That Monday afternoon during the long break, Aro was summoned to the Proprietress’s office. She wondered what Mrs. Bankole would want with her, as she walked away from her classroom.
She was lost in thoughts, maneuvering the twists and turns of their school compound when she ran into an unexpected figure.
It was Preston, and he was standing by the flags by the roundabout. He appeared to be lost in thoughts.
As she approached him, a flicker of recognition flashed across his eyes before fading into an uneasy expression. It was an unusual expression from Preston to her.
“Preston,” Aro greeted cautiously.
He offered a polite but distant nod. “Aro, right? I’m sorry, my memory’s been foggy since yesterday.”
“You have a problem recalling who I am now?” Aro probed, searching for any hint of recognition in his eyes.
“Of course I remember you, even though for some reason, interactions I’ve had with you seem to be fuzzy. Yesterday though…” Preston hesitated, as if grappling with hazy recollections. “It’s all a blur. The rain, the wind… I think I was hit by a branch or something.” His gaze clouded with uncertainty. “Jennifer, she got hurt in the storm. I don’t know how.”
Aro detected an underlying uneasiness in his voice. “You don’t remember the shattered glass, or anything peculiar? Do you remember talking to me before the girls found us?” Aro knew that wasn’t the most important part, but a part of her was hurt he could barely remember her and she needed him to remember, although she didn’t understand why that was so important to her.
He shook his head. “Just glimpses. It’s like trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.”
Aro’s thoughts raced. “But you looked at the entity by the church, remember?”
Preston’s expression tightened. “Entity?” His gaze was troubled, and for a brief moment, a shadow of recognition flashed through his eyes before vanishing again. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall any entity.”
“I know you know what I’m talking about.” Aro lashed onto the brief recognition she had seen on his face.
Preston held his head, his eyes scrunched in pain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Arogundade.”
Aro was silent for a while before speaking. “You just called me Arogundade.”
Preston stopped holding his head, looked at her and gave a small smile. “Of course I remember you, yesterday though, very fuzzy. I’m sorry.”
Confusion and concern swirled in Aro’s mind. Something wasn’t adding up, and the conversation only deepened her intrigue.
Preston’s attempts at conversation stalled as an administrator approached, handing him a note. “Mrs. Bankole wants you treated at our infirmary, not St. Vera’s. They’re better equipped,” the administrator informed.
Aro’s eyebrows creased with surprise. “St. Benedict’s infirmary? But why?”
Preston shrugged, a hint of uncertainty clouding his features. “I don’t know. Mrs. Bankole’s instructions. That’s why I’m here in your compound.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the administrator, steering Preston away. Aro was left standing in the roundabout, mulling over the tangled web of inconsistencies. The whispered stories of Miss KoiKoi and the mystery of Preston’s amnesia only added to the enigma.
The corridors leading to Mrs. Bankole’s office felt like a passage into an alternate dimension. When she got to the front of the office, she heaved a sigh of worry and entered into the receptionist’s office. The smiling woman welcomed Aro and directed her to the shiny mahogany door that separated Mrs. Bankole from her assistant.
Aro knocked tentatively on the office door, the weight of her curiosity clashing with the prospect of confronting Mrs. Bankole. The echoes of the enigmatic entity that was the faceless woman and the constantly invasive memories of Sunday whirled in her mind, preventing her from being unable to concentrate on anything else.
The door creaked open, revealing the expansive office filled with antique furniture, a testament to the school’s history. Mrs. Bankole sat at her desk, a serene expression accentuating the perfect makeup she always wore, adding a layer of fierceness onto her features.
“Arogundade, do come in,” Mrs. Bankole gestured, her tone comforting.
Aro entered cautiously, taking a seat as she eyed the room’s decor—a juxtaposition of ancient artifacts against the modernity of the office space.
“Good afternoon Ma.” Aro greeted before taking one of the soft leather chairs in front of the woman’s desk.
She smiled, showing almost white dentition. “Good afternoon Aro. How are you doing today? How have classes been all morning?”
