‘When I was seventeen,’ she begins, ‘Sandra and I went out dancing one night. Don’t look so surprised, dear, I was young once too.’ She smiles at me and I grin sheepishly. ‘Jake wasn’t with us, he had a party with some friends and we all thought the hype about my safety was just talk. My parents had warned us about the danger but none of us had ever encountered a Were or a vampire, so, like you, we were skeptical and it made us careless.
‘I can’t say it was worth disobeying my parents that night. Sandra and I spent half the night trying to rid ourselves of young men who were attracted to my aura like bees to honey. Eventually, we gave up. As we were walking to the car…’ Nan’s voice quivers and she swallows. ‘We were attacked. I can still remember his pale white hair and dark eyes. I remember his teeth too, the way they gleamed in the streetlight when he came at me. Neither of us had any talents yet; he was strong and fast, and we were defenseless. I should have died that night but my best friend saved me.’
‘Sandra…’ I whisper.
‘Yes, Sandra,’ Nan says. ‘With no powers and the strength of a mere human, she fought back against the vampire.’
‘How did you escape?’
‘Luckily Sandra had heard some of the old folktales about vampires from her parents. She knew enough to turn a nearby fire-hydrant on him.’
‘So water kills vampires?’
‘No dear, only fire can kill vampires but they are afraid of water, it burns them, like acid. It sufficed as a distraction to enable our escape.’
Nan stands, turns her back to me and lifts her silver hair off the back of her neck. There, just below the hairline, is a jagged silver scar.
‘A little reminder of our narrow escape,’ she explains. ‘Of course, this is nothing in comparison to Sandra’s scars. She almost died that night, but she saved me. Jake never forgave himself for not being there.’ Nan squeezes my hand in hers and implores: ‘The threat is very real, Shaylee. I need you to understand that. Kael is your only real protection and you need to trust him.’
‘What can he possibly do?’ I ask. ‘He’s just a boy.’
‘He’s much more than that,’ Nan disagrees. ‘He’s your only hope when they come, and they will come, Shaylee.’
She drops my hand and walks back to the window, her back toward me. Her shoulders are rigid as she stares at the forest beyond.
‘Sooner or later, they will come and we had better be prepared.’
Chapter 14
Nervous
Tastes like: Fizz-pop sherbet.
Smells like: Ink from the back of a chewed pen.
Sounds like: The rapid tap-tap of fingernails on a desk.
Feels like: Butterflies and somersaults in the pit of your stomach.
Looks like: Ravaged nail-beds.
If I had any hopes of getting some separation from my seastnan, they are quickly dashed with Nan’s announcement regarding my travel arrangements to college. I am sure the dismay must be evident in my expression when she explains that Kael will be my daily chauffeur to and from Gloucestershire College, The Royal Forest of Dean Campus. The idea of spending any amount of time with him in the confined space of his vehicle fills me with dread.
It’s not because I don’t like him – quite the opposite, but he confuses me; one minute, protective and caring, the next, all monosyllabic responses and rules. Then there is the inexplicable current flowing between us that neither of us is brave enough to broach.
Kael arrives in Nan’s driveway, in a mud-encrusted double-cab truck, which was probably white at some stage of its lengthy lifespan. Aside from a brief greeting, the entire journey is made in stilted silence. I’m too nervous about the day ahead to speak and Kael stares furiously at the road ahead. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve his anger, but it rolls off him, into the space between us and I try to ignore it.
Mom and Dad have gotten me into a bridging course that will put me in line for an English literature course by next autumn. It’s not the degree in English literature I had envisioned enrolling for next year at Rhodes University but it is a step in the right direction. At least it’s not law or accounting.
I’m not quite sure what to expect of the course material, since the grading system in England differs somewhat from South Africa’s education system but it’s not the course itself that worries me. Studying is easy, a matter of hard work – making friends is another story.
I sigh and twist my pony-tail into a tight spiral that mirrors the feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not even Kael will be a familiar face in my class since he is a year ahead of me and according to Nan, enrolled in a construction course. Ironic, the one place I would have welcomed his presence, he won’t be.
