Busi tiptoed into her parents’ room and over to her mother’s bedside table, pausing once or twice when her mother sighed, and turned over in bed. Carefully Busi lifted her mother’s cellphone off the table and slowly tiptoed back out of the room.
Busi’s mother’s sleeping face had showed none of the firmness it normally did in her role as a Maths teacher, standing at the front of their classroom.
Nomsa was waiting for her in the dark passage, giggling. She had persuaded Busi to take the phone. She had not wanted to do it herself. Nomsa was nervous of Busi’s mother and her father. He was the headmaster at their school, and she could just imagine his anger if he should happen to wake up, and discover what they were up to.
Nomsa had only been at school with Busi for the last year. During that time they had become firm friends, and Nomsa loved to sleep over at Busi’s. But Nomsa wasn’t sure whether Busi’s parents really liked her that much. She had certainly grown up in a very different place to Busi, and she had had very different kinds of friends.
Nomsa had won a scholarship to the school, and she knew that she was the top maths pupil in the class. Busi’s mother had to respect that. But Busi had once overheard Nomsa’s mother talking to her husband in the kitchen.
“I’m not sure about Nomsa,” she had said. “That girl just might be more of a problem-maker than a problem-solver.”
Busi, however, loved listening to Nomsa’s stories about her life. Nomsa was a risk-taker, but she was clever, and so Busi had every confidence that Nomsa would have a solution for every situation she ever found herself in. That was why Busi was keen to follow any suggestion Nomsa made. Like tonight. Nomsa was fun, and daring, and beautiful too.
“Shut up!” hissed Busi, as Nomsa giggled. “You were meant to have airtime for your cellphone, seeing as my parents have confiscated mine!”
The two girls ducked down the passage and into Busi’s bedroom and Busi shut the door quietly. Nomsa took Busi’s Mom’s phone and confidently dialled a number.
“There’s no answer,” she said, shaking her head in exasperation, as it rang and rang. “But this is the taxi service I always use.”
“Hurry up,” said Busi nervously, opening the door a crack, and listening.
“Okay, okay,” said Nomsa. “I have another number.”
Nomsa dialled the number and almost at once was speaking into the phone: “Yes I’d like to be picked up in fifteen minutes,” she said, and then gave the address of Busi’s house.
“Sorted,” said Nomsa, with satisfaction, handing the phone to Busi.
Busi moved quietly back down the passage and into her parents’ bedroom, where she replaced the phone on the bedside table, holding her breath as she did so.
Tell us what you think: What do you think the girls are planning? Do you think Busi’s friendship with Nomsa will last?