“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