Oh my word, I am so behind in practically all my subjects. The teachers of my old school must have been using a syllabus from Mars, because they’re at different places in the subject in, like, all my classes.

In Maths, they’re onto trigonometry already. And in English, I haven’t even been reading the same book as them. They’re reading Cry The Beloved Country, but back at Oakdale we were a quarter of the way though Macbeth. The two aren’t exactly similar.

We’re getting the results back on a Science Pop Quiz, on the table of elements. We’ve touched on this at my old school. Still, I flunk it: 11 out of 25.

I swear under my breath. The girl in front of me turns around.

I don’t know her. The thing that stands out to me is that she’s wearing black lipstick. Her dark skin is like polished wood – shiny. Her eyes are pretty intense.

“Pop quizzes suck, right?”

She’s got quite a streetwise vibe. Her voice has a slight rasp to it, and is fairly low.

“Chuma, right?” I say.

“That’s me.”

“At least that’s one thing I got right today.”

“Test score bumming you out?”

“Ja,” I say, and turn the paper round so she can see the horrible mark, ‘11/25’, with a rough red circle drawn round it in pen.

“That’s a good score, though,” Chuma tells me.

I give her a quizzical look, then return my eyes to my marks.

‘22/25. Good work’, is the comment, written in the same red pen.

I blink. I blink again. Did I read it wrong?

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make me see the numbers wrong.”

“Maybe you need to get your eyes tested,” she says with a half-smile. She then turns back in her seat.

Weird.

As soon as I get home, the first thing I do is write in my diary. I’ll text Tracey later; this is urgent.

Writing in my diary is my ‘me time’. ‘Not-me’ time is the real world. Having to field rude comments and snarky looks from people all day. Standing round with a mouth full of teeth, feeling awkward.

With my journal, I can just be me. Say things straight, the way I want to say them; not fearing judgement. My diary is currently standing in for my BFF, with Tracey now still back in Joburg.

It’s quiet; my little brother is still at school. He’s obsessed with soccer and plays it four out of five afternoons per week. Fine by me. Keeps him out of my hair. He’s ten.

I get my diary off the bedside table. Its pen is attached with a cord. Guess what colour my dairy is? You guessed right. But it has a furry pink heart in the middle. I like the way it stands out against the black.

I pounce upon the blank page, words spilling out of my pen. I write swiftly, becoming more excited as the words begin to flow:

OMG OMG OMG.

I am like in a real-life version of True Blood.

THERE ARE FOR REAL SUPERHEROES AT MY SCHOOL.

Or vampires.

Whatever they are, THEY CAN DO STUFF.

First, this chick called Saskia explodes the coffee cup of a skeezy meangirl, WITH HER MIND. I was just reading up on that last month. It’s called TELEKINESIS. It’s when you can shift objects around just by thinking it. IT EXISTS.

Then later, this girl in front of me changes the score on my test.

I don’t know how.

IS THIS EVEN HAPPENING?!

She like rewrote the numbers and symbols somehow without me LOOKING?!?!!

I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. This stuff exists? Does this mean aliens exist?

NB ask them if aliens exist. And other stuff? Zombies? Maybe it’s rude to ask them if there are also zombies and stuff. Maybe that’s like asking someone from a country if they know this or that person, who also lives there. Maybe I should just play it cool.

***

Tell us: Do you believe in telekinesis, or any of the other things Tam talks about?