The last hour of prep seems to crawl by, but finally Lael and I make our escape. As we scoot up to the fourth floor, taking the stairs two at a time, we pass Matron’s office. The light is on and the door is closed. She’s doing inventory, just as Lael predicted. When we get to the top, there’s no time to waste. We open the cupboard where we stashed the ghost-hunting equipment once it finally arrived.

“The camcorder and the EMF-meter both have long- life batteries,” I whisper.

“But the laser scope needs to be plugged into the wall.”

Lael points silently to a plug that is half-hidden behind an old bookcase. I plug the laser scope into it and turn it to face the room.
“We need to cover the whole room.” I check that all the devices are pointing inwards and giving us the best possible coverage.

“I’m more worried about hiding them properly. We don’t want to come back tomorrow and find them all gone.”

“And we don’t want him to spot them either.” “Exactly. The devices need to spot him, not the other way around.”

I turn to face her. “Do you really think this will work?” She grins.

“Who knows? But we can have fun trying.”

We stand at the door and look into the room, making sure none of the devices can be seen. They don’t have to be completely invisible – just well hidden enough to pass a casual inspection. There is nothing in here except some out-of-date encyclopaedias and a few old desks. The only people who come up here are cleaning staff, and not all that often either. When we are satisfied with our handiwork, we close the door and prepare to go back downstairs. I stand at the top of the stairs listening for a moment. Then I gesture for Lael to follow me. A couple of floors down, we pause at the Sisulu House display case.

“Remember last term?” Lael smiles at the trophies behind glass.

I tap the cabinet with my fingernail. “Hello, Gumede Shield! Nice to see you.”

“Only a couple more months and it has to go back to Gumede House.”

“I know. But at least we know it will be coming back in January. And now it will always be just as much ours as the boys’.”

In the first term, some of us Grade Tens stole the Gumede Shield from the boys’ boarding house. We were protesting the fact that it had always been considered their trophy, even though it celebrated women heroes as well as men. Somehow, we managed to convince the headmaster and governing body to see it our way, so now it spends half the year in Sisulu House and the other half in Gumede House.

“That’s new,” Lael comments, looking at something in the display case.

“What is?” I glance at what she’s pointing at. “That old book? It’s always been there.”

“No, it’s new,” she insists.

“Look. There’s the book that’s always been there. It’s just a collection of old dining- hall menus from the 1930s. This one is different. It looks like a diary or something.”

I try to peer at the writing through the glass, but there is too much reflection.

“Move your gigantic head,” I say. “You’re blocking out the light.”

“Your head is more gigantic than mine. Hang on. Let me switch on my phone torch.” Lael shines it onto the book. “Wow, that’s not easy to read. I can hardly make it out. I wonder when it’s from?”

“There’s a date in the corner,” says Lael. “Looks like 1960-something.”

We freeze when we hear a noise on the stairs. “Come on!” I pluck at her sleeve.

“Wait! Hang on! Does that say Jim?”

“What?” I squint at the page, but the light is wobbling all over the place.

“No, it says Tim, doesn’t it?”

There’s another noise, and this time I physically grab her by the arm and try to pull her away.

She tugs against me. “Just a second…”

The next second, the corridor is filled with a blinding flash. It’s Lael taking a photograph.

Dear Diary

February 1968

I feel so confused. My mind is in a whirl. It is Jim’s birthday today. He is sixteen years old. Apparently, his family is planning a big celebration for him when he gets back to the farm for the Easter holidays. It was his father’s idea, which makes him so happy because he worships his dad. But today it was just the two of us. It is so unfair that his sixteenth birthday fell on a Thursday. We couldn’t even get permission to go to town and see a film or anything. It was just a day like any other. He was miserable about this, the poor darling.

At least we managed to meet in our secret place after evening prep. I gave him my gift – a zippo lighter engraved with his name. I could see he was pleased, but he just said he would have to hide it because his family doesn’t know that he smokes yet. And of course, the housemaster at Jan Smuts house would skin him alive if he suspected.

Diary, it was awful to see him so downhearted on his birthday. I had to cheer him up. I snuggled into his chest and told him I loved him and drew him a picture in words of what our lives would be like when we were finished with school and could meet openly as often as we liked.

We started kissing. We always do. His kisses are so dreamy. They make me go limp in his arms. Soon he had his hand under my blouse. I felt a bit uncomfortable, but because I let him the last time, I felt I could hardly say no this time. Then his hand was wandering below the waist and that is where I drew the line.

Oh, Diary! You should have seen him! He was so upset and disappointed. I have never seen him so angry and distressed. He said this was the most disappointing birthday of his life and everything had gone wrong the whole day. He said if I really loved him, I would let him g.a.t.w. would transform his birthday from the worst day of his life to the very best. But if I didn’t feel like I could, then maybe we should break up because I obviously didn’t love him the same way that he loved me.

Can you imagine my horror, diary? I don’t know what was worse– us breaking up or him thinking that I didn’t really love him. I do love him! I do! With all my heart! So, I said yes. And we did it. I let him g.a.t.w. How can I describe it to you? It wasn’t exactly what I expected. I knew it would hurt, and it did. But, somehow, I thought it would be more wonderful and romantic, and also that it would last longer. Afterwards, Jim said that his father told him there are some girls who are just cold and aren’t capable of feeling anything during the act. I suppose I must be one of those girls.

Anyway, it’s a good thing that you can’t get pg on your first time because I don’t think Jim took any precautions. Now it is the weekend and I won’t see Jim for a whole two days. How will I survive, dear Diary? Every second I am parted from him feels like a month.

Love, Amelia

***

Tell us: What do you think happened all those years ago to Amelia?