The next morning, during English class, I was called to the principal’s office. My treasure box was open on her desk. Busi was already in the room with a look of shock on her face.

“We have a matter we need to clear up,” said Mrs Watson, the principal.

“Lindiwe, are you familiar with this box of objects?” she said, pointing to my treasure box.

“Yes, it’s mine; the house mother took it from my room last night.”

“Lindiwe, where are these thing from?”

“From Busi’s house,” I said, flashing a look at Busi. “She… she… gave them to me.”

“Busisiwe, is that true?” said Mrs Watson.

Busisiwe looked at me, then back at the box.

“Well… um… yes.”

“Did your mother give you permission to take her things?”

“Well…sort of…”

“Busisiwe, you need to understand that if this is not true, and you are lying and protecting your friend, you are as guilty as she is, and you both could be expelled.”

Busi looked down at the floor, then up at Mrs Watson.

“Mrs Watson, I didn’t know that Lindi had taken these things from my house, but I don’t want her to get into trouble with you.”

“Well, that’s very good – to stand up for your friend – but we need to know the truth of this matter.”

“Lindiwe, did you take these objects from Busi’s house?”

I felt a lump rising in my throat, my legs felt shaky and I felt like I was going to vomit. It felt like I was in court.

“Yes, but I borrowed them. I didn’t steal them.”

“Did you have permission to ‘borrow’ them?” asked Mrs Watson.

“No,” I whispered.

“Speak up, Lindiwe, we can’t hear you.”

“No, I didn’t have permission to borrow them, but I was going to put them all back.”

“Lindiwe, are you aware that it’s a very serious offence to take another person’s possessions without their permission?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“It’s called stealing,” said Busi.

“I was going to put them all back on my next visit,” I said. Tears ran down my cheeks.

“Well, they’re not in Busisiwe’s house. They’re in a lunch box on my desk,” said Mrs Watson, pointing to the box. “Girls, I am going to have to call a meeting with both your parents. Now, go back to class. For the moment, these objects will remain with me.”

Busi and I left the room. I closed the door behind us.

“How could you?” Busi spat at me as we stood in the hallway. “How could you steal from us? After us taking you into our house like a sister? I thought you were my sister, but you’re not. You’re just a thief Lindiwe. A lying, cheating thief! This friendship is over! Over! Over!”

Then she turned and ran down the passage.

I just stood, dead still, too stunned move.

* * * * *

That night, I phoned my mother and told her everything: that I had taken the objects, why I’d taken the objects, and how sorry I was.

My mother didn’t shout or reprimand me, she just said: “I’ll be at the school on Wednesday. We’ll find a way to sort this out.”

Wednesday arrived too soon. At ten o’clock, we were called to Mrs Watson’s office. When we entered the room, Busi’s parents and my mother were already there. My mother had a look of extreme disappointment on her face. I wanted to run up and hug her, and say how terribly sorry I was, but I contained myself and just bit my lower lip.

“Well, we all know why we are here,” began Mrs Watson. “Our task now is to find a way forward. Lindiwe, is there anything you’d like to say?”

I turned to Busi’s mother.

“Mama,” I said, “I’m really sorry I took your things without asking. I didn’t mean to steal, honestly. I would have brought them back soon. Promise.”

“Why did you take them?” asked Busi’s mother coldly.

Tears started to stream down my face.

“I don’t know,” I wept. “Maybe I wanted to feel I was in your house during the week. Maybe I’m jealous that you have so much and we’ve struggled… I don’t know… but I’m so sorry,” I sobbed.

“Mrs Watson, perhaps I can give you some background to Lindiwe’s actions. You see, we have a history with Busi’s family. A long history,” said my mother.

And with that, my mother began our story. She told everything: how she babysat their kids for no pay, about the murder of my father and Busi’s mom getting his job, Busi’s parents’ social climbing, and their forgetting us, my scholarship and my loneliness at boarding school.

“So you see,” concluded my mother, “this is a complicated situation. My daughter cannot be seen simply as a thief.”

* * *

Tell us what you think: How would you feel if you were Busi? And if you were Lindi?