I’m sure what I’m feeling is only a fraction of his power, and that scares me.

But not enough to make me walk away.

Connie Bennett is a freak. She has premonitions, crazy wild hair and the boy she’s loved for three years doesn’t know who she is. Suddenly she can hear everyone’s thoughts and she finds herself drawn to a mysterious, scarred boy. Sparks literally fly between them, but could he actually be dangerous?

Then she discovers there’s a gang of zombie-like young girls being controlled by someone. Only Connie can stop him.

Can she cut the Puppetmaster’s strings?

A CONYZA BENNETT BOOK

Entwined
Cheryl S. Ntumy

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013

Copyright © Cheryl S. Ntumy 2013

Cheryl S. Ntumy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © September 2013 ISBN: 9781472044532

Version date: 2018-10-30

CHERYL S. NTUMY always knew she wanted to write. With two teachers as parents, she grew up surrounded by books. As a child she wrote everything she could think of, from comic books and magazines to short novels and film scripts – some of which are still hiding in a dusty closet. She dreamed of exploring the realms of science fiction, fantasy and the supernatural, but ended up studying textile design instead, and then journalism.

It didn’t take long for her to decide that fiction writing was the only career she was interested in. Her first book, the supernatural novella Crossing, was published in Botswana in 2010, and her first romance novel came a few months later. She has published five romance books to date. Entwined is her first young adult novel.

Cheryl is now a full-time freelance writer in Gaborone, Botswana, where she spends her days writing, reading and daydreaming about stories. Her friends and family are still waiting for her to find gainful employment. She’s determined to keep them waiting for the rest of her life.

I must thank the following people for making this book possible:

My sister Aku Ntumy, for the joke that became Conyza Bennett, telepath and Gabs girl extraordinaire. Sorry about the title. Maybe I’ll let you win on the next one.

My friend and roomie Sharon Tshipa read the manuscript and offered feedback, and then pointed me in the direction of HQ Digital, so technically I owe her double.

Tlotlo Tsamaase, fellow YA writer, was kind enough to go through the book and offer her insight.

HQ Digital, thank you for giving Connie a voice.

Last but not least, thank to you to writers, publishers and book distributors everywhere. Your very existence inspires each word I write.

To Aku, Connie’s co-creator and the best sister a writer could hope to have.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Glossary

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

I hate Thursdays. They’re such a tease, so close to the weekend and yet so far. Thursdays seem to go out of their way to be as boring and drawn-out as possible, just to punish me for hating them. They are also really lousy luck.

All the bad things that ever happened to me happened on Thursdays. It sounds crazy, but I’m serious. My mother died on a Thursday, eleven years ago when I was five. I broke my leg on a Thursday and got mugged while coming home from school on – yes, a Thursday. So naturally whenever Thursday rolls around I get a little anxious.

On this particular Thursday I’m sitting at the dining table, drinking a massive mug of Milo and feeling like Nancy Drew after one of her run-ins with a chloroform-soaked handkerchief. My body aches and my head is full of mist. It’s barely six a.m., but I’m dressed for school already because I can never sleep through my father’s alarm.

“Dad, I’m sick,” I groan.

“Nice try,” my father replies, rummaging in his pockets for his office keys. “If you were that sick you’d still be in bed.” He gives me a knowing nod.

“Eish. You saw right through me.” Even with heavy clouds swelling in my head, I have the strength for sarcasm.

My gaze drops to the keys lying on the table right in front of him. I contemplate putting him out of his misery, but his panic is rather amusing so I sip my Milo and watch. My dad, Dr. Raymond (Ray) Bennett is a super-nerd – you can tell he’s a scientist just by looking at him. He’s been teaching at the local university, UB, for as long as I can remember. Despite living in Botswana for two decades he’s still pasty white, with mousy brown hair that goes limp in the heat. He’s tall and thin, and today he’s wearing grey trousers and that striped brown shirt I keep trying to throw away. I must take after him, with my long arms and skinny legs, though the freckled caramel skin and wild hair is all me.

“Effing hell,” he mumbles, going through his pockets for the third time. “I could have sworn I had them in these trousers. And I have all that marking to do…”

The “effing” is for my benefit. He promised my mother he’d never use four-letter words in my presence and he’s still true to his word. I sigh, drain my mug and study the ring of chocolate powder in the bottom. “On the table, Dad.”

“Huh?” He looks up, sees the keys, and grins. “Oh. Ha! I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” As always, he seems thrilled by this discovery. “Right – I’m off. Say hi to Malebogo.”

“I will.” My best friend Lebz, aka Malebogo, lives just around the corner.

“Don’t forget to wait for Lydia. And be home by seven.”

“Yes, Dad.” Damn. Looks like I’ll have to cancel all those glitzy social events I had planned.

Suddenly my eyes start to sting in an all too familiar way. Ag, not again… My body tenses and through the fog in my head a vague image appears. Mangled metal, broken glass, sirens wailing and traffic snaking all the way up the road. A wave of horror hits me, then fades. “By the way,” I tell my father, “you might want to avoid the flyover by the bus rank.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

He always does that, as if he doesn’t know what’s coming. I get up and carry my mug to the kitchen. “An accident. It’s bad.” I wash my cup and return to the dining room.

Dad dismisses me with a nervous laugh. “Honestly, Connie – what nonsense. I need to stop by Sam’s place to pick up some papers, so I’ll go via Broadhurst.”

I watch him leave and shake my head. He still can’t get his head around the idea that I have premonitions. I suppose it would freak me out too, if I hadn’t been able to do it all my life. Sometimes I have visions and sometimes it’s just a vague feeling, but it’s only ever in connection with people I know or people near me. Take the one I just had – it wouldn’t have happened at all if Dad didn’t take the flyover to work every morning.

It’s genetic, I suppose, inherited from my maternal grandfather. He’s a full-time historian and author and part-time paranormal consultant. You know, a shaman, traditional healer, exorcist, whatever. My dad’s not so keen on that career path. It’s one of the reasons he and Ntatemogolo hate each other. That and the fact that I bonded with my grandfather instantly even though I didn’t know him until he moved back to Botswana three years ago, after travelling the world.

I go into the sitting room and turn on the TV. I already know nothing good is on – and I don’t need a premonition for that – so I go through our DVDs. Lebz calls just after I settle on watching Red Eye for the twentieth time.

“Hey, Lebz.”

“Ha, I knew you’d be up,” she chirps. “What are you watching? No, let me guess. Mean Girls.”

I smile. “Nope.”

“The Notebook.”

“Uh-uh.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re watching something that doesn’t have Rachel McAdams in it – oh, wait! Red Eye! I always forget that one.”

“And we have a winner!” I drag the phone to the sofa and sit down with my feet curled under me. “You want to come watch it with me?”

“It’s not exciting if you know what happens,” she reminds me. “What are you doing after school? Let’s go hang out somewhere.”

I wait patiently for the rest of the request. “Somewhere” only means one thing to Lebz – wherever her idol Kelly and her friends are. It’s based on sound logic – after all, Lebz’s second favourite thing after Kelly is boys, and wherever Kelly and her D-cups go boys are sure to follow.

Lebz ploughs ahead. “Kelly’s having a braai at the game reserve, and then she and the girls are going to watch a movie.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure Kelly and charcoal is a healthy combination.”

“Connie! We should go. It’ll be fun.”

Hmmm. Watching Kelly and company entertain slobbering males in the bush sounds almost as good as listening to Kelly and company entertain slobbering males in a dark cinema. “No, thanks.”

“They won’t mind having you there, you know,” she says in a quiet voice.

My jaw drops and I almost hang up, insulted. As if I want to be accepted by a shallow, albeit very pretty group of girls with the privilege of commanding male attention with a swing of their hips. It’s not as if I can’t get guys to notice me if I try. If I really, really try. OK, so maybe not even then, but I don’t need boys to notice me. Teachers notice me occasionally and they’re much more important.

“Thuli might be coming.”

I almost drop the receiver. “What? Are you sure?”

“I heard Lorraine saying that Kelly invited Mothusi, and you know Mothusi won’t go anywhere without Simon, and Simon won’t go anywhere without Thuli…”

I bite my lip, my heart thudding in my chest. Thuli Baleseng is the man of my dreams. He’s in Form Five, a year ahead of me, and one of the smartest students in his group. I love everything about him, from the way he rolls up the sleeves of his pale green school shirt to the dreadlocks that hang over his sleepy eyes.

Lebz sighs. “I don’t know what you see in that boy.”

“He’s a genius,” I whisper.

“He’s a thug,” she retorts. “He smells of cigarettes, he’s antisocial, rude and – ”

“He’s misunderstood,” I snap, irritated by her unwarranted assault on my soul mate. She and Thuli are sort of family friends. That is to say, his parents are friends with her parents, but she tries very hard not to be friends with him.

“OK, whatever. Are you coming to the braai?”

It occurs to me then that Thuli doesn’t particularly like Kelly, or any other girl at the Syringa Institute of Excellence. Rumour has it that he only dates KIA girls –girls from Kagisanyo International Academy, and he hardly hangs out with anyone other than his pals Simon and Mothusi, except the occasional exchange student.

“Oh, you almost had me,” I tell Lebz. “Thuli isn’t going, and neither am I.”

She sighs. “You should come. Your father is rubbing off on you; you need serious intervention before you lose the last bits of youth and blackness you have left,” she pleads. “Like this Rachel McAdams thing. What’s wrong with Beyoncé?”

“We’ve had this conversation.” I pull the phone cord as far as it will go so I can lie on the sofa. “I’m a mulatto and I’m proud.”

“You see?” she cries in dismay. “Who uses words like ‘mulatto’?”

I consider pointing out that the limited vocabulary of our peers is not a virtue, but I’m not sure she’ll appreciate it. Lebz is a smart girl, but you’ll never catch her showing it. “Go to the braai, Lebz. I’ll only hold you back from your destiny.”

“Drama queen,” she sneers, clicking her tongue in annoyance. “Don’t think you’re off the hook. You have to get a life, one way or the other. I’ll be there soon.”

I roll my eyes and replace the receiver. I understand how desperate everyone is for a little excitement. Gaborone is small and dull. Don’t get me wrong – we don’t have shootings on every street corner, but we also only have a couple of cinemas and a handful of copycat malls. There is nothing to do here, so people get creative. Loitering is popular. Braais, house parties and underage drinking are big, too. I prefer to stay out of trouble. The problem with being sort-of psychic is, well, foresight.

I’m halfway through the movie when Lebz turns up. She’s one of those cute, curvy girls who like to flaunt what they’ve got, so her grey school skirt is as short as she can get away with. As usual her white socks are pulled up to her knees, even though she’ll have to fold them every time a teacher walks by. She’s done something new with her hair – red streaks weaving through jagged cornrows.

“Your hair looks good,” I venture, though I’m not quite sure I’m being honest.

“You’re so bad at this,” she laughs. “I know you hate it, but it’s not for you.” She pats her head, then sneaks a peek at my bushy ponytail. “We can’t all be content with coloured-girl afros.”

We hang around until Auntie Lydia, our housekeeper, arrives. She’s been with Dad and me since my mother died. She’s compact, very dark in complexion and extremely efficient. She bustles into the house like a whirlwind in floral print.

“Hello, girls,” she says in her Zimbabwean accent, planting maternal kisses on our cheeks. Then she glances at her cell phone, lets out a cry of dismay and shoves us towards the door with surprising strength for someone so petite. “Out, out! I was supposed to start work ten minutes ago!”

Lebz and I head down the streets of Phase Eight towards Syringa, swept up in a sea of crisp green shirts and grey trousers. Other kids greet Lebz, glance at me briefly and then turn away. We take a right turn and there it is – Syringa.

High black gates, a brick wall topped with barbed wire and a lawn so green and fragrant you’d think you just stepped into The Sound of Music. The campus is dotted with stone benches with leaf patterns carved into the sides. There is carefully tended sand, flowerbeds and neat brick walkways. There is even a fountain in the middle of the campus, just in front of the admin building. Every one of the five large buildings is made of red brick. Glass doors slide open to welcome you into pristine corridors polished to within an inch of their lives. We have state-of-the-art facilities, or at least as state-of-the-art as we can get in Botswana.

