The past two weeks leading up to the derby had gone by so fast, that on some days Karabo had even forgotten there was a William. She had hardly seen him and, even if she did, Isla would miraculously appear out of nowhere and drag her away. Isla wasn’t having anything to do with ‘that creepo’ as she called him. Karabo wondered if she would be able to shake Isla off and chat to William during the derby. Isla was besotted with Mzi, even though she pretended not to be, and so would be on the side lines of all his games – especially the final game. That could be a good time to try and catch William’s attention. Despite what Isla said, Karabo just couldn’t help wanting to know more about William. He turned and looked straight at her from across the bus. Her chest closed and she was certain she would never breathe again. He looked straight into her.

‘Oh please, why is that creepo looking at us!’ spat Isla, as she turned to speak to Karabo.

The buses jolted and moved forward, freeing Karabo of William’s stare. Isla shook her head at Karabo. ‘Whaaat?’ asked Karabo.

‘You know what! Don’t give the creepo any ideas Karabz,’ said Isla, squeezing Karabo’s hand.

‘Fine,’ Karabo said and looked out the bus window. The sky was still dark, with only the faintest blush of light on the horizon. The crowded interior of the bus hummed with excited talk and giggles. Some of the Grade 10 boys were sitting in front of Isla and Karabo, and they turned around to hang over the tops of the bus seats to make fun of the girls. Karabo quickly forgot about William and bantered with her friends.

About an hour into the journey, and without warning, the bus suddenly stopped in the middle of nowhere. They had been travelling for about an hour, and were on a dusty road in the rural area between the two schools. Everyone in the bus stood up and looked out of the windows. The rugby team bus behind them, also stopped, and they were definitely not at St. Josephs. Their destination was at least another two hours away. The teachers in charge of the bus were talking to the driver, who was shrugging his shoulders and looking confused. The noise level in the bus rose as everyone asked what was happening. Eventually one of the teachers, a rather pale and plump student teacher, called for silence.

‘It seems we have taken a wrong turn,’ she explained, in a high- pitched voice. ‘And we don’t really know if we should carry   on via this road or if we have to turn back, which will make us extremely late,’ she said, emphasising the word ‘extremely’. ‘I am going to go and see if we can chat to someone in one of the villages here and find out if they can direct us. Unfortunately, the signal on my phone is bad and I can’t get my GPS to work, so I need someone to come with me who can speak fluent isiXhosa please,’ she said. Karabo raised her hand. ‘I can speak ma’am,’ said Karabo, ‘I can come with you. But can I take Isla with too?’ she asked, not wanting to go alone. The teacher seemed to think it over then agreed, rolling her eyes, ‘OK fine, but really, I don’t know why you girls have to do everything in packs.’

As Karabo, Isla, and Ms Peters stepped off the bus, she noticed the head rugby coach and Mzi walking towards them from the other bus. ‘Ms Peters,’ said Mr Venter, ‘I am going to go into the village to ask for directions,’ he stated. ‘We were thinking the same thing Mr Venter. Mzi, how’s your isiXhosa?’ asked Ms Peters, raising her eyebrows, knowing full well that Mzi’s family were Ndebele and although he could get by, his translation from rural isiXhosa could possibly not be good enough for the detailed directions they needed. Mzi stopped in his tracks. ‘I’m sure I’ll be OK ma’am,’ he said, annoyed that this student teacher didn’t think he understood isiXhosa. ‘I see,’ said Ms Peters, ‘Well, just in case, please take Karabo with you. She is fluent.’

Insistently, Ms Peters shoved Karabo, and then Isla, forward. Mr Venter nodded his approval and began trekking towards one of the larger huts down the valley, Mzi in tow.