Kitabı oku: «Entwined»
I’m sure what I’m feeling is only a fraction of his power, and that scares me.
But not enough to make me walk away.
Connie Bennett is a freak. She has premonitions, crazy wild hair and the boy she’s loved for three years doesn’t know who she is. Suddenly she can hear everyone’s thoughts and she finds herself drawn to a mysterious, scarred boy. Sparks literally fly between them, but could he actually be dangerous?
Then she discovers there’s a gang of zombie-like young girls being controlled by someone. Only Connie can stop him.
Can she cut the Puppetmaster’s strings?
A CONYZA BENNETT BOOK
Entwined
Cheryl S. Ntumy
Copyright
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013
Copyright © Cheryl S. Ntumy 2013
Cheryl S. Ntumy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © September 2013 ISBN: 9781472044532
Version date: 2018-10-30
CHERYL S. NTUMY always knew she wanted to write. With two teachers as parents, she grew up surrounded by books. As a child she wrote everything she could think of, from comic books and magazines to short novels and film scripts – some of which are still hiding in a dusty closet. She dreamed of exploring the realms of science fiction, fantasy and the supernatural, but ended up studying textile design instead, and then journalism.
It didn’t take long for her to decide that fiction writing was the only career she was interested in. Her first book, the supernatural novella Crossing, was published in Botswana in 2010, and her first romance novel came a few months later. She has published five romance books to date. Entwined is her first young adult novel.
Cheryl is now a full-time freelance writer in Gaborone, Botswana, where she spends her days writing, reading and daydreaming about stories. Her friends and family are still waiting for her to find gainful employment. She’s determined to keep them waiting for the rest of her life.
I must thank the following people for making this book possible:
My sister Aku Ntumy, for the joke that became Conyza Bennett, telepath and Gabs girl extraordinaire. Sorry about the title. Maybe I’ll let you win on the next one.
My friend and roomie Sharon Tshipa read the manuscript and offered feedback, and then pointed me in the direction of HQ Digital, so technically I owe her double.
Tlotlo Tsamaase, fellow YA writer, was kind enough to go through the book and offer her insight.
HQ Digital, thank you for giving Connie a voice.
Last but not least, thank to you to writers, publishers and book distributors everywhere. Your very existence inspires each word I write.
To Aku, Connie’s co-creator and the best sister a writer could hope to have.
Contents
Cover
Blurb
Title Page
Copyright
Author Bio
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Glossary
Endpages
About the Publisher
Chapter One
I hate Thursdays. They’re such a tease, so close to the weekend and yet so far. Thursdays seem to go out of their way to be as boring and drawn-out as possible, just to punish me for hating them. They are also really lousy luck.
All the bad things that ever happened to me happened on Thursdays. It sounds crazy, but I’m serious. My mother died on a Thursday, eleven years ago when I was five. I broke my leg on a Thursday and got mugged while coming home from school on – yes, a Thursday. So naturally whenever Thursday rolls around I get a little anxious.
On this particular Thursday I’m sitting at the dining table, drinking a massive mug of Milo and feeling like Nancy Drew after one of her run-ins with a chloroform-soaked handkerchief. My body aches and my head is full of mist. It’s barely six a.m., but I’m dressed for school already because I can never sleep through my father’s alarm.
“Dad, I’m sick,” I groan.
“Nice try,” my father replies, rummaging in his pockets for his office keys. “If you were that sick you’d still be in bed.” He gives me a knowing nod.
“Eish. You saw right through me.” Even with heavy clouds swelling in my head, I have the strength for sarcasm.
My gaze drops to the keys lying on the table right in front of him. I contemplate putting him out of his misery, but his panic is rather amusing so I sip my Milo and watch. My dad, Dr. Raymond (Ray) Bennett is a super-nerd – you can tell he’s a scientist just by looking at him. He’s been teaching at the local university, UB, for as long as I can remember. Despite living in Botswana for two decades he’s still pasty white, with mousy brown hair that goes limp in the heat. He’s tall and thin, and today he’s wearing grey trousers and that striped brown shirt I keep trying to throw away. I must take after him, with my long arms and skinny legs, though the freckled caramel skin and wild hair is all me.
“Effing hell,” he mumbles, going through his pockets for the third time. “I could have sworn I had them in these trousers. And I have all that marking to do…”
The “effing” is for my benefit. He promised my mother he’d never use four-letter words in my presence and he’s still true to his word. I sigh, drain my mug and study the ring of chocolate powder in the bottom. “On the table, Dad.”
“Huh?” He looks up, sees the keys, and grins. “Oh. Ha! I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” As always, he seems thrilled by this discovery. “Right – I’m off. Say hi to Malebogo.”
“I will.” My best friend Lebz, aka Malebogo, lives just around the corner.
“Don’t forget to wait for Lydia. And be home by seven.”
“Yes, Dad.” Damn. Looks like I’ll have to cancel all those glitzy social events I had planned.
Suddenly my eyes start to sting in an all too familiar way. Ag, not again… My body tenses and through the fog in my head a vague image appears. Mangled metal, broken glass, sirens wailing and traffic snaking all the way up the road. A wave of horror hits me, then fades. “By the way,” I tell my father, “you might want to avoid the flyover by the bus rank.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
He always does that, as if he doesn’t know what’s coming. I get up and carry my mug to the kitchen. “An accident. It’s bad.” I wash my cup and return to the dining room.
Dad dismisses me with a nervous laugh. “Honestly, Connie – what nonsense. I need to stop by Sam’s place to pick up some papers, so I’ll go via Broadhurst.”
I watch him leave and shake my head. He still can’t get his head around the idea that I have premonitions. I suppose it would freak me out too, if I hadn’t been able to do it all my life. Sometimes I have visions and sometimes it’s just a vague feeling, but it’s only ever in connection with people I know or people near me. Take the one I just had – it wouldn’t have happened at all if Dad didn’t take the flyover to work every morning.
