F.A.T- Chapter One

 

Psalm 23.

Groaning, I rolled my heavy self to the left side of the bed. With one eye barely open, I reached for my Bible, careful not to mistake it for my novel — both were the same size and often tricked my sleepy mind. My lips parted, whispering softly as my eyes traced the verses:

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

Closing my Bible gently, I breathed a prayer of thanks before slipping into my favorite sky-blue pajamas; loose shorts and a soft blouse that had survived too many washes. A smile tugged at my lips as I shuffled to the bathroom. The mirror greeted me with its usual honesty, but I brushed my teeth anyway, humming along to Travis Greene’s “Intentional.” My shoulders swayed to the rhythm, a little dance escaping me even with toothpaste foam at the corners of my mouth.

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“Adaobi!!”

Before I could even steady myself, Chinaza hurled into my open arms. She clung to me with such fierce joy that her jasmine-scented hair filled my nostrils, sweet and calming.

“I still don’t understand the excitement this girl gets whenever she sees you,” Mama said with a smile, drying her hands on her wrapper as she walked toward the kitchen. “She literally jumped out of the tub while I was scrubbing her.”

I laughed, holding Chinaza tighter as she buried her little face into my chest. She always treated me like her personal pillow, and honestly, I didn’t mind. “Hope you said your morning prayer?” I asked, lowering my voice as though I expected a secret. Chinaza nodded earnestly and snuggled even closer.

“You love me, don’t ya?” I teased, wiggling my fingers into her sides until laughter bubbled out of her, filling the room like music. “Ada, please get ready for school,” Mama called from the kitchen. I pulled a mock face at Chinaza, exaggerating my pout until she giggled again.

“Okay, Momma,” I replied, setting my little sister down gently.

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“Have a blessed day, hon,” Mama said as I slung my bag across my shoulder. “Amen,” I answered, my voice carrying a quiet optimism.

Desmond College was more than just a school to me, it was a dream finally lived. After several failed attempts, I had fought my way in. The campus was modern, buzzing with the kind of tech I had been longing to get my hands on. Each morning, the thought of walking its corridors gave me a fresh surge of determination.

At my locker, I pulled out my notebooks, humming softly, when I spotted a familiar redhead striding toward me, “loving your wrap gown, Missy,” she drawled in her fake country accent, her tone so exaggerated it made me roll my eyes.

“Thank you, Funke. And quit that voice,” I warned, lowering my tone with mock seriousness. “You wouldn’t want to get into trouble," Funke smirked, looping her arm through mine. “I’ve got a big God by my side, Ada. Trouble can’t catch me. And if it tries, He’ll deliver me,” she replied, still dragging her words with that ridiculous southern twang.

I laughed, shaking my head as we walked into the lecture room.

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“…And to understand the early stages of fungal growth, browse through the library for these books.” Mrs. Iyetule’s chalk squeaked against the board for what felt like twenty endless minutes as she listed out six intimidating titles. I slumped in my seat, my eyes wandering until I caught Funke silently counting down with her fingers.

“Really? Is it that bad?” I whispered. Funke pouted, her lips wobbling dramatically, “Yea, that bad.” I chuckled.

The bell finally rang, and Funke shot up with a loud “Yes!” that echoed through the room. Mrs. Iyetule froze. Slowly, she turned, eyes narrowing in Funke’s direction. A sly smile curled at her lips.

“Miss Funke,” she said sweetly, “since you’re so enthusiastic, you’ll be the first to explain everything you gather from those six textbooks.” The class erupted in muffled laughter as Funke’s face morphed into sheer horror.

“Pure wickedness,” she grumbled later as we walked toward the cafeteria. “What did I do to deserve this?” I gave her the look, our private language of expressions. Today’s was a duck face mixed with a pout, which translated to: Really? You obviously know what you did.

She frowned at me. “Whatever.”

At the cafeteria line, I grabbed an apple, slices of banana and pineapple, and a bottled water. Funke was still muttering under her breath as we found a spot.

We bowed our heads, said a quick prayer, and dug into brunch, laughter already simmering between us again.