A Conyza Bennett story

He yawns and puts his empty mug on the counter. “I’m done, but they want me to oversee a big project they’re starting soon. I have to hire research assistants from the university before then. God, I’m knackered.”

I frown at him. “Let me at least make you a proper breakfast, Dad – you can’t survive on coffee.”

He shakes his head and goes to fetch his briefcase from the dining room table. “I have a meeting at eight – got to prepare. See you later, love.”

I frown as he heads out. After breakfast I turn on the radio while I wait for Lebz. Auntie Lydia comes in at quarter to seven, her petite frame buried under bags of sewing material. She runs a tailoring business on the side, but I can’t remember the last time she brought this much work with her. I hurry to open the door for her.

“Wow,” I marvel as she dumps the lot on the dining table. “Are you opening a shop?”

She laughs. “I have a lot of orders this week. Is your father gone?”

I nod. “You just missed him. Any messages?”

“It’s nothing…” Her sigh says otherwise. “He forgot to pay me yesterday.”

I rummage around on the dining table where Dad usually leaves Auntie Lydia’s pay, but there’s no sign of an envelope. “He must have forgotten all about it. He’s been really busy. Should I call and remind him?”

She shakes her head and pats my arm. “I’ll call his office later. Aren’t you going to be late? Where’s Malebogo?”

“I don’t know.” I reach into my pocket for my phone and check the time. “She’s usually here by now. I’m sure she’s on the way.”

Auntie Lydia goes off to clean the kitchen and I stand on the doorstep, watching the road. Finally I see Lebz hurrying towards the house, scarlet braids flying behind her. Students at the Syringa Institute of Excellence aren’t allowed “unnatural” hair styles, but the teachers can’t seem to agree on how to define “unnatural”, so people like Lebz get away with anything.

She lifts the latch on the front gate and pushes it open, then runs up the driveway, leaving the gate wide open behind her as usual. The gate, I tell her silently. She comes to an abrupt stop, turns around and goes back to close the gate. Being a telepath comes in very handy sometimes.

“News!” she squeals, almost knocking me over as she bolts into the house.

Only a boy could get Lebz this excited. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. Can we go? We’re late already.”

She dashes into the kitchen to say hello to Lydia, then runs back and grabs my arm. Her nails are blue today, but I bet not a single teacher will notice. “Connie, oh my God! You will not believe Kelly’s new boyfriend.”

Oh, a double whammy – a boy and Kelly, Lebz’s buxom, brainless role model. I drag her towards the road. “Let me guess – his father owns half the country.”

“I have no idea who his father is, but who cares?” She sighs and releases my arm so she can clasp her hands together in rapture. “Connie! He’s so hot. I mean…so, so, so hot. Damn! I have never seen anyone so cute in my whole life. And get this – there are more of them!”

“More boyfriends?” I arch my eyebrows. I thought Kelly was more of a serial monogamist, but I’m always looking for new reasons to dislike her.

Lebz makes an exasperated noise in her throat. “More hot boys! A whole group of them; six, and they are all good-looking. All of them! Do you know how rare that is? A bunch of guys who hang out together and are all the same level of hotness?”

I roll my eyes. “Wow. A biological miracle.”

She slaps my arm impatiently. “Don’t you think this is a little bit weird?”

There’s something about the way she says that last word that grabs my attention. “Strange weird or freaky weird?”

She raises her eyebrows. OK – freaky weird. As in “too strange to be a coincidence; must be supernatural” weird. I ignore the neighbourhood scenery and the other kids making their way to school.

“Come on. What’s freaky about a bunch of cute boys? Maybe they’re related.”

“They are, but still.” She heaves a weary sigh and shakes her head. “Choma, listen to me. There are cute boys, and then there are cute boys. The Cresta Crew are unnaturally hot and charming. All of them. I repeat – all of them.”

I snicker. “What are they, a boy band? Were they discovered at Cresta Lodge or something?”

