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Cut the call. The problem with being beautiful is that every boy wants you and if they see an opportunity then they will take it, no matter the time of day.

Lebo comes back into our conversation when, as usual, we start talking about fashion and clothes. She is always the best dressed of us all and we all like to praise her, while wishing this and that deep inside.

Tshego calls. At first I didn't know it was him as he changes his numbers all the time.

“Mokgethi, hello!” he says in his very charming voice. “Tshego is speaking to you.”

“Tshego? Oh! Hello, Tshego.”

I say that just to let my friends know who is on the line – we always make it a conference call when Tshego calls. Today he has nothing important to say, but, still, the duration of the call is over thirteen minutes and it would have been longer if some other things didn't require his attention. He promises to call back when he is finished.

“Mokgethi, girl, you do not want Tshego, you do not want Tumelo, you do not want Mathata and you do not want Kevin. Girl, it's going to rot between your legs.”

“Mokgethi, my friend, honestly, tell us what kind of a boyfriend you want?”

“I do not want one. My life is not about boyfriends. You people are always complaining about Mokgethi, but Dimakatso is also a virgin and you never say anything to her.”

“My time is coming,” Dimakatso says.

“As is mine. Why are you nagging us? Our time is coming.”

We buy sugar cane at the makeshift street market. While we are enjoying it, a taxi stops.

“Mokgethi, I am going to tell my sangoma that he must cast a spell on you to make you mine. And if that does not work, I am telling you that I am going to kidnap you and rape you for a whole month. I will happily serve a life sentence for it. Even if they hang me, it will be worth it. Hello, girls!”

The taxi driver moves on and a couple of cars stop to offer us a lift, but we keep walking.

An executive car comes crawling down the street like a chameleon, two unknown guys in it. I know exactly what they are searching for and I say:

“This one is going to stop. They are looking for girls and are very bored.”

My friends hold their breath and maybe hope that the man of their dreams is behind the wheel.

“It won't stop,” MmaLekgope says, but only because inside she is wishing the opposite.

The car stops right next to us. I look far away and do not say a word while they greet us very formally. MmaLekgope talks to them as they first pretend that they are looking for somebody who we have never heard of. Then they ask her name. MmaLekgope puts both her hands on her waist and gives them a smile.

“So, what are you boys looking for? Really, what are you looking for?”

“We are looking for this guy and we ran into you ... Maybe we could get to know each other?”

“You boys are very bored, aren't you?” I say.

These ones are nervous and we can play with their minds.

“You boys are so bored that you are driving around, looking for some girls to spice up your afternoon.”

“And what are you?”

“Is that a yes, or maybe you are afraid to say it out loud?”

“We are not bored. I just got interested in you.”

“So?”

He pauses.

“Boys, say what you want. Maybe you will get it, maybe you won't. Either way, you will be free to continue with your search for Miss Right or Miss Nice Time.”

“What is your name?”

“Mokgethi. What is yours?”

“Thabang.”

“Hello, Thabang. And who is your friend?”

“Buti.”

“Buti. Hello.”

“Hi.”

“So who are you looking for? Miss Right or Miss Nice Time?”

They are smiling, unsure of themselves.

“You cannot talk now? Are you looking for Miss Right or Miss Nice Time?”

“You could say that we are looking for Miss Nice Time.”

“Are you sure? You don't sound sure.”

“We are looking for Miss Nice Time.”

“That is a concrete statement. You too, Buti? Is he talking for you as well?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what? Be sure of what you want. What is it, Buti?”

“We are looking for Miss Nice Time.”

“I, Buti, I. You are not a ‘we'.”

“I am looking for Miss Nice Time.”

“Unfortunately, you boys will have to continue with your search because none of us is Miss Nice Time.”

“Mokgethi, you are funny, you know.”

“Thank you, Thabang, but this conversation is over now. None of us is Miss Nice Time.”

I turn my back on them as they put the car in gear and say all the things that boys, well, immature boys, say after trying their luck and failing.

“Mokgethi, why did you let them go?”

“There are better ones coming.”

Mahlatse leaves us after reminding us that she has motherly responsibilities:

“Girls, I have to love you and leave you. I have a son and probably he is dying of hunger. He needs a bath and the love that only a mother can give.” She is silent for a second as if thinking about her little boy. “Tomorrow is Sunday but the day after we will be together again. As for tomorrow, I will miss you girls.”

