Читать книгу Entwined - Cheryl Ntumy S. - Страница 13

There are a lot more students in the library than I remember. More books, too. I come here occasionally to do research or look for the odd novel; it’s just been a while since the last occasion. Wiki leads the way, winding through the shelves without even glancing at the signs.

“Over here,” he whispers, pointing me in the direction of the books on Setswana proverbs. You might wonder why Wiki, who can barely greet in my second native tongue, knows where to find Setswana books. It’s not that he’s partial to languages or proverbs, he’s just partial to books.

“Thanks,” I whisper back.

He replies with a distracted wave, and I watch him run his fingers thoughtfully across the spines of the books as he turns the corner. He’s already forgotten I exist. I reach for the thinnest book and flip through it. It seems to have been written for primary school. It’s perfect.

My Setswana isn’t what it should be. After my mother died the only person I spoke it with was Lebz, but not often. My only close relative from my mother’s side is Ntatemogolo, and he was off dancing with wolves in Peru or someplace. When he finally came home, he was appalled by my cultural ignorance. He took me to the cattle post for a weekend and made me sit up all night listening to crickets chirp so I could get in touch with the earth. I learned a lot about crickets and cows, but not so much about culture.

“I didn’t know you were such a lazy student.”

I almost drop the book. My chest fills with a mixture of annoyance and relief, and I’m careful to wipe the smile off my face before I turn around.

Rakwena’s lips are curled into that smile that pisses me off, but some of his usual vibrancy is gone. “No self-respecting Form Four student would use that for an assignment.” He taps the book’s cover with the tip of his forefinger.

I snatch it away and glare at him. “Setswana is hard; everyone knows that,” I snap. Nevertheless, I slide the book back into its place on the shelf. “Where have you been?” I hope that sounded casual. I hope it didn’t sound as if I’ve been driving myself crazy wondering whether he’s avoiding me.

“Sick.”

“Sick?” I frown at him, suspicious. “What was wrong with you?”

“Flu.”

“It’s summer.”

He smiles and runs a finger along the side of the shelf. “Were you worried? You sent me a million messages.”

“Not a million,” I protest in indignation. A few students send curious glances our way. I lower my voice. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t backing out of our deal. You remember our deal, don’t you?”

“How could I forget?”

“So? When?”

He hesitates, as if he wants me to make the call. What is it with boys? I thought they were supposed to take charge.

“Today,” I suggest. “Lunch time.”

“After school. The usual place.”

I get a little shiver when he says that – the usual place, as if we’re having a torrid affair. I study him for a moment. He doesn’t look quite like himself; some of his swagger is gone. Maybe he really was sick.

He reaches over my head and pulls down a book. “Here. If you want your teachers to take you seriously, you’d better use books like this.” He hands it to me. It’s a thick monster of a book with a ghastly brown cover. The font is so small I might need to borrow Wiki’s glasses, and it’s written in grammatically correct traditional Setswana – the kind I get a headache trying to decipher.

My jaw drops. “It’ll take me all day to read the first page!”

“Good. It’s about time you learned to challenge yourself.” With that snide statement, he slinks away.

No wonder Lizard doesn’t have any friends. He’s a smug, self-righteous know-it-all. I march to the check-out desk with the book in my hand. I’m not taking it out because he suggested it; I’m taking it out to prove a point. Besides, I don’t have to read the whole book. Skimming was invented for a reason.

By the time the final bell goes I’ve worked myself into a state. I’m distracted, my telepathy is still off and I’m almost terrified to find out what Lizard’s skill is. What if it’s dangerous? My hands are shaking so badly I keep dropping my pen. Eventually I get my act together, pack up my things and head outside, and then I remember that I haven’t told my friends about my plans for the afternoon.

For a moment I consider just disappearing and dealing with them later, but Lebz emerges from a classroom nearby and spots me. Damn, damn, damn!

“Listen, I have to hang around for a bit,” I tell her before she can open her mouth. “I have a very important meeting.”

