Timi

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Timi knocked over the glass of milk her mother had kept for her on the table. She wasn't going to drink such nonsense, she thought to herself. Her heavy breathing could be heard from a distance. She pushed the clothes on her bed to the ground and let out an angry scream. Just then a maid walked into the room and froze at the door; it seemed as though the fifteen-year-old girl had razed down her room to the ground, her reading table had been overturned, and the reading lamp was right in front of the door. There were books and furniture scattered everywhere, with a mangled bedsheet at the foot of the bed. One of the wardrobe doors hung open, revealing a half-open box with clothes sticking out, empty hangers dangling from a wooden rod, and a pile of clothes lying on the floor of the wardrobe.

“What sort of tantrum is this Timi?” She asked with a note of disbelief and horror in her voice.

“I'm throwing a tantrum?” The disheveled-looking girl asked; her hair was half-fallen to her shoulders, while the other half remained in a knot, and her black t-shirt was almost torn from much dragging. “I have not yet begun to throw a tantrum.” She said. “Tell my mom, I want to be transferred to the same school as Jola. I will not remain in Willow High while he goes to a more expensive school.”

“But Willow High is almost as expensive as Kings and Queens, what is the difference?”

“I will not go to a school that is less expensive!” Timi shrieked. “I will not be the cheap one!

“How can you think like that?” the maid asked, staring at the girl with bewilderment. “Come down for dinner now,” she ordered and turned on her heels.

Timi growled. She could hear the woman's block heels stomping down the stairs; she should have said that and waited for her response, she thought. Then she eyed the door and sank to the floor of her room. She wasn't going anywhere.

Her parents had traveled that morning to London for business, they were going to be gone for two months. They always came and went since she and Jola were little, so they had to grow up alone most of the time. They were given everything; went on trips every holiday, had properties to their names at young ages, and attended the most expensive schools. But Timi and Jola did not grow up to be good kids as their parents planned. They had to change schools at the end of every session because they were either expelled for vandalizing school property, getting into fights, bullying, or peddling illegal substances. Jola had just been expelled from Willow High because of leading a group of students to vandalize the school theatre. Their parents had to return to Nigeria to prevent him from going to jail or being sued by the school. Timi had only been retained because of the financial support her parents offered the school continually.
The next morning, the chauffeur came to pick them up for school. Timi was at the dining table eating when the middle-aged man walked in to pick up their backpacks from the living room. His name was Mr. Harry; he lived in a single room with his four children in Mushin; he had begun to work for Timi’s parents two years ago, shortly after his wife passed. Jola was upstairs still dressing up; the sound of loud music could be heard from the stereo in his room. The man picked up the bags and was about to leave when Timi called from the dining,

“Mr. Harry,” she said.

“Yes, Miss Timi,” the man responded and turned to stare at her.

“Drop Jola’s bag; he'll pick it up himself.”

“But miss __”

“Don't argue with me Mr. Harry, if you value your job.”

The man stood for a minute, swallowing repeatedly. Then he dropped one of the bags reluctantly and said, “Okay, miss Timi” and walked out slowly with his head hung over.

Timi eyed him and turned back to eating her food. Her raven black curly hair was tied up in a ponytail and her amber eyes shimmered with the sunlight sipping through the window in front of her as she raised them to look outside. Her mother said she had gotten them from her great-grandmother, who was half-Spanish. Paired with her cocoa skin, it made people question her Nigerian origin. Jola's footsteps coming down the stairs made her look over her shoulders. He had the stature of a bodybuilder. It made Timi feel intimidated. The seventeen-year-old senior-year student swaggered past his sister to the living room, loud music blaring through a headset that hung over his head while he hummed along and moved his body to the beat.