All this costs enough to make my dad grind his teeth at the start of every term, but he’s convinced I’m getting a first-class education. Getting to go to Syringa means I don’t get a lot of other things, but that’s cool. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

As Lebz and I enter the school grounds, a skinny boy with thick glasses and a neat baby afro steps out of a car idling by the roadside and catches up to us. He has the faintest suggestion of sideburns, full lips that are usually pursed in concentration and huge eyes. His long fingers are clasped around a thick book, and he walks with the short, quick strides of someone with lots to do and no time to do it.

“Hey, Wiki,” Lebz and I say in unison as he falls into step with us.

“Morning, ladies,” he replies in his soft voice. His real name is Elijah, but everyone calls him Wiki – as in Wikipedia – because he remembers everything he has ever read. He’s from Côte d’Ivoire, which is somewhere up there on the map next to… um… Nigeria?

The three of us have known each other almost since birth. My dad, Lebz’s mother and Wiki’s father are all in the business of education, and they became friends way back when teaching was the ultimate profession and surfing was done on the ocean. I suppose our friendship happened by default and then we grew on each other. Lebz is the only one of us who actually has other friends.

As we step onto the campus, Lebz runs off to say hello to Kelly, who is just climbing out of her stepfather’s Kompressor. I roll my eyes and pretend not to notice Kelly’s flawless dark skin, long, thick hair and hourglass figure. She’s told everyone who will listen that the second she turns eighteen, she’s going to be a Page 7 girl – one of the half-dressed beauties featured in local tabloid The Word. Good practice for when she becomes a Playboy centrefold – her most promising career option.

I tap my feet impatiently as Wiki and I wait for Lebz, then let my gaze wander around, taking in my peers. It’s a sea of typical adolescent faces. Wiki’s going on about some documentary he watched last night, but I switch off as soon as my gaze rests on Thuli, a diamond amongst the agate, leaning against the wall of a classroom.

My stomach churns as I try to catch his eye. I don’t think he even knows I exist. He knows Lebz because everyone knows Lebz, and he knows Wiki, whose brain is as legendary as Kelly’s house parties. The fact that the three of us are joined at the hip means nothing. I’m one of those people everyone’s eyes seem to pass over. It’s understandable – I’m not as pretty as Lebz, and although I’m a decent student, I’m not that help-you-with-assignments kind of smart.

I’m always wondering what I’d say to Thuli if we ever got the chance to speak. Maybe I’d stammer and make a fool of myself. Maybe I’d just smile and hold my tongue. In my fantasies, I’m confident and sassy. My hair is perfect, my boobs are bigger, my teeth are straight, and my school trousers do incredible things for my butt. And if that isn’t enough, I wow him with my wit and charm.

It’s a hot summer day and he’s hanging around near the gate as usual, looking for an opportunity to sneak out. I walk right up to him, past Kelly and company who shrivel up and disappear into the dust. Thuli looks at me and his mouth hangs open, because I’m that hot. I hold out my hand. I toss my head. I smile and say, “Hi. I’m Conyza Bennett. I see dead people.”

And he falls to his knees and proposes.

I know, I know. But it’s a fantasy, remember?

My headache gets worse somewhere between Maths and English. It creeps up on me in that annoying way that headaches do, until my temples throb and it hurts each time my eyes move in their sockets. By the time break rolls around, I’m in death throes.

“Lebz,” I groan, dragging myself over to our usual bench. “Where are all those sachets of Grandpa you’re always carrying around?”

“Finished,” she replies apologetically.

She seems distracted. I don’t know how she can be distracted when her best friend is dying. I plonk myself between her and Wiki and turn to him for sympathy and painkillers.

“It’s not a good idea to pop pills all the time,” he points out, opening his lunchbox to reveal the usual brown bread polony sandwich. He must be the only kid in school who isn’t embarrassed to eat a packed polony lunch in public. “Most headaches subside by themselves. Just rest for a few minutes.”

“This is no ordinary headache.” I wince and close my eyes. I think I’m seeing stars. I lean over and rest my head on Wiki’s shoulder, and the next thing I know Lebz is shaking me awake.

“Is it time up already?” I sit up and rub my eyes.

“No.” She hands me a warm fatcake wrapped in a white plastic bag, a half-full can of juice and a pristine white Aspirin. “Maybe you’ll feel better after you have something to eat.” She’s not even looking at me.

“What’s the matter with you?” I snatch the tablet, drain the can and then reach for the fatcake. “Did Kelly change her nail polish or something?”

“I think our friend over there is making her nervous,” says Wiki. “He’s been watching us for the last ten minutes.”

I follow his gaze to a patch of sandy ground near one block of classrooms. A boy is standing there, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Everyone calls him Black Lizard because of the tattoo on his forearm. He’s in Thuli’s form, but he’s not much of a people person. He’s always skulking around, blending into the background.

“Oh, him.” I tear a piece out of my fatcake. “What’s his name again?”

“Rakwena,” Wiki supplies, returning his attention to his book. Wiki is one of those people who make a point of knowing people’s names. The rest of us aren’t nearly so courteous.

“Ri-ight.” My eyes narrow and I try to focus through the pain.

Lizard has all the makings of a heartthrob – flawless dark skin, tall, lean physique, broad shoulders. His hair is always cut close to the scalp as if he does it every day, and he has big, thoughtful eyes under thick brows. Sure, he’s not exactly the friendliest guy on earth, and he does have that creepy tattoo, but the real reason he’s not top of the list of Syringa studs is the scar. It runs diagonally down the left side of his face, from his temple to his chin. A little more to the right and it would have slit his lips. Brazen students call him Scarface, but most of us are too scared to look at the scar, let alone mention it. Nobody talks to him. He makes everyone so uncomfortable that we prefer to pretend he’s not there.

Even though he’s aware that I’ve seen him, he doesn’t look away. He’s weird like that. Brooding, but not in that romantic way that makes girls swoon. I don’t know why he’s looking at us – he never takes any interest in other people. It’s freaking me out.

“What the hell is he looking at?” I snap. “Lebz, are you wearing that neon bra that shows through your shirt?”

Lebz gives me a funny look. “I think he’s looking at you.”

I laugh, and my head reminds me that I’m in excruciating pain. “Why would he be looking at me?” I close my eyes and rub my temples. “Oh, hell – that tablet isn’t kicking in. I need something stronger. Anaesthesia, maybe.”

“I’ll go ask Kelly if she has anything.” Lebz jumps up eagerly. “She usually has at least five different pills on her.”

I sigh. “Does she raid her mother’s medicine cabinet or something?”

She sticks her tongue out at me and skips away, delighted at the prospect of basking in Kelly’s glow. Wiki gets up too, and for a moment I’m so shocked I forget my headache.

“Don’t tell me you’ve joined the Kelly fan club!” I’m crushed. Wiki has always been the only boy I can count on to be more interested in books than buxom teenagers.

He glares at me. “I’m going to the library to return my book.”

“Oh.” I smile, relieved. “Good.” I polish off the fatcake, then close my eyes again.

Deep breaths. In… ouch! My eyes flutter open. This isn’t working. Where is Lebz with my painkillers? I glance around the campus, and by the time I notice him walking towards me it’s too late. My chest feels constricted. I know it’s silly, but I can’t help it. Black Lizard is almost in front of me, and I have to fight the urge to bolt.

“I thought I’d never get you alone.” His voice is deep, hoarse, but surprisingly pleasant.

I raise my head slowly and try not to do something stupid, like scream. “Um, sorry?”

“Your friends.” He towers above me, a dark angel about to send me off to meet my Maker. “They never go away. The three of you are like conjoined triplets.”

“Oh.” I swallow. “Um, I guess so.”

He studies me for a moment. I don’t want to stare at his scar so I stare at the collar of his shirt instead, and somehow that seems even worse.

“Headache?” he asks.

I nod.

“Bad, right? Possibly the worst you’ve ever had?”

I look up into his piercing gaze. “How did you know that?”

He smiles. He has nice teeth, a little crooked, but appealing. “You should go home before it gets worse. You probably won’t make it through the day in your condition.”

“My condition? It’s just a headache. I need more painkillers, that’s all.”

“Painkillers won’t help.” He lowers his voice a little and says, “Go home. You need to be somewhere safe.”

“Safe from what?” I’m leaning away from him now; I can’t seem to stop myself. He’s so strange, and the fact that he’s taking a sudden interest in me has me worried.

He doesn’t answer. He looks away, then turns back to me, his brow furrowed. “Your friend’s coming back. Just go home, Conyza. OK?” He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He slinks off into the shadows just as Lebz returns, clutching a bottle of water and a fistful of pills.

Lebz opens her fist. “Brufen,” she declares proudly.

I wrinkle my nose at the pink tablets, but my mind is focused on wondering how Lizard knows my name.

Lebz clicks her tongue in annoyance, grabs my chin in her hand and yanks me forward. “Open up.”

I open my mouth like a good girl and let her drop a tablet onto my tongue, then I take a big swig of the water and swallow. Usually the psychological effect of medication kicks in instantly, but not this time. If anything, the headache seems to worsen. It must be pissed off by my attempted rebellion.

“Oh, crap!” I groan, putting my head between my raised knees. “I can’t take it any more.”

“Connie?” Lebz’s voice sounds strangely distant. “Oh, no. Connie!”

When I open my eyes, I’m lying on the bed in the sick bay, staring at the paint peeling off the ceiling. I try to lift my head and someone starts playing drums in my skull.

“Connie?” It’s Lebz. “Are you feeling better?”

“No. What happened?”

“You fainted.”

I turn very slowly to stare at her. “Fainted?” Nonsense. I don’t faint. I’m not a fainter. “Oh, my head! Give me some pills, please!”

“OK, I’m taking you home,” she declares firmly. “Come on; can you get up?”

I sit up, fighting through the pain, and let her lead me to the door. We have just opened it when the nurse comes rushing down the corridor.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“She’s getting worse,” says Lebz. “I’m going to take her home; it’s not far.”

“You think she can walk?”

“Yes, yes!” I mutter, desperate to get into my own bed.

“OK,” the nurse replies uncertainly. “I’ll write her a note and you can collect it for her when you come back.”

The next several minutes pass in a haze. Somehow we make it back to my house, and I end up collapsing on the sofa. Lebz says something about tea, but I’m not quite sure what happens next because I fall asleep. When I wake up, it’s already getting dark outside and my father is sitting in the armchair across the room.

“Connie! Thank God!” He jumps up and comes to kneel at my side, peering anxiously into my face. “How do you feel?”

I sit up and look at him. “Hungry.” That Brufen has finally kicked in. The headache is gone. It’s a little strange actually, because now my head is clearer than ever, as if the headache never happened. But I’m used to strange occurrences so I brush it aside, kiss my dad on the cheek and get up to make some dinner. “I hate Thursdays,” I mutter. “Thank goodness it’s over.”

“Today’s Wednesday, Connie, not Thursday,” Dad says cautiously. “Maybe you need to lie down a while longer.”

What? I swivel round to face him. “But… my headache!” I sputter in disbelief. From the moment I got up, the day had Thursday written all over it. How can today be Wednesday? I like Wednesdays. They’re good to me.

“Connie, let me make dinner,” Dad suggests, pushing me back onto the sofa. “You just stay here, OK?”

I should stop him because we both know no one can stomach his cooking, but I’m in shock. It’s not Thursday! For a second I’m relieved. Maybe all the bad Thursdays were just a coincidence. Maybe it was self-fulfilling prophecy. Or maybe…. My relief disintegrates. Maybe the headache was just a prelude. Maybe tomorrow is when the real trouble will begin. Ouch. I think I need another painkiller.

Chapter Two

I wake up the next morning feeling rather bizarre. My head is fine, but it’s buzzing with thoughts and I can’t seem to keep it still. I need to speak to Black Lizard, and soon. I need to understand how he knew what was going on with me.

