So Much for Democracy (2 page)

“Sister Mary,” she calls, “I need to sit down, please.”

Sister Mary strides over to take a look. Harpreet blinks her eyes some more and sags a little.

“It's so hot, I feel a bit faint,” says Harpreet.

Thema and I both pinch our bottom lips with our teeth to keep from laughing, and the effort makes us both sweat and look terrible.

“You girls should know better than to play elastics in the sun. Why aren't you in the shade? Go and sit under the tree until gym's over,” says Sister Mary, and she marches back to the soccer field.

“See? Easy,” says Harpreet.

As soon as Sister Mary's far enough away, Thema and I let ourselves laugh. The three of us walk to the tree and sit among its exposed roots. We move slowly in case Sister Mary looks back at us. The tamarind pods rustle above us, and the red dirt swirls in eddies around our feet. The shade is soft on our skin.

There are two soldiers at a roadblock on the other side of the wall. One of them is watching the boys playing, and the other seems to have fallen asleep.

I'm still getting used to seeing soldiers on the streets. Ghana's military runs the country, and they have roadblocks all around. We moved here so Dad can help with the elections that are supposed to give Ghana a proper government. The soldiers don't seem to do much but hang out at these roadblocks. I asked Thomas what the roadblocks are for, and he grimaced and said they were just another part of the corruption that's all around.

Normally, I don't mind the soldiers too much, since I don't have to go near them, but I don't like these ones here at school. Having them on the other side of the school wall every day makes me feel like a prisoner. It's like they're watching us all the time. Mom already does enough of that.

“Heads up,” calls Bassam as the soccer ball soars over our heads and hits one of the limbs of the tree. A tamarind pod drops to the ground. The soccer ball bounces off the branch and lands on the road, waking the soldier, who snaps to attention.

Everyone freezes.

The woken soldier kicks the ball into the street, but the other one runs after it and catches it with his foot. He juggles it off his boots. We all crowd along the wall to watch.

“Hey, give us our ball back,” says Bassam.

It's like the soldier hasn't heard him. He bounces the ball from foot to foot and up onto his chest and back to his feet. On and on he goes, ignoring the boys.

“He's good,” Thema says.

“You ask him for it back. He'll give it to you,” Bassam whispers, but Thema doesn't say anything.

“What's going on?” Sister Mary says as she joins us at the wall. She elbows her way through the boys.

“Is that one of our balls?” she asks in a low voice.

We nod. I wait for her to call out to the soldier, who still hasn't taken any notice of us, but instead she says, “Everyone back to the classroom.”

“Awww…It's still gym,” says Bassam, but Sister Mary cuts him off.

“Come along,” she says, and there's a sharpness in her voice that startles me.

“What's that all about?” I whisper to Thema as we walk back to the classroom, but she shrugs her shoulders and says, “I don't know.”

“It's weird that Sister Mary is scared of a soldier,” I say.

“Yeah,” says Thema.

When we get back to the classroom, Bassam's in such a bad mood that he yanks my ponytail so hard it hurts my forehead.

“Ouch,” I call out.

He laughs and reaches out to pull it again, but I say, “Get away!” and lean forward so he can't reach.

Sister Mary spins around. “Astrid,” she snaps. We're not allowed to speak out of turn in her class. Bassam winks at me. I glare at him, and unfortunately, that's the moment Sister Mary catches my eye.

I sigh, because I know I've done it again.

“Astrid, sit up straight and pay attention,” Sister Mary says.

“He started it,” I say.

Sister Mary says, “
Whosoever shall smite thee on thy
right cheek, turn to him the other also
.”

I don't know what that means, but I know it sounds unfair, and I also know that Bassam started it. It's not my fault Sister Mary is in a bad mood. Bassam chuckles behind me and I want to slap him, I really do, but instead I sit up straight, look forward and try, once again, to stay out of Sister Mary's line of sight for the rest of the day.

THREE

Gordo whines. “Please? Why can't I go with you?”

