The Pastor's Daughter

Chapter Two

After highschool I planned to go to Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University in Summerstrand. My father wanted me to go to the University of Cape Town or Wits University like some of the sons of other mayors did, but with my grades it wasn't possible.  Not that I was a bad student. I just didn't focus on my studies, and my grades weren't up to snuff for the ivy leagues. By my matric year it was pretty much touch and go whether I'd get accepted at NMMU, and this was my father's alma mater, a place where he could pull some strings. During one of his few weekends at home my father came up with the plan to put me over the top. I'd just finished my first week of school, and we were sitting down for dinner. He was home for three days on account of a Mayor Day weekend.

"I think you should run for RCL President, " He said. "You'll be graduating in December, and it will look good on your record. Your mother thinks so too, by the way."

My mother nodded as she chewed a mouthful of peas.She didn't speak much when my father had the floor, though she winked at me.

"I don't have a chance of winning," I said. Though I was probably the richest kid in school, I was by no means popular. That honour belonged to Siya Nkosi, my best friend. He'd led the rugby team to back and back titles as the captain of the team. He was a stud.  Even his name sounded cool.

"Of course you can win" my father said "We Newfeldt's always win."

"But what if I don't want to?"

My father looked at me. He was wearing a suit, though it was over 30°C in the house, and it made him even more intimidating. 

My father always wore a suit, by the way.

" I think," He said slowly, "That would be a great idea."

I knew when he talked like that, the issue was settled. That's the way it was in my family.  My father's word was law. But the fact was, even after I agreed, I didn't want to waste my afternoons meeting teachers after school - after school!- every week for the rest of the year, dreaming up themes for school dances or trying to decide what colours the streamers should be. That's really all the RCL presidents did, at least back when I was in high school. 

But then again, I knew my father had a point. If I wanted to go to NMMU,  I had to do something. I didn't play an instrument or rugby or even soccer. I didn't excel in the classroom. Hell,  I didn't excel at much of anything. Growing despondent, I started listing the things I could actually do,but to be honest, there really wasn't much. I could tie eight different types of sailing knots. I could walk barefoot across hot asphalt further than anyone else I knew. I could balance a pencil vertically on my finger for thirty seconds- but I didn't think that any of these things would stand out on a varsity application. So there I was, lying in bed all night long, slowly coming to the realisation that I was a loser.  Thanks Dad.

The next morning I went to the principal's office and added my name to the list of candidates.  There were two running- John Schuster and Marilyn Foreman. John was the kind of guy who'd pick cotton off your clothes while he talked to you. He was a good student and raised his hands every time in class. If he was called to give the answer, he would almost always give the right one, and he'd turn his body from side to side with a smug look on his face. John didn't stand a chance. I knew that right off. Marilyn was another matter. She was a good student as well. She'd been the junior class representative the year before. The only real strike against her was the fact she wasn't attractive, and she'd put on another 10kg that summer. I knew that no single guy would vote for her.

After seeing my competition, I figured, I must have a chance after all. My entire future was on the line here, so I formulated a plan. Siya was the first to agree.

"Sure, I'll get all the guys on the team to vote for you"

"How about their girlfriends too?" I asked.