It Never Rains in Colombia (10 page)

             
“What?” Christian asked.

             
“Their gang; it's called Snakes. What did they do to you?” Peter asked again, seeing Christian's quizzical look.

             
“Nothing,” he said in confusion. “Well, I was walking home and they started some trouble, so I finished it!”

             
They took their seats in the Canteen. Christian took his packed lunch out from his bag.

             
“Wow!” James said. “You've got some guts.”

             
“Why do they call themselves Snakes?” Christian asked.

             
“Dunno,” Patrick replied, “probably because it sounds dangerous.”

             
Peter shook his head. “I heard it's because they all have a different type of poisonous snake as a pet. When you mess with them, they tie you up and release the snakes. I can't believe you took them all on. When Razak comes, are you going to beat him too?” he laughed.

             
The table went quiet. Some other students had drawn their chairs around the table to listen to Christian's tale. Some stood around, making it so crowded that when Harlow walked past, she couldn't see beyond the mass of blue-blazered bodies to see who was sitting at the table.

             
“What's that all about?” she asked Mei as they passed by.

             
“Who knows,” Mei replied nonchalantly, sauntering past with her tray.

             
“Razak?” Christian repeated. His voice echoed over the silence as if they were in a dank cavern.

              “Boxer.” Patrick said tensely his eyes serious. “Razak Boxer. Vincent's cousin, he's a legend. He used to be the European Kickboxing Champion, until...” he trailed off.

             
James looked at Christian, “You didn't know?” he asked. “That's why no one touches Vincent.”

             
Then Christian began to understand. These people weren't his friends. This was a veiled threat. “Until what?” he asked Patrick, testing, trying to hide his nerves.

             
Patrick explained reluctantly, “He retired because he made more money selling drugs than he did competing as a professional fighter.”

             
Christian gulped, nodding slowly to hide his fear. “I don't have any problems with him,” he said simply.

             
“Well, he has a problem with you now,” James said.

             
By the afternoon, the whole school knew that Christian had fought twenty men and won. By the end of the school day the rumour in the hallways was that he had taken down twenty-five. As the students climbed into their cars, they had all decided that Christian had defeated thirty men and killed Razak Boxer. It had to be true, otherwise Christian was a dead man, because nobody could have taken on Razak Boxer and lived.

              The next day, they were sitting quietly in class when Christian heard his full name blared out over the loud speaker. The sound of catcalls filled his ears as he left the class. He found a prefect waiting at the door, in a pristine uniform, to escort him through the deserted hallways like a warden with a prisoner in a high-security penitentiary. Faces pressed against the panels of glass in the classrooms as he passed. In the headmaster’s office, he was uneasy as he took a seat. The stern eyes across the broad mahogany desk were unblinking, like those of an old oil portrait. The headmaster looked haggard. The glare of overhead lights shone on his shiny forehead, a harsh contrast to the dark shadow above his brow, created by the grey quiff of his thick toupee.

             
“Christian,” he said gravely, “I have received a complaint about your behaviour. It is my understanding that you attacked one of your fellow students outside the school grounds.”

             
Shock filled the air and Christian fought the urge not to gape at the man. “What!” he spluttered, “no sir,” interrupting before the headmaster had finished.

             
“This kind of behaviour is not acceptable. I'm sure you are aware of our zero-tolerance policy on bullying. Violence will not be tolerated in this school no matter who the perpetrator is.” The headmaster raised an eyebrow and Christian failed to fully grasp what he was saying. “I had high hopes for you,” he said sadly. “Your marks are impeccable, but,” he sighed as if weighing his words, assessing the damage about to be done. “I am aware that your personal situation is difficult. I understand that you've experienced some, well, very traumatising events, but there is no excuse for this type of behaviour. As a scholarship student, I'm sure you know that your position at Rutherfords is slightly more tenuous than most.”

             
Christian felt the anger boil up inside him. It was followed by a cool wave of indignation. “Sir, this is all a misunderstanding. I was walking home when this
gang
,” he emphasised the word so firmly that he felt his tongue would pop. “This
gang
attacked me, sir. I managed to get away before they could do any real damage.”

             
The headmaster scrutinised his bruised face.

             
“But there were so many of them, it's a miracle I'm not in hospital,” he paused, looking up at the headmaster who leaned back in his chair, his fingers pressed together in thought.

             
“Do you have anyone to corroborate your story? What you're saying is very serious.”

              Christian nodded, thinking of Mei.

             
“Who?” The headmaster asked.

             
Christian felt all the life drain out of his body. He had asked Mei to report what happened to the teachers and she'd said no. It seemed as if Christian were motionless. The room became devoid of heat. The headmaster called his name. “I'll, I'll have to,” he hesitated, stuttering, buying time. Maybe Mei wouldn't want to come forward. “I don't know the other person's name, sir. I'll have to find out.”

             
The headmaster looked at him gravely, as if he thought it a likely story, as if there was no witness. “I'll give you two days. I hope you understand that once the investigation is complete, you may be permanently excluded.”

