Big Ups! NO Two

by Haden, Ros;

  Cant w8 2 c yr cute smile … I reply.

  I am officially in love.

  On the taxi on the way to school Nosipho holds my hand. I am in heaven! And when we get off the taxi to walk through the school gates I put my arm around her shoulder. She’s my girl. As I pass Dumi he gives me the thumbs up and does a whole lot of crazy stuff with his eyebrows. Everyone just stops and stares. They can’t believe that I have a girlfriend!

  Then I see them coming down the passage towards us, Phathokazi with Petunia by her side. They don’t look happy for me. In fact Petunia looks like a storm cloud. Then Phathokazi, who has not so much as looked in my direction before, suddenly puts on this smile and does this fashion model strut towards us. Well, I should say towards me, because she completely ignores Nosipho, like she doesn’t exist. She stops right in front of us with her hand on her hip and giggles flirtatiously. Then she runs one very long, very pink nail down my cheek.

  “Did I ever tell you how cute you are?” she says and flutters her eyelashes. She’s not going to give up. Girls like her have to have the guys running around them at all times. She will do whatever she can to split me and Nosipho up. And I can’t believe it. She wants me now! I This sexy girl who can have anyone she wants has decided she wants me!

  I feel Nosipho’s body tense up next to me. Everyone is watching now. They are standing in a circle around us. Dumi’s eyebrows have gone crazy. They are all watching.

  Now that I have a girlfriend Phathokazi wants me and I know she thinks that all she has to do is wink and I will be hers. But suddenly she doesn’t looks so attractive any more. In fact I don’t feel anything for her. It’s like I can see her heart, and it isn’t pretty. All I feel is Nosipho’s warm body next to me – and it feels right.

  “Sorry, I have a girlfriend, if you hadn’t noticed,” I say looking her straight in the eye. “Come, Nosipho, let’s go.” We walk straight past them.

  “You better watch out for me,” Petunia hisses as we walk past.

  Nosipho has the biggest smile on her face. I can’t wait for 4 pm – our 24-hour anniversary!

  Discussion questions

  •Why do you think Vusi’s and Dumi’s advice didn’t work?

  •Do you think Thando’s and Nosipho’s love will last? Why/why not?

  About the author

  Ros Haden lives in Cape Town where she works as content editor and writer for the FunDza Literacy Trust. She has had children’s books published, as well as a teen novel and short stories for teens and young adults. She has also written a novel for adults and written scripts for television.

  Advice for young writers

  Read as much as you can! Persevere with your writing. It’s like anything else – the more you put into it the more rewarding it is. Inspiration is all around you, in the conversations you hear, in the things you see each day.

  2

  FOR LOVE OR MONEY

  Jenny Robson

  Just call me Cinderella! I spend my days with a broom in my hand, just like that chick in the fairy tale. Sweeping, sweeping, that’s me! Mostly hair-cuttings and braid-ends and curler papers.

  Also like that Cinderella chick, I am really pretty. I’m not being vain, I promise. It’s the truth. I can see it every time I look in a mirror. And here at Top-Knot Hair Salon, there are mirrors everywhere.

  I have wonderful curves in all the right places, high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. Plus a supermodel smile that dents the sides of my mouth with the cutest dimples. What can I say? Gorgeous!

  Well, Cinderella in the fairy tale grabbed her Prince Charming. That’s my plan too. I’m on a mission to catch my very own Prince Charming – someone young and handsome and rich. Especially rich!

  My Auntie Sizi always told me, “Zonke, my girl, you must marry for money. Forget about love! Love doesn’t last, but money does. Love can hurt you, but money never will. Are you hearing me, my angel girl? You must make that beautiful face of yours work for you.”

  That’s why I took this job at Top-Knot. We have plenty of rich clients, from Bishopscourt, from Constantia, from Hout Bay. They pitch here in their designer clothes with their Audis and big fat SUVs parked outside. Some of them even have chauffeurs who sit and wait for them! Imagine!

  It’s just a pity that most of our clients are women. Demanding women! “Zonke, dahling, get me a cappuccino, will you? Fresh milk foam, mind!”

