Games of Hearts

Chapter Two

The next day, Adesua and I dove into our investigation, determined to figure out who was behind the recent mysterious events. We carefully inspected every suspicious character we encountered, trying hard to piece together the puzzle.

"Ugh!" Adesua groaned, her frustration spilling over as she thumped her head repeatedly on the table. "We're not getting anywhere! I just want to find this person and make them eat dust," she huffed, scowling.

"I have a hunch it's a she," I said confidently, tapping my chin.

"What makes you so sure it's not a he?" she retorted, looking up at me with narrowed eyes.

"I don't know…" I shrugged. "But the girls seem to have more problems with me than the boys lately, and I haven't done anything cruel to a boy recently."

Our eyes met, and in that instant, the same memory flooded back to both of us.

It was late last year. I'd been minding my business—sleeping during my free period—only to wake up and discover that someone had snipped a tiny piece of my hair.

Who cuts someone's hair for no reason? I was on high alert. When I found out who the culprit was, my initial shock turned into a mix of irritation and mischief.

I'd confronted him immediately. "Why on earth would you let the devil send you to mess with my sacred beautiful hair?" I demanded.

To my surprise, he had the audacity to frown at me, as if I were the problem. "Relax! It was just a joke," he said, rolling his eyes. "Why are you getting so worked up?"

I'd stared at him, completely baffled. Then, unable to help myself, I burst out laughing.

"Abeg, you like to vex too much," he muttered, waving me off like I was overreacting.

I let it go for the moment, retreating to my seat, but I knew what had to be done. The next day, my chance came.

It was sports time, and the boy—thankfully—had decided to take a nap before joining the football game. Perfect.

Adesua and I sprang into action. I took the shaving stick I'd spotted in his bag (seriously, who keeps a shaving stick in their school bag?) and quietly shaved the middle of his hair, leaving the ends untouched. Adesua kept watch at the door, our teamwork flawless. To top it off, I placed a mirror beside him, ensuring he'd see the results as soon as he woke up.

We high-fived, proud of our handiwork, and ran off to play basketball.

Back in the present, Adesua and I couldn't stop laughing as we reminisced. "Yeah, but that can't definitely be a reason for him to prank or threaten me," I said, nodding firmly.

Adesua shrugged. "Maybe, but it's not a big deal for now. Let's stay calm and keep watching."

"Agreed," I said with a grin.

****

But as the days passed, the cryptic text and blurry photo lingered in my mind like a bad aftertaste. Whoever sent it had gone silent, but I wasn't about to let it slide. Not when the words "You're more interesting than you think" kept playing on repeat in my head. I decided I needed answers before I left for Lagos. After all, I wasn't one to let people mess with me and walk away unscathed.

It was during lunch break that Adesua gave me a clue, though unknowingly.

"You've noticed how Olivia's been acting strange, right?" she asked casually, taking a bite of her meat pie.

I frowned. Olivia. Of course. She was the girl who always found a way to compete with me over… everything. Test scores, prom planning, boys—especially boys. "What about her?" I asked, trying not to sound too interested.

Adesua shrugged. "She's been whispering with her little clique a lot lately. Something about teaching someone a lesson. But who knows? It's probably just her usual drama."

My brain clicked. Whispering? Teaching someone a lesson? This had Olivia's fingerprints all over it. And if she thought she could scare me with some stupid prank, she clearly didn't know who she was dealing with.

That afternoon, I decided to play along—but on my terms. I sent a message back to the unknown number:

"I know who you are."

I smiled to myself as I imagined the texter's reaction. If this really was Olivia's doing, her minion would be squirming by now. A few minutes later, the reply came:

"Oh? Do you?"

Bingo. Whoever it was, they were bluffing. Time to turn up the heat.

"Meet me behind the science lab after school. Let's talk face-to-face."

Adesua looked at me like I had grown two heads when I told her what I was planning. "You're actually meeting them? Nike, are you crazy?"

I grinned. "Relax. It's all part of the plan."

When the final bell rang, I made my way to the back of the science lab. The place was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, waiting. Sure enough, a few minutes later, a scrawny boy from Olivia's clique appeared, looking nervous as hell.

"You're the texter, aren't you?" I said, my voice dripping with confidence.

He stammered, "N-no, I just… I was told to…"

"Spit it out," I snapped, taking a step forward.

He flinched. "It was Olivia! She said it was just a joke! Please don't tell anyone I said anything!"

I stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The poor guy looked even more terrified. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you," I rolled my eyes.

He nodded frantically before running off, and I couldn't help but feel a rush of satisfaction. But I wasn't done yet. Olivia needed to know I wasn't someone to mess with.

****

Later that afternoon at Adesua's place,

Nike paced around her room, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. "Adesua, I'm telling you, this Olivia girl isn't just going to get away with it," she said with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Adesua, lounging on her bed and flipping through her phone, raised a brow. "You mean the prankster who sent you that creepy message? Why do you even care? You found out it's fake."

"It's not about the message anymore," Nike replied with a sly smile. "It's about principle. She wanted to scare me? Let's see how she likes being on the other side of the game."

Adesua sat up, intrigued. "What's the plan?"

Nike grinned. "We're going to give her a taste of her own medicine, but smarter. No way she'll see this coming."

Within minutes, the two girls were huddled over Adesua's laptop. Nike had managed to dig up Olivia's number from a group chat, and Adesua had a burner app installed by Nike once before ready to disguise their messages.

"Okay, here's what we'll do," Nike began, leaning closer to Adesua. "We'll send her cryptic messages, something vague but chilling. Enough to make her second-guess everything."

Adesua chuckled. "You're evil. I like it. What's the first message?"

Nike thought for a moment, then typed: "You thought it was funny, didn't you? Well, let's see how funny it gets when the truth comes out."