“Cresta, Johannesburg,” Lebz explains impatiently. “They lived there before coming here, so people started calling them the Cresta Crew.”

I’m not allowed to read the minds of my friends, but I take a quick peek just to see if she really believes there’s something off about these guys. I barely have to scratch the surface to sense her unease, even though it’s mixed up with a good deal of excitement. “OK. I’m listening.”

We’ve reached Syringa, and we make our way to our bench. Wiki, our third musketeer, is already there, going over yesterday’s Business Studies homework.

He glances up at us, round glasses magnifying his eyes. “Hello, ladies. What’s new?”

“Lebz is convinced that Kelly’s latest conquest is a member of a gang of freaks,” I report, slumping onto the bench beside him.

“Ah,” he replies with a nod, and goes right back to his homework.

“So this is the story,” says Lebz, warming to her subject. “These six guys all decided to leave South Africa together. They arrived about a week ago and they’ve been flirting their way across town. Now Spencer – that’s Kelly’s man – is the hottest. He met Kelly at a party and they’ve been inseparable ever since. This morning she emailed me his photo – that’s why I got to your place late – and I nearly died. I’d never actually seen one of them until now. Connie! I’m telling you, my heart stopped.”

“So what are you thinking?” I reach into my bag for my water bottle and take a sip. “They’ve taken some kind of potion that makes them gorgeous?”

She shrugs. “You’re the expert. I just think these guys are too good to be true. And Kelly has dated a lot of incredible guys. She’s not easily impressed, but Spencer has her completely under his spell – not that I blame her.”

“Hmm,” I reply, in my no-nonsense supernatural detective tone. “I’ll look into it.”

“Be careful,” she warns me. “Rumour has it that those guys can make any girl fall in love with them.”

I laugh. Unless they’re duplicates of Rakwena, I don’t think I have anything to worry about. Not that I’m in love with Rakwena. I just mean… Never mind. The point is I’m glad to have a potential mystery on my hands. Time to put all those months of practice to use. With any luck, the Cresta Crew will turn out to be nothing more than a bunch of boys with good genes and even better game. But if they’re not, I’ll find out.

**

“So what do you think?”

I follow Rakwena up the steep cement road that twists from the quarry to the top of Kgale Hill. I’m out of breath, but it’s a vast improvement to how I felt the first time I let Rakwena drag me up the hill. I don’t know how he convinced me to make this hike a Sunday morning ritual, but we hardly ever miss a week.

“I think you should do more walking and less talking,” he replies impatiently.

“Come on, help me out here. Do you think Lebz is being paranoid about these guys?”

“Lebz is being Lebz.” The disdain in his voice is palpable, and a little offensive. I thought he liked Lebz. He stops to open his bag, hands me a bottle of water and takes a swig from his two-litre bottle of barely diluted Oros. “She thinks her garden shed is haunted, remember?”

OK, he has a point. Somehow Lebz sees ghosts where the rest of us see rats. “Maybe you’re right. She can be a bit of a drama queen, especially where Kelly’s concerned.”

I slip into silence as other hikers pass us on their way down. I’m not an exercise fanatic, but I’ll admit that it has its benefits. I’m stronger than I was last year, and have much more stamina when it comes to supernatural mind games. I’m not yet action hero material, but watch this space.

We reach the flat slab of rock near the top where most hikers stop, and Rakwena immediately starts doing push-ups. Show-off. I lie back on the rock and watch him. I still don’t understand why he bothers working out. Rakwena’s metabolism is ridiculous – he burns so much energy that he never gains weight, despite eating enough for ten people. The amount of sugar he consumes in one day would kill anyone else.

I still haven’t figured out why his body works so differently from the rest of us. He’s gifted, like me, but my body is 100% flawed human. His body is perfect. Maybe it has something to do with the blue sparks that pour out of his skin, or the chemical imbalance that requires him to inject himself with medicine every day. So many things about Rakwena are still a mystery to me.