  So I have to leave my broom and hair-clippings and head for the kitchen. But Madame Le Champs, the French boss-lady, says, “Zonke, whatever zey want, zey must get. Only zee best for zee clients. Oui?”

  Oui is French for ‘yes’ but you pronounce it ‘wee’, like you need the toilet. Not very posh! But she is very French, my boss-lady. I love the way she speaks.

  We have some male clients, like the bank manager. But he is old and keeps showing pictures of his grandchildren. There’s a karate instructor too. But he doesn’t seem to like women. Still, I have high hopes that my Prince Charming will appear some day.

  On Thursday, Mrs Magaba from Constantia kept staring at me in the mirror while I swept. Then she said, “Zonke, you are really beautiful. I must bring my son Sipho to meet you. He is very shy, but very sweet. Yes, I am sure you two will like each other.” Mrs Magaba has lots of money. She is a University of Cape Town lecturer. Her husband is a famous brain surgeon at Groote Schuur Hospital.

  And then on Friday morning, the best thing happened. Mrs Windsor came in for her ten o’clock tint. And she gave me a ticket to some exclusive art exhibition. “You go along, Zonke. It’s for some hot local artist. Very upmarket. By invitation only. All the rich and famous will be there.”

  So! Friday evening I’m heading for this art gallery. Who knows? Maybe my Prince Charming will be there, waiting to carry me off to his castle? Zen, in the words of my French boss-lady, zen it will be only zee best for me. Oui?

  I walked into that art exhibition looking like a million dollars, let me tell you! Refilwe spent all afternoon doing my hair. And she is Top-Knot’s best. She used so many different products, I lost count. Luckily the boss-lady was out.

  Then I went up to Bishopscourt to borrow some of my sister’s clothes. My sister Lindi works as a children’s nanny there. Her employer gives her cast-off designer clothes – sometimes with the price tags still on. My sister was also out, which made it easier. Lindi is sometimes very selfish about lending me her clothes.

  But the security guard let me into the Bishopscourt property. “Anything for you, Angel-face,” he said. He always calls me Angel-face. He tells me that if he was 20 years younger, he would marry me tomorrow.

  I chose a black halter-neck dress. Very chic! I took off the price tag (that was well into the thousands). I found Lindi’s silver sandals with killer heels. And her favourite earrings that look like they’re real diamonds. Elegant! No one would believe that I sweep up other people’s hair for a living.

  I don’t know why this local artist was supposed to be hot. His paintings at the art exhibition were awful. Just great messes of bright colours smeared around the place. Like a Grade 1 kid would paint. No sunsets, no waterfalls, no flowers. But all the rich and famous people around me were going, “Ooooh” and “Aaah” and “How stunning! How deep.”

  And then I saw him: my Prince Charming. He stood alone in his soft grey suit and violet tie. Tall and handsome and confident. He looked across at me like I was the only other person in that huge room.

  Wow!

  But I turned away, nearly tripping over my killer heels. I pretended to be very interested in one of the paintings: a mess of pink and black. Gotta play hard to get, right? Rich girls always play hard to get, don’t they? They can afford to!

  He came to stand close beside me. I could feel the expensive cloth of his sleeve. I could smell his exclusive aftershave. To die for!

  He said, “You aren’t fooling me. I can see right thr
ough you. So stop pretending.”

  “Pretending?” I panicked. Was all my effort for nothing? Was my cover blown so quickly? I nearly burst into tears right there in front of all those people.

  “Yes. Tell the truth: you don’t like these paintings any more than I do!”

  What a relief! I smiled up at him. I could feel my dimples deepening.

  “So what do you say, pretty lady? Let’s get outta here. We can go to my place and watch the sun set.”

  “Your place?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a house in Clifton. Right on the sea shore.”

  Clifton! That’s more exclusive than Bishopscourt! Forget playing hard to get! I allowed him to guide me outside to his car. A silver Jaguar! Imagine! With white leather seats. Absolutely to die for!

  You know how the story of Cinderella ended? She lived happily ever after. “Girlfriend,” I told myself, there inside the Jaguar, “maybe this will have a fairy-tale ending too!”

