Locust’s eyes narrow as he spots me. He’s at the centre of that gang of boys my brother Mthunzi used to hang with. There are about 15 of them, all of them carrying sticks, and looking fierce as wild animals. But Locust is the biggest and meanest looking of them all. My heart forgets that it’s meant to beat.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see my friend Geekboy waiting for me next to the Vodacom tree up the road. We’re meeting there for an after school mogeek mashup. My heart sinks as I realize that in true style he’s so busy doing something on his phone that he hasn’t noticed me yet.

I’m on my own!

Cloud shadows pass over Locust’s face. My breath jams in my chest. I can tell by the look on his face that he clearly wants something from me – and I have a feeling it is me. I’m so frightened I can’t move. My feet feel like they’ve been paved into the ground with solid cement.

I can hear small children swinging wildly on the old swings nearby. The rusty chains howl as the kids push the tyre seats faster and faster, higher and higher. The chains start to shriek unbearably.

“Ndu!” Locust shouts my name like a battle cry and suddenly makes his move. He comes towards me fast, reaching for something in his bag! What is he going to pull out? My heart rat-a-tat-tats like a machinegun. It blasts my feet into action, at last.

I’m out of there! I don’t hang about for a millisecond. I run blindly.

Baaaaaaaaarp! A taxi hoots and swerves to miss me – just. A dust storm explodes around me as the taxi slams on breaks so close I feel it vacuum suck my hair and clothes towards it.

I blink in shock, then realise I’m looking straight into the taxi’s open door. Passengers are staring out at me with mouths wide open, shocked at how close the taxi came to flattening me.

“Are you out of your mind girl?!” the driver yells at me.

I hear footsteps on the dusty road behind me. Running fast towards me! Locust! I scramble inside, breaking my fingernails as I scratch frantically at the door while slamming it shut.

‘Go, go, go!’ I scream at the driver. [Voice Richter Scale: 10.]

The force and strength of my voice takes me by surprise, even though it still comes out in strangled, unregulated bursts.

Baggy eyes that look like they’ve seen it all meet mine in the rearview mirror. Without blinking she puts her foot down flat on the accelerator.

The taxi’s tyres spin in the dust, then grip, and the old engine chokes out thick greasy smoke as we roar away.

I crane my neck to look past the passengers and out the taxi’s back window just in time to see Locust throw his spotti down on the ground. He kicks it furiously then jumps on top of it and stamps it into the ground.

The taxi’s oily fumes rush into my mouth and nose as I suck in my breath. For a moment I think I’m going to hurl.

Geekboy sprints out into the road and after the taxi, his face twisted with worry, one hand up in the air – half a wave and half a question mark. He realizes he can’t catch up, and I see him slow down, and put his hands on his head. A second later he reaches for his phone and starts punching buttons.

Everybody in the taxi is jabbering loudly – about me.

I try to lift my hand to wave out the window to Geekboy, to show him I’m fine. But it stops halfway and parks itself firmly over my mouth, holding in feelings and memories pushing up inside my throat. They taste like sour burning vomit.

My phone rings. Geekboy’s name and picture come up on my screen.

I can’t answer because my whole body starts to shake violently, and I have such bad pins and needles in my hands I can’t get my fingers to hit the green telephone. Why is Locust after me? Why?! Soft arms catch me as everything goes black.

Ten minutes later and I’m back in the world of the living. Well, almost. I’m conscious, at least, and I can sit up by myself in a taxi seat. The good news is my fingers are working well enough that I can send a short Whatsapp message to Geekboy.

Ndu: Sry Gkby! Am ok. Wl cht l8.

I point out our shack wedged in the midst of a row of rotten old shacks that lean up against each other like crooked teeth. My escape taxi pulls up right outside.

“You be careful girl!” says the taxi driver as I climb out.

My knees are as wobbly as a Moir’s pudding.

“Thank you for saving me.” [Voice Richter Scale: 9,5]

When I speak my face burns, my shoulders hunch up towards my head and my voice comes out sounding as weird and broken as it has since…since Mthunzi’s accident. But I figure I have to make the effort to speak since my taxi driver’s just saved my life and gone off her route to drop me at my doorstep.

The taxi driver gives me the thumbs up as she speeds away, leaving me on my own in the taxi’s dust.

I unlock the padlock on our shack door. The door moans like a complaining grandmother as I open and close it. Home alone. And half an hour before I need to fetch my little twin brother and sister from day care. I hook the padlock through the inside bolt and lock myself in.

I’ve got a few singles stashed in a small plastic container under my mattress. My fingers do a bit of an uncontrollable nervous breakdance as I take one out and light it. Ciggies will kill me. I know. I hardly ever smoke. But right now I need one. It’s the only way I know how to blow off some of the off-the-scale stress that’s burning me up inside.

My phone rings. It’s my best friend Stylus. Geekboy must have told her what happened because we only ever message each other. We never call each other anymore. Not since my voice defected.

“Just tell me you’re ok, Ndu” Stylus says.

“I’m OK.” My voice breaks worse than ever. [Voice Richter Scale: Variable. 9 – 10]

“You’re not. But I’m glad you got home in one piece. I couldn’t take it if anything more happened to you.”

“Gotta go, Stylus.” I sound like a sick animal. [Voice Richter Scale: 9]

“It’s ok hon. Just called ‘cos it’s an emergency. I’ll message you later. Love you big time. Bye.”

She hangs up. A Whatsapp message from her comes through 10 seconds later.

Stylus: & sms me if u nd anythng!

Ndu: Tx. I will. 🙂

I catch a glimpse of myself in our square of mirror hanging from a piece of wire on the wall, clutching my ciggie, arms wrapped across my chest, mouth pursed, and face all screwed up with stress, and realize the 🙂 is a lie.

What I need is help. I’m in bigger trouble than I know how to handle. And my problems are way too big for Stylus to deal with either. She doesn’t know the half of it. It’s worse than anything I could have ever imagined.

***

Tell us what you think: Ndu is in a bad place. Do you think she should open up and tell Stylus just how much trouble she is in, or is it better to try and handle it herself?

[KFCgull: Credit for this name goes to Evan Haussmann.

Cellphone Evangelist: Copyright Steve Vosloo]