"There you are!” Barend called out when Pete slipped in next to him on the bus.
“You just disappeared on Friday. I looked everywhere for you. And I called you like two hundred times over the weekend.”
“I spotted this guy my brother knows outside the dance. He was on his way to Dannhauser, so I got a lift with him. I didn’t really want to hang around, if you know what I mean? And this weekend my parents took me to Royal Natal National Park. We only got back late yesterday afternoon,” Pete said and slipped his knees up on the seat in front of him.
“I thought you jumped off a cliff or something. When you didn’t even show up at Sunday school, I thought there was big trouble,” Barend said.
“Renate is hot, but not jump-off-a-cliff hot.” Pete snuck a glance behind him to check if she’d heard, but she was fast asleep. He studied her face for a moment. Something wasn’t quite right, like a coffee stain on the Mona Lisa, and he felt a little queasy.
“Jeez, Friday night must have been torture for you,” Barend said.
“Mmm ... like being dropped off in Chernobyl by the KGB,” Pete said. Barend just shook his head.
“Philippa was really pissed off with Renate,” Barend said after a brief silence.
“Say again?”
“Ja, I haven’t seen her like that before. She was spitting fire.”
“What happened?” Pete asked.
“You know that she is good friends with Andrea too? Well, technically Andrea and Gareth were still a couple; she just decided not to go to the dance, she had a headache or something. Anyway, so then Gareth and Renate started their public snogfest and Philippa is livid. I mean, Gareth is just a dick, her words, but Renate has put her in a difficult position. Andrea will ask why she didn’t try to stop Renate, but I mean, what was Philippa supposed to do? Step in and pull them apart? Seriously, china.”
“Flipping hell, that sounds complicated,” Pete said.
“Tell me about it. There were almost big maracas at the hockey game – Andrea tripped Renate a couple of times on purpose; you’ll see, her knees and elbows look like a warzone. She almost punched Andrea on the pitch. Their coach had to sub Renate just to keep the peace. Big maracas, china.”
“So, you’re saying there was finally a hockey match with some action, and I missed it?” Pete smiled. He really liked the thought of Renate flattened in the dust, blood covering her knees and elbows. He suddenly liked Andrea, he liked her a whole lot. He had always seen her as this snobbish, pretty little thing with two brain cells, but all of a sudden, she seemed to be a woman after his own heart.
“Don’t mess with chicks, that’s all I can say,” Barend warned, looking particularly serious.
Pete wondered why Friday night felt so long ago, as if it belonged to the distant past. And why did it feel like it had happened to someone else, or like it was on television? He had trouble picturing Renate’s face from up close. All he had in his mind now was that coffee-stained version sleeping behind him.
“So, what happened in the rugby? The big one?” Pete asked.
Barend rolled his eyes. “Jeez, drama, china!” He puffed his cheeks and let out a slow breath.
“It was tight. With five minutes left, the scores were tied, then their one big lock tackled John-John high, right in front of the posts. The kick went over, so we led by three with three minutes on the clock. Simple game – either keep the ball or defend for your life. They got the ball and attacked with everything they had, running hard, running straight. We tackled like demons. Then their inside centre, a short stocky guy, but fast as hell, got the ball and dummied John-John. A gap opened, all our defenders were flat-footed and the try line was close. The closest person was Gareth—”
“Please don’t tell me that prick made the match-winning tackle?” Pete interjected.
“Well ... sort of. He was close, but the guy was too quick for him, so he slid in feet first and tripped the oke. He smashed into the ground and spilled the ball. Time was up on the scoreboard.”
“Is that it?” Pete asked.
“No, china, then the ref blew his whistle, awarded a penalty for the trip, calling it blatant and not in the spirit of the game, so he sent Gareth off. Can you believe it? Sent off! Anyway, the Dundee supporters cheered Gareth as if he had singlehandedly won the Anglo-Boer War and obviously the Vryheid guys booed him like he had torched their stupid little town. Their flyhalf kicked the penalty and the game ended in a draw, a flipping draw, china. More drama than in an episode of Dynasty.” Barend’s cheeks were flushed pink, and he was almost out of breath. Pete couldn’t help but feel cheated. A loss because of mistakes by John-John and Gareth would have been poetic.
“Now we have to win all our remaining games and hope that Vryheid loses one, or make sure we have a better points difference. Coach wasn’t happy,” Barend said.
“Well, at least he almost got what he deserved,” Pete said.
“And I don’t think he liked his medicine,” Barend said and looked away. “We’ll need to figure out a plan for next year.”
“What do you mean?”
“Coach said you will never be in any of his teams again after your dad complained to the headmaster. I don’t think he is big on criticism,” Barend said.
“So be it, I don’t want to play for him anyway.”
“But you’re a bloody good rugby player, you have to play.”
“My dad said he would make a plan.”
“Do you think, like, go to another school or something?”
“I don’t know. At the moment, to be quite honest, I don’t really care. All of this, the rugby, the cheating bitch, it’s all been a bit much. Being away from it all this weekend was awesome.”
“It’s just not the same without you in the team,” Barend said.
“Hey, rather focus on the good things: you’re established in the first team, you have your dream girl, and your best friend is a complete outcast. At this precise moment, you couldn’t be any cooler.”
“Whatever!” Barend laughed and bumped Pete with his shoulder.
“On a serious note,” Pete raised his eyebrows and gave Barend his sternest glare, “did Philippa make a man out of you on Friday night?”
“Ha! I wish,” Barend said. “I think she almost turned me into a girl – all that gossiping, backstabbing, sniggering. I tell you, on Friday I might as well have been Barendina. I had to listen to all those crazy conversations between Philippa and some of the other girls. It was like I was on another planet, china. I thought maths was hard, but chicks, now that’s a whole new level of complicated.”
“I think it’s too late. They have already changed you. You sound like a chick, and ... are those boobs?” Pete poked his finger in Barend’s chest.
Barend grabbed Pete around the neck: “You want to feel them? Come a little closer, feel them now.” He yanked Pete’s face into his chest. “You like it? Mmm?”
“Shut up, you moffies,” Walter, the cocky redheaded Standard Nine boy behind them, sneered.
Barend let Pete’s neck go and hung his arm over the seat. He looked Walter, who was older but significantly smaller than Barend, straight in the eyes.
“You’re a moffie,” he said and turned back, shaking his head.
“Now that was a compelling counterargument,” Pete whispered.
“Do you want to taste my boobs again?” Barend said. They giggled, leaning forward in their seats exactly like they did when they were eight years old.
The bus drove through the school gates and parked under the bus shelter. Everyone dragged their sleepy bodies from the bus and made their way to assembly. Halfway there, Renate walked by, and their eyes met. The stain of earlier was still there, Pete thought. Her eyes scanned Pete’s face as if to find something recognisable, but then she looked away and walked on, like passing a stranger. A stinging pain shot through his gut; anger, hate, sadness, relief, hurt and nostalgia milled uncontrollably inside him. The sight of the white bandages strapped around her knees and elbows was a strange delight, but it was fleeting. He couldn’t escape the feeling of injustice.