Chapter 1: The Late Girl

Amanda's taxi had other plans.

It crawled through the township, stopping for every passenger, every goat, every woman selling oranges by the roadside. Amanda pressed her forehead against the window, watching the minutes tick by. Her socks didn't match—one white, one grey—and her bread was still warm from the shop. She bit into it as the taxi finally turned the corner toward the school.

7:35.

She jumped out before the taxi fully stopped, landing with a thud that sent dust puffing around her sneakers. The gate was shut, but the security guard, a man named Bhuti Sipho who had seen her late at least four times this term, was still standing there with his arms crossed.

"AMANDA! Late again!" he boomed.

She didn't slow down. She ducked low, slipped under his outstretched arm like a cat dodging a bath, and sprinted through the gap. "Sorry, bhuti! My taxi was praying!" she shouted over her shoulder, bread still hanging from her mouth.

Bhuti Sipho shook his head, but a smile tugged at his lips. "That girl," he muttered, and unlocked the gate for the next latecomer.

Assembly was already underway. The entire school stood in neat rows on the dusty field, faces tilted toward the stage where the prefects stood. At the centre, microphone in hand, was Kwena Dlamini—head boy, captain of the soccer team, and the kind of popular that made Grade 8 girls whisper and giggle whenever he walked past. His shirt was crisp, his tie perfectly knotted, his voice calm and steady as he read the morning announcements.

"...and remember, no cellphones during class. Detention for anyone caught. Also, the tuckshop will have new flavours of juice this week, so please support the school fundraiser."

He paused to turn the page.

That's when Amanda walked in.

Her shoes squeaked across the concrete floor—SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQUEAK—each step loud enough to echo through the silent assembly. Every head turned. She didn't slow down. She walked right across the front of the stage, bread still in hand, and waved up at Kwena.

"Continue, popular boy! Don't pause because of me!" she called out cheerfully, and then took a huge bite of her bread.

Kwena's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He stared at her as she strolled to the back of the Grade 10 section, sat down cross-legged on the ground, and began eating her lunch at 7:40 in the morning. The teachers exchanged glances. The principal coughed. But Kwena couldn't look away.

His friend Thato, standing beside him on stage, nudged him. "That's Amanda," Thato whispered. "Crazy girl, but her friends love her. She doesn't like anyone. Especially not you."

Kwena blinked. "What?"

"Just read the announcements."

He tried. But his eyes kept drifting back to her. She was laughing at something—probably the bread—and didn't even glance his way.

After assembly, the students broke into groups. Amanda found her friends Palesa and Busi waiting by the tuckshop wall. Palesa hugged her. "Yho, you're late again!"

"My taxi was praying, I told you."

"You always say that."

"Because it's always true."

Amanda threw the last crust of her bread toward the bin. It missed, bounced off the rim, and landed in the dust. She shrugged, did a little dance—a quick shoulder shake and a spin—and then spotted her water bottle lying on the other side of the fence. She had left it there yesterday.

Without a second thought, she ran to the fence and started climbing.

"Amanda, no!" Busi hissed.

But Amanda was already halfway up, her sneakers finding footholds in the chain links. "It's just my bottle!" she called down.

"AMANDA! GET DOWN!"

The voice belonged to Mrs. Dube, the maths teacher, who was walking toward the staffroom with a stack of papers. She stopped dead, pointing at Amanda with a trembling finger.

Amanda froze, one leg hooked over the top of the fence. She looked down at Mrs. Dube, then at her bottle on the ground, then back at Mrs. Dube. "I was just—"

"Get down this instant!"

She dropped, landed on her feet, and dusted off her skirt. "Sorry, ma'am. I was—"

"Assembly hall. Detention. Now."

Amanda sighed, but there was no arguing. She gave Palesa and Busi a quick shrug and walked toward the hall, her shoes squeaking with every step.

Kwena watched from the steps of the Grade 11 block. He had seen the whole thing—the bread, the dance, the fence climb, the scolding. He didn't know why, but he couldn't stop watching her. She was nothing like the girls who smiled at him in the hallways, the ones who wrote notes and begged for his attention. Amanda didn't care. She ate bread in assembly, climbed fences, and called him "popular boy" like it was a joke.

He knew her name now.

She didn't know his.

That thought bothered him. Not because he wanted her to know, but because it felt strange—like a missing piece he hadn't noticed until now.

Thato came up beside him, holding a soccer ball. "You coming to practice?"

"Yeah," Kwena said, but his eyes stayed on the hall door where Amanda had disappeared.

"Don't even think about it," Thato said, grinning. "She's trouble."

"I'm not thinking about anything."

"Liar."

Kwena punched his arm, but he didn't deny it. As they walked toward the field, he glanced back one more time. The hall door was still closed. Somewhere inside, Amanda was probably already eating something else or making the detention teacher laugh.

He wanted to know which one.

And that, more than anything, scared him a little.

Because popular boys didn't fall for girls who climbed fences and ate lunch at dawn.

But maybe, just maybe, this one was about to.