But I can’t just go up to the guy and ask him. I need to take my time and plan my attack very carefully. I text Lebz to meet me at school so I can stop by the library before registration. I’ll hang around for a few minutes and see if Lizard turns up.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” my father asks, frowning down at me as he rummages in his pocket. “Where the devil are those blasted keys? God, I hope she’s not getting sick, I’m lousy with illness… Her mother was the one who was good at these things. Where are those bloody – ah!” He locates the keys and pulls them out.

I look up from my breakfast in surprise. It’s not like him to be so vocal. “Dad, don’t worry. It was just a headache. Probably all the stress from that Business Studies test I wrote on Tuesday.”

“Maybe,” he mumbles doubtfully. “Take it easy today, OK? And call me if anything happens.”

I nod. “And you’re not lousy with illness, Dad,” I add softly. “You’re great.”

He gives me an odd look and backs towards the front door. “Um, thanks darling. OK… see you later.” He stumbles out of the house. Through the window I catch him looking back at the house with a bewildered expression on his face.

I wave, and as soon as his red Volvo disappears round the corner I jump into high gear. There was something about the way Lizard spoke yesterday that made me certain he knows more about me than he’s letting on. It’s almost as if he expected me to have that headache. The thought scares and intrigues me. If there’s something weird going on here I’d love to know what it is, and Lizard, like it or not, is the person who can tell me.

I wash the breakfast dishes, pack my bag and lock up, leaving the key under the doormat for Auntie Lydia. It’s already bright outside although it’s barely six-thirty. I pass a couple of kids from school and since I’m not with Lebz or Wiki, I don’t expect them to greet me. But almost as soon as they lay eyes on me they start whispering.

“… I wonder what it is about her… I just can’t figure it out.”

“It’s not rude to scratch if no one is looking…”

“… Just like my cousin…”

“I wonder if the gossip is true…”

“… I’m going to kill him. These people think they can….”

“I’m so late!”

I look around me, shocked by how loudly these passers-by are talking. Their lips don’t appear to be moving, but maybe they’ve realised that it doesn’t look good when strangers catch you talking to yourself.

The voices fade as I approach the school gates. The campus is quiet and almost empty. I head towards the library and sit down to wait. I scan the campus, but there’s no sign of Black Lizard. I sigh and open my bag. Might as well pretend to do some work while I wait.

I’ve been waiting for some time when I hear a familiar voice. I love Lebz, but this is one occasion when I’m not exactly thrilled to see her.

“Hey, Connie! What are you doing?”

“I wanted to go to the library,” I remind her. “Aren’t you early? What’s wrong?”

“Very funny,” she says, clicking her tongue in mock annoyance. “Where’s Kelly? Not here yet? Hmm. I hope my hair looks OK.”

I roll my eyes. Looks like I’m not going to talk to Lizard, after all. “Your hair looks fine.”

“What?” She stares at me in horror.

“I said, your hair looks fine. And you shouldn’t care what Kelly thinks, anyway.”

Lebz blinks. Her mouth opens and closes a few times.

“What?” I shove my book back into my bag.

“That’s not cool,” she whispers. “I mean… at least you could have told me.” Then she walks off in a huff, leaving me completely stumped.

I have no idea what I’ve done to offend her. What I said about Kelly, maybe? She does get a bit sensitive when it comes to the topic of her idol. I spot Wiki coming through the gates and wave, but Lebz intercepts him before he reaches me. They have a brief intense conversation, then Lebz glares at me and stalks over to where Kelly’s second in command, Botho, is sitting. Wiki approaches with caution.

“Lebz is not happy,” he announces.

“I noticed. What did I do now?”

He raises his eyebrows at me. “She has some crazy idea that you can read her mind and forgot to tell her. Ah, girls have strange problems. I should really get some reading done.”

“Read her mind?” I laugh. “Seriously, where does she get these things?”

“Reading Lebz’s mind wouldn’t be all that difficult, actually,” says Wiki, glancing at his watch. “I really need to get some reading done…”

I swat him. “Hey, be nice! You’re supposed to be the referee.”

“What do you expect me to do?” He shakes his head. “Just talk to her and reassure her that you haven’t betrayed years of open, honest friendship. Ah, women. Maybe I should make friends with some guys for a change.”

“But Wiki – ” I pause mid-sentence, suddenly struck by an alarming revelation.

“The library’s open. I have about ten minutes before registration. See you later.” He hurries away.

I have just realised that half the time Wiki was speaking to me his mouth was closed. Wiki is many things, but not a ventriloquist. He spoke to me without saying a word, and when I think about it, I realise this has been happening all morning. Before I can make sense of it, I see Black Lizard slithering past. He glances my way and keeps walking, headed behind the old Science labs. I wait exactly ten seconds before following.

I find him leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. “Oh!” I say in exaggerated surprise. “Hi. I didn’t know there was anyone here.” I clear my throat. “I was just looking for a quiet spot to… um… Well, I’ll just leave you alone.” I turn around, preparing to walk away.

“Conyza, wait.”

Success! I turn back to face him. My heart is racing. There’s a bit of an adrenalin rush associated with standing behind the lab with the infamous Black Lizard. I feel like an undercover agent. “What’s up?” I ask, feigning nonchalance.

He hesitates. “How are you feeling? Is the headache gone?”

“What’s it to you?”

He shrugs. “I’m just making conversation.”

“I’m fine. It was just a headache.” I wait for him to contradict me. He doesn’t, and I’m disappointed. “Well, see you.”

“Conyza.”

“Connie.”

“Right. Connie.” He peers at me. “So you’re back to normal now? No side effects? Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Should there be?” He knows something.

His shoulders lift in a half-hearted shrug. “No. I mean…”

I fold my arms across my chest and put on a haughty tone. “Well, if you must know…” Honestly, I’m dying to tell someone. “It’s probably my imagination.”

His eyes narrow. “What?”

“It seems as if I can hear what people…” I stop, my natural defences kicking in.

“Are thinking?” he concludes for me, his forehead creased.

I get a chill when he says it out loud, but one of us had to. Now I know for sure that he knows something, and I feel a little safer discussing this delicate subject with him. He’s a stranger, says my common sense. I ignore it out of habit. “Something like that. But of course it’s impossible,” I add hastily.

“No, it’s not.” A slow smile spreads over his face. “You’re a telepath!”

I don’t like words like that. It’s the kind of label my grandfather would use, a word that turns an ephemeral possibility into a fact. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” He frowns at me. “I’ve heard that you can do a lot of unusual things.”

My guard goes up immediately. I’ve worked hard to keep a low profile since I came to Syringa, and it’s not easy. I can’t control the things I experience, and sometimes I can’t control how I respond to them. At first it didn’t occur to me to be discreet, but when other kids started avoiding me I realised it was better to keep my eyes open and my mouth shut. After a while, most people forgot about me. Then Ntatemogolo came home.

Once people make the connection between him and me, the speculation begins. The good thing is that very few people make the connection, and when they do they always seem perplexed. How can such an unimpressive girl be related to the great Lerumo Raditladi?

I glare at Rakwena, putting up my wall of ordinariness in case I have to defend myself against accusations of witchcraft, Satanism or just plain weirdness. “People love to gossip.”

“So it’s just gossip?” he prods. “You don’t have premonitions?”

I bite my lip and decide it’s safer not to answer. I’ve never admitted it to anyone beyond my dad and grandfather; Wiki and Lebz figured it out on their own.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Rakwena says softly. “I think it’s an incredible gift. If you were telepathic, I’d advise you not to cling to the thoughts coming into your head so you don’t get overwhelmed. But since you’re not…” He sighs. “I guess there’s nothing more to talk about, right?”

Damn it. Now he’s playing me. The idea of being able to speak freely about this sort of thing, with someone my age who understands, is so appealing that I’m tempted to tell him my whole life story. But he’s still the scary guy with the scar and tattoo.

“How do you know so much about this stuff, anyway?” I snap, frustrated by my indecision. “Are you some kind of… ghost buster?”

He laughs. “You didn’t realise your gifts would begin to mature around this age?”

“My grandfather told me,” I reply without thinking.

He grins. “So you do have gifts.” His eyes are twinkling. I wish they wouldn’t. “Then you also probably know that telepathy is common in someone with your abilities – empathy, premonitions – someone very sensitive to the people around her.”

That’s news to me, but I know better than to open my mouth at this point.

“Well, I just thought you might like to talk to someone who doesn’t think you’re a freak.” He moves away from the wall. “Take care, Conyza.”

“Connie!”

He shrugs. “If you insist on rejecting the things that make you unique, that’s your problem, Connie.” He slinks away.

Ugh! What an idiot. What does he know? I’m so angry I want to run after him and slam my bag against that big head. Rejecting the things that make me unique? That’s easy for him to say! As much as I love my father, I have never completely forgiven him for naming me after a weed. And as for telepathy… All my life I’ve dealt with people who made me feel guilty for being different. Now Black Lizard, of all people, has succeeded in making me feel guilty for trying to be normal! I don’t care what he says; I don’t want to be telepathic. I have enough trouble dealing with my own thoughts.

My grandfather sits on a stool on the front veranda of his small house in Bontleng, puffing a cigarette in thoughtful silence. I’ve become impervious to the smoke by now. I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him, waiting for him to finish sorting through his thoughts.

He’s a very wise man. I don’t argue with him, I don’t talk back and I don’t speak to him with the same casual tone I use with Dad, because he’d soon put me in my place. He’s small and wiry, with a thick head of greying hair and a carefully trimmed beard. He looks like a university professor, which he was at one point. Nowadays he makes a living writing smarmy intellectual books about history and folklore.

Then there’s his other job. People come to him for advice on anything from nightmares to exorcisms. The local traditional doctors call him a charlatan because he doesn’t play by their rules. Their beliefs are steeped in culture and his are cosmopolitan and constantly changing. He’s equally at home discussing forest sprites and thokolosi, and that’s why he and I get along so well. We both straddle the line between two worlds.

I met him for the first time when he came for my mother’s funeral, but he wasn’t home for long. He’s spent years all over the world, studying the myths and legends of different cultures. The moment we met when he came home for good, we both knew we were in the presence of another not-quite-normal person. My father was baffled and, I think, a little jealous of our connection. He raised me alone for years, and all of a sudden this old man swept into our lives and took over. I used to wish they’d get over themselves and just try to get along, but it will never happen.

Ntatemogolo is wearing his usual black trousers and African-print shirt with brown suede loafers. He finishes the cigarette, drops it on the veranda and stamps it out with the heel of his shoe, then turns his steady gaze on me.

“You should have come to me,” he admonishes in Setswana.

“I’m sorry, Ntatemogolo,” I reply in English, and shrug helplessly. “But I thought it was just a headache until this morning.”

He grunts. “This boy who spoke to you; what is his name?”

“Lizard. I mean Rakwena. I don’t know his surname. He has this huge scar on his face.” I frown. “Why?” As you’ve probably guessed, I can’t read my grandfather’s thoughts. He’s way too advanced.

His jaw tenses. “A scar? And a lizard tattoo?”

“Yes.” I blink, baffled for a moment, and then blurt out, “You know him?”

“He is not an ordinary boy.” He gives me a stern look. “Stay away from him.”

“Why?” I catch myself. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. What do you mean he’s not an ordinary boy?” I lean forward eagerly. “Is he like us?”

“No!” he almost shouts. He recovers quickly, but it’s too late; the damage is done and I’m curious as anything now. “Not… not exactly,” he says in a calmer voice. “He is… very knowledgeable in these matters, that’s how he was able to tell you so much. But it’s better to be careful with people you don’t know, especially in our world.”

I nod obediently, but my mind is spinning. This is the first time I’ve been in contact with someone my age who really knows something about the supernatural, instead of the usual silly superstitions and fear-based gossip. It doesn’t surprise me that Lizard and Ntatemogolo have crossed paths, now that I know Lizard kind of sees dead people, too.

“Now.” Ntatemogolo smiles suddenly. “It’s time for you to take your gifts seriously, my girl. This telepathy – it is not a small thing. We must sharpen your skill, so you can use it the way it was meant to be used.”

My eyes widen. This is the last thing I want to hear. I’ve spent all day just trying to preserve my sanity! I know things about my peers, teachers and strangers in the street that I really didn’t want to know. Worst of all, Lebz is still not talking to me. The idea of this going on indefinitely is unacceptable.

