It Never Rains in Colombia (11 page)

             
Mei joined them when they entered the corridor, “do you want to do some revision tomorrow?”

             
“Umm.” Harlow swallowed uneasily. “Yeah, sure. Was I staring?” she asked Sophia.

             
“Pretty much.” Sophia laughed, “It was for the longest time. I thought you were looking for something on his face.” She laughed.

             
“It's—” Harlow hesitated wondering if she should say something. Then she decided that Sophia wasn't the best person to tell about how she felt when she saw Christian. After all, Sophia would only tell Roberto, but then why did she care about him? “That haircut,” Harlow continued, deciding against telling the two of them anything as they made their way outside.

             
Sophia agreed. “It makes his nose look humongous.”

             
“No, well, yes.” Harlow admitted. “He was so pretty before,” she said feeling abashed, “and now, well, I feel like I'm seeing him with new eyes.”

             
Sophia laughed, “It looks pretty bad.” 

             
“He's still as nice as he ever was, just…” Harlow paused, “is that shallow?”

             
“It's so distracting,” Mei said, opening the main doors to the Cafeteria. She was glad that they hadn't asked her about her conversation with Christian and that no one had noticed her in the video. “All that hair in his face. I think this looks better.”

             
Harlow started talking about revision; happy to change the subject.

              On the train, Harlow couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.

             
Memories of Christian with his beautiful wavy brown hair would appear amongst her thoughts. He had become remote, distant, since that day. She saw him in class, but as soon as it was over he was gone. Harlow was not the only one who noticed his strange behaviour. Without the school uniform, he would have looked unkempt. He looked haggard, and instead of coming over to her and making jokes, he seldom spoke. He began to arrive late for classes, so that even she, the perpetual latecomer, would arrive before him, and then he cancelled their revision session. The ever smooth, calm, cool Christian that she knew had become jumpy, nervous, and sullen. She wandered over to him as he packed his books up after class. She was back thinking about that day a few weeks ago when he had driven across town to help her, racing in the darkness against the rising sun.

             
“Christian,” she tapped him.

             
“Hey,” Christian gave her a warm smile. “Sorry, I have to go,” he said, “I'll see you tomorrow,” and he left faster than a shooting star.

             
Harlow spent the rest of the day and night preoccupied with him. The one person she understood had become a mystery to her. She was saddened by the change that had come over him and spent days bothering all her friends with speculations on it. When the teacher called his name during the register one morning, Sarah, Mei, Sophia, and Harlow greeted the silence that followed with side-long glances at his empty chair and exchanged knowing looks. One day when he blew in late to class, a handsome clumsy tornado, his bag fell off his desk so that all its content were spilled across the floor, scattering to the four corners of the classroom. His bag was full of pamphlets, short leaflets of poems by Byron, Coleridge, William Blake, and Percy Byshe Shelley—Romantic poets. They each rushed to help him gather up his things. It was only Sophia who remained seated, looking disinterestedly away as if he weren't there.

             
As Harlow picked up the pencil sharpener and the rubbers that had bounced to Mr. Stenhoffer's desk, she realised something. “It must be,” Harlow said aloud, standing up straight as though she had been jolted with lightning. “It must be,” she murmured, making all eyes turn on her. She faced the quizzical look of her classmates with a clarity of mind that she had never had before and placed the rubbers on his desk.

             
That afternoon in the group study room, Harlow watched Christian take out textbooks from his bag, waiting for her moment.

             
“Christian, what happened between you and Sophia?”

             
Christian looked up in surprise. “Nothing.”

             
“Really? Then why does she hate you?”

             
He remained passive, “She doesn't.”

             
“Hmm,” she said.

             
“What makes you think she hates me?” he asked. “You know, just because she seems abrasive doesn't mean that she hates me.”

             
“It kind of does,” Harlow said.

             
“People aren't always that straight-forward,” Christian replied knowingly. “I don't think she has much hate in her at all,” he said.

             
Harlow remained quiet, studying him carefully.

             
“She's actually a very caring person.” Christian moved over to the window. “She just doesn't show it,” he muttered, returning to the table abruptly.

             
“Maybe she likes you,” Harlow looked over at him.

             
“Shall we get started then?” Christian asked. “I have to leave early. Mei and Patrick can catch up when they get here.”

             
Harlow nodded taking her books out one by one. “Where you going?” she asked.

             
“Work,” he said.

             
“Who?” She started pawing through her bag. It was as if her ears had been stuffed with cotton. Christian's mouth moved but no words came out, time seemed to slow down. Harlow was filled with horror. “Oh no! No! No! No!” she shouted, pushing the things in her bag aside. “Come on!” she said, angrily slamming her palm on the desk.

             
“What's wrong?” Christian asked.

