Body curled like a spring, Jesse lay wide awake, stiff as a board on the threadbare mattress, heart pounding so loudly he was shocked its beat hadn't stirred everyone sleeping in the cramped apartment awake. His eyes were pinned to the cracks in the ceiling with no sign of somnolence.
Beside him, his mother snored softly, her arm flung over her face to block the glare of the kerosine lantern they always kept on through the night.
With each passing second, the analog clock on the wall seemed to tick louder than a ticking bomb.
At this point, Jesse wasn't sure which was louder — his heart, or the clock.
He turned to the side to look at it with an uneasy gaze.
It was 4:46 AM.
The roosters hadn't even crowed yet, and technically, the time for the Pepsi Football Academy trials at the National Stadium in Surulere was 8 AM.
There was time, but there was no time — not when he had to meet Bayo at Ilupeju by 5 AM. The same Bayo who intended on sponsoring Jesse for both the bus fare to the National Stadium and the registration fee that was needed for application at the trials.
Jesse had to move now if he was going to make it to the Ilupeju bus stop on time and rendezvous with Bayo. Bayo liked being at places early, after all, so Jesse was sure he would already be there waiting, even though their allotted meeting time was still about a quarter of an hour away.
Jesse placed a hand over his heart.
Once dawn came, they'd both be at the National Stadium, where academy staff from the Pepsi Football Academy and technical experts would anoint future stars.
That was the plan.
Or, that was how the plan would go, at least, only if he could outwit the woman breathing softly beside him.
Jesse shifted his gaze and glanced at his mother's sleeping form. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
She was fast asleep, her face softened by the shadows, but Jesse knew better than to underestimate her — to think he was safe just yet.
His mother had a sixth sense for trouble — especially when it came to him.
He turned to look at the door briefly. The room was small and the door was within close reach, but somehow, it suddenly felt like it was a mile away.
'Go,' he told himself. 'Now.'
Coming down, the room suddenly felt like a dangerous minefield. It was as though just a single misstep — an unintentional kick at one of the pots or the stainless steel plates on the floor — would detonate his plans.
Slowly, with palms slick with sweat, he peeled back the threadbare blanket and gently slid his legs off the bed as carefully as he could so the wood wouldn't groan beneath his shifting weight. If he so much as nudged the squeaky bedframe, he was sure his mother would wake up.
At this point, he was sure just breathing wrong or blinking too loudly would wake her up.
He slid off the bed, knees trembling, and grabbed his backpack from where he kept it and tried to quietly open the zipper.
The zipper of his backpack screeched, and Jesse's breath hitched with both surprise and terror.
'Stupid!'
He glanced at his mother. She stirred slightly, turning her head towards the wall.
Jesse froze on the spot, counting her breaths until they finally deepened again.
She had fallen back asleep.
Sighing silently with relief, Jesse continued with what he was doing.
Bayo had insisted and made sure to buy him all the necessities he would need for the trials. The jersey Jesse wore to the community field was patched at the elbows, old and bleached by the sun, so Bayo did not feel that that would be a good look on him at the trials.
In his words: "You want to impress the scouts, not scare them away,"
It wouldn't do to show up to the trials looking like he'd just rolled out of the gutter, after all.
So, Bayo felt it appropriate to get a new one for him. Being a Barcelona fanboy, he decided on a crisp Barcelona jersey and shorts that was Jesse's perfect fit.
Jesse had slept in them, wearing them underneath his clothes. His mother hadn't noticed.
The football boots Bayo had been so kind to buy him was hidden smartly in a rice sack under the bed. They were new ones, wine-red with shiny studs.
It almost felt like contraband.
Well... in this house, it may as well have been.
Holding onto his backpack, pre-packed with a water bottle, along with his birth certificate, five passport-sized photographs he took at the beginning of the school term, and his school ID card.
He put the new boots inside and crept toward the door, tiptoeing as lightly as he possibly could, toes curling against the linoleum flooring like a thief in the night.
But Jesse wasn't stealing anything. Rather... he was stealing away.
He glanced back at his mother one last time.
She was still sound and fast asleep, her face peaceful.
For a moment, guilt gnawed at him. She worked so hard and sacrificed so much for him, and in return, she just wanted him to focus on school, so he could have a better life than she did.
...That was all she ever asked for.
But Jesse just couldn't see a fulfilled life for himself without football.
It was his passion, his purpose, his everything — and this opportunity could change his life and his mother's life, too.
He had to do this, even if it meant disobeying and disappointing her.
He couldn't let her take football away from him, no matter how much she'd sacrificed, and no matter how much the guilt of it all gnawed at him.
Opportunity comes but once in a life time, after all, and this was Jesse's opportunity.
His chance — probably his only chance.
The Pepsi Football Academy only held trials once a year, and Jesse was dead set on being there today, even if it killed him.
Reaching the door as stealthily as a rogue, he turned the door handle and opened it millimetre by millimetre. The door which normally screeched like a banshee gave way silently.
It was like a little miracle in Jesse's point of view.
It almost felt like the door was rooting for him, as though it were giving him its thumbs up and silently wishing for him to pull of this big escape.
Jesse smiled.
Now, with the door open wide enough, he was just a step away from freedom.
He'd done it! He'd escaped!
"Jesse Olorunsola Jackson," his mother called. "What are you doing?"
His heart jackhammered.
'Crap...'
He was caught red-handed in 4K.
And worse, she was using full names!
That was a bad sign, a very very bad sign!
Jesse could hear the red alarm signals blaring loudly in his head, warning of a catastrophic danger.
Just how would he begin to lie his way out of this fiasco now?