Unravelled (25 page)

Chapter Eleven

Sunday is quiet. Rakwena doesn’t call, and I don’t leave the house. Are we supposed to avoid each other? I don’t know – since this is my first relationship, the politics elude me. I hate feeling this way, this gnawing ache in my chest as if my heart’s been scooped out. He’s just a boy. If we can’t work it out, there will be other boys. Right?

Dad has been eyeing me suspiciously, and he finally decides to pounce during lunch. I’m standing at the counter, washing the pot I used to make gravy, when he makes his move.

“What’s wrong, Connie?” He’s standing in front of the open fridge, watching me.

“Nothing.” I put the pot upside down on the dish rack and turn to face him. “How’s the project going?”

If his eyes narrow any further they’ll be closed. “Have you been crying?”

“Of course not.”

He frowns dubiously at me. I see the question coming and prepare to escape into the living room, but I’m too slow.

“Does it have something to do with Rakwena?”

I laugh. One of those awkward I’m-not-trying-to-hide-anything-why-are-you-so-damn-paranoid laughs, the type that never convince anyone. “Why does everything have to be about some guy?”

“I didn’t realise he was just some guy.”

I cringe. I don’t want to have this discussion yet, but I don’t see how I’m going to get out of it. I take a deep breath. “We’re…sort of…separated.”

“Separated?” The frown deepens.

“Separated. Not divorced…but not quite married, either.”

“Ah,” he says, his frown lines smoothing out. “You had a fight?”

“Something like that. It’s complicated.”

“Relationships always are,” he says, and there’s not a note of condescension in his voice. I appreciate that. I know it’s just a teen romance to him, but to me it’s like my arm’s been sliced off. “Any chance of patching things up?”

I shrug. “There are some pretty big holes in this boat.”

“But you were so close,” he protests, and I realise that despite his initial misgivings about Rakwena, he’s actually sad.

Now I’m starting to feel sad again, and I think I’ve done enough bawling for a good long while. “I don’t want to talk about it right now, if that’s OK.”

Dad nods solemnly. “Of course. I’m here, though. When you’re ready to talk.”

“I know.” I turn towards the door.

“Connie.”

“Yes?”

“Are you OK, though?”

I start to nod, but not even Dad’s going to buy my bravado. “Not really,” I confess softly. “But I will be. Eventually.”

***

Monday is the real test. I haven’t seen Lebz all weekend, and when she walks into my house she’s babbling as usual. She pauses halfway through her monologue. “Are you OK?”

“Sure.” I pull her through the gate, closing it behind us.

“I get it.” She sighs. “You’re still angry because I said we always talk about you.”

I consider pointing out that her statement is irrefutable evidence of who the self-absorbed one in this friendship really is, but it doesn’t seem like the right time for that. “I’m not angry with you.”

She considers this for a moment, then promptly accepts it and moves on. “What’s going on, then? Is it your dad and grandfather again?”

“No.”

“It’s Rakwena,” she guesses. “You had a fight about the drifters.”

When I tell her, she stops in her tracks and I have to turn around to face her.

“Are you crazy?” She resumes walking again, her eyes wide with shock and disapproval. “A break is halfway to a break-up! You can’t break up – you’re meant for each other! This was your idea, wasn’t it? He’d never dump you – he thinks you walk on friggin’ water.”

Twang! That’s the sound of Lebz tugging ruthlessly on my heartstrings. I keep my hands jammed into my pockets and stare silently ahead.

“Connie! Are you listening to me? You’d better go and apologise. He’ll understand that you didn’t mean it – everyone knows how stubborn you can be. I’ll come with you. You can be back together by the end of the day.”

Interesting how she immediately assumes it must be something I did. In all fairness, I am the queen of not thinking, speaking out of turn and screwing things up. I want to tell her the whole story, but we’re only a few minutes away from seeing Wiki and I’d rather not have to go through it twice.

“Connie!”

“I’m not deaf,” I reply irritably as we enter the school grounds.

“Then tell me what happened! I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think. Maybe this is just you misinterpreting the signals.”

Wiki is sitting on the bench, waiting for us. “You look miserable,” he remarks.

“She and Rakwena are on a break,” Lebz declares with a theatrical sigh, plopping onto the bench. “Can you believe that?”

Wiki looks at me. “I suppose you’re going to give us the details?”

