Kick the Moon

by Muhammad Khan

  ‘What?’ Kelly and I blurt simultaneously, then look at each other, before quickly looking away, because having a ‘moment’ is major cringe. Me and her run with different crowds.

  Mr Gilchrist places gorilla paws on the desk, elbows jutting out. ‘Ms Matthews, Mr Mian – refuse and you leave us no choice but to pursue the path of exclusion.’ He pauses for effect. ‘Perform the task successfully, and I will recommend to the governors that we expunge the incident from your permanent record. And may I point out that with an incident of this severity against your name, it would be unlikely that any college would consider taking you on.’

  I swallow. No college would definitely mean being stuck working at Haji Mian & Sons till kingdom come. And worse still, Amma’s disappointment.

  ‘Do you have something to say, Kelly?’ Gilchrist asks.

  ‘No … It’s just, I don’t really see the point of this. You kicked us out for a week – obvs assuming here …’

  I realize she’s talking to me, and I nod.

  ‘So,’ she continues, ‘seems like overkill. We did the crime, we’ve done the time, and we’re better people for it. Can’t we all go home now?’

  ‘It’s that attitude that got you into this mess in the first place, young lady! A perfect academic record blighted by a single, but very serious, error in judgement.’

  ‘OK, OK – I get it. But you haven’t even listened to my side of the story yet,’ she says reproachfully.

  ‘You are walking on very thin ice here.’ Gilchrist flashes his steely eyes in warning. ‘We’re bending over backwards giving you a second chance. Write that letter of apology or I’ll have your mother in again.’

  Kelly looks away, shaking her head like she’s being blackmailed. Gal’s got me intrigued. Who did she hit and why?

  ‘Begin!’ Gilchrist orders.

  Dear Imran,

  Yo, bro!

  Imran,

  Sorry I hit you. Violence is never the answer.

  I pause, because it’s the only answer in every single superhero comic ever.

  I glance up at Gilchrist, who is either involved in an intense WhatsApp session, or could be on the final level of Candy Crush.

  ‘Damn!’ he says.

  His eyes flick up, and I immediately drop mine. Satisfied that Kelly and me are not going to kill each other, Gilchrist walks into the corridor to speak privately on his phone. We hear him slowly plodding away.

  The air grows thick and stale, each minute drawn out like an hour. My ears begin to ring. Five sessions of this seems impossible. Why couldn’t they have stuck me in the Phantom Zone instead?

  ‘What’s that?’

  I glance up, getting an eyeful of Kelly’s long shaggy mane, which smells of fresh apples. Her fingertip rests on the picture of PakCore I must have unconsciously sketched in the middle of my letter. Shit! I turn the page over protectively.

  ‘Nothing,’ I mutter.

  ‘Really?’ Kelly says, raising her eyebrows. ‘Well it was an awesome nothing then. That character looks like he could leap off the page.’

  I keep quiet, hoping she’ll go back to her seat. I get that I’m the only other human being in this room, but in five years, we’ve never spoken or even smiled at each other. Doing it now is so fake. She’s part of the elite crew, and I’m a wannabe gangsta. Plus we have a job to do, and it doesn’t involve talking.

  ‘So have you written anything yet?’ she persists, sitting on my desk like I invited her over.

  ‘What? No. Look you better get back over there, else Gilchrist’s gonna exclude both our arses.’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t be basic. If they were going to exclude us, it would’ve happened back when they summoned that She-Hulk police officer.’

  I blink in surprise. Calling Officer Pryce ‘She-Hulk’ was an inside joke that never made it to the outside. With all that long red hair, this girl is definitely giving me Jean Grey vibes. Maybe she is a mind reader?

  ‘I’ve written a story,’ she announces proudly. ‘Would you like to hear it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Rude! I said I liked your drawing.’

  ‘PakCore.’

  ‘Did you just call me a whore?’

  ‘What? No!’ I say, nearly falling off my chair.

  ‘Good, cos I have a mean left hook, mister. Just ask Melanie.’

  I recall her pretty band of friends, zooming in on Melanie with her Chun-Li hairdo and her Catwoman poses. ‘Why’d you hit her?’

  A stern look sweeps over her face. ‘Because I have anger-management issues, I guess. These fists were flying, she got in the way, so ka-pow.’ She gives a quick left-right combo, making the table quake.

