Boy vs. Girl (11 page)

The teacher looked over at Faraz expectantly.

He forced himself to smile through the pain. “Sorry, Miss. Just messing about…”

She looked dubious. “Well, the bell's gone. You should both be in class. Off you go then!”

And the two boys nodded and hurried away, Faraz trying his best to walk steadily despite the pain in his chest and on his side.

The teacher watched them go. A waste of space,
some of these Asian lads were. Absolutely nothing going for them whatsoever.

It was only at home-time that Faraz realised Maj had taken his phone.

* * *

At home, he had to try to explain what had happened to his phone during
iftar
.

Farhana was appalled. “That school of yours is mad! Why did no one step in to stop it?”

Ummerji was worried too. They had chosen that school because it was close by and had a lot of Pakistani children in it. They couldn't really afford the fees for a Muslim school – an Asian majority school had to be just as good, they reasoned. But there were times when she doubted the wisdom of their decision.

Meanwhile, Dad laughed about the incident. “Boys will be boys, eh? Stop fussing over him, Uzma, you'll turn him into a mummy's boy!”

“But this is serious,
beta
. This boy has beaten up our son and taken his phone… I think we should do something.”

“Ah, he has to learn to defend himself
sometime! Do you know how many fights I got into at school? You ask my mother, she'll tell you! By the time I was fifteen, no one could touch me – they were too afraid!”

Ummerji gritted her teeth.
Yes, but Faraz is not like you! Can't you see that?
But out loud she said, “So, what about the phone then?”

Dad scratched his head. “Well, the phone is a different matter. I will call the Head tomorrow. We'll get it back, don't worry.”

Later, Farhana came to Faraz's room and caught him nursing his wounds. “Faraz, you OK?”

Faraz nodded, then rubbed his side and grimaced. “That Maj is such an idiot, man!” he growled. “He's always on my case! I'd love to fix him once and for all…”

“Yeah, he sounds like a nasty piece of work.” Then she paused. “But Faraz, how come you didn't just walk away? You're meant to be fasting, remember? You're not supposed to get angry and that…”

“What was I supposed to do? Say, ‘Sorry,
brother
, I'm fasting, can this wait until after Eid?' Get real, Farhana!” His face was flushed and he felt ashamed. He hadn't wanted to fight during
Ramadan either, but some people just wouldn't be put off.

“I know,” said Farhana quietly. “I know it can be hard to keep control of your feelings. Sometimes they just get in the way of all your good intentions….”

* * *

Farhana had received a phone call too. Her phone had rung just after she got in from school. Undisclosed number. She had answered it.

Idiot. It was Malik.

“Farhana?” His voice was smooth, deep, just as she remembered it, and her heart skipped a beat.

“M-m-malik?” She didn't trust herself to speak.

“Farhana!” She could hear the smile in his voice, the relief. Misplaced. “Farhana, why haven't you been answering my calls? I've been going crazy here without you, I swear I miss you so much. Where have you been?”

Farhana had to take a few moments to steady herself as the world tilted. Wasn't this what she had been longing to hear? But not now, not in Ramadan,
not now when she had just decided to make a go of things, now that she had made so much progress.

Not now… please, not now.

“Umm, Malik, this isn't really a good time… I have to go…”

“Farhana, wait! Please don't hang up! I need to see you…”

“No, Malik, I can't do this now. You don't understand… this isn't going to work. We can't be together, not like you want. I'm changing… I'm trying to change… and it just wouldn't work. Please. Please try and understand.”

“Farhana, listen, whatever it is, we can work it out. I know we can. I want to be with you, just you. I-I-I love you… I love you.”

Silence.

Heart beating.

Tears stinging.

Oh, what a test. What a painful test…

“Please don't call me any more, Malik. I can't do this, OK?”

She cut off the phone and stuffed it under her pillow.

It rang again, the phone's vibrations shooting through her fingers. She bit her lip and shook her
head, tears springing to her eyes again. The phone stopped ringing after what seemed like an eternity.