“Should I take my shirt off?” He pauses and looks at me with a cocky grin.

“It’s not that hot.” I raise an eyebrow. “And neither are you.”

“Your lingering gaze says otherwise.” He lowers himself to the ground and lies on his stomach, resting his chin on his hands.

I look at him through narrowed eyes. “You’re the biggest freak of nature I’ve ever met, you know.”

He laughs. “Thank you.”

I inch closer to him and reach out to touch his hand, and my fingers tingle. I can’t explain this thing that happens when we touch – it doesn’t happen with anyone else. It’s as if the power in me calls to the power in him, and he can’t help but respond.

“Aren’t you even a little curious?”

His eyes narrow. “About Kelly’s boyfriend? No, not really.”

“No – about yourself.” I take a wary glance around. The other hikers aren’t close enough to hear us, but I drop my voice to a whisper. “Your gift. Your body.”

Rakwena sighs. “I’ve been living with it all my life; the novelty has worn off.”

“But you’re so…strange,” I persist. “I’ve never heard of a gifted person who is as different as you are. Look at me, look at Ntatemogolo. No weird cravings, no chemical issues, and definitely no blue sparks. I mean, how does your body even produce all that energy without damaging itself?”

Rakwena gets up with an exasperated grunt. “How many times do we have to go over this? I can’t explain these things. They just happen. You’re the one with a biologist for a father – you tell me.”

“I wish I could.” I sit up and study his face. There’s an angry little twitch in his jaw that tells me to drop it, but I’ve never been one to pay attention to subtle signals. “I’m no scientist, but I know enough about the human body to know that yours is different. Like a comic book mutant. Are you sure you’ve never been exposed to – ”

“Gamma radiation?” He rolls his eyes. “You’re like a skipping CD.”

“I can’t help it! You’re so interesting.” I bat my eyelashes at him, hoping the flattery will win him over. I suppose I’d get annoyed if someone kept pointing out my weird traits, but I don’t bring it up because I want to fix him. I just want to understand.

He shakes his head. “Come on – we’ve rested long enough. Wanna go to the top or head back down?”

“Let’s go back.” I stretch my arms and yawn, then get to my feet. “I have a lot of studying to do.”

Rakwena stares at me in mock amazement. “Studying? What, for exams?”

“Yep.”

“Final exams?”

I sigh. I know where this is going. “Yes, Lizard.” I only call him Lizard to annoy him, but it never has the desired effect. I suspect he finds it amusing.

“The exams that are starting in three months?”

I roll my eyes, grab his arm and pull him towards the path. “Yes, Lizzie.”

He laughs. Not his usual chuckle – a proper burst of doubled-over laughter. I’m not impressed. “I thought you had a last-minute cramming policy,” he says, once he’s recovered from his giggling fit.

“It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

He snorts. “Woman? Wow, your ambition knows no bounds!”

“You’re supposed to be proud of me for changing my ways. Aren’t you the one who’s always saying I should take my school work more seriously? We have one week of school left before the holidays – I want to make it count.”

Rakwena’s arm snakes around my waist and he pulls me close, planting a kiss on the side of my head. “I am proud of you, Connie. I always knew there was a smart, hard working girl underneath all that slothfulness.”

I stick my tongue out at him, but as he releases me and starts the descent, my attention is on the faint tingle on my skin where his lips touched me. I’ve been a reasonably understanding girlfriend for the past few months. I’ve asked questions, I’ve nagged a little, but I haven’t gone overboard in trying to figure out the secrets of Rakwena’s powers. Nevertheless, I can’t stop thinking about it. I love the blue spark. I love the fact that with one touch I can keep him from losing control and he can make me feel invincible, but I want to know why.

“Connie, come on,” he calls, a few steps ahead of me. “Pick up the pace – we need to keep our hearts pumping.”

