Chapter 8: The Boy with Fire in His Eyes

The messages changed.

At first, they were paper notes, slipped like whispers through pages. Then came Bridget's cryptic warnings — hollow, vague, almost poetic in their cruelty. But now?

Now the tone was sharp. Cruel. There was no hiding the venom.

The newest message came through my phone, but not from any saved number. No name. No trace. Just one sentence, glowing like a blade on my screen:

"Do it. Or you're doomed."

Under it, a picture.

Me. Standing outside the counsellor's office.

Another one. Julia, being dragged to the van. Her face twisted in betrayal.

And one more—blurry but unmistakable: a screenshot of the chat where we'd planned to pin it all on Julia.

My stomach twisted. My breath caught in my throat.

This wasn't just blackmail.

It was war.

I scrolled down. A final line:

"Say yes to King. Or say goodbye to your reputation, your school, your freedom."

I nearly dropped the phone.

I knew he was dangerous from the very first time we met not exactly meet but it was when I first saw him.

It was two weeks before the Julia saga, before Julia vanished, before my life turned into a living chess game I couldn't quit.

I had been with the group — Tendai, Carol, and the others except Bridget — loitering near the sports field after school. It was one of those days where we skipped study and decided to just "do something cool." That "something" turned out to be vandalizing the back wall of the school's storage shed.

And that's when he arrived.

The red BMW pulled up just beyond the fence, music rumbling through the body like thunder wrapped in bass. The window rolled down halfway, and out came a hand full of spray cans. Bright neon colours. Red, silver, black.

Then a voice.

"Don't waste 'em. You've got one shot."

It was King.

He didn't even look at me. Just nodded at the rest of the girls like they were old friends.

Carol giggled. "That's King. Don't get caught with those cans. He won't help you."

He was gone before I could even respond to Carol. A shadow with wheels. A warning on legs.

And still, something in his energy left me… uneasy.

The second time was worse.

I was heading out the front gate, in a rush. About to call for my Uber, with a very scared expression plastered on my face — when I collided hard with someone.

My bag hit the pavement, books scattered. My head ached from the jolt.

And when I looked up…

Him.

King.

He'd dropped something — a package, sealed and marked with someone else's name. Probably for a girl inside.

His face twisted.

"The hell?" he muttered, towering over me. His jaw clenched.

"I—I wasn't—"

He clicked his tongue. Loud. Disgusted.

Didn't help me pick anything up. Didn't yell, didn't touch me, but the way he stared at me felt like a slap.

I scrambled to grab my things. He didn't offer to help. Just stepped around me and got into his car.

I hated him.

Right there and then, she feared him.

I waited another ten minutes at the gate, trying to collect myself before calling the Uber, when a familiar engine rumbled nearby.

I froze.

The red BMW.

Again.

The window rolled down. Slowly. Like a scene from a movie I didn't want to be in.

"Get in," he said.

"No."

His brows raised, amused. "Don't be dramatic. Just get in."

"I said no."

He opened the door. Got out.

I stepped back, panic flaring in my chest.

"I'll scream," I warned.

"Then scream," he said calmly, before scooping her up with zero effort.

I screamed anyway.

But no one was around. Everyone had already gone for their first lessons. I hadn't called the Uber.

By the time he tossed me gently into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut, I felt like a trapped animal.

He walked around and got in to the driver seat .Turned and then said "Put your seat belt" and he started the engine.

In the car, the air was thick. Tinted windows. Loud music. The smell of cologne and tobacco and something sharp she couldn't place.

My voice broke. "Take me home."

He laughed, didn't even look at me. "Why so afraid? I'm not a killer."

"You're a jerk." I muttered under my breath. He turned and then smiled.

"Not the first time I've heard that."

He heard me was scared but he didn't say anything after.

We didn't drive toward my house.

I clutched my bag, heart pounding. "Where are we going?"

He didn't answer.

Just turned the music up and drove.

The arcade sat in the middle of town, loud and chaotic and full of colour. The kind of place you take someone to distract them — not to connect.

"I thought you'd cry the whole time," King said, slamming coins into a shooting game.

I didn't respond.

Why would I cry? Is it the reason why he brought me here, he was pitying me?

But somewhere between the air hockey and the claw machines, something strange happened.

