All of a sudden, something beeped.
“Oh, it’s me,” said Angelique. She reached for her purse.
“A text?” asked Gabrielle.
“Nope. I’m subscribed to a local news blog. So I get these updates straight to my phone.”
Tracy stared unblinkingly.
“Um. Why?”
Angelique gave her a weary look.
“For my Law and Current Affairs class. Need to keep up-to-date, duh.”
“I thought we were taking a break from homework today,” Tracy whined. “Now you’re turning into Haruna.”
“Hey!” Haruna cried, pouting slightly. She wasn’t that bad.
"Oh my gosh," Angelique gasped, staring disbelievingly at her phone’s screen. “Did you guys know there was a murder in the East End a few weeks ago? Back in October?”
Haruna froze, feeling terror strike like a cold stream at her back. “What?”
“I heard about it,” said Damon, his tone grim. “They found a dead body in an alley, right? Throat slit? Stabbed multiple times?”
The others gaped. Wide-eyed. Thunderstruck.
Angelique frowned as she swiped at her phone’s screen, skimming through.
"His name was David Singh. He was around our age, apparently. He graduated just this year."
"Wow…" murmured Tracy.
"That's terrifying,” Gabrielle said, face flushed. “That's why I'd never go to the East for anything. All the crazy things happen over there." She then glanced at Damon, her face falling as if she had only just noticed him there. "No offense," she added shyly.
"None taken… I guess?" Damon said, a single eyebrow raised.
Angelique regarded her tersely.
"Elle, this guy wasn't even from the East Side. He lived and graduated from a private school just out here—Glasgow."
Haruna gasped audibly, and the others turned to look at her. "Mani's school?"
"That's insane. Do they know who's behind it?" Damon asked.
Angelique shook her head. "Investigators are asking the public for information. No witnesses will come forward."
Damon nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. "It's probably gang-related then."
Haruna furrowed her brows. "Why would a former Glasgow student be in a gang?" she asked.
Damon looked at her, seeming thoughtful before giving into a slight shrug. "Why would anyone?"
Still eyeing the screen, Angelique gasped. They leaned in to hear more.
"Oh my gosh, you're right, Dame. They mention here at the end that he might've had connections to some South Asian gang: Pit Vipers Crew."
"South Asian gangs are an actual thing in this city?" wondered Haruna aloud.
"There are gangs for everyone, everywhere. It's not like the only thing every brown person in the world does is drive taxis or study," Tracy muttered wryly.
Angelique shook her head, a dubious look in her eyes.
"You're the one who never studies."
Haruna didn’t know how to take any of this. She never watched the news, but she'd heard rumours of criminal activity. Robberies. Drug busts. It always sounded like one or two guys. Bad apples. But gangs were serious business. Could there really be gangs in their city? It was disturbing to think about. She knew the East Side was rumoured to be seedy territory, but for someone to have been brutally murdered there? A teenager? Someone from their nice, quiet part of town? Someone from an elite prep school?
"You're pretty quiet. What're you thinkin' about?"
Haruna glanced over, noticing it was Gabrielle who had directed the question towards Seth. It was strange. He hadn’t spoken in a while.
Seth cupped a hand to his mouth and coughed. He lowered his hand, and assembled a smile, though it looked different from his other smiles. Somehow, less real.
"Oh—nothing. Just… yeah, I hope they get the guy."
"Anywho, speaking of studying,” Tracy said loudly, happily redirecting all attention to herself. “Report cards will be out after mid-terms, and it'll be a good one. So far I've managed a steady B-average on all my tests and my first B+ in math. I think I'm deserving of some credit here."
Exchanging amused glances, they clapped and cheered. Damon gave her a high five, and Seth whooped.
"That's wonderful, Trace," Angelique said.
"All that tutoring paid off," said Gabrielle.
Tracy beamed, her face aglow at the praise.
"I know it’s a little early, but I wanted to let you know since we’re all together. My parents are letting me have a party to celebrate and well, I turn 'Sweet Sixteen' soon. It's going to be just like the TV show. You all have to come."
