Bhangra Babes (7 page)

We didn't say anything for a moment. I'm sure Geena and Jazz were having exactly the same thoughts as I was—which were that there was no way we'd be in this awkward position if Mr. Arora wasn't engaged to Auntie. However, I could just imagine the hassle Auntie would give us if we didn't do what he asked.

“We'll try,” I said gloomily.

“This is ridiculous,” Geena complained when we were a safe distance away from Mr. Arora's classroom. “Why do
we
have to be the ones to make an effort? If

this girl hasn't made any friends yet, it's because nobody likes her.”

“She looks like a thug too.” Jazz shuddered melodramatically. “That hair.”

“You know, technically Mr. Arora can't make me do anything,” Geena said thoughtfully. “He's head of the lower school, and I'm in the upper school.”

“Oh, I'd like to see you tell him that,” Jazz sniggered. “Auntie would love it.”

“I'm not scared of Auntie,” retorted Geena.

“Of course you are,” Jazz said. “We
all
are.”

“This is your fault, Amber.” Geena turned on me. “If you hadn't annoyed Kiran the first time you met, she might be a bit more pleasant.”

“May I remind you that I was the one who had a newspaper stuffed down her sweater?” I snapped. “Look, we're missing the point here.”

“Which is?” Jazz queried.

“Well, don't you think Mr. Arora and the other teachers are coming on a bit heavy?” I went on. “We've had new kids start at the school loads of times. And they don't usually have such a big fuss made of them.”

Geena frowned. “You mean—there's something odd about Kiran?”

“That's exactly what I mean,” I replied. “There's some sort of mystery. …” I thought for a moment. “I think I've got it.”

“What?” Jazz asked eagerly.

“I reckon Kiran was a troublemaker at her last

school,” I said slowly. “Maybe even a bully. And Mr. Arora's doing his best to stop her from going down that road again here.”

Geena put her head on one side as she considered. “Actually, that makes perfect sense,” she admitted.

“She
looks
scary,” said Jazz. “Yes, I'll buy that.”

“I suppose we'd better go and talk to her,” I sighed as we went into the playground. “I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Arora's watching us from his classroom window.”

“If we could get her annoyed, she might thump one of us,” said Jazz eagerly. “Then she'd be expelled, and we'd be rid of her forever.”

“I nominate Amber,” said Geena.

“Forget it,” I said. “We're all in this together.”

Kiran glanced up from her magazine as we approached. She looked totally underwhelmed to see us.

“Hi,” I said in a jolly voice. “How's it going?”

“Go away,” snapped Kiran. “I know you're only here because Mr. Arora sent you.”

“Oh, that's nonsense,” Geena blustered.

“I saw you in his classroom,” she said coolly. “And he's watching us right now.”

We all turned round just in time to see Mr. Arora dive out of sight behind a cupboard.

“Er—all right, I admit it,” I muttered. “But at least we're
here
—”

“Excuse me,” Jazz murmured, sidling away, “I need the bathroom.”

“So why don't you try being a bit more pleasant?” I went on. “We might end up getting on better.”

“Sorry,” whispered Geena, backing away from me. “Something I've got to do.”

“You think we could be friends?” Kiran asked with a fixed smile on her face.

“Well, maybe
friends
is a bit strong,” I said cautiously. “How about distant acquaintances?”

“Speaking of friends”—Kiran's smirk was getting wider—“your sisters seem to be getting on awfully well with that boy.”

“Which boy?” I roared, spinning round.

There was Rocky, and there were Geena and Jazz fluttering around him like flirtatious butterflies. How sneaky is that?

“Sorry,” I threw over my shoulder at Kiran. “Something just came up.”

“Don't worry,” Kiran called after me sarcastically. “Tell Mr. Arora I'll be fine.”

Call me an idiot (Jazz and Geena do, often), but I felt a
teeny
bit guilty as I charged over to elbow my way between Rocky and Geena. But why should I? If Kiran wasn't going to try to be friendly, then why should I?

“I see you're playing it cool with Rocky,” Kim remarked as we headed into school a little later for afternoon lessons.

