That was a foolish thing to do. It might as well earn him a suspension or something worse. So he thought of an alternative, a lie. He lied. It saved him.
***
Nne liked music. She always wore her earphones, listening to music from her handset and nodding to its rhythm. Her father, the principal, owned an old Steinway Grand piano which he had inherited from his father. He had done everything possible to make Nne learn the piano, but she could only play a little. Rather, she diverted her fondness to secular music and took interest in Guitar, trumpet and drums, which she never played. She only admired the players and wished she could play like them. Her father had engaged the services of Richard, a concert pianist who played classical and jazz music at the lounge in Cherry Hotels, to tutor Nne. But he terminated Richard’s appointment the very day he entered unnoticed and caught them pants down, lost in romantic ecstasy. Afterwards, Nne’s interest died and the piano gradually gathered dust. She had once told her father, “Dad, you have to forget Handel, Mozart and Beethoven. Those fellows weren’t funky at all. There music could make you sleep for a whole day!”
On Saturday evenings, during the band rehearsals held in the instrumental room, Nne would sit at the verandah and listen to the students rehearse. Sometimes, she would walk into their rehearsal, sit quietly at a corner and watch them play the instruments. The senior prefect was a fantastic guitarist. He could play almost all the songs perfectly with a distinct touch accredited to him alone. And so when he played, it was obvious to see how Nne stared at him, lost. This made Raymond green with envy. He was a member of the band, but he had barely mastered any instrument. He hardly attended rehearsals. He was only compelled to attend the rehearsal any day he saw Nne strolling down to the instrumental room during rehearsals.
That evening, the rehearsal had started and Raymond saw Nne strolling down quietly to the instrumental room. She knew the senior prefect was there. She had heard him playing the guitar in accompaniment to one of her favorite Gospel Rock songs. Raymond rushed out to meet her before she entered the instrumental room.
“Nne!” He called out, while running slowly to catch up with her.
She stopped and turned.
“Good evening, Nne.”
“Yes, Raymond. Good evening. How are you?”
“Honestly, I’m not fine. I’ve a problem which only you can solve.”
“Hmmmn, and what’s the problem?”
“Can I see you privately? Fellow students are watching and I can’t feel free to talk about it here. Just give me an appointment and I’ll be there. Please?”
“No.” She said, without giving it a thought. “If you can’t talk about it right now, then, don’t bother.”
“Urhmmm, Okay. Nne, please, I really feel something for you. Can we be friends?” he muttered.
Nne folded her arms and stared at Raymond as one would stare at a supposed sane man who appeared at their kinsmen meeting wearing his t-shirt inside out, a slipper on one foot, and vehemently questioning the authenticity of his paternity. Raymond opened his mouth and closed it. He wished he knew what else to say, at least to make her understand what he felt for her. But the right words evaded him. Nne pouted her lips, turned and walked slowly to the instrumental room; her pattern of walking became more seductive than ever. Raymond stood there, lost. He felt defeated. His feet became too heavy to carry him. He knew some of his classmates were watching from a distance, but he didn’t care. He turned and gradually went back to his cubicle, sulking.
It amazed Nne that Raymond could muster courage to walk up to her and ask to see her privately. His request was quite suggestive. She knew. But inasmuch as she had romps with some of the students whenever she felt the need, she wouldn’t imagine giving herself to Raymond who does not only suit her spec, but was rumored to be gay. The thought of it made her cringe. Gabby, the senior prefect, had told her twice in confidence that Raymond was an incurable homosexual. He liked to use the word ‘incurable’, as if Raymond was sick with a certain strange illness whose cure was yet to be ascertained. He had listed names of other gay boys he had caught personally, but decided to keep secret so they wouldn’t be expelled. She had told him not to be too sure that those boys were entirely homosexuals. “Gabby, you can’t be too sure. Some of those boys may also be attracted to girls. After all, you are all guys here, so they have no option than to fuck themselves,” she had once said to him after a steamy session inside the instrumental room on a cold Friday night.
That same night, Gabby had argued that bisexuals were not common, and that those boys would never have anything to do with the opposite sex.