This Is My Truth

by Yasmin Rahman

  A weight drops into my stomach. It’s like Ismail’s poured ice-cold water on the beautiful warm moment we were having. Even the mention of Abbu ruins everything. I straighten up, turn to Ammi, and can see my own panicked expression mirrored on her face.

  ‘Your dad’s … gone away for a bit,’ Ammi says slowly. ‘It’s just us three for now. We’re gonna have lots of fun, aren’t we, Maani?’ There’s a slight crack to her voice, gaps I need to fill.

  I nod frantically, putting on an over-the-top smile. ‘So much fun. You were excited yesterday, weren’t you? About playing Monopoly, and making more videos? We can do that all the time now. Sound good?’

  He considers it, his face stuck on sad. ‘But I like playing Monopoly with just Abbu. He makes car noises when he moves his piece. And he fake cries when he’s in jail. It’s so funny.’

  ‘We can do that,’ I say quickly. ‘And you can be the banker every time.’

  He turns from me to Ammi. ‘Will he still pick me up from school on Tuesdays? He always gets me an ice cream with a flake and sprinkles from the ice-cream van.’

  Ammi and I exchange looks again. Her face is downcast, her eyes beginning to water; she’s struggling to find the words. I need to step up, convince her we can do this. It took so much strength for her to do what she did yesterday, and I know she’s going to doubt herself at times. I need to prove to her that we can get through this.

  ‘How about I pick you up on Tuesdays instead?’ I ask Ismail, forcing a smile into my voice. ‘I’ll even let you get chocolate sauce.’

  His eyes light up. ‘Really? Abbu never lets me get sauce. He says it makes his car too sticky.’

  ‘Well, I don’t drive, so that doesn’t matter.’

  He considers it for a second and I’m scared it won’t be enough, that he’ll keep asking questions I won’t know how to answer.

  ‘We can sort out ice-cream orders later,’ Ammi says suddenly, cutting off our conversation. The crack has disappeared from her voice, replaced with the same forced lightness I’m putting out. ‘We have to get you to school first. C’mon – go and grab your bag. Amani and Huda will drop you off.’

  Ismail thankfully lets it go. He runs out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I notice Ammi’s on the verge of tears, on the verge of collapse. We both know this is going to happen again and again, that we can’t just erase Abbu from Ismail’s mind. Ammi and I know what a monster Abbu is, and though Ismail knows about the abuse, he still sees some good in Abbu. He’s used to us as a family of four. It’s going to be tough convincing him we’re better off now.

  ‘We can do this, Ammi,’ I say, taking her hand and squeezing. ‘This is the right thing – for all of us. We’re strong enough to get through this. As for Ismail, distraction is probably the best way forward for now.’

  Ammi takes a deep breath then shakes her head lightly, with a smile. ‘Honestly, when did you become the parent in this family?’

  58

  Huda and I walk through the school gates together, like old times. After everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours, it’s weird to be back to the normality of school. We walk into the quad, and I expect to feel anger rise within me when I see the notice board, but nothing comes.

  ‘God, I can’t believe there’s only eight days left,’ Huda says, staring at the number. ‘Have you done much revision? I feel like I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘You’re smart enough to coast though. You don’t even have to try.’

  ‘Bitter, much?’ Huda laughs. ‘Anyway, we can pull an all-nighter today, studying our butts off, roomie.’

  ‘It’ll be weird not to have to come for lessons any more, won’t it?’ I ask, looking around campus. I spot Mr Voake walking out of the staffroom.

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ I tell Huda before jogging off towards him.

  ‘Sir! Wait up!’ I call.

  He turns and smiles at me. ‘Morning, Amani. Everything OK?’

  ‘Sir, I was hoping … well, wondering, I guess – did you mean what you said the other day? That you could make an exception, if I … if I wanted to change my A-level choices?’

  His face lights up. ‘Are you considering taking media studies?’

  I nod. ‘Not just considering. I’ve made my mind up. I want to drop all my current choices and take media studies, English language and film studies. I want to do something film-related at uni and make films when I’m older.’