It’s genetic, I suppose, inherited from my maternal grandfather. He’s a full-time historian and author and part-time paranormal consultant. You know, a shaman, traditional healer, exorcist, whatever. My dad’s not so keen on that career path. It’s one of the reasons he and Ntatemogolo hate each other. That and the fact that I bonded with my grandfather instantly even though I didn’t know him until he moved back to Botswana three years ago, after travelling the world.
I go into the sitting room and turn on the TV. I already know nothing good is on – and I don’t need a premonition for that – so I go through our DVDs. Lebz calls just after I settle on watching Red Eye for the twentieth time.
“Hey, Lebz.”
“Ha, I knew you’d be up,” she chirps. “What are you watching? No, let me guess. Mean Girls.”
I smile. “Nope.”
“The Notebook.”
“Uh-uh.”
“What? Don’t tell me you’re watching something that doesn’t have Rachel McAdams in it – oh, wait! Red Eye! I always forget that one.”
“And we have a winner!” I drag the phone to the sofa and sit down with my feet curled under me. “You want to come watch it with me?”
“It’s not exciting if you know what happens,” she reminds me. “What are you doing after school? Let’s go hang out somewhere.”
I wait patiently for the rest of the request. “Somewhere” only means one thing to Lebz – wherever her idol Kelly and her friends are. It’s based on sound logic – after all, Lebz’s second favourite thing after Kelly is boys, and wherever Kelly and her D-cups go boys are sure to follow.
Lebz ploughs ahead. “Kelly’s having a braai at the game reserve, and then she and the girls are going to watch a movie.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure Kelly and charcoal is a healthy combination.”
“Connie! We should go. It’ll be fun.”
Hmmm. Watching Kelly and company entertain slobbering males in the bush sounds almost as good as listening to Kelly and company entertain slobbering males in a dark cinema. “No, thanks.”
“They won’t mind having you there, you know,” she says in a quiet voice.
My jaw drops and I almost hang up, insulted. As if I want to be accepted by a shallow, albeit very pretty group of girls with the privilege of commanding male attention with a swing of their hips. It’s not as if I can’t get guys to notice me if I try. If I really, really try. OK, so maybe not even then, but I don’t need boys to notice me. Teachers notice me occasionally and they’re much more important.
“Thuli might be coming.”
I almost drop the receiver. “What? Are you sure?”
“I heard Lorraine saying that Kelly invited Mothusi, and you know Mothusi won’t go anywhere without Simon, and Simon won’t go anywhere without Thuli…”
I bite my lip, my heart thudding in my chest. Thuli Baleseng is the man of my dreams. He’s in Form Five, a year ahead of me, and one of the smartest students in his group. I love everything about him, from the way he rolls up the sleeves of his pale green school shirt to the dreadlocks that hang over his sleepy eyes.
Lebz sighs. “I don’t know what you see in that boy.”
“He’s a genius,” I whisper.
“He’s a thug,” she retorts. “He smells of cigarettes, he’s antisocial, rude and – ”
“He’s misunderstood,” I snap, irritated by her unwarranted assault on my soul mate. She and Thuli are sort of family friends. That is to say, his parents are friends with her parents, but she tries very hard not to be friends with him.
“OK, whatever. Are you coming to the braai?”
It occurs to me then that Thuli doesn’t particularly like Kelly, or any other girl at the Syringa Institute of Excellence. Rumour has it that he only dates KIA girls –girls from Kagisanyo International Academy, and he hardly hangs out with anyone other than his pals Simon and Mothusi, except the occasional exchange student.
“Oh, you almost had me,” I tell Lebz. “Thuli isn’t going, and neither am I.”
She sighs. “You should come. Your father is rubbing off on you; you need serious intervention before you lose the last bits of youth and blackness you have left,” she pleads. “Like this Rachel McAdams thing. What’s wrong with Beyoncé?”
“We’ve had this conversation.” I pull the phone cord as far as it will go so I can lie on the sofa. “I’m a mulatto and I’m proud.”
“You see?” she cries in dismay. “Who uses words like ‘mulatto’?”
I consider pointing out that the limited vocabulary of our peers is not a virtue, but I’m not sure she’ll appreciate it. Lebz is a smart girl, but you’ll never catch her showing it. “Go to the braai, Lebz. I’ll only hold you back from your destiny.”
“Drama queen,” she sneers, clicking her tongue in annoyance. “Don’t think you’re off the hook. You have to get a life, one way or the other. I’ll be there soon.”
I roll my eyes and replace the receiver. I understand how desperate everyone is for a little excitement. Gaborone is small and dull. Don’t get me wrong – we don’t have shootings on every street corner, but we also only have a couple of cinemas and a handful of copycat malls. There is nothing to do here, so people get creative. Loitering is popular. Braais, house parties and underage drinking are big, too. I prefer to stay out of trouble. The problem with being sort-of psychic is, well, foresight.
I’m halfway through the movie when Lebz turns up. She’s one of those cute, curvy girls who like to flaunt what they’ve got, so her grey school skirt is as short as she can get away with. As usual her white socks are pulled up to her knees, even though she’ll have to fold them every time a teacher walks by. She’s done something new with her hair – red streaks weaving through jagged cornrows.
“Your hair looks good,” I venture, though I’m not quite sure I’m being honest.
“You’re so bad at this,” she laughs. “I know you hate it, but it’s not for you.” She pats her head, then sneaks a peek at my bushy ponytail. “We can’t all be content with coloured-girl afros.”
We hang around until Auntie Lydia, our housekeeper, arrives. She’s been with Dad and me since my mother died. She’s compact, very dark in complexion and extremely efficient. She bustles into the house like a whirlwind in floral print.
“Hello, girls,” she says in her Zimbabwean accent, planting maternal kisses on our cheeks. Then she glances at her cell phone, lets out a cry of dismay and shoves us towards the door with surprising strength for someone so petite. “Out, out! I was supposed to start work ten minutes ago!”
Lebz and I head down the streets of Phase Eight towards Syringa, swept up in a sea of crisp green shirts and grey trousers. Other kids greet Lebz, glance at me briefly and then turn away. We take a right turn and there it is – Syringa.