“Please, Ntatemogolo – I don’t want to use it,” I confess. “I want to make it go away!”

He glares at me, and I shut my mouth and lower my gaze. “You will accept your gifts, Conyza, and you will learn to use them.”

“Yes, Ntatemogolo.” This would be a great time for my grandfather to tap into his smarmy intellectual side and pretend he’s not the local version of Van Helsing. “But…”

“I’m going to Serowe tomorrow, but I’ll be back next week,” he interrupts smoothly. “We can start then. In the meantime, I want you to listen to the thoughts that come to you, their intensity, their flavour. Find out how close you must be to the person to read them. Also…” He pauses. “I want you to see whether there are people you can’t read.”

“Like you?”

He smiles. “It is not easy to block out a power like yours, so you must be careful of those who can. You will learn a lot about this gift if you pay attention.”

I’m in turmoil. Part of me is excited about this new ability, and the other part just wants to climb into bed and sleep forever.

He looks at his watch. “You should go home. Your father will be worried.”

Worried? If he finds out where I’ve been and why he’ll have an anxiety attack. I get to my feet. “Thank you, Ntatemogolo. Do you want me to tell Dad you said hello?”

“I didn’t say hello,” he replies, without missing a beat.

I bite my lip to hide my scowl.

“How is he?” he asks after a moment.

“He’s OK.”

He grunts. “Travel safely.” He stands up and gives me a brief hug before pushing me gently down the steps.

Today is Thursday, by the way. Just thought I should point that out.

The next morning I hang around the house until almost seven, hoping that Lebz will turn up even though she hasn’t replied to any of my messages and refuses to take my calls. It soon becomes clear that she’s not coming.

Auntie Lydia is early. I cringe at the glimpse I get into her head – she’s replaying the argument she had with her husband this morning. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who gets bruised by her sharp tongue. I grab my stuff, call out a quick goodbye and rush to school.

Wiki’s waiting at the gate. His thoughts are going at 100km an hour and I slow down as I approach him, trying to give my head time to adjust. I think I started reading his thoughts from several metres away, but it’s hard to tell because there are so many other people around, and unfortunately they’re thinking, too.

“Do you have a test today?” I blurt out, grabbing his shoulder for support as I try to sift through the mess in my head.

His face lights up with a delighted smile. “How did you know?” His smile falters. “I don’t look worried, do I? Because I’m not worried. I’ve been studying all month! I’m prepared; I’m always prepared. Except when I’m not, but that is very, very rare, and…”

“Shut up, please!” I groan, leaning my hand against his chest.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” I sigh, shake my head and focus on his face. The thoughts fade to the background like a good soundtrack. “You know that crazy thing Lebz said yesterday?”

“The crazy thing that made her stop talking to you?”

“That one.” I pause, searching for the best way to phrase it. “It’s true.”

He blinks once, then several times in quick succession. “You can read her mind?”

“Yep. And yours. And everyone else’s.” I smile at his sceptical expression, and the decidedly less polite thoughts that accompany it. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but this is me, remember? Ridiculous is my forte. Anyway, it turns out the headache I had was brought on by the onset of my new ability, and when I woke up yesterday, I could hear everyone’s thoughts. And I really mean everyone, Wiki.”

He takes a deep breath, takes me by the elbow and steers me in the direction of our class. “Start at the beginning, please.”

I lower my voice and tell him the whole story. I hesitate before mentioning Black Lizard, but then reason that Wiki won’t be as appalled as Lebz might be by my sudden association with the school outcast. Turns out I’m wrong.

“Rakwena told you you’re telepathic?” Wiki hisses under his breath, as we draw nearer to the classroom. “Tattooed, antisocial Rakwena?”

“No, the other one,” I snap. “Can I finish the story?”

“But how did he know?”

“Well, I –”

“This could be a problem.”

I frown, but before I can ask Wiki what he means – or dig it out of his thoughts for myself – we reach the classroom and I’m crushed by a stampede of thoughts from twenty-odd Form Four pupils. It’s painful, like being woken up by a trumpet in your ear and a needle in your eye. I cringe and try to think of green grass on rolling hills.

“We’ll talk later,” Wiki whispers, and we make our way to our seats.

It’s not easy to concentrate. I have to sing under my breath to drown out the noise, and that makes it difficult to hear the teacher. Fortunately, outside of English class, teachers rarely see me. I’m that student, the one sitting behind someone smarter and next to someone more popular. Such people give you the impression that something’s not quite right with them, but they’re not intriguing enough for you to care. You probably have one in your class. Come on, think. Can’t remember the name? That’s the one.

I don’t mind being that person; it’s a skill I’ve worked hard to hone. When you’re born a little weird, all you want is to fade into the background so no one notices. Botswana, bless her dry, dusty heart, is not kind to people who are different. In that respect, I suppose my country is no different to any other.

“Hi, Lebz.”

She glares at me over the top of her book. It’s the first few minutes of English Literature, and naturally our desks are next to each other. The teacher hasn’t pitched up yet so the students are sitting on desks, gossiping and being generally irresponsible. Lebz pretends to be fascinated by King Lear, which is pointless because it’s common knowledge that she can’t read Shakespeare without checking the notes.

“Stop being such an idiot,” I hiss furiously. “Honestly, what do you want from me? I told you a million times, I didn’t know I could do it until yesterday! Obviously I would have told you, my best friend, as soon as I figured it out. And besides, wouldn’t you rather be friends with a telepath than enemies? Think of how dangerous I could be. I could tell Kelly everything running through your mind.”

Her eyes widen. “You wouldn’t,” she whispers. “You don’t even talk to Kelly.”

“I don’t need to; I already know what she thinks about everyone… including you.” Ooh, good one! Sometimes I surprise myself by coming up with these ingenious tactics. I give my head a haughty toss and pull my book out of my bag. “But since you’re not talking to me…”

She grits her teeth. Poor thing; she’s conflicted, but I can see her will breaking. After all, we’ve been friends forever and I’m more reliable than her horoscope. She lets out an exasperated growl. “Fine! I forgive you. Now, what do you know?”

“Well…”

Students scramble for their seats as the teacher walks in, and I’m saved from answering.

“We’ll talk at break,” I tell Lebz. I’m so thrilled to be talking to her again that I don’t mind sneaking up to Kelly during the day and picking her brain. If I can find it.

My plan to eavesdrop on Kelly’s thoughts is foiled. When I walk past her little gang between classes, all I hear is the mundane babbling of her chums. They’re all extremely concerned with what Kelly thinks. For once we have something in common, but Kelly’s mind appears to be blank. I knew it!

“Well?” Lebz demands, accosting me at break time. “What did you find out?”

“I’m sorry, Lebz, but Kelly doesn’t have a mind for me to read,” I report with glee. “I tried. Nothing. Empty.”

Lebz clicks her tongue and Wiki, who has just appeared, grins and declares, “Peace at last!”

“Come on.” Lebz drags me towards our bench. “I know you know something.”

I should have known she wouldn’t be willing to accept Kelly’s stupidity. I decide to bend the truth. “OK. But you’d better not tell her! You can’t even give her any hint that you know.”

“Of course not!” She’s practically salivating.

“Kelly’s jealous of you,” I announce.

Lebz gasps. “What? Why?”

“Because everyone likes you. She’s popular, but she also has enemies. You’re genuinely loved by pretty much everybody.” Well done, Connie! I’m almost certain it’s true, too.

Lebz smiles shyly. “Wow.” She’s pleased. She’s more than pleased, she’s humbled. Silly girl. I wish I could get her to stop comparing herself to Kelly long enough to notice her own strengths. She beams at us. “Whose turn is it to get the food?”

“Yours,” Wiki and I say in unison.

“You owe me for twenty-four hours of silent treatment,” I add.

“And you owe me for my excellent peacemaking skills,” says Wiki.

Lebz is too happy to argue. She holds out her hand for the money.

Five minutes later, I’m sitting alone; Wiki has gone to… yes, the library. I see a familiar figure entering the school grounds and my heart does a little jump. It’s Thuli, back from buying cigarettes at Mother Hubbard’s, a tuck-shop near the school owned by a woman without scruples.

Thuli. I realise with a pang of guilt that I haven’t thought about him in almost two days! I’ll have to spend a full hour daydreaming about him to make up for my disloyalty. His eyes are already red from whatever he’s been smoking, his shoulders are hunched, and he’s walking with the air of someone too good for the world… which of course he is. He’s a genius, maligned and misunderstood, as Wiki likes to say when he’s mocking him.

I follow him with my eyes until somebody else catches my attention. Black Lizard, leaning against a wall, staring at me. I jump, startled by the intensity of his gaze, and drop the water bottle I’m holding. I bend to pick it up and when I get up again he’s heading for his usual spot behind the lab. Above the faint chatter in my head I hear Ntatemogolo’s warning, but my feet are already moving to follow him.

“Hi.” I walked so quickly that I’m a little breathless by the time I reach him.

Lizard looks at me. “Are you following me, Conyza?”

“Connie. No. I mean… I just…” I take a deep breath and start over. “You didn’t tell me you knew my grandfather.”

He shrugs. “Everyone knows your grandfather. He’s written all those books.”

“That’s not what I mean.” I’m nervous. I think my hands are shaking. But if you were this close to a guy with a lizard tattoo and a freaky scar your hands would be shaking, too. “He says you know stuff. About… Look, he knows you, and he doesn’t pay attention to kids. So you must be… different.”

He doesn’t reply. He just looks at me with those piercing black eyes. “It’s getting easier, isn’t it? I can tell; you seem calmer. You’re getting used to the noise.”

I shrug. “I guess so. My grandfather’s going to teach me how to use it.”

“Your grandfather is very wise. You should listen to him.”

I lean against the wall beside him. “He says I should stay away from you.”

He grins. “Of course he does.”

“Why? Are you… you know… like me? Can you do things?”

His eyes narrow. “Like I said, you should listen to your grandfather.” He begins to walk away, and I feel a strange urge not to let him.

“Please wait…” I almost call him Lizard. “Rakwena.”

He hesitates. “Your friends will wonder where you are.”

“My friends don’t get it.” I love my friends, but like my father they can never really be part of my world. I start babbling, trying to say everything at once, and this time the jumble of thoughts in my head are all my own. “I mean, they’re great. They treat me like a person, not a freak. But they don’t get it. I think maybe you do. And if I’m right, then you’re the only person besides my grandfather who understands what it’s like. Please, just tell me the truth. Are you like me?”

He seems sad, as if he doesn’t want to let me down. “No. I’m not like you at all.”

I watch him walk away with a hole in my stomach. I knew I’d be disappointed if I was wrong about him, but not like this. This feels like someone stuck their hand in my torso and pulled everything out. I guess I never really thought about how much I wanted to find someone like me until now.

I start walking to the bench, where Wiki’s waiting. I have to stop for a second and take a few deep breaths to keep myself from crying. This is stupid! Have I lost my mind? Am I really so crushed that the weird Black Lizard is not the same kind of weird as me? So he’s not a freak – so what? I sniff back tears and put my game face on before sitting beside Wiki.

“Where were you?” he asks.

“Toilet,” I mutter.

And then I remember something that makes me sit up straight. The hole inside me starts to fill up as my disappointment is replaced by hope. I just realised that I have never once heard Black Lizard’s thoughts, and that can only mean one thing. He’s lying about being like me. Sneaky little devil.

Chapter Three

My phone rings while Lebz, Wiki and I are at the mall. I hand my caramel cone to Wiki while I fish the phone out of the pocket of my trousers. “Hi, Dad.”

“Connie, are you home yet?” He sounds frazzled.

“No; I’m at Riverwalk with Wiki and Lebz. I’ll be home before dark, though, don’t worry.”

“Oh, OK. It looks like I’ll be stuck at work until late. Maybe you should pick up something to eat while you’re there. I want you home by seven, Connie.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Dad.”

Lebz giggles as I hang up. “How old are you again, Connie? Sixteen or six? Is your dad afraid you’ll be murdered for muti or something?”