She let out a ragged breath and brushed her tears away.
Just forget about it
, she told herself.
It doesn't matter. This is just a test. Allah will see you through.

But he called again.

And again.

And again.

By the time she pushed the ‘off' button on her phone, Farhana was sobbing, her hand over her mouth to stop the sound escaping. She couldn't take the pain, couldn't draw breath, couldn't stop the sobs that rose in her chest. Shaking, she curled over on to her right side and pulled the covers about her, over her shoulders, over her head, into her mouth. Anything to stop the sound escaping.

Faraz was jittery when he got into school that morning. He hadn't slept well and had woken up too late to eat well at
sehri
time. He considered missing the fast that day, then swept the thought aside. That would be the first step down a slippery slope – that was what had happened last year. And, of course, he dreaded seeing Maj again. To make matters worse, Dad was sure to call the Head about his missing phone and he knew that was going to cause some trouble.

He certainly wasn't going to risk a fight with Maj and a possible detention or worse for the sake of a stupid phone. Besides, if he didn't get his phone back, it would be easier to avoid Skrooz.

As it was, the day passed without incident. Maj was nowhere to be seen, there was no message from the Head asking him to come to the office and
Faraz breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it would all be OK after all.

But at the end of the school day, as he walked out of the gates, he caught sight of Skrooz's car parked, waiting. It was hard to miss it. Skrooz and about four other lads were sitting on the black BMW, smoking, while music blasted out from the car's powerful speakers.

Skrooz spotted him and waved him over. Faraz could feel the other kids' eyes on him as he walked over to the sleek black car.

They envy me, the idiots,
he thought.

“Hey, bro, good to see you – long time, eh?” Faraz found himself folded in Skrooz's embrace, inhaling smoke, cologne and sweat. He seemed even bigger than the last time he saw him.

Faraz greeted the other lads in turn. They all acknowledged him warily, the new favourite. He could see that they weren't that impressed with him.

What did Skrooz see in him, anyway? Was it his size? The fact that he looked like he could handle himself? Or did he sense a weakness in him, a desire to please, to be part of something?

Faraz dared not think about it as he got into the
car.
What are you doing, man?
But he was too afraid not to do what he knew they expected of him.

Everyone else piled in, Skrooz revved the engine several times, turned up the music and they were gone.

A crazy ride later, they parked up near an estate on the other side of town. He looked around at the others in the car through the smoke that hung, thick and cloying, in the close air of the car. Everyone was smoking something, everyone except him. He had never tried weed before. Being in the car, in that enclosed space, breathing in the slightly sweet smoky air was enough to make him feel light-headed.

His mind began to drift away from the guys' conversation about girls, guns and cars, stuff he wasn't really into anyway.

What are you doing here, Faraz? Is this what you want?

He knew that it wasn't, not now. Maybe a few weeks ago, he had wanted this more than anything in the world. But things were different now… how could he get out without getting burnt?

Then someone passed him a joint. Its end burned slowly, the smoke rising off it in a lazy
stream, clear and distinct at first, then merging with the haze.

Faraz hesitated.
I'm fasting,
he thought to himself.
Say it.

But he felt Skrooz's eyes on him. One look at his face and he knew that he would not be able to say anything.

Fumbling, he took the joint between his thumb and index finger, just like he had seen them do in the movies, as he had seen Skrooz do, and brought it to his lips.

He breathed in. The end glowed, red. He heard the crackle and hiss of burning paper.

The smoke hit his throat, harsh and fiery and tears sprang to his eyes. Try as he might, he couldn't contain the cough that erupted in his chest, his throat reacting furiously to the assault. He tried to hold in the smoke for as long as he could but eventually had to give up, hand the joint back, wheezing and spluttering.

The others roared with laughter, slapping him on the back, remembering their first time, ribbing him good-naturedly.

“It's always like that the first time,” smiled Mo, one of the lads, taking a long, deep drag of the
smouldering joint.

