Sello is waiting for me to answer him.

A whole lot of panicky thoughts are flying around in my mind. How did he know, how did he sense the truth about me?

No. I try to calm myself. He’s just guessing.

“Nomi?” he urges, because I still haven’t replied. “The Spoilers? What did they do to you?”

It feels like something is clawing at a place inside my chest. There is also a tight ache in my throat.

Part of me wants to yield and share the truth with him, but I’m too scared. How can I tell him? And have him maybe judge me, like everyone else who knows judges me? The way Gaba and Pumza predicted they would?

“Not me,” I mutter – the first lie.

It hits me. I’m always making like I don’t care what people think of me. It’s a lie I tell myself. I do care. And the weirdest thing is I care most of all what Sello thinks of me. I hardly know him, so how has his opinion become so important?

“What?” Sello says to me. “Someone? Who?”

“My friend Moya.” I’m talking very fast now. “They put something in her drink at this open party. GHB, rohypnol, that sort of thing. But it was OK. I guessed they were going to try something, and we got her away and took her home, me and this guy she’s going out with now.”

Sello shakes his head. “That sort of thing. I hate it. Sounds like they’re still doing it, if they’ve earned this ‘Spoilers’ name.”

“Most likely. I’ve heard they mainly operate outside our area now, over on Leleka’s college campus, but that doesn’t make it any better.”

“Did you report them?”

I do one of my shoulder twitches. “No point. Leleka’s father would get him off, like he did with the drag-racing thing. Eish, why are we wasting breath on him?”

“Ugly subject,” Sello agrees.

“You’re not at the same college as Leleka and those others, are you?” I say. “You said one of the crew looked familiar.”

“No, I think I’ve seen him at home in Klipspruit. I’m at UJ, bridging from diploma to degree in accountancy.”

“But you live in Klipspruit? Far for you to travel.”

“It’s difficult, but my mother … she lost me for so long … it’s important to her to have me around these days. And you? Your family?”

“Don’t ask,” I say, but I tell him a bit anyway, about the set-up and how I came to be there.

It shocks me to discover how much I like this, the two of us walking along together and talking about ordinary things.

It also makes me frightened. I’m not used to anything … nice.

“See you next week,” Sello says when we reach the road where I have to turn off.

“Yebo, after my session with Mama Thlapi.”

I’m feeling so positive, starting to think about maybe not needing to see Mama Thlapi any more, getting back to the person I used to be…

No, that’s going too far. I’ll never be that Nomi again.

At home I unlock my box and get out my paper and the pens I bought for ‘drawing what I’m feeling’ as Mama Thlapi calls it. It took me a long time to understand what she meant, but now the drawing has become a habit.

At first I only take out the red and black pens as usual. Then, after a moment, I reach into the box and feel around for the other two that I bought along with the red and black pens. Blue and green.

My heart is hammering, like something big is about to happen. I’m almost frightened to make the first blue mark on the paper. It feels so strange doing it, letting myself feel good, as if I’m doing something daring and dangerous.

An uncertain, wavering line is the beginning, but then the pen starts gliding over the paper.

I feel shy when it’s the day for my next meeting with Mama Thlapi and I have all these different new drawings to show her, mostly looping swirls of blue and green.

She looks at them and doesn’t speak. Then she pulls a bunch of papers out of a file on the chair beside her.

“You forgot to take these back last week.” She smiles at me. “Compare them with your new drawings and tell me what you think the difference means, Nomi.”

I take the old drawings and scowl down at all that angry cross-hatching, remembering the hashtags I used to carve into my skin.

“That I’ve had a good week,” I answer her, feeling self-conscious. “Won’t last.”

“How do you know?”

“I know my life.”

And we’re back to her asking questions and me being uncooperative.

This time I remember to take my drawings away with me when I go to meet Sello in the Centre’s kitchen.

“Hey.” He notices the top drawing, one of the new ones, when I put the papers down. “This is a bit different from that other drawing I saw. Not angry. I like it. It’s like … the sea, or something.”

“Never seen the sea.” I’m embarrassed. “For real. Only on television.”

“Same here.” As usual, I somehow feel his laugh.

This time, when he suggests getting drinks after our lesson, I agree, and we take the cans to one of the benches near the memorial. I’m jumpy, gulping my drink too fast. Sitting on a bench with an attractive young man is so out of my comfort zone.

“How come you’re doing this?” I know I sound aggressive. “Helping me for free? No-one is that … generous.”

He smiles, turning his head so he’s looking into my eyes.

“It’s different now I know you, but when Mama Thlapi first asked me to do it, and I said yes, it was going to be like … like my give-back.”

“Give-back?”

“I don’t know what your issues are, only that you have them, and that’s why you’re seeing Mama Thlapi.” Now he’s very serious, no more smiling. “But you’re not the only one, Nomi. I’ve also been broken.”

“Broken?” A new word, a bit different from ones like ‘spoiled’ and ‘damaged’.

“So how did you put yourself back together? Because you are. Together, I mean.”

“Rather ask me who helped to put me back together,” Sello says. “We can’t do it on our own, Nomi.”

“No.” I’m harsh, disagreeing with him. “Everyone is alone in this world. We can’t rely on anyone except ourselves. For anything.”

“That friend you talked about last time? The one you helped,” he reminds me, and there’s something urgent about how he says it. “She could rely on you.”

“A one-off, a fluke,” I argue.

He shakes his head, letting it go.

“We’ll just have to disagree. Finished?”

He holds out his scarred hand for my empty can and stands up, throwing both cans into the nearest bin.

Then he turns to me as I stand up. At first I don’t think anything about it, because my mind is on how fast I’ve been drinking and whether I’m going to start hiccupping. Then I see his eyes, the lazy warmth in them.

“Sello…” It comes out all breathy.

“But you know what? I don’t mind us disagreeing about some things, Nomi,” he says, and he’s reaching for me.

Shock shuts down my mind. He’s going to kiss me.

***

Tell us what you think: Will Nomi let Sello kiss her? Are we alone in this world, unable to rely on anyone except ourselves?