  In spite of myself, I smile. ‘Ka-pow? As in comics?’

  She nods. ‘But with smaller tits.’

  I blush. ‘Not all comics are like that …’ But even as I say it, I know they mostly are.

  ‘I prefer speculative fiction, where you get to imagine the heroine without a massive pair of jugs crammed into a tiny bondage suit. Yep, science fiction and fantasy are my jam.’

  ‘What, like Star Wars?’

  She grins impishly. ‘Also like that.’ In a single fluid movement, she flips over my page, a stubby nail coming to rest on PakCore’s bulging pecs.

  ‘Stoppit, man!’ I growl.

  ‘Why? If I could draw even half as good you, I’d be drawing all over these walls right now, sharing my talent with the world.’

  Her words give me flashbacks. Leaving the DedManz tag on private property all over the town I was born in. The dirty money Imran’s been paying me to do it.

  ‘Who taught you how to draw?’ she asks.

  I shrug. ‘Everyone can draw, innit?’

  ‘Not like you, they can’t.’ She clicks her heels together – Dorothy, but with battered man-boots instead of ruby slippers. ‘My mum taught me how to write. Aged three.’

  ‘Seriously?’ I say, ninety-nine per cent sure she’s exaggerating.

  ‘M’hm. Mum has always had these insane ambitions for me.’

  ‘I always figured it was just Asian parents that were mad demanding.’

  Kelly pouts thoughtfully. ‘Well, what do your parents want you to be?’

  ‘Me? Nothing. But it’s sorta cultural to want your kids to become doctors or engineers or go into business. Anything else is considered a fail.’

  ‘Because they want their kids to become high earners?’

  ‘You do not understand. My lot love to brag. Telling every random on the planet how successful their kids are. It’s a massive badge of honour.’

  She narrows an eye. ‘So how comes your parents aren’t like that?’

  I sigh and shake my head. Don’t want to get into it. Don’t want to tell this privileged white girl about my #BrownPeopleProblems so she can just have a laugh about it with her mates later.

  ‘Well I think my mum wins the prize for Most Dictatorial Mother Ever. She wants me to be a –’ her fingers twitch in the air like animated quotes – ‘fierce, feminist prime minister with egalitarian values and conservative morals.’

  The thing is, I can totally imagine Kelly killing it at Prime Minister’s Question Time. She practically owned Gilchrist before he weaponized her mum. ‘That what you want?’

  ‘Nooooo,’ she says, curls bouncing like rings of flame. ‘I want to write fantasy—’

  The door slams shut. We jerk our heads in the direction of a very cross-looking Mr Gilchrist. Kelly scrambles back to her seat as he stomps over like he’s going to rip our heads off.

  He snatches up our pages, ignoring our protests. ‘I asked for a single letter of apology, and what do I get? A story about a space princess and a picture of a ninja!’

  ‘She’s not a space princess!’ Kelly says.

  ‘He’s not a ninja!’ I say.

  Mr Gilchrist blinks. ‘I’m sorry. Have I just entered the Twilight Zone? Your brief was completely clear. Lucky for you, we have four more sessions to get your letters sorted out. It jus
t so happens I’ve run into a bit of an emergency at home, so we’ll have to try this again tomorrow. Off you go!’

  He doesn’t need to tell us twice. We grab our bags and bolt for the door.

  ‘Same time, same place!’ he booms after us.

  Out in the corridor, we glance at each other. Without the four walls of a classroom imprisoning us, awkwardness sets in like rot. Kelly opens her mouth to say something.

  ‘Laters,’ I say, hurrying in the opposite direction.

  ‘Miss, did you hear about Muzna Saleem?’ Kara says the next day as we’re working through exam-style questions on quadratic equations.

  Maths ain’t happening for me today. A tiny mistake early on bloomed into a full-blown disaster. Two whole pages of it. FML.

  Ms Mughal stares at the ceiling, tapping her chin. ‘Is that the girl who foiled the terror attack last year?’

  ‘That girl is goals!’ Nawal says, slamming her hand against her wheelchair. ‘She liked one of my selfies on Insta!’

  Kara nods. ‘Basically my cousin Sade went to the same school as her. She said that girl has the best luck.’

  ‘How’d you figure that out?’ Ray asks, turning round in disbelief. ‘Poor girl nearly got killed by ISIS, and you’re sat there saying she’s lucky?!’

