Schoolgirls Secret

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter One – The Queen of Debate
The school hall at Victoria Hill High was packed. A gentle hum of anticipation buzzed through the room as students from five competing schools settled into their seats. Teachers scribbled last-minute notes. Judges whispered. A clock ticked loudly on the wall, almost in sync with the p******g of Brenda Namulondo’s heart.
She wasn’t nervous—at least not the way others were. For Brenda, stepping onto a debate stage was like stepping into her skin. Words came easily. Arguments formed like poetry in her mind. She didn’t need to memorize lines. She lived for this.
The motion was simple: “Social media does more harm than good among teenagers.” Brenda’s school was opposing. And she was their final speaker—the closer.
From her seat, she scanned the crowd and found her best friend, Mercy, giving her a double thumbs-up with a wide grin. Brenda smiled back briefly. Mercy was the only one who truly knew how much these moments mattered.
Moments later, Brenda walked up to the podium with measured confidence. Her school blazer fit snugly over her crisp white blouse. Her braids were neatly tied back. She stood tall, cleared her throat, and began.
“Honorable judges, fellow students, and worthy opponents,
They say ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can hurt me.’ But what happens when those words come wrapped in filters, likes, and the need for validation? What happens when teenagers trade their self-worth for followers?”
The room fell silent.
With every sentence, Brenda built momentum—citing research, using analogies, inserting just the right touch of humor and emotion. She exposed the flaws in the opposition’s case like a seasoned lawyer cross-examining a witness.
By the time she concluded, the hall erupted in applause.
Mercy rushed up to hug her. “You killed it! Again!”
Brenda laughed, a little breathless. “Let’s wait for the judges to say so.”
And they did. Thirty minutes later, Victoria Hill was declared the winning school. Brenda was named Best Debater of the Day for the fourth time that term.
As the students milled around packing their bags, a deep voice spoke behind her.
“Impressive. You speak like you’ve already passed the Bar.”
She turned to see a tall boy with a clean-shaven face, warm eyes, and a notebook in hand. He wore a badge that read Brian Kintu – Regional Debate Mentor.
Brenda straightened up. “Thank you. I’m Brenda.”
“Brian. I’ve heard about you, but watching you argue in person?” He shook his head. “You’re something else.”
She laughed nervously. “I just… love to win.”
Brian tilted his head. “No, you love to argue with purpose. That’s rare. Keep that fire.”
Before she could reply, Mercy appeared, her eyes darting between Brenda and the stranger. “We’re leaving,” she said, a little too firmly.
Brian gave a polite nod and walked away.
As they made their way to the school van, Mercy nudged her. “Who was that?”
“Brian. Just a debate mentor.”
Mercy raised an eyebrow. “Hmmm. Debate mentor with dimples. Be careful, madam future lawyer.”
Brenda rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Two – A New Voice in the Room
Two weeks later, the bell rang through the quiet corridors of Victoria Hill High, marking the start of the weekly Debate Club meeting. Brenda strolled into the library with her notes neatly stacked and her confidence intact. Mercy was already there, curled up in a chair flipping through a law journal she barely understood.
“Still reading about human rights violations in mining sectors?” Brenda teased, sliding into the seat beside her.
Mercy smirked. “Trying to keep up with Uganda’s future Chief Justice.”
Their laugh was cut short by the arrival of a new presence—Brian.
Brenda stiffened slightly. Mercy looked up from her book with a furrowed brow.
Brian clapped once, casually but with authority. “Afternoon, future leaders.”
The room went quiet.
Mr. Wamala, their club patron, followed closely behind. “Ladies and gentlemen, as discussed last week, we’re beginning a mentorship program in partnership with the Regional Youth Speech Network. Brian Kintu is one of the top mentors. He’ll be guiding selected schools—including us—through advanced argument structuring and public speaking.”
He turned to Brian. “All yours.”
Brian walked to the front of the room, relaxed, confident.
“I don’t come to replace your teachers,” he said, “I come to stretch you beyond what you’ve already mastered. Real debate is not memorizing facts. It’s understanding people.”
His eyes briefly landed on Brenda. She felt it. Mercy noticed.
“Let’s start with something light,” he continued. “You have five minutes. Build an argument for why school uniforms should be banned.”
Groans rippled across the room.
Brenda leaned forward, intrigued. An argument I don’t believe in? Interesting.
Pairs were formed. Brian moved around, observing quietly. When he reached Brenda and Mercy’s table, he smiled.
“Brenda, right?”
“Yes.”
“I want to hear you argue the opposite of your truth. Think like the enemy. That’s what great lawyers do.”
Brenda smirked. “Then I’ll be great at this.”
Brian laughed. “I don’t doubt it.”
He moved on.
Mercy gave Brenda a side glance. “You’ve caught a fish.”
“It’s nothing,” Brenda muttered, suddenly focused on her notes.
“Please. He’s practically quoting you.”