“Meeting?” Her eyes narrow. “You’re not part of any club and you don’t play sports.”

The lie is poised on my tongue. A group assignment for Development Studies. We get them all the time; it’ll be completely plausible. But do I really want to spend the rest of my life lying? I unzip the front compartment of my bag and pretend to check for something. “I’m meeting Rakwena, so you should go on without me.”

She grabs my arm and drags me to a corner. “What? Already?”

I pull my arm out of her grip. “Ouch! Already what?” Switch. Everything in her mind is clear again, for the moment. This back and forth is starting to make me dizzy.

“Meeting in secret after school! Does Wiki know about this?”

I sigh. Lebz is such a drama queen. I wish I couldn’t see the ridiculous thoughts running through her mind. Rakwena is not going to hurt me, and he’s not going to shove me up against a wall and try to stick his hand in my shirt. “We’re just going to talk.”

“About what?”

“Stuff.” I raise my eyebrows. “You know.”

“I’m coming with you,” she declares.

“No!”

She stares suspiciously at me. “Why not? What are you up to?”

“Lebz, please. Do you come with me when I go to talk to my grandfather?”

“No, but –”

“And why not?” I fold my arms across my chest, challenging her. My head is starting to throb, the telepathy is flickering again and I’m in no mood for this. “You know this stuff just freaks you out – you hate hearing about it. You can just switch off and go back to the normal world, but I can’t. Rakwena understands. I don’t have to explain things to him. He just… he knows, OK? Try to put yourself in my shoes for once!”

The look on her face tells me I’ve said too much. “OK,” she says quietly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait, Lebz… I didn’t mean…”

“Forget it. It’s fine.” She shrugs. “I have a lot of work to do anyway.” She walks off towards the gate. Eish. Me and my big mouth.

I walk slowly towards the “usual place”, making a promise to myself to call Lebz when I get home. I don’t like it when she’s upset with me, but I don’t have time to brood because Thuli has appeared out of nowhere and is walking towards me. I don’t think I can deal with this. My chest is heaving. I’m rooted to the ground. I don’t know what’s come over me; I’m standing there like an idiot. I should get out of his way. I should ignore him and just keep going. But what if… I know it’s crazy and silly and probably impossible… what if he’s coming to talk to me?

He walks past, taking long, easy strides, so close that I could have touched him. He doesn’t even glance at me. My heart twists. He was never coming towards me. He was going towards the gate, where Simon and Mothusi are waiting. Oh, stupid Connie. You’d think I would learn.

“Are you OK?”

I snap out of my heartbroken daze and turn to Lizard.

“You look upset.” He looks at me, then at Thuli’s retreating back, then back at me. “Did he say something to you? He’s an idiot.”

I sigh. “No, he didn’t say a word to me. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

He gives me a funny look, then glances at Thuli again. “I don’t know about that.”

“Hmm?”

“You said he doesn’t know you’re here. But…” He frowns. “He’s staring at you.”

There goes my heart again. Connie, come on. How many times do you want to be disappointed? “Don’t be stupid,” I croak, a terrible mixture of hope and doubt rising inside me. “He’s probably staring at you.” But I turn around anyway, just in case. And my breath catches in my throat. Thuli is staring at me. Not in the idle way he looked at me at the tuck-shop. He’s looking at me with… I can’t believe it… curiosity.

I could stand there forever, but with superhuman strength I tear my gaze away and start walking on shaky legs. I imagined it. I must have.

“Are you friends with him?” asks Rakwena, with unmistakable distaste.

“No.” Wow. Wow. Wow. “Is he gone?”

“Yes.”

Once we reach the usual place, I lean back against the wall to catch my breath. I’m being silly. Thuli wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at Black Lizard. Obviously. Somehow that thought is comforting – it makes so much more sense. I turn to Rakwena and notice the bag slung over one shoulder. It’s a basic schoolbag, black with green piping, and, like everything else on him, it’s spotless.

“I don’t understand how you go all day without getting any dirt on you,” I marvel as he leans against the wall beside me.