“Because only your mother and I were invited. I don't think the family across the street has kids. Listen to Astrid. She's in charge while we're gone,” says Dad. It's Saturday afternoon, and Dad and Mom are going to the neighbors' house for drinks. Piper has fallen asleep, and Abena, our housekeeper, has agreed to keep her ear open for her while Mom and Dad go out. I don't know why Gordo is whining to go with them, but it's driving me nuts.

“We won't be too long. You know the rules,” Dad says. Of course we know the rules. Mom drills them into us every morning.

When Mom and Dad have left, I go upstairs, put my Olivia Newton-John tape on and lie down. It's so refreshing, lying under the air conditioner, and luckily, the power has stayed on for a few days, so the room is cool. I lie there and think about home, about biking to the water park and getting drenched in a shower of cool, clean water. There's nothing like that here, and even if there were, Mom would never let us go. She'd be afraid we'd get cholera from the water.

I wish I knew what was going on with her. Before we got here, Mom said she was planning to buy tribal cloth at the local market and sew me and Piper new dresses. She talked about finding someone to teach her how to cook traditional Ghanaian food. She even said she would take Gordo to a professional soccer game. None of those things have happened. Now she seems scared of everything. That's not the Mom I remember.

I miss the old Mom.

There's a rustle outside the window. I can't make out what it is, so I sit up and peer through the louvers. At first I don't understand what I'm seeing, but then I do. Gordo's climbing out his window and down the pawpaw tree that grows against the wall.

I slam my hands against the window slats. “Gordo,” I yell, but either he doesn't hear me because of the air conditioners or he's ignoring me.

I can't believe it. Rule number one is, don't leave the house unless you get permission from Mom or Dad or another adult. Also, there are bars across the windows. How on earth did he squeeze through the louvers and bars?

“Gordo,” I call again. He's almost on the ground and he'll be gone in a second, so I spring out of bed and rush down the stairs.

“Gordo's escaping—I'm going after him. I'll be right back,” I yell to Abena. There's no answer, so I hurry into the kitchen, but she's not there. The kitchen door slams behind me as I dash out to the laundry area, but she's not there either. I can't see Gordo anymore, so I sprint to the end of the driveway and look down the street. There he is, easy to spot. The only kid with white skin and yellow hair in the middle of a crowd of dark bodies. They leap across a ditch. I know what they're doing: having a contest. Gordo loves contests.

“Gordo, stop,” I shout. When he hears me, he and the other kids run down the street away from me.

“Gordo,” I call again, but he doesn't stop. He is going to be in trouble if Mom finds out. Big trouble. And since I'm supposed to be in charge, so will I. “Abena,” I shout, “I'm going down the street after Gordo.” Then I sprint after him.

The boys run to the end of the street and into a field. I almost turn around, but then the boys skip back onto the street on the other side of the field, and I plunge into the tall grasses to catch up with them.

“Gordo!” I scream in my harshest voice.

He doesn't answer or even turn around.

“You are in so much trouble.”

He skips across a ditch.

“Dad's going to string you up by the thumbs.”

Nothing.

“Gordo, get your butt back here or I'm telling!”

The boys laugh.

Where is Gordo going? And what if there are soldiers on the way? I haven't seen any in our neighborhood, but if anyone knows where to find them, it's Gordo. It would be just like him, always finding something dangerous and heading straight for it.

I push that thought out of my mind.

The boys keep going until the road peters out in scrub, and then they push right into the bushes. I'm scratched and sweaty and muddy, and I don't like the look of the woody, thorny branches, but I've followed the boys this far. I can't turn around now.

I push aside a branch with my arm and step into the scrub. Immediately I'm caught in a vine, and every time I try to pull away it hooks onto another part of me, until finally the sticky green leaves are wrapped around my chest and arms. My breath comes sharply.

I try to pull away again, but more of the vine twists itself around me. “Damn,” I say. I'm determined not to panic. It's only a vine. I yank on it again, this time more sharply, and some of the leaves tear off me. I grab handfuls of it and pull.