After the session, Brian handed out feedback slips. On Brenda’s, a short note was scribbled:
“You argue well. But I sense your voice also hides something deeper. That’s where your power is.”
—Brian
Brenda folded the paper carefully and tucked it into her notebook.
On the ride home, Mercy couldn’t let it go. “You like him.”
“I don’t,” Brenda replied flatly.
“Fine. Then why are you blushing?”
“I’m not.”
Mercy smirked. “Whatever you say, Miss Future Lawyer. Just don’t let it mess up your goals.”
Brenda looked out the window, the city streets blurring by. Something about Brian stirred something in her—curiosity, admiration… maybe more.
But she couldn’t afford distractions. Not now. Not with everything she was working toward.
Still, deep down, a small voice whispered: Just this once… maybe.

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Three – Arguments and Attention
Saturday mornings were usually reserved for laundry, revision, and catching up on news reports. But this one was different.
Brenda found herself standing outside the gates of Hilltop Community Centre, clutching her file of debate papers like a shield. The special mentorship clinic was hosted by the Regional Youth Speech Network—and Brian would be there.
Mercy, who had grudgingly agreed to come along, sipped on a juice box with the patience of a parent. “You better take notes. If you so much as forget a single point because of that guy’s smile, I’ll report you to your father.”
Brenda rolled her eyes. “Can you stop acting like I’ve joined a cult?”
“I’m just here to supervise your hormones.”
They entered the hall, where about twenty students from different schools were seated in a semi-circle. At the front stood Brian, dressed in a simple polo shirt and jeans, adjusting a projector. He looked casual—too casual, Brenda thought, for someone who could bend minds with words.
As the workshop began, Brian took the floor with ease.
“Today’s topic: Emotional Persuasion in Argumentation. Because sometimes, the strongest argument isn’t the most logical one — it’s the one that makes people feel.”
He paused, then turned to the students. “Who here has ever changed their mind because of how someone made them feel—not what they said?”
A few hands went up, including Brenda’s.
He pointed to her. “Tell us.”
Brenda stood slowly. “My father. He doesn’t always have the best facts. But when he talks about how much he’s sacrificed to raise me… even if I disagree with him, I always go silent.”
Brian nodded, holding her gaze. “That’s real. Thank you.”
Mercy leaned over and whispered, “That’s two long stares now. Should I call the head teacher or just send a text to your dad?”
Brenda ignored her.
Later, during the lunch break, Brenda stood outside under a tree, rereading her notes. Brian approached, holding two samosas and a soda.
“You don’t eat?” he asked, offering her one.
She hesitated, then took it. “Thanks.”
“I read your essays,” he said. “You don’t just debate. You think beyond the surface. Most students your age don’t.”
Brenda glanced at him. “Most mentors don’t notice.”
Brian chuckled. “Touché.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then he added, “You remind me of someone I once knew.”
Brenda raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Your first crush?”
He grinned. “No. My younger self. Focused, driven, zero room for error. But I eventually learned something important.”
“What?”
“That sometimes, life happens in the mistakes.”
Brenda looked away. She didn’t like that. Mistakes meant weakness. Detours. Shame.
“I’m not planning on making any mistakes,” she said firmly.
Brian nodded slowly. “Just don’t mistake living for failing.”
He walked away before she could respond.

That evening, as Brenda rode home in a taxi with Mercy, her thoughts were far from the workshop.
Mercy glanced at her. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About debate or Brian?”
Brenda didn’t answer.
But later that night, as she opened her notebook to revise for Monday’s exams, the samosa wrapper was still tucked inside—along with a folded note she hadn’t noticed.
“You have a voice people listen to.
But don’t forget — your silence says a lot too.
— B.”
Brenda stared at the note for a long moment.
And then, for the first time in weeks, she didn’t open her revision book.

