Julius’s locker was in the ninth-form common room way across school, so he dumped his backpack on top of a fire extinguisher cupboard. If it wasn’t there in the morning, he’d only lose a sweaty uniform and a pencil case.

The playing fields were now filled with after-school matches and training. Julius got a what-are-you-up-to look from one of the games masters as he jogged between two pitches. Boys weren’t allowed near the girls’ high school and Julius’s face felt hot as he passed a classroom filled with aproned girls doing pottery.

Beyond that was the girls’ school parking lot. End-of-school traffic had thinned, but bored drivers chattered and stared at smartphones, waiting on detentions and after-school tuition. Julius saw a million things that might go wrong: a hand on his shoulder, a teacher’s shout from a first-floor window, a group of girls asking why he was here, CCTV …

‘Thought you weren’t coming,’ Damola said, snapping his train of thought.

Julius had made it through the gate, out of St Gilda’s spotless grounds into a dust-blown street. Opposite the school’s razor-wire fence were tin-roofed shops, a busy cafe and a truck driver getting honked by traffic as he unloaded bottles of cooking gas. Julius knew the street, but only from inside a Mercedes.

Sixteen-year-old Damola – known as Duke – stood by his beat-up scooter. It was a Chinese-made clone of the classic Honda Super Cub. Cheap to buy, easy to fix and as common as flies on Akure’s streets.

‘Gabe made things difficult,’ Julius explained, glancing about nervously. ‘Are we safe here?’

‘You’re an utter wreck!’ Duke said, opening a smile filled with perfect teeth. ‘Dripping sweat. Voice trembling!’

Duke was average height, with slender limbs but broad shoulders. He had two studs in one ear, and wild hair with a patchy bleach job that had earned him a warning letter from St Gilda’s.

‘I’ve never ditched my driver before,’ Julius explained sheepishly. ‘Are my clothes OK?’

‘I wouldn’t rob you,’ Duke said, glancing at the cafe across the street. ‘But some of our teachers drink beer in that bar, so better get moving.’

Julius nodded. ‘Your uncle letting you have a bike is cool!’

‘He works in Lagos half the time, so there’s no choice,’ Duke explained. ‘And it can be liberating, but I wish we were rich enough for a Benz and a driver every time rain hits. Have you been on a scooter before?’

‘Heaps,’ Julius said, which was an exaggeration. ‘My cousins have them, back in my grandparents’ village.’

Julius squeezed on the back half of the seat, arms around Duke’s waist, stomach squashed against the bright orange skateboard deck poking out of Duke’s army-issue backpack.

‘Lord Almighty, you’re heavy!’ Duke laughed, having to go full throttle to get the bike moving. ‘If we get a steep hill, you might have to push!’