CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE: TENSIONS BEHIND THE SPORTS FIELD
The next morning, the sun rose bright and merciless over the school compound. The interhouse sports competition was still the topic on everyone's lips, and even though the main events were over, the afterglow meant practice sessions for the next big competition were now in full swing.
I woke up earlier than usual, as did most of the girls in the room. Thirty girls, fifteen bunks, the usual shuffle of feet and whispers as everyone prepared for the day. Gift was already up, carefully making her bed on the lower bunk, her movements precise and silent. I sat on my upper bunk, pulling on my house sports kit, tightening my braids so that nothing would interfere during practice.
We didn't speak. We never spoke before morning prep. Yet, the quiet between us felt heavier than usual. The events of yesterday—the sprint, the relay, Samuel's glances, and his small acknowledgment—still played over and over in my mind. Gift had noticed it too, I was sure, and her quiet calm this morning only made me more aware of the tension.
Breakfast in the dining hall was hurried. Students ate quickly, careful not to spill their food on their uniforms. I caught glimpses of Samuel at the boys' table, talking and laughing with his friends. His eyes occasionally flicked toward our table, and my heart leaped every time. Gift sat beside me, focused on her food, her posture unreadable. Neither of us spoke, but the silent competition between us felt tangible.
After breakfast, we marched to the field for practice. The teachers had set up cones, hurdles, and tracks for sprint practice, relays, and jumping drills. Each house was assigned its section, and our house filled the field with energy, shouts, and encouragement.
I positioned myself beside Gift for the sprint drills. Our corner-mate relationship made it easy to coordinate movements, but our competition was silent. Every glance toward Samuel's group—the boys' section—made my stomach twist. He wasn't aware of the effect he had on me, and I wasn't about to admit it.
"Move faster!" our house captain shouted. "Keep your legs pumping! Eyes on the finish line!"
I pushed, ignoring the fatigue. My legs burned, my lungs screamed, but the drive to outperform, to prove myself, carried me forward. Gift matched my pace, her speed flawless, and I realized that we were more evenly matched than I had thought.
During the water break, I caught Samuel looking over, a faint smile on his face. My heart lurched, and I felt an involuntary heat rising to my cheeks. Gift's eyes followed his glance, and I caught the brief flash of something—pride? annoyance? I couldn't tell.
"You're distracted," Gift said quietly as she grabbed her bottle, her tone calm but firm.
"I'm… not," I said, though my voice betrayed me slightly.
"Uh-huh," she replied, smirking faintly. "Just don't trip during the relay. It would be embarrassing."
I rolled my eyes but didn't respond. The challenge in her tone reminded me that, despite being roommates and corner-mates, we were rivals—subtle, silent, yet unmistakable.
The next drill was the relay practice. I was on the first leg, Gift on the second. Our house's baton exchange needed precision. I ran, gripping the baton tightly, my legs pumping. When I reached Gift, I extended the baton. She caught it without hesitation, her movements smooth and flawless.
"Not bad," she said, breathing evenly, her voice neutral.
"Same to you," I muttered, trying not to let my irritation slip.
From the sidelines, Samuel clapped lightly, his eyes tracking our movements. I felt a mixture of pride and tension. He wasn't cheering me over Gift—he was watching both of us equally. And yet, his presence made every move feel more important than it actually was.
After the relay, we practiced the long jump. Gift and I were next to each other in the line, waiting our turn. I could hear the thump of Samuel's sneakers on the sandpit, the cheers of his friends, and the occasional whistle of the teachers.
"Focus," I muttered to myself, taking a deep breath.
Gift shot me a glance. "Always focused," she said, tone flat, but I caught the faint edge of teasing in her voice.
The jump went smoothly. I landed cleanly, dust rising around my sneakers, and Gift followed shortly after. She didn't look at my distance, but I knew she had noticed. I knew we were silently competing, even as we shared the corner, the routine, and now, the field.
Practice continued into the afternoon. By the time we returned to the hostel, the girls were sweaty, exhausted, and exhilarated. Thirty girls, fifteen bunks, all talking loudly about events, races, and the upcoming interhouse competition.
Gift and I headed straight to our corner. We both washed up in the hostel bathroom, the cold water shocking our muscles back to reality. The locker room was chaotic, as always, with girls fumbling through their padlocks, towels, and provisions. We didn't speak, only exchanged silent nods, a brief acknowledgment of each other's presence.
Back in our room, I climbed onto my bunk, tired but satisfied. Gift settled on her lower bed, quietly folding her towel.
"You're getting better," she said after a pause.
I turned my head toward her. "Better at what?"
"Running. Jumping. Even… being noticed by Samuel."
My chest skipped. "Noticed? By who?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.
She smirked faintly. "Don't play dumb. You know who."
I ignored her, pulling the blanket tighter around myself. "I'm tired," I muttered.
Gift didn't respond. She was quiet, her eyes scanning the room, then focusing on the ceiling above. Neither of us needed to speak. The tension, the rivalry, and the unspoken feelings hung between us.
As the lights dimmed and the hostel quieted for lights-out, I lay in the upper bunk, thinking about Samuel, about Gift, and about how complicated things had become. I liked him—no doubt about that—but the knowledge that Gift also liked him, and that she was calmly watching and waiting, made every thought about him heavier.
In the dim glow of the evening, surrounded by thirty girls in fifteen bunks, the distant hum of mosquitoes, and the faint rustle of nets, I realized something: tomorrow's practice, tomorrow's relay, and tomorrow's interhouse events would be more than physical tests. They would be tests of focus, patience, and quiet strategy.
Because in a hostel corner with Gift beside me, Samuel across the field, and Daniel occasionally popping into my thoughts, nothing was simple anymore.
And in that realization, I drifted to sleep, mentally preparing for another day of competition, observation, and silent rivalry.