Cash ran into the house and shut the door behind him. His heart and mind were racing and his palms were sweaty. Jay’s ruthless laughs and taunts were still ringing in Cash’s head.

A flash of anger drove Cash to kick the nearest piece of furniture which, unfortunately, was a table made of hard wood. Cash swore in both pain and anger.

“You know that kind of language isn’t allowed in this house,” his stepmother, Magz, said sternly. She was busy at the stove making stew and the steam was just beginning to make her hair frizz. Cash hadn’t known his biological mother. She’d died in child birth. Cash’s father married Magz when Cash was three but he had never thought of her as anything less than a real mother.

“Sorry, Magz,” Cash apologised, feeling low. He had had a traumatising day and now his foot was sore from kicking the table.

“Wat’s fout (What’s wrong)? You look like you ran all the way home,” Magz said, handing him a spoon to taste her stew.

“This is delicious,” Cash said. “And nothing’s wrong. I’ve got a lot of homework so I need to get started soon. See you at dinner.”

Cash darted off to his room before Magz even had the chance to say anything else. This wasn’t the first time her step-son had been worked up like this, after coming from school. She wanted to help him. It hurt her that he was hurting. But Cash, like his father, kept his feelings hidden like precious jewels.

“Humph,” Magz sighed. “You are surely your father’s son.”

*****

Back in his room, Cash flung his school bag on the floor, buried his face in his pillow and thought about the horrible day he had just had.

“Ag, shame man. Your name is ‘Cash’ when you have no cash!” Jay had teased, after he’d stolen Cash’s spending money.

“You skeem your big fancy English words makes you cleverer than us, hey?” Jay had mocked, after ruffling Cash’s hair and pushing him to the ground.

Julio – aka Jay – was the leader of the gang that ruled the school. They went around bullying kids, selling cigarettes and getting up to no good. Cash had become their favourite target and they made his life a misery. He was scared to tell anyone. They would just think he was weak.

Cash screamed into his pillow, trying to block the memories out.

“Am I interrupting something?” asked a voice at the door.

Cash lifted his head and saw his best (and most times, only) friend, Letti, walk in. She was short and petite under her huge afro.

“I was just … er …” Cash started.

“Chill, dude,” Letti laughed. “We all have different ways of venting our pent-up anger. Yours is screaming into your pillow. Mine is that big red punching bag in my garage.”

Cash laughed nervously. Letti was a boxer, and a damn good one at that. The saying ‘Dynamite comes in small packages’ was made for her. She was tiny but packed a mean punch – literally. But Letti’s vivacious personality was what Cash liked most about her. She was everything he wasn’t.

‘Maybe I should take up boxing, too, Cash thought. Then at least I’ll be able to defend myself.

“Sorry we couldn’t walk home together,” Letti said, cutting through his thoughts. “I had that practical.”

Cash stayed silent. Ever since he and Letti got to matric, it was hard to find the time to hang out anymore.

But, in a way, he was also thankful. Spending less time with Letti meant that she didn’t witness the constant bullying he was subjected to. Cash loved school, but he hated going there.

***

Tell us: Have you ever been bullied at school? What could Cash do to protect himself from the bullies?