CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE: INTERHOUSE SPORTS DAY PREPARATION
The morning sun crept over the compound, spilling golden light across the football field and the corridors of the hostel. The air carried the scent of wet grass, dust, and the faint tang of excitement. Today was the day—the interhouse sports competition. It was the event every student waited for, the day to show strength, speed, and spirit.
I woke early, the excitement mixing uncomfortably with my nerves. Gift was already up, her lower bunk empty, the thin mattress neatly arranged, as if she had planned her morning routine to the second. I rolled out of my upper bunk, careful not to hit the mosquito net, and climbed down. We didn't exchange a word. There was no need. Sharing a corner meant sharing routines, even in silence.
Thirty girls in our hostel moved like a coordinated chaos. Some were stretching, others were brushing their teeth, and a few carried buckets to the bathroom. The air was heavy with body spray, powder, and the scent of wet uniforms. The older girls on duty clapped their hands, calling orders:
"Everyone finish dressing! Ten minutes to the field! Don't make me come upstairs!"
I pulled my sports kit from the locker room—the green and yellow jersey of our house—and changed quickly, tucking my hair into a neat braid that wouldn't fall during races. Gift did the same beside me, silently efficient, her movements precise and confident. I couldn't help but notice her glance toward Samuel's house, where the boys were already gathering.
Samuel.
Even in the early morning, he seemed to command attention. I caught sight of him stretching beside his friends, his long legs flexing easily as he prepared for the sprints. He wore his house tracksuit, the school logo bold on the chest, and a focused expression that made him look both approachable and intimidating. Gift noticed him too. I could see it in the brief glance she threw, the slight tilt of her head, the almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw.
Breakfast was skipped today. There wasn't time. The bell rang, echoing across the compound, signaling all houses to assemble at the field. Girls and boys ran to their respective lines. We were thirty, packed tightly on the field, our corners forming our teams. The cheerleaders were already waving colored banners, drums beating rhythmically in the background.
I took my place beside Gift, both of us in the corner of our house lineup. We weren't speaking, just side by side, waiting. My stomach fluttered, partly from the nerves of competing, partly from the thought of Samuel watching.
Daniel arrived moments later, his usual confident stride breaking the line of girls. He winked at me, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and whispered, "Ready to show them your speed?"
I rolled my eyes. "Just focus on not tripping over your own feet."
He laughed, brushing past the others to stand in line for his events.
The announcer's voice rang out, calling for the first event—a relay race. Girls from each house lined up at the starting line, stretching, bending, preparing. My heart beat faster as I felt the energy from the crowd, from the girls around me, and from the anticipation in the air.
Gift was next to me, silent and calm, adjusting her hairband and checking her shoes. I glanced at her, noticing the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes occasionally flicked to Samuel, who was now standing at the edge of the boys' track, watching with a calm, focused expression.
"Focus on your lane," I muttered quietly, more to myself than to her.
She glanced at me, expression unreadable, and then nodded once. No words exchanged. It was enough.
The whistle blew. The girls sprinted. I ran my heart out, every muscle tensed, every breath measured. Gift was fast—faster than I had anticipated—but I held my own, passing the baton to our next runner with precision. The cheers of the crowd, the drums, the shouts of housemates—it all blended into a chaotic rhythm that fueled my determination.
After the race, as we caught our breath, Samuel appeared beside the boys' track, clapping and cheering for his housemates. His eyes swept the girls' field and for a brief moment, they met mine. My chest tightened. That one glance, fleeting as it was, felt like an anchor pulling me toward him.
Gift noticed too. I saw her eyes narrow slightly, not aggressively, but in calculated observation. She liked Samuel, yes, but she also liked the power of being close to him, even in competitive moments. And now, seeing him glance my way stirred something inside her—pride? Jealousy? I couldn't tell.
The morning passed in a blur of events—long jump, shot put, sprints, and the tug-of-war. Every event felt like a test, not just of skill, but of endurance, attention, and observation. I felt Samuel's presence constantly, as if his energy radiated across the field, making it impossible to ignore him.
Gift and I shared a glance after our house won the girls' relay. It was a brief moment, silent, unspoken, but heavy with meaning. Neither of us celebrated together, and neither of us acknowledged the other's victory. Yet, there was an unspoken understanding: we were both invested, and we both cared.
During the lunch break, we returned to the hostel to change and refresh. The rooms were chaotic, girls rushing to the lockers, pulling out jerseys, bottles, and jerseys. Gift and I moved mechanically, silently, our corners aligned but distant.
"You think he noticed?" Gift asked finally, breaking the silence as she adjusted her hair braid.
I froze, unsure if she meant Samuel noticing me or her noticing me. "Who?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
She smirked faintly, "Don't play dumb. You know who."
I sighed, focusing on my locker, pretending not to care. "Maybe. Who knows?"
The tension in the room was tangible, thirty girls packed into a small space, each with their own agenda, but our quiet rivalry hung like a shadow in the corner.
After lunch, it was back to the field for afternoon events. Samuel competed effortlessly, his focus unwavering, but I could see the way he responded to both our houses' cheers, acknowledging supporters, smiling at his friends, and occasionally glancing at us—Gift and me.
The thought made my heart both ache and swell.
By the end of the day, our house had won several events, and the scoreboard reflected a close race. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the field, we returned to the hostel, sweaty, tired, but buzzing with excitement.
Back in the room, the routine returned—showers, changing, gathering bags for the next day. Gift was quiet, methodical, finishing her tasks with precision. I watched her for a moment, realizing that despite her competitive streak and her feelings for Samuel, she wasn't a rival in the usual sense. She was simply another girl who liked the same boy, navigating the same crowded, chaotic boarding school life.
I lay back on my bunk later, pulling the thin blanket over me, thinking of the day. Samuel had noticed me, even if just briefly, and had given me small smiles of encouragement. Gift had noticed too, her presence calm and observant.
Tomorrow would bring new events. More sprints, more cheering, and more opportunities to see Samuel.
And in the corner of the room, in the middle of thirty girls, amidst the chaos of bunks and mosquito nets, I whispered quietly to myself:
I really like Samuel.
And whether Gift knew it or not, or whether Samuel noticed me more, tomorrow, I would keep running—not just on the track, but in the quiet game of attention, feelings, and rivalry that had begun long before the interhouse sports even started.