Dad, in his usual frenzied state, barged into the kitchen, dropped his briefcase on the table and started tucking his white shirt in black trousers. An unknotted tie hung on his roofed collar and his shoes were unlaced.

"Hope it didn't burn." He said after he buckled his belt.

You had already packaged his fried plantain in a flask. You transferred the pack, which contained the food, a bottle water and apple, from the counter to the table. "Chrispy as you like it." You smiled.

"Water?"

You nodded.

"app..?"

"Dad, it is all in there: extra fork and towel."

He smiled, "How is the head?" He reached to knot his tie.

"It is fine."

"The pain should be down by now. Just go and lay down."

You turned and left immediately.

You could already feel the burden lift off your head, but not fully. You also made up your mind not to taste alcohol for a really long time.

Upstairs, you stared at Michael Jackson poster and waited until you heard the front door open and close. Until the car beeped and the engine roared to life and the bumper scratched the little slop linking the asphalt. Only then did you breathe. From the south window, you would see his car drive down the asphalt, but you moved to your little reading desk beside the bed and tore out a sheet of paper. You penned the things you would like to try. You had already drunk alcohol and swallowed medicine without water so you wrote:

Talk to John, tell him I love him.

Smoke

Go to a club

Makeup/ dress different

Climb a mountain

Attend a night vigil

Show people my poems

And many more

You studied the list for a while then changed different to fancy. Dress fancy. Your stomach twirled in a way to tell you were hungry; it gripped the sides. you changed into an Ankara gown and stormed downstairs to eat.

As you ate, you outlined, in order, the ones that could be accomplished that day. You picked a handful of fried plantains and filled your mouth and washed it down with milk. After eating, you washed the bowl, spoons, and frying pan, and hung them in their respective studs. You Looked around, satisfied everywhere was clean enough then ran upstairs to shower.

You played Michael Jackson's 'Bad' on speakers and moonwalked into the bathroom, making little dances as you removed your clothes.

Now, away from those peasants in school, you were not Shyron, Headmistress, or Olodo. You were free; you were you. You just stood still and the water cascaded down your head while you reminisced about the past, about Mum.

You hopped out. Your wet hair matted to your forehead. "You know I'm bad, I'm bad, you know it..." you sang along, creaming your body. But Nepa seized their light and the music died down. The silence became so thick you could touch it.

"Ohhhh...Fuc..." The light tripped on and the fan added effort to its whirling only for it to trip off again. You froze in one position not to jinx yourself. After few seconds, you were sure it wasn't coming back. But as your shoulders slopped defeatedly, the light came on again and the music came alive again.

When you went to Mum's room, you blocked out every detail and grabbed what you needed and ran out. You aligned the makeup you had retrieved from her room on the table. From eye pencil, to lip gloss, to foundation, to concealer, to eye shadow and different sizes of brushes. You sat before the pink vanity, acknowledging the pimples on your face. The biggest pimple swole directly above your right brow. You picked the eye pencil, sharpened it with razor and tried to trace your brow to an arc, but your first stroke made it clear that it wasn't easy. You needed help. You picked your phone and dialed Manda's number. She knew all about it. She was a pro.

Her real name was Chimamanda and she identified as a feminist. Whenever you told her it was the girls who bullied you and not the boys she would say, "Boy's brutality are worst on us." Manda was not among us; the bullied, the ones who always had to do extra to be acknowledged. She was an elite. I mean, you all were elites to be in such an expensive school, but she was among the cool ones. She was the type that hung out with boys like David and said she didn't like him. "He sweats too much." The type who dated boys like Chinonso, tall and muscular, and dumped him in the middle of the assembly ground.

You dialed Manda's number. "MY HEAD." It was a male's voice on the other end. You looked at the screen and saw you mistakenly dialed George. Snap out of it! You made sure it was Manda's number before you pressed the phone to your ear, twirling the eye pencil in the other hand.

Manda spoke immediately the phone connected, "I'm at your door?"

"Ehhh?"

"It is open, I am entering."