  It wasn’t a house, it was a mansion!

  Jabu led me outside onto a huge balcony. Below us waves crashed onto the rocks. The sun was setting over the sea, turning the clouds red and gold.

  Jabu – that was his name. Jabulani Jili. He said his name like I should recognise it. So I pretended.

  “Oh wow! Jabulani Jili! Mmm!”

  He was a businessman. He’d inherited the business from his late father. He spent a lot of time flying to New York and to London. Imagine!

  “What kind of business?”

  “Oh, this and that. I have a large portfolio. Sometimes I lose track. Luckily I have an excellent accountant. But I want to know all about you, Zonke.”

  Of course, I didn’t tell him I was a cleaner at a hair salon. I didn’t tell him my sister worked as a children’s nanny. Instead I made up a story.

  “Me? I live in Constantia, up near the mountain. I’m a student at UCT. Drama. I’m hoping to be an actress one day. My mother is at UCT too, one of the science lecturers. And my dad, he’s a brain surgeon at Groote Schuur Hospital. Poor Daddy, he works such long hours.”

  The words just flowed out of my mouth. And the way Jabu was looking at me, it felt like my story was true. Like I really was the daughter of wealthy parents. He had such beautiful eyes, Jabu. Gentle, caring eyes. Eyes you could fall in love with, no problem!

  I thought, Hey – how would it be to marry for love and money? That would be the ultimate! Auntie Sizi can’t argue with that!

  Jabu moved his chair closer to me. He stroked my cheek. “I knew today was going to be a good day for me!”

  And then my cellphone went off in my bag. Just an SMS. I didn’t want to take it out in front of Jabu. What would he think? It’s an old, battered Nokia with a cracked glass and a rubber band holding it together. Nothing like his fancy, expensive BlackBerry that lay on the table beside him.

  “I need to go to the powder room,” I said. That’s what our clients call the toilet: the powder room.

  “Hurry back, Zonke. I’ll be missing you every second you’re gone.”

  The SMS was from my sister Lindi.

  Hw dare u steal my clothes? This is da last tym Zonks. I’m warning u.

  I left the powder room. But of course, I couldn’t resist. I went exploring. What a house! Yes, I could live here happily ever after! Carpets so thick and soft it was like walking on a bed. Beautiful furniture, all in white. Huge windows so you saw the sea from every room.

  And then there were the photographs. So many of them: on the walls, beside the beds. They didn’t make me feel too happy.

  They were photos of a young, incredibly beautiful woman. She was standing at the Statue of Liberty in New York; posing in front of Buckingham Palace in London; lying on some island beach in a tiny bikini and smiling up into the camera.

  On the balcony, Jabu was standing at the rail, looking out at the sea. It was dark now. The sun had disappeared.

  He was talking on his BlackBerry. I heard every word.

  “Yes, fine. I’ll be at the airport to fetch you. What time does the plane land? Ten? Right, ten o’clock tomorrow morning. No problem.”

  He turned and saw me. He wrapped his arms around me, and spread his hands over the soft, expensive material of my dress. (Well, Lindi’s dress.)

  He said, “I’m really worried, Zonke.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I seem to be falling in love with you. And that wasn’t part of the plan.”

  In love with me! Imagine! So, no, I didn’t ask him about the chick in the photos. Why spoil such a happy evening? Hey, maybe she was his sister or something? I didn’t ask him who he was fetching at the airport either.

  But I was thinking, that Cinderella chick, she didn’t have such problems. She danced with her Prince Charming and ‘Boom!’ Next thing she is living in a palace with a thousand servants and wardrobes full of beautiful clothes. Happily ever after!

  It was still early. But Jabu wanted to drive me home. “I’m not going to upset your brain surgeon father or your UCT lecturer mother. Not on our first date.”

  So I climbed back into the Jaguar. I sank into the white leather seat.

  “Right, Zonke, where to in Constantia?”

  Panic! I had to think fast. “I’m staying at Bishopscourt tonight. At my sister’s home. Her husband is away on business.”

  The Jaguar purred softly along the highway with its orange lights, then on to the gates of my sister’s employer’s house.

