The Boy at the Back of the Class

by Onjali Q. Raúf

  “You lied to Mrs. Khan, you left school without permission, and you put yourselves in great danger. Behavior like this would usually lead to a temporary suspension from school.”

  Josie gasped and Michael winced. I could hear Tom swallowing nervously and even Ahmet looked scared.

  Mrs. Sanders went on. “However. We’ve spoken with all your parents, and I can understand fully that you thought this was an emergency. So…”

  I looked up at Mrs. Sanders and could feel everyone doing the same.

  “In this instance, you will not be suspended.”

  Tom yelped a small “Yessssss!” and Josie let out a huge puff of air that had been making her cheeks swell, and Michael gave a long sigh. And as soon as Ms. Hemsi had told him what had happened, Ahmet cheered and clapped. But even though I felt happy, too, I couldn’t feel fully happy because I still wanted to know something.

  “And what about Ahmet’s family, miss? Has the Queen found them already?”

  Mrs. Sanders shook her head and slowly leaned forward. “I think you should all know that the Queen…Well, there are some things that even she can’t do.”

  “But she’s the Queen,” Tom said, frowning. “She can do whatever she wants!”

  I could see Ahmet staring at Mrs. Sanders as if she wasn’t making any sense to him either.

  But Mrs. Sanders was shaking her head. “I’m afraid that’s not quite true. I’m sure that the Queen would like to try to help Ahmet in some way, but I doubt very much that she’ll be allowed to send out extra people to find his family. Especially when no one knows where they are.”

  On hearing Mrs. Sanders’s words, I felt something hard hit me in the middle of my chest. I wanted to tell her that she was wrong—that the Queen could help anyone if she really wanted to. But even though my mouth opened, it couldn’t say any words.

  “I know that may come as a huge disappointment,” said Mrs. Sanders, peering over her glasses at us and looking at me the longest. “But Ahmet has lots of people trying to help him find his parents. Though even if they do find them, it may take a long time—months, maybe even years—before they can join him here. That’s why he’s staying with Ms. York for now,” she added, nodding at Ahmet’s foster mum.

  We all stayed silent. And even though I didn’t want them to, I could feel my eyes beginning to get wet and my nose tickling and something heavy sinking in the pit of my stomach.

  Everything we had done had been for nothing. And the Greatest Idea in the World was really the Stupidest Idea in the World. In fact, it was probably the Stupidest Idea in the Whole Universe. And I knew that everyone was thinking it too.

  “Now,” said Mrs. Sanders kindly. “I want to show you something.” She took a newspaper from out of her bag and laid it on the desk in front of us.

  I looked over at Michael and Tom and Josie, but I think they must have all forgotten about the promise we made, because they immediately started to read the paper. So I wiped my eyes and looked at it too. I knew that it had to be okay to break a promise to your mum if your Principal was telling you to.

  A huge headline stared up at us from the front page, and alongside it was a large blurry image of me running up to one of the Queen’s Guards with Tom behind me. I could tell it was me because of my bright blue backpack, but I couldn’t see my face properly at all.

  The story said that the newspaper was going to run an international appeal to find Ahmet’s parents, which made Josie grin and whisper, “See?”

  This is what it said:

  Yesterday afternoon saw a centuries-old tradition in disarray, when the Changing of the Guard ceremony was disrupted by two nine-year-old children. Breaking through the barriers, they attempted to give one of Her Majesty’s palace guards a written note, asking the Queen to help them find the family of a refugee boy known only as “Ahmet.”

  The decisive actions of these children have served to remind us all of the shameful hesitancy and fear that often govern our actions—and those of our government.

  So, who is Ahmet, and where is his family?

  This paper is determined to help and urges our readers, our leaders, and our politicians to do what they can to find this young boy’s missing family and reunite them here on UK soil.

  Perhaps it is the actions of these children that will inspire political bodies across the world to finally heed the plight of refugee children everywhere. A fitting testament indeed to a young boy—whose story we have yet to learn—made famous by a daring act of true friendship. We appeal to all of you to not let the brave actions of these children be in vain. Help us find Ahmet’s family!

