Unravelled (6 page)

“Good girl. Keep practising, and close the gate properly on your way out. Oh, and one more thing. Remember that birthday gift I gave you?”

I frown. “The chest?”

“The beaded ankle bracelet. The very old one.”

I nod.

“This might be a good time to start wearing it.”

I open my mouth to ask what he means but he shoos me away, eager to prepare for his trip. I leave him to his packing. In the corridor I reach into my pocket for my phone. It’s almost six-thirty. Dad’s probably not home, but Rakwena’s supposed to come over after work and I don’t want to make him wait.

I hurry through the living room, knocking against the small table on my way to the door and upsetting the book lying on it. The book slides half off the table and I lean over to push it back into place. The second I touch it I feel a tingle. Not just any tingle, either. I stare at the book, then pick it up and hold it in both hands. A dull surge of anxiety moves through me, then fades. The tingle is gone but I know I felt it, and I’d know it anywhere. Rakwena was here recently, and it wasn’t a social call.

I take a closer look at the book. It’s an old, red leather-bound volume called
A Meeting of Minds
. I put it back and consider confronting my grandfather, but I know if he intended to tell me Rakwena was here he would have done it already. I head outside, closing the front door and the gate behind me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had the feeling that Rakwena and Ntatemogolo are keeping something from me. From the start it was clear that Ntatemogolo knew Rakwena and didn’t trust him. I let it go. Ntatemogolo knows most of the gifted in town, as many of them come to him for help with their powers. I assumed Rakwena must have done the same, but now I’m not so sure.

Something was bothering Rakwena and he came to my grandfather for help. Is he planning to clue me in, or is this another mystery I’m supposed to ignore?

***

Rakwena and I lounge on the sofa with my Setswana books, while he tries to help me with my appalling sentence construction. I can’t concentrate. I’m trying not to be pushy and nosy but I can’t help it. I’ve given him ample opportunity to confide in me, and he hasn’t.

“Rakwena.”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you go to see my grandfather?”

His gaze remains fixed on the page. “Did he tell you I went to see him?”

“He doesn’t tell me anything, and neither do you.” I lean over to snatch the book from under his nose. “Talk to me. I know you’re worried about something. What is it?”

He leans back in the sofa with a puzzled frown. “I touched something. That’s how you know.” The frown lines smooth out and he looks at me. “The book.”

I look into his eyes, but as usual he’s got his barrier up and there’s no way I’m getting in. “It would be nicer if you had just told me.”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

If he were anyone else I’d be able to see the wheels turning in his head. I’d be able to tell whether he was cooking up a story for me or searching for the right words to frame the truth. But Rakwena never lets his guard down, so I have to take every word he says on faith.

“Why would I be upset?”

He takes a moment to reply. “Your grandfather and I are worried about Thuli. I know you think he’s lost interest, but I don’t.”

Relief flows through me. It’s not some terrible secret after all – it’s just Rakwena looking out for me, as usual. “He’s not going to come near me as long as you’re around,” I remind him. “I can handle Thuli. I’m not afraid of him anymore.”

He pulls me closer. “You think you’re some superhero now?”

“Almost.” I kiss the side of his face. “Relax. Thuli is going down one of these days. We don’t have to worry about him.” I hesitate before asking, “So that’s all? I mean…you’re not worried about your…”

“Father?” His jaw tenses. “No news is good news. Hopefully he really is dead.”

I decide not to comment. There’s no love lost between Rakwena and his father and I know better than to press the issue. The one parent I can talk about is his mother. Mmabatho Langa is in a psychiatric facility in South Africa, and Rakwena goes to visit her all the time. She’s the only relative he speaks to; his maternal aunts have practically disowned him and his father’s side of the family disappeared when his father “died”.

“How’s your mother?”

“She’s OK. I’m going to see her next weekend. Can we do some work now?”

“Sure.” I open the book.

***

Friday comes way too quickly. It’s the last day of term so we’re in civvies, which means jeans and sneakers for me. Civvies day at Syringa is like the opening day of Fashion Week – most of the kids use it as an opportunity to flash their favourite brand names at the minority middle-class students. It’s supposed to be intimidating – a girl can only stomach so much Guess before she flees to the toilet in tears to cut the label off her Mr Price shirt.

