Everything was unnaturally still inside the Assembly Hall, an architectural beast that had managed to swallow up all two hundred and seventy-five boys without a whisper. Not even the thrum of a cricket dared echo. The College Prefect on duty had already signaled for silence, and silence had obeyed with robotic precision. Outside, the breeze was held hostage by the mood; even the toads crouching in the thick bushes beside the AD block seemed to understand the weight of the moment. The rows of students—arranged by form and year—sat as still as carved logs, waiting.
Ugochukwu's heartbeat could have betrayed him if anyone had been close enough. He wasn't sure whether it was sweat or dew that clung to the back of his neck. The smell of varnished benches mixed with dusty blazers and morning breath made him slightly dizzy, or perhaps it was just the pressure. His eyes rose to the hall's towering walls, plastered with fading photographs and massive oak boards. Former principals, all colonial men in flowing academic robes, stared down like ghosts of empire. The oldest one had been rumoured to have been no taller than a broomstick, though the regal bust in his portrait suggested otherwise. His snowy white hood looked like clouds puffed around his shoulders.
But Ugochukwu couldn't appreciate the usual daydreams he indulged in during assemblies. Not today. Not when he felt like he was teetering on the cliff-edge of doom.
He hadn't even seen the trap coming. Not until Wale leaned over after prep the night before and whispered, "What's this I'm hearing, Ugo? They say you and Emeka tried to choke a night watchman?"
"Choke? Me?" Ugochukwu's words had caught in his throat.
"You and your new friend," Wale pressed, grim. "I warned you about him."
It took a few more seconds for the cloud of confusion to part. Then, with dawning horror, Ugochukwu pieced together the fragments: the orchard adventure, the sudden encounter with a patrolling watchman, and Emeka's chaotic instincts taking control.
"Oh... you mean that?" he began. "We were only messing around…"
Wale wasn't smiling. "In Government College, that kind of fun can get you expelled."
It had all seemed innocent enough. Just a dare. The orchard was legendary—part taboo, part test of courage. No true Government College boy graduated without "making for the uppers" at least once. The upper orchard was forbidden by rule but immortalized in stories. Seniors narrated their stealth missions into the rows of guava and orange trees like war veterans recalling their glory.
Emeka had been the one who stirred the pot. "Come on, Ugo," he had whispered that night. "Let's go breathe in some freedom. You'll never forget it."
They crept out, past sleeping classmates, past creaking beds and flickering lanterns, and into the fragrant silence of the night. The orchard's scent—ripe, damp, heavy with the aroma of overgrown fruit—had filled their lungs. Mission accomplished, or so they thought.
Until the shape of a man emerged in the distance. A flashlight glimmered like a threat in his hand.
"We can't run. Let's go past quietly," Ugochukwu had suggested.
But Emeka had different ideas. "Let's play a trick," he had said, barely whispering. Before Ugo could object, Emeka had pounced on the unsuspecting watchman.
"We've caught the thief!" Emeka shouted, wrestling him to the ground. "Call the others! Bring the machete!"
The word machete did more than frighten the poor man—it nearly killed him with fear. The watchman screamed, swore innocence, claimed eight children, and sprinted like a man reborn. They had laughed, chased him, and eventually left him lying on the football field after he tripped and lay panting, wheezing like an old bellows.
That was supposed to be the end of it.
But word had spread like dry grassfire.
The next day, Mr. Ebube—infamously nicknamed "Computer" for his mechanical memory—had summoned them with the gravitas of a high priest.
"I'm investigating a report the Principal has received," he said, his glasses reflecting Ugochukwu's trembling face. "A night watchman claims two boys attacked him and left him unconscious. Stole from the orchard. Named you both."
Ugochukwu's stomach flipped.
Computer continued, voice low but intense. "These are serious offences. Pilfering. Assault. Your whole career here hangs by a thread."
Emeka stepped forward, as composed as if delivering a debate speech.
"It's a misunderstanding, sir," he said, cool and measured. "We didn't steal. We didn't intend harm. We were chasing what we thought was a thief. We only realized later it was the night watchman."
Ugochukwu watched in awe as his friend spun the narrative like silk. He even managed to position their act as one of civic duty—true Government College boys protecting the institution. The lie was almost poetic.
Then Emeka dropped a bomb.
"This whole trouble began after I refused a senior prefect's indecent proposal," he said, boldly. "He swore I would regret it."
Computer's eyes widened. "You realize what you're saying?"
"Yes, sir. He tried to blackmail me. When I refused him, he vowed revenge."
Ugochukwu wanted to sink into the ground. He pinched Emeka's toe under the table. No response.
Emeka turned to Ugochukwu. "You remember what he did with your roasted corncobs, don't you?"
Ugochukwu's jaw tightened. That was true. The prefect, now nicknamed "Volcano" behind his back, had stolen four giant corncobs Ugo had painstakingly saved from his farm. A cook had leaked the culprit's name. But it had seemed too dangerous to report.
Now it was part of their defence.
Ugochukwu mumbled his agreement, praying silently that this strange path they were on would lead anywhere but expulsion.
The Assembly Hall now felt more like a courtroom.
Teachers filed in, grade by grade, their robes flapping. The Principal arrived last, walking alone as always, moon-shaped head shining, his potbelly bouncing like a rhythmic metronome. He took the podium and exhaled.
"There are painful moments in a Principal's career," he began, wiping his brow. "This is one of them."
His voice echoed like a gavel.
"We strive to build a school of excellence. A school that competes with the best institutions around the world. For this reason, we enforce rules. Discipline is our backbone. Without it, we are nothing."
Then he named them.
"Ugochukwu N. and Emeka C."
The hall stiffened. A thousand eyes burned into them. Ugochukwu felt like a spotlight had seared into his skin.
"You violated our rules," the Principal continued. "You ventured into the orchard at night. You harassed a night watchman doing his job. You acted with reckless disregard."
There was a pause. Then—
"Such behaviour deserves expulsion."
Ugochukwu's bladder twitched.
"But," the Principal added, "in view of your academic potential, and after verifying that you had also been subjected to undue influence and bullying by a senior prefect, the administration has decided on a lesser punishment."
You could hear a collective breath being released.
"You are hereby suspended for two weeks. You will leave the premises tomorrow. An entry will be made in your record. Any repeat offence will lead to expulsion."
Silence.
"Furthermore, the prefect in question—known among you by unfortunate nicknames—has been stripped of his badge for gross misconduct and breach of trust."
The Principal's voice sharpened. "Let this be a lesson. Privilege is not a shield against accountability."
Heads bowed. Whispers rustled like dry leaves.
Later that night, boys began whispering "Volcano" with gleeful mischief. The fallen prefect had lost his power—and with it, the fear he inspired.
As Ugochukwu packed his metal trunk, he felt a weight lift from his chest. He had narrowly escaped. The school would remember this chapter, no doubt, but perhaps he could now begin to write a new one.
He glanced at Emeka, who was humming as he folded his socks.
"You almost got us expelled," Ugochukwu muttered.
Emeka grinned. "Yeah. But wasn't it an adventure?"
Ugochukwu didn't reply. He stared at the ceiling, wondering if the rest of his days in Government College would ever be the same.