This Thing Called the Future by J.L. Powers Page B

humans.”
    â€œHave you seen the tokoloshe ?” Zi asks.
    â€œOnce, when I was very young, I saw the tokoloshe ,” Gogo says. “The missionaries in my village went to England and when they returned, they brought a ball for the children to play games. I was playing with a friend and she kicked the ball into the grass. I walked out into the tall grass, looking for that ball, and I couldn’t find it anywhere! I walked as far as the grass went until I reached a pond. At last, I found it in the water. I started to pick it up and that’s when I saw… the ball had eyes. ”
    â€œWow,” Zi breathes.
    â€œWhat did you do?” I ask.
    â€œI screamed and ran away. I knew it was the tokoloshe because we had just been talking about him. And I never did find the ball in the tall grass. Mr. Johnson, the missionary, was very angry with me that I had lost it. I did some work for him to pay for it.”
    â€œWhat about you, Khosi?” Zi asks.
    â€œI’ve never seen the tokoloshe ,” I say, “but my friends Thandi and Sibu were talking about the tokoloshe at school one day when, out of nowhere, came flying a note tied to an arrow. They read the note, and you want to know what it said?”
    Zi nods. Then she shakes her head no. Then she nods again. Her eyes are wide.
    I drop my voice to a whisper. “It said, ‘Stop talking about me.’”
    Zi squeals and scrambles under the bed again.
    â€œOh, Zi,” I say. “Don’t be frightened. You can come out.”

    â€œThe tokoloshe isn’t going to hurt you,” Gogo wheedles.
    â€œIt might play mean tricks on me,” Zi says, her voice muffled.
    â€œThe tokoloshe only plays mean tricks on older people,” I say. “Teenagers and adults.”
    â€œ Unamanga ,” she says.
    â€œIt is not polite to tell somebody they are lying, Zinhle Zulu,” I tell her in exasperation, getting down on my knees, trying to coax her to come out. But Zi won’t move. I go into the kitchen to cook supper and, finally, when she’s hungry, she creeps out and asks for something to eat.
    Â 
    One night, something happens that makes all of us forget about missing Mama. As I’m getting ready for bed, I notice blood on my underpants. “Gogo! Gogo!” I shout, both scared and excited all at once, the way you feel on the first day of school, the way I feel when Little Man grins at me and I wonder, Does he like me, too?
    All the other girls at school—well, Thandi —started bleeding years ago. I’m so old, fourteen already, and I’ve been waiting and waiting, wondering if it would ever happen. I was even starting to get worried, so much that Gogo had started to talk about going to the sangoma to see if something was blocking the blood.
    Still, Gogo doesn’t share my excitement. She shakes her head and instant tears roll down her wrinkled black cheeks. “I’m not ready for you to grow up,” she says.
    Gogo cries so easily. Sometimes, it frustrates me.
    â€œNothing’s going to change,” I reassure her, even though we both know my words are meaningless. I’m an intombi now—a young woman, old enough to get married and have children. Everything will be different after this. Everything!
    In fact, Zi’s the one who says it. “Are you going to get a boyfriend now?” she asks.
    Gogo must see the excitement in my eyes. “The tree is bent while it is young,” she says. “Once a tree has grown, you can’t change it.”
    â€œGogo, I’m not a child anymore,” I say. “My tree is already straight and tall.”

    Gogo laughs, but she looks sad. “Don’t be so anxious to grow up, Khosi. There is still so much for you to learn.”
    â€œI guess I won’t be running out and getting a boyfriend tomorrow then,” I tell Zi and we both giggle.
    â€œNo, you better not,” Gogo agrees, “or your