Fortunately for me, I’ve never been interested in clothes. I’m a fickle teenager. Why pay a fortune for a pair of jeans I won’t even want in a few months? Lebz, on the other hand, is a fashion slave. She turns up in skinny jeans that look as though they’ve been painted on, a flimsy top that barely covers her bra, a leather jacket, heels and a handbag so obviously expensive I can’t even look at it without feeling queasy.

“I thought you were trying not to spend so much money this year,” I admonish her, as she slides onto the bench.

“I didn’t buy it –
yoh
!” She laughs. “I don’t get
that
much pocket money. Papa got it for me in Italy. He got shoes for Rita – they’re so beautiful! I’m wearing them to the party tonight.”

Wiki and I exchange glances. Wiki’s folks, like mine, are in the lower income bracket of the Syringa class system. As far as they’re concerned, sending us to the best school in town is enough – if we want to keep up with our classmates, we should get jobs. Lebz’s dad works like a fiend making bucketloads of money, and then spoils his kids rotten to make up for all the time he spends away. It’s a good thing her mother is sensible, or Lebz would have turned out like Kelly.

“Just wait till you guys see Kencer for yourselves,” she goes on.

“Kencer?” Wiki and I chorus.

“Kelly and Spencer,” Lebz explains.

I snicker. “It’s not very flattering.”

“I know it sounds like cancer, but Botho started it and now it’s stuck. So? Are we meeting at my place for the party or what?”

“I’m not coming,” Wiki announces.

“What?” Lebz and I whip around to stare at him in dismay.

“You know how I feel about parties,” he groans. “It’s the end of term! I want to stay home and watch a movie or read…”

“You can’t miss it – Kelly throws the best parties!” says Lebz.

“And what about me?” I pitch in. “Lebz is going to disappear the minute we walk in, and I’ll be all by myself in the jungle! You can’t abandon me!”

“She’s right,” says Lebz, without shame.

Wiki sighs. “Fine. But I’m bringing my laptop.”

“Good! Mogapi’s busy today, so he can’t give us a ride, but I can ask my mother,” says Lebz.

“Rakwena will drop us off.”

Lebz raises an eyebrow. “He’s gate-crashing?”

I glare at her. “No, but he’s going to drop me off, so we might as well meet at my house around seven and he’ll take us.”

“Hm!” Lebz purses her lips. “Nice to have a mobile boyfriend, isn’t it?”

The sound of the bell saves her from my stinging retort. All through the day Lebz rambles on about the party, her hair, her outfit – but I can’t stop thinking about Thuli. Despite what I said to Rakwena, there’s a little part of me that is afraid.

Auntie Lydia is cooking when I walk into the house later, and the aroma of roasting chicken fills the air.

“I love you,” I gush, as I make my way into the kitchen.

She turns away from the stove to smile at me. “No, you only use me for my cooking skills.”

“Not true!” I give her a half hug and lean over to peer at the pot of rice bubbling away on the stove.

“OK, enough games now. I’m worried about your father.” She peeks at the oven, then turns her full attention to me. “It’s not normal for him to have so much work at the university now – they’ve only just opened.”

“It’s the Salinger project.” I sigh and walk to the fridge for some water. “He’s supposed to be getting help from Ntatemogolo, but you know how it is with them.”

Her eyes widen with understanding. “Can’t you talk to them?”

“I’ve tried.” I slump against the counter.

She frowns thoughtfully. “Keep trying. But for now, come and make some vegetables for the stew. I know you’re going to a party tonight, but you must eat some real food first.”

“Auntie, you don’t want me to fit into my party clothes?”

“Party clothes? You?” She throws an incredulous glance over her shoulder as she lifts the lid of the rice pot.

I laugh. “I do have a few nice things, you know.”

“Yes – the ones I made you,” she teases. “Come, come – my vegetables. There’s the chopping board.”

I smile as I reach for the chopping board and knife, but she’s got me thinking. I really have to find a way to get Dad to agree to work with Ntatemogolo. Now that school is over, I’ll have lots of free time to come up with a plan.

Chapter Three

I stand in front of my mirror, scowling at my reflection. I hate clothes. I hate parties. At this moment I even hate Lebz, who looks like a million bucks in her black leather pants, ankle boots and silk top. She has a red sash around her braids and a cute handbag shaped like a fan.

