Coming back from Mpopoma felt like waking up from a beautiful dream — one where I was still whole, where laughter wasn't a weapon, and where people didn't see me as a potential villain in a story I never asked to be in.
But the moment I stepped into the school gate, that dream collapsed.
The air felt different. Heavier. Tighter. Like it recognized me. Like it knew I wasn't supposed to breathe freely here.
My classmates smiled like nothing had happened, but I could feel it: behind their eyes, the whispers still lived. The fall. The prank. The chair.
And me.
I was still the girl they thought might've done it.
Worse, I was still the girl who hadn't denied it loud enough.
"Mak, you good?" the receptionist asked as I signed back in at the office. "You've been missing a lot of school lately."
I nodded. Smiled. Lied. "Yeah, just needed to be with family for a while."
She gave me a sympathetic look, then handed me a note from the dean: 'See me at break.'
My stomach clenched.
I folded it quickly and shoved it in my blazer pocket.
As I walked down the hallway, I could feel the stares — like eyes peeking through cracks in the walls. Some sympathetic. Some suspicious. Some… just waiting for me to break.
At break, I didn't go to the dean.
Not yet.
I needed time to think, to breathe, to exist without being cornered. So I hid behind the sports block, earphones in but no music playing, pretending like I wasn't spiralling inside.
That's when I saw them.
The gang.
They didn't look surprised to see me.
Like they had expected me to come crawling back eventually.
Tana waved.
Carol smiled like a snake.
Praise ran up and pulled me into a hug — too tight, too familiar, too fake.
"You're back," she said like I'd been gone a lifetime.
I nodded. "Just needed air."
"You look better," Ayanda's voice came sharp from behind the others. "Mpopoma must've helped."
I didn't answer.
I just stood there, still. Watching them. Trying to figure out if I'd ever meant anything to them, or if I'd just been another toy in the drawer.
"People are still talking, by the way," Carol added, casually biting into a lollipop. "About the prank."
"They think it's me," I said.
"Of course they do," Tendai replied, brushing imaginary lint off her skirt. "You fit the role perfectly now. Quiet. Nervous. Missing school. Textbook behavior."
"I didn't do it."
She smiled. "Didn't say you did."
"But you want me to take the fall."
"No," she said, eyes locking on mine. "We want you to survive this. That means doing what we say."
I swallowed.
Tana stepped forward. "There's a girl in Form 3. Always nosy. Always reporting stuff. We're thinking she deserves some attention."
I stared at them. "You're going to pin it on her?"
"No," Bridget corrected. "You are."
The words hit like acid.
"I can't—"
"You can," Tendai snapped. "Or you're out."
Out.
Exposed. Destroyed. Alone.
"Your choice," she added, turning to walk away. "Make it wisely."
I didn't go to class after that. I found an empty stairwell and sat there for twenty minutes, just trying to keep the bile from rising in my throat.
Everything they did was about control.
Every hug, every smile, every prank — a test.
And now I was either a co-conspirator… or a target.
That afternoon, King showed up at the gate again.
I wasn't expecting him.
I wasn't ever expecting him.
But there he was, leaning against his red BMW like he owned the sun. His uniform blazer half-on, shirt wrinkled, headphones around his neck. Everyone looked. Everyone whispered.
When our eyes met, I froze.
I considered running.
I also considered slapping him.
But I did neither.
I just walked slowly past him like I didn't care — like I hadn't cried all night thinking about the dare, the screenshots, and the trap I was in.
He stepped in front of me.
"You ghosted me," he said flatly.
"I never said I was interested," I said.
"But you didn't say no either."
"I'm saying it now."
He smirked. "Too late."
I blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He leaned closer, just enough for his breath to graze my skin. "You've already been claimed, princess."
"I'm not a thing."
"To them, you are," he said, jerking his head toward the gate. "And to me… you're just another dare."
The words burned.
But I didn't flinch.
I just turned and kept walking.
That night, I stared at my phone for hours.
The same message popped up again — the one that disappeared within seconds.
"He doesn't have to like you. You just have to play the part."
Underneath it: the same photo. The same screenshot.
My mistakes, weaponized. Permanent. Sharp.
I threw the phone across the room.
My aunt knocked five minutes later. "Makanaka? You okay?"
"I'm fine," I said, breathe shaky.
"Do you want to talk?"
"No."
"Okay," she said gently. "But if you ever do… I'm here."
I didn't answer.
Because if I opened my mouth, I'd fall apart.
At school the next day, he showed up again.
This time, with roses.
Real ones. Red. Huge bouquet.
Everyone gathered. Watched. Whispered.
He handed them to me without a word, without a smile.
I didn't take them.
"I don't want this," I said loudly enough for others to hear.
"You don't have a choice," he said under his breath.
Then he dropped the bouquet at my feet and walked away like he'd won.
Later that day, Bridget texted me.
"That was perfect. Keep it up."
Perfect.
Like this was a performance.
Like my life was a movie I didn't audition for, and yet somehow I was still the lead.
I didn't cry that night.
I didn't scream either.
