As I walk away, I force myself not to turn around.
Like it matters. Everything I do just makes things worse anyway.
THE OLD MAN is on the front steps smoking a cigarette in his boxer shorts and security-guard jacket. I pull my hood closer to my face. He glares at me through red-rimmed eyes as I cross the driveway. I look left and right to see if any of the neighbours are out. They love a good show.
“You look ridiculous,” he says as I approach.
Here we go.
I shrug. “It’s just a jacket.”
“You look like a thug.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re sitting outside in your underwear.”
His grizzled skin creases around the eyes as he blows smoke in my direction. “Careful what you to say me. You don’t want the whole street watching me take you down a level.”
I step past him into the house, which smells stale no matter what time of day it is. Sweat. Smoke. Old booze. I close the door to my room and start patting my pockets for my Rizla papers. I’ve started feeling edgy since leaving Brendan’s place, which always happens when I go too long without smoking a joint. My stash is under the mattress. I never take it with me to practice, or everyone else will want to smoke too. I can’t afford to supply the whole crew.
I kick my duvet cover against the door so that the smell doesn’t seep out, and start rolling a joint. As I light it up, I fall down onto the bare bed, inhaling deeply as the seeds spark and pop between my fingers.
I stare at the damp that’s spreading on the ceiling. I don’t want to think about Jules or my dad right now.
I don’t want to think about anything.
Kayla
RONDEBOSCH, TUESDAY
Rebecca and Jasmine don’t want me to sit with them at break anymore. True to character, last week they broke up with me in a note written in pink and purple koki pen. People look at us and wonder if we,re as weird as you are.
I wish they could have told me what exactly is so unforgivably weird about me. Because that would be helpful. Not that it matters. Those two BFFs are just the latest in a list of short-lived friendships that have gone absolutely nowhere. So now I’ve started hanging out with the Christians in their special breaktime clubhouse: the Maths classroom. I sit at the back and doodle in my school diary. I’m not religious. I’m just here because the other girls won’t come in here, especially the girls from Music. They like to sit close to me so they can talk loudly about me.
The Christ Club are playing some sort of wholesome version of Truth or Dare? and are alternating between their best and most embarrassing moment with Christ. So far we’ve heard that one guy started laughing in the middle of Cavendish Square because God chose that moment to talk to him, and another girl realised she didn’t need her childhood teddy bear anymore because she had found Jesus.
Kill me now.
“Ally, do you want to contribute?”
I look up to find they’re all staring at me. I gave them a fake name. None of them are in any of my subjects anyway.
“Um, not really.”
“Come on, Ally. Join in. It’s fun.”
Happy, expectant faces bore into me, like a cult family from a horror movie. I guess I have to. How embarrassing would it be if the Christians threw me out too?
“Uh, when I was a kid I thought I saw Jesus in the Cango Caves.”
A couple of them laugh. The guy that asked me, Shaun, nods enthusiastically. He’s their leader or something. “So, what happened?”
“It was just a hippie.”
An awkward judgemental silence follows my words. I look back down at my book and continue doodling. It’s an intricate drawing of my ex-friends being disembowelled by a narwhal. I don’t think I’ll be coming back to Christ Club again.
After break I head to English and take my normal seat at the back by the window so I can watch the rain spit against the glass. Craig and his friends walk in, laughing loudly. I roll my eyes.
There are a couple of red-winged starlings playing outside – watching them is more entertaining than anything going on in class. I used to sneak comics into class, but they kept getting confiscated. I wonder if anyone else has noticed how starlings are always in pairs. I watch them for a bit, hopping around and whistling on the wet grass, tilting their heads so they can keep an eye on each other. If only people were that loyal.
I can’t believe I’m reduced to watching birds with a better love life than mine …
I don’t know why I even care about Craig. I hunt for my protractor set in my bag and start scratching at the wooden desk. Any sort of expectation only leads to disappointment. He doesn’t want to date me, so I shouldn’t want to date him either. I just need the idea to stay in my head and not leak out as soon as he looks at me.
