Jennifer stepped into the resting area quietly, her figure half-lit by the soft sunlight slipping through the trees. Around her, girls from Our Lady of Fatima were seated in scattered groups, sipping juice and tearing into bread parcels passed Out by Angela.
Angela was busy moving through the crowd, holding a box of milk cartons. Laughter and chatting buzzed softly across the group.
But when Jennifer walked in, the mood shifted.
Cynthia was the first to notice. Her smile faltered. Something was off. Jennifer's eyes were glassy, a little red. Her expression looked stretched-like she'd just wiped tears, trying to pull herself in control.
Some girls turned to look at her. Not many-but just enough. They didn't mean to stare. But sadness had a way of making its own entrance.
Jennifer's eyes caught theirs.
"What are you looking at?" she muttered, her voice sharper than usual.
The girls quickly turned away.
Cynthia didn't push. She just offered a milk carton gently.
Jennifer took it, said nothing, and sat down a few feet away-her back straight, her gaze low. She didn't say another word.
The rest of the girls tried to carry on, but the tension didn't slip away.
A student from St. Andrew's approached quickly, stepping around a few girls seated on the grass. She didn't smile. Her tone was direct.
"Jennifer Mwikali. Our teacher-Mr. Barasa-wants to see you. Right now."
A ripple of whispers moved through the group.
Jennifer blinked and lifted her head slowly.
She didn't respond immediately. Cynthia's eyes were on her, and so were many others. Girls stared-some curious, some waiting for drama, others simply surprised.
"Eh, why are you all staring like she's going to jail?" Cynthia muttered, frowning at the girls. Her voice wasn't loud, but sharp enough to make a few turn their heads back to their snacks or idle talk.
Then she leaned toward Jennifer, voice lower this time. "Jen...are you in trouble?"
Angela looked up too, pausing mid-bite, a piece of biscuit still in her hand. Christine sat beside her, quiet, gaze following Jennifer as she rose to her feet.
Jennifer didn't reply.
She stood, wiped her palms against her skirt, and began walking. Every step made her feel more exposed, more distant. A faint breeze swept past, but it couldn't cool the heat crawling under her skin.
As she neared the front, she spotted Kevin standing stiffly, head bowed. Clara stood a few feet back, arms folded, face unreadable. And beside her, Miss Emily stood silently, her scarf tightly wrapped, expression unreadable.
Then came the voice of Mr. Barasa, deep and firm.
"Jennifer Mwikali," he said, arms behind his back. " I'd like you to narrate, in your own words, what happened earlier today. What exactly did Kevin do to you?"
Jennifer's eyes flicked from Kevin, to Clara, then to Miss Emily. Her hands brushed against the front of her skirt-nervous fingers gripping the fabric as if to gather some invisible strength.
Then, her voice-soft but clear-broke the silence.
"It wasn't his fault," she said. "I'm the one who led him there."
Kevin stepped forward instinctively, catching her hand. His grip was gentle, but firm.
"Jennifer-"
But she looked at him, resolute now. "I asked him to kiss me."
The words fell like glass shattering on stone.
Clara's eyes widened. "What?"
Miss Emily lips parted slightly, but no sound came.
Mr. Barasa's face stiffened. Silence stretched. The only sound was the wind brushing through the trees.
Kevin still held her hand.
Jennifer didn't pull away.
Miss Emily's eyes locked on their hands. Her face didn't change., but something beneath her calm cracked-like a silent glass shattering inside her.
She straightened, cleared her throat, and turned to Mr. Barasa.
"I'm truly sorry, Mr. Barasa," she said, her voice clipped with restrained emotion. "It appears...it was our student who initiated this misconduct."
She glanced again at Jennifer, then Kevin. "An inappropriate act, especially during a school event. One that goes against the values we uphold-and must be addressed."
Then she took a soft step forward . "Please excuse us for the disruption. And I apologize for drawing your attention at such a busy hour."
Her tone was formal. Measured. But her eyes...they said something else.
Mr. Barasa exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses as he glanced between Kevin and Jennifer. "I understand," he said. "But let's not ignore the fact that your student wasn't acting alone.
