It Never Rains in Colombia (14 page)

             
“Mei is not a toy. There are plenty of girls in the school, why go for her?”

             
Patrick's eyes lit up like flames in the dark, the corners of his eyes crinkled, smiling a few moments before his mouth did. “I feel like I'm being hypnotized whenever I see her body going past,” he said.

             
“Oh my God,” Christian groaned, suppressing a laugh he covered his mouth.

             
“That's what I thought,” Patrick said. Patrick moulded the air into the shape of a basketball with his hands, “that ass,” he said, nodding as Christian shook his head. “The whole nerd thing really does it for me,” he continued.

             
“Enough, enough,” Christian chuckled. “If you like her, do it yourself.”

             
“But you're my wingman,” Patrick complained. Seeing that Christian was resolute he spluttered, “Ah! What is it with you and this chick?”

             
Just then, a skinny first year came running into the canteen dodging the milling students then knocking them out of the way, screaming, “He's here!”

             
Christian's blood froze.

             
“Razak Boxer's here!” The boy tripped over the legs of a chair and came sprawling across the canteen rolling to a stop at Amy's feet, a few tables away from where Christian sat. Students started jumping up from their seats rising in tides. Heads bobbed up across the canteen like a Mexican wave as they rushed from their tables. Harlow helped the boy up. Breathless, he shouted with all his might like some antiquated town crier; “Raaaaaazaaaaak is here. Raaaaazaaaaak is here. Razak is here. Outside at the main entrance. He's come for Christian!” he shouted loudly, looking around, amongst the bustling forest of excited people, to locate Christian.               A few days ago, this boy wouldn't even have known Christian's name. Christian reflected bitterly on his meteoric rise to fame that was now plunging into disaster.

             
Standing up resolutely, Christian marched toward the lobby with a large crowd of students following him. They snaked behind him like the tributaries of a great river going to sea. Students were packed in twos and threes forming a long queue that rushed to keep up all the way from the lobby back to the canteen, as Christian prepared to face the devil boxer.

             
Harlow pushed forward through the crowd; when he saw her, he couldn't help smiling.

             
“You can't go out there,” she said anxiously. She slowed her pace and he followed, leaving the line of students behind them curiously trying to work out what had happened.

             
“He's fainted,” a girl called out from the mid-section.

             
The hallway leading up to the lobby was filled with murmurs and shouts. “Hey, what's going on? What's the hold-up?”

             
The line had stopped now.

             
Harlow and Christian had stopped in the lobby. “It's not worth it,” she said.

             
“I have to go out there.”

             
Through the large glass walls of the lobby, past the lawn, a large group of men were pressing against the wrought-iron gates. Two slid back down after having failed to scale the walls. In the distance, she heard the dull echo of sirens filtering into the lobby.

             
“If I don't go now he'll be back and he might hurt other people,” Christian explained calmly.

             
Christian moved toward the door, Harlow grabbed his shirt, making him stop. “I know you're doing this to save face.”

             
Christian laughed, “What?” He glanced down at her hand.

             
She let go.              

             
“Your reputation. Look, it's not worth getting injured.”

             
“I'll be fine,” Christian insisted smoothly.

             
“You're going to get hurt. Why are you smiling?” she asked. “This is serious.”

             
“I know,” Christian replied looking at her thoughtfully.

             
There was a moment in which Harlow took in the extraordinary length of his eyelashes, the way his eyes were a deep shade of brown that seemed to lighten in colour the more you looked. His brown eyes. The bump in his nose that showed it had once been broken. She wondered what he would look like afterwards and couldn't bear the thought. For a moment, she forgot everything except for the waves in his short dark hair.

             
Christian was confused by her sudden silence. “Are you okay?”

             
“Mr Ribeiro,” the headmaster barked, clearing a path through the students, like salt on snow. “The police are on their way. You will not engage with these hooligans.”

             
Christian found the headmaster a few feet away from him with a gang of teachers behind him. “Sir, if I don't deal with this now, it will never end,” he insisted.

             
“You do not have permission to leave the premises,” the headmaster boomed, “as long as you are under my authority, do you understand? You did an admirable thing. Now, please leave the rest to me.”

             
Christian was silent.

             
The crowd bristled waiting for action. There was a hollow silence, like that in a tunnel, in which only the sound of the wind could be heard.

             
“Sir, if I could just talk.”

             
“It's out of the question,” the headmaster replied flatly. “If you leave now, do not come back.”

             
Harlow's eyes were attracted to the lawn by the flicker of flashing blue lights. The wail of sirens burst through the air. She saw the crowd of men at the gates disperse, each running in a different direction. There came an obnoxious sound of engines grunting into life, a squeal of tyres. She exhaled as if she had just surfaced from underwater, looking at Christian quickly before disappearing into the crowd. The headmaster took it upon himself to escort Christian back to class.              