“Yes, Captain!” I call back with a mock salute.

He turns to look at me over his shoulder, his scar facing me. The scar his father gave him the night he died – or pretended to die. We still don’t know for sure.

Apart from the odd eating habits and blue spark, Rakwena is also telekinetic. When his mother left his father and took young Rakwena along, his father hunted them down. A terrible fight ensued, with Rakwena’s father using his own telekinesis against his five-year-old son. It’s unthinkable, but from what I’ve heard, Rakwena’s dad was a monster.

As a child Rakwena’s powers were fearsome and erratic, and when his father struck him he reacted instinctively. The result was an apparently lifeless body lying in front of him – but since his father’s body was taken away and Rakwena never saw him again, there’s no way of being certain he’s dead. He could be out there, waiting for an opportunity to come back and take his revenge.

Rakwena doesn’t want to talk about it; it’s yet another mystery he’s happy to leave unsolved, but I’m not the kind of girl who lets things go. I want answers, and one way or another I’m going to get them.

Chapter Two

Come Monday morning, Wiki, Lebz and I are draped across our bench, deeply engrossed in separate activities. Wiki’s nose is buried in a book, Lebz is touching up her pink nail polish and I am sitting quietly, watching the other students. Ntatemogolo always says you’ll be surprised what you learn when you keep your mouth shut and your eyes open.

“Oh!” Lebz puts away her nail polish and sits up straight, self-consciously running a hand down her ponytail. “Kelly’s just arrived.”

“Woo hoo,” I declare, in the most uninterested tone I can muster. My gaze travels across the parking lot to where Kelly’s stepfather’s car has just pulled up. She steps out, tossing her long hair, and hoists her designer school bag over her shoulder. Another girl emerges from the backseat, younger but just as pretty and with the same air of privilege. “Hey, there’s Amantle!”

Lebz turns to me. “Woo hoo.”

Whatever. I watch Kelly and Amantle walk across the parking lot. If I didn’t know better I’d think they were sisters. They both have the effortless confidence that comes from knowing you’re better-looking than everyone around you, but since the Puppetmaster business last year Amantle has been taken down a notch or two and is now rather nice. Being possessed by a crazy sorcerer will do that to you.

Amantle’s clique was in serious trouble back then. Me and my friends assumed Amantle was the Puppetmaster’s prize pupil, since she was the leader of the clique. Discovering that it had been Emily all along was a huge shock. Rose, the sweetest member of the group, was the one who let me into her head first so I could break the Puppetmaster’s grip. She has since moved to South Africa, where she’s managed to steer clear of snooty girlfriends and sorcerers.

Lebz leaps up to go and lavish praise on her idol, then changes her mind and sinks back onto the stone bench. “They’re coming over!”

I stare in surprise. I can’t remember the last time Kelly so much as looked in my direction. Despite her friendship with Lebz she goes out of her way to ignore me, as if she thinks she might catch something if she says hello. But here she comes, with a determined look on her face and a grinning Amantle beside her.

“Hi, guys!” says Amantle brightly. “How’s it going?”

Wiki raises his head to offer a weary greeting.

“Hi,” Lebz gushes. “Wow, Kelly, your hair looks so nice today!”

I refrain from rolling my eyes and turn my attention to Amantle. “Hey.” I grin at her. “What’s up?”

Kelly takes over. She reaches into her bag and produces a fistful of little purple envelopes, then hands them to Amantle. “I’m having a little get-together this weekend,” she purrs, in the husky voice that hypnotizes Syringa’s male population.

“That’s so cool.” That’s Lebz, gushing again.

Amantle picks through the envelopes until she finds the ones she’s looking for. She hands one to Lebz.

“It’s at my place,” Kelly continues, with a flash of perfect teeth. “Friday night.”

“I’ll be there,” Lebz promises, as if there was ever any doubt.

