I looked down at my orange and yellow tee-shirt and frowned at the little red dots on the front. Buai spit.

I decided against flagging down any more cars. The stretch of highway towards the Simbu-Jiwaka border was deserted. The sky was blue hued and beautifully clear. But I was too hot to really appreciate the beauty.

I was sweating a lot; little rivulets crept down my back and face. My tee-shirt stuck to my skin. My feet constantly slid out of my white rubber slippers. I scanned the black asphalt to the far distance seeking a blob of movement, anything at all. But there was nothing; just more black asphalt bordered by green kunai.

I’d run away from home because my mother had moved in with a new man two weeks ago and my father then decided to find a new girlfriend. And by girl, I mean a girl. She was 16or so, and I am 15.

So, I decided to ditch school for a couple of weeks and visit my aunt in Mt Hagen. But I got pickpocketed as I was trying to board a public motor vehicle at the Kundiawa bus station. When the busboi, and I, discovered I had no fare I was forced off the bus at Kerowagi Bridge.

I had then walked slowly along the highway to where I now fund myself.

I knew my papa would be soon be after me. I was on the radio, a police search was underway. My papa was the type of man who always got his way and I knew he’d soon find me.

I could picture him now, wearing his black suit and a mismatched dusty-pink tie which I picked out for him in a used clothing store at Kundiawa. I could picture him now, frowning and pacing back and forth, his black laptop case in one hand and his head closely shaved. His face a nice shade of brown, exactly like mine.

But I soon lost the image of him in my head. I was so hot, losing concentration. I wished the kunai on the side of the road would turn into a great green carpet so I could stretch out on it and rest.

My army-green backpack had turned heavy. Even though, I hated to admit it, it contained almost nothing. I had shoved a pair of black skinny-jeans and a white sleeveless tee-shirt with the words “Kill Me” in red chiller font as well as three underpants. I had also my favourite, pink ballpoint pens.

I was contemplating dumping my few belongings and carrying on when I spotted it.

It was a car painted a hot orange colour coming from the direction I had walked from. I jumped up and down waving, despite my promise not to flag down any more cars.

The car came closer. I squinted hard and I realised it was papa’s Toyota Corolla GL1. It was a different colour. The colour I had begged papa to have it painted. My waving hand froze in the air and stayed there for a while.

Papa pulled up.

“Hazel,” he said in his always gentle voice.

“Papa,” I replied shakily.

“I’m so glad I found you. Get in,” he said

“I’m sorry dad! I’m glad you found me too!” I said, my lips quivering.

“I love you,” papa said as I got into the car. Then he hugged me tight.

I nodded and pretended something was in my eye as I rubbed it.

Papa turned the car around and we headed for Kundiawa. It was silent for a while.

“I got rid of the teen,” dad said. “I promise no more teens. I’ll just find you a good mama, but not for a while yet.”

“No way, dad!” I beamed. “But one thing, papa, my favourite colour is on your car?”

Papa just laughed his fake evil laugh and then poked me in the stomach and I squealed. I smiled contently as we continued home.