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Half past seven.

I prepare breakfast – three slices of brown bread with margarine, peanut butter and jam – and make myself a mug of coffee. Switching on the television, I let it look at me for a bit. I used to like cartoons but not any more – I guess I have outgrown them. They are for children, so
Morning Live
or eNCA will be looking at me. This morning I hear what they are talking about and see the pictures but I am not really seeing or hearing anything because none of it interests me.

After finishing my first mug of coffee, I make another one. Every day I do this, but I never finish it – Lebo always calls from her phone to tell me that she is outside, waiting at our gate. I put my mug down on the table, grab my school bag and close the door behind me.

Outside, Lebo looks at me, examining me as I examine her – part of Saturday school is to look as beautiful as a beautiful girl can be; to lose the school uniform and be an individual.

“Girl, I got no words ...”

Lebo is well off, she is an expensive fashion show and knows how to dress. If you think that I am something, change your mind – she is three times whatever you think I am.

“You say that every Saturday.”

As we walk to school, she lets me read the messages that her latest boyfriend sent her yesterday.

“He sends me messages while he is having sex with his other girlfriends.”

She says this like it's a joke but I know she's saying it in the hope that it isn't true.

Lebo and her boyfriends are still midday lovers. After Saturday school, her present boyfriend, who is fifteen years older than she is, is coming to pick her up and ... Then, after three, he will drop her off two blocks from her house.

 

Eight thirty.

We are trigging with trigonometry until nine thirty. I love trigonometry very much, squared. If there is one subject that's for me, it's mathematics. There is absolutely no hard work in it. I love it. Many pupils hate it very much but that is only because they missed out on the basics. It is a computer program – miss one step and you will forever hate mathematics because it will play with your mind.

 

Nine forty-five.

We are doing something boring – learning Newton's laws of motion and Boyle's law – but at least there are calculations for me to do. Chemistry is okay, usually, but today it requires too much time and attention.

 

Eleven.

We are being taught the most boring subject of them all: biology. Why boring? Because I have to read and remember every chapter of every textbook. Plant life, for instance: I have to be able to explain the process of photosynthesis from the roots up to the leaves. Boring. It all requires me to concentrate very hard and is three times time-consuming, but I invest my time because I want to do the coming exam paper more than harm so that I can go to Oxford. And, the truth be told, Ngwarele is actually trying to make it interesting today, trying to take out some of the boring parts.

 

Twelve.

We are finished and school is out. Hoo! What a relief!

Ngwarele reminds me, as I leave the classroom, that he still wants to tell me something. He has been wanting to tell me this “something” for a long time now. I pretend to smile and laugh.

“I will come to you later,” I say.

But I am not going to him later, will never be, not at all, because I know exactly what he wants to tell me. I know that the only biology he is interested in is my biology. Sometimes I try to understand how a man who is two decades older than I am can look at a child like me and think about having sex with that child. How can he look at me as more than what I am, just a child? But no matter how hard I try, I cannot work it out. Instead I just get completely disgusted. How can he think like this? But he does. He is hoping that one day, if he is persistent enough, if he is patient, then one day he will dip it in Mokgethi. But that day will never come, however patient and persistent he is.

Men like Ngwarele can be patient and persistent and a girl will think that they love her, but they are only persistent until the minute they see her nakedness. I have been saying no to Ngwarele for the year and a half that I have been at this school, but he is still pushing and I am very tired of it.

After Saturday school I usually hang around with my friends – Lebo, MmaKgosi, Mahlatse, Dimakatso and MmaLekgope. Today is no different, though we are not really hanging around but rather waiting for Lebo's man to come for her.

“What is the time?” Lebo asks.

“Twelve zero nine.”

She is not asking exactly because she has her own phone. I don't know, maybe she is trying to imply something or maybe she is just nervous for some reason.

“Chill,” MmaLekgope says. “Cool down, hold your horses, bopha, chillax.”

We laugh.

“A beautiful girl as beautiful as I am does not deserve to be kept waiting by any man.”

“I get it every day, so I am never in a rush,” MmaLekgope continues. “It's you ‘intervals' people who are always rushing. I hope that he cannot get it up.”

“Lebo, will it be alright if I ask your man to buy us cooldrinks?” I say, trying to move the conversation on to another topic.

“Why not – he has money to play with. Did I tell you what he bought me last week?”

We all sing it out:

“Seven of the most expensive T-strings by ...”

She joins in too.

“One for each day of the week.”

We laugh.

“You must ask him if he really expects you to wear each one for twenty-four hours,” Dimakatso says. “Did you tell him that a beautiful girl as beautiful as you are washes twice a day?”

We laugh.

“I will ask him, but only after he gives me my surprise. He said that he has a surprise for me today and I just cannot wait.”

“What are beautiful girls for?” I ask, intending to say “For surprises, what else!” when they respond, but nobody does.

“You are a bitch, Lebo,” Dimakatso says. “You only think of yourself.”

“True. And what's more, I am just starting out. Until AIDS catches up with me and I die, there will be no end. And maybe you didn't know, but God is a man. He will smile at the sight of a beautiful girl as beautiful as I am, get aroused and forgive me.”

