The Choice Between Us. Edyth Bulbring

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      Panic!

      My knuckle is smudged black, so I rub the other eye to balance out the weird panda look. Andile glances up and beckons, his finger crooked. The last girl leaves, shutting the door behind her.

      It’s just Andile and me. Alone.

      “I’ve got a note from my mother. It’s this flu that’s being going around, I haven’t been able to shake it.”

      He riffles through a pile of papers, his head down, not looking at me. His hair is thick and springy, overdue for a cut. He’s not one of those men who’s going to go bald when he gets old.

      Maybe I could touch it. Just softly.

      “It made me late for class. I’m sorry.”

      He looks up and smiles. There’s only one word for him: snack. No, scratch that. He’s a full meal. Andile Skhosana is hot. Sizzling. On a scale of one to Michael B Jordan, he’s an eleven. Think Chadwick Boseman meets Childish Gambino – without the boep – and you get the idea. His teeth are straight. But not in that fake way from wearing braces. So I guess he didn’t wear them as a child. And the scar on the side of his hand tells me he cut himself, maybe with a knife. It’s an old scar, though, and probably happened when he was a kid.

      “Oh no, it’s your essay I wanted to talk to you about. I handed them back at the beginning of the lesson.” He finds my essay and passes it to me.

      His voice is Morgan Freeman and his accent murmurs private school. I haven’t found out which one. He tends to end his sentences with a question mark, even when he isn’t asking a question, as though he’s interested in my response, even when I’m not expected to make one. It’s like we’re having a real conversation.

      “It was good, Jen. You really seemed to go the extra mile.” He smiles again. This time his mouth is closed, so I don’t see his teeth.

      I clutch the essay. He calls me Jen. I like the way his tongue touches the top of his palate when he says it. Like a caress.

      Jennnnnnnnn.

      “What do you mean, extra mile? I ran a marathon for this essay.”

      He laughs and shakes his head. “Funny girl, Jen.”

      I look down so he can’t see the stupid grin on my face. I made him laugh! I’m funny girl Jen. Not needy, whiney, pissed-off Jenna. I’m different when I’m with him. Brilliant, funny.

      “It was like you got inside their skin. It’s a real talent.”

      I shrug. “I love history.”

      I love you.

      “If you ever want to read more on the Second World War, I’ve got loads of books at home I could lend you.”

      Andile lives in a flat in Killarney. I saw this on his phone bill while snooping through his classroom desk last month. And I’ve gone round to the block to check it out. His fifth-floor view of the skyline is brilliant. The flats are selling for more than two million. Great views. Located near the shops and Gautrain, the advert says. One day I’ll get to see inside his flat.

      He is new at Virgins this year, and it’s his first teaching position. He studied to be a lawyer at university but the law and him didn’t work out. From what he’s told us, I guess he had a problem defending crooks and bastards. History’s his passion now.

      The whole class is in love with him, me most of all. He’s twenty-eight and he’s got two hundred and fifty-three friends on Facebook. I’m not one of them, but his security settings are rubbish – like most people’s.

      “Everything all right at home, Jen? You’re looking a bit dark around the eyes. Nothing troubling you, I hope?”

      I shake my head as the door opens and a girl shoves her face inside the room. Xoliswa is my ride-or-die homie. We’ve been as tight as a pair of True Religion denims since nursery school. Her hair is a giant afro. No more pretty corn-rows or braids. Natural, she calls it, and refuses to tie it up, even when threatened with detention. She does shave her legs, though. There are limits to natural, obvs. I flash her my death stare: Go away. She gives me a stink eye and ducks.

      “Don’t be late for your next class.” Andile walks me to the door, his hand poised above my shoulder. Not touching, but nearly.

      Please, please, touch me – but he never does.

      Soo Ling is waiting for me in the corridor. She’s the third wheel in my friendship with Xoliswa. She balances us out, but sometimes slows us down. Soo Ling and Xoliswa are pretty much my only friends at Virgins. I’m picky about who I hang with, okay?

      “C’mon, Jenna, what did Randy Andy want?” Soo Ling says. “Tell me, tell me!”

      We hurry towards the maths class.

      “He likes me. He says I’m smart and I make him laugh. He sort of nearly touched me.” I give a slow nod. Oh, yes. “And I almost stroked his hair. It’s springy and soft. Gorgeous, like a poodle’s.”

      Soo Ling slaps me on the arm and giggles. “Hey, girlfriend, don’t let Xoliswa hear you say that. Andy’s not a dog, you know.” She glances over my shoulder at Xoliswa, who is collecting her books from the locker. “And then what happened?”

      “Xoliswa kind of interrupted us just when things were getting interesting.”

      Soo Ling rolls her eyes at me and pokes the side of her mouth with her tongue. “Yeah, yeah,” she says.

      I can’t help noticing the pores on her chin. I’m sure they’ve always been there, but for some reason they irritate the hell out of me today.

      “What’s ‘Yeah, yeah’? He invited me around to his flat. This weekend.” So, I lie. It’s not a biggie. He did sort of invite me round to borrow some of his books. Sort of.

      “Shuddup! He never did. You’re such a liar!” Soo Ling nibbles at her bottom lip.

      “Suck my hairy balls, biiitch.” There are some days when I think our friendship has reached a dead end. It’s like the longest-running soapie on TV.

      “Well, are you going? That’s if he really asked you?”

      “Maybe. Just don’t say anything. Especially not to Xoliswa.”

      Xoliswa’s developed a God complex lately, always judging. Last week when she saw me giving the security guard my school sandwich she’d picked a stupid fight about it.

      “What’s this, Jenna? An attack of white guilt?”

      “Jeez, man, take your head out of your arse. He’s poor and hungry, he appreciates it, okay?”

      “Really? Have you ever asked him? Why do you people always make assumptions about people of colour? It’s so patronising. If he was white you’d never dream of doing it.”

      For some reason I’d become “you people” instead of Jenna, her best friend. And she was one of them, the “people of colour”. Like part of a rainbow that didn’t allow white. Things СКАЧАТЬ