Entwined

by Cheryl S. Ntumy

  Halfway through the movie I get a sudden urge to turn my head. I know better than to ignore it, so I swivel round and see someone get up two rows behind me and walk out of the cinema. It’s Lizard, I know it. I lean over to tell Lebz I’m going to the toilet, then follow him. This is becoming a bad habit.

  He’s sitting on one of the chairs in the waiting area. The minute he sees me his lips curl into a smug smile. Cocky little snake. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snap, dropping gracelessly onto the seat beside him.

  “I move, you follow.” His eyes twinkle. “Like a dance.”

  “Stop being impossible.” I glare at him. “We need to talk, and we both know that’s why you’re here.”

  “I thought I was here to watch a movie.”

  “Then why are you sitting out here? You wanted me to follow you, and there’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

  He chuckles and says nothing.

  I look him straight in the eye. I’m in no mood for games. “You can block me, just like my grandfather.”

  To my surprise, he smiles. “You noticed. It took you long enough.”

  “What?” Honestly, this guy is going to drive me crazy! “Why didn’t you just tell me? You are different!”

  His eyes narrow as he looks at me. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters!” I’m exasperated by his nonchalant attitude. How can he not care about something like this? Hasn’t he felt the way I’ve felt all my life? Strange, uncomfortable? Alone? “What can you do?”

  He shakes his head and looks at his hands. They’re big hands, strong and dark, with enough lines zigzagging across them to give a palm reader a headache. I’ve never seen hands like that before. I wonder what they’ve done, what kind of magic flows out of them. Without thinking, I reach out and place my palm over his. My hand looks weak and pale in comparison. Just before he pulls away I feel something like an electric shock.

  “Tell me,” I whisper. “Please.”

  He shakes his head, and I finally lose my temper.

  “You are such a bloody hypocrite!” I hiss. I glance over my shoulder and lower my voice. “All that talk about how I should be proud of the things that make me unique! You just came out of nowhere and stuck your nose in my business and found out my secrets, and now you don’t even have the guts to share yours!”

  He recoils as if I’ve hurt him, and then, just to throw me off, he says, “You’re right.”

  I have no idea what to say to that, so I keep my mouth shut and wait for him to continue. There’s nothing more frustrating than trying to fight with someone and having them surrender without even throwing a punch.

  “You’ve been very open with me, and I should return the favour.” He takes a deep breath before going on. “I am different. Not like you, but… not like the others, either. And there are things… that I can do.”

  “Like?”

  He looks around us. “You want a public demonstration? I’ll show you at school tomorrow.”

  I can’t hide my excitement, even though I know I should play it cool. “You swear?”

  He laughs, rolling his eyes. “Take my number, since you clearly don’t trust me.”

  We exchange phone numbers, then I lean back into the chair, satisfied, and peer into his face. “Can you tell me what it is? Your gift?”

  “Be patient!” He looks at me and shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

  “And the other thing?”

  “What other thing?”

  I reach out and touch his hand and he pulls away, just like the last time. “That! That… whatever it is. Did you feel it?”

  He pulls himself up, unfolding like a deck chair, and towers over me. “You should get back to your friends. I have to go, anyway.”

  I leap to my feet. “Just tell me about the spark thing. What is it?”

  There’s a mischievous edge to his smile. “You mean this?” He runs a finger down my bare forearm, and I swear I see sparks jump between my skin and his. It’s strangely pleasant, and I’m surprised by the realisation that I want to feel it again.

  “Yes, that!” I look up at him in wonder. “What is it? Is it something to do with your… you know…?”

  He shrugs, flashes that smug smile of his and starts to walk away. “It’s probably just overactive hormones. Yours, naturally.”

  It takes me a moment to figure out what he’s implying, and by the time I get it he’s already heading for the escalator. Ugh! Could he be more conceited? As if I could ever be remotely attracted to someone like him! Not while Thuli lives and breathes, and not even if he didn’t.