  ‘Yeah, but she’s, like, only seventeen, and in the Metro today, it said she’s won a book deal,’ Kara says excitedly.

  Ms Mughal smiles broadly. ‘Good for her. It’ll be great to hear her side of the story.’

  ‘What kind of book is she writing?’ I ask on the off chance it’s a graphic novel.

  Kara shrugs. ‘Didn’t get to read the rest of the article. My phone pinged, so I put the newspaper down for a second, and some bare nasty tramp picked it up! When he realized I wasn’t done, he tried to give it back. Dude got me, like –’ She does an excellent impression of the vomiting emoji. ‘As if I’m gonna be touching that paper now you covered it in your STIs!’

  ‘Don’t be so rude, Kara,’ Ms Mughal says gently. ‘Just because you can’t afford to take a shower, doesn’t stop you from being a human.’

  Kara blushes, covering her face. ‘Miss, now you’re making me feel bad!’

  ‘Miss gives us maths lessons and life lessons,’ Ray says. ‘Buy one, get one free.’

  Ms Mughal laughs, reminding us that there are people working next door, so we shut up and get back to work.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asks, her green eyes rising above my desk.

  I nod before looking down at my book, which is a mess of scratched-out answers.

  ‘Are you worried about Imran?’ she whispers so quietly, I barely hear it.

  I’m a deer caught in the headlights, and for one horrifying moment, her eyes turn yellow and wolfish, fangs trailing over her lips, before I realize she’s triggered my imagination. She takes my stunned reaction as an answer.

  ‘Don’t be. As a school, we’re looking out for you. It doesn’t matter how successful a student might be on the pitch, there’s no room for intimidation here.’

  ‘Miss …’ I start, wanting to offload and tell her how scared I am that Imran is going to kill me, or that his cousin belongs to one of the UK’s worst gangs, and I’m worried they’re going to come after my family. Then I think better of it – involving her will make her a target too. ‘Can you start me off, please?’

  She smiles, clicking her pen.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, sir,’ I say, lumbering into F10 at the end of the day.

  Kelly is already seated, limbering up her fingers as if preparing for a rock-paper-scissors death match. She smiles at me, while Mr Gilchrist glares.

  ‘Feels like déjà vu, doesn’t it?’ Gilchrist says. ‘Grab a seat and get ready to spin a Pulitzer Prize-winner of an apology, since neither of you managed to finish yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I say, rooting through my bag for a pen.

  Something pokes me in the side, and I see Kelly is offering me one. No freaking way. It’s a floaty Superman one, like I used to own when I was small.

  ‘Just to make things explicitly clear, I want you to start your letters “Dear Imran” and “Dear Melanie”, followed by the opening words …’ He grabs a brown pen and scrawls on the whiteboard behind. ‘I am writing to you to offer my sincere apologies for …’

  Sighing heavily, I copy down his words. Only I start to think that this is all lies, cos I’m not sorry. Imran is a prick and had it coming.

  ‘Sir, I can’t do this,’ I announce.

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’ Gilchrist says, cocking an eyebrow at me.

  ‘Both. Look, Imran Akhtar has a reputation, right?’

  ‘Yes, he’s captain of both the school basketball and football teams and has brought several trophies to Stanley Park,’ he says curtly.

  ‘Plus everyone thinks he’s really hot,’ Kelly adds.

  I shake my head. ‘He’s bullied enough kids, and you know it. Even my dad says Imran’s twice my size. I couldn’t beat up the guy even if he was blindfolded and had both arms tied behind his back. So you gotta ask yourself – how’d he end up in hospital? Answer: it was an Act of God. And if Allah decides to teach Imran a lesson for whatever reason, who am I, or you, to mess with that?’

  ‘He’s got a point,’ Kelly chips in. ‘Maybe Allah made my fist fly and knock Melanie out too?’

  ‘Silence, both of you! I’ve never heard such far-fetched nonsense.’

  ‘Are you calling his religion “far-fetched”?’ Kelly asks with a dramatic gasp.

  Gilchrist falters. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. There are school rules here, Ilyas. You and Kelly broke them, and there’s a price to be paid.’ His phone goes off, and he snarls at it.

  ‘Whoa, you OK, sir?’

  His face goes bright red.

  ‘Oh my days! Red Hulk!’ I whisper.