I’m wearing black jeans with a ridiculous sequinned dragon clawing its way up the thigh, and a miniscule white shirt that Lebz insisted on bringing. It looks like it shrunk in the washing machine. “No.”

“But it’s so cute!”

“How can it be cute? It’s invisible!” I struggle with the top for a few minutes before finally getting it off, then rummage in my wardrobe and pull out a red The Doors T-shirt with the collar and sleeves cut off. I love this T-shirt – it falls over one shoulder and hangs just below my hips. I have no idea who The Doors are – the T-shirt used to belong to my father before I hijacked it – but I like it anyway.

I pull off the jeans and replace them with a pair of faded black jeans I’ve been wearing forever. I push my feet into hi-top All-Stars, tie a black band around my hair and I’m set.

“You know, that look isn’t as bad as I expected,” Lebz remarks, giving me the once-over.

I roll my eyes at her and grab a jacket. “Where is Wiki? Rakwena will be here in a few minutes and I don’t want to make him drive all the way to Phase 2.”

Lebz gets up and goes to the mirror to check her hair. She’s done some interesting twisty thing with her braids that must have taken ages. “Relax. He’ll be here.”

As if on cue, I hear a car pull up outside. “Finally!” I hurry to the door and pull it open just as Wiki is coming up the driveway. I wave at his father before he drives off.

“I’m sorry I’m late – my dad was in the middle of something.” True to his word, Wiki has his laptop bag on his shoulder.

Rakwena arrives a few minutes later. I lock up the house and pocket my key, send Dad a quick text to let him know when to expect me back, and then we’re off.

“I wish you were coming,” I tell Rakwena, as the car moves through the streets.

“I don’t. Besides, you have two experienced bodyguards,” he points out, looking at Lebz and Wiki in the rear-view mirror.

Somehow this doesn’t exactly reassure me. Wiki, despite his best intentions, is going to be absorbed in his laptop, and once Lebz is swallowed by the crowd I won’t see her for the rest of the night. Hopefully this Spencer guy and his buddies will keep me entertained, otherwise I’m going to be stuck watching anime with Wiki.

Kelly lives in a sprawling estate in Broadhurst. Her stepfather does something to do with medicine – medical supplies, or pharmaceuticals or something – and he’s the only father she’s ever known. Her real father left when she was a baby. She got an upgrade if you ask me – her stepdad treats her like a princess.

Rakwena pulls up outside the house, and Lebz’s door is open before the car has even come to a complete stop.

“Thanks, Lizard!” she chirps, hopping out of the car.

“Yes, thank you.” Wiki heaves a sigh of resignation and glances miserably at the house. “Not to be a bother, but is there any chance of a ride home?”

“Sure,” says Rakwena with a sympathetic grin. “I’ll be coming to get Connie around eleven. I can drop you off, no problem.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Wiki gets out of the car and trails behind Lebz, who has already started dancing her way up the driveway to the beat of some ghastly ragga tune.

“Better get going before I lose my bodyguards.” I turn towards the door.

“Hey.” Rakwena takes my hand. “Be careful.”

“I will.” It occurs to me that he no longer seems as worried as he was the last time we spoke. From trying to convince me not to go to the party at all, he’s switched to being almost nonchalant. My sixth sense is tingling, but the car is idling and Wiki’s waiting for me near the door.

I give Rakwena a quick kiss and climb out of the car. Lebz, of course, is nowhere to be seen. Wiki and I step into Wonderland. It’s loud, and very different from Thuli’s party. There’s no wine, no carefully laid table, and no red carpet. It’s just a huge house crammed to bursting with rowdy kids.

Amantle is standing in the foyer, welcoming the guests. She’s dressed in a slinky minidress and looks about eighteen instead of fourteen. I’ve noticed that after getting rid of the bewitched necklace that the Puppetmaster used to control her, she no longer wears any kind of jewellery. I suppose you can’t be too careful.

Seeing her dressed up like this triggers a flashback of the sort of outfits she and her friends wore when they were under the Puppetmaster’s power, and that reminds me of Emily. I bite my lip. I never told Amantle that Emily was still working for him; once Emily left there seemed no point in freaking the others out. As far as they’re concerned, all five of them are safe and well. I think it’s best they keep thinking that.

Amantle waves us over. “I’m glad you came,” she yells over the music. “You didn’t bring Rakwena?”