FROM SPARKS TO STORMS

CHAPTER 7: ONE ON ONE: TRUTHS AND TENSIONS.

Friday morning came with a different kind of energy. The sun shone brighter than the other days, but my chest still felt heavy. I stretched on my bed, staring at the ceiling, reminding myself, It’s Friday, Amanda. Just one more day before the weekend.

I got up, brushed my teeth, and washed my face. My mom was already in the kitchen making porridge, the smell filling the house. I greeted her softly, then went back to my room to get dressed for school.

As I reached for my blazer, my phone lit up again. Lwando. Another message. He wasn’t stopping, and the unread voice note from yesterday was still there, waiting like a storm cloud.

I bit my lip. Should I finally listen to it today?

But instead of opening w******p, I tucked the phone into my pocket. Not now. Not yet.

After breakfast, my mom left for work, reminding me to lock the doors. The house was too quiet, and the silence made my phone’s constant buzzing feel even louder. Notifications stacked up one after the other — all from Lwando.

I sat on my bed, unlocked the screen, and saw three new voice notes. My stomach knotted. So that’s why it kept buzzing all night.

With shaky hands, I pressed play on the first one.

“...Amanda, I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now, but I can’t stop thinking about you. Please, don’t ignore me. I need you.”

I swallowed hard and played the second one.

“Babe, I’m begging you. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t care what anyone says—I love you. You’re my everything. Please don’t throw us away.”

My heart was racing now, but I pressed play on the last one. His voice cracked this time.

“I can’t sleep, Amanda. I keep replaying everything in my head, wishing I could take it all back. Please, just one more chance. Don’t shut me out. I swear I’ll prove it this time. You’ll see… you’re the only one for me.”

The last message ended, and the silence in my room swallowed me whole. I froze, staring at the phone in my hand, tears pricking at the corner of my eyes.

Three messages. Three confessions. Three apologies.

But could three messages erase the nights I cried myself to sleep because of him?

I whispered to myself, “Words are cheap, Lwando… I need more than words.”

Then I received a message from my mom saying Miss Poni had texted her — today’s debate was going to take longer than yesterday, so she shouldn’t worry if I got home late. That gave me a small smile, knowing my mom was proud of me.

Soon after, my friends passed by like they always did. But again, Sisipho wasn’t herself toward me. Her energy felt… off. I ignored it at first, and we chatted about girl things as usual. I even tried to lighten her mood with a silly joke about her — that’s how we usually cheered each other up. Everyone laughed except her.

I frowned. “Are you okay, friend?”

She brushed it off with a quick, “Yeah guys, let’s hurry up, we’re gonna be late,” and started walking faster.

On the way, I broke the silence. “Guess what?”

They all turned to me. “What?”

“Yesterday at the program, I saw that girl Khaya showed me — the one chatting with Lwando.”

They gasped in unison. “What did you do? Did she know you?”

I sighed. “Babes, no. She didn’t seem to know me at all. I guess she knows nothing about me.”

That’s when Sisipho suddenly laughed. A sharp, cold laugh.

I narrowed my eyes. “Did I say something funny?” I forced a smile to hide my confusion.

She waved her hand. “No friend, don’t get me wrong… but the competition is tight now. From men to academics.” She chuckled again like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Olwethu’s face turned serious. “Why do you sound like you’re happy about what’s happening to our girl?”

Sisipho shrugged, smirking. “No, I’m not. It’s just… hilarious, fr.”

We all fell silent. I ignored her bitterness, but the way we exchanged glances and shook our heads said everything. Something wasn’t right with Sisipho… and I could feel it deep down.

We arrived at school, and even as I walked slowly to my class, bored, my mind couldn’t stop replaying Sisipho’s shady behavior. Why is she acting like that toward me?

When I got to class, the first lesson of the day was Mathematics. Our teacher walked in and went straight to the point: “Class, we have a Mathematics paper coming up next week Monday. I need all of you to practice as much as possible so you’ll pass this test.”

