The morning was dry and cloudy. Brandol High classes started at eight, and it was already 7:55.
Olivia stood by the entrance to the hallway, her eyes scanning the street. She had come early —deliberately —to catch Michael before the bell. She leaned against the wall, searching for a familiar figure: a dark-skinned seventeen-year-old with a taper fade and an air of quiet intensity.
Then she saw him, walking toward the gate.
Heart racing, she reached into her bag's side zipper, pulled out a pocket mirror, and quickly adjusted her hair. A dab of lip balm, a deep breath, and she stepped out to meet him.
"Good morning Mr Richards. How was your night?"
"It was fine, Liv. I was actually meaning to talk to you about last night. It was…"
"Sorry," she cut in quickly, "I just got carried away. I was watching a movie when you called. A K-Drama. In the movie, the guy was like…"
She chuckled, shaking her head.
"Don't bother," he said, smiling. "It was nothing—just a silly mistake."
"So… we're okay now?" she asked, eyes searching his eyes.
He smirked. "Yeah, we're good."
"Not exactly," she replied, crossing her arms.
"You kinda ruined my day yesterday. I skipped lunch, you know. Didn't eat until you finally called to apologize. So, as punishment for your heinous crime…" —she raised an eyebrow dramatically— "you have to have lunch with the All-Knowing Goddess."
"You mean… you?" he asked, pretending to be surprised. "I'm having lunch with you?"
"Is that a problem? You scared? Not man enough?" she teased, nudging him lightly.
He laughed. "Alright, alright. You got yourself a deal."
They walked in silence for a few seconds, the air between them charged with the kind of quiet that begged to be filled.
Then Michael broke it. "I've made up my mind. I want to play in the tournament. Gave it some real thought… and I've decided to register for the boys' team."
Olivia lit up. "Finally. What took you so long?"
"I needed time to reflect on a few things," Michael said. "I've even started training."
"That's good to hear," Olivia smiled.
Lunch at Brandol High kicked off at exactly 12:30. Like clockwork, students would flood the canteen the moment the bell rang, eager to grab a plate before the best dishes ran out.
Ms. Tomiwa, the school's legendary cook, had earned herself quite the fanbase. Her fried rice and chicken—served every Monday and Thursday—was practically sacred. Tuesdays were known as "Spag Day," and Wednesdays belonged to her unbeatable Jollof rice.
Fridays? A wildcard. The menu was a mix of local and continental dishes—sometimes plantain and beans, other times Quesadillas with beans and veggies or even sushi. For a high school, Brandol's menu was surprisingly elite.
Michael had just picked up his tray of spaghetti and lean beef when he turned and spotted the All-Knowing Goddess waving at him like royalty summoning a subject. All eyes turned in his direction.
With reluctant steps and a face blank as a slate, he made his way to her table and sat without a word. No greetings. No expressions. Without missing a beat, he dug into the food like a soldier back from war. Forkful after forkful vanished, and in under two minutes, the plate was wiped clean. He washed it down with a full bottle of water.
Olivia stared, her spoon untouched. Watching him eat was like watching a scene from Fast & Furious —The Hunger Edition.
Michael wiped his mouth with the serviette and looked at her closely.
"Is it just me, or do you look different today?"
His gaze lingered on her eyes, tracing the subtle shimmer of eyeshadow and the hint of gloss on her lips.
She blushed and looked away.
"It's just you."
He smirked. "And did you really just mock me for eating spaghetti on a Thursday? Who even makes those rules?"
"I do," she said, lifting her chin playfully.
Just then, a slim, dark-skinned girl slid into the seat beside them, grinning like she had front-row seats to a drama.
"I can't believe the new guy is crushing on the class nerd. If I hadn't seen it myself, I'd swear it was a joke."
She burst into laughter, and the others nearby joined in.
"Look, Michael," Nadia said, flipping her braids and leaning in, "you still have a chance to be with the hottest girl in school. You can choose the prettiest, most elegant girl in Brandol, or waste your days sitting with the boring, lame All-Knowing Goddess."
She slid her manicured hand over his.
Michael stared at her, expression hard. Slowly, he lifted her hand off his.
"Nadia, can you stop this crap?" he said coolly. "We just want to have lunch in peace. I'm good, thanks. Besides, Olivia is everything you can never be—she's smart, kind, and doesn't need makeup to look beautiful."
A beat of silence.
Then someone from the next table snickered. "He got you cold, Nadia."
"He roasted you and left no crumbs," another said.
"This is not over Richards. You'll regret the day you messed with Nadia Danjuma. Enjoy the rest of your day."
Olivia kept her head down the whole time, quietly pushing spoons of rice into her mouth.
Michael stood up and looked at her.
"You couldn't say anything?"
By now, the canteen had almost cleared out. He glanced around, then back at her.
"You've got to start standing up for yourself, Liv. If you don't own the room, people will keep walking all over you. I'm heading out."
A flutter stirred in her stomach. She looked up, her heart pounding.
"Wait…"
She reached for his arm, pulling him into a hug.
"Thank you… for standing up for me. I really appreciate it."
She pulled away gently and walked toward the exit.
Michael stood there, frozen, watching her go.
"Are you coming to class, or are you just gonna stand there?"
Since they partnered on that Biology project two weeks ago, Michael and Olivia had become nearly inseparable. Whether it was during breaks or after school hours, they were always seen together—especially on Thursdays, when they'd linger in the Biology lab to assist Ms. Efiong or dive into mini research projects just for the fun of it.
Michael enjoyed studying almost as much as he loved football. He balanced both with surprising ease. That was something that made him different from Liv.
Olivia, on the other hand, was a perfectionist. She buried herself in textbooks so much that fun often slipped through her fingers unnoticed. Michael had picked up on that, and he was quietly determined to change it.
So, after wrapping up their work at the lab that day, he took a little detour.
"I left some of my stuff at the gym. Let me grab it real quick. Give me five."
"Alright. Just five minutes—I haven't got all the time in the world."
But ten minutes had passed, and there was still no sign of Michael.
Olivia sat on a bench a few meters from the gym's entrance, flipping through a copy of Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. When the four o'clock bell rang, she glanced at her watch and sighed.
What could be taking him so long?
She slipped the book back into her bag and stood up, concern now edging into her thoughts. She walked toward the gym.
"Michael!" she called out.
Silence.
The air was still. The soft chitter of sparrow-weavers echoed from the trees outside, but inside the gym, not even a breath.
"Michael!!… Are you there!?"
She spun around at the sound of sudden movement behind her.
"Heads up!"
A basketball came flying her way.
She ducked just in time.
"Are you nuts?! That could've hit my face! I could've been bleeding by now!"
Michael stood by the corner, laughing.
"You're such a drama queen."
He walked over and scooped up the ball.
"It's just a harmless basketball. Would it kill you to have some crazy fun once in a while?"
"So throwing a basketball at me and watching me scream is your idea of crazy fun? Seriously? I thought something bad had happened. But no —just you and your orange balls. I'm out. Knock yourself out, Michael."
She turned to leave, but he gently pulled her back.
"Chill, girl. Why you stressin'? I was just testing your reflexes. Not bad, by the way—except you were dodging the ball, not catching it. You're supposed to catch it, you know."
"Like I said, not interested. Now let go —I need to go home."
He held her gaze. "If you don't play, I won't play in the tournament. And I really want to play. So... just give it a try. For me. Please?"
She looked at him, and his puppy-dog eyes did their thing.
"Ugh, fine. But you've got ten minutes to turn me into a pro."
"Deal. I promise, you won't regret it."