The other girls were now silent and shocked by how Qhawekazii was so skilful in fighting. It was the skills she learned from her father when she grew up. He would teach her everyday how to protect herself, and deal with annoying flies like Dineo.

Qhawekazii grabbed Dineo’s hair, and she yanked it to pull herself up. She punched her noise again, and she stumbled to the walls whilst Qhawekazii’s elbow was stuck on her neck. The blood spurting down to her mouth.

“Luthando doesn’t want you. He wants me. Now stay the hell away from us.” Aggressiveness threaded through her voice.

“Or next time there will be more than just blood on your pretty face. I will also rearrange it.”

She freed her elbow from her neck; her knees dropped to the cold floor while holding her neck and releasing several relieved coughs. Dineo was not only silent after her defeat but she was also fighting back her tears filled with hatred, her heart black over Qhawekazii.

“If any one of you snitch on me to the principal, I will break your bones,” she spat a warning to the girls who looked afraid and terrified in the corner. Qhawekazii turned and walked out of the bathroom.

On her way back to the class. A voice was calling out her name behind her. A hint of nerves came upon her heart as she realised it was, Luthando’s mother.

“Mrs Dlamini,” she bubbled, forming a fake smile.

“What did you do to my son?” Mrs Dlamini fretted, with an angry stare as she folded her arms. Qhawekazii jerked her head up.

“Thisha? (Teacher)”

“Did you give my son some sort of love potion? I don’t know how many times I have I told him to stay away from you, but he keeps running after you!” Her voice was low as not to arouse attention.

Qhawekazii’s heart sank.

“We’re just friends. There’s nothing more to that,” she replied in a polite manner.

“Friends? That’s why he was carrying that heavy bucket of yours yesterday? Does a friend make another friend a slave? Is my son a slave to you?”

“No. Luthando has a heart of gold. He was willingly helping me,” she said.

“I don’t care.” Emotion roughed her voice.

“My son is a graduate. He does not need girls like you. You’re sick and I do not want him to get infected by your disease,” she continued with a calm protest, while her anger fought through a twist of emotions.

Disappointment crashed through Qhawekazii, leaving a dull, sour taste in the back of her throat as she apologised to Mrs Dlamini. Even though there was nothing to apologise for, she felt like she had to, so she could end this conversation.

“I don’t want your sorry. Just stay away from my son.” Her angry pride spiked in her blood. “Stay. Away.” She turned and walked away.

Tears pricked in Qhawekazii’s eyes. Her heart broken by Luthando’s mother’s insult. She turned and ran towards the school gate, opening it whilst the security scuttled to stop her. Qhawekazii ran as fast as she could on the dusty road, until she was far away from school. She chose another direction that would lead her home.

As she walked home, tears didn’t have mercy on her eyes. Mrs Dlamini’s words echoed in her ears, even though she tried to block the sound out.

She passed through the store, where boys whistled, throwing more insults about her status. She ran again while she sobbed, until she arrived at home.

When she entered inside the hut, her eyes widened to her father laying on the bed, with his eyes half open, and his hand hanging with a bottle of vodka.

Tell us: What do you think has happened to Qhawekazii’s father?