I tried to speak, but the words refused to come.
How was I supposed to explain something I couldn’t explain myself? I had no idea how the missing money ended up inside my backpack.
The classroom had suddenly become tense. Every student stared at me as though the answer to the mystery was written all over my face.
“Are you dumb? Do I look like I’m playing here?” the principal yelled.
I flinched.
“Did your parents give you this money?” he asked.
“No, sir,” I stuttered.
“So you’re confirming that you’re the one who st0le Abel’s money?” he asked further.
“No, sir! I don’t know how the money got into my bag,” I replied, desperately trying to make him understand.
“Can you listen to yourself? You don’t know indeed!” he scoffed, releasing a frustrated sigh.
A deep frown settled on his face as he collected the money from the class captain and looked at me one more time.
“Follow me immediately to my office.”
He turned and walked out of the classroom.
The moment the principal disappeared through the door, the classroom erupted.
Whispers quickly became conversations, and conversations became accusations.
I could hear different voices from every corner of the room, each one adding another layer to the humiliation I was already feeling.
“Mr. Handsome is a th!ef,” someone mocked.
Laughter followed.
“I can’t believe we have someone like this in our class. No wonder they always tell us to be careful with quiet people. What a handsome th!ef!”
More laughter.
Their words pierced through me.
I grabbed my backpack and prepared to leave for the principal’s office.
Then suddenly I heard my name.
“Ebuka, wait.”
I stopped.
It was Junior.
I turned slowly, but I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes. My gaze remained fixed on the floor.
“Who did this to you?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. “Because I know you. This couldn’t have been you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I mumbled.
Before he could say anything else, I walked out of the classroom.
The noise behind me only grew louder.
I arrived at the principal’s office minutes later, and the first instruction I received was simple.
“Kneel down.”
I obeyed.
I knelt beside the principal’s desk while he sat down and began scribbling something on a sheet of paper.
I had barely spent a few minutes in that position when a teacher entered the office to submit an assessment file.
She was about to leave when she noticed me.
“Sir, what happened? Why is he kneeling here?” she asked.
The principal looked up.
“I was in my office this morning when a student reported that the money his parents gave him to buy school textbooks had gone missing.”
He paused dramatically.
“Can you believe we searched the classroom and found the money inside this boy’s school bag?” the Principal revealed.
The teacher’s eyes widened.
“Oh goodness! Seriously?” she exclaimed.
“The sum is ten thousand naira,” the principal continued. “What does he even want to do with such money?”
The teacher shook her head.
“Hmm. Sir, thank God the money was recovered. Parents are working hard to give their children a proper education. This kind of report is certainly not what we want associated with our institution.”
“Exactly,” the principal agreed. “We can’t keep such a student in this school. He has to go. We don’t want rumours like this reaching the ears of our parents.”
A cold shiver ran through me.
“Sir, believe me, I’m innocent. I really don’t know who put that money inside my school bag.” I echoed with all sincerity.
“Shut up!”
His voice silenced the entire room.
“I don’t even think you’ve spent a full term in this school, yet we’re already hearing reports like this about you.”
He pointed toward me.
“You’re to invite your parents to school tomorrow.” he added.
The teacher nodded in agreement before eventually leaving the office.
I remained there under punishment until the close of school.
When it was finally time to go home, the principal handed me a letter.
A summons.
I stared at it quietly.
For some reason, the whole situation felt strangely familiar.
It was almost as though history was repeating itself in my life, only this time under slightly different circumstances.
But I couldn’t dwell on that.
Instead of following Junior home after school, I went straight to his father’s shop.
Mr. Julius looked surprised when he saw me.
He certainly wasn’t expecting me.
But the moment he noticed the sadness written all over my face, his expression changed.
“Ebuka, what happened?” he asked.
I handed him the letter without saying a word.
He was busy when I arrived, but he immediately created time for me.
After reading the letter, he looked at me.
“Tell me exactly what happened.” he demanded.
And I did.
I narrated everything from the missing money to the search, the discovery inside my bag, the punishment, and the principal’s decision.
When I finished, Mr. Julius suddenly laughed.
I stared at him, confused.
“Ebuka, you have a rival in that class,” he said.
I frowned.
“That’s what the school management should be investigating. Do you know who this person is?”
“No, sir.”
I shook my head.
There was one thing I had come to detest deeply: assumptions.
Yes, I knew I wasn’t exactly on good terms with the class captain, but that didn’t mean I could accuse him of something simply because I suspected him.
There was nothing connecting him to what happened.
And I had no evidence.
If I pointed accusing fingers at him, what story would I tell to support my accusation?
Nothing substantial.
I had watched people make careless assumptions before, only for those assumptions to destr0y innocent l!ves.
I had experienced it myself.
That was why I preferred facts.
I would rather remain silent than accuse someone simply because the pieces seemed to fit.
Besides, when a matter concerns us personally, emotions can easily blind us.
And perhaps that was my biggest problem at that moment.
I was too close to the situation to see clearly.
—
The following morning, Mr. Julius accompanied Junior and me to school.
Junior joined the other students in the classroom, while I followed Mr. Julius straight to the principal’s office.
The moment we entered, the principal asked me to explain everything again.
I repeated the same story.
I stood firmly by what I knew to be the truth.
But my truth wasn’t enough for them.
The principal looked at Mr. Julius.
“We have witnesses,” he announced.
He instructed a teacher to bring some students into the office.
A few minutes later, the teacher returned with two female students.
The principal turned toward them.
“Amanda, Ola, tell us what you saw yesterday.” he instructed, giving the audience to speak.
The first girl spoke.
“Yesterday in the classroom, I saw Ebuka around Abel’s desk. I didn’t know what he was doing there.” she narrated confidently.
“Yes, sir. I saw him too. I thought he wanted to join the others who were studying, but he stood there for some minutes.” The second girl quickly supported her.
Mr. Julius leaned forward.
“You said he stood there for some minutes?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” the first girl answered.
“Did you see him open Abel’s bag?”
The girl hesitated.
“No, sir.” she answered.
Mr. Julius slowly turned toward the principal.
“Mr. Brown,” he said, clearing his throat.
The principal looked at him.
“We often say, ‘In the mouth of two or three witnesses, an evidence is established.’”
“Exactly,” the principal replied.
“But not in this case,” Mr. Julius countered.
The room became quiet.
“These two students need to be questioned properly. This investigation shouldn’t be based on assumptions or half-seen movements.”
He turned toward me.
“I know my son, Ebuka. I can swear with myy l!fe that he didn’t steallll that money. What’s ten thousand naira? Ebuka is bigger than that.”
“Please calm down, sir,” one of the teachers interrupted. “You can only know a child to a certain extent.”
Mr. Julius looked at her.
The principal then picked up the conversation.
“Our school has a constitution. I don’t know whether you were given a copy when Ebuka was enrolled.”
He paused.
“If you were given one and you studied it, then you should know that this kind of offence calls for expulsion.”
My heart sank.
