka's eyes flickered with meaning. One quick glance. Then a curt shake of the head: Keep quiet.
"Why does the Principal want me?" Ugo asked nervously as they stepped out onto the lawn.
"You wan make I tell you?" Josiah replied, not unkindly, but with a soldier's finality.
"I... I need to use the toilet." Ugo didn't wait for approval. He dashed toward the toilet block on the western wing of the school building.
It was strange how peaceful the tiled, Western-style toilets felt to him. Back in Obeledu, pit latrines or rusted buckets were the norm. But here, everything gleamed. Clean water rushed obediently with each flush, and Ugo had once lingered long in a cubicle just to feel alone and safe. He locked himself inside and leaned against the wall, finally letting the rest of his urine out.
He knew why he'd been summoned.
It was about the orchard raid.
As the anxiety settled, memories of the escapade played before his eyes like a cautionary tale. He cursed his own foolishness. Why had he let Emeka rope him into such madness?
The Principal had always been clear: any student caught trespassing into the staff orchard would be dismissed without ceremony. But boys laughed off the warnings. After all, didn't the Principal boast during Monday assemblies about his exploits at Eton? Didn't he send boys to Man O'War Bay every year to "build their spirits of courage"? Surely the orchard was just another test of bravery.
But the risk was real. If caught, Ugo would be the one to suffer. Emeka's father could fly him back to America the next day, but what would happen to a boy from Obeledu, whose father traded yams and raffia mats?
The mission had started simply enough.
They had waited until after "lights out." The generator had been turned off, plunging the school into silent darkness. Emeka whispered, "Let's go," and Ugo followed. They slipped out of Unity House, tiptoeing past sleeping forms and into the cricket-humming night.
They cut across the football field and passed the skeletal swimming pool project, which remained abandoned due to budget cuts. Beyond it, the orchard wall stood like the gate to paradise, its top lined with broken glass. But Emeka had planned ahead. He had cleared one spot of glass during the day.
"I removed these," he whispered proudly, showing Ugo a clean gap in the line of bottle shards. "We can jump over here."
They approached the spot through low shrubs. Just as Emeka stepped forward, something darted out from the underbrush with a rustle.
"Snake!" Ugo cried out and leapt back.
"What's your problem?" Emeka hissed.
"You're not afraid of snakes?"
"Man, we used to play with snakes back in Palo Alto," Emeka grinned.
Ugo stared at him like he was insane. Snakes were no playthings. Back home, one had fallen on him in the Health Science lab—slithering from the ceiling onto his back. He had screamed and fled. Since that day, he couldn't even look at rubber snakes.
"I'm not going in there," Ugo declared, arms folded.
Emeka shrugged. "Fine. We'll use the main gate. But that means sneaking past the watchman."
The gate was close to the watchman's hut, where a man with a fondness for snoring held nightly patrol. As they crept closer, they heard the rhythmic drone of his sleep. Quietly, they clambered up and dropped into the orchard.
It was everything boys had whispered about. Juicy oranges hung low, practically begging to be plucked. They stuffed themselves quickly, laughing under their breath.
Then came the bananas. Their real goal.
But it was too dark to tell ripe from green. Emeka waved a hand. "Let's just take one. We'll check later."
Ugo tied his knife to a bamboo stick and aimed at a tall bunch. One swift slash. The heavy fruit dropped with a thud that echoed like a gunshot.
A torch beam cut through the orchard.
"Who goes there?!" a voice barked.
They froze.
The light swept like a lighthouse. Then it vanished.
"Let's move," Emeka whispered. In seconds, he was over the wall.
Ugo, limbs trembling, scrambled after him. He landed awkwardly, pain shooting up his thigh.
"Thieves!" the watchman screamed, and his whistle tore through the night. Another whistle joined from the direction of the Principal's residence.
Ugochukwu's heart leapt to his throat. They were going to be caught. Expelled. His parents ruined.
He ran, following Emeka, who flew like wind. Behind them, the lights returned, but no footsteps followed. It seemed they had escaped.
But the illusion of safety broke as soon as Josiah's voice thundered outside the toilet.
"Ugochukwu! You dey born pikin there?!"
Ugo jumped.
He hadn't even relieved himself yet.
He opened the door slowly, shame clinging to him like his sweat-soaked vest. Josiah grabbed him by the arm and marched him toward the Administrative Block, where the Principal awaited.
Ugochukwu felt his fate closing in—like the broken shards on top of that wall he had dared to climb.