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Lebz is still trying to disappear into the bench, and Wiki is biting his lip nervously. Even though the “incident” happened last year, they still tiptoe around it as if they’re afraid any mention of it will send me over the edge. I guess I could have reported it but I knew there was no way I’d win that battle, not against Thuli’s father’s money and influence. Someday, somehow, that freak-hunter will get what he deserves. Right now, though, I have other things on my mind.
“Do you think Kelly would mind if I brought Rakwena?”
“Yes,” my friends chorus, as I knew they would.
I scowl. “Fine. It’s not like he’d want to come to a stupid party anyway – he’s in university now.” I know it’s silly to feel smug about this, but I do. I’m proud of Rakwena. He’s going to wipe the floor with all those fresh-faced UB students, and when he’s a rich and smarmy physicist I’m going to be one of those insufferable gushing girlfriends.
Lebz rolls her eyes as the bell goes. She gets up and pulls me to my feet. “Forget about your wonderful boyfriend and focus on what’s really important.”
“What’s that?” asks Wiki, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder.
“What she’s going to wear to the party!”
Wiki and I exchange amused glances and the three of us make our way to class.
***
By Tuesday everyone is talking about Kelly’s party, Kelly’s boyfriend and Kelly’s unexpected approval of that strange girl in Form Five (me). I don’t think I’ve had this many glances cast my way in all my years at Syringa. Suddenly people think they should start paying attention to me because the most popular girl in school has invited me to her party. How ridiculous is that?
“Connie, you’re cool,” says Lebz in wonder as we eat our lunch.
Some girls I’ve never spoken to walk past us and smile. I stare at them, my mouth full of hot dog. “I was always cool,” I remind Lebz, when I’ve swallowed and the groupies are gone.
“Yes, but now you’re super-cool.” She beams. “Everyone wants to know why you’re suddenly part of Kelly’s crew. You’re mysterious and interesting.”
“For now,” I mutter, taking a sip of water. I will admit I have a newfound respect for Kelly. Well, sort of. Anyone who can put up with such nonsense on a daily basis must be made of strong stuff.
To my relief, by the end of the school day I’m no longer “super-cool”. It might have been the way Kelly walked right past me outside the tuck-shop that clued everyone in. As I pass a group of Form Two girls on my way down the corridor, I hear them whispering.
“No, she’s not actually friends with Kelly. She’s just sort of friends with Amantle, and you know Amantle is like a sister to Kelly, so she had to invite her.”
“I heard last year she saved Amantle’s life.”
“I heard she killed that sangoma who was trying to bewitch Amantle’s friends.”
“Didn’t you read the GC Chronicle? The guy ran away to Brazil!”
Looks like my fifteen minutes of fame are up. I make my way to the bench to wait for Lebz and Wiki. Lebz comes running, clutching an armful of magazines.
“I have some ideas for your hair,” she announces breathlessly.
Oh, no. “Didn’t we talk about this? You’re not touching my hair.”
“But –”
“You’re not touching her hair,” Wiki interjects, dropping his books on the bench.
“Thank you.” I shake my stiff halo of curls at Lebz for good measure. She pouts but doesn’t protest.
“Can you ladies trade beauty tips later? We’re supposed to be going over that Maths past paper.” Wiki glances at his watch. He still insists on wearing a quaint, old-school leather-strap watch, even though there’s nothing wrong with the clock on his cell phone.
We organise a few snacks from the tuck-shop and head to an empty classroom to work. Studying is not fun. Anyone who says otherwise is either a liar or related to Wiki. Nevertheless, I’m determined to prove to Rakwena, Dad and myself that English is not the only subject I can do well in. I have low expectations for Maths, but the others look promising. Let’s just say I might not be a C-average student forever.
***
When I get home I find Dad sprawled across the sofa, dead to the world. He’s fully dressed and his briefcase and keys are on the armchair, so he must have headed straight for the couch when he arrived. Poor thing – he must be exhausted, but his neck is twisted at a terrible angle and I know if I don’t do something he’ll wake up aching.
I approach quietly and shake him. “Dad?”
After a few more shakes, he opens his eyes. “Oh…hi, love,” he mumbles. “You’re home.” He closes his eyes again. A second later he springs to life, leaping off the sofa and nearly knocking me over. “You’re home! What time is it?”
I glance at the wall clock. “Just after five.”
“Five?” he croaks in horror. “But…don’t you finish school at quarter to three?”
I frown at him. “I have study sessions and clubs, remember? Are you OK?”
“Right. Yes.” He removes his glasses and wipes them on his shirt, then puts them back on. “I just didn’t realise it was so late. I have a mountain of work to do.”
“Have you eaten?”
He thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I have, darling. I forgot all about food.”
Poor Dad. “Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make us something? Then we can sit down and talk.”
“Talk?” He gulps. “Why? Are you all right?”
“Yes, but you’re not.” I give him a stern look so he knows I’m not going to be dissuaded.
“A shower sounds good,” he mutters, and shuffles off to the bathroom.
I drop my things on a chair at the dining table and head to the kitchen to see what’s what. Sometimes Auntie Lydia cooks or sets things out for me to prepare, but today the countertops are bare. There’s some leftover pasta in the fridge, so I whip up a quick pasta and tuna salad and by the time it’s ready Dad is back in the living room, dressed in an old tracksuit.
“Looks good,” he says with a smile, as I deposit a plate in front of him.
“Thanks.” I curl up in the armchair and balance my bowl on my knees. “Feeling better?”
He nods, his mouth full.
“Good. What exactly is this big project you’re working on, anyway?” I take a huge bite and watch him expectantly.
He swallows, then promptly stuffs his mouth again so he doesn’t have to answer.
“Dad?”