  After she had finished, Mrs. Khan put the paper down and looked at us with her eyebrows raised. “So you see,” she said, clasping her hands together and placing them under her chin, “all is not lost. Even if the Queen can’t do as much as she’d like to, there is a whole world of people who are whispering Ahmet’s name and trying to think of how to help instead.”

  * * *

  Later that morning, as I sat in lessons, I thought about what Mrs. Sanders had said. I thought about the World Wide Whispers being whispered right at that very moment and wondered how long it would take for all of them to reach the border gate people—and Ahmet’s mum and dad too.

  I had never thought about how loud a whisper can be if there are lots and lots of them. So, all that day, I whispered “Help Ahmet” out loud, too, whenever I could. So did Tom and Michael and Josie. And whenever we did it together, our whispers made us sound like an ocean.

  There are some days that you never, ever want to forget. Like birthdays and school trip days and Adventure Days.

  And there are other days when you want to forget everything that ever happened. Like when a bully bullies you, or a grown-up yells at you for doing something you didn’t do, or when someone you love most in the world suddenly dies.

  And then there are Roller Coaster Days. Those are days when one moment you’re so happy that you feel like it’s your birthday, but then the next you feel so sad that you want to hide in your bed until everything is over.

  That Friday, the day after we had learned about the World Wide Whispers, was a Roller Coaster Day.

  After morning attendance, Mrs. Khan suddenly told everyone to leave their things on their desks because we had to go to an emergency school assembly. We only ever have an emergency assembly if something bad has happened—like a fight or if something’s been stolen from a teacher. But Josie clapped her hands and asked, “Do you think they’ve found Ahmet’s parents already?”

  That made my heart leap up and feel like it was flying—maybe the emergency assembly was for that! So I looked over at Ahmet and gave him an excited wave.

  But the assembly wasn’t for that at all. Mrs. Sanders only wanted to tell everyone to be on their best behavior—even the teachers—because the reporters surrounding the school were clearly “not going anywhere anytime soon” and had put the school “firmly on the world’s radar.” Hearing this made everyone sit up straight, just in case there was a giant radar being beamed down from outer space to spy on us.

  Then Mrs. Sanders said that if anyone spoke to a reporter about me or Tom or Ahmet, or asked us any questions about what had happened, the police would know, and they might be expelled. This made everyone turn around and stare at us, and I could hear Jennie saying loudly, “See! Told you it was true! They did break into the Queen’s house!” and someone else replied, “They should have worn a mask! Then they wouldn’t have been caught!” But we didn’t mind—and Josie and Tom even started acting like famous people and began waving at everyone.

  But as we were leaving the assembly hall, Brendan the Bully pushed past us and whispered, “Smelly Refuge Bag!” at Ahmet, and Chris and Liam punched their fists into their hands like they were going to beat us up.

  I thought we should tell Mrs. Khan and Mrs. Sanders righ
t away, but Ahmet told me not to. He said bullies that just talk are better than bullies who actually punch because words don’t hurt as much. I don’t agree. Dad always used to say that words can hurt more than punches, because when you get a bruise or a bump after being punched, it disappears after a while and you can forget all about it. But words can stick around for a long time, and the meanest words stick around the longest.

  Tom didn’t think Ahmet was right either and said we should pull down Brendan the Bully’s pants in PE. Josie thought we should save up all our allowance and pay one of the bigger bullies to bully him for us. But then Michael said that bullying a bully was silly and that we should just ignore him. So that’s what we all agreed to do.

  Except we couldn’t.

  Because at first break, Brendan the Bully started to do something that made me hate him more than anything I had ever hated in my whole life. Even beets and Mr. Irons. Mrs. Khan says we should never, ever hate anyone because hating someone can eat up your insides and gives you heart disease. But sometimes you can’t help it. And I especially couldn’t help it when I heard Brendan the Bully and Liam and Chris singing the song they had made up.