We pause a little as we watch Mahlatse walk away down the street – goodbyes are always sad.

“Mathata,” MmaLekgope finally says.

“What now?”

We take it literally.

“No, not ‘matata'. I mean Mathata, the lawyer.”

“What about him?” I ask her.

“I am thinking about him.”

“Well, trust me, he is not thinking about you.”

“I don't care, Mokgethi, I am thinking about him.”

“MmaLekgope, why do you think his mother gave him that name?”

“Mokgethi, I am a bitch. I am a bitch just as he is a player. Life is full of shit – we have to take our pleasures where we find them.”

I look at her, not knowing what to say – it feels like somebody is mixing me up inside.

“Mokgethi,” MmaLekgope says, seeing the look on my face, “are you okay? You gave me a man that you didn't want and now you don't look too happy that you gave him to me.”

We are wrong – Mathata has been thinking about MmaLekgope too. My phone rings and, seeing his name on the screen, I hand it to her.

“Is this him?” MmaLekgope asks, obviously excited. “He has been thinking about me too! Hello.”

“Hello. Is that you, MmaLekgope?”

I do not have the words to describe the smile that is on her face.

“Yes. It's me. How has your day been so far?”

“Hakuna matata.”

We are all trying to eavesdrop, trying to make it a conference call, but she pushes us away.

“Can you hold, please?”

She holds the phone away from us.

“I cherish my privacy, girls,” she whispers. “I am talking to my man. Can I please have some space?”

We give her space.

“Thank you.”

She clears her throat and then the phone is back at her ear.

“Sorry about that – these snooping friends of mine don't know the meaning of the word privacy.”

We watch from a distance as they continue their conversation, looking on as MmaLekgope dances to the music of his words. Finally, I cut the show short.

“It is time to part, my dear friends.”

I give MmaKgosi a hug.

“All good things come to an end.”

MmaKgosi hugs Dimakatso. She has to walk back the way we came – back to the school gate and a little way beyond it – to get home. That is, if she is going straight home. Dimakatso and I watch her walk away.

“MmaLekgope, we are leaving you. I need my phone.”

She doesn't even hear me, the music of Mathata's words are warming her whole being.

“Mokgethi. That equation?”

“Which one?”

This is Dimakatso. Our conversations are never about anything personal. She will listen if I want to tell her something personal, but she would rather talk about school – if it's not mathematics, it will be chemistry or biology.

“I always get the wrong answer.”

“What is your answer?”

We stop at a T-junction – I turn left here and they go right – solving the equation together.

“That is where I lost it! Instead of saying minus two X, I said plus two X.”

MmaLekgope catches up, interrupting our school lesson.

“Tonight I am going to town to watch the latest movie on the big screen,” she says, handing me my phone. “Hoo!” She exhales like it is the beginning of the holidays.

“With Mathata?”

“With Mathata. Thank you for waiting for me; you are such good friends. Now I am in a hurry because I have to cook and be ready before half past six.”

Now she is in a hurry.

“Dimakatso, are we going or are you continuing with your after-school lesson?” She pauses and looks at me. “Mokgethi, it is weekend. Please stop with the schoolwork.”

“I will catch up.”

My phone rings as MmaLekgope leaves us. It is him – Mathata. I leave it to ring and continue with the lesson. This time Dimakatso solves the equation.

“Oh! Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

“Can I visit you later today if I still have trouble with it – I will call you first to confirm.”

“I will be home all afternoon.”

Dimakatso will only call if she is having trouble with her schoolwork. If it is all going fine she will spend the rest of the afternoon working at home. I like her because she doesn't think like many of the girls I know. I can spend the whole day with her and she will never mention anything sexual.

MmaLekgope shouts from a distance:

“Mokgethi, you are going to go mad one day because of books and we will all think that you have been bewitched!”

After losing my friends, I put the house in order – wash the dishes, dust here and there and put everything the way it's supposed to be while I play my favourite tunes and sing along out loud. There is no need to cook today because my grandmother won't be home – we will be having bread for supper tonight.

Mathata calls again:

“Hakuna matata,” I say, mimicking MmaLekgope.

“There is one very big problem with all of this.”

“What is the problem now?”

“I am going on a date with somebody that I don't love because somebody that I do love set me up with this somebody that I don't love.”

“So?”

“She is beautiful and is everything that someone could want but I don't love her.”