Amantle pulls out two more envelopes. She hands one to Wiki and one to me. I look down and see my name typed on it in black ink. I raise my eyebrows at Amantle.

“Connie’s invited?” Lebz blurts out, echoing my surprise.

Kelly opens her mouth to speak, but Amantle beats her to it. “Of course.”

This must be her idea – Kelly doesn’t even know my name. Amantle and I aren’t close, but we share the sort of bond only a supernatural crisis can form.

“Anyway,” says Kelly, eager to get back to the topic at hand, “it’s a China-themed party so you have to dress up.”

Wiki and I exchange surreptitious glances. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s too good to resist. I look up at Kelly. “Can I come as a chopstick?”

Her expression is priceless; one side of her face is trying to smile politely while the other side is determined to reveal her disdain. “Um, no. You’re supposed to wear…you know…red and black, martial artsy stuff, Mandarin collars and stuff with dragons. Obviously.”

I can’t read Kelly’s mind – supposedly because my dislike of her has created a psychic barrier – but I don’t need telepathy to know that she thinks I’m insane and probably dangerous. I nod, revelling in her discomfort. Serves her right for throwing a culturally insensitive party. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lebz glaring at me.

“Thanks,” she simpers. “We’ll be there.”

“Cool.” Kelly sashays away and Amantle waves goodbye and follows.

“That was strange,” remarks Wiki. “Connie, are you actually going?”

“Why not?” I turn the invitation over in my hands, amazed that anyone has the time to get things like this professionally printed.

“It’s Kelly’s party,” he reminds me. “You can’t stand her.”

I give him a serene smile. “I’m learning to be more tolerant. Besides, it’s the perfect opportunity for me to meet this Spencer character and his Cresta Crew. I’ll blend into the crowd, talk to a few people, pick up some clues.”

Lebz snorts loudly. “You? Blend into the crowd at a party? You’ll need an extreme makeover for that.” Her eyes light up.

“Forget it,” I tell her firmly. “The last time you dressed me up for a party I almost ended up as the latest name in Thuli’s little black book, remember?”

She falls silent and shrinks into the bench. Yep, she remembers. Who could forget? I try not to think about the agonizing moments I spent in Thuli’s room, but every time I see him I feel a painful stab of panic. He’s doing Form Six at Syringa, and there are only a few more months before he leaves to terrorise some unsuspecting university.

Lebz is still trying to disappear into the bench, and Wiki is biting his lip nervously. Even though the “incident” happened last year, they still tiptoe around it as if they’re afraid any mention of it will send me over the edge. I guess I could have reported it but I knew there was no way I’d win that battle, not against Thuli’s father’s money and influence. Someday, somehow, that freak-hunter will get what he deserves. Right now, though, I have other things on my mind.

“Do you think Kelly would mind if I brought Rakwena?”

“Yes,” my friends chorus, as I knew they would.

I scowl. “Fine. It’s not like he’d want to come to a stupid party anyway – he’s in university now.” I know it’s silly to feel smug about this, but I do. I’m proud of Rakwena. He’s going to wipe the floor with all those fresh-faced UB students, and when he’s a rich and smarmy physicist I’m going to be one of those insufferable gushing girlfriends.

Lebz rolls her eyes as the bell goes. She gets up and pulls me to my feet. “Forget about your wonderful boyfriend and focus on what’s really important.”

“What’s that?” asks Wiki, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder.

“What she’s going to wear to the party!”

Wiki and I exchange amused glances and the three of us make our way to class.

***

By Tuesday everyone is talking about Kelly’s party, Kelly’s boyfriend and Kelly’s unexpected approval of that strange girl in Form Five (me). I don’t think I’ve had this many glances cast my way in all my years at Syringa. Suddenly people think they should start paying attention to me because the most popular girl in school has invited me to her party. How ridiculous is that?

“Connie, you’re cool,” says Lebz in wonder as we eat our lunch.

