most normal-sounding voice, which, ironically, sounded so far from normal it was frightening.
“Uh, it doesn’t look that way.”
“I’m just stretching.” I made a stretching sound and lifted my legs up as well, one at a time, while I kept my chest flat to the wall. “Oooh, feels good. So streeetched.”
“Mmmm.” Noah sounded amused now.
“It does, feels really, um, stretchy.”
“If you want, we can do a stretch session together. I have some mats. We can take this into the lounge. It might be more comfortable there.”
“NO! I’m good, all goooooddd,” I said, and then started to slither along the wall. The wall curved now, and I slithered around the curve and into the passage. I heard Noah’s steps behind me and saw him watching me out of the corner of my eye.
“What are you doing now?” he asked, sounding more amused by the second.
“Just sliding.” I continued to slide down the wall towards my bedroom.
“Sliding? Really?”
“Yup. You know . . . sliiiiding.” My bedroom door was in my sights now, but Noah was still following me.
“What exactly is it doing for you?”
“Mmmm, stretching out the chest, you know.”
“Interesting technique.” He sounded like he was teasing me now. Obviously, he wasn’t buying my ridiculous stretching act at all. Who would? And why hadn’t I just wrapped the towel around myself? Why had I thrown myself against the wall like an idiot? I could only conclude that my desperate lack of life experiences had caused me to choose this particular course of action, which was, to say the least, utterly absurd!
“What are you going to do when you get to the open bathroom door there?”
“Oh.” I stopped slithering and looked at the door.
“Are you going to stop there, or slither into the bathroom and around, pop out on the other side of the door or . . .” I swear I could hear a laugh bubbling up in him, just under his words, and I couldn’t take it anymore. So, I stopped my slither and I spun around. I should have done this ages ago!
“Alright, I’m not stretching or sliding.” I pointed to my chest, where my cleavage was spilling out and over.
Noah’s eyes travelled down to my chest, then they enlarged.
“What happened?” He quickly looked away.
“Apparently, this shirt shrinks in a tumble dryer,” I said, feeling defeated.
Noah looked like he was holding down a laugh.
“It’s not funny. I don’t have any other clothes. This is it. This little quarter of a shirt is all I have left.”
Noah looked back at me, his face serious now. “Oh yeah, that’s right. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about that. You only have the clothes you went to the hospital in. You must have been wearing them for days.”
Sudden mortification hit me. “I washed them! A lot. Especially my underwear. I did wash them! They’re clean.”
“I should have realized.”
I relaxed slightly when I saw that he wasn’t looking at my chest at all but right into my eyes.
“It’s not your job to think about those kinds of things,” I said.
“You should have said something,” he added.
I shrugged. “I guess I was embarrassed. I mean, whose clothes would I have worn? It’s a bit awkward to ask for clothes. Besides, it’s not like I can wear yours.”
“I can ask Maxine, I’m sure she won’t mind.”
I shook my head. “No. I can’t. She gave me chocolate and lent me her gym clothes and . . .”
“Wait! I can’t believe I didn’t think of this!” Noah’s eyes lit up excitedly.
“What?”
“I know the perfect place for you to get clothes from.”
“Where?” I asked, perking up, but then instantly lost the perk when a thought came to me. “I don’t have any money.”
His smile grew. “No, these are free.”
“Really?” I raised my brows at him.
“Yup!”
CHAPTER 24
A few hours later, when it was a decent hour to call on people, we found ourselves standing outside an apartment building back in downtown Joburg. I’d borrowed one of Noah’s T-shirts; it hung to my knees it was so big. I looked around. This place was obviously very cool. This was the kind of apartment that oozed coolness and trendiness. The kind of apartment that artists and other creatives would live in. A brightly colored mural covered the entire side of the building. The painted faces that stared down at me looked familiar, but I didn’t quite recognize them until . . .
“Nelson Mandela.” I pointed excitedly when one of the smiling faces leapt out at me.
“Yes,” Noah said.
“First democratically elected president, jailed for