Zola, in her youth, was a rising star of Hope School in the Valley of a Thousand Hills. She ran like lightning and the school had a proud display of trophies to show for it. Though her given name was Nokuzola, the spectators at competitions shortened her name to Zola – ‘Zo-la Zo-la Zo-la,’ they would chant as she approached the finishing line – after Zola Budd who had run in the Olympics.

Nokuzola could not afford running shoes and, like the other Zola, she loved to feel the ground with her feet. She developed a relationship with the grass, or the soil, or the tarmac wherever she was competing. Her feet communicated with the ground. She loved the feeling of her pulse increasing just before the whistle blew to set her and her competitors off.

Her first love was really horseracing. She loved watching the horses, and her greatest wish was to be one of those small men who squat on top of the majestic animals and spur them on to run like the wind. She had never had the chance to be up close to a horse, so she chose to do the next best thing, to run like them. She pretended to be the fastest horse in the race. Her heart would pound and adrenaline would surge through her when she shot from the start to the finishing line, and she felt as light as a feather. As the shouts began, things slowed down in her mind, she would feel the wind pass through her and a sense of peace would engulf her as she approached the winning point.

One day her rebellious Aunt Skwiza came to visit and told her about winning a jackpot from betting on a horse named Sweet Apples. After that Zola thought of Sweet Apples each time she raced.
Zola was the pride of her mother, but her father was not happy. He didn’t want his daughter wearing those tiny running shorts that he said looked like panties. ‘It’s exposing her body to everyone including perverts, maSosibo, and she is growing,’ he would protest.

MaSosibo would plead with him, ‘Just one more year, Baba, and then she will stop. I promise.’

He would agree, reluctantly. Secretly he was proud of his daughter, who he thought ran like a possessed mule.

Zola ignored most of the attention coming her way, but she felt compelled to notice Sporo Hadebe. He was unusually dark with a strong jaw and a smile that lit up his face. He was also the most popular soccer player in the school. But it was his unique smell that made her notice him. It was a confusing smell that wasn’t a perfume or sweat from practice, but emanated from him alone.

She knew when he was approaching before she saw
him appearing around corners, or when he had entered the classroom. Her new interest in Sporo drew her to the game of soccer to watch him play.

Her eyes zoomed in and took him in, section by section. She noticed his perfectly-toned calves, and that his right leg was slightly crooked at the knee, giving him a unique run. The muscles in his thighs separated like in the pictures in a biology book. When the boys took off their T-shirts after practice, she saw that each muscle on his stomach was sculpted, with not an ounce of fat in sight. His arms were strong, and when he smiled, dimples revealed themselves on his cheeks. Could this boy be any more beautiful and unaware of it than he was? She would try not to stare, but failed completely.

At first Zola thought she was dreaming when Sporo made advances towards her. Not only was he fast on his feet, he was also smart in class and funny too. But despite all of this he was not arrogant. Zola had promised herself that she would stay away from boys as it was a matter of life and death if her strict father found out. But she couldn’t do that with Sporo. There was a sense of urgency in her.

They talked after PE classes and on trips to and from school during athletics competitions. She even began to follow soccer, which pleased and puzzled her father. They made
quite a pair, Zola and Sporo. The envious ones looked on with contempt, while others openly admired the two. They became inseparable, and were very sweet together. Even the teaching staff looked the other way from this budding romance instead of reprimanding them like they would usually do. ‘They seem mature enough to be responsible,’ said the life skills teacher, Pearl, who took an interest in the lives of her students.

‘If you say so. Just don’t forget that these are teenagers with raging hormones,’ said Mr Zondo, the English teacher, who objected mostly because he couldn’t stop thinking about Zola himself. The thought of her with someone else turned him into a jealous schoolboy.

Mr Zondo would sit by the window and watch her during lunch breaks. He hated it when he saw her laughing at one
of Sporo’s jokes. As much as he loved soccer, he began to hate Sporo’s easy manner. He hated how Sporo put his arm around Zola’s shoulders, and the way he looked at her; the confidences they obviously shared. He knew the day Zola lost her virginity to Sporo.

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