  “Can I come in, Zonke? I’d love to meet your sister.”

  More panic! More fast thinking! “Better not, Jabu. Her baby will be asleep.” Hey, I would make a good actress!

  So he kissed me goodnight outside the gate. It was a kiss made in heaven, let me tell you! Especially with the smell of his expensive aftershave all around me. I’ve never in my life smelt anything that good.

  “Listen, Zonke, I have to fly to New York for meetings, for the next two weeks at least. But I’ll phone you soon as I’m back.”

  Two weeks! How was I supposed to last for two weeks? What if he met someone prettier in New York? New York must be full of beautiful women.

  The security guard let me in. “Hey, Angel-face. That’s a fine car there! Good – you deserve a millionaire boyfriend.”

  But my sister wasn’t so kind. “Who do you think you are, stealing my stuff? I had a hot date tonight. I wanted to wear that black dress. You never think of anyone but yourself, Zonke.”

  I ignored her while she moaned on and on. Cinderella had wicked sisters too, didn’t she? But I was thinking, Tomorrow I will be at the airport at ten. Oui! Just to put my mind at rest. Otherwise how will I last two weeks?

  ~•~

  Yes, there was the silver Jaguar, parked in a VIP bay at the airport. With an airport car guard watching over it. And it wasn’t even 9:30 yet.

  And yes, there was Jabu sitting in the Arrivals hall. He was wearing another suit, charcoal grey this time. The dark material made him look more handsome, wealthier. I wanted to run to him, to ask him to put his arms around me again. The way he had done last night on his balcony.

  But I hid myself away behind a stand of sunglasses at one of the airport kiosks. “Control yourself, Zonke,” I whispered to myself. “You need to know the truth. That’s what you’re here for, girlfriend.”

  In fact I was beautifully dressed myself. Lindi had lent me a soft lacy pink top and some designer jeans. She isn’t always a wicked sister. Sometimes she is quite kind.

  “Can I help you, madam?” asked the kiosk assistant. Like I would be interested in buying these cheap, ugly sunglasses!

  So I moved to hide behind a stand of postcards. Mostly photos of hippos and lions and baby baboons, all saying, “Welcome to Sunny South Africa.” But now I had a good view of the people coming off the planes through the Arrivals sliding door.

  Quarter past ten
exactly, a woman walked through. She was tall and even more beautiful than her photos in Jabu’s Clifton house. She was dressed like a super-supermodel, with a designer bag to die for!

  My heart was thudding. I watched Jabu get up and walk towards her. And what now? Would they fall into each others’ arms? Would they kiss as though they were alone in some exclusive garden? It would break my heart to see that! Was my Cinderella dream going to smash to pieces on the tiled airport floor?

  But no! Jabu and the woman didn’t even smile at each other. He stopped some distance from her. She said something. Jabu nodded. His sister! It must be his sister! Or maybe some cousin. There wasn’t any warmth between them.

  “Can I help you, madam?” It was another kiosk assistant.

  I moved back to the sunglasses stand. Such ugly, cheap sunglasses. But I was so happy! The woman from the photos was no danger. No threat. My Cinderella dream was back on track. Oui!

  Now everything would be fine. I would wait patiently for two weeks until Jabu was back from New York. Until he phoned me. And then – maybe then – it would be happily-ever-after time. Imagine!

  A man appeared through the Arrivals doors. He was short and middle-aged, pushing a trolley piled high with designer luggage. Amazing luggage! He put his arm around the woman. Like she belonged to him, and no one else. What was she doing with such an ugly man?

  I moved closer, hiding behind a concrete pillar. Jabu had taken the trolley now.

  “Get the cases in the Jag, Jili. Chop chop!” I heard the man say. “We have an appointment at the Mount Nelson Hotel. So move it!”

  Then I heard Jabu answer, “Yes, Mr Majola, sir!”

  Did I hear right?

  Why was Jabu calling this Mr Majola ‘sir’? It didn’t make sense. Jabu owned a house in Clifton; he was a businessman flying to meetings in New York and London; he drove a luxury car. So why did he allow this Mr Majola to be so rude to him?