all? I mean…you’re not worried about your…”
“Father?” His jaw tenses. “No news is good news. Hopefully he really is dead.”
I decide not to comment. There’s no love lost between Rakwena and his father and I know better than to press the issue. The one parent I can talk about is his mother. Mmabatho Langa is in a psychiatric facility in South Africa, and Rakwena goes to visit her all the time. She’s the only relative he speaks to; his maternal aunts have practically disowned him and his father’s side of the family disappeared when his father “died”.
“How’s your mother?”
“She’s OK. I’m going to see her next weekend. Can we do some work now?”
“Sure.” I open the book.
***
Friday comes way too quickly. It’s the last day of term so we’re in civvies, which means jeans and sneakers for me. Civvies day at Syringa is like the opening day of Fashion Week – most of the kids use it as an opportunity to flash their favourite brand names at the minority middle-class students. It’s supposed to be intimidating – a girl can only stomach so much Guess before she flees to the toilet in tears to cut the label off her Mr Price shirt.
Fortunately for me, I’ve never been interested in clothes. I’m a fickle teenager. Why pay a fortune for a pair of jeans I won’t even want in a few months? Lebz, on the other hand, is a fashion slave. She turns up in skinny jeans that look as though they’ve been painted on, a flimsy top that barely covers her bra, a leather jacket, heels and a handbag so obviously expensive I can’t even look at it without feeling queasy.
“I thought you were trying not to spend so much money this year,” I admonish her, as she slides onto the bench.
“I didn’t buy it – yoh!” She laughs. “I don’t get that much pocket money. Papa got it for me in Italy. He got shoes for Rita – they’re so beautiful! I’m wearing them to the party tonight.”
Wiki and I exchange glances. Wiki’s folks, like mine, are in the lower income bracket of the Syringa class system. As far as they’re concerned, sending us to the best school in town is enough – if we want to keep up with our classmates, we should get jobs. Lebz’s dad works like a fiend making bucketloads of money, and then spoils his kids rotten to make up for all the time he spends away. It’s a good thing her mother is sensible, or Lebz would have turned out like Kelly.
“Just wait till you guys see Kencer for yourselves,” she goes on.
“Kencer?” Wiki and I chorus.
“Kelly and Spencer,” Lebz explains.
I snicker. “It’s not very flattering.”
“I know it sounds like cancer, but Botho started it and now it’s stuck. So? Are we meeting at my place for the party or what?”
“I’m not coming,” Wiki announces.
“What?” Lebz and I whip around to stare at him in dismay.
“You know how I feel about parties,” he groans. “It’s the end of term! I want to stay home and watch a movie or read…”
“You can’t miss it – Kelly throws the best parties!” says Lebz.
“And what about me?” I pitch in. “Lebz is going to disappear the minute we walk in, and I’ll be all by myself in the jungle! You can’t abandon me!”
“She’s right,” says Lebz, without shame.
Wiki sighs. “Fine. But I’m bringing my laptop.”
“Good! Mogapi’s busy today, so he can’t give us a ride, but I can ask my mother,” says Lebz.
“Rakwena will drop us off.”
Lebz raises an eyebrow. “He’s gate-crashing?”
I glare at her. “No, but he’s going to drop me off, so we might as well meet at my house around seven and he’ll take us.”
“Hm!” Lebz purses her lips. “Nice to have a mobile boyfriend, isn’t it?”
The sound of the bell saves her from my stinging retort. All through the day Lebz rambles on about the party, her hair, her outfit – but I can’t stop thinking about Thuli. Despite what I said to Rakwena, there’s a little part of me that is afraid.
Auntie Lydia is cooking when I walk into the house later, and the aroma of roasting chicken fills the air.
“I love you,” I gush, as I make my way into the kitchen.
She turns away from the stove to smile at me. “No, you only use me for my cooking skills.”
“Not true!” I give her a half hug and lean over to peer at the pot of rice bubbling away on the stove.
“OK, enough games now. I’m worried about your father.” She peeks at the oven, then turns her full attention to me. “It’s not normal for him to have so much work at the university now – they’ve only just opened.”
“It’s the Salinger project.” I sigh and walk to the fridge for some water. “He’s supposed to be getting help from Ntatemogolo, but you know how it is with them.”
Her eyes widen with understanding. “Can’t you talk to them?”
“I’ve tried.” I slump against the counter.
She frowns thoughtfully. “Keep trying. But for now, come and make some vegetables for the stew. I know you’re going to a party tonight, but you must eat some real food first.”
“Auntie, you don’t want me to fit into my party clothes?”
“Party clothes? You?” She throws an incredulous glance over her shoulder as she lifts the lid of the rice pot.
I laugh. “I do have a few nice things, you know.”
“Yes – the ones I made you,” she teases. “Come, come – my vegetables. There’s the chopping board.”
I smile as I reach for the chopping board and knife, but she’s got me thinking. I really have to find a way to get Dad to agree to work with Ntatemogolo. Now that school is over, I’ll have lots of free time to come up with a plan.
I stand in front of my mirror, scowling at my reflection. I hate clothes. I hate parties. At this moment I even hate Lebz, who looks like a million bucks in her black leather pants, ankle boots and silk top. She has a red sash around her braids and a cute handbag shaped like a fan.
I’m wearing black jeans with a ridiculous sequinned dragon clawing its way up the thigh, and a miniscule white shirt that Lebz insisted on bringing. It looks like it shrunk in the washing machine. “No.”
“But it’s so cute!”
“How can it be cute? It’s invisible!” I struggle with the top for a few minutes before finally getting it off, then rummage in my wardrobe and pull out a red The Doors T-shirt with the collar and sleeves cut off. I love this T-shirt – it falls over one shoulder and hangs just below my hips. I have no idea who The Doors are – the T-shirt used to belong to my father before I hijacked it – but I like it anyway.
I pull off the jeans and replace them with a pair of faded black jeans I’ve been wearing forever. I push my feet into hi-top All-Stars, tie a black band around my hair and I’m set.
“You know, that look isn’t as bad as I expected,” Lebz remarks, giving me the once-over.
I roll my eyes at her and grab a jacket. “Where is Wiki? Rakwena will be here in a few minutes and I don’t want to make him drive all the way to Phase 2.”
Lebz gets up and goes to the mirror to check her hair.