Chapter 17 Chapter Seventeen
By the next week, the new semester was finally settling into its rhythm.
Classes were back, the hostel was loud again, and Felicity was learning how to coexist with her new roommates — Charity, Mope, and Bisola.
So far, it wasn’t bad. Charity was surprisingly easy to live with most of the time — neat, funny, and sociable in that confident way that made people listen when she spoke. If Felicity hadn’t known about her and Leon, she might’ve liked her instantly.
Still, there was always that tiny voice in her head whispering, Careful.
That afternoon, the room was warm and filled with chatter. Bisola was painting her nails by the window, Mope was trying to untangle her hair, and Charity sat cross-legged on her bed folding laundry and talking about the latest gossip from Block B.
Then Mope, out of nowhere, said, “Abeg, did you people hear that gist about Winnifred?”
“What about her?” Charity asked, her tone curious but guarded.
Mope grinned. “Apparently, she’s telling people that Leon kissed her last semester. Said he met her near the old art block one night after studio, and she—”
Before she could finish, Charity dropped the shirt she was folding and turned sharply. “She said what?”
Bisola looked up, amused. “Don’t tell me it’s true?”
“True?” Charity scoffed. “That girl is sick in the head.” She straightened up, eyes bright with irritation. “Do you know what actually happened? She cornered Leon that night, told him she needed to ‘show him something important’ in the art studio. He followed her because he thought it was about a project or something. Next thing — she drags him into one of those dark classrooms and tries to kiss him. He pushed her away.”
Mope’s eyes widened. “You’re joking!”
“I wish I was.” Charity laughed, but it wasn’t light; it was sharp. “The girl’s been obsessed with him for ages. She just couldn’t handle rejection. Now she’s spinning stories so people won’t see her as desperate.”
Felicity’s chest tightened, but she forced a smile. “People can really twist things.”
“I’m telling you!” Charity continued, fully in storyteller mode now. “She kept acting like he led her on. But Leon doesn’t even look at girls like that. He’s too smart to fall for someone like Winnifred.”
Felicity said nothing, though a part of her wanted to ask really? Because Leon wasn’t exactly innocent when it came to situations like that — even he had admitted it once, that he “didn’t always stop things soon enough.”
But she stayed quiet, not wanting to poke the fire.
Charity sighed dramatically, picking up another shirt. “Anyway, I told her straight up — if she keeps running her mouth, I’ll make sure everyone knows what she tried. Nonsense girl.”
Bisola chuckled. “You actually told her that?”
“Of course.” Charity shrugged. “People like that only understand embarrassment. You don’t let them think they can play with your name or Leon’s.”
Felicity felt Mope glance at her, maybe to gauge her reaction, but she quickly looked down at her phone. The whole thing made her uncomfortable — partly because she wasn’t sure if Charity was telling the truth, and partly because of how quickly she got defensive.
Still, Charity’s energy filled the room — bold, animated, impossible to ignore. You couldn’t help but be drawn in, even when she was being a little too much.
A knock on the door interrupted them.
When Mope opened it, a tall girl with long braids and a pink tote bag stepped in, smiling.
“Anjola!” Charity beamed, jumping up. “Finally!”
“Don’t even start,” Anjola laughed. “Your porter stressed me before he let me up.”
She turned to the others, giving a small wave. “Hi, everyone.”
“That’s Anjola,” Charity said proudly, like she was introducing a celebrity. “My girl since year one.”
They exchanged greetings, and soon Anjola joined in the chatter like she’d been there all along. She was loud, confident, and every bit as expressive as Charity — the kind of girl who commanded attention without trying.
“So,” Anjola said, sitting cross-legged beside Charity. “Did you ever find that wig?”
At once, Charity’s mood shifted. The brightness in her face dimmed slightly, replaced by a steely edge. “Not yet,” she said. “But I will.”
Mope frowned. “What wig?”
“My brown curly one,” Charity said. “The one I wore to Derin’s party. It’s been missing since last semester. And guess who suddenly started rocking a wig that looks exactly like mine?” She paused for effect. “Angel.”
Bisola gasped. “The Angel from Block B?”
“The very one,” Charity said, her tone clipped. “We used to be cool, but she started acting funny. Then we had that little issue over the makeup kit I lent her — and not long after that, the wig vanished. Now she walks around like she owns the place, wearing it like it’s hers.”
“Are you sure it’s the same one?” Mope asked gently.
Charity shot her a look. “I know my things. The parting, the highlights — everything. She probably thought I wouldn’t notice, but I’m not blind.”
Anjola crossed her arms. “You better confront her before she starts thinking you’re scared.”
“Oh, I will,” Charity said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Let her come near me again. She’ll explain exactly how she ‘bought’ a wig that looks identical to mine.”
The room went quiet for a moment. Bisola shifted uncomfortably, then broke the tension with a small laugh. “You two have too much drama in your lives.”
“It’s not drama if people stop trying me,” Charity said simply, then smiled again — that warm, dazzling smile that could almost make you forget how intense she’d sounded seconds ago.
Soon the conversation shifted back to lighter things — classes, boys, fashion. The laughter returned, but Felicity stayed mostly quiet, half-listening, half-thinking.
Leon had once told her that Charity could go from calm to chaos in seconds. Back then, she thought he was exaggerating — that it was just his way of defending his own mistakes.
Now, she wasn’t so sure.
That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Felicity lay awake staring at the faint outline of the ceiling fan. She could hear Charity’s soft breathing across the room, peaceful now, like she hadn’t just vowed to “deal with” someone hours earlier.
Felicity closed her eyes and sighed. She wanted to believe this peace would last — that the semester would just stay light and easy.
But deep down, something told her it wouldn’t.
Not with Leon’s past sleeping a few feet away.
Not with secrets floating in the same air.