  ‘Thunderbolt Ross,’ Kelly agrees.

  ‘Right, you two. Not a peep out of you. I want your first draft letters ready in the next thirty-five minutes, or else!’ He starts speaking into his phone, apologizing profusely to the caller as he retreats into the corridor.

  I turn round in my chair to face Kelly with newfound respect. ‘Thunderbolt Ross, huh?’

  ‘Told you I like speculative fiction,’ she says, smiling.

  ‘That some posh word for comics?’

  ‘Sort of. Superheroes is like a sub-genre.’

  I realize I’m staring, swallow, and turn around to get on with my stupid letter.

  ‘So, what have you written?’ Kelly asks about twenty minutes later.

  ‘Huh? Oh, just crap,’ I say, clicking her Superman pen nervously.

  ‘Want to hear mine?’

  I shrug. It’s all the encouragement she needs.

  ‘Dearest Melanie,’ she begins, perching on my table, and swinging her legs like a little kid. ‘You are the most obnoxious, self-centred Melania Trump-wannabe that ever lived. I am well jel of all the people who never met you. In spite of that, I’m truly sorry. Sorry that I didn’t knock your damn donkey teeth out! I don’t care if your dad is a government minister who “might be able to get me an internship at the House of Commons”. He’s probably one of those sex pests they’re trying to root out. Any day now, they’re going to throw the book at him, and your whole family will have to jet off to some tax haven to hide out. Good riddance. Yours affectedly, Kelly Matthews.’

  I howl with laughter, flapping my hand in the air. She tells me not to laugh before her own giggles give way to peals of laughter. When we finally stop, we look at each other, and we’re off again. Man, I haven’t laughed this hard since primary school.

  ‘Frame it!’ I suggest. ‘You’re a wicked writer, girl.’ I take the letter, and read over it again, chuckling. ‘Hey,’ I add. ‘What does “affectedly” mean?’

  ‘Faking it.’

  ‘Boom!’ I say, laughing again. ‘Man, I wish I could write like you.’

  Her smile slowly fades. She opens her mouth, then shuts it, giving a little shake of her head. />
  ‘What?’ I say.

  ‘Ilyas, are you in a gang called DedManz?’

  And just like that, the tentative bond between us melts like a bridge of ice, plunging us into choppy waters. Guess I was sort of hoping Kelly would see me for who I am instead of the people I hang with. She watches me closely, eyes more curious than judgemental.

  ‘When I was younger,’ I begin, ‘Dad kept saying I should hang around with jack-the-lad types. Reckoned I took after my mum and sis a bit too much.’

  ‘And that’s a problem because …?’

  ‘Cos I liked drawing and colouring instead of football.’

  She shakes her head, like she still doesn’t get it.

  ‘And … playing with my sister’s fluffy white rabbit.’ I flush deeply, wondering why I’m revealing stuff I’ve managed to keep hidden forever to someone I hardly know.

  She perks up. ‘Aw! Photographic evidence, please!’

  Frowning, I hold up my phone. ‘This is Spar –’ my jaw muscles grind like malfunctioning gears ‘– tacus. Spartacus.’ I nod twice, as if this makes it any truer.

  ‘Oh my God, he’s perf!’ she says, clutching my phone, zooming in on Sparkle’s cute bunny face. In the pic, Sparks is busy chewing a dandelion that, only seconds before, she’d been wearing between her ears like a Hawaiian girl.

  ‘Not according to my dad,’ I say darkly. ‘He recruited this group of proper alphas to fix me. I’m not gonna lie: sometimes we have fun. But sometimes they do stuff that makes me feel bare uncomfortable.’

  Jasmine’s humiliation springs to mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to erase the horrible memory. ‘So at the start of Year Eleven, Imran decides we’re gonna be a legit gang.’

  ‘DedManz, right?’ Kelly says.

  I take another moment to decide whether she’s judging me before continuing. ‘I’m scared at first, cos gangs are violent and that. But before you know it, bullies are backing off, and I feel like I have an actual superpower. Then when Imran wanted us to have a gang tag, it was my moment. A chance to share this side of myself I normally get slated for.’

  I lick my lips, focusing on Kelly’s gentle blue eyes.

  ‘The truth is, Kelly, being in a gang when you’re the guy at the bottom is proper stressful. You’re forever trying to match up.’