We laugh.

“Lebo, you didn't just say that!”

“Girl, He is a man and they all get aroused as soon as they see me.”

“And after that whenever the thought of you crosses their mind.”

“Thank you.”

Shatale comes out of the school gate and we all try not to look at him as it irritates Lebo.

“If he says anything I am going to shut him up and he will not say a word more,” she says. “He thinks that I am still interested in grandfathers.”

“Do you think that God made Shatale?”

“He made him while He was horny.”

We cannot suppress our laughter.

Seeing us, Shatale stops his car and opens the window. Lebo attacks him before he even says a word:

“Is there anybody here of your generation, sir? Because we didn't stop you.”

“Are we all angry?”

“Please go to your wife and be a husband. If you cannot be a husband, at least act like a father.”

Despite Lebo's anger he is relaxed, Lebo's ex, Mr LS, as if he is enjoying the anger in her voice. It is the anger of one who now knows better, but who also, maybe, wishes for a second chance so they could do better.

“Lebogang.”

“Don't call my name. You are a disgrace of a man. Go away from us, go on! You forget that you have a wife. Shit, you have a daughter older than I am.”

Lebo spits on the ground three times, to her left, her right and in front of her.

“You are not even ashamed of yourself. You think of yourself as a man?”

We all look at him, but, whatever he is thinking, he doesn't say anything. Lebo shouts the question again:

“Mr Shatale, do you think of yourself as a man?”

Then he drives away, our laughter following him down the street.

“Put your tail between your legs because you were never a man and you will never be one.”

“He must be initiated again.”

“I don't think that he was ever initiated.”

As we are laughing Mathata stops in front of us.

“Mokgethi, you don't like me as much these days, do you?”

“No, I really do like you, it is just that I am very busy,” I say, moving towards his car window.

“With your books?”

“Yes.”

“That is a very good excuse. The fact is that you only call me when you want to ask me something.”

“You don't want me to call you any more?” I pause. “How are you doing anyway?”

“I am not good. You know my problem.”

“No, I don't know your problem.”

“You are my problem. How can you not know?”

“Told you many times over and I am telling you now, Mathata, you cannot have me. You will never have me as your girlfriend, not now, not tomorrow, not ever. We are good friends, that's all. But, as a good friend, I can offer you a solution. Choose from what you see behind me.”

He asks about Lebo.

“That is Lebo and her boyfriend is the person we are all waiting here for.”

Then he picks Mahlatse.

“In the orange outfit is Mahlatse; she has a baby.”

“Is it a problem that she has a baby? I don't want the baby, I want her.”

“I told you so that you know.” I pause, considering. “MmaKgosi is the one in the military outfit, Dimakatso is the one in the tight black jeans and the tall one is MmaLekgope. You can choose any one of them. Pick is all you have to do.”

He laughs as if I am tickling him.

“Where do I have a chance?”

“MmaLekgope, I would say you have a ninety-nine per cent chance, MmaKgosi, you have maybe a sixty per cent chance and with Dimakatso you have absolutely no chance at all, but if you think you are man enough, step up and prove it.”

“Why is that?”

“She is a sinless virgin and doesn't give her body to boys like you to play with.”

“Now I am a boy.”

“Sorry, excuse me, she doesn't give her body to males to play with.”

“Let me have MmaLekgope.”

“MmaLekgope is what you chose and MmaLekgope is what you are going to get.”

I turn around and look at her. “MmaLekgope, girl, do you want this scarecrow trying to be a man?”

“You are calling me a scarecrow?”

“Take a joke, scarecrow.”

“His scarecrow girlfriends will kill me,” MmaLekgope says, smiling.

“You see, she is smiling. She is all yours.”

He laughs.

“This scarecrow just told me that he wants you.”

MmaLekgope approaches the car window.

“Hi! My name is Mathata.”

He offers her his hand and she takes it.

“I know who you are, Mathata.” She smiles as he caresses her hand.

“Can I go or do I have to continue playing this role for both of you?”

“Girl, I can talk for myself but maybe Mr Mathata cannot?”

“Mokgethi, my man is here,” Lebo says, interrupting us. As if I could miss his approach with the loud music that he is playing.

Lebo's man stops his car in the middle of the road and opens the door.

“Mokgethi, aren't you going to ...?” Lebo says as she gets into the car. She tries to continue in sign language but I don't understand what she is trying to say.

I shake my head as Lebo closes the door and they drive away slowly. Mathata hesitates, maybe thinking that we can continue our conversation, but I wave at him to go.

“Bye! You messed up; I did my part very well.”

“Mokgethi,” MmaLekgope says, “you are the worst pimp I know.”

“You are the one who said that you want a man with a car. I thought I was helping. You want him?”

“What is there not to want about him?”

Lebo and her man reverse as I am being honest with MmaLekgope.

“First, he does not love you.”

“How do you know? He didn't say that.”

Lebo cuts in:

“Mokgethi.”

I look at her.

