“You were right when you said there must be ways of getting out of what I’m doing that don’t have to cost money,” I tell Phetisi, after I get home and wake her getting ready for bed. “I was pathetic, making excuses…When did I become so feeble? OK, some things might need financing, like I want to go back to school, and what if Papa and Sandra won’t pay the fees?”

“That might be a rights issue, as my teacher calls it,” Phetisi says, keeping her eyes closed against the light. “We’ve been doing kids’ rights at school. Anyway, you might be able to claim the money you’ve earned when you turn 18, and that’s not long now.”

“I’ll deal with the other stuff first, and then see,” I decide.

“Cool. It’s good you’re going to do something at last.” She’s quiet for a few moments. “You know, I used to be jealous of you because you got all my mother’s attention. But lately I haven’t envied you the tiniest bit, sis, because I’ve been free, and you haven’t.”

“Almost like I was a slave,” I agree.

And every time I swallowed one of Sandra’s pills, slavery didn’t seem so bad.

When I refuse the next pill, she is angry. We’re at home, and Gaone has arrived for a meeting, something to do with new songs and outfits.

“Don’t be stupid, Bitsy-D. You know how upset you get every time we talk about your clothes and songs these days. We don’t want you disrupting this discussion with one of your tantrums.”

“I won’t have a tantrum,” I say, quiet but firm.

No need, now that I have a plan.

“Take it,” she insists.

“Leave it, Sandra,” Gaone’s support surprises me. “She seems calm and in control of herself. I think she’s coming to realise that everything we decide is for her good—aren’t you, baby girl?”

“Right,” I say, but he doesn’t register my sarky tone.

I keep my face straight. I can’t risk letting them see my secret laughter and getting suspicious before time.

Lefa would say I’m making this too complicated, but I want the details of my plan in place before I hit them with the revolution.

I’m not laughing two days later when I sneak out of the house in the afternoon to carry out one part of my plan. I’m too nervous.

There’s no chance of another Friday evening free if I don’t want anyone guessing what I’m up to, so I can’t go to the Good Fortune. Instead, I hang around outside my old school from the time kids start leaving, most walking but some piling into hooting taxis.

I’m wearing old jeans and a baggy tunic top I liberated from the rubbish bag of my old clothes Sandra was getting ready to throw out. She would be in a rage if she saw me out in public like this—she will be in a rage later, because she’s likely to catch me coming home.

I wait, hoping my friends haven’t broken the habit of all our high-school years, walking out together. No, here they are, Kgadi with Watson and Yonayona on either side of her.

My heart is beating so hard it hurts. I’ve missed them, but what if they still want nothing to do with me?

Tell us: Can Dintletse and her friends be reconciled, and does she owe them an apology?