Some girls I’ve never spoken to walk past us and smile. I stare at them, my mouth full of hot dog. “I was always cool,” I remind Lebz, when I’ve swallowed and the groupies are gone.

“Yes, but now you’re super-cool.” She beams. “Everyone wants to know why you’re suddenly part of Kelly’s crew. You’re mysterious and interesting.”

“For now,” I mutter, taking a sip of water. I will admit I have a newfound respect for Kelly. Well, sort of. Anyone who can put up with such nonsense on a daily basis must be made of strong stuff.

To my relief, by the end of the school day I’m no longer “super-cool”. It might have been the way Kelly walked right past me outside the tuck-shop that clued everyone in. As I pass a group of Form Two girls on my way down the corridor, I hear them whispering.

“No, she’s not actually friends with Kelly. She’s just sort of friends with Amantle, and you know Amantle is like a sister to Kelly, so she had to invite her.”

“I heard last year she saved Amantle’s life.”

“I heard she killed that sangoma who was trying to bewitch Amantle’s friends.”

“Didn’t you read the GC Chronicle? The guy ran away to Brazil!”

Looks like my fifteen minutes of fame are up. I make my way to the bench to wait for Lebz and Wiki. Lebz comes running, clutching an armful of magazines.

“I have some ideas for your hair,” she announces breathlessly.

Oh, no. “Didn’t we talk about this? You’re not touching my hair.”

“But –”

“You’re not touching her hair,” Wiki interjects, dropping his books on the bench.

“Thank you.” I shake my stiff halo of curls at Lebz for good measure. She pouts but doesn’t protest.

“Can you ladies trade beauty tips later? We’re supposed to be going over that Maths past paper.” Wiki glances at his watch. He still insists on wearing a quaint, old-school leather-strap watch, even though there’s nothing wrong with the clock on his cell phone.

We organise a few snacks from the tuck-shop and head to an empty classroom to work. Studying is not fun. Anyone who says otherwise is either a liar or related to Wiki. Nevertheless, I’m determined to prove to Rakwena, Dad and myself that English is not the only subject I can do well in. I have low expectations for Maths, but the others look promising. Let’s just say I might not be a C-average student forever.

***

When I get home I find Dad sprawled across the sofa, dead to the world. He’s fully dressed and his briefcase and keys are on the armchair, so he must have headed straight for the couch when he arrived. Poor thing – he must be exhausted, but his neck is twisted at a terrible angle and I know if I don’t do something he’ll wake up aching.

I approach quietly and shake him. “Dad?”

After a few more shakes, he opens his eyes. “Oh…hi, love,” he mumbles. “You’re home.” He closes his eyes again. A second later he springs to life, leaping off the sofa and nearly knocking me over. “You’re home! What time is it?”

I glance at the wall clock. “Just after five.”

“Five?” he croaks in horror. “But…don’t you finish school at quarter to three?”

I frown at him. “I have study sessions and clubs, remember? Are you OK?”

“Right. Yes.” He removes his glasses and wipes them on his shirt, then puts them back on. “I just didn’t realise it was so late. I have a mountain of work to do.”

“Have you eaten?”

He thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I have, darling. I forgot all about food.”

Poor Dad. “Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make us something? Then we can sit down and talk.”

“Talk?” He gulps. “Why? Are you all right?”

“Yes, but you’re not.” I give him a stern look so he knows I’m not going to be dissuaded.

“A shower sounds good,” he mutters, and shuffles off to the bathroom.

I drop my things on a chair at the dining table and head to the kitchen to see what’s what. Sometimes Auntie Lydia cooks or sets things out for me to prepare, but today the countertops are bare. There’s some leftover pasta in the fridge, so I whip up a quick pasta and tuna salad and by the time it’s ready Dad is back in the living room, dressed in an old tracksuit.

“Looks good,” he says with a smile, as I deposit a plate in front of him.

