Chapter 4: Girls Who Glitter in Rain

Rain had fallen throughout the night like a hymn of blessings, soaking the narrow paths of Nkantini and Mahlanyeni. The kind of rain that silences the noise of life but awakens the scent of red clay and wood smoke. Pretty woke up before the sunrise, the pitter-patter still drumming against the corrugated roof.

Her aunt was already in the kitchen, stirring baked porridge in the pot, singing an old worship song under her breath. The tiny house smelled of warmth and routine.

Pretty sat up, tied her hair into a fluffy afro puff, and reached for her half-dry white socks, now rimmed with yesterday's mud. Her black shoes were clean — but only on top. The soles were cracking, like a secret the world would eventually find out. She didn't care.

"Today, we make more noise," she whispered to herself in the mirror, pressing her palms against her cheeks. "We glow. We gather more people. We don't shrink."

She packed her bag, fixed her collar with more flair than precision, and stepped outside into a soft drizzle.

At Imbeka Secondary, the drizzle made everything look silver — the grass, the metal windowpanes, even the dirt paths leading to the classroom blocks. Learners moved in huddles, holding exercise books over their heads or wrapping their shoulders in jackets too thin for real protection.

Pretty walked in, arms open like she owned the clouds. Behind her, Sanelisiwe jogged awkwardly, trying to dodge puddles.

"I told myself I won't run in high school," Pretty said, laughing. "But this rain? It's not gentle."

In class, the wooden desks had tiny wet patches, and the smell of damp chalk filled the air. Miss Mthembu, their English teacher, had already arrived.

"Welcome, class. Let's settle down. I want each of you to tell me one thing you've noticed about Imbeka."

Sanelisiwe said something about the friendliness of the security guards.

Pretty raised her hand. "I learned that wearing white socks is now considered a criminal offense."

The whole class laughed. Miss Mthembu raised an eyebrow. "Not quite criminal, but definitely... rebellious."

"I like rebellion," Pretty said, settling in.

Second period was Mathematics. A thick silence dropped over the room the moment Sir Dwalane entered. No introductions. No greetings. Just a sharp look and clean strokes of chalk on the board.

He turned, eyes scanning.

"You," he pointed at Pretty. "Come solve number two."

She stood, heart thudding.

Sanelisiwe whispered, "Good luck, friend."

Pretty approached the board and stared at the question. She picked up the chalk slowly. "Sir, my brain might be wet from the rain, but let's see."

Half of the class chuckled nervously.

Sir Dwalane didn't react. "Just answer."

She tried. Made an error. Corrected herself halfway. He nodded once.

"Sit down. You almost got it. Don't speak in riddles next time."

Pretty grinned. "Noted, Sir."

Back at her desk, Sanelisiwe gave her a thumbs-up. "You're brave."

"No," Pretty whispered. "Just stubborn."

During break, the rain had slowed into a drizzle again. Pretty, Sanelisiwe, Snothando, and Promise gathered under the wide tree behind the administration block.

Promise unpacked her lunch — the usual vetkoek wrapped in newspaper. "No one wants kota today?"

"I had kota dreams," Pretty said, "but my pocket had pap reality."

Snothando rolled her eyes. "You always joke when you're hungry."

"Better than crying."

Namisa approached them quietly, hugging her bag like it could shield her from the drizzle. Her hair was neatly tied, her uniform perfectly ironed, but her eyes gave away the new-girl nervousness.

"Hey, Namisa!" Pretty called out, waving her over. "Come meet the circus."

Namisa smiled faintly and joined the circle.

"This is Promise — she reads Genesis like it's a thriller. This is Snothando — our Minister of Mood. Sanelisiwe you know. And I'm the noise."

Namisa laughed. "I could use a little noise."

Snothando looked her over. "Where you from again?"

"Harding. We moved over the holidays. My dad works at the clinic now."

Promise offered her a bite of vetkoek. "First day food tax. We all paid it."

Namisa took it gratefully. "Thanks. You guys are really kind."

"We're a mess," Pretty said, grinning. "But a kind mess."

The rest of the day rolled on. Natural Sciences,isiZulu and Social Science.

Pretty kept up her usual energy — cracking jokes, raising her hand even when unsure, complimenting girls on their hairstyles, and lightly teasing the boys when they got answers wrong.

By the last period, a rhythm had formed among the five girls. A kind of non-verbal bond. A shared look here. A whispered inside joke there. They were no longer five strangers. They were becoming something else.

"We should have a name," Pretty said, while packing her books. "Like a group name."

"For what?" Snothando asked.

"For power, duh. Friendship has levels."

Promise nodded thoughtfully. "How about something in isiZulu? Something gentle but strong."

Sanelisiwe snapped her fingers. "Izintokazi."

"Izintokazi zeMvula," Namisa added. "Because of the rain."

Pretty beamed. "Girls who glitter in rain. I love it."

They all high-fived, laughing.

Walking out of school that afternoon, the drizzle had stopped completely. The ground still squelched under their shoes, but the clouds had lifted.

A group of boys passed by — mostly Grade 9s. Some whistled softly, others just nodded.

Senzo, Sphiwe's friend, gave Pretty a small wave. She didn't respond. Just kept walking.

"Your fans are watching," Snothando murmured.

"Let them. Stars don't wave back," Pretty replied.

Promise laughed. "You're too much."

Namisa added, "No. She's just enough."

At home, Pretty kicked off her shoes and lay on her back, feet on the wall, arms behind her head.

Her journal was open beside her. A few lines had already been scribbled:

Day 4: Still loud. Still white socks. Made a new friend. Solved half a math question. Dodged compliments. Started a gang of glittering girls. Not bad.

Downstairs, her aunt argued with a neighbor. The TV blared. Somewhere a baby was crying.

But in her room, it was peaceful.

She whispered softly into the air:

"Let me glitter. Even when the world rains."