Pages of Mischief.

We stood in formation on the assembly ground's grand stage, under the scrutiny of numerous curious gazes. It felt like we were one step away from a sinister scene, a mere tree and a rope shy of an ominous fate. The principal, with an exotic accent, took center stage, uttering words that echoed in my ears—"pilferers." Anything sounded preferable to being labeled a thief. Yet, in a strange way, "pilferer" carried a certain fanciful weight, a cloak of sophistication around the unsettling accusation.

Pixabay

Baffled by the exaggerated severity assigned to my minor indiscretion, I had hoped for acknowledgment of my dedication to reading during the holidays, not to be herded like an unsuspecting sheep destined for a grim fate. Adding to the sting of being branded a pilferer, my teacher saw it fit to inscribe the accusation in my report booklet, and as if that wasn't enough, the school imposed a one-month suspension that felt like an unjust exile.

The unfolding tale had its genesis in the restroom. I had summoned my two closest confidants for a meeting during our lunch break. I rose from my seat as the lunch bell chimed and made my way to the restroom. I paced in anticipation, awaiting their arrival. Not long after, the door swung open, revealing Elizabeth.

"I received your message. What's the urgency that can't be discussed after school, and why have you brought us to the restroom?" She inquired, lifting both hands.

My gaze met hers, and I resumed my pacing, maintaining a stoic silence. The restroom door creaked open once more, revealing a group of giggling girls exchanging secretive whispers. Sensing they had intruded on a private conversation, they retreated the way they came. Moments later, Ijeoma entered the scene, scrutinizing my expression for clues before turning to Elizabeth, who, with raised hands, signaled her lack of insight.

"Girls, there's fire on the mountain," I whispered, pulling both of them close to ensure the secrecy of my revelation.

"What's causing this fire?" Ijeoma inquired.

"Today, I overheard two teachers conversing..." I continued.

"And?" Elizabeth interrupted, her sole desire being to return to the classroom and finish her lunch before the lunchtime clock ticked away.

"They mentioned that after our exams, we'll have a two-month break before starting senior secondary school. Can you imagine? Two entire months. I swear, I'm going to die of boredom."

I observed their expressions as my words sank in. Elizabeth appeared puzzled, struggling to grasp the information, while Ijeoma's downturned lips and furrowed forehead revealed the weight of contemplation as she processed the situation.

"I can't endure two months at home without any form of entertainment. What should we do?" she asked.

I clapped my hands and did a little butterfly dance. "I have a solution. Let's borrow some books from the library," I suggested, my lips spreading into a smile.

"But the library policy requires returning a borrowed book before getting another one, and since we'll be at home, how do we manage that?" Elizabeth inquired, pointing out the logistical challenge.

"Duh! Who said anything about doing it the right way?" Ijeoma responded, giving me a high five.

"You're street smart, I.J. That's why you're my best friend. Elizabeth, with her British brain, is all about books, books, books. Anyway, I've concocted a plan to help us borrow as many as 30 books," I shared, and their eyes widened in astonishment. Elizabeth covered her mouth to stifle a potential scream, and I shot her a warning stare to keep our mischievous plan under wraps.

"30 books is quite a lot," she whispered.

"Yes! A lot to keep us entertained for two months. Here's the plan: each of us borrows 10. Luckily, our uniform includes a skirt, a shirt, and a jacket. Starting today until the end of the week, we'll enter the library, act like we're searching for a book, select the novels we like, and tuck them inside our shirts, making sure they're well hidden with just a slight bulge. Then, we'll casually walk out, head straight to the toilet to remove them, and finally make our way to class."

"This plan is perfect!" Ijeoma squealed with delight. "And when the holiday is over, we'll return them just the way we borrowed them."

"Exactly! During the holiday, we'll exchange with each other. Just make sure none of your siblings take the books out of your house to avoid getting caught. If anyone is caught, take the fall alone and don't involve the others. Agreed?"

They both nodded, and we sealed the pact by crossing our middle fingers, spitting on them, and smearing the saliva all over with our thumbs. After the peculiar ritual, we quickly washed our hands and hurried back to the class.

Pixabay

Our plan unfolded seamlessly. Throughout the holidays, we immersed ourselves in reading the books and exchanging them amongst ourselves. Everything went smoothly, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in our mischievous success.

One morning, I was roused by the resonating anger in my father's voice permeating through the walls. Accustomed to recognizing his usual anger, this time he seemed beyond furious. I tied my night robe around my waist and ventured into the sitting room to unravel the cause of the early morning commotion. To my surprise, I found my brother, whom I assumed had already left for school, and my school coordinator present in the room.

As our eyes met, a silent understanding passed between us, and in that moment, I grasped the unfolding situation. It turned out that my brother had disregarded my warning and brought one of the borrowed books to his school. He lent it to a classmate whose elder sister, coincidentally, held the position of library prefect in my school.

"How could you? I didn't raise you to behave like this. Who influenced you to commit such an act?" My father exclaimed, his voice raising the roof of the house.

The coordinator sat on the sofa in silence as my father expressed his disappointment. When my father concluded, the coordinator rose from his chair and approached me. He held my chin, lifting my face so he could look into my eyes.

"Thirty books were stolen from the library. We have retrieved one from your brother. Where are the remaining 29?" The coordinator inquired, his gaze piercing as he sought an explanation.

My bladder threatened to burst as I struggled to maintain composure. I attempted to glance at my father, but he redirected my face toward him. The words struggled to escape my tightened throat, and my heart sank. How could I convince them that I only had nine books without betraying the pact and exposing the involvement of the other girls? I coughed and swallowed, trying to dispel the lump that had formed in my throat.

"I'm not the only one. There were three of us." I admitted

"I knew it. I knew my daughter was influenced. Tell them, Faith. Who are those bad apples that got you into this?" My father demanded.

I reluctantly divulged the names of my friends, and after recovering the books from me, they were confronted. The following day, we were summoned to school, marched to the assembly ground, and paraded as if we were criminals.

On the assembly ground, as the coordinator addressed our book heist, a profound tremor seized Elizabeth, turning her light complexion pink as tears streamed down her cheeks. Ijeoma hunched over, shielding her face with her palms, the subtle movement of her shoulders betraying her silent struggles. As for me, tears welled up slowly, but I refused to let them fall, just like my pride. I was hurt, but I refused to be broken.