Telesa - The Covenant Keeper (6 page)

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Day two at Samoa College started the same as the first. Morning assembly, only this time it was led by the stocky girl with thick braids. Simone whispered –
that’s Manuia the Head Girl. The prefects lead assembly every morning.
As the first two periods slid into each other, I fast realized the value of having Simone as my self-appointed tour guide. He shook his head with pursed lips when I went to sit down at the back of the class in Math.

“No. Mr Michaels hates people who sit in the back. He picks on them extra hard. Sit in front and he’ll ignore you most of the time.”

In Biology, he rolled his eyes when I took out a text book as Mr Matau told us to use the hour for study.

“You’re kidding right? I know that you’ve done this stuff already, don’t tell me you think you need to study the circulatory system? Here, let’s swap iPods. What music you got?”

The last thing I wanted was trouble on my first week, but Simone was difficult to brush off. As discreetly as possible I dug out my forbidden iPod and handed it over. Looking around furtively, I then realized half the class had earphones on. At the front of the class, Mr Matau took out his iPod and promptly went to sleep.
Okaaaaay.
I shrugged and scrolled through Simone’s playlist. We spent the rest of the period comparing the merits of Coldplay versus Bob Marley. It was thoroughly relaxing and I was buzzed to be moving on to English with Ms Sivani. At the door of her room though, everyone stopped short because we were combining with another sixth form class.

Ms Sivani spoke in her short clipped tones over the chatter of the class. “Today we will combine with 6M for an impromptu debate” a collective groan from the class “and there will be no sounds of angst, thank you very much!”

The class moved quickly in spite of their complaining to make room for the others and there was an undercurrent of excitement as everyone seemed to relish the idea of a change to the usual routine. We had to cram even closer in the already crowded classroom and I was busy trying to squeeze myself into a gap between Simone and a girl called Sinalei when he walked in.

The boy from the assembly yesterday morning. He paused in the doorway for a moment as he surveyed the room searching for an empty seat. Against my will his beauty took my breath away. He was tall enough that I was sure even my six foot plus height would have to crane up to look in his startling emerald green eyes. Red and gold in the morning sunlight with thick raven brows, one of them flecked with a slight scar, his tousled burnished red-brown hair another startling contrast in a school full of brunettes. He was broad but lean, like a rippling basketball player, the orange
lavalava
tied loosely to tapering hips. But it was the tattoo adorning the length of his right arm that caught and held my gaze captive. I had never seen anything like it before – it curved down his shoulder, peering from where his sleeve ended. Intricate patterns of black stamped down to his forearm. I was so intent on studying his tattoo that I failed to realize he was staring straight at me, a crooked smile on his face as if he found my fascination amusing. Our eyes met and in that fleeting moment, it was as if all the air had fled the room and the madness of fifty students crammed into a room meant for twenty faded to a distant blur. Try as I might, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his, even as my radar screamed a warning,
Leila stop it. This meathead is way used to girls staring at him gaga eyed – stop it!
Thankfully, the ever-timely Maleko broke our locked gaze with a whoop.

“Daniel!
Sole
man, are you ready to have your butt debate kicked by 6T?”

As quickly as it had begun, the moment was ended. The demi-god called Daniel turned to Maleko with a huge grin, shaking his head as he replied,

“Aww you know nobody here has what it takes to take me and my mouth down.”

The two continued their teasing as they made their way to seats on the opposite side of the room. I bent my head to hide my flush of embarrassment, but not before noticing that Daniel and Maleko had no problem finding space in the gaggle of giggling girls.
Like the parting of the Red Sea
, I thought derisively, and made a conscious mental note to ignore the overly beefy and overly adulated Head Boy. Obviously he was the Samoan counterpart to the American high school quarterback, the preening point guard, the freakishly good-looking jerk who would break hearts left, right and center and then graduate to a life of mediocrity. Or maybe crime, I thought with a brief smirk of satisfaction. I resisted the temptation to ask Simone for details on him and instead christened him ‘Chunk Hunk’ in my mind.

