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