The Other Me Part 12

Dirk had to take his ouma to the dentist this afternoon, so I either had to walk twenty kilometers to the dojo or skip karate. I really could've done with an hour of letting people hit me. Maybe I'll pick a fight with my father when he gets home and let him give me a black eye this time.

My lip is still a bit swollen, but doesn't look half as bad as it felt. No one even asked me what happened. I do karate-injuries are inevitable.

With my father still at work, I turn to the piano and run my fingers over the wood, tracing the grain. The piano is ancient. It was Mom's when she was a child, and now it's mine. It used to have old-fas.h.i.+oned candelabra on the front. Mom had those removed and the holes filled in. She said she hated the idea of fire anywhere near the wooden instrument or her sheet music.

I start with Bach but can't stay in control of the fingering. I move on to Beethoven; disaster. Next is Schumann, and I give up on the first crescendo. My heart's not in it, my thoughts totally deurmekaar deurmekaar, and it's all Treasa's fault. I want to SMS her, though that seems a bit desperate. Last thing I want to do is to encourage her, to lead her on and make too much of this, whatever it is. I don't want a girlfriend. I've never been in love, and if it is as ridiculous as all those Hollywood movies make it out to be, then I don't think I ever want to be in love. Focus, that's what I need. Focus and two hundred sit-ups....

AT MIDNIGHT MIDNIGHT, I remember I've got a physics test tomorrow. Even if I fail it, I'll still end up with at least a B average since I've had As all year. I turn on my lamp and drag my schoolbag onto the bed. I wonder if Treasa's still awake? Focus, d.a.m.n it. I remember I've got a physics test tomorrow. Even if I fail it, I'll still end up with at least a B average since I've had As all year. I turn on my lamp and drag my schoolbag onto the bed. I wonder if Treasa's still awake? Focus, d.a.m.n it.

At 2:00 a.m. I slam my textbook shut and pull out my sonata instead. If Treasa refuses to get out of my head, then I might as well make the most of the distraction and let her inspire the chaotic harmony of the second movement. I let the music flow chromatically until the section comes to a close on a Tristan chord, the augmented intervals exquisitely painful to my ears. My music teacher is going to hate this. I think Treasa might love it.

Treasa

SO SICK SICK of this school! Now it's all roses and hearts and squeals of delight as girls place their orders for Valentine's Day. Every year it's the same torturous event for people like me, people who don't know any boys, let alone plan on sending or receiving a Valentine. of this school! Now it's all roses and hearts and squeals of delight as girls place their orders for Valentine's Day. Every year it's the same torturous event for people like me, people who don't know any boys, let alone plan on sending or receiving a Valentine.

Candyce and Hannah hog the order sheets pinned to the board at the front of the cla.s.sroom, discussing whether to send chocolate hearts or fake roses to their crushes at St. Adrian's and Cosmas and half a dozen other boys' schools on the list. Whatever caused the rift between them a few weeks ago, they seem to be BFFs again.

"You sending Bryce anything?" Lethi asks Jordan as we grab our lunch bags and head out for some fresh air.

"If I was, it certainly wouldn't be this cheap-a.s.s cheesy c.r.a.p." Jordan gestures to a poster of the items available for the interschool Valentine's Day swap.

"Think he'll send you anything?" I ask as we wend our way toward the shade. A rain bird warbles ominously, as if it wasn't a foregone conclusion we'd have a storm by five o'clock today.

"He better." Jordan grins. "I expect at least a dozen roses. Real ones. Delivered to the school."

"Seriously?" Sibo raises her eyebrows.

"Girl can dream, can't she?" Jordan shrugs, and the conversation thankfully turns from Valentine's Day to the English test we've got next week.

I hate Valentine's Day. It should be a day of mourning, considering the poor dude got martyred on February fourteenth. Instead we scrawl inanities on cards and eat chocolate; how worthy you are of love defined by how many roses some boy at some school sends some silly girl who thinks that even matters. Still, I wish I were one of those girls, the ones with flowers from boys, and not the girl in the back row with a melting chocolate heart courtesy of her best friend.