You heard the door bang, not loudly, but loud enough to be heard from your room. You heard her steps ascend the stairs and in no time she entered your room, her Fierce countenance followed her like invincible smoke. Her check-blue school-skirt was short and it clasped her body. Few buttons of her top were open to exhibit a moderate amount of cleavage. She threw her bag on the bed and laid down. She gazed at Michael Jackson for a while then she turned to catch your gaze from the mirror, where you sat backing her.

"I knew you wouldn't go to school." She said.

The alcohol had subsided and your normal shy, submissive character emerged "Did you have a headache this morning?"

"Yea, I still feel soar. But it has been rebuked. My mother prayed for it." Her eyes then caught the makeup lined on the vanity. She sat up, took a better look and rose to her feet.

"Is that makeup?" She took quick strides to you.

"Can you please help me make up?" You stared as your reflection.

Her smile gradually grew, as if giving time for you to tell her you were joking.

"Will you?" You pressed.

"Of course!" She reached for your hair, pushing it backward. "We will start with this. Do you have a banana?" you nodded,

"But it has been under the heat"

"That's fine. Even better. What of Avacado?" You nodded

"Eggs?" You nodded.

"And they are all in the kitchen?"

"Yes." She left the room and she came back with a bowl in her hand where she mixed all the things she called. She explained the benefits of the paste as she applied it to your hair, but yor mind was somewhere else. You didn't want to, but you showed her the list. How about that for something new? You should not keep everything to yourself

She blushed, as though remembering something.

"Why are you smiling."

"George is so cute. You two are cute but you don't even know it."

"Ewww!"

"Ode," She tugged at your hair, "I don't mean it like that."

"Do you like him?"

"Forget about that. How do you intend to talk to John?"

You didn't want to forget about it but her questions bore weight. "I don't know... I will Just meet him when I see him."

"Ok...okay. That is a plan."

Like applying relaxer, she took her time with the root. Sh finally emptied the paste on to your hair and covered it with a shower cap. "We will let it soak for a few hours." she removed the glove and and picked the to-do list and studied it again "Let's mark the ones that can be done today."

"I have done that already." She was meant to have seen that some had asterisks.

"I am ruling out climb a mountain," she said, "And there is nothing like night vigil. It is just Vigil." she ruled out that one too. "There are so many juicy things this list is missing."

"Like?"

"Kiss, Sex, blow-"

"Okay...okay..."

"What?" A smirk on her face. "I am serious. You should not only plan on meeting him, you should kiss him too.."

She did not know but your heart skipped. "I can't do that. It is not tha easy.

"Have you kissed George?

Smile tugged the edge of her lips. "The day has already started, what do you want to start with?"

You could easily ask George, so you let it lie.

"I can start with smoking."

So you went into Dad's study and your heart slammed as you fumbled through his drawer for a cigarette. And although absent, you felt your his eyes, thorough his large portraits on the wall. The space smelt of him: a combination of Neivea and nicotine.

"Found one?" Manda said from the toilet. She emerged, holing up the stick of cigarette. Your heart raced faster as you saw the white stick with a brown bottom. Maybe... A negative thought was about to emerge but you rebuked it and put yourself on course.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Manda asked.

"Yes. Hand it over."

"Wait," she dodged your hand as you reached for it. "Do you know how to smoke it."

"Is there a way to smoke it?"

"Duhh, let us just go online and see how it is really done. And I am joining you."

After watching a video of how to smoke a cigarette on YouTube, you moved to the kitchen and stood by the window. The cigarette and lighter were with Manda and she lit it. Perspiration started to shine on your body. Manda took her first drag, sucked it in as the YouTuber instructed. She puffed, took another and puffed. So far so good, until she passed it to you. You took the first drag, a little one, and acknowledged the hotness of the smoke pass down your throat... down to where it wasn't supposed to enter. You coughed and coughed and coughed. Manda would later tell you that it was the cigarette that stiffened her on that spot; her both hands clasped on the sink to steady herself. The whole while you coughed, she just stared with distant eyes.