Read Telesa - The Covenant Keeper for Free Online Page B

girl, in the ways of a girl.”
    Aunty Matile put a stop to the conversation in her usual abrupt manner.
    “In Samoa we have three different genders if you will – men and women and fa’afafine . It’s tradition. Don’t stare. Don’t be rude. They don’t like it.”
    Fa’afafine – another new concept to put on my list of things to understand. Very conscious of Aunty Matile’s directive about not staring and not being rude, I walked beside my tour guide with my head down, hesitant about what to say. However, Simone didn’t seem too fussed about Ms Sivani’s abhorrence for latecomers as he strutted along the corridor with all the studied ease of a runway model, stopping often to greet people..
    “Daahling, how was your weekend? No way! Was he there? Ohmigosh, you’re kidding, I hate you! Tell me all about it at lunch. Oh, girlfriend wait up, how was Friday night? I heard about the V-Bar hmm, you wicked girl! I know, I was busy at home with our fa’alavelave and doing all the chores, going crazy I couldn’t get out. See you later! Yoohoo daaahling! ”
    Like the Queen of England acknowledging her humble courtiers, I thought ungenerously, with a mental groan as I realized there was no way I would avoid a late entrance to class on my first day. Indeed, I had a sneaking suspicion that my tour guide welcomed a late entrance – the more dramatic the better. I studied Simone out of the corner of my eye as he preened next to me. Almost as tall as me, skinny, beautiful liquid black eyes (was that a hint of forbidden eye liner?), glossy hair combed in an Elvis style bouffant and carrying a shiny red handbag on one perfectly bent arm. (Don’t ask me how he fit any text books in that tiny thing.) Noticing my scrutiny, he stopped mid-wave to look me up and down, one hand on his hip, Kate Moss style.
    “So where you from?”
    “D.C. - I mean, the States. My mom was Samoan, but this is my first time here.”
    “Oh, I see. What did you do?”
    “Huh? What do you mean, what did I do? What did I do where?” I was confused.
    “You know, how did you screw up? You U.S. Samoan kids get sent here all the time when your aiga , your family, can’t handle you over there. We get lots of juvenile delinquents here, so what did you do?” Simone seemed bored with my inability to answer his question.
    “I didn’t do anything. I mean, I’m just here for three months, summer vacation, visiting my mom’s family and they thought I would enjoy a Samoan school.”
    Simone raised an eyebrow in disbelief and pursed his perfect lips. (I’m sure that was lip liner – no boy could have such a perfectly defined cupids bow.) He sniffed and waved his hand airily.
    “Fine. Don’t tell me the truth. I can handle it. Now, come on. We’re late.”
    I stumbled along after him with a pained half smile, hoping I hadn’t just made enemy number one at my new school. Great, maybe I should have invented a litany of felonies and misdemeanours just to make him happy .
    We came to an abrupt halt outside a particularly shabby classroom. Through missing window panes I could see the teacher at the board, who stopped her reading of the novel in her hands to confront our late entrance. She was a petite woman wearing a rich purple and gold sari draped gracefully around her slender frame.
    “Simon, you are late. Do you have a late pass?” Her tone left no room for argument. Simone, however, was clearly unimpressed.
    “Ms Sivani, the Principal asked me to bring this newcomer to our class. She’s transferred here from the States. Her name is Leila.”
    The room was crammed full with students, orange and yellow sardines in a can. Over thirty curious faces peered at me in all my newcomer glory, looking even more unpolished and unglamorous beside supermodel Simone. I gave Ms Sivani a perfunctory polite smile and resumed staring out the window, wondering where on earth I would find a spare desk to sit at in this mob. His duty complete, Simone abandoned me to