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A FRISSON OF EXCITEMENT rippled through the class and even Cindy and Kitty, who’d acted like they were utterly bored by Mr. de Wet’s story, sat up straight. Unlike Mrs. Naidoo, Mr. de Wet was quite willing for the roses to be handed out in his class. He watched the process eagerly, as if hopeful of receiving a rose himself.
Although she had not expected to receive a red rose, Samantha still felt her heart beating faster as they were distributed, but she received only two pink friendship roses, one each from Jessie and Nomusa. At least she was not alone in having no secret admirers — most of the girls, including Poppy, had received only pink roses, and Mr. de Wet seemed rather crestfallen to have received no roses at all. But Cindy Atkins, gloating over the half-dozen red roses she cradled in her arms, looked around to check who else had received love-roses. Once she’d assured herself that no one had received more than she had, she sighed with satisfaction.
In a voice loud with false modesty, she said, “Only six! I suppose lots of other girls will have received more.” Then she plucked out one long-stemmed rose and handed it to Kitty who, Samantha noted with some satisfaction, also had no red roses, and said, “Here, Kitty, you can have one of mine if you like,” in the manner of someone bestowing a great favour on a lesser soul.
After the class ended, Samantha caught up with Nomusa outside Mr. Dlamini’s classroom. She also had two pink roses.
“Snap,” Samantha said. “Looks like we three just exchanged roses. Thanks for mine.”
“Ditto,” Nomusa said, but glancing over Samantha’s shoulder, she raised an eyebrow and exclaimed, “Ha!”
Samantha turned to see Jessie hurrying towards them, carrying her own two pink roses, and also a single red one.
“Wow!” Samantha said. “Who’s it from?”
“Dunno!” Jessie said. She seemed both pleased and embarrassed.
“Let’s see the card.” Nomusa reached over to open the small card attached to the rose with a red velvet ribbon. Inside, a printed message read, “One day you’ll know ...”
“Know what?” Samantha asked.
“Dunno,” Jessie said.
“Do you have any idea who could have sent it?”
“You don’t think it could possibly be James, do you?”
Now it was Samantha’s turn to say, “Dunno. Maybe, I guess.”
But she doubted it — she wasn’t even sure whether James knew who Jessie was. Still, her friend was very attractive, with her short auburn curls and expressive hazel eyes. It didn’t surprise her that Jessie had an admirer, and it wasn’t impossible that he might be James.
“A girl can hope,” Jessie said, with a dreamy sigh. “Just imagine if it is him.”
“Maybe we’ll find out tomorrow in town,” Nomusa said.
The next morning, the girls caught the school bus into Izintaba, along with most of the rest of the senior school. It seemed that everyone was eager to discover which of the boys from Clifford Heights had received and, even more importantly, sent Valentine’s roses. Jessie, who by this time had half-convinced herself that her rose had indeed come from James, was desperate to meet him.
No sooner had they clambered off the bus, than she hissed, “There he is!”
A group of boys, including James, was walking in their direction.
“Hi,” Samantha called to her brother.
As he came over, Jessie clutched Samantha’s arm tightly.
“Howzit,” James said, pushing a lock of his heavy brown hair back from his face.
“These are my friends,” Samantha said. “Nomusa Gule and Jessie Delaney.”
“Hi,” he said, smiling at them.
Samantha felt the fingers on her arm tighten.
“Delaney,” said James, looking directly at Jessie now. “Are you related to the Delaney who plays prop forward at Michael House?”
Jessie shook her head dumbly, then squeaked out, “No, I’m an only child.”
Samantha and Nomusa stared at her.
“Uh, except for my kid sister, I mean.”
A little puzzled, James said, “I only asked because I’ve played against that Delaney and it’s not a common surname.”
“No, I’m very rare. I mean, it’s very rare.” Jessie was blushing furiously and beginning to babble. “Irish. Gaelic, actually. The name, I mean, not me. It means ‘dark challenger from the elder tree grove’.”
“Right,” said James. Then he turned to Samantha. “How’s it going at high school?”
“I’m coping okay. How’s matric?”
“They work us like slaves, but hey, in eight months I’ll be finished! Well, I’ve got to go. ‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep’,” he quoted. Ruffling his sister’s hair, he said “Cheers,” to Nomusa and “Goodbye, dark challenger,” to Jessie, before he turned to go.
