My heart beat fast at the last headline, but before I could read anything else, Mum gathered the papers back up again.
“Let’s put these aside for now, darling. I don’t want you to read the articles because most of it’s just silly nonsense.” I watched as Mum turned to put the newspapers back onto the counter and then faced me again. “The reason I showed them to you is because I wanted you to see the kinds of headlines Mr. Fry has helped to create today, and for you to understand that there are some people—like him—who think refugee children like Ahmet shouldn’t be allowed into the country.”
“But why not, Mum?” I asked, feeling angry. “They haven’t done anything wrong!”
“I know that—and I’m sure deep down these people know that too. But remember what we said about some people being afraid of anyone different from them?”
“So you mean Mr. Fry—and all the people like him—are just like Mr. Greggs?” I asked, scrunching up my nose as if the name smelled.
“Yes, exactly.” Mum grinned. After a few seconds the grin disappeared. “And there’s also something else you need to know. Mr. Fry, you see, has said it was Ahmet who made you and Tom go to Buckingham Palace that day and—”
“But that’s a lie!” I cried out, feeling my cheeks beginning to burn.
“I know it is, darling—and so do lots of other people. But that’s why I’ve had a long talk on the phone with Mrs. Sanders and…well, we’ve come up with a plan.”
I sat up and, pushing my sandwich plate away, told my ears to listen extra carefully—because any plan of my mum’s would be the best plan ever!
“Now. We think that people like Mr. Fry shouldn’t be on the front pages of any newspaper. It’s your story, and Ahmet’s story that people need to hear. So, how would you feel about talking to a reporter today—and telling them all about your letter to the Queen and Ahmet trying to find his family, and all the things that you’ve done for each other?”
“But…you told me to say ‘no comment.’ ”
“I know I did,” said Mum. “I wanted to protect you, and Ahmet too. But when people like Mr. Fry start telling lies, it’s time to speak out.”
“So you mean I should tell them about the Greatest Idea in the World and the Emergency Plan and the Queen and everything?” I asked, feeling both scared and excited.
“Yes,” said Mum. “But it won’t just be you on your own. Tom and Josie and Michael and Ahmet will be with you, too, and you can all share your story together.”
I clapped my hands. “Mum, that’s the best plan in the whole world!”
Mum laughed and, getting up, said, “I’m glad you think so! Now finish that sandwich and let’s get back to school! Mrs. Sanders has suggested we hold the interview in your classroom, so we need to be there in”—Mum looked at her watch—“half an hour. Plenty of time for you to wash your face and look your best too. Chop-chop!”
I gobbled down my peanut butter sandwich, gulped down my glass of milk, scrubbed my face, brushed my hair, polished my school shoes, and, checking I had the Greatest Idea in the World with me in my backpack, got Mum to tie my school tie extra neatly. I thought I had done everything in three minutes, but then Mum said, “That was good for ten minutes!” which made me look at the clock and shake my head.
As we headed downstairs to the main door, Mum grabbed my hand and said, “We’re going to have to run very fast to the bus stop, okay? Let’s pretend all the journalists are zombies out to get us!”
I nodded and grabbed Mum’s hand tightly. I tried to tell my heart to stop thumping so loudly because there weren’t really any zombies around, but it wouldn’t listen. As soon as Mum opened the door, I ran just as fast as I could, pulling Mum behind me. I heard her say, “In a rush! No comment!” until we reached the bus stop.
When we got to school and walked into our classroom, Tom and Michael and Josie were already there with their parents, and Ahmet was with his foster mum and Ms. Hemsi. Mrs. Khan was talking to two people I had never seen before, but Michael told us that one was a lawyer and the other one was a Case Worker.
“What do you think they’re all talking about?” asked Josie, looking at the grown-ups standing in the corner and whispering.
“Probably about that horrible MP who’s saying Ahmet made us go to Buckingham Palace,” I said.