              That afternoon, Patrick paced the group study room, thoughtfully walking past Christian, then said simply, “Harlow’s a chaser. The more she feels she can't have you, the more she wants you. If you come to her too quickly, you will spook her.”

             
Christian laughed. “She's a girl, not Black Beauty.”

             
“
Black Beauty
,” Patrick said, “a popular book targeted at girls and what's it about? The relationship between a girl and her horse.”

             
“But it's not a comparison of the two,” Christian explained.

             
“Isn't it?” Patrick replied slyly.

             
Christian asked, “Have you read it.”

             
“Yeah,” Patrick said, “right after I read Brokeback Mountain.”              

             
Christian laughed.

             
Patrick went on, “Girls are horses.”

             
“You're an idiot,” Christian replied.

             
“Hear me out. Some girls are friendly and happy to do what you want to do. Some are wild and like a fast-paced life; they're headstrong, and no matter how much you try to change them, they will never bend to your will. Free spirits.” Patrick continued, “Other girls are docile and prefer a slower pace in life.”

             
Christian considered: Harlow, the punch, her untameable passion that had flared up as a hot temper when she was upset. But he didn't want Patrick to know that he might agree with the theory.

             
“She's a wild one,” Patrick said, completing his thought.

             
“She's a person,” Christian said, “she doesn't need taming. You don't know much about girls or horses, do you?”

             
Patrick shrugged, “Harlow's an animal just like you and me. It's the law of the jungle, dude. It rules.”

             
“Do horses live in the jungle?” Mei asked, coming into the room.

             
When Harlow walked into the study room, a few minutes later, Christian looked up at her then down again, trying to appear relaxed. Patrick's eyes followed her until she sat down next to Christian.

             
“Hey, guys,” Harlow said unpacking her books. “Sorry I'm late.”

             
Patrick shrugged, “Make yourself at home.”

             
Christian smiled faintly.

             
“What you doing?” Harlow asked curiously.

             
“Maths, just practising some stuff.” She leaned over Christian to see what he was writing. The scent of her perfume danced past his face. He took in her slender neck, looking at the silver necklace that swung forward from under her shirt.

             
“I didn't know we had maths homework,” she remarked. 

             
“We don't, I'm just trying to keep the equations fresh in my head.”

             
“Okay,” she replied, leaning back.

             
Mei cleared her throat.

             
“Sorry,” Harlow said. 

             
Patrick picked up his bag, “I'll leave you to it.”

             
“Where are you going?” Harlow asked.

             
He was already halfway to the door, “Remember, Christian, you scratch my back, I scratch yours,” Patrick said as he left.

             
The door clicked shut behind him. Christian sighed.

             
“What does he mean?” Harlow asked with interest.

             
Mei sighed in irritation.

             
“Nothing,” Christian replied. “Harlow,” he said tentatively a few minutes later.

             
She was already busy scribbling away in her notebook. “Yup?” she looked up.

             
“There's something,” he paused. “I need your advice on something.”               

             
Harlow lowered her pen.

             
“Guys, the exams are just around the corner,” Mei interrupted.

             
“They're in two months' time,” Harlow reminded her.

             
Mei ran a hand through her hair, muttering, “This is why I hate study groups.”

             
Harlow turned to Christian with interest, “You need my help? Ha, since when?” she asked, smiling. “It doesn't matter,” she continued eagerly, “I'm your agony aunt, go, shoot.”

             
“Okay, calm down,” Christian said. “I have this friend...”

             
She wrinkled her forehead. “Sure.”

             
“No, seriously,” Christian insisted. “Anyway, my friend likes this girl who is completely wrong for him.”

             
Harlow frowned, “What do you mean?”

             
“I mean, they are complete opposites.”

             
“Opposites attract,” Mei said. 

             
“No, but my friend is—well, he's a bit of a player.”

             
“I see,” Harlow said, leaning back into the chair and crossing her arms.

             
Christian laughed. “Relax, it's not me.”

             
“Why would I care if it were?” Harlow asked.

             
Mei coughed.

             
Christian studied his orange maths book carefully and said, “I'm joking. Never mind.”

             
“No, no, you're not,” Harlow complained. “I can tell when you're lying.”

             
“Can you?” he asked sceptically.

             
“Is it Patrick?”

             
Christian gave her an embarrassed smile, “How did you guess?”

             
“You only have one friend,” Mei pointed out.

             
“That's not true,” he said laughingly.

             
“Well, maybe not, but he's the sleaziest,” Harlow added, covering her mouth as the words slipped out.

             
Christian laughed, “So you wouldn't go for him then?”