  I walk back to the cinema, rubbing my arm, and take my seat.

  “You took forever!” Lebz hisses.

  “Sorry. Long queue.”

  I sit back and pretend to watch the rest of the movie, but my mind is far away. I can’t wait until tomorrow. I have no idea what to expect. Maybe he can levitate, or change shape, or fly. Don’t get sceptical; anything’s possible. People don’t like things they can’t put into neatly labelled boxes, but every day another barrier is broken. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to underestimate anything – or anyone.

  Chapter Four

  Lebz lets out a strangled cry as we walk through the school gates. Wiki and I turn to her in dismay.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Amantle got a lift with Kelly again,” she snaps, glaring daggers at a car in the parking lot.

  Kelly’s stepping out of the back seat and right behind her is a pretty, younger girl who looks slightly familiar.

  I turn to Lebz. “And this is a problem because?”

  Because Amantle is a two-faced witch, says Lebz’s mind, while her lips remain resolutely pursed.

  Ouch. Such venom seems unwarranted. “She’s just a kid.”

  Lebz turns on me. “Ja – a kid dating the nineteen-year-old son of a minister! She’s mean, slutty and stuck up but Kelly thinks she’s an angel.”

  Wiki and I exchange glances. I take another look at the girl. She doesn’t look like a vixen. I’m more concerned about the influence Kelly will have on her. I’m about to leap to her defence when something in Lebz’s train of thought catches me off guard. “Hold on – is she one of the girls from Ma-fourteen?” No wonder she looks so familiar! She’s that Amantle, leader of the tween pack. “She goes to Syringa?” I ask in wonder.

  “She’s in Form One,” says Wiki. “She’s only been here a few months.”

  “And she looks different with clothes on,” sneers Lebz.

  I hate to say it, but she has a point. Amantle looks like another person in her demure school shirt and knee-length skirt. She looks her age for one thing, and her expression, though guarded, is definitely more animated than the last time I saw her. I watch her say goodbye to Kelly and then meet up with another girl, whom I recognise as another member of the Ma-fourteen club.

  “The rest of them are still at Hillside with my sister,” Lebz explains.

  My ears prick up. “Really?”

  Lebz heaves an impatient sigh. “I’ve told you that, but you never listen!”

  Well, I’m listening now. It’s been a while since I talked to Lebz’s little sister. Maybe I should take her out for ice cream and pump her for information. “Is Kenaleone friends with them?”

  “Of course not. You join by invitation only.”

  I laugh, but the look on her face tells me she’s not joking. “Come on. It’s primary school!”

  “Eish, Connie, where do you live?” she demands irritably. “Everybody knows about these girls. There are five of them, and Amantle runs the clique. It’s a whole process – interviews and all.”

  Wiki catches my eye. We both snicker, then take note of Lebz’s glare and pull ourselves together.

  “You have to have the right background, hobbies, everything. If Amantle likes you, she gives you a necklace and you’re in.”

  Oh, dear. “
A necklace?”

  “Some fancy silver thing with a big rock on it,” says Lebz. “Apparently Amantle had them custom-made.”

  Signs, as my grandfather put it. A necklace can serve as an amulet, especially if it has some sort of charm or locket on it. Could Amantle’s VIP bling be sign number one?

  07:30

  “The number you have dialled is not available. Please try again later.”

  Hey Rakwena, we meeting at break or lunch?

  Sender: Conyza

  Sent: 08:15:24

  OK. Lunch.

  Sender: Conyza

  Sent: 10:35:50

  13:55

  “The number you have dialled is not available. Please try again later.”

  When I get home, Auntie Lydia has set out the ingredients for spaghetti and mincemeat.

  “Yummy,” I declare, dropping my bag on the dining table.

  “You’re cooking,” she tells me. “Will you manage?” She always does this, as if I haven’t been cooking for years, and then she ends up doing half the work, anyway.

  “Sure.” I smile on my way to my room. When I return in my home clothes, vegetables are chopped and water is coming to the boil in a large pot.