High black gates, a brick wall topped with barbed wire and a lawn so green and fragrant you’d think you just stepped into The Sound of Music. The campus is dotted with stone benches with leaf patterns carved into the sides. There is carefully tended sand, flowerbeds and neat brick walkways. There is even a fountain in the middle of the campus, just in front of the admin building. Every one of the five large buildings is made of red brick. Glass doors slide open to welcome you into pristine corridors polished to within an inch of their lives. We have state-of-the-art facilities, or at least as state-of-the-art as we can get in Botswana.
All this costs enough to make my dad grind his teeth at the start of every term, but he’s convinced I’m getting a first-class education. Getting to go to Syringa means I don’t get a lot of other things, but that’s cool. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
As Lebz and I enter the school grounds, a skinny boy with thick glasses and a neat baby afro steps out of a car idling by the roadside and catches up to us. He has the faintest suggestion of sideburns, full lips that are usually pursed in concentration and huge eyes. His long fingers are clasped around a thick book, and he walks with the short, quick strides of someone with lots to do and no time to do it.
“Hey, Wiki,” Lebz and I say in unison as he falls into step with us.
“Morning, ladies,” he replies in his soft voice. His real name is Elijah, but everyone calls him Wiki – as in Wikipedia – because he remembers everything he has ever read. He’s from Côte d’Ivoire, which is somewhere up there on the map next to… um… Nigeria?
The three of us have known each other almost since birth. My dad, Lebz’s mother and Wiki’s father are all in the business of education, and they became friends way back when teaching was the ultimate profession and surfing was done on the ocean. I suppose our friendship happened by default and then we grew on each other. Lebz is the only one of us who actually has other friends.
As we step onto the campus, Lebz runs off to say hello to Kelly, who is just climbing out of her stepfather’s Kompressor. I roll my eyes and pretend not to notice Kelly’s flawless dark skin, long, thick hair and hourglass figure. She’s told everyone who will listen that the second she turns eighteen, she’s going to be a Page 7 girl – one of the half-dressed beauties featured in local tabloid The Word. Good practice for when she becomes a Playboy centrefold – her most promising career option.
I tap my feet impatiently as Wiki and I wait for Lebz, then let my gaze wander around, taking in my peers. It’s a sea of typical adolescent faces. Wiki’s going on about some documentary he watched last night, but I switch off as soon as my gaze rests on Thuli, a diamond amongst the agate, leaning against the wall of a classroom.
My stomach churns as I try to catch his eye. I don’t think he even knows I exist. He knows Lebz because everyone knows Lebz, and he knows Wiki, whose brain is as legendary as Kelly’s house parties. The fact that the three of us are joined at the hip means nothing. I’m one of those people everyone’s eyes seem to pass over. It’s understandable – I’m not as pretty as Lebz, and although I’m a decent student, I’m not that help-you-with-assignments kind of smart.
I’m always wondering what I’d say to Thuli if we ever got the chance to speak. Maybe I’d stammer and make a fool of myself. Maybe I’d just smile and hold my tongue. In my fantasies, I’m confident and sassy. My hair is perfect, my boobs are bigger, my teeth are straight, and my school trousers do incredible things for my butt. And if that isn’t enough, I wow him with my wit and charm.
It’s a hot summer day and he’s hanging around near the gate as usual, looking for an opportunity to sneak out. I walk right up to him, past Kelly and company who shrivel up and disappear into the dust. Thuli looks at me and his mouth hangs open, because I’m that hot. I hold out my hand. I toss my head. I smile and say, “Hi. I’m Conyza Bennett. I see dead people.”
And he falls to his knees and proposes.
I know, I know. But it’s a fantasy, remember?
My headache gets worse somewhere between Maths and English. It creeps up on me in that annoying way that headaches do, until my temples throb and it hurts each time my eyes move in their sockets. By the time break rolls around, I’m in death throes.
“Lebz,” I groan, dragging myself over to our usual bench. “Where are all those sachets of Grandpa you’re always carrying around?”
“Finished,” she replies apologetically.
She seems distracted. I don’t know how she can be distracted when her best friend is dying. I plonk myself between her and Wiki and turn to him for sympathy and painkillers.
“It’s not a good idea to pop pills all the time,” he points out, opening his lunchbox to reveal the usual brown bread polony sandwich. He must be the only kid in school who isn’t embarrassed to eat a packed polony lunch in public. “Most headaches subside by themselves. Just rest for a few minutes.”
“This is no ordinary headache.” I wince and close my eyes. I think I’m seeing stars. I lean over and rest my head on Wiki’s shoulder, and the next thing I know Lebz is shaking me awake.
“Is it time up already?” I sit up and rub my eyes.
“No.” She hands me a warm fatcake wrapped in a white plastic bag, a half-full can of juice and a pristine white Aspirin. “Maybe you’ll feel better after you have something to eat.” She’s not even looking at me.
“What’s the matter with you?” I snatch the tablet, drain the can and then reach for the fatcake. “Did Kelly change her nail polish or something?”
“I think our friend over there is making her nervous,” says Wiki. “He’s been watching us for the last ten minutes.”
I follow his gaze to a patch of sandy ground near one block of classrooms. A boy is standing there, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Everyone calls him Black Lizard because of the tattoo on his forearm. He’s in Thuli’s form, but he’s not much of a people person. He’s always skulking around, blending into the background.
“Oh, him.” I tear a piece out of my fatcake. “What’s his name again?”
“Rakwena,” Wiki supplies, returning his attention to his book. Wiki is one of those people who make a point of knowing people’s names. The rest of us aren’t nearly so courteous.
“Ri-ight.” My eyes narrow and I try to focus through the pain.
Lizard has all the makings of a heartthrob – flawless dark skin, tall, lean physique, broad shoulders. His hair is always cut close to the scalp as if he does it every day, and he has big, thoughtful eyes under thick brows. Sure, he’s not exactly the friendliest guy on earth, and he does have that creepy tattoo, but the real reason he’s not top of the list of Syringa studs is the scar. It runs diagonally down the left side of his face, from his temple to his chin. A little more to the right and it would have slit his lips. Brazen students call him Scarface, but most of us are too scared to look at the scar, let alone mention it. Nobody talks to him. He makes everyone so uncomfortable that we prefer to pretend he’s not there.
