I stare at numbers and symbols that make no sense. Then I slam shut my file, realising everyone else has left the classroom.

Wait … not everyone. My face heats up as I find Rhandzu watching me.

“You have a problem with maths?” she says.

“I get by. I suppose you’re a genius at it.” I cram my file down into my bag.

She gives me her small smile. “No, just OK.”

“So that makes you superior?” I can feel resentment unfolding.

“What’s wrong with you?” She’s sharp, but then she speaks more softly. “You shouldn’t feel bad about struggling with something, Zwelo. People have different abilities. Like my brother was brilliant at drawing, the way he could make a few lines look like real people. When I try, it just stays lines.”

“Don’t you ever shut up about him?”

I know she hasn’t spoken about him much, but I don’t want to have to think about him at all, ever.

For a moment Rhandzu’s face collapses. Then the fierceness I saw at the memorial service appears in her eyes.

“Why should I? Because he’s dead?” There’s a crack in her voice. “I hate that thing of tributes and flowers and crying, yada-yada about the dead person, and then it’s over. Don’t you have anyone close to you who has passed?”

“My mother. When I was a little kid.”

“So sorry, Zwelo.” Sympathy in her voice, but I don’t need it. “What happened?”

“Not sure.” I shake my head.

“You don’t want to talk about it? OK, change of subject. Tell me what you’re good at instead of maths, Zwelo?”

We’ve walked to the front of the classroom by now, but we don’t go out.

There’s no way I’m telling her about my own useless drawings.

“Boxing maybe,” I say.

“Boxing?” She does this waggling movement with her flyaway eyebrows, like they really are getting ready to take off. “You need to be careful, Zwelo. You could get your nice looks damaged.”

“Right.” I feel my own eyebrows pulling in towards each other.

“I’m serious.”

She likes how I look?

It’s like my chest has been pumped full of air bubbles and I’m so light I could lift my feet off the floor and float along.

I try a smile. It uses muscles that don’t get much exercise.

“Listen, Zwelo,” Rhandzu says as we walk out of the classroom, “I hope I didn’t upset you when we were talking about flying off in planes … when I said you were only flying away, not going somewhere like me.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m tough.”

“Sometimes I think the tougher someone comes across, the more they’re hiding,” she says.

“Kwaa! Girls always want to believe that amawaza. Like you want to break us down and change us.”

“Don’t worry, you’re in no danger from me.”

“Because you like me the way I am?” I sound like Wandile now, doing the flirting thing.

“Maybe.”

“Then how about we go out somewhere, you and me? Like, at the weekend?”

“Like on a date?”

I feel myself growing hot again. “Sort of.”

“Where?”

“Wait and see.” I put on this super-casual voice to hide how clueless I feel.

“A surprise?” She’s thoughtful. “Cool.”

We’ve caught up with a crowd of other learners. Claudia falls back to walk with Rhandzu.

I glance at Rhandzu. What was I thinking? She’s not even the sort of girl I like. Too clever, too plain, with her short natural hair and stern face, too much of an outsider.

What’s wrong with me?

***

Tell us what you think: Can a date between these two go well, or will it be a disaster?