  “I got hungry,” she says, grinning over her shoulder. “But you can handle the meat. Not too much salt, and remember –”

  “Just a dash of pepper.” I wash my hands and take my place at the counter. I like cooking with Auntie Lydia. I suppose it’s similar to what cooking with my mother would have been like, although I doubt my mother would have been quite so strict about sticking to the recipe.

  Back in the day Auntie Lydia would sit and eat with me, and ask about school. But now she has her own kids to look after, so she’s out of the house by five-thirty, clutching a Tupperware dish and rushing away in flurry of skirts.

  After supper I make an unsuccessful attempt to study Maths, then resort to my tried and tested distraction – movies.

  I select the first instalment of The Lord of the Rings – that should keep my mind off Lizard for a while. But the hobbits haven’t even left the Shire before I’m reaching for my phone again. I take a deep breath. Control yourself, Connie! Maybe he’s busy. Or out of town. Or sick. I’m not sure about that last one. People like us don’t get sick often. The only ailment I ever suffer from is indigestion.

  I stare into Frodo’s innocent eyes. Poor kid has no clue what he’s getting into. He inherits a ring and suddenly his world turns upside down. Yep, all it takes is a ring, or a headache, or a guy with a lizard tattoo…

  I wish Lizard were a normal guy, then I wouldn’t care what he did. I wish I were a normal girl. I wish I could ignore the supernatural, shrug it off, pretend it doesn’t matter. What Lizard doesn’t understand is that the gifted have to stick together. It’s the only way we can protect the people we care about. It’s the only way we can protect ourselves.

  Later that night I’m woken by the sound of Dad’s voice. I sit up and peer at the clock on my bedside table. It’s almost eleven-thirty. At first I think I might have been dreaming, then I hear his voice again and I get out of bed.

  He can’t possibly have visitors. My dad isn’t a social butterfly, but he has a steady group of friends, all teachers and scientists. They meet up in town or at Wendell’s house – Wendell’s the only childless one in the group, so his bachelor pad is the perfect place to watch serious science shows like Dad’s favourite, Earth Unravelled.

  I tiptoe to my door, open it and stick my head into the corridor. I can’t quite hear what he’s saying, but I can tell he’s having a heated argument. Not Wendell, then. My curiosity gets the better of me. I slip out of my room and walk barefoot along the corridor until I’m standing outside his bedroom door.

  “I’m just asking you not to encourage it,” he’s saying. “She’s at a very impressionable age, and I don’t want her getting involved in your… activities!”

  My heart plummets. He’s talking to Ntatemogolo.

  “She has enough on her plate with school! She needs to focus, Lerumo – don’t you want her to be able to make the most of her education? She doesn’t need to waste her time dabbling in this sort of – of course not, you know that!”

  There’s a long pause, and when Dad speaks again there’s a catch in his voice. “You can’t claim to know what Rebecca would have wanted.”

  I find myself holding my breath. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard Dad say my mother’s name, especially to Ntatemogolo. Although she’s the person who forced them together in the first place, she’s the one subject they never touch.

  “I am her father,” Dad growls. “I will decide what is best for my daughter. You must respect that! Soon Connie will be old enough to make her own choices, and I don’t want you confusing her!” He makes an exasperated noise and then snaps, “If you refuse to listen to reason then I’m wasting my time. Goodnight!”

  I sneak away, but instead of going back to bed I head for the living room. I walk over to the bookshelf and take down one of our photo albums. The first picture is of me, a chubby, beaming toddler. I skip ahead to my favourite photo of my mother. She’s barefoot on a well-kept lawn, wearing a pretty summer dress and laughing at my dad, who took the picture. I raise my gaze to the only photo of her that’s on display in the house – my parents’ wedding picture. It’s on top of the bookshelf, next to a horrible school photo of me taken not long after her death.

