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 twenty-seven years, recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize, called Madiba, which means father of the nation.”
“That would be him,” Noah said with a smile.
I smiled back at him, still amazed by the strange way my brain worked. How it was remembering some things in crystal-clear detail, but others were just a blur, and others were still totally out of my reach. I glanced to my left, where a big blue sculpture rose up out of the sidewalk. It was abstract and I liked it very much, even though I had no idea what it was meant to be. I scanned the buildings and started noticing more and more sculptures and pops of color.
Something about the art and the sculptures and the way it seemed so laid back and casual here resonated with me. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it made me flutter inside. Maybe I was an artist? A sculptor. Some creative person? The idea made me happy.
“Who lives here?” I asked.
“My sister.”
“Wait, no. I can’t borrow clothes from your sister. I don’t even know her.”
“It’s okay, you won’t be borrowingherclothes.”
“Hello!” A voice came through the intercom.
“Hey. It’s me!” Noah replied.
“Come up,” the voice said, and then the gate buzzed open.
We walked inside and Noah went straight for the staircase and started walking up it. “If it’s notherclothes I’m borrowing, then whose?”
He looked back at me over his shoulder. “My sister’s a stylist for TV and theatre. She has a whole wardrobe of clothes left over from productions, or clothes she made for productions. And she loves dressing people up, so you’re in luck!”
“Really,” I said, taking the stairs two at a time to keep up with Noah. The man was fit. That’s for sure.
“We’re here,” Noah said, stopping outside a bright yellow door. I looked down the passage. All the other doors were brown or gray, but hers was like sunshine. It made me feel warm from the inside out, as if I’d just swallowed the sun.
“Hey.” I heard a voice and then the door opened. Noah and his sister fell into a big hug and, when she pulled away, I found myself looking at the coolest person I’d ever seen. I stared at her for a while, trying to take her all in, but not wanting to be rude.
“Hey there,” she said, and also pulled me into a hug.
“Oh. Hi. Thanks.” I patted her on the back awkwardly, not sure how to respond.