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Four – Secrets Begin
The days that followed were a blur of assignments, prep tests, and debate rehearsals. But beneath Brenda’s polished speeches and sharp rebuttals, something had shifted.
Her once clear schedule had new entries—brief visits to the Hilltop Centre, phone chats held in whispers, and excuses told to Mercy that didn’t quite add up.
Brenda had learned to be discreet. Her phone had a new password. Her texts were brief. And when Brian asked to meet—not in public halls, but in quiet corners—she didn’t always say no.

One Tuesday afternoon, after an extra debate session, Brian offered her a ride home. It was raining hard, and boda bodas had become unreliable.
“I don’t think my dad would like this,” Brenda said as she slid into the passenger seat of his borrowed car.
“He doesn’t have to know,” Brian replied gently, glancing at her. “We’re just talking.”
And they did talk—about law, about growing up with expectations, about the pressure of being a ‘star student’. Brian made her feel seen, not just praised. With him, she didn’t have to argue for space. She already had it.
By the time he dropped her a few meters from her gate, she felt guilty—but also light. Conflicted.

Back at school, Mercy’s eyes were sharp.
“You’ve changed,” she said bluntly one lunch break. “You zone out. You laugh at nothing. And you’re way too happy for someone with a Chemistry test tomorrow.”
Brenda kept her voice cool. “I’m just managing stress better.”
Mercy narrowed her eyes. “Does this ‘stress management’ have a name that starts with B and ends in trouble?”
Brenda sighed. “It’s nothing serious.”
“Brenda, you’re sixteen. Every small thing is serious at sixteen.”
“I can handle it, Mercy.”
“I’m not doubting your strength. I’m doubting his intentions.”
That night, Brenda didn’t sleep well.

On Saturday, Brian messaged her:
“Can we talk? Not a lecture. Just me and you. My cousin’s place. It’s quiet.”
Brenda stared at the message for several minutes. She knew what Mercy would say. She knew what her father would do if he found out. But something in her craved the escape—the privacy.
She typed back:
“Okay. One hour.”

The small flat where Brian led her smelled of old books and cologne. It was modest, with a single couch, a desk, and a mattress in the corner. He made tea and asked about her upcoming mock exams. He listened, nodded, leaned in. He touched her hand.
“Sometimes I wish we weren’t so far apart in age,” he murmured.
Brenda looked at him. “It’s just six years.”
“Feels like more. You’re still in school. I’m… already thinking about jobs, the future. But when I talk to you—it’s like we’re the same.”
For a moment, Brenda’s heart thudded against her chest.
And in that quiet room, with no debate crowd, no trophies, no Mercy—just Brian and a secret—that line between attention and affection began to blur.

She returned home before dark, her hair damp from rain, her heart conflicted.
Mercy called that evening. Brenda ignored it.
Her father asked why she was quiet at dinner. She shrugged it off.
No one knew. And that made it easier to pretend that everything was still perfect.
But deep down, something told her:
This secret won’t stay quiet for long.

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Five – The Slip
It was the last weekend of the term, and Victoria Hill’s campus buzzed with end-of-term excitement. Students hurried to clear their lockers. Whispered rumors of who had passed and who had flunked hung in the air like electricity.
Brenda, though, was distracted.
She had aced her Literature paper. Her debate group had earned a national invitation. On the surface, things were golden.
But inside, she was fraying.
Brian had become more than a secret. He had become her relief, her validation, her escape from pressure. With Mercy barely speaking to her and her father trusting her too much to suspect anything, Brenda walked freely in a world no one else could see.
That Saturday, she told her father she was heading to a group study session. He handed her some transport money without question. She dressed simply, packed her debate notes as camouflage, and left.
She wasn’t going to study.

Brian’s cousin had traveled. The flat was quiet, dimly lit, and unusually still. Brenda dropped her bag on the chair as he poured them both juice.
They talked—about the future, about dreams. Brenda confessed she wanted to apply for a scholarship abroad. Brian said he believed in her.
“You’re different, Brenda,” he said softly. “There’s something about you… you don’t even know your power yet.”
She blushed.
He touched her hand again. She didn’t move it.
Then came the silence—the kind that hums louder than any words. His arm slid gently over her shoulder. His voice softened.
“I would never hurt you.”
And Brenda, brilliant and brave and sixteen, made a choice.
A quiet, trembling yes—without a full grasp of its weight.

