When the summer rains fall, the Swazi Times prints a “plow now” roster for each region in the country. I’m a city girl but I take notice of what happens around me. For example, Mrs. Button, who grew up in the shadow of the Lebombo Mountains, loves to garden. She plants her corn and melons in September, and Mother throws tomato seeds out of the kitchen window in early November.

Lottie lives in the sticks and dreams of one day owning a farm with trees for the birds and fields for the wild animals. She knows explaining Darnell’s disappearance with late planting is wishful thinking.

“Farmwork for sure,” I say in my “sunny voice,” and pretend that Lottie is right. Late planting is the reason that Darnell’s daddy hasn’t dragged him back to school on his tractor. But my heart’s not in it, and I add, “Maybe . . . um . . .”

“Maybe what, Adele?” Lottie snaps, and turns on me. “For once in your life, say what’s on your mind instead of what you think other people want to hear. Go on. Try it!”

Her attack lands a blow, and I hit her back with, “It’s the first week of February, Lottie! The fields are already planted. No way is Mr. Parns so far behind.”

“Idle speculation, Adele.” She uses her superior vocabulary to put me in my place. “You don’t know anything for sure.”

“And neither do you, Miss Oxford Dictionary!”

She leans in with balled fists and glazed blue eyes, spoiling for a fight. We were close, but once we’ve exchanged blows we’ll be enemies, and that’s a shame because all I did was speak my mind when she told me to. My scalp tingles, anticipating a vicious tug by the roots, a favorite Lottie move.

Instead of brawling, we stand face-to-face, and the heat goes out of the moment. Lottie’s lips quiver, and I understand why she yelled at me. She’s angry because she’s scared that Mr. Moses is talking to Mr. Vincent about Darnell and the news is bad.

“You’re right,” I say. “I talked out of turn.” Lottie being scared makes me scared, too, so I take back my rash words. “Mr. Parns might be planting his fields late, and I have no idea where Mr. Moses has come from or where he’s been.”

Lottie accepts my semi-apology with a quick nod, and we stand in awkward silence. Neither one of us knows what to say next.

“Adele Joubert. Lottie Diamond.” Mrs. Vincent’s voice breaks the quiet, and we turn to face the verandah. “Please tell Mrs. Thomas to gather the senior girls in the quadrangle. Go now. Quickly.”