“Thanks.” I curl up in the armchair and balance my bowl on my knees. “Feeling better?”

He nods, his mouth full.

“Good. What exactly is this big project you’re working on, anyway?” I take a huge bite and watch him expectantly.

He swallows, then promptly stuffs his mouth again so he doesn’t have to answer.

“Dad?”

He swallows again. “It’s about, uh, indigenous knowledge systems. It’s an investigation of different indigenous plants and their properties, how they’re used traditionally, and so on.”

My fork has almost touched my lips. I lower it back into the bowl and stare at my father. I can read him like a billboard; he’s dying to change the subject. “Do you have any help on this project?”

“I have research assistants. Well, I will, once I find time to look over the applicants. The project won’t begin officially till next year, but there’s so much prep work to do. I’ll be working with people from Salinger, so I’m not entirely on my own.”

“Shouldn’t you be working with the local traditional healers?”

He gets a funny look on his face and decides to finish the last of his pasta before responding. Ah. I see it now; the little piece of information he’s trying to hide from me. If only he knew what an open book he is.

I lean forward. “The Salinger Institute doesn’t expect you to do this alone. They expect you to find a local expert to help. Right?”

He leans into the cushions, his plate empty. “They made…a recommendation. But since I have a bit of time before I’m due to start, I’m considering my options.”

“Your options.”

He knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Connie, I know exactly what you’re thinking – ”

“I’m thinking you’re self-sabotaging!” I interrupt, exasperated. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground because you’re too proud to ask for help!”

“I have no trouble asking for help,” he bristles.

“Just not from Ntatemogolo.”

Dad sighs. “The project supervisor at Salinger only spends a few months in Botswana every year – she doesn’t know how things work around here. If you’re somewhat well-known and well-respected, yours is the name that pops into people’s heads, but that doesn’t mean you’re necessarily the best person for the job.”

Eish, sometimes I wonder who’s supposed to be the kid in this house. “Ntatemogolo is the best person for the job, and you know it. That’s why it’s taking you so long to consider your options.” I put my bowl on the coffee table. “He knows all the traditional healers, he knows about local plants and traditional medicine…I can’t believe you!”

“Watch your tone,” he snaps, but he’s only irritated because I’ve caught him out. “Your grandfather is not a biologist, nor is he a traditional doctor, even if he wants to call himself one.”

“Dad!”

“Enough, Connie!”

I can’t believe this. I know my father can be pig-headed when it comes to Ntatemogolo, but this is just ridiculous. “You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face, or whatever. You need him, and if the two of you work together you could get so much more done! This project could be great for both of you, and – ”

“Conyza!” Oops. It’s his don’t-mess-with-me-I’m-your-father voice. “I am not discussing this with you.”

“But – ”

“You can analyse me when you have a degree in psychology, and not a moment before!” His jaw is twitching. He’s really angry now. “Go to your room.”

I hesitate. “The dishes – ”

“Just leave the bloody dishes and go to your room!”

I get up in disgust, march over to pick up my school stuff and then storm across the corridor to my room.

“And don’t even think about slamming that – ”

I fling my door shut with a bang, drowning out the rest of his idle threat, then lock it just to piss him off. Ugh! I throw my bag on the floor, tug off my uniform and change into my pyjamas. I was planning to study a little, but I’m too upset to concentrate. Ray Bennett is the most unreasonable man on the planet! Hating my grandfather is one thing, but doing everything on his own because he’s too friggin’ proud to ask Ntatemogolo for help is sheer stupidity.

I throw myself on my bed with a sigh, wishing Rakwena was here. On my bedside table is a large crystal the size of a fist. Right now it’s dull and lifeless. I reach out and pick it up. Rakwena gave it to me for my birthday as a symbol of our crazy connection; he has one exactly like it. I hold it in both hands and close my eyes, trying to reach out to him across the ether. When I open my eyes, the crystal is glowing. I smile. It works every time.