Entwined (9 page)

I’ve struck a nerve. I want to ask, but I’m afraid of the answer. “Is she…”

“Dead? Not in the way you’re thinking.” Before I can ask what that means, his brow creases in concern. “How are you these days, Connie? Feeling all right?”

I look at him through narrowed eyes. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just asking. And the telepathy? Getting easier?”

“Every day.” I consider telling him how erratic my new ability has been lately, but I’d rather keep quiet until he reveals his secret, otherwise I’ll never get it out of him. “How are
you
? Somehow I didn’t think flu would get the better of you.”

His eyes flicker. Ah. Not flu, after all. I didn’t think so. “I’m only human.”

It’s only then that it occurs to me that he might not be – human, that is. Scary thought. Ghosts and monsters are one thing, but it’s bad manners to pretend to be human if you’re not. “Are you?”

He laughs out loud for a long time.

“What, then? Tell me what’s different about you.”

He’s quiet for a while, hands in his pockets, looking at me with a contemplative expression on his face.

“Rakwena!” The suspense is agonising. “You promised!” I push him lightly.

He reaches up to pull my hand away from his shirt, and there it is again. The spark. This time there’s no doubt about it – I can see the blue light fizzle between our hands. The spark is gentle, sending tingles up my arms as he lowers my hand, and it disappears when he releases me. “You’ve wrinkled my shirt.” He frowns, irritated.

I survey the damage. There’s an almost invisible crease near one of the buttons. I roll my eyes. “Sorry. But you’re stalling and it’s not cool. Come on, out with it!”

His hand snakes back into his pocket. My heart is pounding. It’s so quiet without the usual thoughts in my head that my heartbeat sounds like the bass in a house track. When Rakwena’s hand reappears, it’s clutching something flat and clear and… utterly unremarkable.

“A protractor?” I shriek. “Don’t tell me your secret talent is advanced geometry.”

He laughs, and I finally lose my temper.

“You’re not going to show me, are you? You just said yes to get me off your back.”

Rakwena doesn’t answer. He holds up the protractor and studies it as if it’s the most fascinating object in the world.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!”

He ignores me. I’m so angry I just might punch him after all. My hands are already forming fists. He’s close enough; I could probably hit his jaw. No, that would hurt my hand too much. His nose?

Something in the corner of my eye begs for my attention. I turn to look, and almost scream out loud. The protractor hovers above Rakwena’s outstretched hand, floating in thin air. It turns around slowly, doing little pirouettes. It looks like a sheet of glass with light leaping around in it. My eyes follow it, then I’m distracted by a tingle in my hand as Rakwena reaches for it. He turns it so my palm is facing up, and then, using whatever the hell he’s using, gently lowers the protractor onto my hand.

For a moment I’ve lost the ability to speak. Finally I raise my head and look into Rakwena’s eyes, and realise in amazement that he’s nervous.

“It’s not that special,” he says softly. “But it has its uses.”

“It’s incredible,” I gasp. “It’s… it’s the most… wow!”

I can tell he’s pleased by my reaction. “You’re easy to impress. A little trick like that.” He rubs the back of his neck like a shy kid who got a girl to look his way.

“That wasn’t a little trick,” I point out. “You didn’t just make it move, you… I don’t know, you made it come alive.” I stare at him, awestruck. “How did you do it?”

He shrugs, takes the protractor and pockets it. “I’ve always been able to do it.”

“How many people know about this? Do your parents know?”

He hesitates. “Yes.”

“What about your friends?” I prod. He looks at me, and I remember that he’s not exactly Mr Congeniality. “Oh, sorry. But your parents… are they OK with it?”

“On some level.” He nudges my ribs with his elbow. The spark doesn’t seem to apply when there’s fabric in the way. “What about you?”

“My dad sort of knows, but he’s in denial. And my mother had a good idea, but she died before my gift got stronger.” I frown at him. “Stop changing the subject. I know absolutely nothing about you!”

He puts on a baffled expression. “What do you mean? I just showed you my secret! What do you want, my school report?”

I fold my arms and look at him. “You seem to know a whole lot more about my life than you should. It’s only fair that you share a little. At least tell me about your family. Your parents, siblings… come on.”