I started laughing.

Not because he was funny. Not because I liked him.

But because he was so stupidly cocky. So infuriatingly good-looking in the most unbearable way.

He handed me a slushie like it was a peace offering.

"You skipped school," I said quietly.

"You skipped too," he answered. "Looks like we both suck at rules."

We played one last round — basketball toss.

He won.

By a lot.

Looks like he spends most of his time here. It had been almost five hours of us playing and me being beat profusely.

Then he got a text.

His eyes lit up.

"Time for me to go," he said.

I blinked. "You're leaving me here?"

It's not like I was enjoying spending time with him but I needed a ride home and since he brought me he was supposed to drive me back.

He didn't even pause. "I got to pick up my girl."

I didn't care, I also need to go home. I didn't ask him to scoop me and drive me here.

"But you—"

"Relax. You had fun, didn't you?" he smirked, already walking away.

I wanted to shout, to tell him he could just drop me near the City hall where the kombis were.

He didn't wait.

He didn't care.

I got home alone. Took a kombi. Sweaty. Embarrassed. Furious.

I stared at my phone the entire way, expecting another message.

There was none.

Just silence.

The kind that comes before the storm.

The next day at school was normal. The substitute teacher was okay recovering from a wound but since our teacher was back, she wasn't returning.

The whole form 3 class was called to the head's office to tell them anything they no regard the prank. Since I was skipping school the last 2 days, I didn't know what the situation was like.

School ended and like every other day I dodged the gang only to find a big surprise waiting for me.

There he was, leaning on his car looking at my direction.

He couldn't be for me. I only spent a day with him. I started walking towards my car where the driver was waiting for me. When I heard the baritone voice.

"Mak!" I turned and he was jogging towards me when he stopped to talk to a girl who wore glasses and a very short skirt .She then turned my way and looked back at him and I saw her walk past him as he continued. I hated the way people were now looking my way.

He reached me and said

 "You didn't thank me for yesterday"

I looked at him for a second… then down, and whispered, "Thank you."

He squinted at me, eyes narrowing like he was trying to read something on my face. Then he turned and walked back toward his car without another word.

I stared at his back. My heart beat louder than the traffic around me. But then—I felt it.

Eyes.

I turned my head, and there they were.

The gang.

All of them. Watching.

Their faces weren't casual or curious—they were cold. Warning glares. Silent threats. Like they were reminding me that even a moment of stares was not part of the script.

I couldn't take it. Not with their stares burning into my skin.

I turned quickly, hurried to my ride, and kept my head down the whole way home.

That evening, while trying to finish up a math assignment, my phone buzzed.

I almost didn't check.

But my curiosity? It still hadn't learned its lesson.

The message had no name. No number. Just… black text on white, like a ghost whispering in code.

Do it. Or we leak everything.

Then, without warning, it vanished—disappeared the moment I read it.

But not before flashing the three images that had become my prison:

Me, caught crying in front of the counsellor's office.Julia, in handcuffs, shoved into that van.The screenshot—the chat that I should've deleted, where I blamed her to save myself.

And below all that, one final line:

Your dare is to date King.

You don't have to do anything. Just say yes.

I dropped the phone like it was poison.

My chest clenched.

I didn't sleep that night.

I cried until the pillow soaked through. My brain ran in circles. I imagined running away, transferring schools, confessing everything.

But I also imagined what they'd do if I refused.

How they'd twist the truth. How they'd ruin me.

I hated them. I hated myself more.

I just wanted my life back. My voice. The joystick. The remote. Anything.

I just didn't want to be in the game anymore… especially not as someone else's pawn.

The next morning, my eyes were puffy. My body dragged behind me like a shadow. But school didn't care if I was breaking. Teachers didn't pause exams for inner trauma.

So I went.

Because life doesn't stop when you break. It just steps over you and keeps walking

I spent the whole day in class if not behind my books. Studying. Rewriting notes. Pretending everything was okay.

I didn't want to see anyone. Didn't want to talk. Didn't want to be noticed.

But like carnivores drawn to bleeding prey, they found me.

They always did.

I was behind the lab block, trying to study in peace when I felt them before I saw them. The gang. That familiar perfume cloud. The laughter that never quite reached their eyes.

Praise was first. She sat beside me, arms open like we were sisters again, and pulled me into a hug.