Damon’s light brown eyes lit up like crescent moons.
"Only if you've got the ponies."
Tracy smirked, "Oh, there will definitely be ponies."
"Oh!" Gabrielle exclaimed, looking similarly enthused. "My ponies? I'm sure my dad will let you borrow them from the ranch."
Haruna had almost forgotten that Tracy was a year younger than them. After a few years at the Academy, she had managed to advance a grade higher because of her strong test scores. This pleased Tracy’s parents, but unfortunately for Tracy, the extra work that went along with it was something she loathed more than cavities.
“A Sweet Sixteen sounds amazing,” Angelique sighed wistfully.
Haruna beamed. A party of any kind sounded great. It had been a while since they'd had any real fun.
“I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth…”
Haruna lowered her eyes from the church altar, and focused on the open book in her hands, her Catholic missal. She traced the words with her fingers as her fellow parishioners chorused the rhythmic chant:
"… the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.”
“Amen,” said Marie, her face solemn, her gaze steadfast.
Haruna turned her head, peering at Mani who stood on her left, along with his own mother and grandmother. Just another Sunday. The routine the same. Haruna didn’t know what it was, but something about this Mass seemed longer than usual. She watched Father Blake, cloaked in white, lift his arms. With his usual red-bearded grin he asked them to sit and one by one, the many heads lowered like a retreating ocean wave. Mani’s leg brush against hers, and she regarded him once more. He met her eyes with a small smirk. Haruna returned it, then redirected her focus to the front, feeling the light slap on her right arm.
Marie. Her plum-coloured lips pursed. Her drawn-on brows pressed together. She clearly didn’t approve of Haruna’s “distraction” in God’s house. Haruna let out a sigh.
Twenty more minutes. Just twenty more.
“Psst. Haruna,” Mani whispered.
“Uh-huh?” Haruna whispered back, not turning her head and not wanting to further stir her grandmother’s wrath.
“Is that your phone?”
Haruna glimpsed at her handbag on her left, only hearing its faint ring once he’d mentioned it. She tried to ignore it, but it only got louder the longer she left it. She felt the weary eyes of the older ladies around them and in particular the scathing glare of her grandmother. Flustered, Haruna crouched to retrieve her cell and cancel the call. She checked her call history. Her breath hitched. It was Ryu. Haruna lifted her head in time to see Mani's scrutinizing stare. This wouldn’t end well.
And it didn’t.
The organ was on full blast, and as the exiting procession—the crucifix bearer, ministers with candles and the Book of Gospels, the altar servers, then lastly, Father Blake—departed, the parishioners sung a classic hymn of praise. Churchgoers pooled outward, with a renewed sense of purpose. Haruna, on the other hand, was unnerved. Marie lingered behind, immersed in some kind of gossip with Mani’s grandmother, Annette. Meanwhile, Mani was hot on Haruna’s heels as she sped down the centre aisle, intent to make a clean break to return the call.
It was to no avail. She fe
lt Mani’s hand on her shoulder, and in her frustration, she spun to face him. “What is it?”
“He has your number?” Mani asked, his voice hinting at suspicion. No, not hinting. Seeping, oozing suspicion.
“For our assignment, remember?”
“So why not just give him your email address? Why your phone number?”
Haruna shut her eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out.
“I didn’t give him my number, Mani,” she calmly replied, speaking each word slowly.
“How’d he get it then?”
He didn’t think she was telling the truth.
Haruna turned, refusing to answer him anymore. Again. Again Mani was overreacting over something, this time something as silly as a phone call. If it were the first time he had acted like this, it wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, a month ago, she might have even thought it was cute. But ever since the early afternoon fiasco at the diner last weekend, he’d been acting differently—easily irritated. More distant. In fact, he'd been like this ever since they'd visited the big house on Wood Valley Crescent. At his best, he was still charming, witty, considerate; but the minute Haruna made mention of anything Ryu, their assignment… the moment she had dared to ask exactly what Ryu had meant when he had accused Mani’s father of being “crooked," Mani was a whole other person:
“What are you saying? You believe what that guy—that nobody says? Over me?”
