Telesa - The Covenant Keeper

by Lani Wendt Young

  “Hey wait up. Leila is it? Wait!”

  It was the last person I wanted to talk to right now – the Chunk Hunk. I pretended I couldn’t hear him and redoubled my efforts to break free of the crowd. But he didn’t let up. I felt a hand grab hold of my backpack.

  “Leila, hang on a minute, please.”

  With a sigh, I turned, making sure to compose my features into the blandest expression possible.

  “Yes?” my voice was clipped but my emotions were a swirling mass at the sight of him. I was angry. I hated him. But did he have to be so superb to look at?

  He stood behind me, with Maleko at his side. Both smiling. Maleko spoke first, as usual.

  “Great debate, ay Leila? I bet you don’t get such smooth talkers back where you come from ay?” A puzzled frown had him furrow his brow. “Hey, where DO you come from anyway?”

  I didn’t want the Chunk Hunk to know anything about me, but it was impossible to be rude to Maleko – his eager smile and barely restrained enthusiasm for everything almost puppy like. I directed my reply to him.

  “The States. Washington D.C.. Well Maryland really.” I self-corrected. And for some unknown reason, I continued, unwilling for them to assume, like Simone had, that I was some teenage delinquent sent here for straightening out. “I’m here for the summer holidays to visit my aunt and uncle.”

  The Chunk Hunk smiled warmly at me, an easy smile that flecked his green eyes with gold highlights in the sun. “Great, well welcome to SamCo. I just wanted to say, nice debating. And I hope you didn’t take any of it personally. Are we ok?”

  His mention of the debate had a wall of coldness crashing down, slicing off any desire I may have had for a conversation with them. “No. We aren’t. You know SOME of us are products of exactly that exploitative union you referred to. We aren’t all pure Samoans steeped in cultural richness and we happen to be proud of that mixed heritage. I don’t care if this was just a FUN debate, you shouldn’t go around saying stuff like that which can be so derogatory and offensive. Especially for those of us who have mixed parents.” My voice rose several octaves as I neared the end of my spiel and several students around us turned to listen. I didn’t realize I was trembling until I finished and I felt a huge weariness wash over me. What was I doing? Why was I wasting my time and effort arguing with this idiot? What did his opinion matter anyway? “Oh just forget it, you don’t have a clue what I’m talking about anyway. You’re just another pure Samoan steeped in high and mighty cultural richness!”

  The Chunk Hunk looked confused and Maleko let out a surprised whoop as I turned away from them and pushed my way through the crowd and out the classroom door. I could hear people laughing as I half ran down the corridor, errant tears threatening to spill. I didn’t stop my rush until I was in the safety of the girls’ bathroom, where I threw cold water on my face. I felt like a fool, a marked woman, and all I wanted to do was go home.

  Back in the hall and under control of my emotions, I gripped my bag , resolving not to let anyone else get under my skin. You’ve handled worse, Leila I reminded myself. You can do this. So intent on my own private mental pep talk I almost bumped into the graceful Simone preening in the hall. He was alone. Waiting for someone. For me?

  “Leila, there you are.”

  I was in no mood to be gracious.“What?”

  “What was that all about back there?”

  “What was what?” deliberately obtuse.

  Simone pursed his lips and shook his head at me, one manicured hand on his hip.

  “Back there. That debate. Your attack on Daniel.”

  I was so used to calling him the Chunk Hunk that I only looked confused.

  “Huh? Who?”

  “You know – Daniel – the Head Boy? Tall, GQ model beautiful?”

  I grimaced and shrugged my shoulders, unwilling to concede I made the connection. Simone continued.

  “You got kind of upset back there, don’t you think you were taking things a bit too personal? Don’t you have debates back home?” He looked impatient with my seeming ignorance. “I don’t know why you got so psycho at Daniel for.”