             
Harlow looked up at him desperately. “Nothing, I lost something. Listen, I have to go,” she said, hurriedly shoving the books that lay on the desk back into the chasm of her bag. She rushed to the door and he followed her, opening it for her to leave.

             
“Hey, wait, maybe I can help you look for it? My sister loses earrings all the time. Honestly, I'm like a sniffer dog.”

             
She seemed unconvinced, clutching the door handle.

             
“Let me help,” Christian pleaded.

             
“It's nothing.” She said.

             
“What does it look like?”

             
Harlow cut him off, “Thanks, but I think I know where it is.”

             
“Where are you going?” Christian called after her as she ran off. “Sssh,” the librarian chastised as Harlow ran past.

              Harlow found herself in the common room again amongst the plush brown leather sofas and oak-panelled walls. He was there just as she had hoped. Roberto looked up from the sofa, placing his book just out of sight before she could get a good look.

             
“Twice in one day?” he asked with a smile. “You miss me that much?”

             
Harlow shrugged. “Did you?” pausing, she considered how to put it. “What are you reading?” she asked. There was so much intensity in the question that it made her tense up, dreading the answer.

             
Roberto subtly pushed the book further back, toward the back of the sofa, so that she couldn't see what it was. “The same thing I read every day,” he said. “A manual on how to take over the world.”

             
Silence.

             
“Pinky and the Brain,” Roberto explained when she didn't laugh. “No, ok,” he followed Harlow's gaze to where the book lay.

             
“Can I see it?” she asked.

             
“It's private,” Roberto said uncomfortably.

             
“A private book?” she considered aloud. “Where did you get it?” she asked.

             
“What's with the inquisition?” he replied. “Do I have to pass my reading material through you now? Are you the school censor?” His tone was playful.

             
It made her angry.
Everything is a joke to him.
“Just give it back?” she cried in irritation, reaching down to snatch it. The book was under his coat just out of grasp.

             
Roberto got up, lifting the book with his coat. “What's your problem?” he asked and then stormed off. Harlow tried to follow but lost him in the crowded corridors.

              Since her grandfather's death, Harlow had tried to spend every weekend at her grandparent's house. On Saturday afternoon, before lunch, she went for a walk with her grandmother.

             
“When you get to my age, exercise is important. If I sit too long, my joints just seize up.”

             
Harlow laughed, “Oh no.”

             
“It's nothing that a good walk won't fix,” her grandmother reassured her. “So dear, how’s school?”

             
“Okay, I guess, I'm just preparing for the exams.”

             
“I thought they were months away.”

             
“You can never start too early,” Harlow said.

             
Julia chuckled.

             
“My friends and I have a study group we meet twice a week to revise.”

             
“That's my girl.”

             
“Christian is great with maths, so it's really helpful. He teaches me equations and I help him with French and science.”

             
“Christian?”

             
“Christian Ribeiro, one of the boys in my class. He's on a scholarship.”

             
“Oh, the boy in the school newsletter, ten A stars at GCSE.”

             
Harlow nodded, “Yes, that's him.”

             
“I think your grandfather knew him.”

             
“Really?”

             
“Well, if it's the same one I'm thinking of.”

             
There's only one in the school.”

             
“He seems nice. Are you two…?”

             
“No, grandma,” Harlow said blushing.

             
“But you like him?”

             
“He's completely oblivious to me.”

             
“Why do you say that?”

             
“No reason. We're just friends. He's crazy about Sophia, you know that girl I told you about.”

             
Her grandmother appeared mystified.

             
“The superstar, the singer from Colombia.”

             
“Ah, the one that gave up her career to become a school prefect. Now that's dedication to academia. Hmm, that's a tough one. Well, if what you're saying is true and he's crazy about this girl, it's not the end of the world. You'll find somebody who sees exactly how wonderful you are.”

             
“Do you think so?” Harlow asked doubtfully.

             
“I know so.” Just then her grandmother smiled.

             
They wandered by the river under the warm beam of the afternoon sun and walked down the field on the other side of the bank, her grandparents’ house in the distance with its many windows like eyes watching them.

             
“I always get the feeling that Christian wants to say something but doesn't have the courage to do it. Is that silly?”

             
“Maybe he's shy.”

             
“Maybe.”

             
“Poor boy, he's had an awfully rough time,” her grandmother commented.

             
“What do you mean?” Harlow asked.

             
“Your grandfather was on the school board when they gave Christian the scholarship. He said that he remembered reading about Christian's father in the papers when it all happened. He convinced the school board to give Christian the scholarship.”

             
“When what happened?”

             
“Christian's father was the Colombian Ambassador to Spain for a time. When he returned to Bogotá, he became more involved with domestic politics, proposing legislation, trying to make a real change to the country. He was on his way to work one day when his car exploded. They found bits of the device in the wreckage.”