Unravelled. Cheryl Ntumy S.

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СКАЧАТЬ says Kelly, eager to get back to the topic at hand, “it’s a China-themed party so you have to dress up.”

      Wiki and I exchange surreptitious glances. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s too good to resist. I look up at Kelly. “Can I come as a chopstick?”

      Her expression is priceless; one side of her face is trying to smile politely while the other side is determined to reveal her disdain. “Um, no. You’re supposed to wear…you know…red and black, martial artsy stuff, Mandarin collars and stuff with dragons. Obviously.”

      I can’t read Kelly’s mind – supposedly because my dislike of her has created a psychic barrier – but I don’t need telepathy to know that she thinks I’m insane and probably dangerous. I nod, revelling in her discomfort. Serves her right for throwing a culturally insensitive party. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lebz glaring at me.

      “Thanks,” she simpers. “We’ll be there.”

      “Cool.” Kelly sashays away and Amantle waves goodbye and follows.

      “That was strange,” remarks Wiki. “Connie, are you actually going?”

      “Why not?” I turn the invitation over in my hands, amazed that anyone has the time to get things like this professionally printed.

      “It’s Kelly’s party,” he reminds me. “You can’t stand her.”

      I give him a serene smile. “I’m learning to be more tolerant. Besides, it’s the perfect opportunity for me to meet this Spencer character and his Cresta Crew. I’ll blend into the crowd, talk to a few people, pick up some clues.”

      Lebz snorts loudly. “You? Blend into the crowd at a party? You’ll need an extreme makeover for that.” Her eyes light up.

      “Forget it,” I tell her firmly. “The last time you dressed me up for a party I almost ended up as the latest name in Thuli’s little black book, remember?”

      She falls silent and shrinks into the bench. Yep, she remembers. Who could forget? I try not to think about the agonizing moments I spent in Thuli’s room, but every time I see him I feel a painful stab of panic. He’s doing Form Six at Syringa, and there are only a few more months before he leaves to terrorise some unsuspecting university.

      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 СКАЧАТЬ