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Metabolic biochemistry proved to be the most challenging of our courses. I had spent the entire night with my reading group, going through the material and discussing potential exam questions.
 
While we studied, Ufuoma, the laziest of the six, consistently drifted into sleep. Each time I tried to rouse her, she expressed frustration over her struggle to comprehend.


![school-work-851328_1280.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/zyzymena/23vsBhq4PkDaSrZNmpLsq7T7q1ZpqtiEUh4k6j9Jfm5CUYkmMGv74mZCDnhPg3CbSUB9s.jpg)
[Pixabay](https://pixabay.com/photos/school-work-write-still-life-851328/)

The following morning, we went through our morning rituals and headed to the exam hall, anticipating familiar questions. Seating arrangements assigned one person per bench, originally designed for five, with considerable distance between each seat.

As the questions were distributed, a brief prayer preceded my glance at them. Fortunately, they aligned with what I had studied the day before. I picked up my pen and started filling up my answer booklet with the intention of helping any reading partner in need once I completed my own responses. As I busied myself, an unexpected voice forced me to raise my head. In front were the Dean of Studies and a few other examiners.

"Who is Faith David?"

The question hung in the air. My pen danced on the paper, abandoning its duty. I felt my heart skip a beat and then resume a rhythm so loud that I feared the person sitting a seat away from me might catch wind of the pulsating rhythm.

"Faith David, reveal yourself; my patience wears thin, and I won't ask this question again."

I attempted to rise, but my legs betrayed me. I leaned on the back of the bench and used it as a supportive anchor to aid my ascent.

"Are you the one?" The questions continued, and I nodded.

A sea of questioning eyes shifted in my direction. Mr. Prince advanced with a gaze that seemed capable of probing the depths of my soul. Beside him was a female examiner. With every nearing stride, my heart threatened to escape the confines of my mouth. It was very unusual for the dean of studies to barge into the examination hall.

"Search her!" he instructed.

The female examiner approached and raised my hands. She scrutinized my body, focusing on areas that demanded discretion. Her search extended to my chest and thighs, seeking any forbidden items in the sacred space of the exam hall. Satisfied, she gestured for me to lower my arms.

"Clean, sir!" she reported, the verdict sounding through the tense air of the examination hall.

"Everyone, halt your pens and rise." The dean instructed.

The sound of shuffling feet echoed as everyone tried to stand. A thorough search ensued, lasting for about thirty minutes. The whole exercise left my legs trembling, my hands numb, and my thought process distorted. Fortunately, I had only one question left to answer out of five. I gathered my writing materials, found my way to the front of the hall, and submitted my work. As I submitted and left, Clara followed suit, taking longer strides to bridge the distance between us.

"What was that all about?" She inquired.

"I'm in the dark, but there's a whisper of mischief in the air. I intend to unravel every mystery, leaving no stone unturned until I unearth the devil hiding in these details."

Leaving Clara behind, I strolled down to the dean's office and rapped on the door. He responded from within, and I entered. He was seated on his executive seat behind a finely constructed wooden table with a television remote in his hand. He turned down the volume of the television and, with a gesture, invited me to reveal the purpose of my visit.

I stood with my hands disciplined behind my back, akin to a soldier reporting to his superior. "Good morning, sir. I'm Faith David."

"I recognize you. How may I assist you?"

I contemplated the best way to pose my question for a moment. In the midst of my internal struggle, he tore his gaze from the television towards me.

"Has the cat got your tongue? Speak, young lady. I don't have all day."

I tugged at the back of my top, drawing confidence from it. "Sir, if you'd be so kind to share, I'm eager to understand why you sought me out in the exam hall today." I sputtered.

He studied me for a moment, assessing me, and then his lips curled into a smile. "You are a brave and smart girl, and I commend you for it. I'll share with you what you need to know."

He picked up his phone, scrolled through it, and then handed it to me. Taking the phone from him, my eyes widened. There, on the screen, was a text message from an anonymous sender containing my full name and exam details, alleging that I entered the exam hall with foreign objects for exam malpractice.

As I exited his office, tears threatened to escape, but I held them back. Someone was conspiring to frame me, but who? Throughout my four years at that school, I've tried my best to be friendly with everyone. I led a solitary, academic-focused life. Beyond my reading group, it was hard to find me in a social gathering. Where could I have gone wrong?


![woman-4721937_1280.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/zyzymena/EoK6JseLrzLXEudSCxgCf6fnQZEvzUcNcxL59e2ChfGLpvEDzRFWqqcvG72pLSgJGU4.jpg)
[Pixabay](https://pixabay.com/photos/woman-girl-sadness-attachment-4721937/)


During the search, seven students from my department, including Ufuoma, were found with prohibited items in the exam hall. Their exam papers were seized, and their matriculation numbers were recorded. After the exams, the entire class was in a frenzy of rage.

I observed as they went on, hurling curses at whoever the culprit was. The next exam was three hours away, giving me enough time to probe further. I discreetly asked a few of them for their phones under the guise of making a call, gauging their willingness. One by one, they handed over their phones without hesitation, except for Dare, the course representative.

"Why are you asking everyone for their phones to make a call? I've been watching you for a while," he questioned, refusing to hand over his phone.

I fixed my gaze on him, noting the discomfort that spread across his face.

"Why did you do it?" I inquired, holding onto the hope that the question might prompt a confession if he was involved.

"What makes you think I sent any text messages?" He retorted.

"Did I mention anything about text messages?"

At that moment, he realized he had messed up and raised his voice in defense. The room fell silent as everyone stopped talking and turned to witness the unfolding scene.

"Was it you?" Yaqub, my best friend and reading partner, bellowed. "I swear, I'll pull off one of your teeth today."

Yaqub lunged at him, seizing him by the neck. Despite efforts to intervene, Yaqub managed to land several blows on Dare's face. Dare's upper lip bled as he was finally pulled away and escorted to the school clinic.

At the beginning of the semester, Dare had vowed to surpass me academically. I never anticipated he would resort to such antics. For the remainder of our school year, everyone avoided him, as he was the reason why friends and coursemates got rusticated. Despite his actions, I graduated as the top student. As for Dare, he retained the position he seemed destined for—the second-best.

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