Miss Rademeyer comes in late as usual, flustered like she’s just been for a run. I cover my carnage with my hands.
“Put your books away. We’re doing something fun today,” she says.
Since I haven’t unpacked my books anyway, I wait until the rustling has died down.
“Today we’re going to be starting an exciting project that you need to complete by the end of the term. You’re going to be researching the family trees of all the characters in Macbeth.”
You have got to be kidding me.
I lay my head down on the desk and sigh. Just what I need – more work. Never mind the recital that’s looming like the wide-open mouth of Galactus coming to swallow the world. Like any of these losers would know who Galactus is anyway. If he’s not in a movie, they wouldn’t know.
Miss Rademeyer starts rattling on about how to research a family tree. It all sounds like blah blah to me, like the teacher in those old Charlie Brown cartoons. I continue hacking into the desk. My artwork is taking the shape of a big X. I fill in the grooves with a black pen.
When the bell rings, I follow the rest of the class out and veer off towards the Music building, my own personal nightmare. Music is the only subject I really care about, but also the one I dread the most. I share the class with the most entitled little princesses ever born to this earth. They hate me. I don’t do my hair in fancy French braids or walk straight-backed like I’m being held up by scaffolding. I’m a slacker with a bad dye job and a skateboard. I read comic books and I don’t have any friends. They’ve been trying to get me to quit Music for years.
I wonder if they’re going to ignore me today or torment me?
When I enter the classroom they all pretend I don’t exist. That’s okay – it’s the lesser of the two evils. They don’t exist to me either. This is my alter-ego – all superheroes have them. Superheroes are all misunderstood losers too, until the world needs them. The difference is I wouldn’t even consider helping any of these guys if they got into trouble. People suck. I’d rather fly off to another planet and leave them all behind.
The Music room is padded and has hardwood floors and high ceilings. To think I used to love coming here, before everyone started showing their true colours. I open my instrument case and lift out my flute uncertainly. So far, so good. It’s only when I place my mouth against the lip plate that the giggling starts.
Practice is excruciating. Lucinda and I are supposed to be doing a Bach sonata together, and it couldn’t be going worse. She keeps grunting impatiently when I slip up.
“Sorry,” I say for the hundredth time. I have no idea how I’m supposed to get this right with her eyes boring into my back from her place behind the piano. She’s a classic mean girl. Her and her perfect girly-girl clique. I hate them all.
Time slows and when the piece is eventually finished, I’m prickly all over and my hands are shaking. At the end of the period, I pack up my case in silence. None of the Music nerds ever talk to me so when I hear my name, I jerk in fright.
“Kayla?”
Sebastian Brown. I gawp at him in surprise – he’s never spoken to me before. He’s one of the more serious guys in class. Ultra smart, ultra posh. He plays cello. He’s also totally ho
t.
I shuffle awkwardly and clutch my books tighter. “Hi.”
“Can we chat for a second?”
I swallow and look around the room, but everyone’s left. “Um, okay.”
Sebastian looks at his shoes, making his blond mop of hair fall into his face. He is ridiculously hot. My heart does a double cartwheel. What could he possibly want from me?
“This is harder than I thought it was going to be,” he says.
“What is? I’m confused.” Then it hits me. They’ve finally figured out a way to kick me out of Music, and they got him to tell me. My marks weren’t high enough. I’ll have to take Home Economics instead. My heart stands still.
He laughs and tries to hide it with his hand, but not before I catch sight of those killer dimples. It would be kind of adorable if the situation wasn’t so serious. My skin prickles with expectation. He looks up and his green eyes meet mine.
“I wanted to ask if you would go see a movie with me on Friday.”