He sighs and slumps against the wall. “My father died when I was very young. My mother lives…” His jaw twitches. “… Somewhere else. I have no siblings.”

“I’m sorry about your dad. Do you live with relatives, then?”

“I live alone.” His voice is terse. Clearly family is not his favourite topic.

I can’t help wondering about his mother. What does he mean by “somewhere else”? Another country? And why did she leave him here? Don’t they get along? But I can’t ask; the steely expression on his face scares me off. “So… you live in a house? All by yourself?”

His lips curl in a wry smile. “Yes, Connie.”

“Oh.” I’m impressed. His family must think he’s pretty mature if they let him live alone. “Where do you live?”

He shakes his head and sighs. “Near the State House. Why?”

My eyes widen. “How do you pay the rent?”

He makes a little exasperated sound and turns away. “How is this relevant?”

I don’t know why he’s being so secretive. He was the one who started talking to me when I was just sitting there minding my own business. “Don’t be so defensive.” I scowl at him and adjust my bag on my shoulder. “I don’t know any other kids who are allowed to stay alone. I’m curious.”

He seems to think about it for a moment before turning to look at me again. His expression is a little softer, but his guard is still up. “It’s not quite like that,” he says quietly. “It’s my mother’s house. We lived there together until she… went away.” He gets a funny catch in his voice when he talks about her. “So I don’t pay rent.”

“But how do you survive?” I’m baffled by his bizarre living arrangement. Dead father, absentee mother and no one to take care of the basic necessities, like paying the exorbitant Syringa fees.

“My mother has money.” He winces, as if the idea is distasteful. “Quite a lot of it, I suppose. It covers the big things, like school fees and bills. And I work on weekends, some week-nights and during the holidays, in an electronics shop.”

No wonder he doesn’t have any friends – he doesn’t have time. I’m overwhelmed by a sudden wave of compassion. He must be incredibly lonely.

“It’s good that she’s taking care of you,” I say carefully. “I suppose the two of you are close, since you lost your dad and you’re the only child.”

He clears his throat and avoids my gaze. “We used to be.”

He’s not making this easy, but I’m dying to know his story. “Does she work out of town or something?”

“Something.” His face closes up again. “Have you started that Setswana book yet?”

I roll my eyes. Of all the topics in the world, he wants to discuss school? “I’ve only had it for a few hours.”

“OK.” He opens his bag and pulls out a huge blue towel. It’s so clean I catch a whiff of fabric softener as he lays it on the concrete.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want us to get dust on our uniforms,” he replies, as he sits cross-legged on the towel and smiles up at me. “Come on, sit down.”

I slip my bag off my shoulders and lower myself onto the towel beside him. We’re so close our knees are touching. “What are you up to?”

He laughs. “I’m going to help you with Setswana, of course. It’s my best subject after Physics. Here, hand me the textbook.”

I unzip my bag, find the book and give it to him, still a bit wary. “We’re supposed to explain five proverbs – in Setswana. Can you imagine?”

“That’s easy,” he says cheerfully, opening the book.

“Not for me,” I grumble, a little put out by his glee. “I can barely understand anything in class.”

“Not for long,” he promises, taking my notebook and opening it to a fresh page. “I’m a magician, remember?”

How could I forget?

Today is the one-week anniversary of the dawn of my telepathic powers. There are two very good reasons why I’ve paid attention to this fact. One, it’s Thursday, my old friend. Two, it seems my powers have deserted me.

I didn’t understand why Dad was so quiet during breakfast. It’s only now, walking side by side with Lebz on the way to school, that it hits me. All I hear apart from Lebz’s chatter are birds, traffic, the intermittent voices of passers-by and feet crunching on sand. No thoughts. It’s gone from flickering and fading to absolute silence.

I turn to Lebz. “Quick, think of a number!” That always works in popular culture.

Lebz sends me a sidelong stare.

“Are you thinking?”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Yes. But I already know you can read my mind.”

“I can’t!” I’m surprised by how disappointing this is. I had grown rather attached to my gift, and to have it taken away without warning is just cruel. “Maybe I’m sick.” I reach up to feel my forehead.

“Connie?” Lebz pokes me in the ribs.

“I’ve lost my telepathy,” I groan, and start looking around me in dismay.

“I don’t think you dropped it,” says Lebz wryly.