The college building is a large brown structure with white gutters and window frames, and a multiple story layout reminiscent of my school back home. Kael escorts me into the building and stops at the door of the admin office.
‘I’ll be there if you need me,’ he says.
I eye the surrounding corridors and classrooms with skepticism.
‘But how -’
‘I’ll know,’ he says and opens the glass doors to the office for me.
I stand for a while, staring at him, and then shove my way past. Why does he have to be so cryptic? The construction faculty is probably on the opposite side of campus, for all I know. How is he going to know if I’m in trouble from that distance? Even if he does know, how will he get to me through the maze of corridors, staircases and students, before it’s too late? Too late…
‘Can I help you?’
A curly-haired administrator interrupts my unpleasant thoughts as she peers over her glasses at me from the other side of the counter. I step forward and slide the faxed admission form from my father toward her.
‘Yes, I’m Shaylee -’
‘Oh yes, the South African girl.’
The way she says ‘South African’ makes me want to slap her. She eyes me up and down, like she can’t believe I’m wearing Levis instead of a grass skirt, then she hands me a wad of documents to complete. I bite my tongue and obediently take care of the necessary paperwork. When I’m done, she hands me a schedule, briefly explains how to get to my first class and dismisses me to find my way through the maze of corridors that are quickly becoming deserted.
As luck would have it, my first class is already in session when I slip through the doors, and the only vacant seat is front and centre, right under the bespectacled nose of a gray-blonde teacher in a pin-striped pencil skirt.
‘So glad you could join us, Ms Greene,’ she says. ‘Take a seat.’
My cheeks burn as I make my way toward the lonely chair. It’s bad enough that she knows my name, but now everyone is staring.
‘I’m Mrs. Whitcomb,’ the teacher says, high heels clicking ominously against the tiled floor as she makes her way toward me. Her voice has a nasal quality that makes her sound bored. She stops in front of me, slaps a large textbook onto the wooden table with a thunk, and stares down at me over the glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose.
‘You’ve missed a large portion of the curriculum already, Ms Greene. You’ll have to see me later about catching up. I hope you won’t be too lost.’ She gives me a doubtful look. ‘We were just about to begin our discussion on the use of symbolism in Macbeth. I don’t suppose the African curriculum includes the study of Shakespearean literature?’
‘Actually,’ I say, bristling at her tone, ‘the South African curriculum includes a number of Shakespearean literature studies, Mrs. Whitcomb. Macbeth was our grade eleven prescribed literature study, along with Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet in grade twelve.’
Mrs. Whitcomb takes her glasses off and looks at me.
‘Indeed,’ she says, ‘perhaps you could share some of your views with the rest of the class?’
I groan inwardly at my folly, as everyone in the room waits expectantly. Thank goodness Macbeth was one of my favorite studies; I can still remember a lot of what Mr. Oosthuizen taught me. I si
gh, twist my pony-tail over my shoulder, and launch into a detailed analysis of Lady Macbeth’s hand washing.
‘Wow babe, now that was something.’
I look up from my class schedule to find a pixie-like girl with brown spiky hair, standing in front of me in the corridor. She has on black tights and a purple over-sized sweater that reaches her knees and the hand she offers me is painted with bright purple nail-enamel.
‘I’m Michelle,’ she says, ‘You really gave it to Mrs. W.’
‘Oh…’ I say, with a crooked smile. I’ve spent most of the past hour debating the use of symbols and metaphors in Macbeth with Mrs. Whitcomb. It was a grueling experience, but on the plus side, I’m feeling quite positive about the potential of this bridging course.
‘So she’s not like that all the time then?’ I ask, taking Michelle’s offered hand for a brief, firm greeting.
‘No,’ she replies with an amused expression, ‘she doesn’t usually grill the students like that. You seem to have sparked her interest. What’s your next class?’
‘Dramatic arts.’