  ‘That’s great!’ Mr Voake says. ‘You seem really happy about the decision, so I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re sure?’

  I laugh.

  ‘OK then. You’ll need to have a talk with the head of sixth about this – just to check your grades are OK for you to take the others. I can get you started on media studies though. There’s a form you have to fill in. I’ll bring one to class.’

  ‘Awesome, thank you, sir. And … thank you so much for your gift. It meant a lot.’

  He smiles. ‘I’m really glad, Amani. I’ll see you later.’

  I skip back to Huda. It feels weird for life to be going so well. When the good times come I’ve usually had an underlying fear that things are going to collapse again. And there’s a tinge of that now, but mostly … I’m happy. I’m truly happy, for what feels like the first time in my life.

  ‘What’s with the Cheshire Cat grin?’ Huda asks.

  ‘I just sorted out my future plans.’

  ‘You asked Mr Voake to marry you? I know you like him, but gross.’

  I shove her arm. ‘Shut up. I’ve changed my A-level choices. Say goodbye to Amani the vet.’

  Huda stops in her tracks and stares at me. ‘What, really? I thought you were super into that?’

  I shake my head. ‘My dad was super into that. He didn’t really give me any other option. But now … now I’ve got them. I can do anything. And what I want to do is make films.’

  ‘That’s awesome, Amani. Really. Although, wow – how did I not get that you weren’t into the vet thing? Do you know how much time I spent looking stuff up so that we could talk about it?’

  ‘Seriously? That’s so sweet. Wait, maybe you can take my science exams then? I’m pretty sure I’m gonna fail.’

  ‘We can add that to our super-fun study plans tonight, roomie.’

  ‘Only if there’s jelly babies.’

  ‘There’s that grin again,’ Huda says. ‘Stop picturing Mr Voake naked.’

  ‘Oh my God, shut up!’ I whack her arm again, looking around to make sure no one heard her.

  She laughs. ‘Seriously though, it’s nice seeing you this happy.’

  I smile and feel a warmth inside me. ‘It feels good to be this happy.’

  ‘I guess … everything worked out in the end?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess it did.’ I look at her and she’s raising her eyebrow at me. I roll my eyes. ‘I’m not thanking you for posting that blog though. That was still way out of line.’

  ‘Ah, yeah … sorry. Again.’

  ‘Good. You should be. Now say it another thousand times, and I might fully forgive you.’

  Huda clears her throat and drops to her knee, as if she’s about to propose. ‘I, Huda Farquhar, hereby promise to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, Amani Akhtar!’ she announces at full volume.

  ‘Oh my God, stop!’ I laugh, trying to pull her up. ‘Cleo’s already spreading rumours about us – there’s no need to add to it!’

  ‘Fuck rumours,’ Huda says, standing up and wiping her trousers.

  Fuck rumours, indeed.

  ‘What’re your plans for the Burn Blog, anyway?’ I ask. ‘And also, how the hell did you even find out all that stuff?’

  She shrugs. ‘I’m an excellent eavesdropper. I think my hijab makes me invisible; no one seems to notice me standing there when they start talking to other people about their deepest, darkest secrets.’

  ‘An excellent snoop, more like. So, are you gonna do any more posts?’

  ‘Well, I do have a few more secrets tuck
ed inside my hijab …’

  I give her a pointed stare, and she rolls her eyes with a laugh. ‘Don’t worry. I’m over it,’ she says.

  ‘Good to hear. Oh, that reminds me actually. Can I run my new media studies coursework idea by you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  I tell Huda about my idea to make a documentary about the Burn Blog and the effects it had. She makes a face when I tell her Stacey’s agreed to be interviewed, but I slap her on the arm and tell her Stacey’s probably sorry for what she said all those years ago, and that maybe Huda should give her a second chance, considering the repercussions of the Burn Blog. She just rolls her eyes and says she’ll think about it.

  ‘That actually sounds like a really good idea,’ Huda says after I’ve finished describing the idea to her. ‘As long as you don’t tell people it was me, obviously. I know we’re on a truth kick, but that would be taking it a bit too far.’