Faraz coughed and tried to laugh, tears streaming down his face. Whether from the heat of the joint or from shame, the tears came. He had broken his fast. He had cracked.

But the lads weren't laughing at him, they were laughing with him. They had all shared this ritual, this rite of passage, and now he was part of it too, whether he liked it or not.

Then Skrooz spoke. “What's up, Fraz? What's on your mind? You ain't been yourself…”

Faraz shook his head. “Nothing, man, nothing, just some beef at school…”

“Yeah?” Skrooz leaned over from the front seat. “Who's been troubling you, man?”

“This guy in my year, Maj, he started some trouble during one of my lessons. He said I wasn't nothing and that you wouldn't be able to help me there, at school… Then he took my phone…”

Skrooz's eyes clouded with anger.

“Nobody messes with the lads and gets away with it. Did you say his name was Maj?”

“Yeah.” Faraz was afraid of the look in Skrooz's eyes: furious yet cold.

“Oi, that's the bloke from the other side
of the green,” said Mo. “He rolls with dem lot from the Eastside Estate. Dem lot are trouble makers, man.”

“Then I think it's time we taught them a lesson, don't you?” Skrooz looked around at the others in the car who all nodded gravely.

“Dem lot need to be taught some manners, learn how to have respect…”

“Dey ain't got no respect, man!”

“Sort them out, blud, that's what we have to do!”

Everyone in the car was angry now, fired up, ready to defend one of their own. Faraz saw the rage in their eyes and was glad that the rage was on his behalf and that he would not be on the receiving end – this time.

Just then, two girls came walking by the car, the shorter one pushing a young baby in a buggy. They were English, these girls, white girls from the estate, dressed in velour tracksuits, their hair slicked back from their faces, their large earrings almost identical.

They slowed down to look into the car and Skrooz saw them. His eyes lit up and he quickly stepped out of the car. “Hey, Natalie! How you
doin', love?” he called out to the one walking with her hands in her pockets.

She turned to face him and snapped her gum, smiling at him, eyeing the car, his diamond rings.

“Yeah, I'm good… haven't seen you much around here. Where've you been?”

“Takin' care of business, that's all,” was Skrooz's reply. “What you doin' now?”

“Going over to me nan's – me mam's not home…”

“Forget that, man, come for a ride with us… we'll have some fun.”

The girl laughed then. “What kind of fun you have in mind, Skrooz?” She was teasing him.

“You know…” he said before ducking back into the car and grinning at the rest of the lads. “What do you say we have a bit of fun, lads?”

The others all nodded, grinning at the girl standing by the car door.

“What about the other one?” asked Mo, jerking his head towards the girl with the pushchair.

Skrooz shrugged his shoulders.

“What about your mate? Does she want to come along too?”

Natalie glanced over at her friend, who gave her a look and pointed to the buggy.

“Just drop him at home,” Natalie hissed. “Come on, we'll wait for you.”

Her friend stomped off, the buggy's wheels rattling against the rough pavement.

It was only when the girl got into the front seat and lit up a cigarette that Faraz saw how young she really was - she couldn't have been more than fourteen, fifteen at the most.

Everything felt so wrong. He looked out of the window, at the tattered grey estate, suddenly feeling alone and lost, as if the path in front of him had gone murky all of a sudden.

The others were hyped up, he could feel it in the air, and when the other girl walked up to the car without her child, they all cheered and passed around a fresh joint. The girls had several drags too. They weren't amateurs, clearly.

Faraz felt the air close round him again. He had to get out of there. He tapped Skrooz on the shoulder as he revved the car again and again, his hand on Natalie's thigh.

“I think I'll get home early, if that's all right.” He had to shout over the noise of the engine,
the music blasting from the speakers and the loud conversation all around him.

Skrooz looked at him closely, his eyes narrowed.

What is he looking for? What does he see?

But then his face relaxed into a smile and he nodded. “No problem, bro, no problem. We'll drop you, OK?”