BENIN CITY — PARTY CENTRE — AFTERNOON
The hall was decorated in gold and white. Balloons floated near the ceiling. Streamers hung from the walls. A large cake sat at the center of the main table—three tiers, cream icing, a small figurine of a man in a suit on top.
Music played. People danced. Children ran between the tables, laughing, spilling drinks.
Israel stood near the buffet, a plate in his hand, surveying the options with the seriousness of a man who had not eaten all day. Joy was beside him, arguing with a caterer about the placement of the jollof rice.
Jonathan and Praise sat at a corner table, dressed in occasional clothes—no uniforms, no gauntlets, no crossbow. Jonathan wore a simple button-down and blue suit trousers. Praise wore a gold dress. They looked almost normal.
David's mother moved through the crowd, greeting guests, her smile wide, her eyes scanning the entrance.
David's father stood at the head table, adjusting his tie, looking older than he had the night before.
"Where is he?" he asked.
"He'll come," his mother said.
"You said that an hour ago."
"He'll come."
He looked at his watch.
"The toast is in ten minutes."
"Then wait ten minutes."
He sighed. He didn't argue.
---
AFTER SOME TIME
The music faded. The crowd quieted. David's father stepped up to the microphone.
"Thank you all for coming," he said. His voice was steady, practiced. "I know I haven't been... present. For many years. I made mistakes. I hurt people. I hurt my family."
He looked at his wife. She nodded.
"But I'm back now. And I'm trying. Every day, I'm trying."
He raised his glass.
"To second chances. To family. To my son, David, who—"
He looked around. The crowd looked around.
David wasn't there.
His mother's smile faltered.
"He'll come," she said again.
His father lowered his glass.
"To second chances," he said quietly, and drank alone.
---
AIRPORT ROAD, CHARLES BAKERY LIMITED, BENIN CITY.
The store was small. The walls were lined with glass displays. Cakes of all sizes—birthday, wedding, christening—sat on shelves behind the counter.
David stood at the entrance, a mask over his face, his green headband pushing back his coiled hair.
Two sorcerers held the store attendant at knifepoint. Their white suits were wrinkled. Their faces were young—younger than him, maybe.
"What's going on?" David asked.
The taller one turned.
"Back off. This doesn't concern you."
"Two grown adults robbing a cake store." David walked toward the counter. "That's what you chose? After all the chaos? After people died? You're stealing cake?"
"We're starting small," the shorter one said. "It's been a while since we robbed anything."
"You can leave," David said. "Before I make you leave."
They laughed.
David sighed.
"Page 82."
"Pardon."
Green web-shooters manifested on his wrists.
---
It was not a long fight.
David webbed the taller one's feet to the floor. He ducked under the shorter one's punch, webbed his hands to his sides, and kicked his legs out from under him. Both sorcerers hit the ground at the same time.
He tied them together with a line of webbing and turned to the attendant.
"Call the police. Please don't give them to Area boys."
The attendant stared at him.
"Your cake," she said, pointing.
David looked at the counter. The cake was there—white icing, gold trim, a small figurine of a man in a suit.
"Abeg don't."
She smiled. She understood.
"Ok sir. Have a nice day."
"Im still a kid you know."
"Ok sir."
"Lol."
Lol?I should just go
He picked it up, walked out of the store, and swung away.
---
AT THE PARTY
The crowd was still dancing. The music was still playing. David's mother was still looking for him.
She grabbed Joy's arm.
"Have you seen him?"
"No, Ma."
She grabbed Israel's arm.
"Have you seen him?"
"Not yet, Ma."
She grabbed Jonathan's arm.
"Have you—"
"He's here."
Jonathan pointed at the entrance.
David walked in. The mask was gone. His hair was slightly damp. He wore a simple shirt and trousers—nothing fancy, nothing that said he had just fought two sorcerers in a cake store.
He carried a cake.
People greeted him as he walked past. Aunties pinched his cheeks. Uncles shook his hand. Children ran up to him and ran away.
His father intercepted him first.
"David."
"Happy birthday, sir."
His mother appeared beside his father.
"You were supposed to be here earlier. You missed your father's toast. You disrespected him."
"I brought cake."
David opened the box.
The cake was destroyed. Icing smeared. Figurine tilted. One corner looked like it had been dropped and reassembled.
His mother stared at it.
"Your father has been abroad for years. He came back to celebrate his birthday with us. The least you could do is show some respect."
"I'm here."
"Barely."
She crossed her arms.
"I've forgiven him. You should too. David, you're never here. Your work friends made it here. What's your excuse now?"
She pointed at Jonathan and Praise across the room. Jonathan raised his glass. Praise waved.
David started walking toward them.
"Don't walk away while I'm talking to you," his mother said.
"I'm not walking away. I'm just—"
"Don't talk to me like that."
His father stepped forward.
"David—"
Someone intercepted them. A relative. An aunt. She hugged David's father, kissed his cheek, congratulated him on his birthday. The conversation derailed.
David moved.
His mother caught up to him.
"Who are you running around with? If it's not this work of yours—"
"It's work, Mummy. Today was just more stressful."
"You have to talk to us."
"Has it ever occurred to you that I'm just trying to be private? I'm an adult. I'm nineteen."
"You still live under my roof."
"It's my life. You're making a big deal out of nothing."
"It's all of our lives," his mother said. "You're enjoying a life anyone would die to live. And you're taking it for granted."
David looked at her.
"What the actual fuck?"
The words were out before he could stop them. He didn't take them back.
The crowd went quiet.
His mother blinked. His father blinked.
"What did you just say to me?" his mother asked.
"...."
His father straightened.
"I'm going to have to cut your allowance."
David looked at him.
"Okay."
Silence.
"Okay?" his father repeated.
"Okay."
They stared at him. They had no response. They looked at each other, searching for the next punishment.
"You can't travel," his mother said. "You can't leave the house."
David stopped.
"What?"
"Until school resumes, you won't leave the house."
"You don't understand. I can't stay in the house all day. My job—"
"Why would I understand?" his mother asked. "I have no idea what's going on with you. So why don't you tell me?"
"Listen to me—"
"Okay," she said. "What do you want to say? Say it."
The crowd was watching.
David opened his mouth. He looked at his mother. His father. The aunties. The uncles. The children. Jonathan and Praise across the room, watching, waiting.
He closed his mouth.
"Don't worry," he said. "It's nothing."
He turned and walked away.
"Walking away won't solve anything," his father called after him. "You won't go back to the school hostel. You'll be living from home."
David kept walking.
He walked out of the party center, past the parked cars, past the laughing children, past the music and the dancing and the people who had no idea what he had been doing an hour ago.
He walked home.
---
DAVID'S ROOM
He sat on his bed, the green sketchbook open on his lap, the green pen in his hand.
Music played from his phone—something soft, something instrumental. He had turned off the lights. The only illumination came from the street outside, filtering through the curtains.
He drew.
He drew Jane.
Not Page 3's Jane. Not the preserved one. A new one. The UTME Jane. The one who had leaned over and clicked answers for a sick stranger. The one who had laughed at his jokes and held his hand and walked away.
He drew her until his hand ached.
His phone buzzed.
Praise: You okay?
He turned off the phone.
He kept drawing.
He drew until his eyes burned. Until his hand cramped. Until the music stopped and the room went silent.
He fell asleep with the pen in his hand.
---
SOMETIME LATER
Someone was shaking his shoulder.
"David."
He stirred.
"David, wake up."
He opened his eyes.
Jane stood beside his bed.