Even though he’s aware that I’ve seen him, he doesn’t look away. He’s weird like that. Brooding, but not in that romantic way that makes girls swoon. I don’t know why he’s looking at us – he never takes any interest in other people. It’s freaking me out.
“What the hell is he looking at?” I snap. “Lebz, are you wearing that neon bra that shows through your shirt?”
Lebz gives me a funny look. “I think he’s looking at you.”
I laugh, and my head reminds me that I’m in excruciating pain. “Why would he be looking at me?” I close my eyes and rub my temples. “Oh, hell – that tablet isn’t kicking in. I need something stronger. Anaesthesia, maybe.”
“I’ll go ask Kelly if she has anything.” Lebz jumps up eagerly. “She usually has at least five different pills on her.”
I sigh. “Does she raid her mother’s medicine cabinet or something?”
She sticks her tongue out at me and skips away, delighted at the prospect of basking in Kelly’s glow. Wiki gets up too, and for a moment I’m so shocked I forget my headache.
“Don’t tell me you’ve joined the Kelly fan club!” I’m crushed. Wiki has always been the only boy I can count on to be more interested in books than buxom teenagers.
He glares at me. “I’m going to the library to return my book.”
“Oh.” I smile, relieved. “Good.” I polish off the fatcake, then close my eyes again.
Deep breaths. In… ouch! My eyes flutter open. This isn’t working. Where is Lebz with my painkillers? I glance around the campus, and by the time I notice him walking towards me it’s too late. My chest feels constricted. I know it’s silly, but I can’t help it. Black Lizard is almost in front of me, and I have to fight the urge to bolt.
“I thought I’d never get you alone.” His voice is deep, hoarse, but surprisingly pleasant.
I raise my head slowly and try not to do something stupid, like scream. “Um, sorry?”
“Your friends.” He towers above me, a dark angel about to send me off to meet my Maker. “They never go away. The three of you are like conjoined triplets.”
“Oh.” I swallow. “Um, I guess so.”
He studies me for a moment. I don’t want to stare at his scar so I stare at the collar of his shirt instead, and somehow that seems even worse.
“Headache?” he asks.
I nod.
“Bad, right? Possibly the worst you’ve ever had?”
I look up into his piercing gaze. “How did you know that?”
He smiles. He has nice teeth, a little crooked, but appealing. “You should go home before it gets worse. You probably won’t make it through the day in your condition.”
“My condition? It’s just a headache. I need more painkillers, that’s all.”
“Painkillers won’t help.” He lowers his voice a little and says, “Go home. You need to be somewhere safe.”
“Safe from what?” I’m leaning away from him now; I can’t seem to stop myself. He’s so strange, and the fact that he’s taking a sudden interest in me has me worried.
He doesn’t answer. He looks away, then turns back to me, his brow furrowed. “Your friend’s coming back. Just go home, Conyza. OK?” He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He slinks off into the shadows just as Lebz returns, clutching a bottle of water and a fistful of pills.
Lebz opens her fist. “Brufen,” she declares proudly.
I wrinkle my nose at the pink tablets, but my mind is focused on wondering how Lizard knows my name.
Lebz clicks her tongue in annoyance, grabs my chin in her hand and yanks me forward. “Open up.”
I open my mouth like a good girl and let her drop a tablet onto my tongue, then I take a big swig of the water and swallow. Usually the psychological effect of medication kicks in instantly, but not this time. If anything, the headache seems to worsen. It must be pissed off by my attempted rebellion.
“Oh, crap!” I groan, putting my head between my raised knees. “I can’t take it any more.”
“Connie?” Lebz’s voice sounds strangely distant. “Oh, no. Connie!”
When I open my eyes, I’m lying on the bed in the sick bay, staring at the paint peeling off the ceiling. I try to lift my head and someone starts playing drums in my skull.
“Connie?” It’s Lebz. “Are you feeling better?”
“No. What happened?”
“You fainted.”
I turn very slowly to stare at her. “Fainted?” Nonsense. I don’t faint. I’m not a fainter. “Oh, my head! Give me some pills, please!”
“OK, I’m taking you home,” she declares firmly. “Come on; can you get up?”
I sit up, fighting through the pain, and let her lead me to the door. We have just opened it when the nurse comes rushing down the corridor.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“She’s getting worse,” says Lebz. “I’m going to take her home; it’s not far.”
“You think she can walk?”
“Yes, yes!” I mutter, desperate to get into my own bed.
“OK,” the nurse replies uncertainly. “I’ll write her a note and you can collect it for her when you come back.”
The next several minutes pass in a haze. Somehow we make it back to my house, and I end up collapsing on the sofa. Lebz says something about tea, but I’m not quite sure what happens next because I fall asleep. When I wake up, it’s already getting dark outside and my father is sitting in the armchair across the room.
“Connie! Thank God!” He jumps up and comes to kneel at my side, peering anxiously into my face. “How do you feel?”
I sit up and look at him. “Hungry.” That Brufen has finally kicked in. The headache is gone. It’s a little strange actually, because now my head is clearer than ever, as if the headache never happened. But I’m used to strange occurrences so I brush it aside, kiss my dad on the cheek and get up to make some dinner. “I hate Thursdays,” I mutter. “Thank goodness it’s over.”
“Today’s Wednesday, Connie, not Thursday,” Dad says cautiously. “Maybe you need to lie down a while longer.”
What? I swivel round to face him. “But… my headache!” I sputter in disbelief. From the moment I got up, the day had Thursday written all over it. How can today be Wednesday? I like Wednesdays. They’re good to me.
“Connie, let me make dinner,” Dad suggests, pushing me back onto the sofa. “You just stay here, OK?”
I should stop him because we both know no one can stomach his cooking, but I’m in shock. It’s not Thursday! For a second I’m relieved. Maybe all the bad Thursdays were just a coincidence. Maybe it was self-fulfilling prophecy. Or maybe…. My relief disintegrates. Maybe the headache was just a prelude. Maybe tomorrow is when the real trouble will begin. Ouch. I think I need another painkiller.