  The song went like this:

  Ahmet the refugee smells like poo!

  So we’re gonna stuff him in a bag

  And flush him down the loo!

  I got so angry that as soon as I heard it, I shouted at them to shut up and leave Ahmet alone, and so did Michael and Josie and Tom. But that only made them sing it louder and louder and louder, which made Ahmet’s face get redder and redder.

  I looked around for a teacher to tell, but Mr. Irons was the only teacher I could see on duty, and I could see right away that he had heard Brendan the Bully’s song, too, and wasn’t going to do anything about it. He just stood and watched us with his nose in the air.

  By the time Brendan the Bully had begun to sing the song for the fourth time, I think all of us had forgotten what Mrs. Sanders had said about everyone being on their best behavior and the giant radar and about the reporters everywhere. Because suddenly, without even thinking about it, I made a running lunge for Brendan the Bully—and Tom and Josie and Michael did the same! We all crashed into each other and, falling to the floor, began punching and kicking Brendan the Bully and Liam and Chris just as hard as we could. I think I must have been punched and kicked back at, too, but I was so angry I couldn’t feel anything.

  Ahmet stood frozen to the floor and watched us, not knowing what to do, but after a few seconds, he roared and, jumping on top of Brendan the Bully, began to hit him as hard as he could too!

  The fight didn’t last for more than a minute, because a few seconds after we had all fallen to the floor, we could hear a whistle hurrying our way and clicking noises like camera buttons being pressed, as lots of pairs of hands started to pull us away. We were marched into school and up the stairs, and the next thing I knew, we were all standing in Mrs. Sanders’s office, being stared at angrily by not only Mrs. Sanders, but Mrs. Khan and Ms. Hemsi too.

  I couldn’t really hear what they were saying because my ears had become so hot, but I think I heard the words “ashamed,” “never in the history of the school,” and “parents” being said. We all got a detention for fighting—even Ahmet. But it wasn’t all bad. When my ears had cooled down, Josie told me that when Mrs. Sanders heard Brendan the Bully’s song, she had given him and Liam and Chris two weeks’ detention and said she would be calling their parents too!

  But as it turned out, Brendan the Bully’s punishment was more serious than even we could have imagined, because by that very evening, Brendan the Bully—and Mr. Irons—were Breaking the News.

  On every single channel, and in all the weekend papers, headlines like VIDEO OF BULLY ATTACKING REFUGEE BOY SPARKS OUTRAGE and TEACHER STANDS ASIDE AS SCHOOL BULLY THREATENS REFUGEE BOY and SCHOOL BULLY TRASH-TALKS REFUGEE CHILD were everywhere, so that by Monday morning, the school was surrounded by even more cameras and reporters and vans with satellite dishes on their roofs than before.

  Brendan the Bully and Liam and Chris didn’t come into school for three whole days after they had broken the news, and when they did, their parents came with them and made them apologize to Ahmet in front of everyone at morning assembly. They still had to do detention every day for two weeks too! It made everyone glad they had been caught by the news people.

  Brendan the Bully still looked at Ahmet with a horrible scowl on his face whenever he thought no one could see him, and one time in the cafeteria, he walked right up to Ahmet with his fists clenched as if he wanted to punch him. But instead of being scared, Ahmet just looked at him with his lion eyes and grinned. After that, Brendan the Bully never went near Ahmet again.

  And just when we thought things couldn’t get any better, that week Mr. Irons and his whistling nose disappeared and were never heard of ever again. Boring Miss Stevens had to take over his class, which probably made them just as miserable as they had been before. But no one else really cared about that, because now everyone was free to scream and laugh and shout as much as they wanted to at recess again.

  So we did—and we all screamed and laughed and shouted louder and longer and harder than we had ever done before.

  Because when you’re playing with your friends and don’t have any bullies to worry about anymore, that’s exactly what you should be doing.

