It had been a span of two years since I last walked the halls as a student, and returning brought a familiar mix of nostalgia and apprehension. Amina, who once claimed to know everything about me, confronted me with an accusation.
"You're lying, Aamina, you know nothing about me," Adalyn retorted, her tone laced with scepticism.
Amina, undeterred, responded with a smirk and a touch of theatricality. "Adalyn, stop the fake attitude; it's sickening," she declared, punctuating her statement with a mockingly exaggerated display of disgust.
"You can say whatever you like, but everyone knows it won't be true. You can make up lies and spread them; I will not care," Mrs. Khoeoe interjected, her authoritative voice cutting through the tension.
Resolute, I acknowledged her words with a simple "okay" and exited her office. Gratitude was extended to the front office staff as I left the school, carrying with me the weight of a confrontation not easily forgotten.
Once outside, I headed to my car and drove Kamari home. As we arrived, I handed her a three-page printed document, urging her to unleash it on our Instagram accounts.
"What about what Mrs. Khoeoe said?" Kamari inquired, concern etched across her face.
I offered a sly smile and replied, "Fuck her," a declaration of defiance against the judgments that sought to define us.
That evening, my mother arrived home earlier than usual, perplexed by my unexpected presence. I offered a half-truth, "I don't know, Amina picked me up," feigning confusion. She nodded, accepting the explanation, and then asked me to help in the kitchen.
The following day, Mrs. Khoeo's gaze bore into me with evident fury. Whatever Amina had conveyed must have left a lasting impression. Later, she summoned me to her office, asserting, "I know you published that article."
I met her accusatory tone. "Do you have proof, or are you accusing me again? And please, don't yell in my face."
With a veiled threat, she disclosed, "You know what? I called your mother."
I nonchalantly shrugged and retorted, "Okay, what do you want me to do about it?" Just then, my mother's voice echoed in the room, "Hello, sorry I'm late. I was busy," she apologised with a smile.
Mrs. Khoeo seized the opportunity to paint Kamari in a negative light. "It's okay, Mrs. Kowg. Kamari is a troublemaker. She causes issues with staff and peers. She doesn't treat people with respect. I believe she's behind the Instagram page. Take her phone and check it."
Complying with my mother's request, I handed over my phone. Despite a thorough search, the Instagram page remained elusive. My mother, now defensive, confronted Mrs. Khoeo, "Are you accusing my daughter? I heard her sister already came in to tell you to leave Kamari alone." The tension in the room escalated, revealing the complex web of accusations and alliances.
"If there's nothing more, this meeting is done," my mother declared, gracefully attempting to exit Mrs. Khoeoe's office. Unyielding, Mrs. Khoeoe tried to halt her departure, but my mother paid no heed.
I bid my mother farewell, then promptly called Esi, hoping to find solace in her company. With no response, I turned to Tamru. "Can you drop me at Esi's place?" I asked urgently. We arrived to find Esi unconscious on the floor, prompting a frantic call to 911. "My friend is lying on the floor. She passed out. Please come quickly," I pleaded, attempting to rouse Esi as sirens wailed outside.
At the hospital, my attempts to contact Esi's parents went unanswered until an hour later. Their response, a nonchalant "she's fine," left me stunned. Esi's mother displayed an unexpected lack of concern, and her father remained silent.
We lingered in the hospital until Esi regained consciousness the next morning. As she greeted Kamari and Tamru, I anxiously asked if she was okay. Esi, seemingly unfazed, questioned our presence. "Don't you have school today?" she inquired.
In the sterile confines of the hospital room, I reassured Esi, "It's fine." The air hung heavy with a mix of concern and curiosity as we waited for the doctor.
As the doctor entered, a sense of relief washed over the room. "Esi, it's good that you're awake. Thank your friends; they brought you in," the doctor acknowledged, his eyes hinting at a deeper conversation. Then came the unexpected revelation, "Did you tell them that you have Diabetes?"
My gaze shifted to Esi, disbelief etched across my face. Tears welled up as I asked, "Why didn't you tell us about it?" The weight of the unshared burden settled into the room, and for a moment, silence lingered.
"I'm going to give you a chance to talk, and I'll come back later," the doctor announced, leaving us alone to grapple with the newfound knowledge. Esi, struggling with the weight of her secret, finally spoke, "What am I supposed to say, hey guys, I'm diabetic, and probably going on a die very soon?"
Tamru interjected with a touch of humor, "No, you could have said, 'Hey guys, I'm a little sick, but okay."
"It's okay, Esi," Kamari replied, her tone gentle and understanding. "Just let us know next time so we're all on the same page."
Tamru nodded in agreement, emphasizing, "Communication is key, but we appreciate your apology."
Esi felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Thank you for understanding. I will make sure to be more mindful in the future."
"Oh, I called your parents, but they didn't seem fazed by what I said," the admission hung in the air, and Esi's gaze fixated on me. "Why did you call my parents?" Her voice carried a mix of confusion and frustration.
I stumbled over my words, caught off guard by her reaction. "I... I thought it would be nice to tell them," I explained, hoping to bridge the gap between good intentions and the unintended consequences.
Esi sank onto the bed, her emotions palpable. Tamru, sensing the tension, inquired, "Hey, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, but don't ever call my parents. They're busy in another country," Esi asserted, a layer of pain beneath her words. I probed further, seeking to understand. "What do you mean?"
"They don't care about me," Esi revealed, her vulnerability laid bare. "They gave me money to take care of myself because I said I wouldn't move to Germany with them." The weight of her words echoed in the room, leaving a somber atmosphere.
My eyes welled with tears as the gravity of Esi's reality settled in. She wiped away her tears, shifting her focus to Tamru, asking, "How's school? Johnson still accusing you?"