“Well, it’s simple. No, it’s not. The main thing is I found out his big secret.” Just saying the words upsets me all over again. “I know why the Cresta Crew want to meet him so badly. He’s part of their cell. He’s a drifter.”

Lebz lets out a nervous titter. “I thought you just said he’s a drifter.”

Wiki is staring at me. “I think she did.”

“But…” Lebz’s smile fades. “That’s not possible. Right? Connie?”

So I tell them. I recount the whole story, from my visit to the drifters to my last conversation with Rakwena. They listen in horrified silence, and the bell rings while I’m still explaining why a break seemed like the only option. I fall silent. No one says anything for a while. Wiki is the first to get up.

“Are you going to be OK?” he asks gently.

I put on my best this-is-really-not-a-big-deal smile. “It’s a not a divorce.”

Lebz pulls me into a hug, speechless for once, then leaves for her lesson. Wiki and I head towards our class as well. I want to call Rakwena, but I can’t. We need some distance. I miss him already, but I’m tired of always being in the dark. If he had told me from the start, who knows how much progress we could have made by now? He’d have made friends with the drifters, Spencer would never have gone off the rails, Kelly would never have been in danger… If, if, if.

The truth is that even if Rakwena and I can get past this, I’m not sure he’s ever going to trust me completely. If he can’t be honest with himself, let alone with me, what chance do we have?

***

I walk into the upstairs toilets near the Admin block in the brief break between classes. The first stall is occupied. The third is out of order so I head into the second one and roll my eyes at the lack of toilet paper. I don’t have much time, so I’m all set to dash back to the North Block when I hear soft sniffles from the other stall.

Uh-oh. The old Connie would hurry out of the toilet and mind her own business, but she’s been replaced with a nosy new model. Today, especially, I’m eager for any distraction.

I lean against the wall separating our stalls. “Are you OK in there?”

The sniffling stops. I frown. I can’t sense anything, and that’s unusual. I put my supernatural feelers out, reaching beyond the flimsy material between us, and come up against a solid wall. I know this wall. I’ve seen it before. It’s formed from years of carefully tended mutual dislike. My mouth falls open.

“Kelly? Is that you?”

She sniffs again. “Um…hi.”

I step out of the stall. I should leave. It’s Kelly, for goodness sake, not some poor kid who needs a shoulder to cry on. Kelly’s a big girl. An image of Spencer slithers into my thoughts, reminding me that I’m one of the chosen few who really understand what Kelly’s been dealing with. I vacillate for a few seconds. She wouldn’t want help from me.

She emerges from the stall, and all my ambivalence evaporates. Her eyes are red, her usually luminous skin is ashy and her bottom lip trembles.

“I have a cold,” she explains.

“Sure,” I reply.

She slouches over to the sink to wash her face. I didn’t know Kelly
could
slouch. I walk to the paper towel dispenser and pull out a few sheets, then hand them to her as she rises from the sink.

“Thanks.” She dries her face. Her expression is inscrutable now. I hate not being able to read her – it throws me off balance. She lifts her school bag onto the counter and rummages around inside. She pulls out a tub of face cream, foundation, lip gloss and mascara and sets them down. “You think I’m an idiot.” She’s watching me in the mirror.

Of course I do. Hang on – she’s not supposed to know that. “Why would you– ”

“Please. I’m putting on my mask and you’re standing there, all natural and crap. You think I’m shallow.” She shrugs. “I can’t walk around looking like a mess, you know. I’m
Kelly
. I shouldn’t give a damn. I should be moving on.”

I swallow, suddenly feeling ashamed. For a minute I just watch her put her game face on, understanding for the first time why she makes so much effort. It’s not like she needs the make-up; even with puffy eyes she’s the prettiest girl in school. I guess I never realised that being beautiful and popular comes with expectations.

I clear my throat. “So why haven’t you moved on?”

She stops applying mascara to shoot me a look. “He’s not like other guys. You
know
that.”

Yep, I know. My eyes drop to my shoes, which are more scuffed than I’d like. I look up to meet her pleading gaze. I know what she’s asking for. Confirmation. I don’t know if I can give it to her. We freaks have to stick together…but maybe we girls have to stick together, too. Besides, after everything Spencer put her through, the least she deserves is an explanation, even if it’s vague.

