It’s always worst in the mornings. The crowd just inside the school gate, hanging around, delaying going to their classes.

And here I come, a nice little distraction. The girl who took a nude selfie.

“Show us your boobies, babes.”

“Slutty-slut.”

Teasing and abuse. It’s not only words. There are still those boys who get in my space, who grab, who push their faces into mine.

If I lift my eyes, I see faces that used to be friendly, people who would greet me and share a moan about matric pressure.

Mostly I don’t lift my eyes.

Today, though. I don’t know what it is. It’s not the kissy mouth with sound effects I get from Frank as I try to pass him; it’s not Unandi’s superior smirk, and her little gang of clones copying it.

Those are negative things. It’s something positive that gets me, the thought that the people who matter aren’t part of this crowd. There are others, better others.

My mind fills up with the people who have stood, stood up for me, or stood with me. People who’ve given me support. Shiluva, and even Jasmine at the beginning. Ramano and his friends. Masana, letting me know I’m not alone, not the only one.

I even think of Dambisa’s sisters, how they hope to stand up to him someday.

Now it’s my time to do some standing up.

I stop. I lift up my head and look round at all the jeering faces. I start to shake, so that the big breath I try to pull in is all shuddery.

“Enough,” I shout. “I have something to tell you.”

A few people pay attention. “Yo, the porn star wants to speak,” someone yells, and that makes more take notice.

“Strippers should be seen and not heard.”

“Wait, maybe she’s got some tips for these other girls on how to get into stripping.”

“My name is Lamulile Mathebula, and I’m still me,” I shout, and there’s a giggle somewhere, and a louder laugh, but a lot of them have gone quiet. “I still have all the things I had before I became the … the entertainment in your empty little lives. I have ability, I have ambition, and you can’t take that away from me. Yes, there’s the famous photo, my big mistake, and that’s part of me too now. It’s part of my life, but so are all those other things, and a whole lot more. My future in farming, reading my fantasy books, my friendships … I’m still me, a whole person with a life. I’m not just a photo.”

I’ve run out of words, but at least some people are staring at me – with interest, I realise. Someone comes to stand beside me. I turn, expecting to see Shiluva, but it’s Jasmine, shaking as much as I am.

“So am I.” Her voice wobbles all over the place. “I mean, I’m more than the only bits of me you look at, Frank. My boobs, my body, like the rest of me doesn’t exist, my life, the things I think about, the important stuff … We’re more than our bodies, me and Lamulile.”

Then Jasmine and I are linking arms, and next we’re hugging and crying together, good crying, and Shiluva comes and puts her arms round both of us.

“I’m more too,” someone says quietly – Masana.

 ***

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