Everyone groaned, and I almost joined them, but then he looked straight at me.

“Oh, and Amanda,” he said with a proud smile. “We’re really proud of you for representing us at the program. You might not be a fan of Mathematics, but you’re a hard worker. Keep making us proud.”

I smiled shyly. “Thank you, sir. It was really an honor to represent my school. I truly enjoyed it, and I promise I’ll keep making my school and my mom proud.”

He nodded, pleased, and started the lesson. For a moment, I felt light, like all the stress with Lwando and Sisipho had faded into the background.

When the bell rang, it was time for Economics with Miss Poni. The moment she walked in, her face lit up. She came straight to me and hugged me tightly.

“Thank you for yesterday, Amanda,” she whispered, smiling warmly.

I hugged her back. “It’s my pleasure, ma’am.”

She started the lesson, her energy so infectious that even the students who usually dragged their feet paid attention.

The bell rang again—time for break. I packed up my books slowly, already expecting the girls to come find me, but at the back of my mind, I could feel it—Sisipo’s odd energy wasn’t done yet.

At break, I met up with the girls by our usual spot near the tuckshop. Olwethu and Lelethu were already laughing about something, and when they saw me, they pulled me into their chatter. We bought chips and cool drinks, sat down, and started gossiping about other learners, teachers, and just random girl stuff.

For a moment, it felt normal. I laughed with them, and the heaviness from the morning slipped away. But then I noticed Sisipho, sitting with us but quiet, scrolling on her phone like she wasn’t even there.

I nudged her playfully. “Friend, why are you so quiet? You’ve been acting weird since yesterday.”

She looked up at me, gave a tight smile, and said, “I’m fine. I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

Olwethu raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Because you don’t seem fine.”

Sisipho shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. “I said I’m fine, guys. Can we not?”

The mood shifted for a second, but I quickly changed the subject, telling them about how Miss Poni hugged me that morning and how proud the teachers seemed. That brought the smiles back.

Still, as I laughed with them, I caught Sisipho giving me this strange look—half forced smile, half something I couldn’t quite place. My stomach twisted.

Why does it feel like she’s hiding something?

The bell rang again, saving me from my thoughts. It was time to head back to class, but the unease lingered like a shadow following me.

After chatting with my friends, trying to keep my mind off Sisipho’s shady behavior, I started walking toward the car. That’s when I bumped into Khaya.

“Amanda!” he exclaimed, eyes bright. “Congratulations on qualifying for the program! I knew you’d make it!”

I smiled, feeling a little lighter. “Thanks, Khaya. I’m excited… but also a bit nervous.”

He chuckled. “You’ll do amazing, trust me.”

Before I could reply, my phone buzzed. It was Miss Poni.

“Amanda, are you ready? We need to leave for the program now,” her message read.

I quickly said goodbye to Khaya, my heart still fluttering from his words, and ran to the car with Miss Poni. Today was my chance to represent my school alone, and I knew I couldn’t let anything distract me.

When we arrived at the program, the venue was buzzing with learners from other schools. I stepped out of the car, my stomach fluttering with nerves and excitement. This was my moment to shine, to represent my school, and I wasn’t going to let anything distract me.

As I walked inside, my eyes scanned the room—and there she was. The girl Khaya had shown me in Lwando’s chat. She didn’t seem to notice me, scrolling through her phone quietly, but my heart thumped anyway.

I hesitated for a moment, then walked closer, pretending to adjust my bag. “Hi,” I said softly.

She looked up, blinking in surprise. “Oh, hi.”

“I don’t think we’ve met before… I’m Amanda,” I said, smiling.

She smiled politely. “I’m… okay, I’m fine.”

I nodded, trying to sound casual. “I just… wanted to say congratulations. I saw you were part of the qualifiers too.”

Her eyes flicked toward me, cautious. “Thanks… I guess.”