“Simple. I don’t roll around in the sand like my peers.”

Serves me right for mentioning it. And, like a glutton for punishment, I go on. “Your pants look like they were ironed five minutes ago. Your shoes are still shiny. And I’m sure you get your hair cut every day.”

“Every week,” he corrects me with a slow smile. “I like being clean. I know you kids find that strange, but you’ll grow out of it eventually.”

Aaaahhhh! I should punch him; he’s begging for it. “Does your Mummy do your laundry?” I tease.

His face closes up and his voice turns cold. “My mother isn’t here.”

I’ve struck a nerve. I want to ask, but I’m afraid of the answer. “Is she…”

“Dead? Not in the way you’re thinking.” Before I can ask what that means, his brow creases in concern. “How are you these days, Connie? Feeling all right?”

I look at him through narrowed eyes. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just asking. And the telepathy? Getting easier?”

“Every day.” I consider telling him how erratic my new ability has been lately, but I’d rather keep quiet until he reveals his secret, otherwise I’ll never get it out of him. “How are you? Somehow I didn’t think flu would get the better of you.”

His eyes flicker. Ah. Not flu, after all. I didn’t think so. “I’m only human.”

It’s only then that it occurs to me that he might not be – human, that is. Scary thought. Ghosts and monsters are one thing, but it’s bad manners to pretend to be human if you’re not. “Are you?”

He laughs out loud for a long time.

“What, then? Tell me what’s different about you.”

He’s quiet for a while, hands in his pockets, looking at me with a contemplative expression on his face.

“Rakwena!” The suspense is agonising. “You promised!” I push him lightly.

He reaches up to pull my hand away from his shirt, and there it is again. The spark. This time there’s no doubt about it – I can see the blue light fizzle between our hands. The spark is gentle, sending tingles up my arms as he lowers my hand, and it disappears when he releases me. “You’ve wrinkled my shirt.” He frowns, irritated.

I survey the damage. There’s an almost invisible crease near one of the buttons. I roll my eyes. “Sorry. But you’re stalling and it’s not cool. Come on, out with it!”

His hand snakes back into his pocket. My heart is pounding. It’s so quiet without the usual thoughts in my head that my heartbeat sounds like the bass in a house track. When Rakwena’s hand reappears, it’s clutching something flat and clear and… utterly unremarkable.

“A protractor?” I shriek. “Don’t tell me your secret talent is advanced geometry.”

He laughs, and I finally lose my temper.

“You’re not going to show me, are you? You just said yes to get me off your back.”

Rakwena doesn’t answer. He holds up the protractor and studies it as if it’s the most fascinating object in the world.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!”

He ignores me. I’m so angry I just might punch him after all. My hands are already forming fists. He’s close enough; I could probably hit his jaw. No, that would hurt my hand too much. His nose?

Something in the corner of my eye begs for my attention. I turn to look, and almost scream out loud. The protractor hovers above Rakwena’s outstretched hand, floating in thin air. It turns around slowly, doing little pirouettes. It looks like a sheet of glass with light leaping around in it. My eyes follow it, then I’m distracted by a tingle in my hand as Rakwena reaches for it. He turns it so my palm is facing up, and then, using whatever the hell he’s using, gently lowers the protractor onto my hand.

For a moment I’ve lost the ability to speak. Finally I raise my head and look into Rakwena’s eyes, and realise in amazement that he’s nervous.

“It’s not that special,” he says softly. “But it has its uses.”

“It’s incredible,” I gasp. “It’s… it’s the most… wow!”

I can tell he’s pleased by my reaction. “You’re easy to impress. A little trick like that.” He rubs the back of his neck like a shy kid who got a girl to look his way.

“That wasn’t a little trick,” I point out. “You didn’t just make it move, you… I don’t know, you made it come alive.” I stare at him, awestruck. “How did you do it?”

He shrugs, takes the protractor and pockets it. “I’ve always been able to do it.”

“How many people know about this? Do your parents know?”

