The Great Cake Mystery (6 page)

“Hold out your hands,” Tapiwa said to Poloko. “Come on. Hold them out.”

Poloko was surprised, but held out his hands. Tapiwa bent down to examine them.
After a few moments, she pointed out something to Sepo, and he also bent down to look. Then Tapiwa reached out to feel Poloko's hands.

“Hah!” she shouted. “It's just as we thought. Your hands are sticky!”

Poloko tried to say something, but his words were drowned out by the shouts of
Tapiwa and Sepo. “Thief!” they cried out. “Thief! Thief!” It was a shrill cry, and it chilled Precious's blood just to hear it. Precious wondered what it would be like to hear somebody shout that about you—especially if you were not a thief and never had been.

Precious stood quite still. The others were now making such a noise that one of the teachers was coming to see what was wrong.

“What's all this noise?” the teacher asked. “Can't you children play quietly?”

“We've found the thief,” Tapiwa shouted. “Look, Mma, look! His hands are covered in stickiness. If you want to know where those iced buns are, they're right there—in Poloko's stomach!”

hat's all this?” she asked. “Are you children fighting?”

“We're not fighting, Mma,” cried Tapiwa, pointing a finger at Poloko. “We've found the thief. It's this boy! This boy right here!”

The teacher looked at Poloko. “Have you stolen something, Poloko?”

Poloko hung his head. “No, Mma, I have not stolen anything.”

The teacher turned to stare at Tapiwa and Sepo. “Why do you say he's a thief?”

“Because some iced buns have been eaten,” Sepo blurted out. “And his hands are sticky. Look at them, Mma!”

The teacher sighed. “Lots of people have sticky hands,” she said. “That doesn't mean that they're thieves.” She paused, looking down at Poloko. “You're sure you haven't stolen anything, Poloko?”

The boy was close to crying. “I have not stolen anything, Mma. I promise you.”

The teacher shook a finger at Tapiwa and Sepo. “You be careful about accusing
people of things when you have no proof,” she said. “Now everybody go off and play and no more trouble, please.”

Tapiwa and Sepo walked off, but only after throwing a disapproving look at Poloko. It was a look that said,
You're still a thief, you know
. And Poloko, who was clearly feeling very miserable, walked off in the other direction.

Precious waited for a moment before following the dejected-looking boy. “Poloko,” she said as she caught up with him. “I believe you. I don't think you're a thief.”

He stopped. “Thank you, Precious. I know you don't think that.” He paused, looking over his shoulder to where the other children were standing, listening to Tapiwa and Sepo. “But they'll all think I'm a thief.”

Precious knew that what he said was true. But she did not like to think that he was still unhappy, and so she tried to comfort him further. “It doesn't matter what
people like that think,” she said. “What matters is what your friends think. I'm your friend, and I know that you're telling the truth.”

He listened to what she said and was about to say something when the bell sounded for them to return to the classroom. So he simply muttered, “Thank you.”

That afternoon, when all the children left the school and began to walk back home under the hot African sun, Precious found Poloko and asked him to walk with her.

He was pleased that she asked, as they could both see the other children looking at him suspiciously.

“You see,” he said. “They've told everybody. Now they all think I'm a thief.”

“Pay no attention to them,” Precious said. “They can think what they like.”

She knew, though, that it was not that simple. All of us worry about what other people think, even if we do not have to. It was easy to tell somebody to ignore that sort of thing; it was much harder to put such advice into practice.

They set off, following the path down the hill. It was a narrow path and a winding one—here and there were great boulders—and the path twisted around them. There were trees in between the boulders, and
their roots had worked their way through gaps in the stone. These trees made the places in between the rocks a cool refuge from the heat of the sun, and Precious and Poloko sat down to rest on their way home.

There was a noise off among the rocks, and they both gave a start.

“A snake!” whispered Poloko.

 snake,” said Poloko.

“Perhaps,” Precious said. “Should we look?”

Poloko nodded. “Yes, but we must be careful.”

They heard the noise again. This time Precious thought that it might have come from the tree, and she looked up into the branches.

“There!” she said, pointing into the tangle of leaves and branches.

Poloko looked up. He expected to see a snake wound around one of the branches, but that was not what he spotted.