It was a peaceful Sunday afternoon.
Dad, glasses on his nose, read the newspaper. Mom, in the kitchen, stirred her soup like a general preparing for battle. Junior lay on the floor, munching groundnuts as if he was paid per crunch.
Everything was normal—until I slid a folded paper onto the table.
Dad picked it up, adjusted his glasses, and read. His brows twitched. Then furrowed. Then shot up like a thermometer in hell.
“SCHOOL FEES—₦250,000?!”
The newspaper fell. The house froze. Even the soup stopped boiling.
Mom poked her head out. “Did I just hear two hundred and what?”
Junior paused mid-crunch. “Omo, casala don burst.”
Dad’s voice rose like an ambulance siren. “Hostel—₦100,000? Books—₦75,000? Feeding—₦90,000?! Are you feeding the entire student body?!”
Mom marched in, wiping her hands. “₦90,000 for food? Does your school serve golden jollof?”
I cleared my throat. “Thinking requires energy, and food fuels the brain.”
Junior snickered. “Bro, you don’t even think.”
Dad’s hand trembled. "Miscellaneous—₦80,000?" He gave me the explain-before-I-commit-a-crime look.
I shifted. “Uh… unexpected expenses. Printing, WiFi subscription…”
Dad removed his glasses. “WiFi? Do you work for MTN?”
Mom held the paper to the light. “Why does this look printed? Did you TYPE this?”
I chuckled nervously. “Neatness… presentation is everything.”
Dad ignored me and read the grand finale. “Excursion—₦60,000? To where, the moon?”
I swallowed. “A cultural exposure program.”
Dad exhaled. “Oh really? Then I should expose myself to some culture too, maybe visit the bank and expose them to an overdraft.”
Then his eyes hit the total. "TOTAL—₦650,000?!"
Mom staggered. “OBARA JESUS! Did we mistakenly adopt Dangote’s son?!”
Junior fell off the couch, wheezing. “Ahhh! Bro, you don buy market!”
Dad grabbed his phone. “No need to argue. Let me call your school bursar.”
“Ah! Daddy, no need! Why stress him on a Sunday?” I lunged, but he dodged like a retired footballer.
“Hello, Mr. Okonkwo! Quick question—how much are school fees this term?”
Silence.
Dad’s face went blank. That was when I knew—I was finished.
“₦120,000?”
I took a slow step backward.
Dad’s voice was eerily calm. “Not ₦650,000?”
Mom grabbed a wooden spoon. “THIS BOY WANTS TO SEND US TO AN EARLY GRAVE!”
Junior collapsed in laughter. “Ahhh! Bro, you don buy market!”
Dad hung up. “Did you just… add extra zeroes?”
I laughed weakly. “It was… an experiment in financial negotiations.”
Mom smacked my shoulder. “Oya, where was the extra money going?”
I muttered something.
“What?” Dad cracked his knuckles.
“Savings,” I admitted. “And maybe… small enjoyment.”
Dad shot out of his chair. “Enjoyment?!! My friend, come here!”
I bolted.
Junior clapped. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I collect my school fees directly from Daddy.”
That night, my elder brother, Daniel, found me nursing my wounds.
He shook his head. “Rookie mistake.”
I groaned. “I know.”
Daniel smirked. “You should’ve increased the figures gradually, not all at once. This was amateur work. Next time, we go digital. Fake invoices.”
I shot him a look. “Next time? You think I want to die?”
From the next room, Dad’s voice boomed. “I HEARD THAT!”
We froze.
Daniel turned to me. “Omo, I just implicated myself, abi?”
I grinned. “Welcome to the club.”
Dad appeared. “Both of you, come here.”
We bolted as Mom grabbed her slippers.
The house echoed with running feet, slipper smacks, and Dad’s deep laughter.
As I hid under the table, panting, I made a vow.
Next term, I’d either get a scholarship… or improve my escape skills.

THE END.