Chapter 2 Newcomer in White Boots

Chapter Two

The sun had barely risen when the entire school compound was already humming with energy - an unusual liveliness that even the headmistress, Madam Iyabo, could not ignore. By 6:30 a.m., the school bell rang, not by routine, but out of restlessness. Whispers floated through the morning mist like dust motes: "He's here." "The new corper." "He's fine, ehn?" "I heard he studied in Abuja."

Kemi stood near the back of the class, her hands folded neatly in front of her, eyes trained on the chalkboard. But her ears betrayed her stillness, twitching at every murmur from the hallway.

She didn't know why she cared.

Except maybe... she did.

By the third period, the new teacher appeared.

He stood at the classroom door, tall and sunlit, his NYSC khaki jacket slung over one shoulder and white jungle boots so bright they looked borrowed. The insignia on his green cap glinted faintly. His eyes scanned the room, behind thin-rimmed glasses that gave him a scholarly seriousness - one that contradicted the quiet charm playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Good morning, students," he said.

A wave of giggles rippled through the room - mostly from the girls in the front row. Kemi flinched as if stung by it.

"I'm Corper Tunde. I'll be teaching you English Language and Literature for the rest of my service year."

He didn't smile much, but when he did, it was slow and full - the kind that felt earned.

Kemi couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. Instead, she focused on his hands as he scribbled his name on the chalkboard. His writing was neat. Left-handed.

There was something about the way he moved - not stiff like the other corps members who had come and gone, not arrogant either. Just calm. Like someone who listened before speaking. Like someone who didn't mind silence.

At break time, the staffroom buzzed with conversation.

"He's fresh from university!"

"Did you see the wristwatch he's wearing?"

"I heard his uncle is a senator!"

"Maybe he'll marry one of our village girls, eh?"

Madam Iyabo rolled her eyes at the gossip but allowed it to flow. In places like theirs, the arrival of someone new was like fresh rain on dry ground - it fed stories, sparked imagination, brought hope... and trouble.

Meanwhile, outside under the mango tree, the girls from JSS3 circled Kemi.

"Why are you so quiet today?" Adunni teased. "Are you shy because of Corper Tunde?"

"I'm not shy," Kemi murmured, eyes on the dirt.

"She's in love already," said Bisi with a loud laugh, earning a ripple of squeals.

Kemi's cheeks burned. She shoved her hands into her pockets and walked away, head down, toward her usual place - the back wall of the school, just near the path that led to the baobab.

Corper Tunde saw her there.

He had been walking around the compound, notebook in hand, sketching ideas for the literature club he hoped to start. When he turned the corner and saw the girl standing with her back to the wall, he paused.

Something about her posture caught him - the way her body folded inward, as if trying to make itself small. But her eyes, when they briefly met his, held a quiet fire.

"Are you in JSS3?" he asked gently.

She nodded.

"What's your name?"

"Kemi," she said, just above a whisper.

"You like books?"

Again, a nod.

He smiled. "Good. I'll need your help. I want to start a club - for those who love stories."

She blinked, unsure whether to answer. He didn't press.

Instead, he took a card from his pocket - handwritten, with the words Literary Circle - Thursdays after school - and held it out to her.

"I'll save you a seat."

Then he walked away.

Kemi stood still long after he left. She read the card twice, then a third time, before slipping it into her exercise book.

For the first time in months, her heart beat fast - not from fear or sadness, but from something she hadn't known she could feel: possibility.

That evening, as the sky ripened into sunset and smoke curled upward from cooking fires, the village buzzed again with talk of Corper Tunde.

Women discussed him at the stream. Boys mimicked his accent. Elders watched with narrowed eyes.

"He's too soft for a place like this," one muttered.

"He won't last the year," another replied.

Back in her home, Kemi sat on a stool near the hearth, peeling yam with her mother. The blade scraped rhythmically against the skin.

"Did the new teacher come today?" Abike asked.

Kemi nodded.

"People are already talking," her mother added, voice cautious.

Kemi waited for more. It didn't come. Her mother's eyes remained focused on the yam, but there was something tight in her expression - a warning, maybe. Or worry.

That night, beneath the baobab tree, Kemi pulled out the card again. She held it in her hand like something sacred, something not yet real.

In the silence, she whispered aloud to no one:

"Please don't let him be like the others."

And the wind rustled in the branches above her, as if it, too, had a wish to make.