Later that morning Dad dropped me off at school and I sat by myself at assembly as usual. Chidi hadn’t even left yet and I already missed him.

As I walked into class that morning, Kwaku Duah, Nana Kwame and a group of boys were standing by the door. They started snickering and laughing as I walked by. I ignored them.

“So you infected your Naija guy and now he’s gone back to his country for treatment,” Nana Kwame said. The laughter and snickers got louder.

I was almost at my desk but I turned and walked back to where Nana Kwame was standing until I was right in his face.

“Tell me; please tell me so I understand. What do you get out of spreading lies?”

He looked at me in surprise.

“What exactly did you see that day in the bathroom?”

Nana Kwame just stood there.

“Let me remind you. You saw a girl crying in the boys’ washroom. Was the girl supposed to be in the washroom? No. Did she have a reason to cry? Yes. Her sister had died three months earlier, her mother was having some sort of breakdown, and her mates in school didn’t know what to say to her so they avoided her.

What else did you see Kwame? You saw a guy, another guy like you, do what no one else in this entire school had done for her. You saw someone offer her comfort. You saw someone hold her as she cried. You heard someone tell her it would get better, she just had to hang in there.”

The classroom had gone quiet. I was beginning to tremble and I wanted very much to hit him. To make him feel some of what I’d felt all the time he and his friends had ridiculed me.

“You had three options that day Kwame. You could have kept what you saw to yourself and done nothing. You could have decided to be a better friend to the girl or you could have twisted what you saw that day so that you and your friends could have some laughs. We all know which option you chose and continue to choose.”

I turned my back on Nana Kwame and turned to face Nhyiraa.

“Next time you eavesdrop, you might want to get your facts right. I had a UTI. A urinary tract infection, not an STI like you thought you heard. You also had options that day in the sick bay Nhyiraa and you made your choice.”

I turned to the rest of the class.

“Chidi’s sick. Not because he has gonorrhoea but because he has leukaemia, a cancer of the blood. He had to go back to Nigeria for treatment because he has health insurance there. Not that it’s anyone’s business whether or not I had gonorrhoea but I want to set the record straight. I didn’t give Chidi gonorrhoea because I never had it in the first place. If making jokes about other people’s misfortune is what makes you happy then go ahead and continue with your jokes but get your facts straight.”

I walked back to my seat and sat down. The class remained quiet. It was still quiet when our economics teacher walked in. He made a show of walking out and checking the sign on the door to make sure he was in the right class.

“Why’s the class so quiet? Did someone die?” he winced when the words came out of his mouth and looked at me. “I’m sorry. That was a bad joke.”

“It’s okay,” I said and looked away.

“We’ll go through last year’s WASSCE questions,” he said and turned to the blackboard.