He hesitates. “Yes.”

“What about your friends?” I prod. He looks at me, and I remember that he’s not exactly Mr Congeniality. “Oh, sorry. But your parents… are they OK with it?”

“On some level.” He nudges my ribs with his elbow. The spark doesn’t seem to apply when there’s fabric in the way. “What about you?”

“My dad sort of knows, but he’s in denial. And my mother had a good idea, but she died before my gift got stronger.” I frown at him. “Stop changing the subject. I know absolutely nothing about you!”

He puts on a baffled expression. “What do you mean? I just showed you my secret! What do you want, my school report?”

I fold my arms and look at him. “You seem to know a whole lot more about my life than you should. It’s only fair that you share a little. At least tell me about your family. Your parents, siblings… come on.”

He sighs and slumps against the wall. “My father died when I was very young. My mother lives…” His jaw twitches. “… Somewhere else. I have no siblings.”

“I’m sorry about your dad. Do you live with relatives, then?”

“I live alone.” His voice is terse. Clearly family is not his favourite topic.

I can’t help wondering about his mother. What does he mean by “somewhere else”? Another country? And why did she leave him here? Don’t they get along? But I can’t ask; the steely expression on his face scares me off. “So… you live in a house? All by yourself?”

His lips curl in a wry smile. “Yes, Connie.”

“Oh.” I’m impressed. His family must think he’s pretty mature if they let him live alone. “Where do you live?”

He shakes his head and sighs. “Near the State House. Why?”

My eyes widen. “How do you pay the rent?”

He makes a little exasperated sound and turns away. “How is this relevant?”

I don’t know why he’s being so secretive. He was the one who started talking to me when I was just sitting there minding my own business. “Don’t be so defensive.” I scowl at him and adjust my bag on my shoulder. “I don’t know any other kids who are allowed to stay alone. I’m curious.”

He seems to think about it for a moment before turning to look at me again. His expression is a little softer, but his guard is still up. “It’s not quite like that,” he says quietly. “It’s my mother’s house. We lived there together until she… went away.” He gets a funny catch in his voice when he talks about her. “So I don’t pay rent.”

“But how do you survive?” I’m baffled by his bizarre living arrangement. Dead father, absentee mother and no one to take care of the basic necessities, like paying the exorbitant Syringa fees.

“My mother has money.” He winces, as if the idea is distasteful. “Quite a lot of it, I suppose. It covers the big things, like school fees and bills. And I work on weekends, some week-nights and during the holidays, in an electronics shop.”

No wonder he doesn’t have any friends – he doesn’t have time. I’m overwhelmed by a sudden wave of compassion. He must be incredibly lonely.

“It’s good that she’s taking care of you,” I say carefully. “I suppose the two of you are close, since you lost your dad and you’re the only child.”

He clears his throat and avoids my gaze. “We used to be.”

He’s not making this easy, but I’m dying to know his story. “Does she work out of town or something?”

“Something.” His face closes up again. “Have you started that Setswana book yet?”

I roll my eyes. Of all the topics in the world, he wants to discuss school? “I’ve only had it for a few hours.”

“OK.” He opens his bag and pulls out a huge blue towel. It’s so clean I catch a whiff of fabric softener as he lays it on the concrete.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want us to get dust on our uniforms,” he replies, as he sits cross-legged on the towel and smiles up at me. “Come on, sit down.”

I slip my bag off my shoulders and lower myself onto the towel beside him. We’re so close our knees are touching. “What are you up to?”

He laughs. “I’m going to help you with Setswana, of course. It’s my best subject after Physics. Here, hand me the textbook.”

I unzip my bag, find the book and give it to him, still a bit wary. “We’re supposed to explain five proverbs – in Setswana. Can you imagine?”

“That’s easy,” he says cheerfully, opening the book.

“Not for me,” I grumble, a little put out by his glee. “I can barely understand anything in class.”

“Not for long,” he promises, taking my notebook and opening it to a fresh page. “I’m a magician, remember?”

How could I forget?