“Really?” asked Josie. “Mum and Dad didn’t tell me anything about that! They just said if I helped tell the story we’d get some money for a nice vacation.”
Just then, Mrs. Sanders walked in, followed by a woman in a suit and a man with a camera.
“It’s them,” whispered Josie loudly. “The reporters!”
“Everyone,” said Mrs. Sanders, waving them forward. “This is Ms. Hall and Mr. Myers.”
We looked up at Ms. Hall and Mr. Myers, who smiled and waved at us.
“And this is Ahmet’s caseworker, Mrs. Khalid,” said Mrs. Khan, pointing at the woman in the glasses standing next to Michael’s mum.
We all smiled.
“Let’s begin, shall we?” Mrs. Sanders clapped. “First, Ms. Hall is going to speak to the four of you about the Greatest Idea in the World. And then she’s going to speak to Ahmet—with Ms. Hemsi’s help, of course. And Mr. Myers will be filming you all and then will take some nice pictures of the plans. Have you got them?”
“Right here,” said Mum, holding up my backpack.
After Mrs. Sanders and everyone had finished fussing over our hair and collars and sweaters and ties, we all sat in a row and the Interview began.
It only lasted ten minutes, but it felt much, much longer. Ms. Hall asked us what made Ahmet so special and why we had wanted to help him. It was hard answering more than one question at the same time—especially with so many grown-ups and a large camera staring at us. But Tom said it was because Ahmet was the only boy he had ever met who had seen real bombs and guns and had been fast enough to run away from them, and Michael said anyone who had walked millions of miles to come to school deserved to be helped, and Josie said that Ahmet was the best soccer player she had ever seen—even better than her—and that it wasn’t fair that he didn’t know where his parents were, and I said that Ahmet was the bravest person I had ever met, because even though he had run away from a real-life War and found it hard to speak English and missed his family all the time, he was still the best kind of friend anyone could have.
After that, Ms. Hall asked us about the Greatest Idea in the World and the Emergency Plan, so we showed her and the camera the drawings and talked about how we had gone to the Queen for help because we thought she could do anything.
“And are you disappointed that the Queen hasn’t contacted you?” asked Ms. Hall.
We all nodded.
“What would you say to her if you could—in fact, what would you say to everyone out there listening to you today?” asked Ms. Hall.
“That the gates need to be kept open!” said Tom without hesitating.
“Yeah,” said Michael. “They should be kept open for everyone like Ahmet.”
“And everyone needs to help Ahmet find his parents,” said Josie. “Because it’s not their fault they’ve gone missing!”
Ms. Hall nodded and, looking at me, waited for an answer.
I wanted to say lots and lots of things to the Queen and the prime minister. But instead I said, “I…er…I think…we should all help anyone who’s a refugee—just like my grandma Jo did.”
I heard Mum gasp as Ms. Hall leaned forward. “Your grandma Jo helped refugees too?” she asked, looking interested.
I nodded. “In the World War—the second one.”
“And how did she help them?” asked Ms. Hall gently.
I looked over at Mum, who nodded at me, her eyes wide and watery. “She ran away from the Nazi people and then she helped other people run away from them too.”
&
nbsp; Ms. Hall cleared her throat and, giving me a smile, turned to Ahmet to ask him about all the things he had seen and what he had run away from.
I watched as Ms. Hemsi helped him translate what he wanted to say into English, but I liked his last answer the best. Because when Ms. Hall asked him how he felt about what we had done, he looked at us and without any help, said, “I happy to have best friends on planet.” And just like that, I knew the answer to my very last question.
When we got home that night, Mum tucked me into bed and said she was proud of me, and that wherever Dad and Grandma Jo were, they were very proud of me too.
“In fact, I think if Grandma Jo were alive today, she’d give you a big fat kiss and tell you exactly what she told your dad when he was your age,” said Mum, stroking my hair.
“What was that, Mum?”
“That the entire world is full of hearts searching for a place to call home. But refugees are different, because they don’t just look for a home. They look for peace too. And because of that, they possess the most special hearts anyone could ever have.”