"You don't like us anymore," she said gently.

I didn't hug back.

I didn't know how to. I didn't know if I was hugging a friend… or hugging a curse.

"She doesn't like being used," a voice said behind us.

Bridget.

Of course.

Standing a few feet away, arms folded, her expression unreadable.

The rest joined, forming a circle like vultures waiting for a carcass to stop twitching.

I smiled weakly, the way you do when fear has no name yet.

"I ain't like you guys," I said. "I just don't understand what's happening anymore."

They shared a look. That look.

I knew something was up.

The air felt heavier now.

Something was coming.

"What is it you ain't telling me?" I asked.

Tana laughed nervously. "How would we tell you when you avoid us like a plague?"

I waited.

No one spoke.

So I whispered, "What happened with the chair… people think it was me, don't they?"

No one denied it.

Carol finally said, "Rumors are flying. And yeah… a lot of them are pointing fingers at you."

My heart dropped.

"They think I unbolted the whole thing?" I asked, barely breathing.

"Well," Praise started, then paused.

"Well, what?"

Tendai stepped forward.

"They say only someone who had access, someone who didn't come to school the next day… someone who panicked… would've gone that far."

I blinked. My mouth went dry.

"I didn't—"

"We know," Ayanda said quickly.

"But do they?" Tawana cut in. "Because the teachers are talking. The head had a meeting. And if someone doesn't take the fall soon, it's gonna be your name they call first."

"Expulsion, Makanaka," Carol said, her voice suddenly cold. "It's not a joke. It's not suspension. It's over."

I stood up so fast my chair scraped.

"You're going to put all the blame on me?" I whispered. "You're really going to sit there and—"

"No," Bridget interrupted. "We're going to pin it on someone else."

The air shifted.

"What?"

Tendai tilted her head. "We've already got someone in mind. Someone who's been slipping in grades. Who's always trying too hard. Who's desperate to fit in."

"You mean... someone innocent?" I asked.

"Just like you," Bridget said, eyes piercing mine.

I wanted to scream.

But all I did was stare at them.

Because the worst part wasn't the plan.

The worst part was that I wasn't even surprised.

They'd rather sacrifice someone innocent than lose their game.

And now?

They wanted me to help.

I walked away without saying anything. My hands were trembling.

Expulsion.

Ruin.

Being the scapegoat in a crime I didn't commit, I mean I only unbolted 2 out of 4…and this no...…. I was already guilty of too much.

I should've stopped it all weeks ago.

But now?

Now, I was in deeper than ever.

And somehow, it felt like they'd just moved their queen across the board.

And I was still… just a pawn. Maybe will always be if I don't get my power back.

The day was almost over, so I went to the grounds just to distract myself then go home when my driver arrives. School dismissed and I was walking out of the gate when I heard a very familiar music genre at full blast.

What I knew for sure was today, he was here for me. He waited for me across the road. A beat-up red BMW idling by the bus stop.He leaned on the car, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a lollipop like a cigarette. His uniform was wrinkled, half untucked. His posture was emitting a dangerous aura.

He looked… careless.

But his eyes? Fire.

He spotted me before she could look away. Smiled like he'd been expecting me, like we were old friends.

And then I saw it: another girl, walking past. She didn't meet his eyes, but flinched when he moved.

He wasn't just trouble.

He was feared.

"Name's King," he said as I stepped closer, almost against my will.

"I know, I—" I tried, shaking her head.

He pulled a phone from his pocket. My photo flashed on the screen. Then Julia's. Then the chat screenshots.

"You're mine now," he said, not unkindly. But not kindly either. "Unless you'd rather be a headline." He said lightly with a smirk on his face.

He gave me a peek the left for his car. I was stunned, I wanted to cry. The King had just labelled me. I was become a real pawn now to someone I don't know. Atleast when it was Bridget had an idea now I was just playing at someone's game. Being controlled by someone in the shadows.

That night, I didn't sleep.

My aunt knocked softly after midnight, but I pretended to be asleep. I couldn't bear to see concern in her eyes again. Couldn't stand lying to someone who actually cared.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, bile rising in my throat every time I thought about the next day.

Dating someone wasn't supposed to feel like punishment.

We started seeing each other in town, after school.

