Locked in the Science Lab

Thursday afternoons at Crestview International were reserved for practical lab sessions, which usually meant two things: the suffocating heat of Bunsen burners and the distinct smell of sulfur mixing with expensive body mists.

Zainab stood near the long wooden demonstration table in Chemistry Lab 3, her safety goggles resting on top of her braided hair. She was meticulously measuring fifteen milliliters of dilute hydrochloric acid into a glass beaker. Beside her, Simi was lazily fanning herself with a periodic table chart, looking at her phone under the table.

"Zainab, the views on The Crestview Heatmap hit three hundred during lunch break," Simi whispered, her voice dripping with excitement. "People in the lower forms are literally paying SS3 students to forward them screenshots of the 3/10 review. Tari’s ego is currently undergoing emergency surgery."

"He brought it on himself," Zainab replied, pouring the acid with steady hands. "If you're going to try and play someone, at least put some original thought into it. Imported chocolates are what uncles give their nieces."

Before Simi could reply, the heavy wooden door of the lab swung open. Tari walked in, flanked by Koa and two other guys from the basketball team. He had his uniform sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing a gold watch that caught the sunlight pouring through the high windows. His eyes scanned the room, dropping straight onto Zainab with a sharp, deliberate intensity that made her pulse do a treacherous little flutter.

"Right, quiet down everyone!" announced Mr. Egbetokun, the senior chemistry teacher, clapping his hands together. "Today’s assignment is titration acid-base indicators. You will be working in pairs. And before anyone starts choosing their friends, I have already assigned your partners based on last term's continuous assessment scores to balance the class performance."

A collective groan echoed through the lab.

Mr. Egbetokun cleared his throat, pulling out a clipboard. "Simi, you're with Koa at Station 1. Tobi, with Victoria at Station 2..." He rattled down the list until he reached the final pair. "And Zainab Aminu, you will be working with Tari Lawson at Station 6."

Simi gasped so loudly it sounded like a whistle. Koa let out a low, appreciative chuckle.

Zainab froze, her hand hovering over the glass beaker. "Mr. Egbetokun, sir, with all due respect, I work much better independently. Or I can pair with Simi—"

"This is not a negotiation, Miss Aminu," Mr. Egbetokun cut her off without looking up from his board. "Lawson’s chemistry grades are currently hovering in the border zone, and your entrance test score was the highest in the entire SS3 stream. He needs the guidance. Move to Station 6."

Tari didn't say a word. He simply picked up his lab manual, walked over to the back corner table, and pulled out a tall wooden stool. He sat down, propping his chin on his palm, and gave Zainab a slow, challenging smirk.

"Don't worry, teacher's pet," Tari called out softly across the room. "I don't bite. Unless you spill zobo on me again."

Zainab gripped the edge of her lab coat, took a deep, calming breath, and marched over to Station 6.

For the next forty-five minutes, the atmosphere at Station 6 was colder than the air conditioning in a Lekki bank. Zainab spoke strictly in technical instructions—"Hold the burette," "Measure the phenolphthalein," "Don't touch that valve"—and Tari surprisingly obeyed, though his eyes never left her face for more than a few seconds at a time. He was watching the way her forehead creased when she concentrated, the sharp, decisive movements of her small hands, and the stubborn set of her jaw.

"You know," Tari said softly, breaking the silence as the rest of the class began packing up their bags around them, "you don't have to act like I'm a toxic chemical compound, Zainab. It's just acid."

"Chemical compounds are predictable, Lawson," Zainab said, recording data in her logbook without looking up. "Arrogant boys with point-to-prove bets are just annoying."

Tari’s expression shifted slightly, the cocky mask slipping for a fraction of a second. "So you really think everything I do is just for a bet?"

"Is it not?" She finally looked up, her dark eyes locking onto his. "You didn't even know my name three days ago. Now suddenly you're showing up at prep with Swiss chocolates and standing around my desk like a lost security guard."

Before Tari could answer, the loud, ringing bell for afternoon sports activity blared through the hallway.

"Alright, leave your apparatus on the tables, I'll inspect them tomorrow!" Mr. Egbetokun shouted over the noise of shuffling chairs. "Everyone out! I need to lock the block before the staff meeting!"

Students flooded out of the room in a noisy wave. Simi gave Zainab a sympathetic look from the doorway, mouthed "Call me!", and was swept away in the crowd with Koa. Zainab quickly wiped down the granite tabletop with a cloth, eager to leave, while Tari stood by the window, adjusting his watch.