He looked directly at Kevin. "He contributed to this, too. Such behavior doesn't belong in a school trip, or anywhere within school grounds."
Miss Emily gave a tight nod. "Of course. He'll face the consequences with his own school."
Her voice was still calm, but there was something weary in the way she said it.
Mr. Barasa nodded. "Good."
Silence lingered briefly. Then Miss Emily turned to Jennifer, her tone changing-not softer, just quieter.
"Jennifer, go back. Join the others," she said, not looking directly at her. "You'll face your punishment when we return to school."
Clara didn't speak. She stood beside Miss Emily, arms folded, eyes narrowed-not at Kevin, not even at Jennifer. Just...still.
Jennifer looked down. She gave a small nod, lips pressed together, and walked away without saying a word.
Behind her, the air stayed heavy.
...
The afternoon sun hung low but warm, spreading amber light across the rescue center grounds. Laughter and footsteps echoed as students from Our Lady of Fatima, St. Andrew's, and St. Peter's gathered near the animal pens, their snack time just behind them, the scent of biscuits and juice still lingering faintly in the air.
A staff ranger stood beside large metal buckets filled with chopped fruits, grains, and water. "Each group will take turns feeding the zebras and antelopes first," he announced, lifting a scoop. "Let's go slowly. No running or sudden moves."
Jennifer walked quietly among her schoolmates, a shallow bowl of feed cradled in her arms. Her grip steady, but her heart wasn't. Her face held its usual calm, yet anyone watching closely would see how her eyes were scanning, not the animals, but the people.
Boys from St. Andrew's were already laughing near the fences, tossing bananas toward the antelopes. On the other side, two St. Peter's boys helped lift a water container while the ranger guided them.
Jennifer crouched to pour her feed into a wooden trough. The dry grass rustled beneath her knees.
Then she felt it-a gaze.
She looked up slowly.
Across the enclosure , Kevin stood with a group of St. Andrew's. He was supposed to be listening to the ranger, but his eyes were on her. Unmoving. Quiet. His expression wasn't angry...it wasn't proud either. Just unreadable. Like someone trying to say something without words.
Jennifer paused, still holding the bucket.
She remembered the way he had fallen when Miss Emily appeared. The embarrassment. The questions. The silence between them after. Kevin had been pulled into something that started with her. And though part of her wanted to believe he deserved it, another part-the deeper part-knew she had pulled him there.
Her eyes met his for just a second longer.
I should apologize...
She looked away, heart thudding-not fast, but low and deep.
Beside her, a zebra nudged the edge of her bowl with its wet nose, making her fingers jolt. She forced a small breath and pushed the bowl forward, letting the animal eat.
Behind her, the other girls chattered. Angela was working near the water tank, shoulders squared as always. Cynthia smiled at something the ranger had said. No one pushed Jennifer to speak. But they noticed.
She had come back.
And for now, that was enough.
...
"Lunch is almost ready!" One of the guides called, lifting a hand.
The noise of chatter was soft-tired from the animal feeding, full from the snacks, and now lulled by the midday heat.
Long wooden benches were placed near the campsite clearing, and plated began to appear, steamy and colorful-ugali, sukuma, grilled meat, and boiled eggs stacked beside. fruit slices.
Jennifer joined a line without a word. Her movements were automatic now. She collected her plate, found a quiet spot under a tree, and sat beside Angela and Cynthia. No one asked her anything.
They ate in a small silence, one only interrupted by the occasional burst of laughter from the other side of the camp where a few St. Andrew's boys were making fun of each other's appetites.
After lunch, some students played volleyball. Others walked around taking pictures or sitting in circles. But Jennifer lingered near the edge of the activity, not straying far, not really joining either.
By the time the evening breeze began to soften the sky, the groups were called together again.
"Come, come," a Tuareg elder announced, his voice deep and calm. "We will gather now for stories...for the ways of our people."
Students gathered on a wide mats around a small fire pit. The flame had not yet been lit, but lanterns glowed softly. An elder woman, her head wrapped in patterned cloth, smiled at the girls as they sat cross-legged in front of her.
Jennifer found herself at the back, hugging her knees. The voices around her faded.
And the night was just the beginning.