“Whatever,” I say, turning on my heel. I really don’t have the energy for this kind of thing so early in the morning.
But before I can walk away he grabs me by the elbow, his grin almost blinding. “Just kidding. Hello!”
I narrow my eyes, not sure whether he’s messing with me. “So, what? Do you think girls are inherently stupid, or don’t you? Because if you do, you know, I don’t want to argue with you. I just want to go. ” [10]
He rolls his eyes at me, but he doesn’t stop smiling. “Chill out, Katie, jeez. Do I look like a Neanderthal?”
I shrug. “Maybe a little.”
“Ouch,” he says, then leans back against the wall in that totally relaxed way of his.
“You asked.” I raise my eyebrows at him, dead cool.
“I did.”
For a few seconds we just stand there, smiling at each other like two idiots. From the corner of my eye I can see that everyone is staring at us. I can’t honestly say that I mind.
“So anyway,” he says, “I could help you study for the next maths test, maybe, if you want to. Not that I’m brilliant or anything, but I’m better than, you know, a girl.”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
“So, what do you say?”
I can’t help but smile. He’s just so nice looking. “Okay. Thanks. That’d be great.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
And then the cold hits me, blasting against me so hard it feels like a physical blow.
Oh no.
For a moment there’s a quiet so primal, so deathly cold and wrong, that my body kicks into automatic mode, and I brace myself against the wall. Then the earth spins wildly beneath my feet so that my stomach flips over slowly.
Oh no no no no.
This is not the normal cold of untime. It’s the bad one.
The cold that kills.
I gasp for air – my whole body stinging – as my mouth begins forming words against my will. Slowly. Painfully.
“l-o-o-c …” The word is drawn out, as if a trance DJ is playing around with sound effects. The cold forms points of pain behind my eyes, icicles of agony poking at my poor, defenceless brain.
The Screen. I need to get it before it’s too late.
“l-o-o-c …” As he makes these eerie sounds, Daniel looks like a zombie, his movements slow and unnatural, his voice as hollow as his eyes. I can’t focus on anything beyond him. Too cold.
I try to open my bag – I have to get the Screen – but my movements are not my own any longer. I’m a puppet, doing everything slowly, in reverse.
“t-a-e-r-g … e-b … d-t-a-h-t … s-k-n-a-h-t … y-a-k-o …” The twisted words coming from my mouth sound like some kind of demonic incantation.
It hurts.
My mouth does not want to make these sounds, my brain does not know what’s going on, my body is battling itself. The ensuing headache is intense, almost as intense as the unearthly cold. Breathing is painful, like sucking in fire.
Daniel’s mouth is moving again, but I can’t focus on the nonsense words he’s saying. My eyes smart in pain, the tears freezing as soon as they come into contact with the air. I try to wipe them away but my hands won’t move.
“y-n-n-u-f … y-r-e-v … a-h a-h …”
Burning, icy cold. Pure frozen pain.
I’m beginning to see spots in front of my eyes, the world receding to a place far away. Please God, don’t let me pass out. If I pass out, I’m dead.
I will myself to keep it together. The breath is forced in and out of my lungs.
“l-r-i-g … a … w-o-n-k … o-u-y … n-a-h-t … r-e-t-t-e-b … m-i …”
In a kind of trance, I notice abstractedly that behind the creepy sounds he is making there’s something studied and false in Daniel’s blank-eyed stare.
I have to stay awake.
I have to open the Screen.
The rest of the world does not exist; my reality has become a small circle – it’s just me, and Daniel with his demon voice, and this icy, throbbing torture. I feel how my mouth is wrenched open again, ready to speak …
And then it stops.
It stops.
The cold becomes more manageable, returning to the familiar cold of untime, and my body begins to shake. I wipe the ice from my face.
Good. I can move again, but I know I’ve got mere minutes before hypothermia sets in.
The Screen.
My frozen fingers struggle to open my bag. I must be in shock. I don’t have much time. I have to concentrate. I have to concentrate.
Open the clasp.
Lift the flap.
The chattering of my teeth is a loud, angry noise in the otherwise deathly silence.
Take out the Screen, open it.
Everything is shaking.
Climb inside.
My feet don’t want to move. My legs, bare under my navy school skirt, are a horrible bluey-white-pinkish colour, like the flesh of a corpse.
Zip it closed.
It takes so long. It is so difficult. My eyes start tearing again.
Press the red button.
I close my eyes. My legs give in and I sink to the floor.
I keep on pressing, desperately, harder and harder.
And then, in seconds, warmth spreads through the sheath around me and into my body. The relief is overwhelming.
I don’t move, I don’t think of anything. I am concentrating purely on the heat.
I sit like that for a long time.
It takes ages before the Watch starts bleeping.
u ok?
ok
sry
g2h
* * *
I don’t know why I’m the only one “awake” in untime, and neither does Finn. He has lived for a long time, and in many different places, and nowhere has he found even one person like me.
Simon used to say that he didn’t know either, but I always kind of suspected he knew more than he let on. (The clue being that he used to channel Gandalf by always staring into the distance before telling us that “All will become clear in time”.)
