Ask Eva (3 page)

Chapter Five

‘T
here’s Aretta,’ I said to Ella when we got into history class the next morning. ‘Let’s go sit near her.’

‘Hey, Aretta,’ I said as I sat down in the seat in front of her. ‘We didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday. I’m Eva and this is Ella.’

‘Hi,’ said Aretta.

For a second I was distracted by her perfect white teeth, and her beautiful smile. Too late, I realised I had no idea how to continue the conversation. There was a long, awkward silence

‘Er, Aretta is a nice name,’ I said in the end.

‘Thanks,’ said Aretta. ‘It’s Nigerian. It means charming.’

‘Ella’s real name is Petronella,’ I said. ‘And we don’t even want to think about what that means.’

What I’d said wasn’t very funny, but we all laughed – a forced laugh that went on for a few seconds too long.

‘Er, do you miss Nigeria?’ I asked. It was kind of a dumb question, but I was under pressure, and Ella was
no
help as she was pretending to be busy getting her history books in a perfect line.

Aretta acted like my question wasn’t stupid at all.

‘I miss Nigeria occasionally,’ she said. ‘But I left a long time ago, when I was very young. Sometimes it hardly feels real – like I only dreamed of my old life in Africa.’

‘So have you really been in Ireland for eight and a half years, like you told the
teacher?’ I asked.

Aretta nodded.

‘So where’ve you been all this time?’ asked Ella. ‘How come we’ve never seen you before? Did you go to a different school?’

‘We used to live in Kilkenny. We only moved here last week.’

I wanted to ask why she had moved, but thought it might sound a bit rude. Now I didn’t know what to say. This was turning out to be totally awkward. At the back of the class there was a big crash as someone dropped a book, and as Aretta turned her head, her braids clinked together.

‘I love your braids,’ I said. ‘They’re really cool – and it must be great not having to comb your hair every morning.’

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘When I was little, my mum always braided my hair for me, and now I keep it like this, to remind me of her.’

Now I really, really didn’t know what to say.

Why didn’t Aretta’s mum braid her hair anymore?

Why did Aretta need to be reminded of her?

I could feel my face going red. I desperately wanted to change the subject, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it.

‘She stayed in Nigeria,’ said Aretta then. ‘My mum, I mean. Her parents are very old, and she has to take care of them. So I came here with my dad and my brother.’

I tried to imagine a life where my dad would take me half-way across the world, leaving my mum behind – but I couldn’t.

‘Dad moved here for me,’ said Aretta. ‘For me and my brother. Because of my dad’s political beliefs, we were always going to have problems in Nigeria.’

My face was still red, but I was relieved to see that Aretta didn’t look like she was going to burst into tears.

‘That’s sad,’ said Ella, suddenly looking up.

‘You must miss your mum.’

‘I do,’ said Aretta. ‘Every day. There’s a computer where I live, and sometimes I Skype my mum. Sometimes, when she smiles at me, I can nearly forget that she’s so far away. Sometimes I want to reach out and touch her, but of course that’s impossible.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, and then, even though it was probably a bit cowardly, I changed the subject.

‘Does your brother go to this school too?’ I asked.

Aretta shook her head. ‘No. He’s eighteen, and he finished school last year. He mostly lives in Dublin – he has a girlfriend there.’

I know Dublin isn’t a million miles away, but it’s not exactly next door either. It’s not like Aretta could hang out with her brother any time she liked. It had to be rotten for her, being so far away from half of her family.

‘Hey,’ I said then. ‘Ella and I are going into
town for a bit later. Do you want to come with us?’

‘Thanks,’ said Aretta. ‘But I can’t. I’ve got a piano lesson straight after school.’

‘Oh,’ I said, not sure why I felt so disappointed. ‘Maybe we can do something tomorrow instead?’

Aretta smiled, but her smile wasn’t as bright as before.

‘Maybe,’ she said, and before anyone could say anything else, the teacher walked into the classroom, and we had to endure an hour of totally boring discussion on the history of farm machinery – like anyone cared!

Chapter Six

T
he next day was Friday. Aretta wasn’t in any of our morning classes, so Ella and I didn’t see her until we were getting changed for PE after lunch.

‘Hey,’ I said, trying not to stare at Aretta’s old and faded track-suit, and her runners that were starting to split down one side.

‘Hey,’ said Aretta. ‘PE is my favourite subject. What do you think we’ll be doing today?’

‘Definitely badminton,’ I said.

‘How do you know?’ asked Aretta. ‘Is it always badminton on Fridays?’

Ella giggled. ‘The teacher, Mr Holland, hates the rain, so if there’s a cloud anywhere within a hundred miles, he won’t bring us out to the playing pitches. That means we have to play badminton in the hall.’

‘And do you like badminton?’ asked Aretta.

‘I guess it’s OK,’ I said.

‘I
love
it,’ she said. ‘I used to play a lot when I lived in Kilkenny. Do we play in teams?’

‘Here we play knock-out competitions,’ I said. ‘And there’s this boy, Andy, who thinks he’s the best badminton player in the world.’

‘Andy probably
is
the best badminton player in the world,’ sighed Ella. ‘He wins the competition every single week. He played against the sixth-year boys one week, and he beat all of them too.’

‘We don’t mind Andy winning,’ I added. ‘The problem is that he goes on and on and on about it. He’s a total pain. He’s…….’