I studied her for a moment, trying to read her expression. Does she know about me? About Lwando? I forced my smile and stepped back, not wanting to push too hard.

“Anyway,” I said lightly, “good luck today.”

She nodded and turned back to her phone, but my mind was spinning. Something about her felt… deliberate. I didn’t know if she was aware of me or if she even knew the story behind Lwando, but I needed to be careful.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself: focus on the program. Everything else… could wait.

After a few rounds, the moderator announced the next matchup. My stomach twisted when I heard the name:

“Amanda Nohako, you will be debating… Siphokuhle Ntsundwana.”

My eyes widened. Siphokuhle… the girl from Lwando’s chat?! My heart raced, a mix of nerves and curiosity. I stood and walked to the stage, trying to steady my breathing. She gave me a polite nod, but her eyes were sharp, calculating.

The moderator repeated the question:

"In today’s economy, what leadership skills do young people need to succeed, and should students who fail university modules pay back their tuition fees before continuing their studies?"

Siphokuhle started confidently. “Youth need strategic thinking, resilience, and accountability. Regarding students failing modules, I believe that education is a right, not a privilege. Punishing students financially could discourage learning and create inequality. Leadership means lifting others, not penalizing them for setbacks.”

When it was my turn, I stood tall, meeting her gaze. “I agree that leadership requires empathy and resilience,” I said, my voice steady. “But accountability is just as crucial. Failing a module repeatedly without effort to improve is a lesson missed. Repaying tuition—or at least accepting responsibility—teaches discipline and prepares young leaders for real-world consequences. Leadership is not just comfort—it’s preparation for challenges.”

Siphokuhle frowned slightly, leaning forward. “And what if a student fails due to circumstances beyond their control? Should we really punish them?”

I smiled, ready for the rebuttal. “Leadership is about solutions, not excuses. True leaders face their mistakes, learn from them, and grow stronger. Avoiding responsibility teaches nothing. And the economy doesn’t wait—it rewards those who prepare and hold themselves accountable.”

The room went silent for a moment. I could feel every pair of eyes on us, but Siphokuhle’s expression was unreadable. She wasn’t smiling, wasn’t frowning—just watching, calculating.

This isn’t just a debate, I thought. This is a test of strength, focus, and staying true to myself…

As I returned to my seat, I realized my heart was still pounding, not from nerves alone, but from the thought that Siphokuhle was somehow connected to everything I was trying to manage—Lwando, betrayal, and now this…

The next round wouldn’t be easy, and neither would the afternoon. But I knew one thing: today, I had to shine.

The debate continued, Siphokuhle and I going back and forth, our arguments sharp, each point countered with precision.

“You talk about accountability,” she said, voice steady, “but true leadership is lifting others, not punishing them. Learning is more than passing modules—it’s about growth, not just payment.”

I held her gaze. “Growth comes with responsibility. Facing consequences for repeated failure builds character. Leadership isn’t just comfort—it’s preparation for real-world challenges.”

The room was silent as our words hung in the air. The judges scribbled notes furiously, clearly impressed by the intensity.

After a few more rounds, the moderator cleared his throat. “That concludes today’s debate. We want to congratulate all participants. And now, the results.”

My heart pounded.

“First place goes to… Amanda Ndzila, representing her school with 92 points! Second place is Siphokuhle Ntsundwana, with 88 points!”

A cheer erupted around me. I smiled, proud, but still aware of Siphokuhle’s neutral expression. She nodded politely, no hint of disappointment, but I could feel the intensity between us lingering.

The moderator continued, announcing the points for each school. My school led with a total of 275 points, followed closely by Siphokuhle’s school with 268 points. The competition had been tight, but we had pulled through.

As I walked off the stage, I felt a mix of relief and triumph. Today was my day, my moment—but I couldn’t shake the thought of Siphokuhle, her presence, and what she might be hiding.

The storm outside the program was far from over… and I knew it.