‘That’s my next stop too. Come on, I’ll show you.’
I nod gratefully and fall into step beside her.
‘I’m Shaylee by the way,’ I say.
‘Yes, I know,’ she replies.
‘Did they like, send a notice around about me or something? How come everyone knows my name?’
She laughs.
‘Kind of. My mom was at the Circle meeting.’
I stop walking and stare at Michelle’s eyes – her light green eyes.
Chapter 15
Homesick
Tastes like: Fast food instead of a home-cooked meal.
Smells like: Starched hotel linen.
Sounds like: An empty house.
Feels like: Velcro instead of velvet.
Looks like: The distance to the horizon.
‘Don’t look so shocked,’ Michelle laughs. She tugs on my hand until I begin moving again. ‘Where did you think the rest of us went to school?’
I look around at the milling students, searching for the trade-mark shortness and green eyes. There are a few, and I guess that explains why they’re gawking at me as they pass. I should have realized there would be Maor at the college, but it feels strange to be talking to one in the middle of a bustling college corridor. I’m still trying to get used to the idea that they – we - exist at all.
‘So you’re…’
‘Yes.’ She winks and steps into an auditorium on our left. I follow her inside and to the back of the class where a tall, stick-thin girl, dressed in black from the top of her tar-black head to the tips of her calf-length boots, is waving frantically.
‘But she’s not,’ Michelle warns under her breath and turns to smile at the Goth-girl who looks freakishly tall beside Michelle and I.
‘Hi, babes!’ Michelle says stepping in to hug the other girl. She gestures toward me. ‘This is Shaylee Greene, the new student from South Africa. Shay - you don’t mind if I call you Shay, right - this is Kelly.’
‘I heard about you,’ Kelly says, tapping the plastic chair beside her, ‘you’re Tanya Greene’s grand-daughter right?’
‘How did you know?’ I ask in surprise.
Both girls look at each other and laugh.
‘It’s a little hard to keep anything secret in a town the size of Aylburton,’ Kelly says. Michelle just laughs louder. I imagine she is thinking of the irony in Kelly’s statement.
Their laughter subsides and we take our seats in the last row. Down in front, on the raised stage-like platform, the dramatic arts teacher, in an eccentric bright orange shirt with white stripes, is typing something on his laptop while the students take their seats.
‘I love your top, Shaylee,’ Kelly says, peering around Michelle and gesturing at the midriff pink crochet cutout that I’ve layered over a black fitted shirt.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘It’s so unusual – really cute. Where’d you get it?’
‘Yeah, I guess not everyone is into crochet clothing, but I kind of have a thing for it. I got this one at Panorama flea market back in South Africa.’
‘What’s it like then - South Africa?’ Kelly asks.
‘Sunny,’ I reply wistfully.
‘Isn’t it awful though, with racial separation and everything?’
‘It’s not like that at all,’ I say, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over me. ‘Apartheid was abolished decades ago. I don’t know what it was like except for what I was taught in school.’ I sigh at the surprised expression on Kelly’s face. She opens her mouth to say something, but the teacher starts clapping his hands sharply and we all turn our attention to the lesson.
Michelle and Kelly spend the rest of the day by my side, asking questions about South Africa and showing me around the campus facilities, which include a magnificent two-tier library and world-class restaurant serviced by the hotel students. At lunch, Kelly’s boyfriend, Jarred, joins us in the canteen. He is as tall and dark as Kelly, and sports some rather painful looking nose and lip piercings. I’m thankful they have included me so easily in their circle but by the end of the day, I’m feeling rather homesick. While there are many universal similarities between students, the subtle cultural differences to home are glaring to me.
‘You should ride with us to college,’ Kelly says at the end of the day, as we’re walking to the parking lot.
‘Thanks,’ I say, wishing I could take them up on the offer. It’s got to be better than riding in awkward silence beside my seastnan, but I don’t have a choice. ‘But I already have a ride.’
