My mother hugs me so hard that our hearts knock hard against each other. Then she pulls up chairs on the sunny stoep. I can feel her boyfriend’s eyes on me, criticising the effort I have made to look pretty.

My mother feeds us chicken stew so delicious it makes me want to cry with longing. While we eat, my mother’s boyfriend asks Nomhle and Luzuko a whole lot of questions. He seems deeply impressed to see me with the head prefect and a handsome boy in first year law at UCT.

I tickle my mother’s scruffy old dog, Tiny, with the toe of my shoe. I get a lump in my throat. The funny little thing will not leave me alone. She is missing me.

My mother’s boyfriend asks Luzuko, “So how did you come to be staying with Phumza in Masi?”

Luzuko glances at Nomhle. He smiles mischievously. “Let’s just say our parents had to leave in a hurry.”

A chuckle bursts from me. The little dog leaps to her feet, startled. Her skinny legs shiver, her little black eyes bulge. Nomhle starts to giggle at the sight. The three of us laugh for the sheer joy of laughing instead of crying.

Nomhle is definitely picking my cheekiness up from me. She throws a chicken bone to Tiny, says outright, “You must be missing Phumza, Mrs Qithi. She keeps us laughing all day.”

My mother’s boyfriend drops his fork on the floor. He smiles, but there is a no love in it. “We don’t miss her tongue.”

Luzuko picks up the fork and lays it on the nasty man’s knee. “It’s what saves her.” Luzuko pins my mother’s boyfriend with his brown eyes. “She needs that spirit to fight bullies.”

Nomhle climbs right into the middle of the polite sword fight. “It’s honest. Phumza says what she is thinking. It’s so much better than covering up.”

I grin at my mother’s boyfriend, taunt him. “You see? They love that about me.”

Out of the corner of my eyes, I catch Luzuko nodding quite openly. A small smile appears on my mother’s lips. She gazes at me like she has never seen me this way. The expression in her eyes – I’m certain it is proud.

I hold Nomhle’s hand tightly on the bus, slightly shaky now. I know she hears me thanking her silently. Luzuko sits in the seat behind us, his knees digging right into my backbone. But I don’t mind the discomfort. A deep, vulnerable feeling is welling up in my chest, making my heart ache. I think he might love me, like I just said on my mother’s stoep.

Nomhle is chewing her lip, frowning thoughtfully. “What’s our theme?”

I don’t even think. The words just tumble out. “There’s no such thing as perfect.”

Nomhle ponders my words. She nods. “And the title?”

“Your name.”

“Nomhle?”

“No, your other name. Miss Perfect.”

Nomhle guffaws in the most unladylike way. Luzuko leans forward, breathes against my cheek. He is close enough to kiss. “What are you two up to?” His brown eyes are a constellation of soft, soft stars.

There is no such thing as ‘perfect’ but I can tell you one thing. This boy is the closest thing to perfect that I have ever seen.

***

Tell us: Has this story made you look at anyone you know, and are perhaps jealous of, with new eyes?