interiors of the huts. The hostility in the air made it hard to breathe.
I hoped Brice was wrong. I hoped the ghosts of the Taino weren’t watching what Europeans were doing to their peaceful Land of Wood and Water. In just two hundred years, their Paradise had been turned into a hellhole.
I was finding Jamaica’s dark side hard to handle. Luckily I didn’t have to handle it much longer. Once I’d hooked up with Lola, we’d all be zooming back home. I tried to make my voice sound casual. “Which hut is Lola’s?”
Brice pointed. “Hurry. My uncle could come back any minute.”
The path to Lola’s hut was edged with rough scented grasses. I tore off a blade as I passed, inhaling its lemony perfume. I was nervous for no reason. Lola’s on your side, fool, I reminded myself. Pretty soon this will all be over. This time tomorrow lover boy will have his memory back and we’ll all be drinking hot chocolate at Guru.
The door to Lola’s hut was open. Inside was a woven sleeping mat and an old cast-iron cooking pot. Balanced over the stew-pot was a crudely shaped wooden spoon, carved out of some kind of gourd. It seemed that these three pitiful objects were the sum total of her possessions.
I remembered Brice arguing furiously with Mr Allbright about a week after he joined our history class. “Millions of human children are dying of hunger because rich countries couldn’t care if they live or die! And the powers that be say we mustn’t interfere with their free will! Well, that sucks! If you want humans to change, angels are going to have to make waves!”
I stared at that dented old stew-pot and I wanted to make waves, like you would not believe. I wanted a humungous tidal wave to roll in and wash slavery from the face of the Earth forever.
I was feeling violent electric tingles, normally a sure sign that other celestial agents are in the area. The thought of seeing Lola was such a relief, I was practically falling over my own feet in my eagerness to reach the rear of her hut.
A golden-skinned girl in a fraying head-tie was stretching up to peg a tattered cotton blouse on the line. She winced and clutched her side.
I ran forward. “Lola? Are you OK?”
She spun in terror then clutched her chest. “Miss! You frighten mi. Mi tink a bad duppy creep up when mi nah lookin’.”
I felt confused. This girl looked like Lola, but she didn’t sound or behave like her.
Don’t be stupid, Mel, who else could she be? I told myself quickly.
Yet something was off. Lollie and I normally hug, even if we’ve only been apart for like, a day . But I got the definite feeling that hugging this Lola would not be a wise move. My friend was keeping her eyes fixed stonily on the ground, as if she didn’t want me to know what she was thinking.
That was another disturbing thing. Lola and I almost always do know what each other is thinking. But now she was completely shut down. I could just feel incredibly hostile vibes.
She’s angry, I thought shakily. She thinks I abandoned her.
I swallowed. “You’ve had a terrible time,” I said. “Did the overseer really beat you?”
“Mi belong Massa,” Lola said in a sullen voice. “Massa can do what him like.”
The soles of her bare feet were filthy from walking about the plantation without any shoes. She was wearing a shapeless old skirt and blouse in faded blue. The identical sun-faded blue cotton I’d seen on Quashiba and Bright Eyes. Slave clothes.
I felt my heart contract. “Lollie, I swear, I’ve been ill, or I’d have come sooner.”
“Mi hear ‘bout dat,” she said in her new singsong voice. “Lovey find you in di bush. Dey say you like to die.”
My best friend sounded like she wouldn’t have cared either way.
“Babe, drop the slave-talk, please!” I pleaded. “This isn’t you.”
Lola made a rude sound, like sucking spit through her teeth. “Nuttin wrong wid me, miss. You di one talkin’ foolishness.”
“Lola, LOOK at me!” I practically
I hoped Brice was wrong. I hoped the ghosts of the Taino weren’t watching what Europeans were doing to their peaceful Land of Wood and Water. In just two hundred years, their Paradise had been turned into a hellhole.
I was finding Jamaica’s dark side hard to handle. Luckily I didn’t have to handle it much longer. Once I’d hooked up with Lola, we’d all be zooming back home. I tried to make my voice sound casual. “Which hut is Lola’s?”
Brice pointed. “Hurry. My uncle could come back any minute.”
The path to Lola’s hut was edged with rough scented grasses. I tore off a blade as I passed, inhaling its lemony perfume. I was nervous for no reason. Lola’s on your side, fool, I reminded myself. Pretty soon this will all be over. This time tomorrow lover boy will have his memory back and we’ll all be drinking hot chocolate at Guru.
The door to Lola’s hut was open. Inside was a woven sleeping mat and an old cast-iron cooking pot. Balanced over the stew-pot was a crudely shaped wooden spoon, carved out of some kind of gourd. It seemed that these three pitiful objects were the sum total of her possessions.
I remembered Brice arguing furiously with Mr Allbright about a week after he joined our history class. “Millions of human children are dying of hunger because rich countries couldn’t care if they live or die! And the powers that be say we mustn’t interfere with their free will! Well, that sucks! If you want humans to change, angels are going to have to make waves!”
I stared at that dented old stew-pot and I wanted to make waves, like you would not believe. I wanted a humungous tidal wave to roll in and wash slavery from the face of the Earth forever.
I was feeling violent electric tingles, normally a sure sign that other celestial agents are in the area. The thought of seeing Lola was such a relief, I was practically falling over my own feet in my eagerness to reach the rear of her hut.
A golden-skinned girl in a fraying head-tie was stretching up to peg a tattered cotton blouse on the line. She winced and clutched her side.
I ran forward. “Lola? Are you OK?”
She spun in terror then clutched her chest. “Miss! You frighten mi. Mi tink a bad duppy creep up when mi nah lookin’.”
I felt confused. This girl looked like Lola, but she didn’t sound or behave like her.
Don’t be stupid, Mel, who else could she be? I told myself quickly.
Yet something was off. Lollie and I normally hug, even if we’ve only been apart for like, a day . But I got the definite feeling that hugging this Lola would not be a wise move. My friend was keeping her eyes fixed stonily on the ground, as if she didn’t want me to know what she was thinking.
That was another disturbing thing. Lola and I almost always do know what each other is thinking. But now she was completely shut down. I could just feel incredibly hostile vibes.
She’s angry, I thought shakily. She thinks I abandoned her.
I swallowed. “You’ve had a terrible time,” I said. “Did the overseer really beat you?”
“Mi belong Massa,” Lola said in a sullen voice. “Massa can do what him like.”
The soles of her bare feet were filthy from walking about the plantation without any shoes. She was wearing a shapeless old skirt and blouse in faded blue. The identical sun-faded blue cotton I’d seen on Quashiba and Bright Eyes. Slave clothes.
I felt my heart contract. “Lollie, I swear, I’ve been ill, or I’d have come sooner.”
“Mi hear ‘bout dat,” she said in her new singsong voice. “Lovey find you in di bush. Dey say you like to die.”
My best friend sounded like she wouldn’t have cared either way.
“Babe, drop the slave-talk, please!” I pleaded. “This isn’t you.”
Lola made a rude sound, like sucking spit through her teeth. “Nuttin wrong wid me, miss. You di one talkin’ foolishness.”
“Lola, LOOK at me!” I practically
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