  My mother was beautiful. I don’t know where all those genes went, because I don’t look anything like her. She had smooth dark skin and short hair, and lovely hands. I remember her hands more clearly than anything else. Her nails were short but always painted in different colours according to her mood. Dad uses the most wonderful word to describe her – luminescent. I’ve often wondered how a skinny, awkward lekgoa managed to get such a goddess to notice him. Dad has many great qualities, but you have to get him talking before you’ll see them.

  I don’t realise he’s entered the room until I hear the chair creak. I turn around and there he is, sitting at the dining table and looking at me.

  “Did I wake you? Sorry.”

  “It’s OK.” I close the album and put it back. “So you two aren’t the best of friends yet?”

  He winces. “I’m sorry darling, but if you’re waiting for your grandfather and me to get along you’ll be waiting a long time.”

  I shrug. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “Connie.” He looks at the chair opposite him, then at me. “A minute, please.”

  My body tenses. The last thing I need is another lecture on Ntatemogolo’s “esoteric rubbish”. It’s difficult to sit and listen to Dad go on and on and not be able to contradict him. How do I tell him that the world he thinks is so orderly and practical is all in his head?

  “Dad, it’s late,” I remind him. “I have school in the morning.”

  “It won’t take long.” He fixes his stern I’m-the-head-of-the-house gaze on me.

  With a sigh of resignation, I plonk myself onto the chair. “OK. What’s wrong?”

  “Connie…” He frowns, then sighs and starts again. “Connie. We both know you’re… I mean you’re very… you’re a smart girl. I’m not talking about school. What I mean is, you’re more… insightful than most people.” He’s squirming in his seat, his thoughts running back and forth as he tries to find the right words. If he knew that I knew what he was thinking, what would he do?

  “Dad –”

  “Let me finish.” He clears his throat. “You’re sensitive. Intuitive! Yes, intuitive. Your mother was, too. She had a way of sensing what people were feeling, you know? Empathy. Yes, that’s the word. With you it’s a bit… somewhat… stronger.” My father, king of the understatement. “It’s a useful trait, wonderful really, but… um…” He hesitates, then flashes an uncertain smile. “But I wouldn’t want you to misunderstand it.”

  “Dad, we’ve talked about this,” I point out.

  “Yes, but you’re older now. I just don’t want y
ou making the wrong decisions, or getting involved in things that are… unhealthy.”

  I put on a puzzled expression. “What sorts of things?”

  “Ah well, you know… there are many things that can lead a young girl astray.” He coughs and lowers his gaze to the table.

  “You don’t have to worry. I don’t like parties or drinking, my friends are good kids and I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  He nods. “I know. But we all have our weaknesses, and yours isn’t alcohol or boys. It’s… the other thing. You know what I mean. All that… mumbo jumbo your grandfather’s always raving about. You’re so drawn to it, and it’s not good for you!”

  I take a deep breath and try to come up with a way to derail this conversation. “It’s harmless, Dad. Really. You don’t have to worry about it.”

  “But I do. When he has you going over there first thing in the morning, or late in the day when you should be home doing your schoolwork, then I have to worry, Connie.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “So I shouldn’t spend time with him?”

  “I didn’t say that.” But that’s what he’s thinking. He cracks his knuckles and frowns, wishing my grandfather had never come back to Botswana, then hating himself for wishing it. “He’s your grandfather; of course you should spend time with him. I want you to have a good relationship with him, for your mother’s sake and your own. But the man is relentless! Every chance he gets he’s planting all this crazy stuff in your head. He’s convinced that you’re some kind of… of… medium, or God knows what, and he refuses to see sense! A man with his reputation and education – I just don’t get it.”

  Poor Dad. As exasperating as he is, I can understand where he’s coming from. “Dad, don’t get angry. He’s just doing what he thinks is best.”

  “But he’s wrong!” he splutters.

  “Well, he thinks you’re wrong, too.” I put my elbows on the table and lean forward. “I don’t want to be caught in the middle. I get it – you two don’t agree on anything. But you’re both family, and you both love me. That’s enough.”

  “It’s not that simple.”