How I lost my best friend Kamo because of greed and influence. My fault and hers. No she’s not dead. She’s very much alive, but I know I’m dead to her. Let me tell you all about it. I was seventeen, you see. I was in the eleventh grade, doing well as far as academics were concerned. I wasn’t involved anywhere; the one in the background. In fact, looking back in hindsight, there are people I’d see almost every day at school but they still didn’t know the sound of my voice. That’s alright.

By the way, my name is Hazel and I’m an aspiring writer. My mind is currently too dry for any ideas and I’m itching to write something right now. So let me tell you all about Kamo. Unfortunately this is not fiction.

In order to hone my craft and nurture it, I’d visit the library. My signature was always in the library’s attendant list. That was my second home; I think that should be the case for anyone who’d like to make it as a fiction writer some day. So I was always there, and my constant presence granted me a seat and a spot no one dared to take. My daily routine was school, library, school, library, school, library and nothing else. Nothing else was happening in my life; no friends (I think I was way too weird for that) , no boyfriend, no exciting dramas (I’d only find that in the novels I read.)

Me and my classmates were exiting the class for the next period when a paper was handed to me. It was a flyer: an invitation to some guy’s twenty-first birthday celebration bash near the outskirts of town in extension three. I was bemused, reading this invitation which looked like a poster for an Amapiano party, not believing the words under my glasses. Since when do nerds get invited to such events? Not that we get any invites but this was too appalling to comprehend.

I looked up to see the one who passed me the flyer but I couldn’t see him— or her. It was just my classmates, some of whom held the white invitation, reading it with giggles of excitement. I quickly hid mine before any of them saw me with it. I figured that I had gotten the flyer by chance. The person who gave me it must’ve did so in a hurry for if they’d seen who they gave it to, the quiet, smartie-pants girl who had a reputation for being the school’s weirdest weirdo, then they wouldn’t have handed me the flyer. “Hazel Nkadimeng!” That was Mr. Khambule calling for me. He taught English, the only subject I enjoyed. The rest of my classmates had already disappeared to his class.

“Coming sir,” I said, pulled up my bag to my shoulders and hurried to get in his class.

Tell us: is it indeed weird for nerds to get party invites?