  I stared out the window. Boys were on the field chasing a rugby ball. Girls stood laughing under a palm tree. It was all so alien to me. I was very much the foreigner here. And I felt it. A wave of homesickness swept through me. I shrugged at Simone, wishing he would just leave me alone.

  “I guess so. I just didn’t like what he said about Westerners coming here to exploit people you know? I mean, I get so much crap from people back home about being mixed that hearing it here was just – I don’t know – I couldn’t handle it.”

  Simone considered me thoughtfully before answering. “Well, maybe you should know something. The reason why we were all laughing when Daniel was going on about that was because he was talking about himself there. He’s mixed like you. Like a lot of us. It’s no big deal here. We make fun of ourselves all the time. Daniel’s dad was palagi, white. And his mom wasn’t even full Samoan, she was mixed Tongan, so I guess that makes him even less of a pure cultural product than you.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The cold dread of realization washed over me as Simone continued.

  “Maybe it’s different back where you come from, but here we’re all afakasi, mixed and it’s no big deal. Daniel gets teased about it all the time, especially since he’s part Tongan and historically Samoans and Tongans hate each other. Today, back there, he was talking about himself, which is why everybody was laughing.”

  “Oh no.” I groaned, putting my head in my hands as it hit me that, once again, I had jumped in to attack mode on the pure assumption that I was being picked on. Humiliated? How many times had my dad warned me about this? How many times could I have avoided a conflict if I would just listen, take a breath and get my facts straight before I rushed to kill people?! I had wanted to reinvent myself, yet not even a week in this new school and already I had committed the same fatal error that was a classic Leila move. Glumly, I sighed.

  “Thanks Simone for clearing that up. I appreciate it. I thought something else entirely was going on in the classroom back there and I kinda jumped too quickly. Everyone must think I’m a total freak now. Ugh! What an idiot.” With slumped shoulders I sat on a hall bench. Suddenly it occurred to me.

  “Hey what do you care anyway? Why are you explaining this to me? What’s it to you?” My tone was suspicious and my eyes narrowed. What was this boy-girl’s agenda anyway?

  Simone raised a perfect eyebrow at my burgeoning hostility.

  “It’s not about you, trust me. I just don’t like to see anyone go off at Daniel like that. He doesn’t deserve it. So consider this a heads up or a warning, whatever way you want to take it. Next time you want to get aggressive, take it out on some other boy. Goodness knows there’s tons of others who are stupid enough to deserve it.” A sigh as Simone paused and continued, this time without any of his usual exaggerated mannerisms. “Leila, I’ve known Daniel since primary school and he’s different from a lot of the others. I know. I used to get picked on, you know, for being so ‘unique’,” a smile, “and Daniel looked out for me. Thanks to him, I made it through primary school in one piece. So, go easy on him okay.”

  With that quizzical remark, Simone turned and flounced away. My audience with royalty was clearly at its end. I shrugged, clutching my backpack close as I made my way down to the open courtyard for what was left of lunch period, hoping I hadn’t just lost the only friend I had made so far in this place. I thought about what Simone had revealed about the Chunk Hunk – Daniel – I amended in my mind. Somehow, after being mean to him when he hadn’t deserved it, made it wrong to keep calling him a brainless lout. Oh well, I conceded, it didn’t really matter what I called him because, after today, I was sure that I wouldn’t have to worry about ever speaking to him again. For a reason that I couldn’t name, that thought made me, regretful?

  The rest of the day was uneventful. There was some whispering and laughter wh
en I walked into history class, but I steeled myself against it with the reminder that people had far more exciting things to talk about than me and it was highly doubtful that I would be the source of their animated conversations. Last period was Library, which meant lots of time to sit and think, or – in Maleko’s case – lots of time to throw paper at the girls in the front row and fluster the fresh-faced young librarian with his generous smiles. If nothing else, having boys like Maleko in the class meant an hour of library was never boring.