Hearing about what my grandma Jo had said to my dad made me so happy that I couldn’t sleep for a really long time. Not until I heard an owl hooting from somewhere very far away.
The next morning, I woke up extra early and jumped out of bed. I thought Mum might still be asleep, but she was sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea.
And in front of her was a newspaper.
“Morning!” she said, smiling as her mug of tea steamed up her glasses. “Thought I’d run out and get the paper. Look.” She held it out to me.
Staring back at me from the front page was a picture of me and Tom and Josie and Michael, all sitting in a row. Tom and I were holding up the Greatest Idea in the World and Josie and Michael were holding up the Emergency Plan. Next to it was an even bigger picture of Ahmet, smiling. And above all our heads in big bold letters, were the words:
AHMET: THE MOST FAMOUS REFUGEE BOY IN THE WORLD
EXCLUSIVE: THE CHILDREN BEHIND THE BUCKINGHAM PALACE PROTEST
“Come over here, you,” said Mum, opening her arms. “Let’s read it together, shall we? School isn’t for another two hours, so we have lots of time.”
Squeezing onto Mum’s chair, I read the article with her. It ran onto two whole pages, but I liked the bits where Ahmet was speaking the best. He spoke about his family and where they might be, and how he dreamt of being a soccer player one day. But he also spoke about his sister being in the sea and how hard it was being bullied and having horrible songs being sung about him.
“I hope that shuts up all the other bullies too!” muttered Mum angrily when she read that bit.
“Mum, look!” I cried as we turned over the page to read the second half of the article. “There’s you!”
I leaned forward to see the picture better. Mum was standing next to Tom’s parents and Michael’s parents and Josie’s parents and Ahmet’s foster mum, and the words underneath said:
Parents Unite To Fight Against Racism & Champion Refugee Rights
“Racists Like MP Fry Have No Right To Tear Innocent Families Apart!”
“Mum?” I asked after we finished reading the whole article.
“Hmm?”
“Do you think the Queen and the prime minister and the border people will see this? Do you think they might all try to help now?”
Mum squeezed me tight. “I don’t know, darling. But what I do know is that by us sharing our story, lots more people will be talking about it. And that has to be a good thing.”
I put my hands down on the newspaper and then had another thought.
“And do you think it might make people like Mr. Fry and Mr. Greggs be less scared of Ahmet?”
“I’m not sure,” said Mum, smiling. “But when it comes to people, you just never know!”
* * *
I didn’t know about Mr. Fry or Mr. Greggs, but on the way to school that day, Josie said that after her mum and dad had listened to Ahmet’s story, they told her she had been right to make friends with him.
And that made me have a Thought.
Maybe it didn’t matter if really horrible people like Mr. Fry or Mr. Greggs didn’t like Ahmet. Maybe they didn’t even deserve to know him. But people like Josie’s mum and dad did, because they weren’t horrible at all. They had just been nervous about making a new friend.
I thought we were pretty famous before the Interview, but I was wrong.
It was only after we became Headline News that I found out what being famous was really like. Wherever we went, Tom and Michael and Josie and Ahmet and I were waved at and smiled at and patted on the head and given thumbs-ups by lots of people we didn’t know. People at the bus stop and on the street would run up to us and say things like “God bless you!” and “We’re all behind you, Ahmet!” and “I just signed the petition! Parliament’s gonna listen to us! You’ll see!”
Even Mr. Banik, who owned the newspaper stand near the school bus stop and was famous for hating children, ran out whenever he saw us and gave us each a chocolate egg. For free. And not just for one day, but for a whole week!
But as exciting as it was to be famous and to be friends with the Most Famous Refugee Boy in the World, what happened a few days later was even more surprising.
On Wednesday morning, just six days after we had done the Interview, we arrived at school ready to play soccer but couldn’t find Ahmet anywhere on the playground. When the bell began to ring, we headed straight to class. But when we got to our classroom, he wasn’t there either. Neither was Ms. Hemsi.
