Good morning Miss Pepeye. My name is Obi George-Etta. I am a twin. My twin brother attends David Memorial Grammar School. I'd be fourteen years old in a few days. Thank you.
The whole class gave a round of applause as she dished out that beautiful introduction of herself in Queen's English, stressing her diction on words that needed to be mentioned in some kind of way.
You are welcome, George-Etta. Do well to mingle with your classmates and be a good girl, alright?
Miss Pepeye stressed.
Meanwhile, Bola, a notorious troublemaker in the class, had started putting up some attitude towards George-Etta. Her command of the English language had made every member of our class begin to go close to her. It's either for the fun of it or to learn how she uses her words. This infuriated Bola.
As a gentle boy, I just was in my corner, watching how the drama rolled out. Anytime Bola hears George-Etta talk, she will hiss and walk out of the class. She just hated the girl naturally.
One morning, George-Etta sat on her chair and her skirt got stuck from gum that was placed on her chair by only God knows who. It was so bad that George-Etta's skirt had stains all over. It was so conspicuous on her white skirt. From my sitting point, I knew it was no other person than Bola who had done this. She was the only one in the whole class who was capable of such a dastardly act.
As usual, after a while, the noise of who could have done this went down.
The school was invited to a cultural dance competition for the presentation of dance and songs on the children's day programme organised by the National Council for Arts and Culture. Bola, being a member of the group, was so excited because she would be traveling out of town for the first time in a decade.
When the rehearsals started, Mr Afolabi, our native language teacher screened some of the girls who weren't meeting up. Bola was a good dancer and she was among the few that was qualified to represent the school. The search for more dancers led Mr. Afolabi to our class and in a nutshell, George-Etta who we thought was too porch to dance traditional dance did better than all the other girls.
This pained Bola the most. She wanted to ensure that George-Etta was not selected. I followed up on the building drama and observed that George-Etta never knew that she was hated by Bola. She was just a free-minded person.
Two weeks before the event, at the weekly rehearsal, George-Etta told Mr Afolabi that she might not be available for the dance competition as she would be traveling with her mother to Abuja for an event.
Serves her right. She thinks she can outshine me.
Bola whispered to herself.
On the day of the competition, all the girls and drummers entered the school bus and traveled to Abuja, a three-hour journey. They were all excited though, George-Etta was not among them.
When they reached the venue, the competition had already started. I was a member of the drumming group. Our uniforms were well-ironed. As we alighted from our bus, we were ushered into the dressing room where we would change to our dance paraphernalia. Then, I heard a rant from the girls' corner.
I can't find my costume. Who took my costume?
Bola wailed from the girls' dressing room. We. We were all confused. Mr Afolabi was also not sure of what to do next. I could see him accepting our defeat already. While we were still considering our next move, George-Etta showed up from nowhere.
She had travelled to Abuja with her mom and they had concluded what they came for. George-Etta thought it wise that she could still make it to the competition and her mom made sure she got what she wanted.
As we were about to mount the stage, George-Etta joined the dancers and we gave the best show in the competition without Bola. At the end of our presentation, we got a standing ovation from the audience and we won the trophy.
That day, I guess Bola learned never to be grumpy. She was silent throughout the journey back to school. She got served and that got her calm, never to be too bossy.