I take a deep breath. “You’re right. He’s not like other guys.” I hope that’s enough, because I plan to keep my promise to the drifters.

It is. Her shoulders sag with relief. “My friends think I’m crazy. Except Lebz, and she only gets it because of you, obviously. I know he’s trouble, but I can’t forget. I try, but it’s just…it’s hard. Like…” She grunts in exasperation and puts away her make-up.

“Like he took something when he left and you can’t function without it,” I whisper, and a lump forms in my throat.

Her eyes widen with surprise and…empathy? She picks up her school bag. “I’ve got Kensie next.”

I wince. Mrs Kensington is a tyrant. “Poor you.”

Kelly laughs. She has quite a nice laugh, genuine and unguarded. How come I never noticed? “See you, Conz.” She starts toward the door.

Eish
, that ghastly nickname again. I let it slide. The girl’s in bad shape. “It’ll get better,” I tell her reluctantly. “The longer you’re away from him, the easier it will be. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

She turns back and raises an eyebrow at me. “Like what?”

I shrug. This is so bizarre. I’m standing in the toilets giving advice to my arch-enemy! “Like calling him, trying to see him, or other stalker-like behaviour.”

She cocks her head and gives me a haughty glare. “Are you serious? Kelly doesn’t chase boys. Boys chase Kelly.”

I have to smile at that, though I’m not entirely sure she’s joking. “Right, sorry.”

She shakes her head at me, marvelling at my ignorance, and then flashes a teasing smile before disappearing down the corridor. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, stunned by the repercussions of that encounter. Something has changed. We have formed an understanding, I suppose, like two dogs that have spent their lives barking at each other from behind fences, only to discover that they came from the same litter. We’ve found common ground – we’ve dated and been deceived by drifters in the same cell. What are the odds of that?

I frown into the mirror, feeling that proverbial warm, fuzzy sensation people always talk about. It’s odd. I’m not sure I like it.

***

The dream of my mother and the Puppetmaster haunts me twice more in the week that follows. Each time I sit up in bed, trying to puzzle it out, and each time I come up empty. How am I supposed to protect myself against a man whose minions are twice as strong as I am?

From the dream, my thoughts inevitably shift to Rakwena, and then it becomes impossible to fall asleep again, and I end up getting out of bed and trying to distract myself with schoolwork.

I feel as though my head is a bomb, and I’m just waiting for it to go off. My telepathy is more sensitive than ever now, and it seems like everywhere I go I’m assaulted by mental traffic. I need a resolution. Of the many unravelled threads in my head, at least one needs to be tied up, before I completely lose my mind.

I’m still at sea when it comes to Rakwena, I can’t bring myself to see the Cresta Crew right now, and I’m blind as far as the Puppetmaster’s schemes go. There’s only one mystery I might be able to get to the bottom of, and that’s my grandfather and whatever he’s hiding.

I enlist my friends’ help in my mission. The three of us head to Bontleng after school. I haven’t called; I’m hoping to catch Ntatemogolo unawares. The plan is for me to distract him while my friends investigate the house. I don’t even need a pretext for visiting, not with all the drama going on around me.

The house is quiet, curtains drawn, just like the time I caught Emily here.

“Looks like nobody’s home,” says Lebz, trying the front door. “Locked.”

I frown. “Any of you know anything about picking locks?”

Wiki shoots me a disapproving glance. “We’re not breaking into your grandfather’s house – that’s insane.”

“Do you have a better idea?” I ask, moving towards the back of the house.

Lebz and Wiki follow. I try the back door, but of course it’s locked as well. Damn. I look at the kitchen windows. There are no burglar bars on any of the windows – we could probably get them open. I’m no Emily, but I could climb in. Speaking of Emily…

“Something’s not adding up here,” I mutter.

“What do you mean?” Wiki pushes his glasses up on his nose and glances over my shoulder to make sure we’re still alone.

I lower my voice, just in case. “I just thought of something. Ntatemogolo may not be a telepath, but he’s sharp. He would have known Emily was here. He would have realised the second he came in that someone had been in the house.”

“But wasn’t he surprised when you told him you saw her?” asks Wiki.

“I thought so…but maybe he was surprised I knew, not surprised that she was here. He certainly brushed it off quickly enough, telling me to let him handle it.” I ponder for a moment. “He must know what’s going on, and doesn’t want to involve me. That might also explain why he’s been away so much.”