Chapter Two
I wake up the next morning feeling rather bizarre. My head is fine, but it’s buzzing with thoughts and I can’t seem to keep it still. I need to speak to Black Lizard, and soon. I need to understand how he knew what was going on with me.
But I can’t just go up to the guy and ask him. I need to take my time and plan my attack very carefully. I text Lebz to meet me at school so I can stop by the library before registration. I’ll hang around for a few minutes and see if Lizard turns up.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” my father asks, frowning down at me as he rummages in his pocket. “Where the devil are those blasted keys? God, I hope she’s not getting sick, I’m lousy with illness… Her mother was the one who was good at these things. Where are those bloody – ah!” He locates the keys and pulls them out.
I look up from my breakfast in surprise. It’s not like him to be so vocal. “Dad, don’t worry. It was just a headache. Probably all the stress from that Business Studies test I wrote on Tuesday.”
“Maybe,” he mumbles doubtfully. “Take it easy today, OK? And call me if anything happens.”
I nod. “And you’re not lousy with illness, Dad,” I add softly. “You’re great.”
He gives me an odd look and backs towards the front door. “Um, thanks darling. OK… see you later.” He stumbles out of the house. Through the window I catch him looking back at the house with a bewildered expression on his face.
I wave, and as soon as his red Volvo disappears round the corner I jump into high gear. There was something about the way Lizard spoke yesterday that made me certain he knows more about me than he’s letting on. It’s almost as if he expected me to have that headache. The thought scares and intrigues me. If there’s something weird going on here I’d love to know what it is, and Lizard, like it or not, is the person who can tell me.
I wash the breakfast dishes, pack my bag and lock up, leaving the key under the doormat for Auntie Lydia. It’s already bright outside although it’s barely six-thirty. I pass a couple of kids from school and since I’m not with Lebz or Wiki, I don’t expect them to greet me. But almost as soon as they lay eyes on me they start whispering.
“… I wonder what it is about her… I just can’t figure it out.”
“It’s not rude to scratch if no one is looking…”
“… Just like my cousin…”
“I wonder if the gossip is true…”
“… I’m going to kill him. These people think they can….”
“I’m so late!”
I look around me, shocked by how loudly these passers-by are talking. Their lips don’t appear to be moving, but maybe they’ve realised that it doesn’t look good when strangers catch you talking to yourself.
The voices fade as I approach the school gates. The campus is quiet and almost empty. I head towards the library and sit down to wait. I scan the campus, but there’s no sign of Black Lizard. I sigh and open my bag. Might as well pretend to do some work while I wait.
I’ve been waiting for some time when I hear a familiar voice. I love Lebz, but this is one occasion when I’m not exactly thrilled to see her.
“Hey, Connie! What are you doing?”
“I wanted to go to the library,” I remind her. “Aren’t you early? What’s wrong?”
“Very funny,” she says, clicking her tongue in mock annoyance. “Where’s Kelly? Not here yet? Hmm. I hope my hair looks OK.”
I roll my eyes. Looks like I’m not going to talk to Lizard, after all. “Your hair looks fine.”
“What?” She stares at me in horror.
“I said, your hair looks fine. And you shouldn’t care what Kelly thinks, anyway.”
Lebz blinks. Her mouth opens and closes a few times.
“What?” I shove my book back into my bag.
“That’s not cool,” she whispers. “I mean… at least you could have told me.” Then she walks off in a huff, leaving me completely stumped.
I have no idea what I’ve done to offend her. What I said about Kelly, maybe? She does get a bit sensitive when it comes to the topic of her idol. I spot Wiki coming through the gates and wave, but Lebz intercepts him before he reaches me. They have a brief intense conversation, then Lebz glares at me and stalks over to where Kelly’s second in command, Botho, is sitting. Wiki approaches with caution.
“Lebz is not happy,” he announces.
“I noticed. What did I do now?”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “She has some crazy idea that you can read her mind and forgot to tell her. Ah, girls have strange problems. I should really get some reading done.”
“Read her mind?” I laugh. “Seriously, where does she get these things?”
“Reading Lebz’s mind wouldn’t be all that difficult, actually,” says Wiki, glancing at his watch. “I really need to get some reading done…”
I swat him. “Hey, be nice! You’re supposed to be the referee.”
“What do you expect me to do?” He shakes his head. “Just talk to her and reassure her that you haven’t betrayed years of open, honest friendship. Ah, women. Maybe I should make friends with some guys for a change.”
“But Wiki – ” I pause mid-sentence, suddenly struck by an alarming revelation.
“The library’s open. I have about ten minutes before registration. See you later.” He hurries away.
I have just realised that half the time Wiki was speaking to me his mouth was closed. Wiki is many things, but not a ventriloquist. He spoke to me without saying a word, and when I think about it, I realise this has been happening all morning. Before I can make sense of it, I see Black Lizard slithering past. He glances my way and keeps walking, headed behind the old Science labs. I wait exactly ten seconds before following.
I find him leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. “Oh!” I say in exaggerated surprise. “Hi. I didn’t know there was anyone here.” I clear my throat. “I was just looking for a quiet spot to… um… Well, I’ll just leave you alone.” I turn around, preparing to walk away.
“Conyza, wait.”
Success! I turn back to face him. My heart is racing. There’s a bit of an adrenalin rush associated with standing behind the lab with the infamous Black Lizard. I feel like an undercover agent. “What’s up?” I ask, feigning nonchalance.
He hesitates. “How are you feeling? Is the headache gone?”
“What’s it to you?”
He shrugs. “I’m just making conversation.”
“I’m fine. It was just a headache.” I wait for him to contradict me. He doesn’t, and I’m disappointed. “Well, see you.”
“Conyza.”
“Connie.”
“Right. Connie.” He peers at me. “So you’re back to normal now? No side effects? Nothing out of the ordinary?”
“Should there be?” He knows something.
His shoulders lift in a half-hearted shrug. “No. I mean…”
I fold my arms across my chest and put on a haughty tone. “Well, if you must know…” Honestly, I’m dying to tell someone. “It’s probably my imagination.”
