Chapter 5 - THE DAY EVERYONE TURNED AGAINST MEKAYISE
There is a particular kind of silence that makes you feel unwelcome.
I experience it the moment I walk into the dining hall.
Conversations stop.
Heads turn.
Someone whispers my surname.
I pretend not to notice.
Ryan walks beside me, carrying her breakfast tray.
"What's going on?" she asks.
"I have no idea."
We find our usual table.
Sebastian is already there.
He is staring at his tablet.
The academy allows limited use of its internal student network for assignments and announcements.
Usually, nobody pays attention to it before breakfast.
Today, everyone seems fascinated.
Sebastian looks up.
"Kayise, you need to see this."
He slides the tablet toward me.
My photograph fills the screen.
It was taken during yesterday's rescue exercise.
I'm kneeling beside Ryan.
Above it is a headline.
GENERAL'S DAUGHTER FAILS BASIC LEADERSHIP TEST
I feel my face grow hot.
"What?"
Sebastian scrolls down.
Someone has posted my father's rank.
My full name.
My assessment results.
Even my preliminary recommendation for the information technology pathway.
A paragraph beneath the photograph suggests I have been receiving special treatment because of my family.
Another claims that Captain Ndlovu was instructed not to discipline me properly.
I stare at the screen.
"That's ridiculous."
"I know," Sebastian says.
Ryan takes the tablet.
Her face drains of color.
"Who posted this?"
"The account is anonymous," Sebastian says.
I read the comments.
Must be nice having a general for a father.
Some of us actually earned our places.
Imagine failing and still getting offered an advanced academic program.
Someone has written:
Princess Mthembu should go home.
I push the tablet away.
I have been called many things.
Spoiled.
Privileged.
Arrogant.
People make assumptions about me before they have spoken to me.
Usually, I ignore them.
But this is different.
Someone has taken private academy information and turned it into a weapon.
Information they should not have.
My stomach twists.
"That recommendation wasn't public," I say.
Sebastian nods.
"Neither were the assessment results."
Ryan keeps staring at the screen.
I notice her hands trembling.
"Ryan?"
She looks up.
"What?"
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah."
"You look pale."
"I didn't sleep well."
She returns the tablet to Sebastian.
Then she stands.
"I'm going to class."
I frown.
"You haven't eaten."
"I'm not hungry."
She walks away.
Sebastian watches her leave.
Then he turns toward me.
"Something is wrong."
"Obviously."
"I mean with Ryan."
I follow his gaze.
"She's been stressed."
"That's not what I mean."
I lean closer.
"What are you saying?"
He hesitates.
"Just be careful."
I don't like that.
"Sebastian, if you know something, say it."
"I don't know anything. That's the problem."
He lowers his voice.
"Yesterday, I saw her coming out of the research wing."
"So?"
"That area is restricted."
"Maybe she was summoned."
"Maybe."
He looks at the tablet again.
"But somebody with access to restricted information is feeding these rumors."
I don't answer.
Because a terrible thought has already entered my mind.
And I hate myself for thinking it.
By midmorning, the rumors have reached our instructors.
Captain Ndlovu orders me to report to her office.
I stand in front of her desk, trying not to look nervous.
She reads something on her computer.
"Mthembu."
"Ma'am."
"Have you shared any confidential assessment information with other cadets?"
"No, ma'am."
"Have you requested assistance from your father?"
"No, ma'am."
"Has anyone promised you preferential treatment?"
"No, ma'am."
She looks up.
"Then why is confidential material circulating with your name attached?"
"I don't know."
"That's not a satisfactory answer."
"It's the only honest answer I have."
She studies me.
For a moment, I expect her to shout.
Instead, she closes the document.
"Sit down."
I hesitate.
"Ma'am?"
"That wasn't a suggestion."
I sit.
She removes her glasses.
"Listen carefully. You are not responsible for every rumor people spread about you."
Something in my chest loosens.
"But you are responsible for how you respond."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Don't waste your energy fighting strangers on a message board. If somebody obtained your records improperly, we will investigate."
I nod.
"Thank you, ma'am."
She leans forward.
"And one more thing."
"Ma'am?"
"Never confuse a difficult decision with a wrong decision."
I think about yesterday.
About Ryan sitting on the ground.
About the twenty points I lost.
"Does that mean I passed?"
She almost smiles.
"It means you haven't learned to stop asking questions."
Despite myself, I laugh.
Then she becomes serious.
"Mthembu, I want you to start documenting anything unusual."
"Unusual?"
"Meetings. Requests. Assessments that don't follow the normal process."
My smile fades.
"Is something happening?"
"I don't know yet."
She pauses.
"But I intend to find out."
I leave feeling slightly better.
That feeling lasts exactly three hours.
Our afternoon lecture is supposed to focus on leadership under psychological stress.
Instead, someone has prepared a presentation about emotional regulation.
Instructor Smirnov stands beside the projector.
"Effective leaders must understand that fear influences decision-making," he says.
He advances the slides.
The first contains general information.
The second discusses breathing techniques.
The third includes a quotation.
I stop moving.
Because I recognize the words.
When you are scared, hold your breath for a second, count down to five, and begin controlled breathing.
My father's words.
Almost exactly.
But that isn't all.
Beneath the quotation is a description of a cadet whose father taught her to use breathing exercises to conceal fear from an opponent.
I feel the blood drain from my face.
Smirnov continues speaking.
I barely hear him.
I have never submitted that memory in an assignment.
I have never discussed it with an instructor.
I told Ryan about it two nights ago.
We were lying on our beds, talking about the things our parents had taught us.
She asked how I managed to stay calm during stressful exercises.
I explained the breathing technique.
I even told her what my father said about frustrating an opponent into making mistakes.
It was a private conversation.
A conversation between friends.
I slowly turn my head.
Ryan is sitting two seats behind me.
Her eyes are fixed on the desk.
She refuses to look at the screen.
Or at me.
Smirnov clicks to the next slide.
It contains a photograph of me entering office A5.
Underneath are the words:
SUBJECT K.M.: INITIAL FEAR RESPONSE — HIGH
My stomach drops.
What?
How?
My photograph was taken during the private assessment with the copper-haired man.
I turn toward Smirnov.
"Sir."
He stops speaking.
"Yes, Mthembu?"
"Where did you get that photograph?"
The classroom becomes silent.
Smirnov looks at the screen.
Then at me.
"That material shouldn't be in this presentation."
"Then why is it here?"
His expression changes.
"Class dismissed."
Nobody moves.
"NOW!"
Chairs scrape against the floor.
Cadets rush toward the exit.
I remain seated.
Ryan stands.
"Kayise—"
I look at her.
One glance.
That's all it takes.
Tears are gathering in her eyes.
And suddenly, I understand why she has been acting so strangely.
"Did you tell them?" I whisper.
She doesn't answer.
"Ryan."
Her lips tremble.
"Kayise, please."
I stand.
"Did you tell someone what I said about my father?"
She begins crying.
And her silence answers me before her words can.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
My heart feels as though someone has reached inside my chest and squeezed it.
I take one step backward.
Then another.
"Why?"
She covers her mouth.
I can barely hear myself when I repeat the question.
"Why would you do that to me?"
Before she can answer, the classroom door opens.
Colonel Venter walks inside.
He looks at Ryan.
Then at me.
May you like
And smiles.
"Excellent," he says. "Now we can begin the real assessment."
