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“SO, HOW WERE ZULU AND French?” Samantha asked, when she met Jessie and Nomusa in their dorm room later that afternoon.
“Well, Zulu’s Zulu,” said Nomusa. “And you know what Mr. Dlamini’s like. We were practising greetings to a 3/4 rhythm.”
Samantha smiled — she could just picture the scene.
“How about French?” she asked Jessie.
“Oh, we have the divine Mademoiselle Abeille.” Jessie kicked off her shoes and socks, and flung herself onto the Princess Anastasia bed — her own was covered in books and crumpled clothes — with a deep sigh. “She’s okay, I suppose. Took us outside and we had the lesson under the big oak tree, which was nice. Didn’t learn much in the way of French, though. We also started with greetings, but then she chided me for not sitting in the shade — said the African sun was ‘fatal to ze complexion un femme’ or something like that. And then we wound up trading beauty and dieting tips! ‘Ziss is why Frenchwomen nevair get fat — it eez true, zere eez a book!’” she imitated Mademoiselle Abeille, and added, “I don’t think some of the other teachers like her much.”
“Why do you say that?” Nomusa asked.
“I’m not sure, just a feeling I get when I see how some of them look at her.”
Samantha snorted. “I’ve seen how Mr. de Wet looks at her, and I can tell you she has at least one fan.”
Nomusa giggled. “That’s one unlikely combo! How was Afrikaans?”
“Funny,” Samantha said.
“Funny-ha-ha or funny-peculiar?”
“Both, I guess,” Samantha said, and told them about the strange incident with Cindy Atkins.
Jessie and Nomusa were also perplexed by Cindy’s reaction.
“Beats me,” Jessie said. “But let’s not allow her to spoil our weekend.”
The girls were allowed to go home for the weekends, provided they had permission and were returned to the school by six o’clock on Sunday evenings, but most chose to stay at school, because the weekends there were wonderful. They could play tennis on the courts, or swim and laze by the pool, or take hikes along one of the many trails that led into the mountains. Nearby stables offered horse-riding lessons and outrides. And, once in high school, the girls were allowed to catch a ride on the school bus on Saturday mornings into town — a privilege also allowed to the boys from Clifford Heights.
Izintaba was a small town with little to offer the teenagers from the boarding schools who flocked into it on the weekends. There were no clubs or cinemas, but Samantha was happy to discover that it did have a bookshop and a coffee shop which Jessie pronounced to be “not half bad. Especially,” she added, “as they sell health food.”
“Health food?” Samantha said sceptically, eyeing the large chocolate muffin which Jessie was eating with evident relish.
“Health food,” Jessie said firmly. “All brown food is by definition healthy. Just think about it — brown rice, whole-wheat bread, bran fibre. See? Definitely healthy!”
“In that case, let me be sure and drink my greens,” Nomusa said, and proceeded to slurp her lime milkshake.
The bell on the coffee-shop door rang as another few students came inside.
Jessie immediately sat up straight and coloured slightly, saying, “Look who’s here, Sam!”
Glancing over her shoulder, Samantha saw that it was her brothers, James and Dan, who had entered. She called out a “Hi,” and they waved back. To Jessie’s chagrin, James went over to a table in the far corner where a couple of grade eleven girls were sitting, but Dan sauntered up to their own table.
“Howzit,” he said to them all, and then asked Samantha, “Have you heard from Dad about next weekend?”
“No, what’s up?”
“He’s going down to the bungalow at iSimangaliso.”
“Isi-where?” Jessie said.
“iSimangaliso — it’s on the north coast, between St Lucia and Kosi Bay.”
“If you say so,” Jessie said.
“We have an old bungalow there on the beach,” Samantha explained.
“Dad wants to know if you want to come along for the weekend. Says there’s still a chance of seeing the turtles.” Dan drew up a chair and broke off a piece of Jessie’s muffin to pop into his mouth.
“Hey!” she protested.
“You’re welcome to join us, Nomusa,” Dan said. And then, almost as an afterthought, he told Jessie, “You can come, too, if you like.”
Jessie, her gaze flicking between her rapidly disappearing muffin and James — who was still chatting to the group of now-giggling girls in the corner — said with a bright smile, “I’d love to join you guys! It’ll be great to meet ... the whole family.”
A slow grin broke out on Dan’s face as he watched her watching James. “Excellent.”
Looking disappointed, Nomusa said, “I don’t think I can come. We’ve got a family wedding that Saturday.”
Sam groaned in disappointment.
“Why don’t you bring your sister along, too, Jessie?” Dan said to Jessie.
“Uh, no, it’s fine really. I get to see more than enough of her at school.”
“Oh, c’mon, bring Cassie along. Give her a break from this place,” Samantha urged.