“Do you know what you should do?”

“No.”

“You should pamper the somebody that you don't love so much that she goes and tells the somebody that you do love all about it. That will make her jealous and then she will start to want you because she will begin to understand what she has passed on to her friend.”

“Do you think that will work?”

“If it doesn't work, you have yourself a girlfriend, so you have nothing to lose.”

“That is not fair.”

“When was life ever fair?”

“So you and I will never be.”

“Maybe I will be jealous.”

“Does it have to be based on jealousy?”

I am smiling, enjoying playing with Mathata, but then an image of MmaLekgope when she was dancing to his voice comes into my mind.

“Mathata, take MmaLekgope because I will never be your girlfriend.”

“So, that is it?”

“It is just the way it is. Don't sound so sad about it. Smile, you are a tiger.”

“I am about to cry.”

“That will not help you either. You have MmaLekgope ... If you only knew how much she wants you; she is practically head over heels.”

“Can I call you back? There is another call and I have to take it.”

“Any time.”

Thirteen twenty-six.

My father calls. He is driving the roads of my community. I called his brother, my uncle, late yesterday, pretending that I was very sick because I wanted to see my father again – at the time it had seemed like the perfect reason for him to come and see me.

He picks me up in the road. I am very excited, looking lively and lovely. He asks if he can meet Mamafa – as I have said so many good things about him – so we call him and luckily he is at his house. We drive over and I introduce him to Mamafa.

 

Thirteen fifty-two.

My father says that he has to be somewhere. He writes a cheque for a thousand rand, tells me that I should give Khutso half of it and hurries off to do his business.

“How much did he give you?” Mamafa asks as I walk back into his house after saying goodbye.

Although the cheque is still in my hand, I had forgotten about it – I was too busy feeling sad that he had gone. “Oh! The cheque? It's for a thousand rand.”

“That is what fathers are for: to provide.”

He says this knowing that I won't like it – we once had a disagreement after he said that fathers were there to provide for their kids. I told him that women are perfectly capable of providing for their own children. I used myself as an example because my grandmother is providing for me and back then my father was not in my life.

“Well, I asked for it ...”

“You asked for it? Mokgethi, you are lying. Admit that I was right.”

After explaining that I actually called my uncle, pretending to be sick, and told him that I needed to go to the doctor – though I was actually watching television at the time – and that I needed fifty rand to pay Khulofelo, the girl who does my hair, and a hundred rand to lend to Uncle Nnona because he needs money and no one is ever willing to help him, Mamafa looks at me like I have committed a crime. It is as if he is going to hit me.

“What did I do wrong?”

“What are you saying to your father by doing all of this?”

“He is my father and you said that he is supposed to do this for me.”

“Yes, he is your father and he is supposed to provide, but you have not known him for even two hours and you ask him for money that you do not seriously need. Please, Mokgethi, never ask your father for money like that again.”

I am looking at him.

“Ask me why?”

“Why?”

“Because you are coming across as a liar. He drives two and a half hours to come and see a sick Mokgethi, only to find a lively and joyful Mokgethi. How is that supposed to make him feel? The man stopped his important business for your lies.”

I see the point that he is making and I feel like a bitch.

“Never ask for anything from your father again and never call his brother. Let him call you; now that he has your numbers he will call you. I am sure that he has other children too and he knows that they have needs. If he fails to think that you have the same needs, well, that will be unfortunate, but you have been living without him for a long time and you are doing okay.”

Now I am listening attentively and the truth is that I had been thinking of calling his brother to ask for money for clothes.

“He is my father; he has to do this for me.”

“Yes, Mokgethi, he is your father, but be strategic. The time for you to call him is after you have your matric results. Then you can say to him, here, this is how I did and I need your help from here on to continue with my education and maybe he will sell his beautiful car for you so that you can go to Oxford.”

I feel like a bitch and wish that I could say sorry but what is done is done.

“Don't worry, he will understand. You people are born bitches, so why would you be any different,” Mamafa jokes, giving me a hug.

“You are making me feel worse.”

“Sorry, but don't ever do that again, Mokgethi.”

“Do you really think that I will go to Oxford?”

“Finding your father now, I think, is a blessing, and if you play it right you will go to Oxford.”

My body goes onto autopilot and I kiss him.

“I love you.”

He looks at me as if holding something back.

“That big word again.”