  When the final bell rang, I was in a rush to get to the front bus stop, unwilling to run into any more people who wanted to remind me about the morning’s fracas. Standing at the main gate, a cluster of girls called out goodbye as I got on the first bus to arrive. Surprised, I surveyed them with a hint of suspicion but there was nothing but friendliness in their faces as they waved.

  “See you tomorrow, Leila.”

  Sitting on the bus, I could see the rugby team at practice. The now familiar shape of my debate nemesis clearly obvious as the bus pulled away from the school. Slumped back in my seat, I had mixed feelings about my emotion-saturated day. So I had embarrassed myself by attacking the school’s beloved demi-god Head Boy. An attack that had been somewhat unwarranted. But nobody seemed to be holding it against me. After all, Simone had said – most of the students were ‘just like me’, mixed-up teenagers. More than anything else, that gave me a shot of positivity. Maybe there would be a place for me at this school. Maybe, this place wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  

  The next day I was resolved to be nice. Positive. Open minded. Heck, I was even willing to try smiling. Or not. Maybe that was pushing it a bit! The morning classes passed uneventfully. An ever-jolly and somewhat annoying girl called Sinalei shadowed me from class to class, filling my personal space with her chatter. Apparently she had decided that we should be friends. In another world, I would have sent her packing with a snarl, but I had promised. To be good. Nice. So, quite unlike me, I kept a smile that became more and more plastic as the day went on and the temperature began to soar. By lunch, I was ready to send myself to solitary confinement – just to escape her, but it was the heat more than anything that contributed to my building discomfort.

  It had been getting hotter each day but today was unbearably humid. Uncle Tuala had warned it meant there would be a storm later on, but that offered me little comfort NOW as I sucked in the wet, steaming air, trying to find a pocket of coolness. I groaned when I checked the schedule and saw my first Physical Education class would be after lunch. How could anyone stand to exercise in this weather?

  Dragging my feet, I changed into the requisite uniform with the rest of the girls, and then slouched along behind them down to the far field, clutching my water bottle. I had already finished two liters of water but it didn’t seem to be doing me much good. Just walking to the field had my yellow shirt sweat soaked and sticking uncomfortably to my back. I was too hot to even stress about the stupid sports uniform, which should have been outlawed by any and all fashion police. A yellow cotton tee and an orange skirt over skimpy shorts. It was the shortest thing I’d ever worn and I still couldn’t reconcile such a revealing outfit with the strict Samoan dress codes. I was painfully aware that my legs were even skinnier in all their non-tanned glory, especially when standing beside the other girls.

  Mr. Otele the PE teacher was an ex-national hurdler. Or so Sinalei whispered. Which meant half the girls were simpering at his instructions. It also meant that he was an enthusiastic teacher who believed in getting involved in the day’s sports. Meaning I couldn’t hide behind a tree and go sit in the shade until the class was over. Nope. This teacher meant business.

  “Right, let’s start with five laps around the field.” A collective groan. “Then bring it together and I’ll put you into teams for a game of touch.”

  Touch? Okay, that sounded vaguely indecent. These people and their contradictory standards had me confused. Shaking my head, I joined the rest of the class as they started their lap around the field. I noticed that Simone was nowhere to be seen. Clearly, PE was not something that he did. Running in the blazing sun was a first for me but I resisted the urge to quit and slow to a stop like the others. The memory of my dad and I running our last 5k funrun kept me pushing as, one by one, the others slowed to a stroll. Into the third lap, and the only people still running were me and a pocket of boys led by Mr. Otele. There was an admiring glance from Maleko as I increased my tempo and easily overtook him on the last curve. He called out after me with a whoop.

  “Hey Leila! You’re not supposed to overtake the Running Man. Hey!”

  I could hear him gasping and puffing behind me as I accelerated at the last fifty meters. I threw him a smile over my shoulder as I sprinted to the finish of my last lap. Slowing to a walk, I was exultant as the adrenaline coursed through me. It had been months since I had last run. And it felt amazing. Even while wearing a ridiculous orange skirt. Mr. Otele called us all in and several of the boys complimented me as we gathered under the mango tree.