“No, really, it’s not necessary. We won’t want her tagging along all the time, she’d only” — here Jessie glanced again at James — “get in the way.”
“Nah, she won’t get in anyone’s way. I’ll tell Dad he can collect you straight after school on Friday. Don’t be late and don’t,” Dan said, giving Jessie a pointed look, “pack too much.”
Helping himself to the last morsel of Jessie’s muffin, he pushed back his chair and stood up. “The chocolate muffins here are really good, Jessie, you ought to buy yourself one,” he said, then walked off to join James.
“That brother of yours!” Jessie said irritably. Then her eyes locked onto James as he turned to give Samantha a goodbye wave and a smile, and she sighed dreamily. “And that brother of yours!”
The next week sped by quickly as Samantha and Jessie looked forward to their upcoming weekend away at the coast. Ignoring the significant looks and discouraging headshakes directed her way by her elder sister, Cassandra accepted Samantha’s invitation with alacrity. Irritated, Jessie held up a finger for silence, closed her eyes and breathed deeply for several long moments, and then opened them, with a blissful smile on her face.
“And now?” Sam asked.
“Just imagining long walks on a sunset beach, and deep, soul-searching conversations by the campfire,” Jessie said, and Samantha didn’t think she was daydreaming about spending time with Cassie. Or with herself, Dan or their father, either, come to that.
Meanwhile, the workload at school increased daily. Samantha needed to write a speech for Afrikaans, and not a day went by without Mrs. Naidoo giving them a load of maths homework. Much to Jessie’s disgust, Samantha was quite enjoying most of the maths work, finding it challenging enough to be interesting, but easy enough not to be stressful.
Mrs. Borman had assigned them their first set work novel (“Ooh, To Kill a Mockingbird — it’s really good!” said Samantha) and set their first literature essay: “One of Harper Lee’s main themes in To Kill a Mockingbird is that of racial prejudice. Discuss.”
Samantha’s least favourite subject was accountancy. Even Mr. Dlamini’s rhythmic riffs, tapped out on the blackboard or the dustbin or the desks, could not rouse her from the torpor which seemed to overcome her the minute he began explaining column entries and calculations. Other subjects came so easily to her, that she was puzzled by her confusion and boredom with this one. It didn’t help that she stumbled on the very first building block of accounting — the difference between debits and credits.
“So, a credit is the deduction of a payment made by a debtor from an amount due,” said Mr. Dlamini in their Friday double-period, emphasising the last word with a ringing ping on the rim of his water glass.
“Huh?” said Samantha.
She said it under her breath, but the confusion must have shown on her face, because Mr. Dlamini smiled in a kindly way at her, and said, “In other words, it’s an entry into the right-hand side of the account which represents the reduction of an expense, or the addition to revenue.”
“Double-huh?” Jessie said, very audibly.
“And so, a credit balance represents a liability or income to the business entity,” continued Mr. Dlamini, not seeing — or perhaps just ignoring — their baffled faces. “Whereas a debit” — pah-ping on the desk and glass — “is an entry on the left-hand side that represents the addition of an asset or expense or the reduction to a liability or revenue. And a debit balance therefore represents an asset or expense of the entity.”
Most of the class stared blankly back at Mr. Dlamini, but Samantha, to whom the experience of not immediately understanding a new concept was both unprecedented and scary, felt panicky.
“Understand, Samantha?” asked Mr. Dlamini.
“No, sir,” she replied bluntly, and then continued in a rush, “If I understand you, then a debit is a debt, and a bad thing. But a debit balance represents an asset, which is surely a good thing. And a debtor, which is surely a bad thing because it’s bad to owe money, is apparently good. While creditors, which sound good — I mean, ‘creditable’ means full of worth and credit — are bad because you stand in their debt!” Her voice rose higher as she continued a little hysterically, “And a credit balance, which sounds like something everyone would like to have — because everyone wants a little credit for what they do, don’t they? — is actually a liability, which is bad and something which no-one wants. Surely?”
By now even Mr. Dlamini was looking more than a little confused. He had even stopped tapping.
“Well, I think you must first understand that ‘debit’ and ‘credit’ do not mean the same as they do in English.” He paused and repeated what he’d just said back to himself, perhaps aware of how nonsensical it sounded. “Let’s go back to the beginning and I’ll explain again,” he said patiently.
It was no use, as soon as he started with his explanations, Samantha relapsed into bewilderment and then into sluggish inattention. Her head rested heavily on her hand, her eyelids began to droop irresistibly, and she yawned widely. She was just dozing off when the end of class bell rang.
“I don’t understand a word of it,” she said to Jessie and Nomusa as they packed away their books.
“Well, if you don’t get it, how are you going to explain it to us?” Jessie said. “You’ll just have to pay better attention, Sam!”