Principal Manzini writes the letter and emails it to Hillview High School. Two days later she gets a reply politely refusing the offer. The Principal of Hillview High School says they have a strict programme of their own that they can’t disrupt.

I am very disappointed and spend the rest of the day feeling gloomy. On the way home I am still overthinking the Principal’s feedback.

“Lelo, can you believe? Just a few weeks into the job and I’m already failing!”

“Don’t be silly,” says Nombulelo.

“Lelo …”

“Yes friend?”

“Do you think maybe I’m sometimes too ambitious?”

“What? Where is that coming from?”

“I sometimes feel like I need to come back to earth, like I want too much, too quickly.”

“There is nothing wrong with thinking big. Yes, you could be more practical, but part of your charm is that you are hopeful. Now cheer up Gcina. This is really not that big of an issue that it could just sink you into depression.”

“Hmmm,” I sigh.

“Yiza, I’ll buy you an ice-lolly.”

Nombulelo buys me my favourite flavour lolly and we enjoy them as we walk home together.

“Gcina, you haven’t said anything about the Matric Dance,” says Nombulelo.

I roll my eyes. “Lelo, I really don’t care about the dance.”

“Yoooh, why not?”

“Huh, call me uptight but such things just don’t interest me.”

“Hayi ke Gcina you need to lighten up. Now that I think about it I kinda agree with you. You do need to come back to earth!” Nombulelo snaps.

“You can’t use my own words against me. When I said that, it was about ambition, not socialising.”

“Yooh Gcina, it’s the final year of high school. The Matric dance marks the end of an era and the beginning of a new and important chapter in our lives.”

“You are right Nombulelo … but I am still not interested.”

“Well too bad coz you’re still going, Head Girl.”

“Lelo my mom has enough on her plate and bhuti Vusi too. You really shouldn’t pressure him with this Matric Dance nonsense. I am honestly not interested. There are better ways to spend money. Such as: we have to start applying for college or university soon.”

Nombulelo keeps quiet. I know she has no intention of applying for tertiary education. Her plan is to pass Matric and start looking for a job.

But I have my mind set on university. I am thinking of doing a teaching degree, or social work, or even becoming the Public Protector one day. Thuli Madonsela is one of my heroes.

Nombulelo changes the subject. “So who are we going to add to our study group? We should grab Moses very quickly.”

I laugh. “Absolutely, now that’s a plan. I’ll start a WhatsApp group later. My mom took my phone to work to charge but as soon as she’s home I’ll get onto it.”

After the fire the shacks were rebuilt but there was no electricity. Even before the fire the electricity was connected illegally anyway. I dream of making a better life for myself and my mother. I picture us leaving the informal settlement. My mother registered for an RDP house six years ago, but she is still on the waiting list. The government is building houses in the Itireleng section in Zone 5, which is closer to school. Moses lives in Zone 3, where the nicer houses are.

“But you know Moses lives all the way in Zone 3. How are we going to get home after dark from his house?”

“He’s a boy; he can come to us,” says Nombulelo.

“Yuh, Lelo! So Moses must leave his comfortable space with electricity and come study here with us by candle light?”

“Eish, inzima ke lendaba (This is a difficult situation),” Nombulelo sighs.

Later, when Mom returns from work, I have already cooked rice and tinned fish. I am heating water on the paraffin stove so that she can bath after a long day at work.

“Gcina today at work there was this old woman caught by the security guard shop-lifting. I was so embarrassed for her! And you know what she stole? A 10 pack of tobacco snuff – just imagine. I mean she is not even stealing food, instead she is stealing to feed her habit. Not that stealing is ever justifiable but argh maan!”

We laugh as she tells me how the woman hid the snuff in her bra. After Mom has bathed we have dinner and I wash the dishes.

When she goes to bed I switch on my phone to text Moses.

Hello Moses, it’s Gcina.
I hope I’m not disturbing you.

Moses replies within the minute.

Hi G. Npe not disturbing. Hud?

Moses, if this is how you type then
goodnight, I will speak to you
tomorrow at school.

Haaahhhhaaaaaa. Gcina you kill me.
Okay grammar police, I will type properly.  

Thank you.

Study group tomorrow? 

My house?

Walking home in the dark?

I’ll lift you.

So he must have a car, I think.

Nombulelo too.

Yeah of course. But …

Puzzled, I respond:

But what?

I would prefer it if it was just us.

I feel a warm shiver in my stomach. A thought flashes across my mind like a lightning bolt: Is he hitting on me? Should I be upset, or flattered? My mind is taking offence, but my heart is beating quicker and stronger, in the strangest way … oh and that heat rising to my chest is opposing any and all ideas of me resisting the ‘Moses charm’.

I struggle to think of a response and before I can, he is typing again:

Where is your house?

Shit, I think. I haven’t before cared a bit whether Moses knows I live in a shack or not – but now for some reason it matters.

Gcina come on. I know where you live,
just tell me the exact spot. Should I call?

I hurry to answer:

No don’t call, I won’t be able to speak
to you. Mom will hear that I’m on
the phone. I stay by the main road
to Chloorkop, just behind that blue spaza
shop owned by the Somalians.

Okay cool.

And then Moses goes offline. I don’t know what to think. Would he …? No, he wouldn’t. I quickly wipe that thought from my mind. There is no way Moses is coming now – in virtually the middle of the night. It is after nine. He is asking for the purpose of the study group, that’s all.

Suddenly Moses comes back online.

You were offish earlier, at school. What was up?

You noticed?

Moses goes offline again. Then after five minutes he responds.

Yes. I always notice. 

What does that mean?

It takes him another few minutes to respond. I am getting irritated.

Answer my question first then I’ll answer yours. 

I reply:

The thing with Hillview High, it’s
not going to happen. Manzini told
me this morning.

Another six minutes goes by. I am now more than irritated.

Let’s pick this up again tomorrow and
I’ll give you the exact feedback.
Besides, you seem pre-occupied.

I am pre-occupied. Texting and
driving is a bad combination.
I’m at the Somalian shop, where
to from here?

WHAT???

Okay that’s as good as my grammar
is going to get and I think I typed very
clearly.

I think quickly, then respond:

Wait there; there is a passage just next
to the shop. I’ll be coming through it.

Cool.

“Mama … Ma,” I wake up my mom.

“Yintoni Gcina?” she mumbles.

“I need to fetch Nombulelo’s English book to write down some notes. I couldn’t finish earlier; Head Girl duties.”

“Okay be quick, it’s late. Vusi must walk you back.” Mom collapses back into her slumber.

I grab her jacket and go out, locking the door behind me.

***

Tell us what you think: What is happening to Gcina?