“Why is my bag still here?” He asked when he got to the living room. Then he pulled off his headset and looked at his sister, she said nothing. “Mr Harry!” He called, turning to the door. No response. He yanked up his backpack and stormed outside. Timi could hear him yelling at the man, and the man trying to explain himself. She arched an eyebrow and raised a glass of water to drink. A few minutes later, she walked through the door, humming a song. But just when she was approaching the car, it sped off leaving behind a gust of dust and a shaken Mr. Harry with her backpack on the ground. Timi stood there glaring at the car as it drove through the gate, a look of pain on her face. She was going to pay him back, she thought. But first, she needed to change schools. Only then would she have the opportunity to give back measure for measure.
She picked up her bag and slowly dusted it, then glared at the man in front of her, “Get me another car or lose your job!” She yelled, and the man scrambled his way to the parking lot to get another car.
Three hours later, a grudging and angry Timi sat in her class plotting how to get herself expelled from Willow High School.

“Hi Timi,” Anne, her friend, greeted, dropping into the seat in front of her.

Timi watched her for a second then her eyes lit up. “Do you know any dopeheads selling dope in school?” She asked in a whisper.

Anne’s mouth slightly fell open. “What?” She exclaimed.

“Sshhhhh,” Timi shushed. “Don’t yell, just tell me if you know.” She whispered.

Anne hesitated then nodded and brought out a piece of paper with a pen from her pocket. She scribbled something down and pushed it to Timi. “Follow him on Kik,” she mouthed, then stood up and left. Timi pulled out her phone immediately. She ordered some heroin and asked that it be delivered to her locker. About thirty minutes later, she received a notification that it had been delivered. She quickly excused herself from the class and ran to her locker, it was there, wrapped in a small blue paper bag. The first thing on the list is done, she thought. Now, where to execute it….the school museum! She could break in and stay there until someone caught her with the drug. Perfect! She turned on her heels and ran towards the museum. She was there for about an hour before a security personnel casually strolled past and found the door unlocked…

Her parents took the next flight back to Nigeria and were at the principal's office by the next day because they were informed their child was caught with Heroin and was about to be expelled from school.

“I hope that you understand the school's decision to let her go,” Mrs. Charles, the principal of Willow High, explained to Timi's parents who sat across her desk with their heads bowed. “She said she got it from your driver, Mr. Harry. So I'll advise that you pay more attention to the people you hire into your home.”

Both parents looked at each other in shock and disbelief, then turned to their daughter who stood at a corner of the office with her hands behind her back. She looked up and nodded slowly.

That afternoon, Mr. Harry was fired and arrested by the police. While Timi was grounded for three days and all her gadgets ceased. She didn't mind; for her, it was just the first step to getting what she wanted. The next morning, she sat in her room polishing her nails when the door suddenly flew open, and an angry-looking maid barged in.

“What is it, Rita?” She asked glaring at the woman.

“I know that you lied about getting the heroin from Mr. Harry just to save yourself. I know what a scoundrel you are, and I'm going to expose you,” Rita said, pointing a finger at her.

Timi looked at her, then burst into laughter. Suddenly, she stopped and said, “Get out of my room!”

“Do you have any conscience? Do you know that as we speak his sister and four children are at the gate begging and crying for him to be released?”

Timi shrugged, “well, good for him.”

Suddenly, the door opened again, it was her mother and father. Timi jumped and hurried to cover her face with a pillow. She was completely done for. Her parents just stood there staring at her, utterly speechless. Later that evening, Mr. Harry was released, but he refused to work for the Roberts anymore.

“Timi, Jola,” Mr. Robert called as he sat in the living room that evening, his wife beside him, while their two children stood in front of them.

“Yes, Dad,” the two teenagers answered, with their heads hung over.

“You’re going to Akure to stay with my parents, they have asked that we bring you to them.”

That broke the ice. The two children immediately went on their knees and began to beg. Grandpa was a retired army general who had zero tolerance for their wits, while Grandma retired as a school headmistress, the most regimented person they ever knew. They cried, wailed, kicked, and begged. The very next morning, they were shipped off to Akure. Perhaps, just perhaps, they might return as better people.

Mmeyene Joseph