My thoughts were interrupted by Ms Sivani’s call for quiet. Once again I was impressed by the respect Samoan teenagers had for authority. Ms Sivani was slight, her voice a thin reed in a forest of battering oak – but one call for silence and you could have heard a pin drop.

“Alright thank you sixth formers. You’ve all been working very hard on your drama projects, so I thought we could come together for a little break. A debate break. You know the drill, two teams, only one person speaks at a time. When they sit, anyone can stand and take the floor. They get to keep the floor until they have nothing useful to say, so make sure you remember that particular instruction, Maleko!” Ms Sivani smiled to soften her words as the boys in the corner laughed uproariously and thumped a grinning Maleko on the back. She turned to write the debate topic on the board. There was a collective groan as she wrote the last word with a flourish.

FOREIGN AID IS GOOD FOR SAMOA.

Ms Sivani divided the class in half with an expansive gesture. “Your half is negative and this half with the new student Leila – you’re affirmative.”

Hearing my name, I instinctively cringed and slouched in my seat. Did she have to draw attention to me? “Thanks a lot, lady,” I muttered, but not before noticing from the corner of my downcast eyes that the Chunk Hunk had turned to regard me with open interest.

Ms Sivani continued. “The debate may begin. Remember, please keep it civil, MALEKO.”

Another hoot of laughter from the crowd of boys around the Chunk Hunk. Laughter that had Maleko jumping to his feet and giving a grandiose bow to the class before launching into his negative attack.

The relaxed atmosphere in the room wasn’t something I was used to. I was fast realizing that having boys in a class added another dimension that was quite foreign to me. Boys were loud. Boisterous. And occupied so much physical space. They pushed and shoved. And laughed. Joked continually. They were impossible to ignore. Especially when they were obnoxious. As I zoned out Maleko’s speech which had everyone around me in hysterics, I wondered idly – were all boys like this? Or was this just because these were Samoan boys? Hmm, food for thought. I gave myself a mental shake to pay attention as Maleko finished his diatribe and a short, stocky girl from our side jumped to her feet to replace him on the debate floor. I zoned out most of her argument, however, as I was fighting the insane urge to stare at the Chunk Hunk.

When she sat down, our team clapped while the other side of the room began chanting.
Daniel … Daniel!
Our team began booing as Maleko roughly nudged the Chunk Hunk with his shoulder, “Come on man, your adoring fans are calling for you.”

The jeering died away as the Chunk Hunk lazily stood. Like a tiger unfurling from its treetop perch, he moved with relaxed grace, seemingly unaware of the impact he had on his surroundings. The afternoon sun glinted off his messy hair, catching on red fire as he turned to smile at his team before addressing the rest of us. I tried hard to remain unaffected. To view him with disinterest. But I was fighting a losing battle. There was something about this boy that had every particle of my being on edge. I tensed with exasperation, did this arrogant idiot have to be so beautiful?
Don’t worry Leila
, I comforted myself,
just wait for him to open his mouth and once you hear how brainless he really is, this stupid fascination will evaporate in a puff of smoky reality.

I was wrong. He spoke with calm assurance. Reason and logic flowed from him with the rich sweetness of coconut milk, and the entire room was swept away by it.

“My fellow orators, our ever stunning and wise judge, Ms Sivani, ours is a society plagued by a relentless array of social ills. Drug abuse. Unemployment. Youth crime and delinquency. Not to mention a vast array of non-communicable diseases like diabetes, obesity, high blood pressure, kidney disease. And who do we have to thank for these? Our Western neighbors. Those who come here bearing gifts but they are gifts we should never have accepted. Why, from the very first Western visitors who came here seeking to pillage our land of its natural resources to those countries who give us money – just so that we will support them during international proceedings – we have been fighting a losing battle with our Western neighbors. There can be no doubt that foreign aid is a plague on our beautiful island nation. ”

 “There’s a saying – there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Well, Samoa has been well and truly overeating on supposed ‘free’ lunches, breakfasts, and dinners for too long.”

His team erupted in cheers and he smiled, holding up a hand for silence so he could continue. “Let’s take an example, one of these supposed aid organizations – the US Peace Corp. They come here to volunteer, but really, aren’t they here to disseminate their foreign ideas and values? To convince us of their supremacy in all things?”