“Of course not.” I take my cone from Wiki and salvage the trail of ice cream sliding down its side. “That would mean he actually believes that people get murdered for traditional medicine, and you know how he feels about things he can’t understand.”

“I guess that means you haven’t told him about your new… um… talent,” says Wiki, sipping his milkshake.

I raise my eyebrows at him. “He still hasn’t come to terms with the old one, remember? But hey – he’s a scientist.”

“A British one,” adds Lebz, as if that explains everything.

It’s great to be talking to her again. Even though there are lots of people around, thinking frantically and invading my personal space, I’m almost content. We’re sitting at a table, people-watching. Lebz likes to come up with complex, soap-opera style stories about the people we see.

“Look at that one!” she hisses. “I would kill for those shoes.”

I follow her gaze. The woman in question is wearing the kind of shoes that no normal person should be able to walk in. They have heels like knitting needles. “Mmm. Yes, definitely worth the trouble,” I say doubtfully.

“She’s an advertising executive,” Lebz muses. “And she’s engaged to a boring finance guy, but she’s having an affair with his alcoholic brother. Every week she buys a new pair of shoes to make her feel better.”

“But shoes can never fill the void,” I chip in. “So she resorts to popping pills…”

“Painkillers,” Lebz goes on, nodding with authority. “Her fiancé doesn’t know.”

“And her lover doesn’t care,” I add.

“Why are your characters always so miserable?” asks Wiki, looking up from his book. “Can’t she be a contented, successful career woman, in love with the man of her dreams and on the path to spiritual enlightenment?”

Lebz and I shake our heads – Wiki would make a lousy writer. He blinks at us and returns to his book. I think part of the reason he likes us, besides force of habit, is that we’re the only friends in the world who would let him hang around with us while his nose is stuck in a book. He’s a little like a chaperone – present, but only just.

“Oh, no, it’s Ma-fourteen,” groans Lebz. “Look at them, walking around like they own the place. You would never catch us hanging around here alone when we were twelve, picking up boys.”

Ma-fourteen is a term for young people, especially girls, especially in conjunction with older men. Lebz has adapted it for a particular group of kids who have taken to haunting shopping malls at all hours. They dress to kill, have money to burn and leave a bad taste in the mouths of those of us who are old enough to have online profiles.

“Don’t pick on the poor kids,” I tease. I turn to take an idle peek at the trendy tweens. I only know them by reputation, and this is the first time I’ve seen them up close. There are five girls, no older than thirteen. They’re wearing short skirts and tight jeans, with expensive-looking accessories. The leader of the pack is a pretty little thing in a skirt that was probably a belt in its former life. Her expression is cold and blank.

My hands start to sweat and my skin prickles, as if I’m growing fur. I look away.

Lebz clicks her tongue and turns back to her ice cream. I take another glance at the girls, and once again I get the strangest feeling, as if the air has just gone cold. I finish my ice cream in a hurry and slide off my seat. “Let’s go. I have a curfew, remember?”

Wiki closes his book. “Are you OK? You have a strange look on your face.”

“I’m fine.” I slip my bag over my shoulder. To my dismay, it looks like there’s no way to avoid walking past the little group on our way out. They’re standing outside the CD shop, chatting and watching other shoppers. We pass them quietly, trying not to stare. As we walk by I get that feeling again, and then I notice something else.

“They’re not thinking,” I whisper in surprise.

“Hmm?” Lebz frowns at me.

“Those girls,” I say slowly, turning to peer over my shoulder. “They’re not thinking.”

“You can’t read them?” asks Wiki as we turn the corner and lose sight of the girls.

I shake my head, but I’m certain that this isn’t the same as being blocked. From where the girls stood all I got was a gap, a hole cut out of the air. They weren’t blocking me. They just weren’t thinking, and something tells me this means trouble.

I wake up early on Saturday morning, have a quick breakfast and knock on my dad’s door. He mumbles something incoherent, so I turn the handle and peer inside.

“Dad? Are you awake?”

“Mmmm.” He’s not. Good.

“I’m just going to… um… Bontleng. Be back around lunch. Bye!” I shut the door before he has time to register my words, then snatch my bag off the coffee table and hurry towards the front door.

“Connie!”

Damn. I turn at the door. “Yes, Dad?”

He emerges from his room, rumpled but very much awake now. “Did you say you’re going to Bontleng?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He hesitates. “Is he all right? Not sick or anything?”

“No, he just wants to see me.”

He frowns. “He wants to see you?” There’s no mistaking the suspicion in his voice. “About… anything in particular?”

Poor Dad. Every time I visit my grandfather he’s afraid I’ll come back with a bag full of strange-looking herbs or a mermaid’s tail. “No, Dad.” I offer him a reassuring smile. “He just wants to hang out.”

His smile is utterly unconvincing. “Send my regards. And… don’t be long, OK?”

“I won’t.” I wave and then step outside. I’ve given up on persuading Dad that Ntatemogolo is not trying to brainwash me.

I walk down to the bus stop to catch a combi. During the ride I practise filtering the thoughts of the other passengers. They approach from the direction of the thinker, like electricity along a wire. Thoughts take on the voices of people I know, but with strangers the tone is determined by my perception. Take the man in the seat in front of me; he’s worried about losing his job. His thoughts take on a weary, defeated tone, but when he calls out to the driver to stop, his voice is loud and confident. Interesting.

By the time I reach Ntatemogolo’s house I’m feeling rather proud of my progress. He’s sitting on a chair on the veranda as usual, puffing on a cigarette. I greet him politely and sit cross-legged on the floor beside him.

“Dad sends his regards.”

He grunts. “How do you feel today?” he asks, when he’s finished the cigarette.

“Good.” I smile. “I can tell the difference between different thoughts, and where they’re coming from.”

He nods. “And what else?”

I think for a moment. “I’ve noticed that I have to be quite close to the person before I can read them, about six or seven metres. It’s more difficult when there are many people, but some people’s thoughts are stronger than others, and some people think very fast, like Wiki. And you told me to find out if there were people I couldn’t read.”

He nods and leans towards me, his eyes narrowed. “Are there any?”

“You, of course. And Kelly, and… Rakwena.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Who’s Kelly?”

“Oh, just a girl.” I shrug. “One of the popular kids.”

He smiles. “You don’t like this Kelly,” he muses.

“I didn’t say that!” I don’t know why I’m so indignant; he’s right.

“Ah… envy,” he declares smugly. “She’s a beautiful girl?”

“I guess some people might think so,” I sneer, then catch myself and bite my lip. I’m not jealous of Kelly. Maybe she does have perfect skin and a killer figure and hair that never breaks, but so what? I have no desire to be beautiful. I mean, what for?

Ntatemogolo clears his throat to pull me back to the present. “Tell me what happened when you tried to read her.”

It takes me a minute to get past my annoyance and think back to the day I passed Kelly and her friends in the corridor. “Her friends were with her, but I could only sense their thoughts, not hers. It wasn’t as though she was blocking me. There was no resistance coming from her direction, but there was… something.”

He nods. “The resistance was from your side.”

“My side?” I’m completely confused. “I wanted to know what she was thinking!”

“Consciously, yes, but your negativity towards her got in the way.” He smiles again. “That’s what happens when you build up a defensive barrier against someone, Connie. You can’t get into her head because you’ve locked yourself out.”

Defensive barrier? What rubbish! As if I need to defend myself from the likes of Kelly. I stare at my shoes, hoping Ntatemogolo can’t tell what I’m thinking. “There were some other people I couldn’t read.”

“Who?”

I raise my head, relieved to be off the topic of Kelly. “Some girls at the mall. Five of them. When I passed them I got this funny feeling. There was no premonition, just a feeling. And they were completely blank. Not the way it was with Kelly or you. Just… blank.”

His eyes narrow. “As if there was an empty space where their thoughts should have been?”

I smile, thrilled to be talking to someone who understands. “Exactly! What does it mean?”

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions,” he replies, stroking his chin.

“I was thinking about it last night, and I suspect they might be on drugs or something.” I peer into his face. “Is that possible?”

He frowns. “Even someone intoxicated has the ability to function on some level. No, I don’t think it’s drugs, my girl. I think it’s worse.”

I know what that means, and suddenly the atmosphere shifts. “Are they in danger?”

“Let me look into it,” he says, his voice calm. “But if you see them again, pay attention. Look for signs.”

I swallow hard. Signs. Amulets, strange marks on their bodies, even stranger vibes in the ether. Anything that might indicate that those girls are messing with things way over their heads.

“You spoke to Rakwena again,” my grandfather says softly.

Oops. “I… well…”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?”

“Yes, but…”

He looks at me with an expression that tells me he’s not going to buy whatever excuse I cook up. “But what, Connie?”

I fiddle with the strap of my bag. “He understands. You know how hard it is to talk to people about these things. He gets it, like you.”

He bristles at the comparison. “Don’t make that mistake, my girl – that boy is nothing like us.”

“That’s what he said, but I don’t believe it.” I hold up my hands in apology. “I don’t want to disobey you, Ntatemogolo, but I like having someone my age to talk to.”

He’s quiet for a while, looking at me with those ancient, jaded eyes. “You’re stubborn, like your parents.” He shrugs. “Maybe there is a lesson here for you; I don’t know. But when the time comes, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

His tone sends a chill up the back of my neck. Part of me wants to take his advice because he’s never been wrong, but another part isn’t willing to let go of the link I’ve discovered. I know Rakwena can teach me things about my abilities that no one else can, maybe not even my grandfather. That has to be worth the risk.

Ntatemogolo stares at me with a strange light in his eyes until I can’t bear it any longer. “Why did this happen to me?” I blurt out. “Why now? Where has it been all this time?”

“Waiting for you to grow up,” he replies. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cigarette pack and lighter. “Now you can take care of yourself, or at least that’s what you think.” He lights the cigarette, takes a long drag and squints at me. “Not so?”

I hesitate. “I know more than I used to, but I still have a lot to learn.”

He blows a smoke ring. There was a time, not too long ago, when that trick impressed me. “Time marches on, my girl,” he muses. “And there is nothing we can do to stop it. You will make your mistakes, and we who are older and wiser and have seen so much will still be here to pick up the pieces.”

OK, now he’s starting to freak me out. What exactly does he think is going to happen? I’m not planning to run off with Rakwena and have creepy tattooed babies! I shift uncomfortably on the floor. “Ntatemogolo…”

“Come, let’s see what you’ve learned. I’m going to let you in. Ready?”

I’m not expecting what happens next. My head fills with numbers, lots and lots of them, coming at me full force. I wince. Before I can make sense of anything, the numbers stop and all is quiet again.

“Well?” He looks much too smug.

I scowl. “I need more time.”

He grins and starts again. This time I’m better prepared. I close my eyes and rub my temples.

“Dates!” I exclaim. “Dates, times… important events… historical events!”

“Good girl. You’re learning fast.”

I open my eyes to find him smiling. “Can I try planting a thought in your head?” I ask eagerly. “I’m sure I can do it if I practise.”

He chuckles. “Master the basics first. Come, let’s try again.”

I heave a little disappointed sigh, then close my eyes.

It’s late Sunday afternoon and the cinema is packed. Lebz, Wiki and I are here to watch the new sci-fi flick for different reasons. Lebz wants to perve over the hot hero, Wiki’s here to satisfy his science fiction craving and I’m hoping to catch another glimpse of those eerie girls with the empty heads.

I haven’t seen them yet, though I’m pretty sure they’re around here somewhere. I’m convinced they’re up to mischief of the supernatural kind, and I’ve made it my mission to stop them. As for how I’m going to do it – I haven’t thought that far yet.

“Popcorn?” asks Wiki, peering over his shoulder at me.

“Huh? Oh, sure.” I study the faces around us. It’s amazing how many kids there are here. All these impressionable minds…

“Connie!” Lebz frowns at me. “Are you eavesdropping on people’s thoughts again?”

“Actually, I was looking for Ma-fourteen.”

Lebz shivers melodramatically. “Maybe the brats are at home for once, doing their homework.” She grabs my arm and pulls me towards Cine 2. “Come on, I want to see the attractions.”