His eyes narrow. “What?”
“It seems as if I can hear what people…” I stop, my natural defences kicking in.
“Are thinking?” he concludes for me, his forehead creased.
I get a chill when he says it out loud, but one of us had to. Now I know for sure that he knows something, and I feel a little safer discussing this delicate subject with him. He’s a stranger, says my common sense. I ignore it out of habit. “Something like that. But of course it’s impossible,” I add hastily.
“No, it’s not.” A slow smile spreads over his face. “You’re a telepath!”
I don’t like words like that. It’s the kind of label my grandfather would use, a word that turns an ephemeral possibility into a fact. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” He frowns at me. “I’ve heard that you can do a lot of unusual things.”
My guard goes up immediately. I’ve worked hard to keep a low profile since I came to Syringa, and it’s not easy. I can’t control the things I experience, and sometimes I can’t control how I respond to them. At first it didn’t occur to me to be discreet, but when other kids started avoiding me I realised it was better to keep my eyes open and my mouth shut. After a while, most people forgot about me. Then Ntatemogolo came home.
Once people make the connection between him and me, the speculation begins. The good thing is that very few people make the connection, and when they do they always seem perplexed. How can such an unimpressive girl be related to the great Lerumo Raditladi?
I glare at Rakwena, putting up my wall of ordinariness in case I have to defend myself against accusations of witchcraft, Satanism or just plain weirdness. “People love to gossip.”
“So it’s just gossip?” he prods. “You don’t have premonitions?”
I bite my lip and decide it’s safer not to answer. I’ve never admitted it to anyone beyond my dad and grandfather; Wiki and Lebz figured it out on their own.
“Well, that’s too bad,” Rakwena says softly. “I think it’s an incredible gift. If you were telepathic, I’d advise you not to cling to the thoughts coming into your head so you don’t get overwhelmed. But since you’re not…” He sighs. “I guess there’s nothing more to talk about, right?”
Damn it. Now he’s playing me. The idea of being able to speak freely about this sort of thing, with someone my age who understands, is so appealing that I’m tempted to tell him my whole life story. But he’s still the scary guy with the scar and tattoo.
“How do you know so much about this stuff, anyway?” I snap, frustrated by my indecision. “Are you some kind of… ghost buster?”
He laughs. “You didn’t realise your gifts would begin to mature around this age?”
“My grandfather told me,” I reply without thinking.
He grins. “So you do have gifts.” His eyes are twinkling. I wish they wouldn’t. “Then you also probably know that telepathy is common in someone with your abilities – empathy, premonitions – someone very sensitive to the people around her.”
That’s news to me, but I know better than to open my mouth at this point.
“Well, I just thought you might like to talk to someone who doesn’t think you’re a freak.” He moves away from the wall. “Take care, Conyza.”
“Connie!”
He shrugs. “If you insist on rejecting the things that make you unique, that’s your problem, Connie.” He slinks away.
Ugh! What an idiot. What does he know? I’m so angry I want to run after him and slam my bag against that big head. Rejecting the things that make me unique? That’s easy for him to say! As much as I love my father, I have never completely forgiven him for naming me after a weed. And as for telepathy… All my life I’ve dealt with people who made me feel guilty for being different. Now Black Lizard, of all people, has succeeded in making me feel guilty for trying to be normal! I don’t care what he says; I don’t want to be telepathic. I have enough trouble dealing with my own thoughts.
My grandfather sits on a stool on the front veranda of his small house in Bontleng, puffing a cigarette in thoughtful silence. I’ve become impervious to the smoke by now. I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him, waiting for him to finish sorting through his thoughts.
He’s a very wise man. I don’t argue with him, I don’t talk back and I don’t speak to him with the same casual tone I use with Dad, because he’d soon put me in my place. He’s small and wiry, with a thick head of greying hair and a carefully trimmed beard. He looks like a university professor, which he was at one point. Nowadays he makes a living writing smarmy intellectual books about history and folklore.
Then there’s his other job. People come to him for advice on anything from nightmares to exorcisms. The local traditional doctors call him a charlatan because he doesn’t play by their rules. Their beliefs are steeped in culture and his are cosmopolitan and constantly changing. He’s equally at home discussing forest sprites and thokolosi, and that’s why he and I get along so well. We both straddle the line between two worlds.
I met him for the first time when he came for my mother’s funeral, but he wasn’t home for long. He’s spent years all over the world, studying the myths and legends of different cultures. The moment we met when he came home for good, we both knew we were in the presence of another not-quite-normal person. My father was baffled and, I think, a little jealous of our connection. He raised me alone for years, and all of a sudden this old man swept into our lives and took over. I used to wish they’d get over themselves and just try to get along, but it will never happen.
Ntatemogolo is wearing his usual black trousers and African-print shirt with brown suede loafers. He finishes the cigarette, drops it on the veranda and stamps it out with the heel of his shoe, then turns his steady gaze on me.
“You should have come to me,” he admonishes in Setswana.
“I’m sorry, Ntatemogolo,” I reply in English, and shrug helplessly. “But I thought it was just a headache until this morning.”
He grunts. “This boy who spoke to you; what is his name?”
“Lizard. I mean Rakwena. I don’t know his surname. He has this huge scar on his face.” I frown. “Why?” As you’ve probably guessed, I can’t read my grandfather’s thoughts. He’s way too advanced.
His jaw tenses. “A scar? And a lizard tattoo?”
“Yes.” I blink, baffled for a moment, and then blurt out, “You know him?”
“He is not an ordinary boy.” He gives me a stern look. “Stay away from him.”
“Why?” I catch myself. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. What do you mean he’s not an ordinary boy?” I lean forward eagerly. “Is he like us?”
“No!” he almost shouts. He recovers quickly, but it’s too late; the damage is done and I’m curious as anything now. “Not… not exactly,” he says in a calmer voice. “He is… very knowledgeable in these matters, that’s how he was able to tell you so much. But it’s better to be careful with people you don’t know, especially in our world.”
