WHISPERS OF THE NILE

THE LIBRARY GAMBIT

[Scene: Three days later. School library, late afternoon. Dust motes dance in sunlit slanting through tall windows. Floor polish and old books imbue the air with a heavy, stale odor.]

Sheila had watched Ben Katongole for three days.

Not, of course-she had a reputation to maintain-but with caution, noting her habits as a student cramming for prey. He went the longer way round to Chemistry so as not to walk past the courtyard. He ate lunch by himself at the back table farthest from everyone, with David Musoke alone. He effectively camped out in the library during prep time, hidden behind books on cellular biology and chemical reactions.

[Sheila sits at a table beside the Literature section, her book open but abandoned. She looks up as Ben enters the library, slumping his shoulders, making his regular corner his target.]

She'd expected the letter incident to blow over, like all school gossip did in the end. But three days on, rumors persisted. Mark had taken care of that, grumbling something about "secret admirers" and "boys who don't know their place" whenever he thought Sheila might be listening.

She ought to have resented the fuss. She was, in reality, but rather than indignation, it fueled a growing curiosity she couldn't quite define.

Peace had been right-Ben was a genius. In their shared Chemistry class, he gave answers that even made the normally unimpressed Mr. Opio look awed. He picked up on subtleties in molecular arrangements that Sheila couldn't even imagine. His mental processes were so different from her own that they were almost beautiful to watch.

But he never spoke except to be provoked. Never offered his hand. And he surely never, ever glanced at her.

She bangs her textbook closed with more force than necessary, the sound echoing through the library quiet. Mrs. Namatovu, a white-haired librarian, glances up with faint disapproval before returning to her shelving.]

"Right," Sheila muttered to herself. "This is ridiculous."

She stood up, gathered her books with deliberate purpose, and marched directly to the reference section where Ben had disappeared. Her starched skirt swished around her knees at each step, her beaded braids clicking gently against her shoulders-a noise she never normally noticed but was suddenly full of awareness.

[She rounds the corner between rows of towering bookshelves and finds Ben hunched over a book, pen scribbling across notebook pages. He's so caught up he doesn't see her.]

Sheila cleared her throat.

Ben's head jerked up, eyes racing wide with something close to panic when he saw her. "Sheila-I mean, Miss Nalwanga-I mean-" He half-rose, knocking his pen off the floor.

"Just Sheila." She grabbed his pen and held it out, watching as he trembled slightly when he took it. "Can we talk?"

"About what?" His voice was strained, and he clenched.

"About the fact that you've been avoiding me for three days."

"I haven't been-" He stopped at her raised eyebrow. "Okay, yeah. I've been avoiding you."

[She pats the chair away from him and sits down uninvited, tucking her ankles neatly in a prim, quietly authoritative posture. Ben seems to be trying to make a break for it but tightens his grip on the arms of his chair and stays put.]

"Why?" she demanded bluntly.

"Because you're you, and I'm me and-" He swept his hand back and forth between them, as if that explained everything.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only explanation I have." Ben sat staring at his textbook like it held all the universe's secrets. His fingers drummed on the table in what she now recognized as anxious tension. "Look, I'm sorry for the letter. Mark had no right to read it. I never wanted you to get involved in that whole mess."

"Mark's a moron. We already suspected as much." Sheila advanced, making him stare at her. "What I'm questioning you is: did you mean what you said?"

The question hung there between them for three heartbeats. Four. Five.

"You read it?" Ben finally asked, something raw and open in his voice.

No. Mark read it out loud, recall? But I want to hear from you. Not Mark's mocking rendition. The current version." She spoke low even as she was being straightforward. "Did you mean it, Ben?"

[He's caught now, held by her eyes and her question. His hands clench on the table, ink-stained fingers leaving minuscule smudges on the wood. When he does say something, his voice is barely a whisper.]

"Every word," he admitted. "I said every word."

Something was filling Sheila's chest, warm and a little frightening. "Which words? I only heard bits and pieces."

"You're the most beautiful person I've ever met." The words spill out more rapidly now, as if a dam had burst. "Not the way you look, though you're-you're beautiful-but the way you think. The way you stand up for people. The way you sing in chapel like the words even matter to you. The way you make everyone around you want to be better."

Sheila felt heat rise in her cheeks. Nobody had ever described her like that-not as perfect, not as untouchable, but as real. As someone whose thoughts and actions mattered more than her appearance.

"You wrote all that?" she asked softly.

"More, actually. Three pages. Seventeen drafts." A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. "I'm better at writing than talking, clearly."

"Why didn't you just give it to me? Instead of carrying it around where Mark could steal it?"

The smile had vanished. "Because girls like you never notice boys like me. And if they do, just to feel sorry for us."

"Girls like me," Sheila repeated, feeling the undertone in her own words. "What does that mean?"

Ben is too late to see that he has erred. His eyes widen, and he tries to take it back, but Sheila's expression has altered from questioning to menacing.]

"I didn't mean-that was wrong-"

"No, please. Tell me."

She crossed her arms, a gesture she knew made her look defensive but couldn't help. "What box have you put me in? Popular girl? Pretty girl? Girl who's too good for scholarship students?"

"Not what I meant!" Ben's voice pierced the library-unacceptable levels, and he got a firm "Shhh!" from Mrs. Namatovu. He fell back to a seething whisper. "I mean you're gifted, and you're confident and everyone likes you. You have friends. You belong here. I'm-I'm a scholarship student from a village you've never even heard of. I don't belong in your life."

"My world," Sheila answered slowly, "is not nearly so perfect as you suppose."

"What do you mean?"

She wanted to tell him-about the pressure, the expectations, the way everyone assumed she was just somehow always perfect inside. When on the inside she felt like she was always acting. About the way her parents' dreams for her sometimes made her feel trapped. About the way, it was exhausting to always be the perfect daughter, perfect student, perfect girl.

She'd never told anybody that. Not even Peace.

[She scrambles to her feet, gathering her books. Ben glances up at her, confused and with a kind of hurt.]

"Wait," he said. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. You told me something truthful." She adjusted the weight of the bag on her shoulder, pausing to gather her thoughts. "But Ben? The next time you feel like putting someone in a box-just like yourself-perhaps try actually talking to them first. You'd be surprised."

She started to wheel away, paused, and wheeled back, a snap decision made.

"Choir practice. Tomorrow, four o'clock. Come on over and watch."

"Why on earth-"

"Because I said so. And because maybe it's time you understood that girls like me notice boys like you more than you know."

[She turns away before he is able to respond, her chest racing in her breast. At her back, she can feel his eyes upon her, hope and confusion fighting in their depths.]

She drifted half the distance across the library before realizing what she had done. She had invited Ben Katongole-unassuming, poor, brilliant Ben-to watch choir practice. Mark would be furious. People would gossip. Her carefully fabricated social standing would be questioned.

And she found herself, to her own shock, not caring.

[Sheila pushes through library doors into the light of the evening sun, where students are lining up for dinner. She spots Mark standing over in the courtyard with his usual group, and their eyes connect. His eyes narrow with suspicion.]

This was going to be complicated.

But as she walked towards the dining hall, Sheila found herself smiling-really smiling, not the socially courteous facade she usually wore. Something was beginning, something that promised to be dangerous and exciting in equal measure.

She just had to find out if Ben Katongole was brave enough to reciprocate her halfway.