I follow her, but my eyes are still scanning the area, searching for something… and there it is. It’s not what I expected, but the little flutter in my chest lets me know that this is what I was looking for all along. Black Lizard, in dark jeans and an even darker T-shirt, disappearing into Cine 2. My stomach flips over. I’ve been thinking about that boy all weekend, and now we’re about to spend two hours in the same dark cinema. Coincidence? The hand of fate? Or… telepathy?

By the time Wiki, Lebz and I get inside, it’s already dark and Lizard could be any of the figures in any of the chairs. Lebz pulls me into my seat and hands me my popcorn. I try to pay attention to the screen, but every time the cinema lights up even a little I scan the seats. After a while I’m forced to give up and focus on the film. The storyline is ridiculous, but there’s enough cheesy dialogue, gratuitous destruction and sexual tension to keep us happy.

Halfway through the movie I get a sudden urge to turn my head. I know better than to ignore it, so I swivel round and see someone get up two rows behind me and walk out of the cinema. It’s Lizard, I know it. I lean over to tell Lebz I’m going to the toilet, then follow him. This is becoming a bad habit.

He’s sitting on one of the chairs in the waiting area. The minute he sees me his lips curl into a smug smile. Cocky little snake. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snap, dropping gracelessly onto the seat beside him.

“I move, you follow.” His eyes twinkle. “Like a dance.”

“Stop being impossible.” I glare at him. “We need to talk, and we both know that’s why you’re here.”

“I thought I was here to watch a movie.”

“Then why are you sitting out here? You wanted me to follow you, and there’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

He chuckles and says nothing.

I look him straight in the eye. I’m in no mood for games. “You can block me, just like my grandfather.”

To my surprise, he smiles. “You noticed. It took you long enough.”

“What?” Honestly, this guy is going to drive me crazy! “Why didn’t you just tell me? You are different!”

His eyes narrow as he looks at me. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!” I’m exasperated by his nonchalant attitude. How can he not care about something like this? Hasn’t he felt the way I’ve felt all my life? Strange, uncomfortable? Alone? “What can you do?”

He shakes his head and looks at his hands. They’re big hands, strong and dark, with enough lines zigzagging across them to give a palm reader a headache. I’ve never seen hands like that before. I wonder what they’ve done, what kind of magic flows out of them. Without thinking, I reach out and place my palm over his. My hand looks weak and pale in comparison. Just before he pulls away I feel something like an electric shock.

“Tell me,” I whisper. “Please.”

He shakes his head, and I finally lose my temper.

“You are such a bloody hypocrite!” I hiss. I glance over my shoulder and lower my voice. “All that talk about how I should be proud of the things that make me unique! You just came out of nowhere and stuck your nose in my business and found out my secrets, and now you don’t even have the guts to share yours!”

He recoils as if I’ve hurt him, and then, just to throw me off, he says, “You’re right.”

I have no idea what to say to that, so I keep my mouth shut and wait for him to continue. There’s nothing more frustrating than trying to fight with someone and having them surrender without even throwing a punch.

“You’ve been very open with me, and I should return the favour.” He takes a deep breath before going on. “I am different. Not like you, but… not like the others, either. And there are things… that I can do.”

“Like?”

He looks around us. “You want a public demonstration? I’ll show you at school tomorrow.”

I can’t hide my excitement, even though I know I should play it cool. “You swear?”

He laughs, rolling his eyes. “Take my number, since you clearly don’t trust me.”

We exchange phone numbers, then I lean back into the chair, satisfied, and peer into his face. “Can you tell me what it is? Your gift?”

“Be patient!” He looks at me and shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“And the other thing?”

“What other thing?”

I reach out and touch his hand and he pulls away, just like the last time. “That! That… whatever it is. Did you feel it?”

He pulls himself up, unfolding like a deck chair, and towers over me. “You should get back to your friends. I have to go, anyway.”

I leap to my feet. “Just tell me about the spark thing. What is it?”

There’s a mischievous edge to his smile. “You mean this?” He runs a finger down my bare forearm, and I swear I see sparks jump between my skin and his. It’s strangely pleasant, and I’m surprised by the realisation that I want to feel it again.

“Yes, that!” I look up at him in wonder. “What is it? Is it something to do with your… you know…?”

He shrugs, flashes that smug smile of his and starts to walk away. “It’s probably just overactive hormones. Yours, naturally.”

It takes me a moment to figure out what he’s implying, and by the time I get it he’s already heading for the escalator. Ugh! Could he be more conceited? As if I could ever be remotely attracted to someone like him! Not while Thuli lives and breathes, and not even if he didn’t.

I walk back to the cinema, rubbing my arm, and take my seat.

“You took forever!” Lebz hisses.

“Sorry. Long queue.”

I sit back and pretend to watch the rest of the movie, but my mind is far away. I can’t wait until tomorrow. I have no idea what to expect. Maybe he can levitate, or change shape, or fly. Don’t get sceptical; anything’s possible. People don’t like things they can’t put into neatly labelled boxes, but every day another barrier is broken. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to underestimate anything – or anyone.

Chapter Four

Lebz lets out a strangled cry as we walk through the school gates. Wiki and I turn to her in dismay.

“What’s wrong?”

“Amantle got a lift with Kelly again,” she snaps, glaring daggers at a car in the parking lot.

Kelly’s stepping out of the back seat and right behind her is a pretty, younger girl who looks slightly familiar.

I turn to Lebz. “And this is a problem because?”

Because Amantle is a two-faced witch, says Lebz’s mind, while her lips remain resolutely pursed.

Ouch. Such venom seems unwarranted. “She’s just a kid.”

Lebz turns on me. “Ja – a kid dating the nineteen-year-old son of a minister! She’s mean, slutty and stuck up but Kelly thinks she’s an angel.”

Wiki and I exchange glances. I take another look at the girl. She doesn’t look like a vixen. I’m more concerned about the influence Kelly will have on her. I’m about to leap to her defence when something in Lebz’s train of thought catches me off guard. “Hold on – is she one of the girls from Ma-fourteen?” No wonder she looks so familiar! She’s that Amantle, leader of the tween pack. “She goes to Syringa?” I ask in wonder.

“She’s in Form One,” says Wiki. “She’s only been here a few months.”

“And she looks different with clothes on,” sneers Lebz.

I hate to say it, but she has a point. Amantle looks like another person in her demure school shirt and knee-length skirt. She looks her age for one thing, and her expression, though guarded, is definitely more animated than the last time I saw her. I watch her say goodbye to Kelly and then meet up with another girl, whom I recognise as another member of the Ma-fourteen club.

“The rest of them are still at Hillside with my sister,” Lebz explains.

My ears prick up. “Really?”

Lebz heaves an impatient sigh. “I’ve told you that, but you never listen!”

Well, I’m listening now. It’s been a while since I talked to Lebz’s little sister. Maybe I should take her out for ice cream and pump her for information. “Is Kenaleone friends with them?”

“Of course not. You join by invitation only.”

I laugh, but the look on her face tells me she’s not joking. “Come on. It’s primary school!”

“Eish, Connie, where do you live?” she demands irritably. “Everybody knows about these girls. There are five of them, and Amantle runs the clique. It’s a whole process – interviews and all.”

Wiki catches my eye. We both snicker, then take note of Lebz’s glare and pull ourselves together.

“You have to have the right background, hobbies, everything. If Amantle likes you, she gives you a necklace and you’re in.”

Oh, dear. “A necklace?”

“Some fancy silver thing with a big rock on it,” says Lebz. “Apparently Amantle had them custom-made.”

Signs, as my grandfather put it. A necklace can serve as an amulet, especially if it has some sort of charm or locket on it. Could Amantle’s VIP bling be sign number one?

07:30

“The number you have dialled is not available. Please try again later.”

Hey Rakwena, we meeting at break or lunch?

Sender: Conyza

Sent: 08:15:24

OK. Lunch.

Sender: Conyza

Sent: 10:35:50

13:55

“The number you have dialled is not available. Please try again later.”

When I get home, Auntie Lydia has set out the ingredients for spaghetti and mincemeat.

“Yummy,” I declare, dropping my bag on the dining table.

“You’re cooking,” she tells me. “Will you manage?” She always does this, as if I haven’t been cooking for years, and then she ends up doing half the work, anyway.

“Sure.” I smile on my way to my room. When I return in my home clothes, vegetables are chopped and water is coming to the boil in a large pot.

“I got hungry,” she says, grinning over her shoulder. “But you can handle the meat. Not too much salt, and remember –”

“Just a dash of pepper.” I wash my hands and take my place at the counter. I like cooking with Auntie Lydia. I suppose it’s similar to what cooking with my mother would have been like, although I doubt my mother would have been quite so strict about sticking to the recipe.

Back in the day Auntie Lydia would sit and eat with me, and ask about school. But now she has her own kids to look after, so she’s out of the house by five-thirty, clutching a Tupperware dish and rushing away in flurry of skirts.

After supper I make an unsuccessful attempt to study Maths, then resort to my tried and tested distraction – movies.

I select the first instalment of The Lord of the Rings – that should keep my mind off Lizard for a while. But the hobbits haven’t even left the Shire before I’m reaching for my phone again. I take a deep breath. Control yourself, Connie! Maybe he’s busy. Or out of town. Or sick. I’m not sure about that last one. People like us don’t get sick often. The only ailment I ever suffer from is indigestion.

I stare into Frodo’s innocent eyes. Poor kid has no clue what he’s getting into. He inherits a ring and suddenly his world turns upside down. Yep, all it takes is a ring, or a headache, or a guy with a lizard tattoo…

I wish Lizard were a normal guy, then I wouldn’t care what he did. I wish I were a normal girl. I wish I could ignore the supernatural, shrug it off, pretend it doesn’t matter. What Lizard doesn’t understand is that the gifted have to stick together. It’s the only way we can protect the people we care about. It’s the only way we can protect ourselves.

Later that night I’m woken by the sound of Dad’s voice. I sit up and peer at the clock on my bedside table. It’s almost eleven-thirty. At first I think I might have been dreaming, then I hear his voice again and I get out of bed.

He can’t possibly have visitors. My dad isn’t a social butterfly, but he has a steady group of friends, all teachers and scientists. They meet up in town or at Wendell’s house – Wendell’s the only childless one in the group, so his bachelor pad is the perfect place to watch serious science shows like Dad’s favourite, Earth Unravelled.

I tiptoe to my door, open it and stick my head into the corridor. I can’t quite hear what he’s saying, but I can tell he’s having a heated argument. Not Wendell, then. My curiosity gets the better of me. I slip out of my room and walk barefoot along the corridor until I’m standing outside his bedroom door.

“I’m just asking you not to encourage it,” he’s saying. “She’s at a very impressionable age, and I don’t want her getting involved in your… activities!”

My heart plummets. He’s talking to Ntatemogolo.

“She has enough on her plate with school! She needs to focus, Lerumo – don’t you want her to be able to make the most of her education? She doesn’t need to waste her time dabbling in this sort of – of course not, you know that!”

There’s a long pause, and when Dad speaks again there’s a catch in his voice. “You can’t claim to know what Rebecca would have wanted.”

I find myself holding my breath. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard Dad say my mother’s name, especially to Ntatemogolo. Although she’s the person who forced them together in the first place, she’s the one subject they never touch.

“I am her father,” Dad growls. “I will decide what is best for my daughter. You must respect that! Soon Connie will be old enough to make her own choices, and I don’t want you confusing her!” He makes an exasperated noise and then snaps, “If you refuse to listen to reason then I’m wasting my time. Goodnight!”

I sneak away, but instead of going back to bed I head for the living room. I walk over to the bookshelf and take down one of our photo albums. The first picture is of me, a chubby, beaming toddler. I skip ahead to my favourite photo of my mother. She’s barefoot on a well-kept lawn, wearing a pretty summer dress and laughing at my dad, who took the picture. I raise my gaze to the only photo of her that’s on display in the house – my parents’ wedding picture. It’s on top of the bookshelf, next to a horrible school photo of me taken not long after her death.

My mother was beautiful. I don’t know where all those genes went, because I don’t look anything like her. She had smooth dark skin and short hair, and lovely hands. I remember her hands more clearly than anything else. Her nails were short but always painted in different colours according to her mood. Dad uses the most wonderful word to describe her – luminescent. I’ve often wondered how a skinny, awkward lekgoa managed to get such a goddess to notice him. Dad has many great qualities, but you have to get him talking before you’ll see them.