  Although Brendan the Bully wasn’t bullying Ahmet anymore and Mr. Irons was gone, I was still worried. Eight whole days had passed since our Emergency Adventure and Ahmet’s parents still hadn’t been found. And even though Mrs. Sanders had said the Queen couldn’t really help us, I knew that deep down we were all still hoping she would do something.

  The hardest thing was trying to make Ahmet understand that the Queen hadn’t been able to help. Every morning, as soon as he would see us on the playground, he would ask, “The Queen will find today, yes?”

  After a few days of trying to tell him no and seeing him look sad, we began to shrug and say, “Maybe” as hopefully as we could.

  “The gates will have been shut last Friday,” said Josie quietly as she gave her ponytail an angry pull. Even though we didn’t usually have PE on Thursdays, Mrs. Khan had decided to treat us, so we were all sitting on a bench waiting for the monkey bars and feeling sad.

  “Ahmet, your turn,” said Tom, pointing to a free space.

  Ahmet ran over to the bars and leaped up to the highest rung he could reach. He was as good at climbing as he was at soccer. When I asked him how he could jump so high and climb so fast, he shrugged and said, “Fences.”

  “If the gates are shut already and no one’s helping us to find Ahmet’s family, why do you think the reporters are still here?” asked Michael, carefully patting the sides of his Afro so that it would stay in place when it was his turn at the bars.

  It was a question all of us had been asking ourselves, because even though there were fewer reporters than last week, they were all still asking us questions about Ahmet whenever they saw us.

  “Maybe they think we’ll try to do something else to help Ahmet find his family and they’re just waiting to see what it is?” suggested Josie.

  For the rest of the day, we tried our best not to think about the reporters and the newspaper appeal and the Queen, but on the way back home, a reporter suddenly shouted out, “Kids! What do you think of Mr. Fry’s views about refugee children like Ahmet?” and another one shouted, “Do you have a response? Do you want to say something back to him?”

  We all said, “No comment,” as usual, but we gave each other a puzzled look. None of us knew who Mr. Fry was or what he had to do with us or Ahmet, but we promised each other we would try to find out that night.

  When I got home that afternoon, I found lots more reporters in front of my apartment building. It was strange because there used to be only one or two before—but now there were at least fifty and
they were all shouting questions at me about Mr. Fry! I ran past them as fast as I could and saw Mum standing just inside the main door looking out for me.

  “Mum!” I cried, running up and hugging her as she quickly buzzed the door open. “You’re home early!”

  Mum hugged me back and hurried me inside. When we got to our apartment, I could see the television was on, which was another sign that something odd was happening, because Mum only really watches TV at night.

  Quickly switching it off, Mum bent down to look at me closely and asked, “Are you okay? It can be scary having so many people chasing you and asking questions.”

  I nodded. “But, Mum, why are you home early?”

  Mum stroked my cheek before replying, “Because I need you to do something really important—and help us all to help Ahmet.”

  Motioning for me to sit down at the kitchen table, Mum placed a large peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk in front of me. My stomach gave a growl because it likes peanut butter sandwiches the best. Even though they make my mouth go sticky.

  “Darling, do you know who Mr. Fry is? He came to your school once—a long time ago. He’s our local member of Parliament.”

  I frowned and shook my head. “But the reporters were asking about him.”

  Mum nodded. “I bet they were,” she said, shaking her head as she sat down opposite me. Grabbing some newspapers from the kitchen counter, she spread them out in front of me. “This is why,” she said. Her voice was calm but her cheeks were pink, so I could tell she was mad about something.

  I looked down at the newspapers. They were all different, but all of them had the same picture on the front page. It was of a man with gray hair wearing a dark suit and a blue tie, and above him in big letters were headlines like, NO MORE! REFUGEE INFLUX FLOODING BRITAIN and BRITAIN’S NEEDS MUST COME FIRST and MP FRY LABELS BUCKINGHAM PALACE KIDS “RADICAL REFUGEE TERRORISTS.”