It was the beginning of the end.
The sun peeked slowly over the skyline, bleeding light into the school compound as if reluctant to begin another day. But this wasn't just another day at Hillcrest Grammar School. It was the first day of SS3, the last year, and everything was about to change.
For most students, it was the usual chaos—parents double-parked at the gate, day students clutching their lockers like life support, juniors being bossed around before they even stepped inside. But for six students, the day had a different weight. This was the start of their final act.
They didn't have an official name. No WhatsApp group with a title like "The Royal Six" or "Final Year Legends." But ask anyone in Hillcrest who ran the school, and one answer echoed: The Clique.
They were a strange blend—boys and girls, brains and vibes, rebels and perfectionists. But somehow, the combination worked. Everyone wanted to be them, be with them, or just… be noticed by them.
Tolu Adeyemi, Head Girl in waiting, stood near the school's old mango tree, arms folded, a slight frown on her brow. Her uniform was crisp, badge polished, and expression deadly serious. She checked her watch again.
"They're late. Typical."
From behind her came a familiar voice, half-lazy, half-charming. "You know you love it when I keep you waiting."
She didn't need to turn. "Dimeji."
Dimeji Akinwale strolled up with that signature bounce in his step, headphones dangling around his neck, shirt already half-untucked like the rules didn't apply to him. His eyes were hidden behind round black shades that he refused to take off until first period.
Tolu shot him a look. "You know sunglasses are not part of school uniform."
"And you know stress is not part of my plan for SS3." He grinned. "But here we are."
They were joined seconds later by Aisha Bello, the wild card. She walked like she ruled the earth and chewed gum like it owed her money. Her skirt was already shortened—again—and she wore confidence like perfume. Behind her came Kamsi Okoro, quieter, neater, and every teacher's dream. Her books were color-coded, her schedule memorized. The two girls were different in every way but inseparable since JSS1.
"Ah, the last-year pressure is already settling," Aisha said, flopping down on a low concrete bench. "My mum gave me a two-hour lecture before I left the house."
"What about this time?" Kamsi asked, pulling out a bottle of Ribena.
"'Don't bring disgrace. Your future depends on this year. Make us proud.'" Aisha mimicked her mother's tone perfectly. "Same old pressure, new packaging."
Bisi, their social media queen, arrived in a flurry of braids and lip gloss. She looked like she'd walked off the set of a Nollywood teen drama—always camera-ready. Her phone was already in hand, capturing a selfie with the sunrise.
"First day selfie, guys. Final year things!"
Behind her, more slowly and silently, came Emeka Nwosu. The mystery of the group. He didn't say much, but when he did, people listened. He had a sharp mind and a sharper tongue. Rumor had it he once hacked the school portal to check exam results early. No one ever proved it. No one ever tried.
Six of them. Standing at the edge of a school they knew like the backs of their hands. But something about today felt... different.
"You guys feel it?" Dimeji asked.
"Feel what?" Tolu replied.
"That final-year energy. It's in the air, like jollof smoke before Inter-House Sports."
"I feel stress," Kamsi muttered.
"I feel adventure," Aisha said with a grin.
"I feel like something big is coming," Emeka added, his voice low.
Then it came.
KPA—KPA—KPA—KPPPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
The assembly bell rang through the school like a war cry. A long, clanging reminder that freedom was over and structure was back.
All six of them froze for half a second, then groaned collectively.
"Time to face reality," Tolu said.
"Let's survive the first assembly," Bisi added. "Then we conquer the world."
They began the walk together toward the open ground, where rows of students were already forming like soldiers. They passed the new intake of JSS1s, looking around with wide, terrified eyes. They passed teachers barking instructions and prefects scribbling latecomers' names.
The Clique walked slowly—deliberately—heads held high. Other students parted for them like the Red Sea. Some greeted. Some whispered. Some just stared.
They had been the heart of the school for years. But this final year? It would be the most intense, most dramatic, most unforgettable chapter of their Hillcrest story.
They didn't know it yet, but nothing about this term would be normal.
Friendships would be tested. Secrets would surface. Hearts would break. And one mistake could change everything.
But for now, they walked together—six students, one clique—ready to own the year.