  We both laugh.

  I leave Huda and walk off to registration. I’m on a high. I’m so distracted by the positive energy flowing through me that I don’t notice Cleo in front of me until I bash right into her. Looks like she’s running late too. We both groan and take a step back, rubbing our foreheads where they collided.

  ‘Fucking watch out!’ she shouts. Her eyes are slits, her face a bright shade of red.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say immediately.

  ‘Guess it’s genetic then?’ she says, pure spite in her voice. ‘Taking after your violent dad, Amani?’ Her voice is loud and assured, the way it used to be when she’d pick on me pre-Burn Blog. It confuses me, because she’s been so subdued since that happened. Barely said a word to me, let alone this loudly, this cruelly.

  But then it hits me. She’s only being like this because it’s just us in the corridor. There’s no one around to speak back to her, to put her in her place. Because we both know that I would never normally dare say anything back.

  But we’re living in the new normal now. It feels as if all the bad stuff in my life has finally gone away. It’s only fair that Cleo should too.

  ‘You know what, Cleo? My life is literally none of your business,’ I say. My voice comes out more confident than I’ve ever heard it. ‘I know you have this need to feed off people’s misery, but I’m not going to let you do that to me any more. Do you remember what it felt like when everyone read that blog about you? The fact that you had to take days off school to get away from it, because you knew how bad it would be here? That’s how you make people feel. You’re just a bully, Cleo.’

  Her mouth opens a little, but in surprise, not to spit out more abuse. I’ve done it. I’ve finally got her to stop. I know this isn’t the end of it, that Cleo’s not going to stop being a bitch just because of something I said. But hopefully this means she knows I’m not going to take it any more. I step around her, as she stands there silently, and walk into registration without looking to see if she follows me.

  ‘Hey!’ I say to Maggie as I take my seat next to her.

  She grunts a little, slouched over her desk, scrolling through her phone that’s hidden behind her bag.

  ‘What’re you looking at?’ I ask.

  She sits up in her chair. ‘I was just checking out this film festival that’s happening in London this weekend. Hope and I are gonna go. Do you wanna come with?’

  ‘Really?’ I say. ‘I get to meet your girlfriend?’

  Maggie smiles shyly; it’s so unlike her, and also so damn cute. ‘Yeah, well, she finally met my parents last week, so now I get to show her off to my friends.’

  ‘Awww, love’s turned you soppy.’ I elbow her in the side, and she shoves my arm back with a laugh.

  ‘Is that a yes then?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes! What kinda films are they showing at this festival?’ I lean over to look at Maggie’s phone as she shows me the poster. An email alert pops up on the screen.

  ‘Ooh, look!’ Maggie says, her voice all animated. ‘It’s another blog post!’

  BLITHE ACADEMY BURN BLOG

  Hello all.

  Me again.

  Still not going to reveal who ‘me’ is, but today’s post is a little different.

  When I started this blog, I was angry.

  I still am, tbh.

  But things have changed.

  I realised something …

  I’m not perfect.

  No one is.

  I judged people on this blog,

  Revealed secrets that weren’t mine to tell.

  I hurt people,

  made their lives hell.

  And I just want to say,

  I’m truly sorry.

  We live in a society that thrives on tearing people down,

  making us feel like we’re not worthy unless there’s someone below us.

  And I want to combat that.

  As well as saying sorry, I want to lift people up.

  I want to show them that they are

  worthy.

  So that’s what this blog is going to be about from now on.

  Focusing on the good.

  See you soon.

  59

  Halfway through third period, there’s a knock on the door. It’s Miss Kirtley, the receptionist. She smiles at the class before approaching Mr Hawthorne, who’s sitting at his desk. They have a whispered conversation and then he stands up.

  ‘Right, everyone, orders from above to go to the hall right away. Pack up your stuff and follow me and Miss Kirtley.’

  Everyone starts rustling, getting their stuff.

  ‘Oh my God, do you think someone figured out I’m doing the blog?’ Huda hisses. ‘Backpack said they’d punish anyone who even looks at it. Are they calling everyone in to, like, make an example of me? Fuck, what if I get expelled?’

