Cartwheeling in Thunderstorms (23 page)

“Oh, for Christ's sake, Roslyn! It wasn't personal. I was just saying—hold the front page and send out a news bulletin!—school is a lonely place to be.” Angela Blake sighed. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound juvenile. Will is not sullen. She is miserable. A common complaint, after all.”

“You make it sound like a disease.”

“Do I? My hope, Roz, is that the girl's soul will prove contagious.”

•  •  •

Will sat silently through the morning's lessons. She could feel that every eye was watching her. Possibly, she thought, they were expecting her to attack them. To prove she wouldn't, she sat as still as possible. They were like impala, she thought. She mustn't frighten them away.

When lunchtime came, she slipped quietly into her old seat at the empty end of the lunch table. Five girls stared hard at their laps as she slid by.

Will smelled her soup. It was something tasteless and indeterminate. Potato, she thought—and dipped in a finger, stirred it with a spoon, blew on it. She found her mouth wouldn't open enough for her to eat it.

There was a crash; two crashes. Will looked up just as the twins put down their trays, one on either side of her.

“Can we sit here?”

“Oh.” Will looked up at them. They had long, clever, complicated faces. “
Ja
. I mean, yes. Of course.”

They sat, awkwardly, tripping over their chairs.

“So . . . ,” said one twin, and the other added, “I,” just as Will said, “Did you—” Together all three said, “Oh, go ahead. . . .”

“So you came back, then?” That was Zoe, Will thought—the one with slightly longer hair, and more bitten fingernails.

“
Ja
.”

“
Obviously
she did, Zoe.”

Will sunk lower into her chair, wondering whether they were waiting for her to speak. She felt her heart writhe, and wished she could think of something to say—anything at all. But all her words (English, Shona, just
noises
, even) had left her.

The silence grew louder.

Then—“Did you know there was an assembly about you?”

“No.” Will wasn't sure she knew what an assembly was.

“Yeah! They thought you might've been kidnapped. They called the police, and then Louisa said you might have run away—”

“And Miss Blake said, Why would you have done that?—and then—”

“You could hear her shouting from the north block—”

“From the north
pole
. She went purple.”

“We thought maybe you'd gone back to Africa—”

“On a boat, or something—”

“Or hidden in those overhead lockers on a plane—”

“And Sam said, that's ridiculous—and we said, it wasn't, actually, because you were the sort of girl who might do anything—”

“
I
said that.”

“
Ja
,” said Will. “I wanted to—I would've—but—”

“We're glad you didn't, Will.” And the other one said, “That's all we wanted to say, really. That we're glad.” And then before Will could reply, they added together, “Really glad—
ja
.”

They must have planned it. “Oh,” said Will. “Oh.
Ndatenda hangu
. I mean—
ja
.
Tatenda
,
ja
?
Thank you. I—
ja
. Thanks.”

There weren't words.

Will grinned.
“Sha.”

All three girls became intensely interested in their soup spoons. Will's chest felt oddly swollen, too big for her body.

“Um . . . I like the soup,” she said. It was a lie, but it was something to say.

“Yes. I mean,
ja
,” said Hannah.

Zoe said, “Leek, I think. . . .”

“
Ja
. Or potato.”

“Or carrot.”

“It could be anything, really,” said Zoe. “It tastes like pond water.”

“Ja!”
Will grinned. “Nice pond water, though. Top-quality pond water.”

“Zoe reckons we had cat soup, once.”

“Really?” said Will.

“We did! Seriously, Will. It was definitely cat. There were bits of fur in it.”

“She's making it up, Will. Don't listen to her.”

There was a grumbling, growling noise from Will's chair. The twins thought it was Will's stomach. They smiled at her, sideways, but said nothing. They were probably too polite to mention it.

Will could feel that it wasn't that. It was the sound of her heart, she thought. It was hope, coughing and stuttering into life.