             
When Christian returned from the headmaster's office the classroom was filled with the hubbub of everyday activities; as if his call to the office had never happened. He found Harlow looking at him as he took his seat, as if she knew what had happened. He was so distracted by her that it took him a while to notice the folded-up piece of paper on his desk. For a moment, he dared to hope as their eyes met, then she turned her back on him to fiddle with something in her bag. The teacher seemed unfazed by Christian's return. He opened his book, slamming it down in irritation. The paper moved toward the edge of the desk, pushed back by the small gust of wind. He looked up sharply at the movement, still on edge, trying to remember when he had put it there. He unfolded it with ease, expecting to see some old revision notes, and found a blank paper with bold lettering printed determinedly on it: “Razak is coming for you. : )” He dropped the note as if the paper had bitten him, infecting his body with fear. He looked around at the people in his class, wildly, all of them were sitting innocently with their heads down, working, or chatting idly. No one noticed how hot he suddenly felt or the way his palms slicked over. He tried not to react. The sinister smiley face stared up at him from the note and he imagined it opening its mouth, morphing into the venomous fangs of a snake ready to bite. He crumpled it up in anger and tossed the ball of paper onto the ground. 

             
The teacher cleared his throat. “Mr. Ribeiro, there is no littering in my classroom.”

             
The idle eyes around the room turned toward Christian, and he began to wonder which one of them was against him. “Sorry,” he said, swiftly picking up the ball of paper. He got up and placed it in the bin at the front of the class. Searching the faces in the room for eyes that lingered on him, a malevolent smile, a nod, nothing. Nothing came. This only increased his paranoia. He was full of suspicion by the time he retook his seat. Names poured into his head and they were flung out of the way by the furious kicks of a faceless Razak Boxer. He turned the pen over and over in his hand trying to get to work. His mind was flooded with words, memories, voices, everything he had heard so far;
”Legend. He's the European Kickboxing Champion,”
he heard Patrick's voice.
“He broke some guy's ribs. He runs the gangs in this area. Sometimes he just shoots you. Razak Boxer, Boxer, Razak”
Christian found himself scribbling on the paper. He crossed out the word Boxer and began doodling slowly. By the time the bell rang, he hadn't managed to complete any of his work.

             
“Where are you going?” Mei asked Christian.

             
That was all Harlow could hear before they moved into the empty classroom, closing the door. The whole school was in an uproar. Christian looked frazzled, angry, and nervous all at once. Whenever Harlow tried to talk to him, he would disappear with some excuse. She waited patiently for them to come out of the classroom. Then, after a few seconds, she couldn't stand it anymore and burst into the room. “What's going on?” she demanded. They looked up, wide-eyed, in surprise. There was a silence and she saw them exchange uncertain glances.

             
“He wants me to—” Mei ventured.

             
He cut her off. “It's nothing,” he said. “It's fine. I'm not going to do anything,” he explained to Mei. Harlow stared at them, feeling dumbfounded as he said softly, “I promise,” then quickly squeezed Mei's hand.

             
Mei blushed. “I'll see you later,” she said to Harlow, and waltzed past her.

             
Harlow nodded vaguely before turning to Christian. “So you're a kick boxer now?” she asked him as Mei left.

             
He laughed uneasily. “Apparently.”

             
“I hear you beat up twenty guys.”

             
“No,” he reassured her. “It was all a misunderstanding. I hate fighting. You know what, I wish everybody would stop talking about this.” 

             
“So you didn't fight anyone?” she asked suspiciously.

             
“It was just one guy.”

             
She shook her head. “I saw it. Mark posted it on YouTube.”

             
He scratched his head. “Really? Can I see it? Do you have your phone?”

             
Harlow showed him the video clip and Christian grabbed her, lifting her into a hug. For a brief moment, his lips were against her ear and he mumbled something incoherent like, “Thank you.” Harlow squealed, then he let her go gently.

             
“That explains a lot. I've never had so many friends in all my life,” he said, chuckling trying to hide his relief.

             
“What were you guys talking about?”

             
“Just some school stuff. Have you eaten?” he asked, beginning to leave the classroom. “We could have a little picnic here. I brought too much food,” Christian said, going to his locker to retrieve his bag.

             
“I'm not hungry,” Harlow said calmly.

             
His shoulders fell in disappointment. “Lunch with Roberto?” he asked.

             
“Yes. How did you know?”

             
She saw something flicker in Christian's eyes and then he smiled casually, “I figured you have to eat wherever it is that you disappear to every lunchtime.”

             
She smiled.

              After lunch, Harlow watched Sophia and Christian talking and then flashed back to when she had fallen at the angels and demons party; The Heavenly Ball. Now it was all she could think about. That's how the afternoon began. Christian reached over to tap her in French class and she jumped back in surprise. “Revision tomorrow?” he asked, giving her an odd look. It all came flooding back to her.

             
“Oh.” And she landed back in reality, pushing her misgivings to one side. “Sure,” she said. “If you guys want to meet up today as well,” she offered.

             
“I'm okay with that,” he explained, “but I don't know about the others.”

             
The bell rang and he disappeared out the door in a hurry, his face flushed. Harlow felt uncomfortable.

             
“Wow.” Sophia said coming over as Harlow packed her things. “What's with you and Christian?” she asked.

             
“What?” Harlow questioned feeling bemused. “Nothing.”

             
“You were giving him kind of an intense look,” Sophia said as if she were jealous.