  ‘Whoa, calm down. No one knows it’s you. If they did, trust me, you’d know by now. Cleo, at least, would be all up in your face.’

  Huda looks around in a panic. Her gaze stops on Cleo, who’s staring right back at her.

  ‘Or … maybe she’s taking a different tactic,’ I whisper. My heart sinks. Shit.

  ‘Come on, everyone, move!’ Mr Hawthorne instructs.

  We all traipse out of the classroom and over to the hall with the rest of our year. I squeeze Huda’s hand as we sit down.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ I tell her. ‘Deny everything. They can’t prove it.’ I know I’m saying the right words, but inside I’m also freaking out. Mr Bach said they were monitoring internet usage. Maybe they’ve caught Huda that way.

  Mr Bach takes the stage and everyone falls quiet. ‘I know you’re all wondering why we’ve pulled you out of lessons,’ he says. ‘Well, I just wanted to take this moment to say what a pleasure it’s been being your headteacher for the last three years. You’ve driven me crazy, but it’s been an … experience. Your exams are coming up very soon, and I want you to know that my door is always open if any of you need to come and chat. It’s a stressful time, so please take care of yourselves. With all that said and done … the time has come to start study leave. You’re free! No returning to class today, the teachers will escort you off campus. Your exam timetables are all online, and you should have received a paper copy – if not, see your form tutors. There will be revision classes scheduled for next week, and your tutors will be contactable by email for feedback on work. But other than that, good luck to you all.’

  There’s a huge cheer throughout the room.

  ‘It’s … it’s over …’ I say to Huda as we merge with the crowd shuffling out of the hall. I can’t quite believe it. The end of an era.

  ‘I know, it’s amazing!’ Huda squeals. ‘I told you they’d chuck us out before the actual date.’ She gestures towards the notice board, which stands proud, still showing eight days.

  I stare at it for a second and laugh inwardly. This stupid board has been a thorn in my side for weeks, counting down to my doom. I remember the anger I used to feel seeing it, the pit of dread that would open up. But now … that’s gone. Now I’m ready. No
t for exams, not for GCSEs, but for the future. I can actually think about my future without wanting to be sick. That’s new.

  The teachers kick us off campus, but the whole year just goes to the field opposite and we spend an hour taking group photos, signing each other’s shirts and saying tearful goodbyes.

  ‘Ready to start the rest of your life?’ I ask Huda, mimicking Mr Bach as we start walking home.

  ‘Oh God, gross. I don’t want to think about that yet.’

  ‘Wasn’t that part of the Perfect Daughter plan, to figure out what you wanted to do with your life?’

  She shrugs. ‘I think I only came up with that from seeing how set you were on the vet thing. I thought everyone was like that. It made me panic that I have literally no clue what to do with my life. After talking to Ali and Nafisah, I realised that whole plan was stupid. There was no way I’d be able to keep all that up. Do you know how hard it is to make biryani the way Nafisah likes it? They love me the way I am anyway, so fuck that shit. Anyway, we’re only sixteen. Ali said he didn’t decide to become a paralegal until he was, like, twenty-two. We’ve got time. Don’t know why the school wants to make us panic about it all now.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ I tell her. ‘I think we’ll have a fun time trying to figure out where your … um, talents are best suited.’

  She shoves me. ‘Hey, I have plenty of talents, I’ll have you know.’

  ‘Oh sure, maybe you can write gossip columns in trashy magazines.’

  ‘Ha ha.’ She pauses for a second before continuing. ‘For real though, things only just seem to be settling down for me, y’know? Like, my whole life, I was wondering what would come next, whether the placement I was in would last, and for how long. What the next people would be like, whether I’d get my own room, that kind of thing. But now … I’m finally starting to feel like I belong somewhere, y’know? It’s a good feeling. I don’t need to worry about the future any more, because it’s not so scary.’

  ‘I totally know what you mean,’ I say, feeling a little shiver of excitement at the prospect of doing the A levels I want to do.

  Huda’s phone beeps and she pulls it out.