W
ILL READ AND REREAD SIMON'S
letter in snatched moments throughout the day. It was written on lined paper covered in red dust. She grinned, and rubbed it between her fingers. He must have used the path to the farmhouse as a desk.

Dear Wildcat,

I've put in this soil so that you know that all is well. It's farm soil, because I'm still at the farm. Lazarus and Tedias and eight of the men put together their money to buy it. I don't think they had enough. But the captain sold it to
them anyway. Cynthia almost killed him with a saucepan lid. I don't think he cared.

I'm keeping a space for you next to my bed in the stables. Nobody's allowed to touch it till you come back.

I can tell Kezia misses you. Shumba misses you.

Underneath that line, Simon had drawn a monkey riding a horse. Will's eyes ached with the happiness of it. Neither of them had ever been able to draw horses. The tail was too long on this one; it looked like it had five legs. Under it, Simon had written,

But I miss you most.

Write back soon. I want to know what England is like.

Simon.

Will propped up her science textbook so Mrs. Boniface wouldn't see what she was writing (they were supposed to be drawing the digestive system; Will was unable to find the digestive system exciting) and tore a page out of her exercise book. Her hand shook with happiness as she tried to write.

Dear Simon,

Thank you for writing. I miss you more than I can put on paper.

England isn't like Africa. There's no dragonflies. But there are some good things.

That was true. There were girls like the twins. There were books. There was Miss Blake. Will wrote again,

Daniel is one of the good things. He's coming to visit me this weekend. He's bringing me his comics. You'll like him. When I come back to the farm, I'll try to bring him, and you'll meet. He's almost as tall as you. He can whistle with his fingers, but he can't swim.

Will bit the end of her pen. She wrote,

I will come back, Simon. I'll come back to the farm and you. I will, I swear.

She underlined the last two words in red ink, and drew three stars around them.

But I have to stay here for a while, my dear. I'm learning how to cartwheel in thunderstorms.

For now, I'm sending love. All the love I have. Far more than will fit in the envelope,
ja
. Also—

The bell went. Will folded up the paper and put it safely in her boot. She would finish it later. But she'd said, more or less, what she wanted to say.

Letters, Will thought, were like books: they were mostly about love.

While Zimbabwe's official language is English, there are many languages spoken in the country, from major languages to smaller tribe dialects. The words included in this glossary are in Shona, unless otherwise indicated.

ach
—an exclamation similar to “argh”

booraguma
—expletive: a slightly stronger version of “drat”

chongololo
—slang name for the giant African millipede

faga moto
—literally, “make fire”; figuratively, “hurry up”

faranuka
—be happy

ja
—Afrikaans for “yes”; pronounced “yar”

mangwanani
—good morning

manheru
—good evening

marara sei
—did you sleep well?

mombies
—cows

naajies
—satsumas

ndatenda hangu
—thank you

ndarara kana mararawo
—I slept well if you slept well

nguruve
—pig

nzunas
—wild dogs

penga
—crazy

sadza
—savory cornmeal porridge

sekuru
—uncle

sha
—an exclamation of surprise or consternation

shumba
—lion

uchaenda
—come on, off you go

unanki
—excellent

vlei
—another form of
flei
, an (often marshy) field

zisikana
—slang for “big girl”

Katherine Rundell is the author of
Rooftoppers
. She grew up in Zimbabwe, Brussels, and London, and is currently a fellow at All Souls College, Oxford. She begins each day with a cartwheel and believes that reading is almost exactly the same as cartwheeling: it turns the world upside down and leaves you breathless. In her spare time, she enjoys walking on tightropes and trespassing on the rooftops of Oxford College.

Also by Katherine Rundell

Rooftoppers

SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2011 by Katherine Rundell

Originally published as
The Girl Savage
in 2011 in Great Britain by Faber and Faber Limited

Jacket illustration copyright © 2014 by Melissa Castrillón

First US edition 2014

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