“I was only hanging on to his arm because I felt a bit faint,” I said dismissively

“I could tell that Jazz and Geena were concerned,” Kim replied, “by the way they were trying to shove you aside.”

I ignored her. “You know, this isn't getting me anywhere,” I said.

“Oh, good.” Kim looked relieved. “Are you going to forget about this ridiculous bet, then?”

“I didn't mean that,” I said. “I meant that my strategy to get Rocky to like me best isn't working.”

Kim raised her eyebrows. “I didn't know you had a strategy.”

“I was relying on my natural charm.”

“Well, that was bound to be a mistake, wasn't it?”

I resisted the urge to put my hands round Kim's throat and squeeze. “I need to find out more information about him,” I said thoughtfully. “Where he lives. What he likes doing at weekends. His hobbies.”

“There was a bhangra CD sticking out of his bag,” remarked Kim.

I stared at her. “Are you sure? I didn't notice.”

“You were too busy fluttering and twittering around like a lovesick parrot,” Kim replied. “Yes, I'm sure.”

“Nice work, Sherlock.” I grinned, slapping Kim heartily on the back. “That's just the kind of inside information I need.”

The following day, Friday, started promisingly. This time I had a plan, and I laughed smugly and silently as I watched Geena and Jazz falling over themselves

to impress Rocky before school. The obvious was no longer for me. I was going to be subtle. I was going to be cool. And I would win.
Yes,
he would be mine, all mine.

Break time was the appointed hour for me to put my plan into action. Before Miss Jackson had finished giving out German homework, I was sneaking my books into my bag. When the bell went, I leaped to my feet like a light-footed gazelle.

“Shall we—” Kim began.

But I never did hear what she was proposing. I whisked out of the classroom and into the playground to make my move, leaving Kim far behind me.

I was actually the first person out there, which has never happened to me before or since. But seconds later doors opened all round the building, and streams of other kids came pouring out.

I waited and watched. It was essential that Rocky come out before Geena and Jazz. Otherwise my plan would have to wait till another day.

Oh, joy. Here he was.

Now it was up to me. I fumbled in my bag and found my bhangra CD. We had quite a few of them lying around at home, and I'd chosen one by Punjabi MC.

I sidestepped my way casually over to Rocky. He didn't see me. Then I “accidentally” dropped the CD in his path, rather like a Victorian lady might have dropped a handkerchief in front of her admirer.

“Oh, silly me—” I began.

Of course, my plan was for Rocky to pick it up, say,

“Why, Amber, I didn't know you were into bhangra! You've got good taste as well as being stunningly beautiful,” etc., etc.

It didn't work out at all like that. Oh, Rocky bent down to pick up the CD, yes he did. But at exactly that precise moment, George Botley dived in from the left to do the same. Their heads met with a resounding crack.

“George, you idiot!” I muttered.

“Ow!” George moaned, rubbing the side of his head.

“Are you all right, Rocky?” I asked anxiously.

“Yeah, I reckon so.” Rocky shot George a poisonous stare. “You want to look where you're going, mate.”

“You sure you're not concussed or something?” I went on, ignoring George, who wandered away, looking sheepish.

“I'm fine.” Rocky checked out the CD, then handed it to me. “So you're into bhangra?”

“Why, yes,” I said flirtatiously. “Isn't everyone?”

“I'm into bhangra fusion,” Rocky replied. “Hip-hop and rap mainly. I write my own stuff, you know. I like to mix in a bit of reggae and sometimes a few Bollywood beats too.”

“You do?” I breathed. Was there anything Golden Boy couldn't do?

“Yeah.” Rocky was all lit up with enthusiasm. “I've got my own recording studio with decks and everything at home. My dad's helping me set it up in the flat over our garage.”

“Where do you live?” I asked. This was the very information that might help me win the bet.

“We've just moved into Temple Avenue,” Rocky replied.

Wow. Now I was impressed. You had to be quite seriously loaded to live in Temple Avenue. The whole of our street would fit into one back garden there.

