Amy: St. Maryan Seven Series, #1

By Jorges P. Lopez

We have all got to that point where we are about to engage in something new...and we are not sure how to continue. We have all had that chance when we go to a new school or a new class and we are afraid of the reception. Some of our parents have dotted on us in basic or primary school...until it gets to a point when we have to leave them and manage on our own...

AMY is a COMING OF AGE novella in which a teenage girl gets to that point where she has to do an exam in order to join high school, only that our Amy has to go to a boarding school far away from home. She has been used to having things done for her...almost, and now she has to learn to cope on her own. And she has to make new friends. Her passing her exam becomes a stepping stone to a new challenge. But she eventually finds high school a lot more fun than she had ever anticipated. 

AMY is the FIRST novella in the ST MARYAN SEVEN SERIES. They tell stories that challenge teenagers about their perceptions, their choices, and give teachers and parents dealing with teenagers tips on how to manage them. AMY introduces the characters who feature in the series as well as grounds the narratives. Besides, this series teaches English Idioms as used in context, thereby helping the teenager improve in communication skills and creative writing. The idea here is that a second language is learnt more easily and quicker through narratives, not the textbook. Welcome aboard. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jorges P. Lopez
• Release date: Nov 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223965060

Jorges P. Lopez

Jorges P. Lopez has been teaching Literature in high schools in Kenya and Communication at The Cooperative University in Nairobi. He has been writing Literary Criticism for more than fifteen years and fiction for just over ten years. He has contributed significantly to the perspective of teaching English as a Second Language in high school and to Communication Skills at the college level. He has developed humorous novellas in the Jimmy Karda Diaries Series for ages 9 to 13 which make it easier for learners of English to learn the language and the St. Maryan Seven Series for ages 13 to 16 which challenge them to improve spoken and written language. His interests in writing also spill into Poetry, Drama and Literary Fiction. He has written literary criticism books on Henrik Ibsen, Margaret Ogola, Bertolt Brecht, John Steinbeck, John Lara, Adipo Sidang' and many others.

Book preview

Printed in Kenya

AMY

The

ST. MARYAN

Jorges P. Lopez

To those who fear

A new beginning; it takes some

Courage to achieve; whatever’s dear

Will come at a price. It is a little dumb

To think of idling back like deer

And hallucinate of fame.

For Purity

Prologue

The tension in the house was so thick you could break it into ice cubes. And what made it thicker was the fact that it was Christmas time and everybody around us was celebrating. That made the anxiety and the silence in our house even more ominous. You see, it was the fourth day after Christmas and everybody knew that the results of the previous year’s Standard Eight exam would be announced any time. Normally, the results were announced two or three days after Christmas Day, but this was the fourth day and nothing was forthcoming which put me in quite a quandary. I knew it was just a matter of time and since I had regularly burnt the candle at both ends through the year, I prayed that my hard work would bear fruit. All the same, I had been tearing my hair out for a few days. My younger sister – we call her ‘B’ – was avoiding her usual jokes for she knew what she was likely to be rewarded with – a shout, a click of the mouth or something worse.

I was sitting at the window of our common bedroom looking far into the clear blue sky in the horizon. Our house is on a hill slope at a place called Langas in the outskirts of Eldoret, a town which is about three hundred kilometers northwest of Nairobi, Kenya. The window of our shared bedroom faces east and the undulating terrain gives you quite a view; I mean it gives me quite a view when I am in a different mood. Although I had previously tried to keep my options open, that day I was as jumpy as a cat on coals and I was only trying to console myself by looking out there and trying to wonder how many girls out there were having a good time while I sat there waiting to be relieved by some newspaper or radio announcement yet dreading the same. Though I had done that exam to the best of my ability, my heart was in jitters.

‘May be the results have been cancelled and ...’ B said behind me.

My hair stood on end and I jumped so suddenly that I almost fell off the stool on which I had been brooding.

‘Go, get out of here! You nearly stopped my heart!’ I shouted as I turned and tried to collect my thoughts.

‘I...I’m sorry sis ...’

‘Don’t sorry me! Cut the crap and just get out!’

B who was standing at the door with a flask and a mug in her hands made a face, turned and walked away. A pang of guilt enveloped me. I sat there for some time trying to decide whether I should follow her and apologize or simply let bygones be just that. A few minutes later, Martha, our house help, came in and stood at the door looking at me. Pity and concern were written all over her face.

‘What!’ I said making sure she understood it was not a question.

‘What did you do to that girl Amy?’ she asked as she narrowed her eyes into thin slits.

‘Nothing.’

‘Call a spade a spade Amy; she can’t be crying for nothing.’ Martha made no bones about the issue.

I kept quiet as spasms of guilt assailed me.

‘You know she had made some drinking chocolate for you to make you feel better?’

