Unravelled

I hurry through the living room, knocking against the small table on my way to the door and upsetting the book lying on it. The book slides half off the table and I lean over to push it back into place. The second I touch it I feel a tingle. Not just any tingle, either. I stare at the book, then pick it up and hold it in both hands. A dull surge of anxiety moves through me, then fades. The tingle is gone but I know I felt it, and I’d know it anywhere. Rakwena was here recently, and it wasn’t a social call.

I take a closer look at the book. It’s an old, red leather-bound volume called A Meeting of Minds. I put it back and consider confronting my grandfather, but I know if he intended to tell me Rakwena was here he would have done it already. I head outside, closing the front door and the gate behind me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had the feeling that Rakwena and Ntatemogolo are keeping something from me. From the start it was clear that Ntatemogolo knew Rakwena and didn’t trust him. I let it go. Ntatemogolo knows most of the gifted in town, as many of them come to him for help with their powers. I assumed Rakwena must have done the same, but now I’m not so sure.

Something was bothering Rakwena and he came to my grandfather for help. Is he planning to clue me in, or is this another mystery I’m supposed to ignore?

***

Rakwena and I lounge on the sofa with my Setswana books, while he tries to help me with my appalling sentence construction. I can’t concentrate. I’m trying not to be pushy and nosy but I can’t help it. I’ve given him ample opportunity to confide in me, and he hasn’t.

“Rakwena.”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you go to see my grandfather?”

His gaze remains fixed on the page. “Did he tell you I went to see him?”

“He doesn’t tell me anything, and neither do you.” I lean over to snatch the book from under his nose. “Talk to me. I know you’re worried about something. What is it?”

He leans back in the sofa with a puzzled frown. “I touched something. That’s how you know.” The frown lines smooth out and he looks at me. “The book.”

I look into his eyes, but as usual he’s got his barrier up and there’s no way I’m getting in. “It would be nicer if you had just told me.”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

If he were anyone else I’d be able to see the wheels turning in his head. I’d be able to tell whether he was cooking up a story for me or searching for the right words to frame the truth. But Rakwena never lets his guard down, so I have to take every word he says on faith.

“Why would I be upset?”

He takes a moment to reply. “Your grandfather and I are worried about Thuli. I know you think he’s lost interest, but I don’t.”

Relief flows through me. It’s not some terrible secret after all – it’s just Rakwena looking out for me, as usual. “He’s not going to come near me as long as you’re around,” I remind him. “I can handle Thuli. I’m not afraid of him anymore.”

He pulls me closer. “You think you’re some superhero now?”

“Almost.” I kiss the side of his face. “Relax. Thuli is going down one of these days. We don’t have to worry about him.” I hesitate before asking, “So that’s all? I mean…you’re not worried about your…”

“Father?” His jaw tenses. “No news is good news. Hopefully he really is dead.”

I decide not to comment. There’s no love lost between Rakwena and his father and I know better than to press the issue. The one parent I can talk about is his mother. Mmabatho Langa is in a psychiatric facility in South Africa, and Rakwena goes to visit her all the time. She’s the only relative he speaks to; his maternal aunts have practically disowned him and his father’s side of the family disappeared when his father “died”.

“How’s your mother?”

“She’s OK. I’m going to see her next weekend. Can we do some work now?”

“Sure.” I open the book.

***

Friday comes way too quickly. It’s the last day of term so we’re in civvies, which means jeans and sneakers for me. Civvies day at Syringa is like the opening day of Fashion Week – most of the kids use it as an opportunity to flash their favourite brand names at the minority middle-class students. It’s supposed to be intimidating – a girl can only stomach so much Guess before she flees to the toilet in tears to cut the label off her Mr Price shirt.

Fortunately for me, I’ve never been interested in clothes. I’m a fickle teenager. Why pay a fortune for a pair of jeans I won’t even want in a few months? Lebz, on the other hand, is a fashion slave. She turns up in skinny jeans that look as though they’ve been painted on, a flimsy top that barely covers her bra, a leather jacket, heels and a handbag so obviously expensive I can’t even look at it without feeling queasy.

“I thought you were trying not to spend so much money this year,” I admonish her, as she slides onto the bench.

“I didn’t buy it – yoh!” She laughs. “I don’t get that much pocket money. Papa got it for me in Italy. He got shoes for Rita – they’re so beautiful! I’m wearing them to the party tonight.”

Wiki and I exchange glances. Wiki’s folks, like mine, are in the lower income bracket of the Syringa class system. As far as they’re concerned, sending us to the best school in town is enough – if we want to keep up with our classmates, we should get jobs. Lebz’s dad works like a fiend making bucketloads of money, and then spoils his kids rotten to make up for all the time he spends away. It’s a good thing her mother is sensible, or Lebz would have turned out like Kelly.

“Just wait till you guys see Kencer for yourselves,” she goes on.

“Kencer?” Wiki and I chorus.

“Kelly and Spencer,” Lebz explains.

I snicker. “It’s not very flattering.”

“I know it sounds like cancer, but Botho started it and now it’s stuck. So? Are we meeting at my place for the party or what?”

“I’m not coming,” Wiki announces.

“What?” Lebz and I whip around to stare at him in dismay.

“You know how I feel about parties,” he groans. “It’s the end of term! I want to stay home and watch a movie or read…”

“You can’t miss it – Kelly throws the best parties!” says Lebz.

“And what about me?” I pitch in. “Lebz is going to disappear the minute we walk in, and I’ll be all by myself in the jungle! You can’t abandon me!”

“She’s right,” says Lebz, without shame.

Wiki sighs. “Fine. But I’m bringing my laptop.”

“Good! Mogapi’s busy today, so he can’t give us a ride, but I can ask my mother,” says Lebz.

“Rakwena will drop us off.”

Lebz raises an eyebrow. “He’s gate-crashing?”

I glare at her. “No, but he’s going to drop me off, so we might as well meet at my house around seven and he’ll take us.”

“Hm!” Lebz purses her lips. “Nice to have a mobile boyfriend, isn’t it?”

The sound of the bell saves her from my stinging retort. All through the day Lebz rambles on about the party, her hair, her outfit – but I can’t stop thinking about Thuli. Despite what I said to Rakwena, there’s a little part of me that is afraid.

Auntie Lydia is cooking when I walk into the house later, and the aroma of roasting chicken fills the air.