Chapter 3: Desk Whispers & Soft Defiance

The third day at Imbeka began with a light drizzle — not enough to wet your shoes, but enough to soften the sky and make the school gates shimmer slightly under grey light.

Pretty walked in like she always did — shoulders back, socks white, eyes ready.

She saw the rule posters again:

No coloured socks.

No short skirts.

No loitering.

She walked past them without blinking.

"Morning, stars!" she called out to a group of girls huddled near the staff block.

"You mean morning clouds," one of them teased.

"Same WhatsApp group!" Pretty laughed.

Behind her, Sanelisiwe jogged to catch up, hair slightly frizzy from the weather. "You ever get tired of greeting everyone?"

"Never," Pretty said. "People are like puzzle pieces. You collect them."

Their first lesson was English with a young teacher named Miss Mthembu, who wore heels like she had something to prove and red lipstick like she had nothing to lose.

"I want your books out, your mouths shut, and your minds on," she said as she walked in.

Pretty opened her book. "Drama already?"

Sanelisiwe chuckled.

Miss Mthembu noticed her whispering and narrowed her eyes. "Mhlophe, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You talk a lot."

"Yes, ma'am," Pretty smiled innocently.

"Use that voice in oral presentations. Not in my silence."

"Yes, ma'am."

The class went quiet. Pens moved. Words filled pages.

But Pretty's thoughts wandered. Her mind was on the moment when Senzo — Sphiwe's friend — had said she looked cute. It wasn't the compliment that lingered, it was the way he'd looked at her like she was something… rare.

Not a crush. Not a dream. Just… noticed.

She scribbled his name in the margin of her workbook. Not as a love note — but to test how it looked in her handwriting.

Senzo.

Then she crossed it out.

"Ngeke," she whispered. "Too soon."

At break, she was back to her usual routine — making noise under the big tree, sharing a half-eaten kota with Promise and Snothando.

Promise brought out her usual vetkoek, wrapped in brown paper.

"You always bring vetkoek," Pretty said.

"It keeps me humble," Promise replied.

Snothando sat with her back against the tree trunk, arms crossed.

"You're very serious today," Pretty said.

"I saw a fight behind the Grade 11 block," Snothando replied.

Pretty's eyes widened. "Real fight?"

Snothando nodded. "Girls pulling each other's hair, throwing insults like weapons."

"That's Imbeka for you," Promise said calmly. "Peaceful one day, WWE the next."

Pretty laughed. "I'll just stay loud enough to confuse them. Nobody fights the loud girl."

Just before the bell, a group of Grade 9 boys passed by, including Mpilo and Ntando from Nkantini.

"White socks still standing strong!" Ntando called.

Pretty gave a sassy curtsy. "Always, babes."

"Respect," Mpilo grinned, then kept walking.

Promise glanced at her. "You sure you're not collecting fans?"

"I'm collecting vibes. That's different."

Back in class for Life Orientation, the teacher wasn't there yet, and the desks became gathering spots for whispered conversations and casual giggles.

Pretty sat backward on her chair, talking to two girls behind her. One was Nomcebo — small, light-skinned, braces. The other was Zinhle — who looked like she could be a prefect in two years' time.

"I like your hair," Nomcebo told Pretty.

"It's just air and hope," Pretty replied, fluffing it out dramatically.

Zinhle asked, "Where do you get your confidence?"

Pretty shrugged. "You borrow it from your future self — the one who already survived everything."

The girls stared at her like she was a prophet.

The LO teacher, Mr. Dube, finally walked in.

"Phones off, mouths closed."

He started with a lesson about identity and personal goals.

"Write five things you love about yourself," he instructed.

Pretty chewed her pen. Her list came quickly.

• I'm loud

• I'm funny

• I look good in everything

• I speak my mind

• I have kind eyes

When Mr. Dube walked by and peeked into her book, he smiled faintly.

"You forgot 'humble,'" he said.

Pretty grinned. "That's number six, sir."

At the end of the lesson, they were asked to pair up and share their goals.

Pretty looked around. Sanelisiwe was already partnered with a shy girl named Ayanda.

Promise was writing alone.

Snothando sat with her usual straight back, refusing to move.

Pretty turned to a boy who hadn't spoken all day.

"Hi. I'm Pretty. Let's do this."

The boy blinked. "I… uh… okay."

His name was Mandla, and he had the voice of a pastor in training.

"My goal is to become a community leader," he said.

"Mine is to become unforgettable," Pretty replied.

Mandla nodded. "Wow."

"Yebo. You'll remember me after this class."

As the school day ended, the rain returned — soft, hesitant, like a shy visitor.

Pretty and Sanelisiwe walked home together, books wrapped in plastic bags.

"You're not tired of talking?" Sanelisiwe asked again.

"Nope. Talking is my sport."

"I think you might get tired one day."

Pretty paused, thinking.

"Maybe. But by then, I'll be someone's radio presenter. Paid to speak."

At home, she lay on her bed, feet in the air, writing in her journal.

Dear Future Me,

I didn't like Senzo like that. Don't get it twisted.

But it was nice being seen.

Even if it meant nothing.

Also — they laughed at my socks again.

But I walked like they were gold.

I hope you're still walking proud.

Love,

Pretty

Downstairs, her aunt was shouting at someone on the phone. The TV played a loud soapie. A baby cried from next door.

But in her room, there was silence.

And in that silence, Pretty smiled.

Because for all the noise, all the teasing, and all the whispered compliments — she was still in charge of her own story.

No boys.

No crushes.

Just her.