GABRIEL ARRIVES ARRIVES a minute late to choir practice. He looks exhausted, with purple rings under his eyes, which seem less starry than usual, and dark stubble along his jaw. His lip is a bit swollen, and his shoulders are slumped, making him look shorter than his 180 centimeters. He still plays beautifully, and Mrs. McArthur is all smiles and compliments. a minute late to choir practice. He looks exhausted, with purple rings under his eyes, which seem less starry than usual, and dark stubble along his jaw. His lip is a bit swollen, and his shoulders are slumped, making him look shorter than his 180 centimeters. He still plays beautifully, and Mrs. McArthur is all smiles and compliments.

Afterward, I walk with him to his friend's car. The tar is so hot my feet are burning. Hot enough to fry an egg on, Dad would say. Dirk plays imaginary drums on his steering wheel, completely ignoring us. Metal by a band I don't know spills out of the rolled-down windows, reverberating around the parking lot. Dirk doesn't seem to care that he's disturbing the parking lot gossip and getting death stares from half the PTA.

"You want me to teach you?" Gabriel says.

"Only if you want to." I fiddle with my tie, acutely aware of the sweat dripping down my neck and soaking my collar.

"It's not that I don't want to." He drags a hand through his hair, slicking back the unruly waves. "It's just I don't know when I'll find the time." He stifles a yawn.

"How you doing with everything?"

"It's been rough. I was up til late last night cramming for a physics test." He seems about to say more when he presses his lips shut.

"How did it go?"

"Won't be an A." He frowns and looks crushed. d.a.m.n, I'd be delighted with a C for physics.

"Don't worry about the lessons." I feel defeated. After an agonizing discussion with my parents, promising to improve my math grade if it meant I could take piano lessons, they'd finally said yes, and now Gabriel's saying no. I could find another teacher, but that's not the point. I want Gabriel to teach me so I can play like he does.

"No, wait." He loosens his tie and undoes a couple of b.u.t.tons. It's painful tearing my eyes away from the exposed sliver of collarbone to focus on his face. "Maybe we could do a half-hour lesson after choir. Would that suit you?"

"Absolutely, but only if you think this might help with your licentiate preparation."

"It would and then some." His eyes regain some sparkle. "But we can only start in a couple of weeks. I've got a bunch of tests coming up." A whole two weeks until I get Gabriel all to myself for half an hour in a room the size of a janitor's closet. I can wait.

"How much should I pay you?"

He shakes his head and opens the car door. "No way, you're doing me the favor, letting me practice my teaching skills. No charge, Resa."

He called me Resa. Dragons roar in my belly and my blood turns to lava. I'm definitely in love. "Thanks," I squeak.

"No problem. Hey, are you busy this weekend?"

Oh my G.o.d, is he asking me out on a real date? And so close to Valentine's Day! Maybe this year I won't be that girl sitting at the back of the Valentine's Day a.s.sembly sans roses or hearts. Maybe Gabriel will make me feel less of a freak this year. I'm about to say I'm absolutely 100 percent free to watch paint dry with him if he wants to, but instead I channel alien Resa and play it suave. "I don't think so. Why?"

"Maybe we can hang out."

"Sure. Just let me know when and where."

Gracefully, he slides down into the seat and closes the door.

"Howzit, Treasa?" Dirk starts the engine.

"Hi." I haven't technically been introduced to the guy. I guess Gabriel must've told him about me. I wonder exactly what he's said and how Matric boys might discuss a grade-ten girl who's clearly smitten with one of them.

"Chat later." Gabriel fastens his seat belt, and they drive off, leaving me floating in the stratosphere with the blood thrumming through my veins.

Gabriel

"YOU KNOW KNOW what you just did, right?" Dirk says as we pull out of the parking lot. what you just did, right?" Dirk says as we pull out of the parking lot.

"We're just hanging out."

"On the weekend before Valentine's Day."

"Ah s.h.i.+t," I groan. How could I forget the pseudo lovefest when the shops are decked out in hearts and lovey-dovey slogans that make me want to hurl?

"You know the rules."

"Your rules."

"My system is rock solid, bru." Dirk slows to a crawl as we approach a red robot, ignoring the irate hooting from the guy behind us. The lights change before we have to come to a stop and I exhale the breath I was holding.

"Your system is flawed."

"Kak." Dirk lights a cigarette. "Don't ever ask a girl out before or around Valentine's Day. It's simple. A week either side of the fourteenth is toxic, man."

"And do you deliberately break up with said girl in January just to avoid Valentine's Day?"

"Ja, fine. That can be a problem, like if you meet a chick in December and things are good, and then February happens."

"Like I said. Flawed."