At first, it was just appearances — walking next to him, letting him throw his arm around me. Laughing at his terrible jokes. Pretending to like the way he smelled of smoke and peppermint.

But he wasn't pretending.

He enjoyed it.

The control. The power. And the way I flinched when he leaned too close.

"You should smile more," he said once. "You're prettier when you're scared."

I wanted to give him a tight slap. But my phone buzzed just then.

A picture. My locker. Open. Another copy of the counsellor photo stuck inside.

They were watching.

Always watching.

Everything about me was staged, fake and planned. I was dating someone I didn't even know his real name.

King wasn't his real name.

It was a title. One he'd earned at his school by breaking rules and noses with equal ease. His real name? No one used it. He hated it. Said it made him sound "soft."

I didn't ask what it was. I also didn't care. I was waiting for the next dare since that was how my life was starting to play out. Wait for a reason to survive then move.

They made sure the relationship was visible.

Photos. Status updates. A group chat I didn't remember joining suddenly had me and King tagged in every post.

"Hot couple alert "

"She finally gave in "

"King tames the queen."

It made me sick.

My friends at school—if she could still call them that or just the gang—acted like nothing was strange. Some people congratulated me. Some laughed behind my back. But none of them asked the real question:

Why him?

And if anyone did ask, they didn't ask twice.

It's always fear that puts people in cages. I hated it and I knew its power.

My nightmares got worse.

Not of King. Not even of Julia's emotionless face.

But of Bridget. Standing at the edge of my dreams, always out of reach. Eyes like smoke. Voice like broken glass.

"You're playing checkers," Bridget said once in a dream. "But this is chess. And you're just a pawn."

She woke up screaming.

Again.

But this time the dreams didn't feel like threats but warning. It was starting to feel like she was trying to tell me to start standing up for myself. Stop playing checkers, play the real game. I knew it wasn't her but my conscience using her.

One morning, my uncle found me curled up on the kitchen floor.

"Mak, talk to us," he said, kneeling beside her. "We're worried. You barely eat. You barely sleep."

I tried to lie.

Said I had tests. Said it was just pressure. Said everything a perfect student is supposed to say when their world is falling apart.

But my voice cracked halfway.

My aunt knelt too. Held my face between her hands.

"You've always been strong," she said softly. "But you don't have to carry everything alone."

And I wanted so badly to tell them.

To pour out every note, every message, every threat and blackmail and secret deal.

But I didn't.

Because if they knew, I'd be in for a real downfall. They were not supposed to know

Dating King was like walking through a minefield. At first, he was unpredictable. Then, worse: he got comfortable.

He started calling me late at night. Demanding things. Not just time—control.

"You belong to me now," he said once. "They said I could break you in. So don't play games, babe. It'll only get worse."

I cried after every call.

And every time I thought of breaking up with him, my phone buzzed again.

Another message.

Another threat.

It always felt like they knew, like they were living in my mind, and it always scared me.

And then, the worst day came.

He wanted me to come to his school.

In uniform.

"People gotta see what kind of girl I'm with," he said.

I said no.

He didn't speak. Just sent a photo.

A screenshot.

This shot had become like a gun on my head.

No message. Just the photo.

I went to his school after school, in my uniform.

Eyes down. Heart caged.

And the whispers followed me like shadows.

"Is that the girl from Girls College?"

"She's with King? Poor thing."

"She must be really tough."

When I got home that night, my cousin was waiting with ice cream.

"Cheer up, Makanaka," she said. "You're acting like the world's ending."

I almost laughed.

Because it was.

For me, at least.

During dinner my aunt and uncle told me that I was supposed to visit my parents during the weekend. Spend it with them, then come back on Monday since it was a holiday (Africa Day)

I checked her phone before bed.

One message.

From an unknown number.

Just three words.

"More is coming."

I stared at it for a long time.

Because for once, I didn't doubt it.

Not at all.

And this thing of visiting Mpopoma wasn't seating really well with me.

I was going to see Julia maybe my parents already know what I did.

I was scared of facing them.....ashamed, I never called or visited. I really had to come up with an excuse.

I got a call from Julia that same evening. I decided to answer.

"I really don't like the fact that you went after my boyfriend ", I paused like really paused. The confusion that covered my face, I believe I aged more in that second.