Chapter 2: White Socks & Whispered Names

The second day at Imbeka Secondary felt like a performance she didn't rehearse for — but somehow, Pretty owned the stage again.

She buttoned her shirt with purpose and fluffed out her afro just the way she liked. Her white socks — still not regulation — hugged her calves proudly. She caught her aunt's warning glare and ignored it as usual.

"I'll change them tomorrow," she lied, knowing very well she wouldn't.

Back in class, Sanelisiwe was already seated, pencil in hand, flipping through her timetable.

"Second day and I already feel like dropping out," she whispered.

Pretty slid into her chair. "Hay'bo! It's not even quarter past seven."

"I just want to sleep and wake up in Grade 12."

"Keep dreaming, girl. We just got here."

The early-morning energy was mellow — no big drama, just the quiet hum of learners adjusting to the new rhythm of high school.

Then, a voice popped up by the door. Deep, older-sounding.

"Hey… can one of you help me with a note?"

A tall senior stepped inside, holding a folded piece of paper. He was probably Grade 10 or 11 — his name was Shompi, judging by the whispers from a few girls in class.

Pretty looked at Sanelisiwe.

Sanelisiwe looked away.

"Okay fine, I'll try," Pretty said, standing up with a slight stretch. "But my handwriting is ugly, hey. Don't judge me."

She took the note and read it. It was a short message meant for someone named Zanele. Something silly. Something soft. A high school kind of crush.

Pretty laughed while rewriting it. "You want me to write this sweet message with a handwriting like a doctor's prescription?"

Behind Shompi, two girls stood with him — loud and judgmental types.

Ntobe and Nolwazi.

When Pretty handed the note back, Nolwazi leaned in to Ntobe and whispered just loud enough, "Yah, she tried to copy your handwriting at least."

They laughed.

Pretty raised her eyebrow, unimpressed. "Relax. It's not that deep, ladies. I'm not competing with ink."

Shompi chuckled, embarrassed. "Thanks, sisi. Appreciate it."

"You owe me food," Pretty teased. "I don't write love notes for free."

The first few periods went by quickly.

Maths with Sir Dwalane was still tense — he didn't allow talking, gum, or even the sound of pages turning too fast.

Pretty scribbled down a few answers, careful not to make noise. Still, her pen slipped once and hit the floor.

Sir Dwalane looked up.

She froze.

"Pick it up. Silently," he said.

Sanelisiwe chuckled softly beside her. "He's gonna be our trauma this year."

After maths came a long break — and a breath of fresh air.

Pretty stayed behind in class for a few minutes, drawing silly hearts on the board while most learners headed to the tuck shop.

She wasn't hungry — she just wanted to play around. She drew her name in cursive, tried outlining a bird, then sat down to admire her "masterpiece."

That's when she heard footsteps and muffled voices behind her.

"Yeah, that one," a boy's voice whispered.

"The girl with the white socks," said another.

She turned slightly, just enough to see Sphiwe and a few other boys enter the classroom. Among them were Mpilo and Ntando — both from Nkantini, her area. The one who pointed was someone new, tall, with short dreads.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Senzo, bru of Sphiwe."

Pretty raised an eyebrow.

"You look cute, by the way," Senzo added, not missing a beat.

She blinked once.

"Thanks, Senzo bru of Sphiwe," she said with a half-smile. "But I'm not a painting. You don't need to describe me like one."

The room laughed — even Sphiwe. Mpilo walked forward and gave her a friendly hug.

"I told you you'd survive Imbeka," he said.

"You didn't tell me your crew would try to flirt before lunch."

Ntando waved. "We just came to say hi."

"And rate my socks?" Pretty teased, showing them off. "They're still white. I'm starting a trend."

"You're definitely making noise," Senzo said. "I heard about you yesterday already."

Pretty pretended to gasp. "Already? Wow. Fame moves fast here."

When the boys left, Sanelisiwe leaned forward on her desk. "I think Senzo likes you."

Pretty snorted. "I think Senzo likes breathing — meaning he does it automatically."

"But you smiled…"

"Nope. That was the polite 'thank you for the compliment' smile, not the 'come back tomorrow' smile."

Sanelisiwe laughed. "You're too much."

"No, they're too much. You'd swear I'm the only girl in white socks."

"Maybe you are."

Later that day, the school halls buzzed with group assignments and textbook handouts. Snothando spent most of the period flipping through her Natural Sciences notes, while Promise shared her lunch with Pretty again.

"You didn't bring food?" Promise asked.

"I had food. It just didn't make it past the gate," Pretty said dramatically.

"You gave it away?"

"No, my brother ate it. Said he was hungrier."

Promise shook her head. "You need boundaries."

"I need bodyguards," Pretty replied, munching on a piece of vetkoek.

By the time the final bell rang, Pretty had already introduced three more girls to each other, helped a boy find the staff room, and memorized half the Grade 8 register.

She walked home feeling full — not with food, but with something warmer.

Belonging.

Not because of the compliments.

Not because of the jokes.

But because for once, she wasn't holding back.

She was Pretty Mhlophe — loud, bold, friendly, and unapologetically herself.

No crushes. No drama.

Just a girl in white socks, writing her name on every space she entered.