Entwined

Lebz and I shake our heads – Wiki would make a lousy writer. He blinks at us and returns to his book. I think part of the reason he likes us, besides force of habit, is that we’re the only friends in the world who would let him hang around with us while his nose is stuck in a book. He’s a little like a chaperone – present, but only just.

“Oh, no, it’s Ma-fourteen,” groans Lebz. “Look at them, walking around like they own the place. You would never catch us hanging around here alone when we were twelve, picking up boys.”

Ma-fourteen is a term for young people, especially girls, especially in conjunction with older men. Lebz has adapted it for a particular group of kids who have taken to haunting shopping malls at all hours. They dress to kill, have money to burn and leave a bad taste in the mouths of those of us who are old enough to have online profiles.

“Don’t pick on the poor kids,” I tease. I turn to take an idle peek at the trendy tweens. I only know them by reputation, and this is the first time I’ve seen them up close. There are five girls, no older than thirteen. They’re wearing short skirts and tight jeans, with expensive-looking accessories. The leader of the pack is a pretty little thing in a skirt that was probably a belt in its former life. Her expression is cold and blank.

My hands start to sweat and my skin prickles, as if I’m growing fur. I look away.

Lebz clicks her tongue and turns back to her ice cream. I take another glance at the girls, and once again I get the strangest feeling, as if the air has just gone cold. I finish my ice cream in a hurry and slide off my seat. “Let’s go. I have a curfew, remember?”

Wiki closes his book. “Are you OK? You have a strange look on your face.”

“I’m fine.” I slip my bag over my shoulder. To my dismay, it looks like there’s no way to avoid walking past the little group on our way out. They’re standing outside the CD shop, chatting and watching other shoppers. We pass them quietly, trying not to stare. As we walk by I get that feeling again, and then I notice something else.

“They’re not thinking,” I whisper in surprise.

“Hmm?” Lebz frowns at me.

“Those girls,” I say slowly, turning to peer over my shoulder. “They’re not thinking.”

“You can’t read them?” asks Wiki as we turn the corner and lose sight of the girls.

I shake my head, but I’m certain that this isn’t the same as being blocked. From where the girls stood all I got was a gap, a hole cut out of the air. They weren’t blocking me. They just weren’t thinking, and something tells me this means trouble.

I wake up early on Saturday morning, have a quick breakfast and knock on my dad’s door. He mumbles something incoherent, so I turn the handle and peer inside.

“Dad? Are you awake?”

“Mmmm.” He’s not. Good.

“I’m just going to… um… Bontleng. Be back around lunch. Bye!” I shut the door before he has time to register my words, then snatch my bag off the coffee table and hurry towards the front door.

“Connie!”

Damn. I turn at the door. “Yes, Dad?”

He emerges from his room, rumpled but very much awake now. “Did you say you’re going to Bontleng?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He hesitates. “Is he all right? Not sick or anything?”

“No, he just wants to see me.”

He frowns. “He wants to see you?” There’s no mistaking the suspicion in his voice. “About… anything in particular?”

Poor Dad. Every time I visit my grandfather he’s afraid I’ll come back with a bag full of strange-looking herbs or a mermaid’s tail. “No, Dad.” I offer him a reassuring smile. “He just wants to hang out.”

His smile is utterly unconvincing. “Send my regards. And… don’t be long, OK?”

“I won’t.” I wave and then step outside. I’ve given up on persuading Dad that Ntatemogolo is not trying to brainwash me.

I walk down to the bus stop to catch a combi. During the ride I practise filtering the thoughts of the other passengers. They approach from the direction of the thinker, like electricity along a wire. Thoughts take on the voices of people I know, but with strangers the tone is determined by my perception. Take the man in the seat in front of me; he’s worried about losing his job. His thoughts take on a weary, defeated tone, but when he calls out to the driver to stop, his voice is loud and confident. Interesting.

By the time I reach Ntatemogolo’s house I’m feeling rather proud of my progress. He’s sitting on a chair on the veranda as usual, puffing on a cigarette. I greet him politely and sit cross-legged on the floor beside him.

“Dad sends his regards.”

He grunts. “How do you feel today?” he asks, when he’s finished the cigarette.

“Good.” I smile. “I can tell the difference between different thoughts, and where they’re coming from.”

He nods. “And what else?”

I think for a moment. “I’ve noticed that I have to be quite close to the person before I can read them, about six or seven metres. It’s more difficult when there are many people, but some people’s thoughts are stronger than others, and some people think very fast, like Wiki. And you told me to find out if there were people I couldn’t read.”

He nods and leans towards me, his eyes narrowed. “Are there any?”

“You, of course. And Kelly, and… Rakwena.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Who’s Kelly?”

“Oh, just a girl.” I shrug. “One of the popular kids.”

He smiles. “You don’t like this Kelly,” he muses.

“I didn’t say that!” I don’t know why I’m so indignant; he’s right.

“Ah… envy,” he declares smugly. “She’s a beautiful girl?”

“I guess some people might think so,” I sneer, then catch myself and bite my lip. I’m not jealous of Kelly. Maybe she does have perfect skin and a killer figure and hair that never breaks, but so what? I have no desire to be beautiful. I mean, what for?

Ntatemogolo clears his throat to pull me back to the present. “Tell me what happened when you tried to read her.”

It takes me a minute to get past my annoyance and think back to the day I passed Kelly and her friends in the corridor. “Her friends were with her, but I could only sense their thoughts, not hers. It wasn’t as though she was blocking me. There was no resistance coming from her direction, but there was… something.”

He nods. “The resistance was from your side.”

“My side?” I’m completely confused. “I wanted to know what she was thinking!”

“Consciously, yes, but your negativity towards her got in the way.” He smiles again. “That’s what happens when you build up a defensive barrier against someone, Connie. You can’t get into her head because you’ve locked yourself out.”

Defensive barrier? What rubbish! As if I need to defend myself from the likes of Kelly. I stare at my shoes, hoping Ntatemogolo can’t tell what I’m thinking. “There were some other people I couldn’t read.”

“Who?”

I raise my head, relieved to be off the topic of Kelly. “Some girls at the mall. Five of them. When I passed them I got this funny feeling. There was no premonition, just a feeling. And they were completely blank. Not the way it was with Kelly or you. Just… blank.”