Aro looked down, unable to form lies. “I’ve had trouble concentrating.”
“Of course, that’s to be expected. Given what you thought you saw yesterday.”
Aro looked up sharply at her tone. “What I thought I saw? With all due respect ma, I know what I saw and you didn’t argue with me yesterday when I mentioned it.”
Mrs. Bankole’s smiling face did not falter. “You were shaken, of course I could not start arguing with you in that condition.” Her smile began to fade slowly. “What I want to know is your own version of the story because I have spoken to Jennifer and the other girls and they believe you were the one who shattered that window to hurt Jennifer.”
“What?” Aro exclaimed. “I wasn’t even near the window when it happened. Why would I want to hurt Jennifer? She was the one hurting me.”
Mrs. Bankole sighed, removed her glasses and began to rub her forehead. “Look, Aro, I don’t think you did it, and I have a feeling Jennifer and her cohorts have been bullying you. What I want to know now is why haven’t you reported them so far?”
“Mrs. Bankole, I…” Aro started, her words faltering, unsure of where to begin.
“Please, Aro. Take your time,” Mrs. Bankole’s voice was reassuring, inviting openness.
Tears smarted in Aro’s eyes, and she sniffed them back. “I made a report last term to our house mistress but the bullying only got worse because she told Jennifer I reported her. I don’t know what I ever did to Jennifer and her friends, but ma, they make me miserable and they physically hurt me at any opportunity.” The tears were now flowing and she could not hold back. “Please, believe me, I am not making this up.”
“Arogundade, I believe you. I know a little about all the girls under my care and I know you well enough to know you don’t lie and you are not a vengeful girl. Jennifer, Zendaya and Abimbola though…” She let the statement trail off. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to them and make sure they never bother you again.”
Aro wiped her tears and sniffed with gratitude. “Thank you Ma’am.”
“I’ll suggest you see Mr. Handel, the guidance counselor to help with both the bullying effects and the effects of yesterday’s incident on you.”
Aro nodded, still cleaning her face.
“You may return to your class now. I’ll ask my secretary to arrange your sessions with Mr. Handel and hand you the schedule before the end of school hours today.” Mrs. Bankole smiled.
“Thank you Ma.” Aro vacated her seat and began to leave the office.
She suddenly remembered a point she wanted to make, so she turned around to find Mrs. Bankole staring at her retreating back with all seriousness.
“Yes? Aro? Do you need something else?” Mrs. Bankole asked.
“Something unusual happened on Sunday, and Preston doesn’t seem to recall much,” Aro began, probing cautiously.
Mrs. Bankole’s eyes held a glint of knowingness, her expression poised and unreadable. “An unexpected storm can cloud the clearest of memories. Our surroundings influence what we perceive, wouldn’t you agree?”
Aro hesitated, her curiosity fueled by Mrs. Bankole’s cryptic response. “I believe Preston saw something unusual, something that I did too.”
Mrs. Bankole regarded Aro for a moment before responding, her voice a blend of warmth and caution. “Our perceptions are intricate layers, Aro. Sometimes, the shadows we see may just be whispers of our own thoughts.”
There was a distinct sense of veiled knowledge, like words left unsaid in the subtext of Mrs. Bankole’s responses.
“Miss KoiKoi, or should I say Miss Akingbade?” Aro uttered the name, watching for any flicker of recognition in Mrs. Bankole’s composed expression.
A subtle shift occurred in the air, a fleeting shadow across Mrs. Bankole’s eyes. “Whispers of an old tale, Aro. Stories drift through time, evolving with each passing soul.”
Aro felt the walls closing in, the distance between clarity and perplexity growing. Mrs. Bankole’s demeanor was a cryptic canvas and it was starting to grate on her nerves.
“If there is nothing left to say, I bid you a good afternoon then, Miss Abiola.”
As Aro left the office, she found herself with more questions than answers, caught in a maze of unspoken truths and veiled secrets. Her intuition whispered of deeper mysteries lurking in the corridors of St. Benedict’s.
