The History block at ZIA was a glass-walled structure that overlooked the lush, manicured football pitches. Inside, the air-conditioned chill fought against the heavy scent of blooming jacarandas drifting through the open transoms.
Leya sat in the back row, her posture so rigid it looked painful. She stared at the blank screen of her tablet, trying to ignore the way the other students periodically pivoted in their seats just to catch a glimpse of her. She was a curiosity—a relic of a fallen empire brought back for a final public viewing.
The chair beside her slid back with a loud, deliberate screech.
Zazu dropped into the seat, his presence filling the space like a physical heat. He didn't look at her; he just started sketching a series of interlocking gears in the margin of his notebook.
"You're in my seat," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"There wasn't a nameplate," Leya replied, her London vowels sounding like shattered glass in the quiet room. "And unless the Tembos have successfully privatized the furniture as well, I think I'll stay put."
Zazu's pen paused. A small, involuntary smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Fair point. Just don't blame me when Musi starts throwing paper planes. He has terrible aim and an even worse personality."
"Settle down," Mr. Mwape called out, tapping a wooden ruler against the white-board. He was an old-school educator who lived for the drama of the past. "Today, we move into the late 20th-century economic shifts. Specifically, the 'National Transparency Act' and the subsequent audits."
The room went tomb-quiet.
A slide flickered onto the screen. It was a photo of a Copperbelt refinery at night. In the foreground, a ten-year-old newspaper headline was visible: KAPIRI ASSETS SEIZED: THE AUDIT THAT RESET THE NATION.
Leya felt a cold sweat prickle at the base of her neck. She stared at the screen, her vision narrowing until all she could see was her own surname in bold black ink.
"This period," Mr. Mwape said, pacing the front of the room, "marked the transition from private monopolies to our current Cooperative model. It was fueled by the findings of the Tembo Commission."
"You mean it was fueled by a witch hunt," Musi called out from the front row. He turned back, his eyes dancing with malice. "Right, Leya? My dad says your mother didn't just lose the money—she hid it. Is that why you stayed in London so long? To keep the seat warm for the stolen millions?"
Leya's fingers curled into the palms of her hands. She wanted to snap back, to use the sharp, clever words she'd practiced in her head. But her throat felt like it was full of dry sand.
"Musi, shut it," Zazu said. He didn't look up from his notebook, but his voice had a sharp, authoritative edge.
"Why? It's in the curriculum," Musi challenged. "We're supposed to discuss the impact of the corruption."
Zazu finally looked up, his gaze locking onto Musi's. "The impact was a systemic failure. If you want to talk about corruption, maybe we should ask your father about the 'consultancy fees' he received during the restructuring. Or is that not in your version of the textbook?"
Musi turned bright red, his mouth hanging open.
Zazu turned to Leya. For a second, his "Golden Boy" mask slipped. "You okay?" he whispered.
Leya didn't answer. She stood up, her chair clattering against the floor. "Mr. Mwape," she said, her accent sounding more forced than ever. "I've already covered this material. I find the local perspective... biased. If you'll excuse me."
She didn't wait for permission. She grabbed her bag and walked out. She made it to the courtyard before the air felt thin enough to breathe. She slumped against a brick pillar, her eyes squeezed shut.
"Leya!"
She didn't have to look to know it was him. Zazu was jogging toward her, his tie loosened.
"I told you to leave me alone," she said.
"I'm not following you because I'm a prefect," Zazu said, stopping a few feet away. He looked at her—not at the Kapiri name, but at the fifteen-year-old girl who looked like she was about to shatter. "I'm following you because that silver coin Lombe gave me when I was four? I still have it. I think it's time we talked about what it actually meant."
Leya looked up, her eyes wide. "You still have it?"
"I still have it," Zazu whispered.