Kick the Moon

by Muhammad Khan

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘It’s set in a dystopian future, where a mutant strain of flu is killing everyone.’ She bites her lip.

  ‘Go on …’ I say, leaning forward.

  ‘My main character is a girl called Cassie whose parents are top scientists tasked with finding a cure. Cassie hardly ever sees them, but when she does, they always look at her with this cold disappointment.’

  I swallow, thinking of Dad.

  ‘One day, shady government types break in and kill her parents, because the mum’s found a cure, and they don’t want the general population getting their hands on it. They don’t find Cassie – she’s hiding under the pool cover or something. With both parents dead, she has to piece together her parents’ research and synthesize the vaccine. Then she’s got to convince the authorities to vaccinate people with it, but they won’t listen to a teenager—’

  ‘Truth!’ I interject.

  ‘Cassie ends up having to get it to people through the water supply. And, well, I haven’t figured this part out yet, but there’ll be this group of rebels who she’ll join up with, and they’ll eventually let her try the vaccine out on one of them under pain of death if it goes wrong – cos drama!’ She makes jazz hands. ‘But the rebel is cured. Suitably impressed, they join her in her quest to get the vaccine into the water supply to save the world.’

  ‘That is amazing!’ I say, clapping. ‘I could never come up with something that complicated.’

  ‘Sure you could. I think it’s actually kind of predictable.’

  ‘No way! I mean … OK, maybe a tiny, tiny bit,’ I say, holding my finger and thumb close together. ‘But every story is, to an extent. I mean, I once heard there are only seven original stories that have been told since the beginning of time, and all the rest are recycling.’

  ‘You know, I heard that too!’ she says, looking more cheerful. ‘So what’s the story behind PakCore?’

  ‘Oh, just some dumbness that happened to me in Year Five …’ I laugh nervously.

  Propping herself up on her elbows, she cups her cheeks expectantly. I falter, not wanting to get into it, but she doesn’t look like she’ll be giving up any time soon.

  ‘OK, so I was like the biggest Superman stan since I was four …’ I begin.

  Kelly listens intently as I tell her about World Book Day six years ago, when Lee, Ryan and Alice got salty cos this brown boy dressed up as an icon. As I’m talking, she hangs on my every word, her eyes mirrors of sympathy as I shift about nervously.

  ‘… So I came up with PakCore,’ I continue, so engrossed that I forget to blink away the wetness in my eyes. ‘Pak from Pakistan, and Core from hardCore. Put ’em together and you get something sounding like parkour. That’s his method of getting from A to B and making it look wicked.’

  ‘That is so clever!’

  ‘I just wanted a relatable superhero. Cool, handsome, strong. All that good stuff, but also brown.’

  She nods. ‘Even if your dad doesn’t understand you, your mum has got to be proud, right?’

  I smile. ‘Amma thinks I’m the gifted one in the family, even though my brother’s gone Harvard and my sister is a YouTube influencer. I know it sounds cheesy, but Amma means everything to me, especially since Dad thinks drawing is a total waste of time.’

  ‘So good mum, bad dad? For me, it’s the other way round, except Dad’s almost always away on business, so I hardly ever see him.’ She stares at her palms, rubbing a pen mark off. ‘Mum forces me to go on these boring outings to museums and exhibitions, then makes me write about them.’

  ‘For real?’

  ‘That’s not even the worst part. She grades my work. And if my grade isn’t up to scratch, she makes me do rewrites.’

  I’m worried my dreams will be crushed by family pressure and my body will be crushed by DedManz, and she’s worried about her mum grading her extra work and her dad going on a grand tour of the world? But then I feel bad, cos problems are problems. It’s not about what they are, but how they make you feel. And right now, Kelly looks exactly how I feel.

  ‘Is your mum a teacher?’ I ask.

  She see-saws her hand. ‘Mum’s an education officer. She thinks she’s doing the Lord’s work because she works mostly with ethnic minorities, helping them on to courses to improve their job prospects.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I don’t believe in God, but if there was a supreme being, I’m pretty sure They wouldn’t approve of closet racists like my mum.’

