"Ifada, it is lovely to see you again. I see you have gained some weight over the holidays, and now you look more beautiful," the counsellor said in her familiar monotone voice that made her seem stern. Knowing who she was, that was how she normally talked.

Fifteen-year-old Nóma sat in the guidance and counselling office, fondly known as the G&C office, doing her placements for either Sciences, Arts, or the Commercial corridor.

"Can I see your BECE results?" the older lady behind the desk asked. Nóma happily collected the results from her mum and showed the counsellor. Her results consisted of all A's, including French. She was proud of herself because she knew she worked hard for those grades.

"Excellent as always, Ifada. I expected nothing less than that. Madam, you must be very happy to have such a beautiful and intelligent daughter," she said with a proud grin on her face.

"Of course, I am. She is very special to me," her mum said while giving her daughter a small side hug.

"You know, she is the brightest student in her class, and she is going to be awarded during the next prize-giving ceremony as the 'best BECE result' and 'the most valuable student junior school category.' Sorry I spoiled it for you. The board of directors had a meeting just last month, and they were just gushing about how much of an exceptional student she is," the older woman gushed in her monotonic voice.

Nóma Ifada took joy in being on top. She always aimed for the stars and reached them every single time. She was second to no one currently, and she loved the thrill of it. But, of course, it is after rain we get a rainbow. She wasn't always on top. She had dark times too. When she was in nursery and primary school, she had a rival, Folarin Bakare, who would always top her no matter how much she tried. He would beat her in everything: board games, spelling bees, scores in tests and exams, and even musical chairs, and that made her blood boil. It made her feel inferior even. Up until primary four when he went to the United States.

Well, gone were the dark ages, and this was her time to shine. She has had a perfect record ever since he left mid-session, and she left every other person in her smoke. She bagged almost all awards except for "most improved," and boy was that exhilarating for her. Even some parents thought they were favouring her, and some even went further to assume that the headmaster and her mum were having an affair, but that wasn't the case. She was on a roll! Or so she thought. When she entered secondary school, she continued bagging awards; it became a hobby to her. Most of her classmates worshipped the ground she walked on—figuratively. In reality, they respected her intelligence but did not like her at all.

"So what corridor do you want to go to, sweetheart?" the older woman asked.

"Arts, ma'am," she happily replied, and the old woman's face twisted into pure shock.

"What? Please tell me you are joking," the woman begged, hoping for a reply that would contradict the former statement.

"No ma, I am not," Nóma replied with a finality tone and a hint of annoyance. 'What is she trying to say?' she thought.

"Ma, are you really okay with her doing this? It is a waste of her intelligence, really," the counsellor directed the question to her mum. 'Oh, here we go,' Nóma thought.

"Why won't I be? It is her life and her choice, and I respect that. Besides, what is so wrong with her becoming an art student?" her mum said in her usual confident manner.

"But ma, she could be a doctor, an engineer, a nurse, an accountant even. My daughter, please think over this," Little did she know that she was speaking to a brick wall because Nóma would never change her mind, and her mum would never force her to be what she doesn't want to be.

The older woman gave a series of reasons as to why she should not waste her intellect in a science class, like how her results would fetch her a lot of admissions in prestigious higher institutions that are science-oriented, and went as far as bringing up how she would be representing women in STEM. But Nóma could care less about that. She just wanted to fulfill her dreams of being an artist.

"This is the corridor of my choice, ma. I want to be an art student," she said with her full chest.

"Okay, but I am sure you are aiming to study law, right?" she asked with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, and she grabbed a bottle of water.

"No, I am aiming to study literature or become a professional writer," she said with a smug look on her face, and the older woman behind the desk chocked on her water.

"I might even write for newspapers and magazines," she added, and the woman continued to cough. This triggered a sadistic streak in Nóma, and she couldn't help but feel an urge to laugh.

"Madam, are you okay?" her mum asked with concern.

"Yes-s, I am," she managed to choke out.