Anyway, in times like these, when I’m waiting for Finn to finish whatever he’s up to and bring the world back to normal again, I often wonder about my birth parents. Could they maybe stop time like Finn? Is that why they left me? Did they have some bigger destiny to fulfil? I mean, isn’t it a little weird that they left me at the door of Finn’s housekeeper, of all the people they could have chosen in the world???
I reckon they probably knew there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of Finn looking after a little kid, so they gave me to Mom, knowing she was working for him. They must have figured Finn would find out soon enough that I’m awake during untime. And cold. And needing attention.
It makes sense, don’t you think?
The only problem with thinking about this stuff though, is that in the end it all remains mere speculation, which inevitably leads to more questions, more guesses, more theories, more questions … and in the end you’re stuck with a riddle you can’t solve.
But anyway.
After a while I normally force myself to stop wondering about these kinds of things. Usually I get out a book and read or, if I’m dressed warmly enough, I walk around and just look at things.
To be honest, I don’t like being in untime much, even though I don’t suffer from any serious side-effects the way Finn does. Still, it’s deeply weird, and boring, and mostly kind of lonely.
Everything looks different. Take this moment, for example. Earlier, when I was talking to Daniel, things between us were so light and fun and exciting. But Finn has stopped our conversation at a strange moment, and now it seems as if Daniel is, I don’t know, kind of leering at me. It’s so unfair, like taking a bad picture of someone and making all kinds of mistaken conclusions based on that.
Scientifically unsound. I intend to ignore it.
Trust me, I’ve learnt the hard way that the world can be a treacherous place when it’s suddenly froz
en in a random second. You can get entirely the wrong idea about people. There’s Jenny Kleinsmith, to give you another example, who’s always so perfect, caught pulling her panties out of her butt crack. In real time it would have been but a split second and nobody would have known, but now she’s frozen that way for God knows how long. So embarrassing. Or take Lelicia, staring at Daniel and me, her mouth hanging open, looking like a complete idiot. Or Asanda and her crowd who are also staring, but not in amazement as much as … I can’t quite read the expression on their faces, but they look, at the very least, kind of interested.
Further away some boys are shoving each other, laughing, and two girls are whispering behind their hands. They look like the best of friends, but I know they really hate each other. A moment can lie. The truth lies in continuity, in the way one moment follows another.
Mr Marais, our fastidious maths teacher, has his finger up his nose.
I don’t know, it should be funny, but it’s not.
Everybody looks so, I don’t know … vulnerable.
Being in untime when I’m around other people always makes me sad.
* * *
u rdy?
no
1 min
Phones don’t work in untime, so when I’m not near the Transmitter at home we use these weird bleeper things Finn got somewhere and which operate on a totally different principle from a cellphone. Apparently.
Mine is hidden in my watch, which flips open to reveal a screen and mini-keyboard. Usually I find this very cool in a James Bondy kind of way, but right at this minute I’m suffering from a severe sense of humour failure.
Almost dying will do that to you every time.
Thoroughly warmed up now, I climb out of the Screen, which is another one of Finn’s high-tech thingies. (Seriously, I think he got it from NASA or something.) We call it a Screen, [11]but it’s actually more like a cocoon – it looks like a sleeping bag, only lighter, and it provides heat due to some kind of chemical reaction that takes place in the fabric itself when you press a button. Cool, hey? The material it’s made of is super high-tech and ridiculously thin and shiny, almost sheer, so that it folds up smaller than a T-shirt. I take it with me everywhere, for obvious reasons.
Within about forty seconds (I’m counting one hippopotamus, two hippopotamus) the Screen is all packed away.
I get up, and try to remember what position I was in before.
And then, bam, it’s hot again, summer in Cape Town hot, and Daniel van Huysteen is smiling at me.
“I did,” he says.
I have no idea how to respond.
“So anyway,” he continues, “I could help you study for the next maths test, maybe, if you want to. Not that I’m brilliant or anything, but I’m better than, you know, a girl.”
Oh yes. Now I remember.
Chapter 5
This afternoon, for the first time since I switched schools (nice euphemism there), Mom is waiting to drive me home from school. I find her outside the front gates in her white Toyota Corolla. [12] Usually I walk home – it’s not even fifteen minutes – but now that someone from our school has disappeared, Mom’s nervous as anything.
Not that I mind. To be honest, I’m quite tired after this morning’s little adventure. I give her a kiss as I get into the car. (Whatever. Let them stare.)
Okay, so here’s another thing you should probably know. When I said earlier that my mom is the only normal thing about my life, I might have been simplifying the situation just a tad. You see, I don’t know how things are where you live, but around here people are a bit sensitive about, you know, racial issues and stuff. Like, we had apartheid in the past, and everyone is still kind of trying to deal with it – with wildly different levels of success. Mom says this is understandable, and that I must have patience with people.
Fine, okay.
But it can be really irritating, especially when the colour of your skin doesn’t exactly match your mom’s.
Now where we live in Cape Town a situation like Mandi’s is quite common. Loads of black kids have been adopted by white families – it’s seen as pretty normal. Sure, Mandi has her own issues (her Xhosa is terrible, for example), but tons of other kids have those problems too.