I don’t realise he’s entered the room until I hear the chair creak. I turn around and there he is, sitting at the dining table and looking at me.

“Did I wake you? Sorry.”

“It’s OK.” I close the album and put it back. “So you two aren’t the best of friends yet?”

He winces. “I’m sorry darling, but if you’re waiting for your grandfather and me to get along you’ll be waiting a long time.”

I shrug. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Connie.” He looks at the chair opposite him, then at me. “A minute, please.”

My body tenses. The last thing I need is another lecture on Ntatemogolo’s “esoteric rubbish”. It’s difficult to sit and listen to Dad go on and on and not be able to contradict him. How do I tell him that the world he thinks is so orderly and practical is all in his head?

“Dad, it’s late,” I remind him. “I have school in the morning.”

“It won’t take long.” He fixes his stern I’m-the-head-of-the-house gaze on me.

With a sigh of resignation, I plonk myself onto the chair. “OK. What’s wrong?”

“Connie…” He frowns, then sighs and starts again. “Connie. We both know you’re… I mean you’re very… you’re a smart girl. I’m not talking about school. What I mean is, you’re more… insightful than most people.” He’s squirming in his seat, his thoughts running back and forth as he tries to find the right words. If he knew that I knew what he was thinking, what would he do?

“Dad –”

“Let me finish.” He clears his throat. “You’re sensitive. Intuitive! Yes, intuitive. Your mother was, too. She had a way of sensing what people were feeling, you know? Empathy. Yes, that’s the word. With you it’s a bit… somewhat… stronger.” My father, king of the understatement. “It’s a useful trait, wonderful really, but… um…” He hesitates, then flashes an uncertain smile. “But I wouldn’t want you to misunderstand it.”

“Dad, we’ve talked about this,” I point out.

“Yes, but you’re older now. I just don’t want you making the wrong decisions, or getting involved in things that are… unhealthy.”

I put on a puzzled expression. “What sorts of things?”

“Ah well, you know… there are many things that can lead a young girl astray.” He coughs and lowers his gaze to the table.

“You don’t have to worry. I don’t like parties or drinking, my friends are good kids and I don’t have a boyfriend.”

He nods. “I know. But we all have our weaknesses, and yours isn’t alcohol or boys. It’s… the other thing. You know what I mean. All that… mumbo jumbo your grandfather’s always raving about. You’re so drawn to it, and it’s not good for you!”

I take a deep breath and try to come up with a way to derail this conversation. “It’s harmless, Dad. Really. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“But I do. When he has you going over there first thing in the morning, or late in the day when you should be home doing your schoolwork, then I have to worry, Connie.”

I raise my eyebrows. “So I shouldn’t spend time with him?”

“I didn’t say that.” But that’s what he’s thinking. He cracks his knuckles and frowns, wishing my grandfather had never come back to Botswana, then hating himself for wishing it. “He’s your grandfather; of course you should spend time with him. I want you to have a good relationship with him, for your mother’s sake and your own. But the man is relentless! Every chance he gets he’s planting all this crazy stuff in your head. He’s convinced that you’re some kind of… of… medium, or God knows what, and he refuses to see sense! A man with his reputation and education – I just don’t get it.”

Poor Dad. As exasperating as he is, I can understand where he’s coming from. “Dad, don’t get angry. He’s just doing what he thinks is best.”

“But he’s wrong!” he splutters.

“Well, he thinks you’re wrong, too.” I put my elbows on the table and lean forward. “I don’t want to be caught in the middle. I get it – you two don’t agree on anything. But you’re both family, and you both love me. That’s enough.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not? If you can’t get along, just stay away from each other so we can keep the peace. Please!”

Dad nods. “I understand what you’re saying, but I’m just worried about the sort of ideas he’s –”

I groan and bury my head in my hands. “Dad! Please. Let it go.”

He looks at me. I tune out his thoughts and focus on the fear in his eyes. “I just need you to know that this world of his is not real. It’s a mixture of culture and superstition. It’s not solid. This is.” He waves a hand at the room and heaves a weary sigh. “Your mother would have dealt with this better. Maybe I’m too white.”

“Much too white,” I whisper with a smile.

He grins and shrugs. “Well, what can I say? I just want you to keep your feet on the ground. I want you to be careful.”

“Dad.” I reach across the table and put my hand over his. “Do you know me at all? When have I not been careful?”

“You’re right, of course.” His tone is sheepish.

I push the chair back and get to my feet. “Can we please stop having this conversation?”

He smiles. “I think we’ve filled the quota for the next few years.”

“Good.” I walk round the table and kiss his cheek. “Night, Dad.”

“Night, Connie.”

I can feel his eyes on me all the way down the corridor.

07:00

“The number you have dialled…”

Oh, for goodness sake, Lizard. Where are you?

As soon as the bell goes for lunch I head for the Form One classrooms. After a while I see Amantle and her friend emerge. This time I can sense something going on in their heads, but their thoughts are murky and unclear. I pass them, catch their gazes and smile. The other girl smiles back, but Amantle shoots me a suspicious glance and tosses her head. Now I can see why she and Kelly get along so well. I’m not going to get anything out of her, but her friend looks promising.

I hurry over to the bench. My friends are already there, Wiki unwrapping his lunch and Lebz looking on in distaste.

I collapse onto the bench beside them. “Is it my turn to get the food?”

Lebz hands me some money by way of reply. “Where were you?”

“Stalking Amantle. She’s not very friendly.”

“I told you.” Lebz scowls. “What do you want with her, anyway?”

“I told you something strange is going on with those girls.” I sit up straight and open my bag, looking for my wallet. “I intend to find out what it is.”

“Something strange?” Wiki looks up from his lunch. “You mean your kind of strange?”

I nod. “I told my grandfather about them and he thinks something is up, too. So I need to find out whatever I can. Amantle is too savvy to let anything slip, but I could probably get close to her friend.” I rummage around in the wallet and locate a few coins.

“Rose?” Lebz wrinkles her nose. “Well, maybe. She’s probably the nicest one, but you’ll never catch her on her own. She’s like Amantle’s shadow.”

“We’ll see.” I stand up, clutching the money. “The usual?” I take a handful of coins from Wiki and head for the tuck-shop.

I can now tune out the thoughts of the people around me by focusing my attention on something else. It’s not as easy as it sounds, but I can get about five minutes of relative peace and quiet before the thoughts start intruding again. Sometimes I just sit back and let them run through my head, like a silent observer. It’s incredible how much people think; constantly, about random things, as if their brains will rot if there’s more than a moment of silence. Well, I appreciate silence now.

I brace myself for the barrage of thoughts coming from the crowd outside the tuck-shop, but it’s quieter than usual. There are at least fifty kids here, but for some reason all I’m getting is muted voices and vague images. I shake my head and blink and the noise returns, but a few minutes later it fades again. What’s going on? As the line moves forward I keep my eyes on my hands, letting the thoughts drift around in the back of my head. I buy two packets of fresh chips and three soft drinks, then turn around to make my way back to the bench.

My heart jumps. Thuli is standing right behind me. My eyes travel up to his face. He hasn’t seen me. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to him before. He smells of cigarettes; Lebz would be choking and spluttering on principle, but thanks to Ntatemogolo I don’t mind the smell. He’s not as tall up close; shorter than Lizard. His dreadlocks are held back with his school tie, and there’s a suspicious stain on his shirt.

I have to push past him to get out of the crush, but this might be my only chance to speak to him. I clear my throat, look at his shoulder and mumble, “Excuse me.”

He looks down, spots me and shifts to the left to let me through. “Sorry.” His voice is hoarse from years of smoking, but the voice of his thoughts is even grittier. I think I know this chick. There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, and then, No, maybe not. He turns his attention back to the tuck-shop. Man, I’m starving. Then the lyrics of some rap song, and then, once more with passion, Man! I’m starving! and back to the song.

I walk away from the tuck-shop. OK, so I’m a little disheartened. I know Thuli is smart because he’s always part of the Syringa team for the Inter-School Maths and Science Fair, and I thought his head would be full of complex theories and stuff. At least he’s not thinking about sex, which is more than I can say for most boys.

“Finally!” Lebz exclaims when I approach, snatching her food from my arms.

“You’re welcome,” I say wryly, handing Wiki his drink before sitting down. “Guess who I ran into? He was right behind me in line at the tuck-shop. Our bodies were a centimetre apart.”

Lebz raises her eyebrows and talks through a mouthful of chips. “Not Lizard again?”

I flinch at her disgusted tone. “No. Thuli.”

“Oh!” She swallows and regards me with suspicion. “Why aren’t you excited?”

“I am excited.” I shake my packet of chips to distribute the salt.

“What did he say?” Lebz rolls her eyes. “Did he ask you for a lighter? I think that’s the only thing he ever says to me. ‘Hey Lebz. Got a light?’ As if I look like someone who wants lungs full of tar.”

“He said, ‘Sorry’.” I smile sheepishly. “I asked him to excuse me, because he was blocking my way, so he moved. It was nothing.”

Lebz and Wiki exchange glances. Wiki closes his book.

I blink at them. “What?”

“It was nothing?” Lebz is peering into my face as if she’s just noticed a giant zit. “You’ve been obsessed with this guy for three years! You finally get close enough to talk to him and all you have to say is ‘it was nothing’?”

“It’s not like you to be so casual about Thuli,” adds Wiki. “Unless…”

I put a chip into my mouth and give him an innocent stare.

“Are you over him?” Lebz shrieks, thrilled by the prospect.

“I’m not over him,” I protest, but I’m not quite sure. I still get excited when I see Thuli; butterflies, heart palpitations, the whole thing. But… I don’t know. Three years is a long time for unrequited love. Maybe I’m fed up. Maybe I expected to look into his eyes and see his soul. Maybe I thought I’d be overwhelmed by his genius. Maybe I expected him to react with a little more interest. What I didn’t expect was a rap song and commentary on his growling stomach.

“Oh my God!” Lebz gasps, eyes wide. “You read his mind, didn’t you? It was disgusting, or full of smoke. That’s it, isn’t it?”

I sigh. “Don’t be stupid. He had some song in his head – that’s all. I just…” It’s starting to hit me now. Years of anticipation. The million times I’ve imagined our first conversation, and the crushing disappointment of reality. “There was nothing. He looked right at me for the first time and there was nothing. No magic. He thought he recognised me, then changed his mind.” I start to laugh. “Changed his mind! Can you believe that? After all these years.”

“He doesn’t know who you are,” says Wiki. “You can’t expect him to fall in love at first sight.”

“I know that.” I’m annoyed by his callous pragmatism. I know I’m no supermodel, but I’ve liked Thuli forever. I don’t think it’s possible to have that kind of intense emotion directed at you and not know it. “But how many times has he seen us together? How many times has he spoken to one of you when I was standing right there? And he doesn’t recognise me! I’m invisible!”

“Thuli has no taste and no sense.” Lebz reaches over to tuck a stray curl into my hair band. “But if he got to know you he’d love you.”

I nod and munch my chips, but I know she’s just saying that to make me feel better. I shouldn’t even be upset. Didn’t I want to be invisible, the average, ordinary girl? That’s what I get. Why would Thuli notice me when he can notice everybody else?

“It doesn’t matter,” I declare with more conviction than I feel. “I don’t have time to pine away after a boy who doesn’t even know my name. Listen Lebz, what do you know about this Rose girl?”

She and Wiki exchange glances again.

“Stop it,” I snap. “I’m not about to fall apart or something. Can we focus on Ma-fourteen, please?”

Wiki frowns. He’s thinking – no, I don’t know what he’s thinking. My telepathy is flickering again, like a light about to go out. I reach up to rub my temples.

Lebz puts her hand on my shoulder. “Thuli’s not worth your tears.”

“I’m not crying.” I raise my head. “My head feels funny.”

“Another headache?” asks Wiki warily.

