grabbed the DVDs and ran, grimacing at the stench clinging to him.
Two showers later, the water having stung his raw skin like acid, he was still convinced he reeked of the interior of the rubbish bin. His sneakers were almost a dead loss. Auntie Miriam who worked in the kitchen took pity on him when she caught him scrubbing them with some green Sunlight soap he’d pilfered from the laundry, and offered to find him a bucket so he could soak them.
“You’re not going to wear those tekkies while they’re stinking like that,” she said, her brown face crinkling with concern.
“No, Auntie.”
“It’s those kids again, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Auntie.”
“You should report them.”
“It doesn’t help. I tried that when I first started here and they laid off for a week before bog-washing me. After using the toilet first.”
The woman tutted. Auntie Miriam had a way of making him feel better, no matter what. Her kitchen and the small vegetable and herb garden attached to her domain were the safe places where he could retreat to lick his wounds.
She wouldn’t hear of him eating supper with the other students this evening. Instead, they ate their fish and chips while sitting on the steps, watching the sun bleed red into the horizon, and he listened to Auntie Miriam’s tales of growing up in District Six during the sixties.
Sensibly he kept to his room on Sunday. He had meant to sneak into the common room to watch the films while the others went to church but he’d lost his taste for this. Instead, he tried to read, do homework, but found himself staring at the posters on his wall, instead.
Perhaps he should have gone with Arwen this weekend. In her typical fashion, she had not replied to a single text message he’d sent.
* * * *
Etienne was only too glad when Monday brought the distraction of what he hoped would be a normal school day, even if it promised to be a real scorcher. At the breakfast table, he listened to the chatter, hoping Arwen, Helen and Damon would be there. Of course, they wouldn’t. The Wareings had some sort of special arrangement to bring their daughter through on a Monday morning just before school started, instead of the Sunday afternoon that applied to the rest of the students who went home weekends. By default, that honor now applied to Helen and her brother as well–more reason for some of the others to be jealous.
He didn’t have much chance to speak to Arwen before assembly, gaining only a noncommittal “it was cool” before she clammed up to concentrate on text-messaging someone–illegal during school hours. When Helen slipped into the desk next to him during mathematics, he couldn’t help but smile. She returned his smile, looking happy enough.
“How was the weekend?” Etienne asked.
“Fine. Yours?”
“Crap.”
“Ah, no. What happened?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.” Etienne spared a dark look for one of his tormentors, who sat with his back turned, yakking with Jean-Pierre.
At that point, before he could say anything further, Mr. Bayly entered and surveyed the class with his gimlet eyes. The buzz of chatter died away fast, as if someone had flipped a switch.
Their teacher paced the width of the class. “I appreciate that you all had fun drinking and fornicating this weekend but you won’t be discussing your conquests in my class. Open your textbooks on page...”
Etienne’s eyes glazed over. Why he had decided to study mathematics all the way to grade twelve was beyond him. He was in no mood for any of this today.
Instead, he tore off a leaf of paper from his examination pad and wrote to Helen. So, what did you guys do this weekend?
He took care checking that Mr. Bayly’s back was still turned to the class while he scribbled in blue and red on the whiteboard. Even from where Etienne sat, the chemical stench of the markers reached him and he suppressed the urge to sneeze.
Helen gave a sharp intake of breath when Etienne slid the paper over onto
Two showers later, the water having stung his raw skin like acid, he was still convinced he reeked of the interior of the rubbish bin. His sneakers were almost a dead loss. Auntie Miriam who worked in the kitchen took pity on him when she caught him scrubbing them with some green Sunlight soap he’d pilfered from the laundry, and offered to find him a bucket so he could soak them.
“You’re not going to wear those tekkies while they’re stinking like that,” she said, her brown face crinkling with concern.
“No, Auntie.”
“It’s those kids again, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Auntie.”
“You should report them.”
“It doesn’t help. I tried that when I first started here and they laid off for a week before bog-washing me. After using the toilet first.”
The woman tutted. Auntie Miriam had a way of making him feel better, no matter what. Her kitchen and the small vegetable and herb garden attached to her domain were the safe places where he could retreat to lick his wounds.
She wouldn’t hear of him eating supper with the other students this evening. Instead, they ate their fish and chips while sitting on the steps, watching the sun bleed red into the horizon, and he listened to Auntie Miriam’s tales of growing up in District Six during the sixties.
Sensibly he kept to his room on Sunday. He had meant to sneak into the common room to watch the films while the others went to church but he’d lost his taste for this. Instead, he tried to read, do homework, but found himself staring at the posters on his wall, instead.
Perhaps he should have gone with Arwen this weekend. In her typical fashion, she had not replied to a single text message he’d sent.
* * * *
Etienne was only too glad when Monday brought the distraction of what he hoped would be a normal school day, even if it promised to be a real scorcher. At the breakfast table, he listened to the chatter, hoping Arwen, Helen and Damon would be there. Of course, they wouldn’t. The Wareings had some sort of special arrangement to bring their daughter through on a Monday morning just before school started, instead of the Sunday afternoon that applied to the rest of the students who went home weekends. By default, that honor now applied to Helen and her brother as well–more reason for some of the others to be jealous.
He didn’t have much chance to speak to Arwen before assembly, gaining only a noncommittal “it was cool” before she clammed up to concentrate on text-messaging someone–illegal during school hours. When Helen slipped into the desk next to him during mathematics, he couldn’t help but smile. She returned his smile, looking happy enough.
“How was the weekend?” Etienne asked.
“Fine. Yours?”
“Crap.”
“Ah, no. What happened?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.” Etienne spared a dark look for one of his tormentors, who sat with his back turned, yakking with Jean-Pierre.
At that point, before he could say anything further, Mr. Bayly entered and surveyed the class with his gimlet eyes. The buzz of chatter died away fast, as if someone had flipped a switch.
Their teacher paced the width of the class. “I appreciate that you all had fun drinking and fornicating this weekend but you won’t be discussing your conquests in my class. Open your textbooks on page...”
Etienne’s eyes glazed over. Why he had decided to study mathematics all the way to grade twelve was beyond him. He was in no mood for any of this today.
Instead, he tore off a leaf of paper from his examination pad and wrote to Helen. So, what did you guys do this weekend?
He took care checking that Mr. Bayly’s back was still turned to the class while he scribbled in blue and red on the whiteboard. Even from where Etienne sat, the chemical stench of the markers reached him and he suppressed the urge to sneeze.
Helen gave a sharp intake of breath when Etienne slid the paper over onto
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