  “Nice run there Leila.”

  “Yeah good to see a girl outrun Maleko the Running Man!”

  The class erupted into good-natured laughter as Maleko took a bow. He took a swipe at a teasing boy standing behind me before turning to flash me his smile.

  “Awww, I was just going easy on you Leila, you know, being nice to the new girl. Don’t want you to get scared off us Samoan boys ay!?”

  Mr. Otele gave out directions for our game of touch rugby but I wasn’t listening. I was exulting in this new sensation. Is this what belonging felt like? Is this how it felt to fit in somewhere? I wasn’t sure. I had never been just one of the crowd. No different from my peers. People teasing each other. Laughing. I had spent so many years looking at life from outside the window that it felt strange to actually be in the room with everyone else. Mr. Otele’s call for the touch game to begin forced me to put my thoughts aside.

  The touch game was fun. It seemed to consist of throwing the ball around and then running like crazy whenever it came to you, trying not to get touched by the opposition. It also involved a lot of screaming from the girls whenever one of the boys pretended to tackle them. And, of course, the requisite showing-off theatrics from Maleko. I was fast realizing that not only was he the class clown, he was also the life of the group, his energy and enthusiasm infectious.

  I was sorry when the bell went. Tired, sweaty and hot, but wishing we could play on. Back in the changing rooms Sinalei’s prattle wasn’t as annoying as it had been and I even fielded questions about Washington D.C. from some of the others. I had dreaded curiosity about my background, but it proved to be easier than I had thought it would be. No, I wasn’t here for good. Yes, I liked it here. No, I didn’t have any brothers and sisters (that seemed to generate some disbelief – solo childness being an oddity I supposed). No, I didn’t miss my school back home and yes it was VERY different from SamCo! I deftly deflected questions about parents and, once I emerged from the girls’ room, it was with no small sense of achievement. I felt like I’d passed through an inquisition and come out okay. And walking to last period with Maleko and a tall quiet girl called Leone was nice. Except for the ongoing trash talk from Maleko about my running skills. He wanted another chance to prove he could outrun me and was determined not to let up until I set a time. My ease came to earth with a splat when I got to my next class. Geography. With Mrs. Jasmine, another Indian teacher. And sitting in the back row was Daniel.

  Suddenly, I was painfully aware of how little attention I had paid to my hair. My face. My rumpled uniform. I felt like an ungainly, sweaty beast. And that annoyed me because it felt like it was HIS fault that my looks were coming up short. There was an automatic scowl on my face as I took my seat at the opposite end of the room, hoping he wouldn’t notice me. But Maleko ruined that possibility with his loud blow-by-blow account to the entire room of our ‘race.’ It had now assumed mythic proportions and involved us sprinting to a ph
oto finish with Olympic glamour – and he, deciding at the last instant to pull back and ‘let me take the hairs-breadth lead.’ Since I was a girl. And new. And he was being an honorable gentleman.

  I groaned, hiding my face behind a textbook and sending up a prayer of relief as Mrs. Jasmine walked in to the room, putting an end to the clamor. The next forty minutes were devoted to the monsoon rains of India, which suited me just fine. Attention, even the positive kind, made me squirm, and I hoped that Maleko would have moved onto his next hare-brained idea by the end of school. It was not to be, because as soon as the bell rang, he was at my desk. With Daniel right behind him.

  “So, Leila when do you want to have our race ay? Daniel here can be the ref. I was thinking that it should be something short distance you know? Like say 100 meters, that way it won’t be too draining for you. I’m sure it must be waaay hot here for you and I wouldn’t want you to get heatstroke or anything. How about we go race now? It’ll be over in a few seconds. For me anyway!” His face was eager but I had to laugh at his proposal. I well knew that my strength and his weakness, was endurance. I was fitter than this bubbly wired boy but there was no way I could take him on in a speed event. I shook my head at him as I stood.