Haruna had felt ashamed of herself for even posing the question. Mani was right. She had no business entertaining such an absurd accusation. But if that were the only problem, she could understand. It wasn’t. Lately, when Haruna tried to talk with Mani over the phone, Mani wasn't available. She had suggested spending time together on the weekend to make up for ditching their last date, but Mani found excuses not to. He “was busy," he said. Either it was Head Boy duties, something for student council, or hockey. They had only seen each other twice since last Saturday, at church, and though he would smile and talk to her like nothing was wrong, something clearly was. It seemed like Mani was only interested in Mani.
And now there was the phone call.
How "convenient," of all times, during Sunday Mass and with him there as a witness. Little did Mani know, Haruna was as surprised as he was. Aside from last Saturday at the diner, Ryu had never tried to contact her. She needn’t call him back to ask what he wanted since he had also sent her a text message:
You didn’t answer. I’m free today. Only a few days left, right?
Haruna looked over her shoulder to see that Mani had wandered off; now, he was chatting it up with Kristin. Well, if Mani was so busy, then so was she. Haruna pressed her fingers to the keypad to type.
OK. Let’s meet.
Haruna tilted her head, craning her neck to see down the aisle, past a row of bookshelves. It was quiet, and only a few milled about, either with their noses buried in books or searching between the stacks. Ryu was not among them. He had promised to meet her at the public library half an hour earlier. She had tried to get there as soon as possible, but once again he had kept her waiting. Haruna swiped the screen to check for the time: three-thirty.
She sighed, turning from her phone to gaze out the window she had seated herself by.
“It’s not his fault,” she mumbled, reassuring herself. “He lives on the other side of town. He can’t help it. It takes him a while to get here.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
Haruna jumped, spinning to see Ryu step from behind her.
“When did you get here?” Her hand was at her chest. She was grateful she hadn’t screamed.
Ryu proceeded to the empty chair across from her. Noticeably absent was his usual slouching gait, and replacing it was a mild limp. How odd. Had he injured himself?
“Traffic was pretty bad,” Ryu muttered as he plummeted into the chair and hurriedly emptied note papers from his book bag.
Haruna nodded stiffly. He had excuses for everything. On most days, she would say just that and then chastise him for wasting her time. But she wasn’t going to go down that road. So far, Seth’s “approach” had made things better. At least Ryu was here, and all on his own. Progress. But, most importantly, there was only a week left. A week, and they would never have to deal with each other again, so Haruna reminded herself to grin and bear it until then. She unfolded her laptop and rotated it for him to see.
“So this is what it looks like so far,” she said. “Your summary really helped. As for themes, since we disagree, forget good and evil. Maybe we can talk about loyalty. Or justice…”
Ryu looked up from the computer screen. “Or lack of justice.”
Haruna frowned. Again, he was defending Shylock: the lunatic who thought it made sense to demand a pound of flesh in exchange for not repaying a loan. Just because.
“You’re kidding?” she mumbled dryly.
Ryu seemed to share her cynicism, though for different reasons. He flung himself back into his chair and looked to the ceiling.
“Why don’t we forget themes altogether and just talk about how hilarious this play is?"
Haruna gawked. What was wrong with this guy?
“What part of this play is 'hilarious’?” she asked.
Ryu smirked, then folded his arms.
“Bingo.”
Haruna felt her head begin to throb. What? Her confusion must have been transparent, and his point incredibly obvious, for he squinted his eyes in an irritated way as he explained.
“The Merchant of Venice is supposed to be a comedy. Don’t you know? It’s about prejudice. Judging by the cover. Shylock is the butt of all jokes 'cause he's a Jew. The hot chick, Portia, apparently makes a convincing dude and Bassanio is incredibly stupid. ‘Hilarious,' right?”