“Someone told me that there's a fantastic music shop called Shanti's on the Broadway,” Rocky went on. “Do you know it? I thought about checking it out tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, I know it,” I said. “I go myself most weekends.” Which was almost true. I did pop in there occasionally. “Maybe I'll see you there?”

“You got it.” Rocky pointed his finger at me. “I'll be there after lunch.”

Oh, me too,
I promised him silently as he strolled off. Even if it meant locking Geena and Jazz in the garden shed. Even if it meant tying Auntie to the cooker with a length of rope. I'd be there.

“I
've got a big pile of dirty socks to be washed. By hand. My trainers need new Odor-Eaters. My hairbrush needs de-hairing, and I must have the hard skin on my feet removed.” I sighed happily. “Oh, how I love having slaves.”

“You're wasting your time with that list,” Jazz called. She was sprawled on our bed, straightening her hair with ceramic irons. “I won't end up being your slave for a day. You and Geena will be
mine.”

I ignored her. “Oh, and my pet snake's tank needs cleaning out.”

Jazz looked puzzled. “You don't have a pet snake.”

“I know,” I replied. “I'm thinking of getting one, just so you can clean it out.”

“Hmm,” Jazz said suspiciously. “You seem very confident that you're going to win this bet.”

“Quietly confident, yes,” I agreed, looking as innocent as I knew how. “I know that my charm and good looks and personality will carry the day.”

“Just how insane
are
you?” Jazz inquired.

I prevented myself from smiling even just a little. Of course, Jazz and Geena could not know about my plan to meet Rocky that very afternoon at Shanti's music shop. I had prepared myself by putting on my new cropped jeans and pink T-shirt, with subtle makeup— just a touch of Pink Poodle lip gloss and mascara.

Geena put her head round our bedroom door. “Auntie's in a terrible mood,” she whispered. “She's tearing Mr. Arora to bits downstairs.”

“How could you possibly know that,” I asked, “unless you were listening at the door?”

“I was just passing by, and the living room door happened to be ajar,” Geena replied. “Oh, what the hell. Yes, I listened.”

“Is it about Mr. Arora's auntie?” asked Jazz.

Geena nodded. “Her latest idea is that they hold the reception in the gardens of a stately home, and have peacocks wandering about. Oh, and she wants Mr. Arora to arrive at the gurdwara riding a white Arab stallion. With maybe a peacock or two there as well.”

“That'll be fun, trying to ride a horse down the Broadway,” I remarked.

“So Auntie's really mad,” Jazz giggled. “Ooh, I want to hear.”

She slid off the bed and headed for the door. Geena followed her downstairs, so I thought I might as well go too. We all felt a bit sorry for Auntie, really, but we couldn't help enjoying the fact that she'd found out what it was like to have an interfering relative. It was karma. Definitely.

“I'll end up tearing my hair out at this rate,” Auntie sighed as we gathered at the bottom of the stairs to listen. “Is that what you want? A bald bride?”

“I'm sure you'd still look lovely,” said Mr. Arora placatingly.

“Seriously,
Jai.” Auntie sounded very annoyed. “You're going to have to tell her, as politely as you can, that Johnny and your parents are making the final decision on all the arrangements.”

“Um …” Mr. Arora, on the other hand, sounded depressed. “It's not quite as easy as that, Susie. She means well, you know.”

“I know,” Auntie agreed. “Unfortunately, that doesn't really help.”

“It's just that she hasn't got any family of her own to fuss over,” Mr. Arora said apologetically. “My uncle died a few years ago, and her son moved to the USA.”

“Presumably because there aren't any direct flights to the moon yet,” Auntie muttered.

“He didn't do it to get away from her.” Mr. Arora sounded a little annoyed himself now. “He got a very good job with IBM.”

“So, are you saying you're not going to do anything about it?” Auntie demanded. “She rang me at

six o'clock this morning to tell me she'd booked the caterers.”

“That was good of her—” Mr. Arora began.

“Johnny booked a different set of caterers two days ago!” Auntie was beginning to raise her voice now, which was never a good sign. “There's a cancellation fee if we pull out! And talking of food, I need one of you girls to go to the supermarket on the Broadway for me.”