“Stupid!” Jessie said when he was out of earshot. “Talking nonsense and babbling on like that — as if he cared about whether Delaney was Gaelic or Guatamalan! I am so stupid!”
“Oh, come on, you weren’t that bad,” Nomusa consoled her.
“Yeah,” Samantha added. “He even seemed a little intrigued by that ‘dark challenger’ thing.”
“Really?” Jessie said.
“Definitely. He loves words, does James, fascinated by their meanings and origins.”
“I could tell. He even speaks like a poet!”
“That was poetry, you idiot,” Samantha said. “Robert Frost.”
“Oh. Well, that explains why I didn’t really get what he was saying about the woods and the promises and stuff. What I really wanted to know was if he got the rose I sent him. Heck, if he sent the rose I got! But I couldn’t figure out any way of asking him.”
“Maybe we could try find out from someone else,” Nomusa suggested.
“Good idea,” Samantha said. Linking her arms through Jessie’s and Nomusa’s, she steered them down the street towards the coffee shop. “Let’s see if we can find Dan.”
They found him leaning up against a wall outside the coffee shop. With him was a tall boy with a thatch of black hair, dark blue eyes and very rosy cheeks.
“Howzit,” Dan said. “Sam, you remember Apples?”
Samantha nodded and smiled shyly up at the tall boy. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said with a smile that dimpled his cheeks and showed a set of braces on his teeth.
“Nomusa and Jessie, this is Mark Appleton. Apples, for short,” Dan said. “So, how did you enjoy your weekend at St Lucia, Jessie? Enjoy spending time with our wonderful family?”
Samantha knew he was teasing Jessie about James’s absence. Apparently, Jessie knew this too, because she replied sweetly, “It was excellent, thank you. We got to see a turtle laying eggs, which was amazing, and I even got to make some halfway decent sketches. How was your rugby camp? Not too hot and exhausting, I hope? Didn’t get injured, by any chance?” she asked, sounding almost hopeful.
Daniel ignored her questions. “So, you’re something of an artist then?”
“Oh, yes,” Jessie said, grinning. “I even left you some of my artwork in your room.”
“Thank you,” Dan said, looking genuinely pleased.
Samantha couldn’t help wondering how he would feel when he discovered precisely what that artwork was.
“So, did you guys get any Valentine’s roses?” Apples asked.
“Did you?” Samantha said quickly.
“We asked first,” Dan said.
“Well, Sam and I didn’t, but Jessie got one,” Nomusa said.
“No way!”
“You needn’t sound so surprised,” Jessie said, nettled.
“Who sent you a rose?” Dan asked. “Assuming you didn’t send it to yourself.”
“I did not!”
“It’s been known to happen. So, who do you think it’s from?”
“I don’t know, the card wasn’t signed,” Jessie said crossly. “But if it wasn’t from James, then I don’t care who it was from.”
Dan’s lips tightened. He snorted dismissively and leaned over to whisper loudly to Nomusa, “She’s got it bad, hasn’t she?” Turning back to face Jessie, he said, “He got yours, by the way.”
“James? He got my rose?” Jessie said.
“Oh yes, he was very touched.”
Jessie sighed happily. “Did he know who it was from?”
“I couldn’t say,” Dan said, shaking his head in apparent commiseration, but Samantha thought she smelled danger. “I can tell you that he handled it so gently and lovingly.”
“He did?” Jessie said eagerly.
“Oh, yes. He read the card and sniffed the fragrance ...”
“And then?”
“He touched the petals ever so softly ...”
“And then?”
“And then he chucked it on the pile with the other twenty-five roses!”
“What?” Jessie said, her face crumpling.
“Yep! My bro got twenty-six roses in total, and all of them with messages. ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, at night when I sleep, I’m dreaming of you’. You know the sort of crud,” he mocked. “There was even a really dumb one about Bach and guitars. Best you take a number, Jess, and get in line with all the other hopefuls queuing up for the divine James. Come on Apples, let’s go.”
He gave the girls a mocking salute and stalked off down the main road alongside his friend. Jessie, her face red with anger and embarrassment, burst into tears.