The next day, I didn't feel like going to school but since I had to see the class teacher I had to go.
I wasn't even through the school gate when the weight of everything came crashing back — the whispers, the rumors, the eyes that trailed me like they were waiting for me to snap.
Everyone had seen the roses.
Everyone had seen him.
King.
The boy who made bullies look soft.
And somehow, I was now the girl he "liked."
I didn't ask for it. I didn't even smile at him. But someone — some ghost in the shadows — was pulling strings I didn't even know existed.
I was playing a role in a game I hated.
And the scariest part?
I was starting to lose track of what was real.
During break, I sat at the edge of the netball court, staring at my untouched lunch. My stomach had been doing backflips all morning. Every time I looked up, people were staring. Whispering.
Some were jealous.
Some were suspicious.
A few just looked… scared for me.
Praise slid beside me with a half-smile. "He's obsessed with you, girl."
I didn't respond.
She nudged me. "We thought King only cared about Julia, but damn…"
I flinched at the name.
Because the truth?
Julia hadn't disappeared.
And Julia wasn't out of the game.
She and I had a secret.
It started the day I came back from Mpopoma.
I had wandered behind the science block, thinking I was alone.
But I wasn't.
She was there. Leaning against the wall. Arms folded. Eyes sharp.
We hadn't spoken since Mpopoma.
I almost walked away.
But then she said, "You look worse."
I stopped.
"I didn't expect you here," I said.
"You think they'd let me transfer?" she scoffed. "This school's like a mansion with invisible bars. You don't just leave."
We stood in silence for a long moment.
Then she stepped closer.
"They think we hate each other."
I blinked. "Don't we?"
"No," she said. "We're just two girls trying not to drown."
Something about her voice—soft but cracked—made me want to sit down and tell her everything.
And I did.
I told her about the dare.
The disappearing messages.
The photo of us outside the counselor's office.
I told her about King — how I was being forced to date him, even though I couldn't stand him. How the gang was watching everything like a TV show.
I told her I was afraid I'd never be free again.
And to my surprise, she didn't yell.
She didn't cry.
She just said: "He used to be mine."
My head whipped toward her. "What?"
Julia laughed bitterly. "King. He was mine. Last year."
Everything in me froze.
"That's why I ended up in that van," she whispered. "Not just because of you. Because of him. Because I was going to expose something that would ruin all of them."
I stared at her. "You think he's behind this too?"
"I think he's a weapon," she said. "But someone else is holding him."
Since that day, we'd met in secret — never in the same place twice, never for too long.
To everyone else, we were enemies.
We played the part well.
Snide remarks in the cafeteria. Glares in the hallways. Silence in class.
But behind closed doors?
We were planning our escape.
That Thursday afternoon, I found Julia waiting behind the school library.
Her hair was in braids now. Shorter. Less like the old Julia. The one who was once my best childhood friend.
More like someone preparing for war.
She handed me a small notebook — pages filled with observations, notes, symbols.
"She's not behind it," Julia said as I flipped through.
"Who?"
"Bridget."
I looked up sharply.
"She's the queen, yeah. She's smart, manipulative, but she's too proud. Too clean. She would never use King like this."
I swallowed hard. "Then who?"
"That's what we need to find out."
I looked down at the notebook again.
My name was scribbled in circles. Julia's. King's. The gang. A timeline of events. Even snippets of overheard conversations.
"You've been investigating?"
"Since the day I came back," she said. "Someone tried to erase me. I want to erase them first."
I looked up, my voice trembling. "Why help me?"
"Because you didn't have a choice," she whispered. "Just like I didn't. And because I think you're the only one who actually sees how deep this goes and you are important to me."
My throat burned.
"Thank you," I said.
She smiled, just for a second. "Now come on. Before someone sees."
That same day, everything shifted again.
At lunch, Bridget approached me alone. Her face was unreadable.
She sat beside me — uninvited — and looked straight ahead.
"I don't care about your games," she said.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"King," she said plainly. "Stop it."
I swallowed. "He's the one—"
"I know. And that's why I'm telling you: stop."
I frowned, confused. "But I thought—"
"I didn't give that dare," she cut in. "I don't care who did. But he's dangerous. He was supposed to stay away."
My heart thudded.
She wasn't lying.
Bridget. The queen of the group. The puppetmaster.
Wasn't behind it.
So who was?
Later that night, Julia called.
"Bridget approached you?" she asked.
"Yeah. Told me to drop King."
"She's scared," Julia said. "Not for you. For whatever this is."
I sat on my bed, knees drawn to my chest.
"Then someone else is in control," I whispered. "Someone worse."
There was silence on the other end.
"I think," Julia said slowly, "someone else wants us both out of the way."
I didn't sleep that night.
I lay awake, notebook clutched in my hands, trying to solve a puzzle with invisible pieces.
King was part of it.
The gang was part of it.
Bridget, somehow, was not.
And me?
I was a pawn, again.
But I had Julia now.
And that made me dangerous.
I just sat on my bed, opened my journal, and for the first time in weeks, wrote something real:
"They want a show?
I'll give them one.
But I'll be the one writing the ending.