He swallows again. “It’s about, uh, indigenous knowledge systems. It’s an investigation of different indigenous plants and their properties, how they’re used traditionally, and so on.”
My fork has almost touched my lips. I lower it back into the bowl and stare at my father. I can read him like a billboard; he’s dying to change the subject. “Do you have any help on this project?”
“I have research assistants. Well, I will, once I find time to look over the applicants. The project won’t begin officially till next year, but there’s so much prep work to do. I’ll be working with people from Salinger, so I’m not entirely on my own.”
“Shouldn’t you be working with the local traditional healers?”
He gets a funny look on his face and decides to finish the last of his pasta before responding. Ah. I see it now; the little piece of information he’s trying to hide from me. If only he knew what an open book he is.
I lean forward. “The Salinger Institute doesn’t expect you to do this alone. They expect you to find a local expert to help. Right?”
He leans into the cushions, his plate empty. “They made…a recommendation. But since I have a bit of time before I’m due to start, I’m considering my options.”
“Your options.”
He knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Connie, I know exactly what you’re thinking – ”
“I’m thinking you’re self-sabotaging!” I interrupt, exasperated. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground because you’re too proud to ask for help!”
“I have no trouble asking for help,” he bristles.
“Just not from Ntatemogolo.”
Dad sighs. “The project supervisor at Salinger only spends a few months in Botswana every year – she doesn’t know how things work around here. If you’re somewhat well-known and well-respected, yours is the name that pops into people’s heads, but that doesn’t mean you’re necessarily the best person for the job.”
Eish, sometimes I wonder who’s supposed to be the kid in this house. “Ntatemogolo is the best person for the job, and you know it. That’s why it’s taking you so long to consider your options.” I put my bowl on the coffee table. “He knows all the traditional healers, he knows about local plants and traditional medicine…I can’t believe you!”
“Watch your tone,” he snaps, but he’s only irritated because I’ve caught him out. “Your grandfather is not a biologist, nor is he a traditional doctor, even if he wants to call himself one.”
“Dad!”
“Enough, Connie!”
I can’t believe this. I know my father can be pig-headed when it comes to Ntatemogolo, but this is just ridiculous. “You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face, or whatever. You need him, and if the two of you work together you could get so much more done! This project could be great for both of you, and – ”
“Conyza!” Oops. It’s his don’t-mess-with-me-I’m-your-father voice. “I am not discussing this with you.”
“But – ”
“You can analyse me when you have a degree in psychology, and not a moment before!” His jaw is twitching. He’s really angry now. “Go to your room.”
I hesitate. “The dishes – ”
“Just leave the bloody dishes and go to your room!”
I get up in disgust, march over to pick up my school stuff and then storm across the corridor to my room.
“And don’t even think about slamming that – ”
I fling my door shut with a bang, drowning out the rest of his idle threat, then lock it just to piss him off. Ugh! I throw my bag on the floor, tug off my uniform and change into my pyjamas. I was planning to study a little, but I’m too upset to concentrate. Ray Bennett is the most unreasonable man on the planet! Hating my grandfather is one thing, but doing everything on his own because he’s too friggin’ proud to ask Ntatemogolo for help is sheer stupidity.
I throw myself on my bed with a sigh, wishing Rakwena was here. On my bedside table is a large crystal the size of a fist. Right now it’s dull and lifeless. I reach out and pick it up. Rakwena gave it to me for my birthday as a symbol of our crazy connection; he has one exactly like it. I hold it in both hands and close my eyes, trying to reach out to him across the ether. When I open my eyes, the crystal is glowing. I smile. It works every time.
My cell phone rings and I scramble across the bed and snatch it off the rug, where it fell when I was changing. “Hey.”
“I hear your pal Kelly’s throwing a party this weekend.”
I laugh. “When did you start tapping into the grapevine?”
“When I found out you were invited.” Rakwena’s tone is light, but I know he didn’t call just to hear my lovely voice. “Who else is going?”
“If you’re asking about Thuli, I don’t know if he’ll be there.” I’m pretty sure he would kill Thuli if he ever touched me again. It’s a sobering thought.
Rakwena is quiet for a while. “He’s still keeping his distance?”
“Hasn’t come near me all term,” I assure him. “Besides, I doubt he’ll go to the party. He’s not really friends with Kelly.”
“He’ll go.”
I frown into the phone. “How do you know?”
“Because he’s a collector of exotic toys, remember? And Kelly’s new guy and his buddies are the most exotic toys in town.”
His words make bile rise in my throat, but he’s right. Thuli doesn’t just hunt the gifted, he hunts anyone who is remotely out of the ordinary. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already made friends with the Cresta Crew.
“Connie, please don’t go. You promised you’d stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll be fine. Lebz and Wiki will be there, and I don’t think Thuli’s interested in me anymore.”
There’s a terse silence on the other end. “You promised,” he hisses.
“It’s just a party!” I protest. “And I’m just going to look around, that’s it. I’m not wandering off into people’s bedrooms; I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Connie – ”
The shrill ring of the landline drowns him out. “Ooh – better get that, it could be Lebz. Relax, OK? I’ll be fine.” I hang up, wishing I’d never made that silly promise, and wondering once again why he’s so adamant that I keep it. It’s just a party. What’s the worst that could happen?
***
Dad and I have an unspoken agreement – we’re not going to talk about our fight. We’re civilized, but if he thinks I’m letting it go he doesn’t know me very well.
On Thursday afternoon I head to Bontleng for another session. Ntatemogolo is waiting for me outside with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“You’re late.”
“Sorry – we had a meeting after Peer Counselling.” I lower myself onto the dusty veranda and drop my school bag beside me. “How are you?”
“Fine. How’s Ray?”
My eyes narrow. “He’s OK.”
“He’s coping with his workload?” There’s a nasty glint in his eyes.