I glare at her. As we approach the school gate, I pick a random passer-by and squint at him, hoping for a glimpse into his head.

“Stop it, you’ll scare people,” hisses Lebz, swatting my arm. “Maybe there’s a disturbance on the frequency or something.”

Sigh. I prefer the Lebz who is clueless about the supernatural and admits it. A car pulls into the parking lot beside us. It’s Wiki’s dad, who waves and flashes a blinding smile before jabbering to Wiki in rapid-fire French. Wiki nods, climbs out of the car and waits for us to reach him.

“Connie’s lost her telepathy,” Lebz reports, lips twitching.

Wiki smiles. “Maybe you should call your service provider.”

“This is serious!” I can’t believe my friends are being so insensitive. “It’s completely gone! What if somebody did something to me?”

Lebz’s smile vanishes. “Somebody like who? Do you have enemies?”

I doubt it, but she doesn’t have to know that. “Maybe it’s Amantle and her friends, afraid that I’m getting too close to their secret.”

Lebz snorts. “The only thing you’ve been getting close to is Rakwena.”

“Maybe it was temporary,” suggests Wiki. “Maybe you were never meant to be a telepath.”

I regard the two of them with increasing suspicion. “You guys are happy about this, aren’t you? I can’t believe it!”

They exchange glances. “I’m sorry, but it’s not pleasant having you in our heads all the time,” says Wiki. “We’re your friends, but we like our privacy.”

Well, when he puts it like that… I didn’t see it as an invasion of privacy. If anything I felt that their thoughts were invading
my
space. “I’m sorry,” I say sheepishly. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

“Ja – everyone else did the thinking for you,” quips Lebz.

Wiki and I groan in unison. There’s no time to condemn her weak jokes – it’s time for class. I’ll send Rakwena a message. He’ll know what’s going on.

“It’s normal,” he assures me during break. “Now it’s going to start stabilising.”

“Stabilising?” I’m not sure I like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

“You won’t be hearing everyone’s thoughts any more,” he explains. “It’ll be more subtle. You’ll be able to sense what someone is feeling and thinking when you’re with them, and if you focus on someone you’ll be able to get into their head.”

You know, I’m really starting to think that this boy isn’t being straight with me. He knows far too much about telepathy for a non-telepath.

“Don’t worry. It’ll come back.”

“But not with you.” I look straight into his eyes. “You’ll still keep blocking me.”

He smiles and says nothing.

I fold my arms. “How do you do it?”

“Ask your grandfather.”

“He never reveals his secrets. Come on; it’s not like I’ll be able to do anything about it.” I give him a plaintive look. “One day I might have to block another telepath. Would you want me to be helpless in the face of such danger?”

He laughs and looks away. “I’m not working this weekend.”

“Good for you. You work too hard, anyway.”

He looks down, brushing imaginary dirt off his immaculate trousers. “Well, I thought we could hang out, practise our magic tricks. If you’re not busy.”

I reach up to rub the back of my neck, which has suddenly become tense. “Um, well, I’m staying at Lebz’s house tomorrow, and we’re going shopping on Saturday.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat.

An awkward silence follows. I don’t understand what just happened. We’re friends, we should be able to hang out. So why does this feel so charged?

“It’s just that you’re so weak,” he says, out of the blue.

“
What
?”

He grins. “You’ve spent too much time hiding your powers instead of using them. You need to build your skills, especially if you want to help people.”

“Help people?” I let out a derisive snort. “I’m not Wonder Woman.”

“But you’re gifted,” he persists. “You have a responsibility.”

I don’t like the word “responsibility”. It makes me think of babies and home loans. But my mind drifts to Amantle and I realise that the boy has a point. If I want to get to the bottom of the Ma-fourteen mystery, I’ll have to get better at using my gifts.

“Do you hike?” he asks.

That’s a good one. “Do I look like a hiker?”

“No,” he replies thoughtfully. “You look like a couch potato. We should go up the hill one day. It’ll be fun.”

I’m so horrified by this prospect that I start to cough. He gives me a few hard slaps on the back, but is otherwise unsympathetic.

“You’re joking,” I finally splutter. “I can’t go up a hill. I’ll die!”

“Of what?” he drawls. “Exposure to fresh air?”