“No, but…” Now the switch is back on and I can see and hear everything as clearly as ever. Strange. “Never mind, I’m fine. Forget Thuli. It’s about time I got over him anyway, right?”

“Right,” says Lebz, a little too eagerly.

I get to my feet. “I’ll be back. I need some water.” I feel strange. Not sick exactly, but not quite well. As I walk towards the standpipe near the school gate, the thoughts in my head flicker again. When I return, Lebz and Wiki are dead quiet and the other realm is hazy.

“Do you have feelings for Black Lizard?”

My heart jumps out of my chest, into my throat, then back down behind my ribcage with a thud. I gape at Lebz. “Are you crazy?”

“Are you?” she counters in dismay.

“Rakwena and I are barely even friends,” I point out in my most sensible tone. “Where did this come from? Weren’t you just telling me to forget about Thuli?”

She gasps and shoots a horrified glance at Wiki. “You were right! She’s already thinking of him as the rebound guy!”

“Rebound?” I’m completely confused. “Don’t you have to break-up before you can go on the rebound? And you need a relationship to have a break-up, so…”

She carries on as if I haven’t said a word. “God, it’s worse than I thought! I understand you’ve had a lot to deal with – telepathy, being disappointed by Thuli – but chasing strange men is not going to make you feel better.”

Chasing? Men? I let out an incredulous giggle. “Lebz, really…”

“I get the whole bad boy thing,OK?” she goes on, taking my hand. “We’ve all been there. It’s part of life and you grow out of it. I accepted Thuli, even though he’s weird and annoying, but Black Lizard is another story.”

“Lebz-”

“He’s creepy. It’s not even about the tattoo or that ugly-ass scar. He’s just freaky, you know? The way he watches you and says nothing, hiding in corners… Maybe he seems exciting to you and you feel like you can handle it because you’ve got powers and stuff, but trust me, you’re only going to get hurt.”

I glance at Wiki, who lifts his shoulders in a sheepish shrug. Then I turn back to Lebz. She’s genuinely concerned. “Lebz, relax. At least let me get over one guy before you start matching me up with another! I’m not interested in Lizard. We just… we have some things in common, that’s all.”

“Like what? Is he a telepath too?”

“No…” I sneak another look at Wiki, but he’s hiding behind his book. “He just knows a lot about this stuff. I can learn a lot from him.” I give her a reassuring smile. “And he’s really not that scary. You just have to get used to him.”

She’s not convinced, but she’s willing to let it go for now. “Hmm. I’ll keep my eyes on him,” she promises, wagging a finger at me. “If he messes with you…”

I have to laugh at that. Lebz can be feisty, but she’s all talk. “Thanks.” We don’t do mushy girl-bonding, so I poke her affectionately in the ribs. “What about you, Wiki? Can I count on you to slay dragons for me?”

“You mean lizards,” Lebz cuts in with a sly grin.

“The pen is mightier than the sword,” Wiki mumbles. Ri-ight.

I rather like the idea of someone defending my honour, but as the bell goes I remember that my honour isn’t in danger. As my encounter with Thuli has proven, I’m the kind of girl guys consider for just a fraction of a second. Ouch. I need to think about something else before the humiliation cuts too deep.

I try to zone in on the thoughts around me. Nothing. Wait, there’s a vague… no, nothing. What’s going on? Is something getting in the way of my telepathy, or is this just how it works?

I start to sense some vague sounds as bit by bit the clarity returns. Suddenly it hits me full force, making me stop in my tracks. Unfortunately I’m behind a rowdy group of boys. Sigh – I’m sick of hearing about Xbox and boobs. I push past them, inching towards my classroom, and come up behind a guy with earphones on. There are many downsides to telepathy, but nothing’s worse than being subjected to other people’s music. I can’t take any more lewd lyrics or brain-numbing beats. And what kind of a name is T-Pain, anyway?

I shake my head and take a deep breath to settle the noise in my head. I wish I knew where it went all of a sudden, and what made it come back.

Chapter Five

There are a lot more students in the library than I remember. More books, too. I come here occasionally to do research or look for the odd novel; it’s just been a while since the last occasion. Wiki leads the way, winding through the shelves without even glancing at the signs.

“Over here,” he whispers, pointing me in the direction of the books on Setswana proverbs. You might wonder why Wiki, who can barely greet in my second native tongue, knows where to find Setswana books. It’s not that he’s partial to languages or proverbs, he’s just partial to books.

“Thanks,” I whisper back.

He replies with a distracted wave, and I watch him run his fingers thoughtfully across the spines of the books as he turns the corner. He’s already forgotten I exist. I reach for the thinnest book and flip through it. It seems to have been written for primary school. It’s perfect.

My Setswana isn’t what it should be. After my mother died the only person I spoke it with was Lebz, but not often. My only close relative from my mother’s side is Ntatemogolo, and he was off dancing with wolves in Peru or someplace. When he finally came home, he was appalled by my cultural ignorance. He took me to the cattle post for a weekend and made me sit up all night listening to crickets chirp so I could get in touch with the earth. I learned a lot about crickets and cows, but not so much about culture.

“I didn’t know you were such a lazy student.”

I almost drop the book. My chest fills with a mixture of annoyance and relief, and I’m careful to wipe the smile off my face before I turn around.

Rakwena’s lips are curled into that smile that pisses me off, but some of his usual vibrancy is gone. “No self-respecting Form Four student would use that for an assignment.” He taps the book’s cover with the tip of his forefinger.

I snatch it away and glare at him. “Setswana is hard; everyone knows that,” I snap. Nevertheless, I slide the book back into its place on the shelf. “Where have you been?” I hope that sounded casual. I hope it didn’t sound as if I’ve been driving myself crazy wondering whether he’s avoiding me.

“Sick.”

“Sick?” I frown at him, suspicious. “What was wrong with you?”

“Flu.”

“It’s summer.”

He smiles and runs a finger along the side of the shelf. “Were you worried? You sent me a million messages.”

“Not a million,” I protest in indignation. A few students send curious glances our way. I lower my voice. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t backing out of our deal. You remember our deal, don’t you?”

“How could I forget?”

“So? When?”

He hesitates, as if he wants me to make the call. What is it with boys? I thought they were supposed to take charge.

“Today,” I suggest. “Lunch time.”

“After school. The usual place.”

I get a little shiver when he says that – the usual place, as if we’re having a torrid affair. I study him for a moment. He doesn’t look quite like himself; some of his swagger is gone. Maybe he really was sick.

He reaches over my head and pulls down a book. “Here. If you want your teachers to take you seriously, you’d better use books like this.” He hands it to me. It’s a thick monster of a book with a ghastly brown cover. The font is so small I might need to borrow Wiki’s glasses, and it’s written in grammatically correct traditional Setswana – the kind I get a headache trying to decipher.

My jaw drops. “It’ll take me all day to read the first page!”

“Good. It’s about time you learned to challenge yourself.” With that snide statement, he slinks away.

No wonder Lizard doesn’t have any friends. He’s a smug, self-righteous know-it-all. I march to the check-out desk with the book in my hand. I’m not taking it out because he suggested it; I’m taking it out to prove a point. Besides, I don’t have to read the whole book. Skimming was invented for a reason.

By the time the final bell goes I’ve worked myself into a state. I’m distracted, my telepathy is still off and I’m almost terrified to find out what Lizard’s skill is. What if it’s dangerous? My hands are shaking so badly I keep dropping my pen. Eventually I get my act together, pack up my things and head outside, and then I remember that I haven’t told my friends about my plans for the afternoon.

For a moment I consider just disappearing and dealing with them later, but Lebz emerges from a classroom nearby and spots me. Damn, damn, damn!

“Listen, I have to hang around for a bit,” I tell her before she can open her mouth. “I have a very important meeting.”

“Meeting?” Her eyes narrow. “You’re not part of any club and you don’t play sports.”

The lie is poised on my tongue. A group assignment for Development Studies. We get them all the time; it’ll be completely plausible. But do I really want to spend the rest of my life lying? I unzip the front compartment of my bag and pretend to check for something. “I’m meeting Rakwena, so you should go on without me.”

She grabs my arm and drags me to a corner. “What? Already?”

I pull my arm out of her grip. “Ouch! Already what?” Switch. Everything in her mind is clear again, for the moment. This back and forth is starting to make me dizzy.

“Meeting in secret after school! Does Wiki know about this?”

I sigh. Lebz is such a drama queen. I wish I couldn’t see the ridiculous thoughts running through her mind. Rakwena is not going to hurt me, and he’s not going to shove me up against a wall and try to stick his hand in my shirt. “We’re just going to talk.”

“About what?”

“Stuff.” I raise my eyebrows. “You know.”

“I’m coming with you,” she declares.

“No!”

She stares suspiciously at me. “Why not? What are you up to?”

“Lebz, please. Do you come with me when I go to talk to my grandfather?”

“No, but –”

“And why not?” I fold my arms across my chest, challenging her. My head is starting to throb, the telepathy is flickering again and I’m in no mood for this. “You know this stuff just freaks you out – you hate hearing about it. You can just switch off and go back to the normal world, but I can’t. Rakwena understands. I don’t have to explain things to him. He just… he knows, OK? Try to put yourself in my shoes for once!”

The look on her face tells me I’ve said too much. “OK,” she says quietly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait, Lebz… I didn’t mean…”

“Forget it. It’s fine.” She shrugs. “I have a lot of work to do anyway.” She walks off towards the gate. Eish. Me and my big mouth.

I walk slowly towards the “usual place”, making a promise to myself to call Lebz when I get home. I don’t like it when she’s upset with me, but I don’t have time to brood because Thuli has appeared out of nowhere and is walking towards me. I don’t think I can deal with this. My chest is heaving. I’m rooted to the ground. I don’t know what’s come over me; I’m standing there like an idiot. I should get out of his way. I should ignore him and just keep going. But what if… I know it’s crazy and silly and probably impossible… what if he’s coming to talk to me?

He walks past, taking long, easy strides, so close that I could have touched him. He doesn’t even glance at me. My heart twists. He was never coming towards me. He was going towards the gate, where Simon and Mothusi are waiting. Oh, stupid Connie. You’d think I would learn.

“Are you OK?”

I snap out of my heartbroken daze and turn to Lizard.

“You look upset.” He looks at me, then at Thuli’s retreating back, then back at me. “Did he say something to you? He’s an idiot.”

I sigh. “No, he didn’t say a word to me. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

He gives me a funny look, then glances at Thuli again. “I don’t know about that.”

“Hmm?”

“You said he doesn’t know you’re here. But…” He frowns. “He’s staring at you.”

There goes my heart again. Connie, come on. How many times do you want to be disappointed? “Don’t be stupid,” I croak, a terrible mixture of hope and doubt rising inside me. “He’s probably staring at you.” But I turn around anyway, just in case. And my breath catches in my throat. Thuli is staring at me. Not in the idle way he looked at me at the tuck-shop. He’s looking at me with… I can’t believe it… curiosity.

I could stand there forever, but with superhuman strength I tear my gaze away and start walking on shaky legs. I imagined it. I must have.

“Are you friends with him?” asks Rakwena, with unmistakable distaste.

“No.” Wow. Wow. Wow. “Is he gone?”

“Yes.”

Once we reach the usual place, I lean back against the wall to catch my breath. I’m being silly. Thuli wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at Black Lizard. Obviously. Somehow that thought is comforting – it makes so much more sense. I turn to Rakwena and notice the bag slung over one shoulder. It’s a basic schoolbag, black with green piping, and, like everything else on him, it’s spotless.

“I don’t understand how you go all day without getting any dirt on you,” I marvel as he leans against the wall beside me.

“Simple. I don’t roll around in the sand like my peers.”

Serves me right for mentioning it. And, like a glutton for punishment, I go on. “Your pants look like they were ironed five minutes ago. Your shoes are still shiny. And I’m sure you get your hair cut every day.”

“Every week,” he corrects me with a slow smile. “I like being clean. I know you kids find that strange, but you’ll grow out of it eventually.”

Aaaahhhh! I should punch him; he’s begging for it. “Does your Mummy do your laundry?” I tease.

His face closes up and his voice turns cold. “My mother isn’t here.”

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?

Chapter Six

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.

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