At his mention of the Peace Corp, I sat upright and my eyes narrowed. Where was this boy headed with this? He continued, pointing out flaws in other volunteer groups from Japan and Australia before side-tracking to criticize the impact of “intermarriage” on the “purity of our Samoan culture.” He assumed a sorrowful façade as he discussed the decay of traditional values due to the country’s increased “infiltration” of foreign influence via aid. His closing statement had everyone in the class laughing, “Where is the pride and purity of our Samoa? Take a look around these days, we’re surrounded by mixed-up mongrels!”

What the hell?!
I was furious, my anger burning so wildly that I could hardly breathe and my heartbeat was reverberating in my head like a caged creature. I hadn’t planned on taking part in this debate exercise, but I couldn’t contain my rage. I thought of my dad. My wonderful dad who had given up his law scholarship at Harvard University to serve in the Peace Corps, driving the first immovable wedge into his relationship with his family. I thought of the years of taunts and snide remarks I had endured about my mixed race and heritage and I was shocked to think that here in Samoa, I might be subjected to the same sort of measurement and be found wanting. In that moment, I hated that gloriously beautiful boy with every fibre of my being. As soon as he sat down, I was on my feet, my chair a harsh grate against the cement floor. I couldn’t see myself, but I felt murderous and I knew I looked it. The room went quiet with a hush as I launched into attack mode, completely forgetting all debate decorum.

“What absolute rubbish you’re spouting. Not only do your remarks reek of flawed logic, but they also border on outright racism. How dare you pass judgment on volunteers and organizations that dedicate their lives to serving others? Just who in hell do you think you are?”

Ms Sivani started at my expression and tried to interject but my tidal wave of words was unstoppable. “I am totally offended by your reference to people like me being ‘mixed up mongrels!’ I hate racist bigots like you. People of mixed ethnic backgrounds have the opportunity to build bridges between communities, families and nations. It’s people like you, people who think the same way you do, who carve chasms of hatred and ignite conflict wherever they are. You disgust me!”

The silence was expectant as I came to an abrupt halt, my hands trembling. I had barely sat down before the Chunk Hunk was on his feet. I steeled myself for his attack. Which didn’t come. At least not in the manner I had supposed. He stood with that same lazy, casual ease, running a hand through his tousled hair. I gritted my teeth –
not the red gold hair again
. This boy was driving me insane with his posturing! He spread his arms expansively and again it was impossible not to be in awe of his toned strength. He smiled. A delighted smile filled with splendour that had all the females – and, as I heard Simone sigh, some of the males – in the room melting. Everyone except for me. It set my teeth on edge, my irritation with him so huge it was physically painful.

“She wounds me!” One rugged arm placed on his heart. A sorrowful expression on his face. Betrayed by laughing eyes. “My esteemed and lovely opponent rushes to attack my character, my intellect, my person yet neglects to address the essence of today’s topic. Perhaps because she is new to our shores, therefore she does not yet have a full appreciation of the uniqueness of our culture. The importance of preserving our traditions and standing strong against assault – whether it comes in the form of money with an expectation. Or in the form of foreigners who come to steal the hearts of our beautiful Samoan women!”

Ms Sivani interjected dryly, “I think that will be quite enough on the subject of intermarriage thank you very much. Let’s all try to remember what the topic is today and stay on track!”

The Chunk Hunk bowed his head slightly and flashed his brilliant smile at the English teacher, “Your wish is my command Ms Sivani. I’m sorry I went astray but this young woman’s unprovoked aggression really cut my Samoan identity and pride to the core.”

He sat down, but not without another grand bow to his audience. There were ripples of laughter through the room. Like everyone was in on a delightful sweet joke that only I was unaware of. I wanted to stamp my feet and throw a full-fledged tantrum.

Another boy from my team took to the floor when he was done. Then a tall Amazonian girl from the Chunk Hunk’s team went on the defensive. Back and forth the debate went with lots of hoots and jeers while I sat and fumed. And clenched my fists. Wanting desperately to smash something. Or someone. Someone with dancing forest eyes.