It was over quickly. Not harsh. Not forceful. But afterwards, as Brenda sat at the edge of the bed clutching her books like armor, the weight hit her all at once.
Brian handed her a tissue.
“You okay?” he asked, pulling his shirt back on.
Brenda nodded too quickly.
“I—I have to go.”
“I can call a boda—”
“No. I’ll Walk.”
He didn’t argue. Just handed her bag and kissed her forehead like a friend.

She walked the long road back in silence.
Her shoes filled with dust. Her mind replayed every moment.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, she thought. Not in silence. Not as a secret.
When she got home, her father was asleep on the couch with the radio still playing.
She tiptoed past, locked herself in her room, and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
She looked the same. But something had changed. Something had slipped.
And though she tried to sleep, a deep ache in her chest kept her wide awake.

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Six – Missed Days, Missed Periods
Brenda always tracked her days.
Debate meetings. Mock exams. School assemblies. Even her cycle.
That’s why, when her period didn’t come, she knew something was off.
At first, she convinced herself it was stress. The term had been overwhelming. Between preparing for nationals and hiding her relationship with Brian, she hadn’t been sleeping much. Maybe her body just needed rest.
But when another week passed, and still—nothing—panic set in like a slow, creeping shadow.

Mercy barely spoke to her anymore. She had stopped waiting for Brenda after school and had even skipped the last debate practice without saying why.
Brenda missed her—more than she would admit.
But even if Mercy had been talking to her, what would she say?
“I think I’m pregnant.”
The words burned in her throat like fire she couldn’t spit out.

At school, everything felt heavier. Her uniform was tighter around the waist. Her energy dipped. She excused herself from PE with made-up stomach cramps. Her Literature teacher scolded her for “drifting” during a class discussion. Even Brenda’s once-proud handwriting was starting to curl with anxiety.

One afternoon, after school, she stood for over twenty minutes at the counter of a small pharmacy near the taxi park. She held a folded note in her hand that read:
Pregnancy Test. One strip. Urgent.
She had scribbled it that morning, too afraid to speak the words aloud.
The pharmacist—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes—read the note, then looked at Brenda, her face softening.
“No judgment,” she said gently, handing the small box in a brown paper bag. “Take it with the first urine in the morning. It’s more accurate.”
Brenda nodded, blinking fast to stop tears.

That night, she hid the test under her mattress and barely slept.
At 5:30 AM, with the house still dark, she crept into the bathroom.
The strip changed color within seconds.
Two lines. Bold. Clear. Undeniable.
Brenda stared at it in silence.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream.
She just stood there, holding the truth in her trembling hands, feeling her whole world tilt.

Later that morning, she sat through class like a statue. The teacher’s voice echoed faintly in the background. Her pen never moved. Her fingers fidgeted with her collar.
After school, she walked home slowly, unsure of what she’d say if her father noticed the numbness on her face.
But he didn’t.
He was rushing to a parents’ meeting at his workplace. He patted her shoulder on his way out.
“You’ll cook tonight, yeah? And don’t forget to revise. I believe in you, my girl.”
Brenda nodded weakly.

That night, she stood in front of the mirror again.
The same face stared back.
But her body had become a battlefield. Her future—a fog.
And her secret?
It had just grown louder than anything she’d ever said on a debate stage.

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Seven – The Collapse
The days blurred.
Brenda moved through them like a shadow—present, but dimmed. Her bright smile faded into a fixed, polite mask. Her teachers noticed but chalked it up to exam fatigue. Her classmates whispered, but no one dared ask.
Except Mercy.
“Brenda,” she said one lunch break, cornering her near the water tank. “You’re scaring me.”
Brenda shrugged, her voice flat. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve gone quiet. Your eyes don’t look like you anymore.”
“I said I’m fine, Mercy.”
Mercy didn’t press further. But she didn’t walk away either.
She just whispered, “You don’t have to carry it alone,” and walked off.

At home, her father remained blissfully unaware. He was working overtime, saving for her A-Level tuition. He talked of dreams—of scholarships and law schools and big futures. Brenda nodded and smiled when he did, but inside, every word felt like another needle in her chest.
Because she knew something he didn’t.
Those dreams were slipping away.