My issues, on the other hand, are weird. Seriously, I think I’m the only white kid in this country who’s been adopted by a black woman. I Googled it, and it seems like I’m the only one. Just me. Numero uno.
So no surprises there then.
My mother has dark brown eyes and shoulder-length black hair and coffee-coloured skin. (When I said she’s black I was trying to make a point. If you’re going to be pedantic, you know, on a fricken genetic level or whatever, Mom is what people in Cape Town refer to as coloured.) What is infuriating, and kind of embarrassing, is that people are always jumping to conclusions, assuming she’s our maid. Mom laughs about it, and so does Finn, but it makes me feel weird inside – angry and annoyed and humiliated all at once.
It’s like people have no imagination – they always have to place everyone in these neat boxes, you know, categories, so that they fit into a certain view of reality that only exists in people’s heads.
It’s depressing, seriously.
My mom is a qualified accountant who works as Finn’s housekeeper and assistant for personal reasons. (It’s a long story, apparently.) She is stylish and beautiful and kind and proud. She can be a bit of a pain. Her name is Tessa Holmes, and she grew up in Pinelands. Her mother is dead, and her father is in a special home. (He’s been suffering from Alzheimer’s for as long as I can remember.) She’s quite strict. She loves me.
You get it. She’s a mother. Who cares whether we look the same or not? Honestly.
Anyway, so here we are, driving home in the car. (The trip takes all of three minutes – what a waste of petrol. Some poor polar bear is probably drowning as we speak.)
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks after about half a second.
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Katie. I can see something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Katie.”
“Mom.”
“Okay then, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. As long as you know that you can speak to me any time. About anything.”
Now, of course, I feel bad. But there’s no way I can tell her about what Finn did this morning. She’s uncomfortable enough with the whole untime thing as it is.
I sigh. “I did really badly in my maths test.”
“Oh Katie!” Mom looks seriously distressed. “Is it because of the new school?”
“No, not really.” Now I wish I’d never told her about this either. Mom really, really believes in a person getting a good education.
“Do you want me to speak to your teacher?”
“No, Mom, it’s fine.”
“But Katie, this is such an important year, if you want me to –”
“Just chill, Mom, okay?”
A short silence. Then, “I’m only trying to help.”
Okay, so now I feel bad again.
“I’ll work harder next time, I promise.”
“I’m sure you will, darling. You know, I’ve heard of this wonderful place that gives extra classes –”
“It’s fine, honestly.”
“Mathsolutions, I think they’re called. Caro Badenhorst’s mom told me they have a branch in Green Point, so it’s just –”
“Mom. It’s okay.”
“I’m just saying. I’ll gladly pay extra if it’ll help you succeed. This is such an important –”
“I don’t want to take extra classes!”
A short silence. “Well, it’s your life, Katie.”
Okay, so that was three minutes in the car, and three times my mom’s made me feel bad.
About an average score, then.
* * *
I’m never really hungry in the afternoons, but today I eat every last bite of my lunch, trying to get back into Mom’s good books. (Quite good too,
I must say. How can people commit suicide while chicken pie exists???) Then I excuse myself, telling her that I’m going to change out of my uniform.
But when I get to the lift I don’t go down to our floor. Instead, I press the unmarked button that takes me to Finn’s penthouse. That man had better have a really good explanation for this morning’s circus.
Finn lives in a huge, nearly empty loft-like space. The floor is one enormous, undivided area, which gives it a completely different feel from the rest of the house. Also, Mom has decorated the house in a way that’s understated and welcoming, with lots of couches, artwork and rugs, but Finn’s place is totally minimalist and stark. The only furniture apart from his futon and one very uncomfortable-looking sofa is a fully equipped gym in one corner. There’s also a shiny, slick kitchen-counter thingy (I hope that’s what it is) and a bathroom partly hidden behind a screen full of fancy electronic equipment. The rest of the place is like a huge, empty warehouse, but with glass walls, wooden floors, and a view of the ocean.
It’s awesome. I love it.
I very seldom come here though, as Finn is totally fanatical about his privacy. Mom, for example, has never been up here, ever. Finn doesn’t even bring his girlfriends here – when they stay over they sleep on the guest floor.
He would keep me out too, if he could.
Whatever. He owes me an explanation.
The lift doesn’t open directly into his place – instead there’s a small foyer, a kind of waiting room. (He’s that paranoid.)
I walk towards the door and turn the handle. It’s locked. But then it’s always locked.
I knock loudly, yell his name.
Nothing.
I yell again, louder. I’m hammering more than knocking.
Nothing.
“Finn!” I yell, “FINN!”
“Go away.” His voice is hardly audible through the thick wall.
“Open this door, or I’m coming in.”
“Go away!”
“Open this door NOW!”
“Go AWAY!”
“I’m not going anywhere until we’ve talked about this morning.” I wait for a while, hoping he’ll give in. When I press my ear to the door, there’s nothing.
Okay, that’s it. He flipping well asked for it.
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