“Oh.” My head starts to spin and all sorts of thoughts fight for my attention. I twirl the end of my ponytail nervously. “Did someone put you up to this?” The words blurt out of my mouth before I can take them back. Kayla, you dork.
He frowns and tilts his head. “No. Why would they?”
He looks genuinely taken aback. Maybe he really is asking me out.
“No reason. Um, sure. Okay. I guess. That would be great.”
“You don’t seem so keen.”
God, who uses words like “keen” anymore?
“I am,” I say way too quickly. “It’s just, this came out of nowhere.”
He scratches the top of his head and smiles. “Yeah, it kind of did, didn’t it? I’m sorry. I find you interesting. And pretty.”
What the …?
We stand awkwardly for a few more seconds. Then we both burst into nervous laughter. “I’d better go,” he says.
“Uh, okay. See you on Friday then.”
“Friday,” he repeats, grinning. He looks back before leaving. Guys always look back when they like you.
I stand staring at the empty doorway for a long time.
JEROME IS ALREADY home when I come through the door. He’s sitting on the couch eating Chipniks straight out of the packet. Some lame army show from the Eighties is on TV. It always seems to be repeats on SABC these days.
“Uh, what are you doing home?” I ask.
He looks up in surprise. Jerome works at a corporate in Wynberg. “Air conditioner on the third floor caught fire so they sent us all home.”
“Lucky you,” I say as I dump my bag on the floor and slip out of my shoes. I wish my school would catch fire. The thought produces a smile. One day …
“Where’s Lorenda?”
“Shops.” He shrugs and continues crunching loudly while he watches TV. I hover for a minute before heading to my room. Like he would even care that Sebastian Brown asked me out. Jerome has never really warmed to me since marrying Ma. Most of our interactions involve him getting cross about something or other. Neither of us have any warm, fuzzy feelings about each other.
I start going through my wardrobe. Nothing looks good enough for a date with Sebastian. He dates sophisticated girls. He probably wants to go see an art film or something with Colin Firth in it. I can’t wear jeans, but a short skirt seems tacky. I don’t have anything else. Why am I so bad at being a girl? I pull everything onto the floor and start going through each item one by one, creating a separate pile for clothes that might be okay. Everything is torn or grungy or just plain unwearable. I sort my clothes into three piles: “No”, “Maybe” and “Why haven’t I thrown this away yet?”
Why do I own so many pairs of Vans?
I feel Ma’s presence at the door before I hear her.
“What do you feel like for supper? I can fry us steak and chips if you’re in the mood.”
I hold up a red skirt and toss it on to the “No” pile. “Yeah, okay, Lorenda. Anything.”
“You sure? The last time you said ‘anything’ you hardly touched your food.”
“Maybe I wasn’t hungry.”
She tsks at me. “Steak, going, going … gone. If you don’t like it, then toughies for you.”
“What. Ever. Lorenda. You’re just going to make whatever Jerome likes anyway,” I say without turning around.
She sighs. “You used to call me ‘Mom’, you know. When you were still small and lovely.”
The barb stings.
“You mean like back in the day when the Teletubbies were still on TV? I was a child, Lorenda.” I say it to hurt her. I don’t want to fight – I just want her to go away so I can concentrate on choosing an outfit.
The satisfying sniff tells me it’s worked.
“I try to be a good mother. But you’re … you’re so …”
I turn around hotly. “I’m so what?”
“Nothing,” she says. “I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.”
She always does that. Starts a fight and then leaves just at the moment I bark back so that I’m the one at fault. Like the time I dyed the tips of my hair blue. The school sent me home with a note. I thought she was going to explode, but she didn’t. She just accepted it and we never spoke about it again. It doesn’t matter what I do – she’d rather avoid the problem than confront it.
I choose a denim miniskirt and a black ruffled shirt to go with my gladiator sandals. I’ve only worn them once for a concert. They are the one and only pair of non-skater shoes I own.