I nod obediently, but my mind is spinning. This is the first time I’ve been in contact with someone my age who really knows something about the supernatural, instead of the usual silly superstitions and fear-based gossip. It doesn’t surprise me that Lizard and Ntatemogolo have crossed paths, now that I know Lizard kind of sees dead people, too.
“Now.” Ntatemogolo smiles suddenly. “It’s time for you to take your gifts seriously, my girl. This telepathy – it is not a small thing. We must sharpen your skill, so you can use it the way it was meant to be used.”
My eyes widen. This is the last thing I want to hear. I’ve spent all day just trying to preserve my sanity! I know things about my peers, teachers and strangers in the street that I really didn’t want to know. Worst of all, Lebz is still not talking to me. The idea of this going on indefinitely is unacceptable.
“Please, Ntatemogolo – I don’t want to use it,” I confess. “I want to make it go away!”
He glares at me, and I shut my mouth and lower my gaze. “You will accept your gifts, Conyza, and you will learn to use them.”
“Yes, Ntatemogolo.” This would be a great time for my grandfather to tap into his smarmy intellectual side and pretend he’s not the local version of Van Helsing. “But…”
“I’m going to Serowe tomorrow, but I’ll be back next week,” he interrupts smoothly. “We can start then. In the meantime, I want you to listen to the thoughts that come to you, their intensity, their flavour. Find out how close you must be to the person to read them. Also…” He pauses. “I want you to see whether there are people you can’t read.”
“Like you?”
He smiles. “It is not easy to block out a power like yours, so you must be careful of those who can. You will learn a lot about this gift if you pay attention.”
I’m in turmoil. Part of me is excited about this new ability, and the other part just wants to climb into bed and sleep forever.
He looks at his watch. “You should go home. Your father will be worried.”
Worried? If he finds out where I’ve been and why he’ll have an anxiety attack. I get to my feet. “Thank you, Ntatemogolo. Do you want me to tell Dad you said hello?”
“I didn’t say hello,” he replies, without missing a beat.
I bite my lip to hide my scowl.
“How is he?” he asks after a moment.
“He’s OK.”
He grunts. “Travel safely.” He stands up and gives me a brief hug before pushing me gently down the steps.
Today is Thursday, by the way. Just thought I should point that out.
The next morning I hang around the house until almost seven, hoping that Lebz will turn up even though she hasn’t replied to any of my messages and refuses to take my calls. It soon becomes clear that she’s not coming.
Auntie Lydia is early. I cringe at the glimpse I get into her head – she’s replaying the argument she had with her husband this morning. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who gets bruised by her sharp tongue. I grab my stuff, call out a quick goodbye and rush to school.
Wiki’s waiting at the gate. His thoughts are going at 100km an hour and I slow down as I approach him, trying to give my head time to adjust. I think I started reading his thoughts from several metres away, but it’s hard to tell because there are so many other people around, and unfortunately they’re thinking, too.
“Do you have a test today?” I blurt out, grabbing his shoulder for support as I try to sift through the mess in my head.
His face lights up with a delighted smile. “How did you know?” His smile falters. “I don’t look worried, do I? Because I’m not worried. I’ve been studying all month! I’m prepared; I’m always prepared. Except when I’m not, but that is very, very rare, and…”
“Shut up, please!” I groan, leaning my hand against his chest.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” I sigh, shake my head and focus on his face. The thoughts fade to the background like a good soundtrack. “You know that crazy thing Lebz said yesterday?”
“The crazy thing that made her stop talking to you?”
“That one.” I pause, searching for the best way to phrase it. “It’s true.”
He blinks once, then several times in quick succession. “You can read her mind?”
“Yep. And yours. And everyone else’s.” I smile at his sceptical expression, and the decidedly less polite thoughts that accompany it. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but this is me, remember? Ridiculous is my forte. Anyway, it turns out the headache I had was brought on by the onset of my new ability, and when I woke up yesterday, I could hear everyone’s thoughts. And I really mean everyone, Wiki.”
He takes a deep breath, takes me by the elbow and steers me in the direction of our class. “Start at the beginning, please.”
I lower my voice and tell him the whole story. I hesitate before mentioning Black Lizard, but then reason that Wiki won’t be as appalled as Lebz might be by my sudden association with the school outcast. Turns out I’m wrong.
“Rakwena told you you’re telepathic?” Wiki hisses under his breath, as we draw nearer to the classroom. “Tattooed, antisocial Rakwena?”
“No, the other one,” I snap. “Can I finish the story?”
“But how did he know?”
“Well, I –”
“This could be a problem.”
I frown, but before I can ask Wiki what he means – or dig it out of his thoughts for myself – we reach the classroom and I’m crushed by a stampede of thoughts from twenty-odd Form Four pupils. It’s painful, like being woken up by a trumpet in your ear and a needle in your eye. I cringe and try to think of green grass on rolling hills.
“We’ll talk later,” Wiki whispers, and we make our way to our seats.
It’s not easy to concentrate. I have to sing under my breath to drown out the noise, and that makes it difficult to hear the teacher. Fortunately, outside of English class, teachers rarely see me. I’m that student, the one sitting behind someone smarter and next to someone more popular. Such people give you the impression that something’s not quite right with them, but they’re not intriguing enough for you to care. You probably have one in your class. Come on, think. Can’t remember the name? That’s the one.
I don’t mind being that person; it’s a skill I’ve worked hard to hone. When you’re born a little weird, all you want is to fade into the background so no one notices. Botswana, bless her dry, dusty heart, is not kind to people who are different. In that respect, I suppose my country is no different to any other.
“Hi, Lebz.”
She glares at me over the top of her book. It’s the first few minutes of English Literature, and naturally our desks are next to each other. The teacher hasn’t pitched up yet so the students are sitting on desks, gossiping and being generally irresponsible. Lebz pretends to be fascinated by King Lear, which is pointless because it’s common knowledge that she can’t read Shakespeare without checking the notes.
“Stop being such an idiot,” I hiss furiously. “Honestly, what do you want from me? I told you a million times, I didn’t know I could do it until yesterday! Obviously I would have told you, my best friend, as soon as I figured it out. And besides, wouldn’t you rather be friends with a telepath than enemies? Think of how dangerous I could be. I could tell Kelly everything running through your mind.”
