Chapter 39

RULE #38: SOMETIMES, THERE ARE NO WORDS NEEDED.

Presh

When I walk inside, my sister and mother are sitting on the couch. There are red blotches around Amahle's nose and cheeks, a telltale sign that she's been crying.

"Oh, Amahle. I'm sorry," I say, dropping onto the sofa next to her.

It's only one in the afternoon and already today has been exhausting. There's still so much to process. Some creep told my father about me at the club. My mother and father both know about Musa and the club and me being auctioned off — insert mortification.

And the crowning glory of the day had to be Musa Mthembu declaring his love for me in front of everyone.

Kind of hard to care about the other stuff when that plays over and over in my mind.

"It's okay," my sister mumbles as she rests her head against my shoulder. "I hope you're not cross that I phoned Musa."

I lift my head and stare at her in surprise. "Cross? No, of course not. You did the right thing."

"Did you see him slam Dad against the wall?" she asks, hiding her smile as she pinches her lips between her fingers.

Ma and I both laugh. "That was pretty cool," Ma says.

"I'm sorry for not telling you," I add, mostly to Ma, since Amahle sort of figured it out on her own. And I suppose this might be a conversation more suitable in private, but I like the idea that we don't keep secrets from each other.

At least not anymore.