But Aretta wasn’t listening any more. She’d
finished tying her laces and she was already on her way out of the changing rooms.

‘That was a bit rude,’ said Ella.

I smiled. ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But something tells me this PE class is going to be
very
interesting.

‘Oh, dear. Poor you.’ said Ella when I told her that I was drawn to play Andy in the first round of the competition. ‘But look on the bright side – at least you’ll get a nice break while the rest of the competition is going on.’

I didn’t answer. Losing a badminton match isn’t the biggest tragedy in the world, but being first up against Andy and being totally humiliated in public – that’s just rotten. I wondered if it was too late to pretend to be sick. Come to think of it, I did feel kind of sick at the thought of the match ahead.

‘Hey, Mr Holland,’ I said, trying to sound
weak. ‘I think……’

But before I could finish, Andy was in front of me, strumming his badminton racquet like it was a guitar. He probably thought he was cool, but he really looked like an idiot

‘Hey, Eva,’ he said. ‘I’ve never played you before. Are you sure you’re ready for this?’

And suddenly, even though I knew it was pathetic, I really,
really
wanted to beat him. I jumped up from my bench. ‘Sure I am,’ I said. ‘Bring it on.’

The first shuttle flew past my ear like a rocket. I didn’t even see the second one, and the third one hit me on the head. The game was over in about a minute and a half – and I hadn’t won a single point.

Andy jumped up and down, like he’d just beaten the Olympic champion.

‘Yesss!’ he said. ‘Now who’s next?’

Ella put her arm around me as I came off the court.

‘Don’t feel bad, Eva,’ she said. ‘Remember no one’s ever got the better of that boy.’

Next to her, Aretta was smiling, and swinging her racquet to warm up. Suddenly I felt like I could read her mind.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ I said. ‘He’s just too good.’

But Aretta kept on smiling. ‘I’m not so bad myself,’ she said.

By the time the final between Andy and Aretta came around, the class was going crazy. We were all jumping up and down on the benches, screaming for the person we wanted to win. (That meant most of the class screaming for Aretta, and a few of the silly girls screaming for Andy because they like his hair and think he’s cute.)

Andy and Aretta walked on to the court, and everyone clapped, like it was the final of Wimbledon or something.

‘Quiet, please,’ said Mr Holland, and amazingly, everyone obeyed. The sudden silence was weird, and a bit scary.

Andy was jogging on the spot like a mad thing. On her side of the court, Aretta stood up straight and tall. She looked calm and confident.

‘OMG,’ I whispered to Ella. ‘Maybe she can do this.’

‘Really?’ asked Ella. ‘You really think she can beat Andy? I know she’s already won five matches … but Andy?’

I smiled and squeezed her hand. ‘Let’s just hope.’

I wasn’t feeling so hopeful when Andy won the first ten points. In between jumping up and down, and doing stupid practice swings, he was grinning like his face was going to explode.

‘Come on, Aretta!’ I called. ‘Don’t let us down.’

And then it was like Aretta turned into a different person. She raced around the court, and no matter where Andy hit the shuttle, she was there, ready to hit it back. It was like she knew where he was going to hit it before he even swung his racquet.

Andy won a few more points, but basically the game was over. When Mr Holland called the final score 21-14 to Aretta, most of the class screamed and ran onto the court.

‘You genius!’ I shouted in Aretta’s ear. ‘You absolute genius! Why didn’t you tell us you were so good?’

‘I didn’t know it was such a big deal,’ she said, looking a bit embarrassed. ‘Badminton is only my second favourite sport.’

‘So what’s––?’ I began, but I couldn’t finish as more people came over to hug Aretta.

I turned and saw Andy slipping away towards the boys’ changing room.

‘Do you feel sorry for him?’ asked Ella.

‘Nearly,’ I said. ‘But not quite.’

When Aretta finally got into the changing room, she sat next to Ella and me.

‘We’re going to stop for hot chocolates before going home,’ I said, when we were nearly dressed. ‘There’s a really cool place just down the road from here. The hot chocolate is totally yummy, and you can have all the marshmallows you like. Do you want to come with us?’

‘I can’t,’ said Aretta. ‘Thanks anyway.’

Suddenly I felt stupid. I looked at Aretta’s shabby uniform and old-fashioned shoes and realized that she probably couldn’t afford to pay for a hot chocolate.

‘Our treat,’ I said quickly.

‘To welcome you to our school,’ said Ella, smiling.

I hoped that smile meant she could pay for
half of Aretta’s hot chocolate, as I knew for sure that I only had 2.50 in my pocket – and some of that was supposed to be for a new maths copy.

‘That’s very nice of you,’ said Aretta. ‘But I’m busy. I’ve got a ballet class in a few minutes. Thanks for asking though. See you on Monday.’

And then she grabbed her bag and was gone.

‘Busy girl,’ said Ella.

‘Have you seen the way she’s dressed?’ I said. ‘I’m not being mean or anything, but her uniform’s ancient, and her schoolbag is falling apart. If she can’t afford to get proper school stuff, where’s she getting the money for piano and ballet lessons?’

‘We’ve seen how good she is at badminton. Maybe she’s amazingly talented at ballet and piano too, and she’s getting some kind of scholarship for gifted kids?’

‘Possibly, but I don’t think that’s it. Trust me, Ella, there’s something weird going on with that girl, and I’m going to find out what it is.’