"Finished," Zainab said, grabbing her bag. "Let's go before Mr. Egbetokun—"

CLICK.

The sound of a heavy brass lock turning in the keyhole resonated sharply through the thick wooden door.

Zainab rushed to the door and pulled the brass handle. It didn't budge. She rattled it violently. "Wait! Mr. Egbetokun! We're still inside!"

Silence met her calls, followed by the faint sound of heavy footsteps retreating down the long tiled corridor outside, dying out as the heavy security gate at the end of the science block slammed shut.

"He locked it," Zainab breathed out, turning around, her back hitting the door. "He locked us in."

Tari stood up from the window ledge, pulling out his phone. He tapped the screen, looked at the top corner, and let out a dry, breathy laugh. "And there's zero network signal in this back corner. The concrete walls in this block are too thick."

"Are you serious?!" Zainab pulled out her own phone. Sure enough, No Service stared back at her in crisp white text. "Great. This is fantastic. Locked in a chemistry lab with the person I least want to see in Lagos State."

"Hey, don't make it sound like a prison sentence," Tari said, walking over to the main teacher's desk and hopping up to sit on the edge of it. "The janitor usually does a final round around 6:00 PM before evening devotion. We just have to wait an hour."

Zainab slid down the front of the door, sitting on the cold floor tiles and wrapping her arms around her knees. She looked thoroughly unimpressed with the entire situation.

Tari watched her from across the room. Without the audience of the entire school, without Koa recording everything or the girls giggling in the background, the air between them shifted. The loud, performative drama melted away, leaving a strange, quiet tension.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Tari asked softly. There was no arrogance in his tone this time—just genuine, quiet curiosity.

Zainab looked up, surprised by the shift in his voice. "I don't hate you, Lawson. I just don't like people who think their last name buys them the right to walk over everyone else."

Tari looked down at his black loafers, tracing a seam with his thumb. "My dad is Chief Olanrewaju Lawson," he said quietly. "Every time I walk into a room in this city—whether it's Crestview, a restaurant in Victoria Island, or a family gathering—people don't see me. They see his oil wells. They see his money. If I smile, they think I'm spoiled. If I'm quiet, they think I'm arrogant."

Zainab stayed silent, listening despite herself.

"The shoes in the refectory," Tari continued, looking up at her with a wry, self-deprecating smile. "My older brother sent them to me from London because I passed my SATs. They weren't just expensive shoes, Zainab. They were literally the only thing someone gave me this year that I felt like I actually earned."

Zainab felt a sudden, sharp knot of guilt tighten in her stomach. She thought back to the way she had mocked the ruined suede, the way she had dragged him on The Heatmap.

"I... I didn't know that," Zainab said softly, her voice losing its defensive edge. "You never told anyone."

"Why would I?" Tari shrugged, though a soft warmth touched his eyes as he looked at her. "Lekki doesn't care about your feelings, Zainab. It only cares about your image. You're the first person in three years who looked at me and didn't try to kiss my ring or ask me for a favor."

Zainab looked at him—really looked at him—for what felt like the first time. Stripped of his performative swagger and his wealthy armor, Tari Lawson wasn't a cartoon villain or an arrogant playboy. He was just an eighteen-year-old boy carrying the heavy weight of an impossibly large surname.

"For the record," Zainab murmured, leaning her head back against the wooden door frame, "I'm sorry about the zobo. It really was an accident."

Tari laughed—a real, rich, melodious sound that vibrated off the glass beakers on the shelves. "Apology accepted, Abuja girl." He slid off the desk, walked across the lab, and sat down on the floor right beside her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "Now... tell me about this Heatmap blog. How many points did I lose for the chocolate incident?"

Zainab bit her lower lip to hide a sudden, involuntary smile. "You got a three out of ten. And that was mostly because Tobi really enjoyed the hazelnuts."

"A three?!" Tari gasped, placing a hand over his heart in dramatic horror. "Unbelievable. My reputation is in tatters!"

"You'll have to do much better than Zurich chocolates if you want a passing grade, Lawson," Zainab said, her eyes sparkling with light playful challenge.

"Challenge accepted, Aminu," Tari murmured, leaning his shoulder gently against hers in the dimming light of the locked lab.

Outside, the sun was setting over Lekki, painting the sky in deep shades of gold and purple. But inside Lab 3, for the very first time, neither of them was in a hurry to leave.