In class, her performance nosedived.
The top scorer in English Literature failed a comprehension paper. During debate practice, she froze mid-argument, forgetting her lines. Her coach stared in disbelief.
“Are you okay, Brenda?”
She nodded, eyes brimming, and walked out before they could fall.

At night, she lay awake with her hands on her stomach, imagining something growing—tiny, silent, uninvited. She couldn’t picture a baby. All she could see was judgment.
From her father.
From Mercy.
From her teachers.
From the world.
And from herself.

She avoided Brian’s calls.
He had texted twice:
“You okay?”
“Miss you. We need to talk.”
But she couldn’t bring herself to respond.
Because deep down, she knew:
He was part of the reason.
And yet, she wasn’t sure if she could blame him entirely. After all, she had said yes.

On a quiet Thursday afternoon, the school counselor, Madam Ruth, called her in.
“I’ve noticed the drop in your performance,” she said gently. “Your teachers are worried. Your friends are too.”
Brenda sat stiffly.
“I’m not here to punish you,” Madam Ruth added. “I’m here if you want to talk.”
Brenda said nothing.
Not yet.

That evening, Brenda stood outside her gate, staring at the sunset as if searching for answers in the sky.
A boda boda whizzed past. A mother walked by holding a toddler’s hand.
And in that moment, something cracked.
She wasn’t ready to be that mother.
She wasn’t ready for judgment.
She wasn’t ready for anything.
She just wanted to go back—to being Brenda the debater. Brenda the star. Brenda with the plan.
But she couldn’t.
Because something had collapsed inside her.
And secrets, no matter how deeply buried, always left cracks.

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Eight – Mercy’s Discovery
It was Monday morning, but Brenda felt like she was walking underwater. Every step toward school felt heavier than the last. Her uniform was tighter than usual, her shoulders slumped beneath the invisible weight only she could feel.
Mercy had tried to keep her distance—out of respect, maybe, or frustration. But today, she couldn’t.
During break, she found Brenda alone behind the library, arms folded, eyes glassy.
“I’ve had enough,” Mercy said, voice trembling. “You’re my best friend, Brenda. But you’re scaring me.”
Brenda looked away.
Mercy stepped closer. “You don’t even talk to me anymore. You’re a ghost of who you were. And I keep asking myself—what happened to you?”
Silence.
Then, Mercy’s eyes widened. She stepped back slightly.
“No,” she whispered. “Brenda… are you…?”
Brenda didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
Mercy covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my God.”
Brenda felt the tears threaten her carefully held composure. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t hate me.”
Mercy shook her head slowly, her voice choked. “Hate you? No. I’m just… shocked. I didn’t want it to be true.”
“I didn’t want it to be real either.”
“Brian?”
Brenda nodded.
Mercy dropped to sit on the stone bench nearby, like her knees could no longer carry the weight.
For a long while, neither of them spoke. Just the sound of birds, distant bells, and their slow breathing.
Finally, Mercy broke the silence. “How far along?”
“Two months, maybe more. I took a test.”
“Have you told your father?”
Brenda shook her head violently. “I can’t. He’ll never look at me the same.”
“He loves you.”
“Exactly. And I’ve failed him.”
Mercy stood and walked over, placing her hand on Brenda’s shoulder.
“You made a mistake. A painful one. But you’re not the mistake.”
Brenda crumbled into her arms.
For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to cry—truly cry. Not the silent kind behind locked doors, but the raw, shoulder-shaking sobs of someone who had finally been found in their hiding place.
Mercy held her.
“I’m with you,” she whispered. “No matter what.”

That evening, Brenda didn’t go straight home. Instead, she and Mercy sat on a quiet bench at the taxi stage, sipping cold soda and talking.
“Do you want to keep it?” Mercy asked gently.
Brenda looked up, eyes puffy. “I don’t know. I’m scared either way.”
“You don’t have to decide alone. I’ll come with you. To the counselor. To the clinic. Wherever.”
Brenda managed a faint smile. “Thank you.”
“You’d do it for me.”
They sat quietly for a while longer.
The road ahead was still blurry, filled with fear and questions.
But for the first time in weeks, Brenda didn’t feel alone.

[Author]

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