Adesua hit send, and they watched the screen intently. It didn't take long for Olivia to reply.

"Who is this?"

Adesua smirked. "Oh, she's already nervous."

Nike replied: "You know who. And you know what you did."

There was a long pause before Olivia sent another message: "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Classic denial," Adesua remarked.

Nike leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful look on her face. "We'll let her stew for now. Send one last message: 'Keep denying it. But when everyone finds out, don't say you weren't warned.'"

Adesua typed it out and hit send. "Now we wait."

The next day at school, Olivia was visibly on edge. She kept glancing over her shoulder and jumping at every sudden noise. Nike and Adesua exchanged knowing looks from across the hall, holding back their laughter.

By lunch, Olivia was a wreck. As the girls sat in their usual spot, Adesua nudged Nike. "She's cracking. Time to press harder?"

Nike shook her head. "Not yet. Let her unravel a bit more. The guilt will do most of the work for us."

Sure enough, by the end of the day, Olivia approached Nike and Adesua near the lockers. Her voice was shaky. "I need to talk to you," she said, avoiding their eyes.

Nike crossed her arms, feigning confusion. "Talk about what?"

Olivia hesitated, her face flushed. "I... I think someone's trying to mess with me. But I—look, I just—I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean for things to go that far. It was just a joke."

Nike raised a brow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "A joke?"

Olivia nodded frantically. "It was stupid! Don't you know a freaking joke!?"

Adesua couldn't hold back her laughter. "Girl, you scared yourself more than you scared Nike!"

Nike chuckled, patting Olivia on the shoulder. "Relax. Your secret's safe... for now."

As Olivia walked away, relieved but still visibly rattled, Nike turned to Adesua with a triumphant grin. "Mission accomplished."

Adesua shook her head, laughing. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Forget joor!" Nike said all laughing.

****

Over the past few weeks, Nike and Jimi had built a steady momentum online. Or so she thought… But one thing Nike was certain of: something was bound to go wrong. It always did, like clockwork.

Still, it felt great—too great. Jimi was different. Whether it was in a good way or bad, she didn't know, and honestly, she didn't care. She enjoyed his company, talking to him every single day, nurturing something she knew had no business growing.

But why was she always the one initiating conversations? Every single time. And he always ended them—either when he felt they'd talked enough or with his annoyingly delayed replies. Sometimes, his response would take hours, requiring her to send a follow-up message just to remind him he was talking to someone.

The real issue wasn't his behavior; it was her reaction to it. Why didn't she care? She was Nike—Jailbreak. She didn't do feelings. So, what the hell was happening to her?

Her mind screamed at her to cut ties. The road she was headed down was littered with warning signs: Sharp Bend Ahead! Dead End! But she ignored them all. With each passing day, she felt herself drowning in his charm, giving in to emotions she'd always dismissed as trivial pit stops. She wasn't just falling for him—she was falling hard.

And the worst part? She didn't even realize it at first. She thought she had it under control, like always. She'd always been the type to abandon her crushes the moment they liked her back. But Jimi was different. What made him so special? Why did his nonchalant attitude have such a stranglehold on her? Why was she falling—hard—for someone she hadn't even met or seen in full?

"Uhm, does daddy have a girlfriend?" she had asked one day during their earlier chats. She was ridiculously curious about his life, even though he showed little interest in hers. To her, he was like a closed book that frustrated and intrigued her at the same time.

His reply came after a long pause. "Most girls I've met are just whores."

The bluntness of his response hit her like a slap. She stared at her screen, unsure how to process it. "Most…?" she typed back, struggling to find the right words.

"Maybe all," he replied, this time faster.

"What about the ones you have close relationships with?" she probed, still trying to understand him.

"I don't have any with anyone," he replied, and his words felt like bombshells, each one landing harder than the last.

"Oh… I thought I had a close relationship with you," she typed back, adding a laughing emoji to soften the tone and mask her own vulnerability.

"Thoughts..." he responded, also with a laugh emoji. Before she could type a reply, the message disappeared—deleted.

Then, a new message appeared.

"You're my daughter na, so you can't be my girlfriend."

Her heart froze. What just happened? Had she been rejected before even confessing anything?

She stared at her screen, her mind spinning. Her chest tightened, and she became hyperaware of the sudden heaviness in the room. Was her heart beating faster?

Before she could process it fully, she felt the sting of tears pooling in her eyes.

"THE F***," she muttered, her voice trembling as she tossed her phone onto the bed.

****

Nike's thumb hovered over her phone screen, her breathing uneven. Tears threatened to spill, but she blinked them back furiously. What was that? She thought. Why did his words hit so hard? Why do I even care so much?

She tossed her phone onto her bed and stood up, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"This is stupid," she muttered to herself. "I'm Nike. Nike! The one who doesn't let boys get to her. What is wrong with me?"

She caught her reflection in the mirror—her brows furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't recognize herself.

Her phone buzzed on the bed, and her stomach twisted. For a moment, she considered ignoring it, but curiosity got the better of her. She grabbed the phone and saw his name flashing on the screen.

The message read:

"Lol. Relax, you're still my favorite person to talk to. I was just joking earlier."

Nike stared at the screen, her emotions swirling. A part of her wanted to text back something sarcastic, but another part—one she didn't want to admit existed—felt a little lighter.

She exhaled, her fingers hesitating before typing:

"Better be. You're not as cool as you think, you know."

Jimi replied almost immediately this time:

"Keep telling yourself that, Jailbreak."

She couldn't help but smile at the nickname.

This is dangerous, she thought. But why does it feel so good?

****

Hey you guys, uh… I really love comments and likes. They are like charms to me cause they enchant and drive me to keep updating. I want to know your thoughts! No jokes!!

Love, Mireva.