“He has so much money that he feels like a cow with a stillborn calf,” Mahlatse whispers behind me, which is exactly what I was thinking. She gives me a push: “His bowels are boiling; he needs help.”

I step forward.

“Hello.”

The car is straight from Thapelo's carwash and they really washed it, with love, care, wishing and longing. Lebo's man doesn't respond to my greeting so I am not sure exactly what to say.

“Perfect car. Can I take it for a spin?”

“Can you drive?”

Foolish of him to ask that.

“I can push it around.”

We laugh, breaking the crispy ice.

“Mokgethi is my name and, yes, I can drive. Is this a six speed?”

“Yes, it is.”

“What's the fastest you ever pushed it?”

He is not expecting this kind of question from a woman.

“Two hundred and sixty.”

“Oh, I thought this model's top speed was only two thirty ... Well, anyway, you should lend me this machine one good day.”

“Lebo said you wanted to ask me something.”

I look at Lebo. “Did I say so? I cannot remember.”

“About the cooldrink ...” Lebo says.

“Oh! Ja! That! I was only joking. Sorry she took it seriously; it was only a joke.”

“What kind of drink would you like, Mokgethi?”

I hesitate.

“What do you drink?”

“Any soft drink.”

Lebo's man takes out half a hundred, just to impress us – and, yes, we are impressed – then he drives away, not willing to waste a second more; time is valuable.

“Six years from now I will be driving one faster than that,” I proclaim, breaking the silence and putting up a goal.

“I need a man who drives a big car,” MmaKgosi says. “Mokgethi, you must do something about it for me.”

MmaKgosi – I once set her up with James.

“You want James to kill me? And then you and your new boyfriend?”

“Before I forget, you were telling me about Mathata,” MmaLekgope says.

“He is a lawyer, maybe thirty-five, thirty-six ... I don't have any idea about girlfriends but he must have women because there is nothing not to like about him.”

“If he is a player, then I am a willing ball,” MmaLekgope says. “Let him play with me – I am sure I will enjoy myself because I don't take any stress.”

Then MmaKgosi asks the question that they always ask:

“And why, Mokgethi, aren't you taking him?”

“I don't know why you always have to ask because I always tell you the same thing over and over and over. And, once more, I am telling you: I don't want a man. Do you understand me?”

“Because I am still a virgin,” MmaLekgope says, mimicking me, “and very happy and comfortable with being just that.”

I give MmaLekgope a stale look. I once said those words when they were putting me under pressure to sleep with Tumelo. He was doing all that he could to have me and they started pushing me to say yes to him. When the pressure got unbearable I snapped and said what I said. MmaLekgope knows that I don't like it when they joke about it.

“Don't kill me. I am sorry.”

“We have fifty rand,” I proclaim, but before I can say anything else my phone rings.

“Hello.”

“Wonderful.”

It is Kevin. I smile.

“Will it be okay if I invade your space and spend some time with you?”

“You already are.”

“Wonderful, I meant in real life, man to man, man to woman.”

“No, not today.”

“Can I call you later?”

“Can I say no to that?”

“Yes, if you don't want me to call you, just tell me.”

“But every time I tell you not to call me, you always call anyway.”

“You do not want to talk to me?”

Kevin is someone who can challenge one's way of thinking and that is the thing I like about him. He can cut my thinking to shreds and make me think things through on a deeper level, make me reflect on Mokgethi and come to understand her better. And that is all I want from him ... If only I could make him into a friend like Mamafa.

“I like talking to you but only as a friend.”

“I never want to be your friend. You are treating me like ke lepoti and I do not like it. Kante, what are you to me, Mokgethi?”

“I told you that I cannot be your girlfriend. I understand everything you said to me, but I cannot be what you want me to be. I want to be sorry but I am not. We can keep talking but I will only ever be your friend.”

“Love is a process and it does not end.”

“I know, you told me several times. And now, Kevin, I am with my friends.”

He cuts the call. I do not care. He will call back when whatever made him call in the first place reminds him to call again. He keeps telling me that “love is a process and it does not end”, but what does this mean? Is he just going to keep pestering me?

My friends want to know who was on the phone.

“Mokgethi, do not worry, whatever made him call will make him call again.”

“I know.”

“If men loved us the way they do before they sleep with us, women the world over would all be happy forever.”

“True. Before they sleep with you, they are all gentle voices and tender care. Then they pin you down and ejaculate and suddenly you are nothing but a bitch.”

MmaKgosi starts to talk about Lebo and her present man:

“They are not going to last long, those two.”

“When did Lebo ever want her relationships to last?” Mahlatse says. “She is a beautiful girl and she should enjoy being the beautiful girl she is.”

Then we are talking about this and that, that boy, that girl and that one too. In the middle of it all, some guy who calls himself Justice calls.

“Justice, do I know you?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to know you?”

“You will.”

“When?”

“When the time is right.”

“Okay, then talk to me when the time is right.”

I cut the call but he calls back.

“What now?”

“Mokgethi, why are you so rude?”

“Justice, I don't like talking to people that I don't know. I don't know where you got my number from, but if you want to keep talking to me, Mr Justice, show me your face and let me see who I am talking to.”