‘Pity,’ Kelly says. ‘Hey, how good are you at organizing?’ She stops at the edge of the parking lot and looks at me.
‘Oh, that’s a great idea, Kels!’ Michelle says and turns to me to explain. ‘You should join GC Green and GC volunteer.’
‘What’s that?’
‘They’re two of the Gloucestershire college enrichment clubs. GC Green is the environmental club and GC volunteer is the community project club. We’ve got some fundraising events planned and we’re a little short on hands. You interested?’
A snap-shot of my bedroom at home, paper strewn across my desk and shoes littering the floor comes to mind. I push the thought aside.
‘Um, organizing isn’t really my strong point, but I’m game.’
‘Groovy!’ Michelle hands me a card with a number and address on it. ‘We’re having a meeting next Monday at my house, seven pm.’
I say goodbye and head across the parking lot to Kael’s truck.
‘I see you made some friends,’ he says, opening the passenger door for me and nodding toward Kelly and Michelle, who are getting into an old blue Alfa on the other side of the lot.
‘Yes and they both stay in Aylburton.’
‘I know.’
I shoot him an irritated look and he shrugs.
‘Hey, it’s a small place.’
‘Too small for my liking,’ I grumble.
Kael shuts the door behind me, gets into the driver’s seat and backs out of the parking. He seems to be in a better mood and that just makes me more irritated.
‘Did you live in a big town in Africa?’ he asks.
Oh, so now I’m good enough for conversation?
‘It’s South Africa,’ I say, twisting my long hair over one shoulder and giving him a look, ‘and Johannesburg is not a town, it is a metropolitan city.’
‘Excuse me,’ Kael raises an eyebrow, ‘I thought it was a mining town?’
‘Yeah – only about a century ago.’
‘So there aren’t any more mines then?’
‘No, there are. Mining is still a huge part of our economy but the mines in the centre of Joburg are more or less depleted now. All that’s left are the mine dumps.’
‘So how big is the city of Johannesburg then?’ Kael asks.
I purse my lips at his emphasis of ‘city’.
‘Not really sure, a couple million people I guess.’
‘Really?’ he sounds surprised. ’Where do they all live?’
I give him an exasperated look and reply in a voice heavy with sarcasm.
‘No, we don’t all live in huts and there are no lions and zebras roaming the streets.’
‘I never said -’
‘Don’t they show anything on the news about Joburg here?’
‘Sometimes, it just seems to me there’s a lot of killing and rioting -’
‘Well that’s not all there is to South Africa,’ I snap. ‘Why don’t they ever show the sunshine, the huge shopping malls, the amazing people and cultures or the beautiful landscapes?’ I throw my hands up. ‘We’re not as backward as you think.’
‘Alright,’ Kael says, in a placatory tone. ‘No need to get all worked up.’
‘It’s my home, how do you expect me to react?’
He glances at me and for a moment, there is something tender and understanding in his eyes, but then he turns back to the road ahead and shifts the gears down in a decisive movement.
‘Well you have a new home now,’ he says in a hard voice.
I open my mouth to retort and then shut it again. Dad always says: ‘home is where the heart is’.
I turn to stare out of the window and whisper:
‘This will never be my home.’
Chapter 16
Clueless
Tastes like: Dry corn flakes.
Smells like: Sweet and sour sauce.
Sounds like: A cross between a cry and a laugh.
Feels like: Dry ice.
Looks like: The back of a blindfold.
I’m into my third day of school, and slowly settling into my new routine. School has been much easier than I expected, thanks to Michelle and Kelly, who appear to have adopted me into their circle. Michelle reminds me, in a lot of respects, of Jenne, except that there are no filters on Michelle’s mouth; she thinks, she speaks. I like that about her. I know where I stand.
Unlike with Kael.
I’m beginning to wonder if there is anything more advanced in his vocabulary than one word sentences; and his mood swings; every morning, when I get into the car, it’s something different. The only constant in our relationship, if you can call it that, is this physical connection between us, which I’m no closer to understanding.
Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series) Page 9