Haruna stared. It finally made sense. The play wasn't a comedy so much as it was a commentary, a reflection of societal attitudes. That's what Ryu was getting at. A small grin crept along her face.
“I think you might be onto something.”
So they had finally decided on a topic. The next problem was how to present it. They sat brainstorming. Focusing on the play’s irony, they jotted down points they could fit into their slideshow. Haruna felt a small amount of relief bubble to the surface. They were going to finish it after all. But best of all, Ryu had good ideas. Great ideas. She rested her chin in her hands and watched him thoughtfully as he looked into his copy of the Merchant of Venice. She laughed to herself, and he glanced at her with raised eyebrows.
“I was just thinking—you’re really good at this, Ryu. You’re like a natural philosopher.”
“Is that a compliment?” Ryu asked in a flat tone that matched his look of scepticism.
“I just didn’t know you had it in you is all. Why do you act like someone who doesn’t care about school when you’re this smart?”
Ryu sighed, then bobbed his shoulders.
“Because I don't care about school. What’s the point? Why do we do anything? What motivates us? What motivates you? Besides grades, of course.”
“Well what motivates you? Are you going to say ‘nothing’?”
“I never said nothing motivates me. Just school isn’t the most important thing, that’s all.”
“Then tell me. What’s most important?”
Ryu paused. His mouth lolled open. His eyes glazed over.
“Freedom. Peace. Whether you can ever be around long enough to truly feel it or know what any of it means." He paused again, the faraway look in his eyes fading as he refocused. "Anyway. Enough about that.”
Wow. If it were Mani, he would have spoken of his drive for success. Was it really so bad living in an orphanage? She recalled the size and how it looked, old, mysterious and charming like an enchanted fantasy castle. She also remembered the way it was secured behind a tall iron fence. Feeling trapped might have been more than a metaphor.
“It’s funny. I always thought you were some spoiled rich kid. To think you’re not like that at all,” sh
e said.
Ryu’s brows shot way up, obscured behind his unruly tufts of hair. “I’m the spoiled rich kid?”
Haruna folded her arms.
“Well, your attitude—always acting like you don’t care about anything. But it’s really because deep inside, you’re hurting, right? Since you haven’t any parents—”
“Okay, let me stop you right there. Why do you always keep trying to psychoanalyse me? Like I’m one of your class projects?”
“‘Psychoanalyse’? Interesting choice of words,” Haruna jested, gesturing with air quotes. Mani always threw that word around whenever he was trying to sound smart. Ryu must have been taking a psych class too. However, Ryu didn’t look amused in the slightest.
“What’s so interesting about it?” Ryu sneered. “I guess 'cause I cut class and don’t suck up to teachers I must be a total dumbass, right?”
His tone. His brutal honesty. That’s right. She wasn’t talking to Mani; she was talking to Ryu.
“I… was just trying to understand—”
“What you’re trying to do is justify your own assumptions. You’ll never understand someone if you can’t stop assuming you already know everything about them.”
"Explain it to me, then!” Haruna had blurted it out. She shrunk in her seat. Recalling where they were, she lowered her voice, “Help me understand.”
Ryu groaned, throwing his hands in exasperation.
"Why, Haruna? Why does it even matter?"
Her lower lip began to quiver. She tore her eyes from him. Why did it matter? She didn’t know the answer herself.
“You’re right,” she said. “It doesn’t. Forget I asked.”
Without warning, there was the static and whirr of an intercom, and a voice boomed overhead: “ATTENTION PATRONS. THE LIBRARY WILL BE CLOSING IN THE NEXT FIFTEEN MINUTES. PLEASE BRING YOUR BOOKS TO THE FRONT DESK. THANK YOU.”
Haruna glimpsed a distant wall clock. It was already well past 4 PM and going on to five. She was anchored back to reality, reminded of why they were there in the first place. She looked to Ryu who had begun to gather his things. He was ready to go—but they weren’t finished. And this assignment was due this week.
Judge by the Cover: High School, Drama & Deadly Vices (Hafu Sans Halo Book 1) Page 19