That got me. Martha withdrew leaving me to take care of what I had created. I felt really awful. For B to go to the kitchen and fix something, even something as simple as a mug of brown chocolate, meant a lot. B is one of those girls who normally sleep in and make it their duty to avoid any work as long as there is someone else who can do it. She saves her time to make herself beautiful and listen to rhythm and blues.  

I walked out of the bedroom and went in search of her thinking that one good turn deserves another. She was neither in the kitchen nor in the sitting room, so I went out of the house and headed for the one place I was sure to find her - under the shade of the tall leafy mango tree in the compound of our homestead where she normally hangs out. It was around two-thirty in the afternoon and the shadow of the tree was beginning to look east. I was as right as rain - B was precisely under the tree, her eyes focused ahead. When she heard the crunch of dry leaves as I approached, she turned, saw me and turned quickly away.

‘I’m sorry B. I...I...what I did back there was foolish. I acted like a geek,’ I pleaded as I stood behind her.

She stared ahead unmoved. I carefully sat next to her.

‘Look B, I’m sorry. I’m going through hell and I can’t help some of the things I do. The delay of the results has really put me on the rack.’

I leant carefully towards her, then slipped my arm round her shoulders. Her muscles tensed; I could see she considered the apology a day late and a shilling short. But B is quick to forgive. She slowly relaxed as I gently leant her head to lie on my shoulder then rocked her softly. Her long wooly Somali hair caressed my cheek and I held her head there. We sat for a while without talking. When I was sure she was tranquil, I stopped rocking her but her head still snuggled on my shoulder.

‘Thanks for the chocolate...and for your understanding,’ I said.

‘It’s nothing...you’re my only sis,’ she said quietly.

‘Yeah, I know. I love you very much B. It’s only that this isn’t such a nice time for me.’

‘Don’t worry Amy, I’ll stick by you. I know I’ll need you when my time comes.’

Just then, we heard the sound of Black Bess, Dad’s old Volkswagen Variant. It is a run-down grey ’72 affair - whose kin are as dead as dodos. Its sound is unmistakable especially because it is the only one of its kind around. It always gives me the idea that dad was sold a lemon. Apart from the fact that it sounds like some angry miniature tank on its way to war, it has seen better days and is the only car I know whose engine is where its boot should be – that is giving the exception of my uncle’s beetle. But that’s a beetle! I’m talking about cars. In the place where you should find the engine, it has a cargo space and as a result, it has no grill. Its bonnet coming all the way to meet the bumper reminds one of an angry chubby-cheeked little girl with her lips pressed firmly together in an attempt to stifle a cry. When slightly open, the bonnet gives you the image of the snout of a shark; the car’s big round headlights go a long way to compliment this look.

The car made croaking sounds as it was revved severally outside the gate, then its groan was followed by the creaking of the wrought iron gate as somebody – Martha, I guessed – opened it. B and I rose to go meet dad as the nose of Black Bess appeared at the gate like the muzzle of some extinct animal, then the car came down the driveway to the house, its round headlights looking like the compound eyes of some large insect yet to be discovered. Dad was already out of the car and running towards us even before the car had stopped properly. He had removed his jacket and the sleeves of his pink shirt had been rolled back; his loose tie was flying in the wind. We stopped short thinking there was an emergency of sorts for dad was running like a one-man fire brigade, then I noticed he was waving a piece of white paper excitedly. On his face was plastered a wide smile that reminded me of a face I often used to see on a can of Blue Band margarine. For dad to be that excited, it meant quite something; he is a serious guy and mum often berates him for his often serious countenance.

‘Amy! Amy! You’ve done us proud!’

It was some time before what he meant registered in my head.

‘The results are out and you are first at Langas!’ He said as he reached us and hugged me passionately.

Langas is the family name for the primary school which B and I went to.

I felt faint and thought I would fall. I had sailed through and aced the test! The news was all so sudden it had shortened my breath. B was all over me hugging and kissing me like I was a long lost doll. Martha joined the celebration as dad held my hand and proceeded to show me the piece of paper he had been waving. I had scored four hundred and sixteen points out of a possible five hundred which was way beyond my wildest dreams. I had only one thought; to take the piece of paper and run to the small farm where my mum was working and show it to her. You see, my mum had been on my back the whole year and had severally acted the prophetess of doom by predicting I would probably repeat the class. I was so happy to prove her wrong that the one thought dancing around my head like a trapped butterfly was; show it to her! Show it to her!

I grabbed the piece of paper and shot off towards the house, round the corner where the driveway ends and down the slight incline that leads to the cattle shelter. I almost collided with her as she emerged from behind the milking sheds with a basket on her head.

‘Look! Look!’ I told her, unable to form better words to contain what I felt.

She grabbed me to steady me up, looked at the piece of paper I held and literally dropped the basket which was balanced on her head. She hugged me and danced me around ruining some of the sukumawiki which had fallen out of the now collapsed basket.

‘My dear girl you’ve done it! You’ve done it! You’ve made me proud!’

The crazy dance that was now threatening to turn into some orgy as my mother hugged