He punches me in the arm. "So is Treasa your Valentine?"

"No." Definitely not. G.o.d, I hope she isn't expecting anything like roses or chocolates. Just asked her to hang out. Nothing remotely romantic in that suggestion, is there? Maybe I should cancel.

"Bru, if you see her this weekend, I guarantee you she's going to think you want to be her boyfriend, like she'll be practicing her signature with your surname."

"That's absurd."

"That's women for you, man. Crazy, the lot of them."

Dirk hands me the pack of cigarettes, and I light up, needing the burn down the back of my throat. What the h.e.l.l am I doing?

Treasa

GABRIEL CALLED CALLED to cancel our hanging out. Said he had schoolwork and studying and... whatever. I'm the idiot for thinking he liked me in that way. Or maybe this weekend's proximity to Valentine's Day freaked him out-or so hypothesizes Jordan. At least he called. He could've just SMSed me, but the fact that he called means something, right? to cancel our hanging out. Said he had schoolwork and studying and... whatever. I'm the idiot for thinking he liked me in that way. Or maybe this weekend's proximity to Valentine's Day freaked him out-or so hypothesizes Jordan. At least he called. He could've just SMSed me, but the fact that he called means something, right?

G.o.d, will this a.s.sembly never end! No roses again for me this year, just an eternity spent at the back of the hall waiting for all the bleach-blonde sporty girls to collect their Valentines from boys with names like Josh and Travis. The cacophony of squeals and giggles makes me want to vomit. Jordan sits in the lotus position with her eyes closed, zoning out of it all. Lethi has to shake her shoulder three times when they call her name. She yawns and ambles up to the podium to fetch a bunch of plastic flowers.

"Fake," she says when she returns and folds herself back into meditation.

"At least you got something." Sibo pouts.

"Patience, Sibs," Jordan says.

"Nothing from Gabriel?" Lethi asks me.

"Stormhof wasn't on the list," I say, sounding more dejected than I'll admit I feel.

"Stuck-up b.i.t.c.hes, they never list the government schools." Jordan looks truly disgusted. I can't help but envy the dozen roses she's so casually tossed behind us. Once again, I'm Valentine-less, and the box of chocolates Mom gave me this morning definitely doesn't count.

"WHAT'S WITH WITH the walk, Scotty?" Hannah follows me to the bathroom. Thinking I was alone in the deserted corridor after Valentine's a.s.sembly, I was practicing my boy walk en route to the loo. the walk, Scotty?" Hannah follows me to the bathroom. Thinking I was alone in the deserted corridor after Valentine's a.s.sembly, I was practicing my boy walk en route to the loo.

"Nothing." I unbend my knees and return to my girly hip sway.

"Looks like you shat yourself." She disappears into a stall.

Great, just when I thought I was finally getting into the rhythm of it and not looking like a spastic duck anymore. Having locked the door and double-checked the security of the bolt, I lean against the part.i.tion and take a moment, trying not to listen to Hannah peeing or opening what can only be the packaging on a sanitary pad. Periods. The bane of my existence. Why would anyone want to be a girl and bleed once a month? The only way to stop is getting pregnant. Terrific. Who actually wants to get that bloated carrying a human-shaped parasite? Not me, that's for sure.

The toilet flushes and the door slams open.

"You enjoying yourself in there?" Hannah turns on the tap. "Or are you just going to have a good cry since no one sent you anything for Valentine's Day?"

Before I can formulate an appropriately sarcastic comeback, Hannah leaves the bathroom and I'm left muttering my brilliant ripostes to the graffiti on the walls. They're mostly just ballpoint pen inanities or swear words. Someone's been really rebellious and drawn an upside-down cross above the loo paper. Above that, someone's written "R&G" with a heart around it in green Koki. It's a sign from the universe. Resa and Gabriel-we're meant to be.

Gabriel

MONDAY MORNING MORNING, I arrive at school to a locker festooned with paper hearts, each deliberately cut from pink and red cardboard. Embarra.s.sed doesn't even begin to cover it. I arrive at school to a locker festooned with paper hearts, each deliberately cut from pink and red cardboard. Embarra.s.sed doesn't even begin to cover it.

"Who's your boyfriend, Gabe?" Kelvin saunters past with a stupid grin plastered on his face. I grab my textbooks, and a glitter-smeared heart-shaped card falls at my feet. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I peel it open.