I wake up feeling like shit. I look for my phone first, find it under the pillow. I pull myself out of bed and go to the kitchen for some coffee before I head to the shower.
Aunt Joyce turns to face me. She throws me a smile and stirs something in her white mug. I think it’s coffee or tea. “Morning.”
“Morning,” I say it back, reaching the space close to her. I swear her breasts are not as big as they were the last time I saw them; it’s like the pair is always growing. During our first encounter seeing her prancing around naked she explained to me and Lera that from time to time she practices nudism (when people decide they don’t wanna clothes any more.Some weird shit), so we shouldn’t freak out when we see her cooking with only her earrings on.
I take out my mug as she looks at me, her own white mug raised to her face as she slurps whatever’s in there.
“Lerato told me what happened last night at the party,” she says.
“And you agree it’s unfair don’t you, auntie?” I turn on the kettle. “Her dragging me away.”
“She was protecting you.”
“Protecting me? From what?”
“Protecting you from…I don’t know. She said you were pretty wild out there. Puking at everyone. I guess she wanted to protect you from getting into trouble. And protect herself from being embarrassed by you,” aunt Joyce says with a low giggle.
“Oh, please,” I scoff.
Aunt Joyce puts her empty mug in the sink and sashays to her bedroom, walking like she’s a model.
After I get done with coffee I take a shower. Once inside my school uniform I fix myself a quick bowl of cornflakes. On the last spoon feed Lera comes out of her room, sighing her good morning at me. I only raise a hand in response, grab my bag and leave the house.
Can’t talk to her, not after all the fun she spoilt for me last night. All because I puked and her friends will laugh at her because of it. Big fucking deal!
The bus takes me to school which I didn’t plan to go to for at least this Saturday. The Friday night house party at Liyabo’s was supposed to be the reason but of course…Lera happened.
Once again Zinhle is not present at school. They don’t even ask about her anymore when the register is marked.
First period is Math. Ten seconds later in the class I already want to go back home. Sir Dickens has been Humming Day’s grade eleven math teacher for the past five decades. He had once taught aunt Joyce back when she was my age. Only God knows why they don’t force his tired ass to retirement, to sun gaze and tell ‘in my time’ stories to whoever will care to listen.
He makes the numbers on the board seem as if they’re things we are seeing for the first time. Like one is not one. And those graphs he draws with his bony hands in scrawly lines, while the ruler is there, just make me feel like leaving.
His voice is tired as well, like he ought to return to bed and finish off the rest of his sleep. What a boring teacher. I cannot find anymore words to describe how boring he is. Boring teacher, boring human. I suspect he doesn’t have a wife, if he does then she must be boring like him.
He’s really overweight. His cheeks are so fat it’s like there’s some food inside his mouth, and every time he moves his lips to speak it’s like he’s chewing that food. Last time I checked he was sixty-three. He’s near the board now, talking about quadratic equations or whatever. There’s a long sigh at the desks behind. I look around at my classmates. Their faces. They look like they are about to fall asleep on the desks.
“…that’s why it’s important for us to begin with this equation,” sir Dickens says, “or else if you don’t then…blah blah blah I’m at last night’s party dancing with Shalla right after Lera changed her mind about pulling me away. We dance and party, and everyone has forgotten that I puked. But somehow the song isn’t what I hear. There’s a low snore beside me. Then Dickens’ shout: “Tammy. Tammy Harbers wake up!” Tammy, the coloured girl I share the desk with, yawns and straightens herself up for an upright posture while the class sniggers and giggles.