“He’s probably just late.” Josie shrugged as we sat down. But Ahmet was never, ever late. I looked over at Mrs. Khan and wondered if I should ask her. She was busy getting the class to sit down, but she looked happy and couldn’t stop smiling, even when she was scolding Clarissa for being late.
After taking attendance, Mrs. Khan said that Mrs. Borneville was going to take first period today, as she had something to do. Then she came over to me and Josie and Michael and Tom and told us to come with her.
“Are we in trouble?” whispered Tom as we followed Mrs. Khan down the hall.
“But we haven’t done anything…have we?” whispered Josie.
I didn’t say anything; Michael and I just looked at each other.
Mrs. Khan knocked on Mrs. Sanders’s door and waited for a “Come in!” before she pushed it open.
The first person we saw was Ahmet. He was perched on a chair, his face looking surprised and serious and happy all in one go. Sitting on one side of him was Ms. Hemsi, whose cheeks were pinker than I had ever seen them, and on the other were two men. They each gave me a wide smile. For a moment I couldn’t remember how I knew them, and then Tom gave a gasp. “It’s the Queen’s Guards!” he cried out, punching me on the arm.
He was right! They really were the Queen’s Guards! Except they were dressed in suits and didn’t look so giant because they weren’t wearing their tall black hats!
As we walked in, they stood up and gave us a salute. Josie squealed in delight and Michael was so excited he shook hands with both of them at the same time.
I looked over at Ahmet, who, on seeing that we knew the guards, was now smiling at them fully.
“Come in, come in,” said Mrs. Sanders, waving us to our seats and peering over her glasses at us.
“Children, these gentlemen have a very special message to give you,” said Mrs. Sanders.
“We certainly do,” said Second Lieutenant Kungu. “It gives me great pleasure to present you with this very special message from Her Majesty, the Queen.” He took an envelope from the inside of his coat and held it up.
“And seeing as how the Greatest Idea in the World was your idea, how about you open this?” he asked as he held the envelope out to me. It was large and square and cream-colored and had the curlies
t writing on it I had ever seen.
As I took it, everyone crowded around me to stare at it.
I turned it over. On the back was a large blob of red candle wax. It looked like it had been spilled accidentally, but there was an “EIIR” stamped in the middle of it, so it must have been done on purpose.
“Go on,” whispered Josie, and Ahmet and Michael and Tom nodded. I carefully peeled off the wax blob and pulled out the letter. The writing was so curly and scratchy and I was so nervous that I couldn’t read the words. Seeing me struggle, Mrs. Khan came and stood behind me. I gave her the letter so that she could read it out loud instead.
This is what it said:
Dearest children,
Lieutenant Chris Taylor and Second Lieutenant Walter Kungu were so kind as to inform me of your brave—although slightly dangerous!—actions undertaken on behalf of your refugee friend, Ahmet. I have now also received the letter you wrote to me on the subject beforehand. Thank you for the very colorful envelope and the lovely stamps. Purple is quite my favorite color!
I was very sorry to hear of Ahmet’s plight—I have heard of many little boys and girls like him. Thanks to your brave actions, lots of people from all over the world are working together to try to locate his family. I know they will all be trying their very best, and I look forward to hearing of their safe arrival to the United Kingdom (or Queendom, as you so nicely put it!) soon.
My Lieutenants tell me that you had brought tea and cookies and gifts in the hopes of sharing them with me. That was a lovely idea! I am unfortunately scheduled to go on a small tour across Britain this week, but when I get back in a fortnight’s time, I should like nothing better than to invite you all to have tea with me at the palace.
Until then, I must ask that you please do not go running after any more of my soldiers. It was awfully dangerous, and I am most relieved that you were not hurt. Any letter addressed to me will always reach me, and I do like to receive mail—especially one so beautifully decorated and written with such care.
The Boy at the Back of the Class Page 16