Craig doesn’t come round. I delete all his old text messages. I don’t want anything to ruin my date. And I start a new page in my diary to list all the reasons why Sebastian might just be boyfriend material.
Reason’s why Sebastian Brown might be The One:
He’s smart.
He’s not a total dumb-ass like the other guys in my class.
He doesn’t care what other people think.
He broke up with his steady girlfriend about three months ago, so he’s single.
And he’s super-hot.
Maybe this is it. My chance at happiness. I mean, we’re both music nerds. That puts us in a special club. While everyone else is blasting Rihanna and Drake, we’re fanning overselves over Mozart and Beethoven. That alienates us from the rest of the school. Obviously he doesn’t think like other other people – and maybe he’s the one I should have been aiming for all this time. I’ve been wasting my time with that asshole Craig. No wonder he doesn’t want to date me. We live in completely different worlds. In my case, Venus; his, the desert planet Tatooine. Craig wouldn’t even know that reference.
Once Lorenda took me to listen to an instrumental ensemble from UCT that was playing at the Alma Café. Sebastian was there with his parents. We didn’t talk or anything, but now I wonder if he’s been thinking about that night ever since.
Finlay
LANSDOWNE, FRIDAY
I really need to talk to Brendan about Jules.
If I was in his position, I would beat the crap out of any guy that even looked at her the wrong way, friend or not. But I can’t exactly tell him that she’s chasing me. It’s freaking me out.
I open and close my hand, trying to get some life back into my fingers. I punched the wall this morning. It happened after Reynolds gave me detention for not finishing his dumb Science project. When I’m angry, I can’t help myself. I don’t know why I’m even doing Science anyway – it’s not like I’m going to be an engineer. For me, it’s music or nothing.
If that doesn’t work out, then I don’t know. I don’t care. I just need to get Jules off my back. Kissing her would be like kissing a kid I babysit or something.
Kelwyn, who I sometimes roll with at break, frowns at me. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” I reply too quickly. Even my voice sounds angry.
I’m sitting with my phone in my lap, staring at my last WhatsApp conversation with Brendan.
“If you say so. Ah man, what is that asshole up to now?”
I look up to see Marshall pushing around one of the grade eights.
“Remember when that guy was cool?” he asks, picking at a scab on his knuckle.
“Yeah, he wanted to be in Dark Father, and he lost it when we turned him away. What happened to the guy?”
“Tik. Life. The usual.”
Neither of us get up to help the kid being terrorised. You have to pick your battles, and Marshall is one fight neither of us want to have. The guy apparently pulled out his own front teeth.
We watch as the poor kid finally snaps and shouts something, which is what Marshall wanted all along. In one swift move he knocks the kid out like he’s channeling Ivan Drago in Rocky IV.
Kelwyn turns his attention back to his scab. “We need another player for five-a-side tonight. You in?”
“Can’t. Practice.”
“It must be cool getting to play at all those clubs and festivals.”
I shrug. “It’s hard work.”
He grins. “Bet you have girls all over you.”
I smile. “Sometimes. But they only like me because I’m in Dark Father. They don’t stick around for long.”
We both look up as Marshall stalks past us. He flicks his tongue between the gap in his teeth.
“Looks like Marshall has a new neck tattoo,” I say to change the subject. “Probably did that himself too.”
“That’s class. Listen, Fin. Do you have any spliff on you? I’ve got money.”
“Yeah, sure.”
He slips me the note and I quickly pocket it. Poor dude doesn’t know I’ve been ripping him off for a year. I buy a cheap bag of mostly stalks and seeds, and pocket the rest of the cash. Sometimes I even take a quarter of the bankie for myself. But hey, that’s business. I don’t feel bad. Kelwyn’s always getting new kicks and Xbox games. My old man never bought me anything. I buy my own gear – whatever I need, I take care of myself.
I push the note deeper into my trouser pocket. I could make easy money selling weed to more people at school. But I don’t want to be that guy.
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