"Well, it's alright dear, very well, but there is still a chance for you to change corridors if you have a change in mind. Anyways, here is your class 'ss1 B' and here is your combination of subjects," the counselor said in a hopeful tone, but Nóma knows that she is not going to change her mind, ever.

"I doubt that would happen. Thank you for your time," Nóma's mum replied.

The both of them exited the school building and headed to the car park. Then they entered their car.

"Mummy, could you even believe that woman? What was she trying to say?" An annoyed Nóma asked.

"I know it's infuriating sweetheart, but you need to calm down-"

"Why is it that people always assume that smart people are always the doctors, engineers, and accountants, and they always look down on us Art students? It's so wrong!" She exclaimed.

"First of all young lady, don't interrupt me when I speak, and secondly people are really stupid, you know, and it takes a lot from them to accept other people's point of view, apparently. But I want these to be the least of your problems; all you have to do is focus on your studies, okay?" her mum concluded.

"I'm sorry mum, of course, I'll do my best." She replied with a smile.

"But when she started coughing, I wanted to burst into laughter; she should calm down and think about her age," she said then burst into laughter.

"Nóma, I have told you a number of times not to speak about your elders that way. It is so rude," she couldn't help but join in the laughter. And for the rest of the car ride, Nóma was mocking the woman's reaction to her choice of career while her mum tells her to stop for the umpteenth time, but she would not listen.

When they got home, Nóma reminisced the fact that her holiday was ending in two weeks but was happy that she had a chance to overshadow her classmates again so it was a win for her. Nóma never had friends; she always sent them away. She disliked forming bonds with people; she always thought of it as a waste of time when she could literally plan how to finish her syllabus before her teachers. Moreover, she thought of them as fools; the boys would indulge in disgusting activities, talk disgustingly about girls, and have very frequent arguments about Messi and Ronaldo, and the girls would talk about boys, makeup, and reality shows, and they both would indulge themselves in school crushes and couples. In short, they irritated her, and she sometimes wished she didn't have the gift of hearing or sight for that matter, but she was grateful for the numbskulls of classmates she had because she topped them all every time.

Cleaveland is a school that only the privileged could afford. It was basically a school for rich kids, who mostly consisted of numbskulls.

She ate dinner and got prepared for bed; then she laid on her bed and opened her phone and went straight to an app—Logophilia, which meant "love of words." She discovered the app during the holidays, and she was overjoyed that she had found a way to express her writing, and the better part about it was that it was strangers that would give her feedback. It was her getaway from the real world. She spent most of her time on the app; her mum even started suspecting that she had a boyfriend, but that was not the case. She would get lost in a world of fiction, most of the time not age-appropriate but she still loved indulging herself in them.

After a long time of reading the e-books and updating a chapter of her book, she slept off oblivious to the dangers of tomorrow.

Two weeks passed, and it was officially the day to resume school. She was thrilled to go back. She got into her neatly pressed uniform, which consisted of a shirt, a tie, a blazer, and a skirt. Her mum dropped her off at school, and she attended the assembly and settled in her classroom in the front seat at the extreme right in the classroom near the window because that was where she always sat every session.

The new SS1 students tried to understand their new environment; some are sad that they were separated from their friends while others were arguing over a seat, and the remaining (mostly boys) were arguing about Messi and Ronaldo. 'Oh great, they haven't developed brains yet,' Nóma thought. Everyone was in their natural habitat, but she really wished there wasn't so much noise.

"Everyone shut up!" A short dark-skinned girl yelled.

"Dara, what is it?!" One of the class members yelled annoyed.

"Who went to Cleveland Kids?!" She replied, a nickname students refer to the nursery and primary school of their secondary institution.

There were a few "I's" from the class, and Nóma also attended that school, but she was never going to answer the question, obviously.

"Folarin is back!" Dara shouted excitedly, and classmates returned the energy and dashed out of the class. Nóma was in denial about the situation, and she prayed so hard for it to be a lie.

A familiar face walked into the classroom, and she stared in disbelief. 'Oh my God, he is back.'