By the time I'm free, I can't hear Gordo or the other boys anymore, but I can hear a deep rumbling, like thunder. It grows louder by the second, and the air twists around and throws dust into my eyes.

A plane closes in on me.

It seems to take up the whole sky.

I run, but I'm disoriented and don't know where to go, so I run away from the noise. I stumble through the scrub until the plane is so close, it's almost on top of me. With a scream, I throw myself against a small rise in the ground.

The plane passes over me.

Above me, on the top of the rise, Gordo and the other boys stand with their arms akimbo. As the plane flies over their heads, the wind lifts the boys like leaves, and they tumble down the hill toward me, screaming and laughing. Gordo lands next to me.

“Astrid! What are you doing?” he shouts. I open my mouth, but no noise comes out.

“Don't tell,” says Gordo. “Please don't tell.” The other boys hang back, but Gordo stands in front of me and waits for me to speak.

My heart races, and my whole body shakes. “Are you stupid?” I shout at him. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”

“It's not,” he says. “The planes are too high to hit us.”

I can't believe what I'm hearing. “You've done this before?”

“Yeah, but it's not dangerous.”

“Gordo…” I don't know what to say.

“Don't tell. Please don't tell.”

I look at him standing there covered in dry grass and leaves. How could he be such an idiot?

“I won't do it again, I promise.” Gordo's good at pleading. He does it a lot.

I rub my hands up and down my legs to stop them from shaking. “Why shouldn't I tell? What else have you been doing?”

“Nothing, I promise. Most of the time, we watch lizards or see who can spit farthest. Nothing dangerous—I promise.”

“That's a lot of promising,” I say.

“Please,” he says.

What good would telling do? I suddenly have this image of Mom locking Gordo and me in a room and refusing to let us out again until we agree to wear space suits to protect us, like the astronauts.

“I won't tell, but only if this is the last time you do it,” I say.

“Promise,” says Gordo.

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.” We wrap our pinkies together and shake.

“We'd better get home before Mom and Dad do,” I say.

Before we leave, I brush off my shorts and peer over the top of the hill. Ahead of me is the airport runway, and at the far end, the plane, with people walking past soldiers and into the airport.

We jog home. Gordo lags behind a few times, but I yank his arm and hurry him up. We're just through the gates when we hear Dad's voice call out, “Joanne, they're here.” He stands at the front door, holding Piper tightly, and the look on his face tells us we're in big trouble. Mom runs out of the house. She's crying.

“Where were you? What if something had happened?” she says.

Gordo opens his mouth, but I glare at him and he shuts up.

“We were out walking, Mom. It's so hot in the rooms.” I hate lying, but I hope my red face will make Mom think I'm telling the truth about it being too hot. “I need a glass of water to cool down,” I say.

“Not so fast, young lady,” says Dad. He can tell I'm lying. He always knows. “The air-conditioning's on in your room.”

My red face burns even brighter, until it's so hot I think I might faint. Now I really do need to lie down or drink some water.

“You're grounded until further notice. You know how much your mother worries. All you had to do was tell Abena that you were hot and you wanted to go outside,” Dad says.

“I did tell her,” I say, but even that's not quite true. I shouted at her, but I didn't wait to see if she had heard.

“Think of the position you put Abena in. Your mother was upset with her when we came home and you two were gone.”

Gordo hangs his head.

Dad and I stare at each other.

“It's not fair. I was running after Gordo,” I say, but Dad's face doesn't change.

Mostly what I want to do right now is turn around and walk right back down the driveway and up the street to the airport and onto a plane out of here. I want to go back home, and I want life to be the way it used to be.

“Grounded,” I say in a small voice.

“Until I say otherwise,” says Dad.

“What about Gordo?” I ask.

“Gordo too,” he says. “But you're the one who was supposed to be in charge. Astrid, you're old enough to understand that things are tense right now. You know the soldiers are on edge, what with the elections coming.”

Soldiers, soldiers, soldiers. They're becoming Dad's excuse for everything. He thinks he knows all about them.