Her eyes widen. “You wouldn’t,” she whispers. “You don’t even talk to Kelly.”
“I don’t need to; I already know what she thinks about everyone… including you.” Ooh, good one! Sometimes I surprise myself by coming up with these ingenious tactics. I give my head a haughty toss and pull my book out of my bag. “But since you’re not talking to me…”
She grits her teeth. Poor thing; she’s conflicted, but I can see her will breaking. After all, we’ve been friends forever and I’m more reliable than her horoscope. She lets out an exasperated growl. “Fine! I forgive you. Now, what do you know?”
“Well…”
Students scramble for their seats as the teacher walks in, and I’m saved from answering.
“We’ll talk at break,” I tell Lebz. I’m so thrilled to be talking to her again that I don’t mind sneaking up to Kelly during the day and picking her brain. If I can find it.
My plan to eavesdrop on Kelly’s thoughts is foiled. When I walk past her little gang between classes, all I hear is the mundane babbling of her chums. They’re all extremely concerned with what Kelly thinks. For once we have something in common, but Kelly’s mind appears to be blank. I knew it!
“Well?” Lebz demands, accosting me at break time. “What did you find out?”
“I’m sorry, Lebz, but Kelly doesn’t have a mind for me to read,” I report with glee. “I tried. Nothing. Empty.”
Lebz clicks her tongue and Wiki, who has just appeared, grins and declares, “Peace at last!”
“Come on.” Lebz drags me towards our bench. “I know you know something.”
I should have known she wouldn’t be willing to accept Kelly’s stupidity. I decide to bend the truth. “OK. But you’d better not tell her! You can’t even give her any hint that you know.”
“Of course not!” She’s practically salivating.
“Kelly’s jealous of you,” I announce.
Lebz gasps. “What? Why?”
“Because everyone likes you. She’s popular, but she also has enemies. You’re genuinely loved by pretty much everybody.” Well done, Connie! I’m almost certain it’s true, too.
Lebz smiles shyly. “Wow.” She’s pleased. She’s more than pleased, she’s humbled. Silly girl. I wish I could get her to stop comparing herself to Kelly long enough to notice her own strengths. She beams at us. “Whose turn is it to get the food?”
“Yours,” Wiki and I say in unison.
“You owe me for twenty-four hours of silent treatment,” I add.
“And you owe me for my excellent peacemaking skills,” says Wiki.
Lebz is too happy to argue. She holds out her hand for the money.
Five minutes later, I’m sitting alone; Wiki has gone to… yes, the library. I see a familiar figure entering the school grounds and my heart does a little jump. It’s Thuli, back from buying cigarettes at Mother Hubbard’s, a tuck-shop near the school owned by a woman without scruples.
Thuli. I realise with a pang of guilt that I haven’t thought about him in almost two days! I’ll have to spend a full hour daydreaming about him to make up for my disloyalty. His eyes are already red from whatever he’s been smoking, his shoulders are hunched, and he’s walking with the air of someone too good for the world… which of course he is. He’s a genius, maligned and misunderstood, as Wiki likes to say when he’s mocking him.
I follow him with my eyes until somebody else catches my attention. Black Lizard, leaning against a wall, staring at me. I jump, startled by the intensity of his gaze, and drop the water bottle I’m holding. I bend to pick it up and when I get up again he’s heading for his usual spot behind the lab. Above the faint chatter in my head I hear Ntatemogolo’s warning, but my feet are already moving to follow him.
“Hi.” I walked so quickly that I’m a little breathless by the time I reach him.
Lizard looks at me. “Are you following me, Conyza?”
“Connie. No. I mean… I just…” I take a deep breath and start over. “You didn’t tell me you knew my grandfather.”
He shrugs. “Everyone knows your grandfather. He’s written all those books.”
“That’s not what I mean.” I’m nervous. I think my hands are shaking. But if you were this close to a guy with a lizard tattoo and a freaky scar your hands would be shaking, too. “He says you know stuff. About… Look, he knows you, and he doesn’t pay attention to kids. So you must be… different.”
He doesn’t reply. He just looks at me with those piercing black eyes. “It’s getting easier, isn’t it? I can tell; you seem calmer. You’re getting used to the noise.”
I shrug. “I guess so. My grandfather’s going to teach me how to use it.”
“Your grandfather is very wise. You should listen to him.”
I lean against the wall beside him. “He says I should stay away from you.”
He grins. “Of course he does.”
“Why? Are you… you know… like me? Can you do things?”
His eyes narrow. “Like I said, you should listen to your grandfather.” He begins to walk away, and I feel a strange urge not to let him.
“Please wait…” I almost call him Lizard. “Rakwena.”
He hesitates. “Your friends will wonder where you are.”
“My friends don’t get it.” I love my friends, but like my father they can never really be part of my world. I start babbling, trying to say everything at once, and this time the jumble of thoughts in my head are all my own. “I mean, they’re great. They treat me like a person, not a freak. But they don’t get it. I think maybe you do. And if I’m right, then you’re the only person besides my grandfather who understands what it’s like. Please, just tell me the truth. Are you like me?”
He seems sad, as if he doesn’t want to let me down. “No. I’m not like you at all.”
I watch him walk away with a hole in my stomach. I knew I’d be disappointed if I was wrong about him, but not like this. This feels like someone stuck their hand in my torso and pulled everything out. I guess I never really thought about how much I wanted to find someone like me until now.
I start walking to the bench, where Wiki’s waiting. I have to stop for a second and take a few deep breaths to keep myself from crying. This is stupid! Have I lost my mind? Am I really so crushed that the weird Black Lizard is not the same kind of weird as me? So he’s not a freak – so what? I sniff back tears and put my game face on before sitting beside Wiki.
“Where were you?” he asks.
“Toilet,” I mutter.
And then I remember something that makes me sit up straight. The hole inside me starts to fill up as my disappointment is replaced by hope. I just realised that I have never once heard Black Lizard’s thoughts, and that can only mean one thing. He’s lying about being like me. Sneaky little devil.
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