Counting the Days
This week is dragging. I am counting the days till Friday. I hope Mike will remember he has invited me to go to Youth Club again. And that he won’t realise my hidden agenda is to see the biker gang and perhaps get a chance to talk to one of them. I don’t know how I will manage that.
“Come and have some tea, my dear,” says Gogo on the veranda. “It’s Friday tomorrow and I wondered if you would be going on a date again.” She glances next door as she says this.
“Yes, Gogo, Mike has invited me to Youth Club again. Sorry I didn’t tell you. I have been so busy with school work this week.”
Just then there is a roar of motorbikes going up the street towards Flags. I look anxiously down the road as they race by. I still don’t want people to notice that I am staying in the funny little pink house on Imbali Street.
Gogo gets such a fright she nearly knocks her mug of tea off the table.
“Those reckless men on motorbikes,” she says with an angry click of her tongue.
“What’s wrong with them, Gogo?” I ask, wondering why she is so against the bikers.
“Noisy men in leather jackets. They are up to no good. Disturbing the peace of this neighbourhood,” says Gogo.
I look a bit startled. Gogo carries on muttering about men in black leather jackets and their horrible bikes.
“Thank goodness you are going out with Mike next door. Such a polite, well-dressed young man. I hope I never see you on the back of one of those noisy machines!” exclaims Gogo.
A little shiver goes down my spine as I know that is just what I would love to be doing. Sitting on the back of a motorbike, holding tightly to the biker in front as he speeds off down the road.
Mrs Zondo arrives and Gogo continues to tut and mutter about the bikers while Mrs Zondo agrees and says how glad she is that her grandson Mike is such a good boy.
I go inside and make a note to self: Gogo is not keen on motorbike riders and their leather outfits. She has them labelled as bad guys and will not be happy if I get friendly with them.
Friday drags at school. Even Nomi notices I am distracted.
“What’s wrong, Zoe? You seem very far away. What’s bothering you?” she asks.
“Nothing, really. Are you going to YC tonight?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Yes, just for the dancing and the burgers,” laughs Nomi. “Not for the boys!”
Tell us what you think: Is it right to judge someone by the clothes they wear and the vehicle they drive? Why/Why not?