  ‘That’s a bit strong,’ I say, reeling.

  ‘Is it? What do you call someone who thinks immigrants should have the decency to leave their own culture behind if they want to be British? So many times, I’ve said, “Mum, you do realize that we borrow from other cultures too, right? Why should they have to give theirs up?” And she’s like, “Well no one’s forcing them to come here. Ours is the dominant culture for a reason.” Mum believes racism only exists because certain people refuse to assimilate.’

  ‘Wow,’ I say, impressed by her brutal honesty.

  ‘Yep, my mum’s the fricking Borg Queen.’

  I look at her, nonplussed.

  ‘Star Trek?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Call yourself a geek, Ilyas? Hang your head in shame.’

  I do, making her chuckle.

  ‘So back in the day, Star Trek had this scary alien race called the Borg. They were these half-organic, half-robot beings, all serving the hive mind. They’d go around sticking these IV tubes into any random species they fancied and turn them into part of the collective. The victim would completely lose their identity and only live to serve the Borg Queen.’

  ‘That’s a dope idea!’ I say, clicking my fingers. ‘Need me some Star Trek.’

  ‘Just not the later stuff.’ Kelly’s face looks grim.

  ‘Do your mates like Star Trek?’

  She blushes, her confidence slipping. ‘It’s my dirty little secret. If they knew, I’d probably get unfriended.’

  ‘So get better friends.’

  ‘You mean like you did? Although … Imran’s a total babe.’

  I look at her in horror.

  ‘Hey don’t get all judgey; even Gilchrist stans him.’

  ‘But aren’t you supposed to be a feminist?’ I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘Imran is the world’s biggest woman abuser.’

  ‘So he’s a fixer-upper,’ she says, smirking. ‘All he needs is a smart girl to teach him how to be a better man.’

  I snort. ‘Good luck with that! Even his mum is scared of him.’

  ‘I wish my mum were scared of me, then maybe she’d stop bullying me all the time.’

  ‘Kelly, seriously – Imran is a bad man.’

  ‘Can I see one of your comics?’ she asks, abruptly changing the subject.

  My eyes slide off to the right. ‘OK, but I can’t tell stories like you can. Plot-wise I’m completely shite.’

  Kelly bats my reservations out of the air. ‘Haters gonna hate. Personally I like to focus on what does work in a story. Makes you a happier person.’

  ‘I got it on USB,’ I tell her, grabbing my backpack.

  ‘PakCore me!’ she says, pointing at Mr Gilchrist’s computer.

  ‘OK, but I’m opening up a browser with an apology letter in case the dude finishes having emergency phone sex with Officer Pryce.’

  Hovering over my file, I take a deep breath and double-click. Kelly stares at the screen, her eyes tracking from panel to panel as she follows the action. My heart unfolds like a deck chair and sits in my throat.

  ‘This isn’t a digital comic you downloaded off your Kindle, is it?’ she asks when she’s done reading.

  I shake my head earnestly before realizing it’s a compliment.

  ‘Grade nine for drawing, you totes Da-Vinched it. Grade … seven maybe for story skills.’

  I smile at her. ‘Thanks!’

  We start discussing plot holes and fixes. Kelly has so many dope suggestions, I
actually start taking notes.

  After a while, it dawns on me. ‘Tomorrow’s our last day together,’ I say sadly.

  Her lips begin to move, then suddenly we’re plunged into darkness.

  ‘What the heck just happened?’ Kelly asks.

  I shrug. ‘Power cut?’

  ‘Oh shit! Do you know what time it is?’

  I press the home button on my phone, bringing the screen to life. The first thing I see is a whole bunch of missed calls from Amma.

  ‘It’s half six!’ I say, incapable of understanding how the sky went pitch black without us noticing. Guess time flies when you’re geeking out.

  ‘My mum’s going to kill me …’ Kelly says.

  ‘She probably hasn’t noticed, otherwise she’d’ve been blowing up your phone, innit?’

  She shakes her head. ‘My battery died at lunchtime, and Jade wouldn’t lend me her power bar.’

  ‘This is all Gilchrist’s fault.’ I scowl. ‘Six whole hours of She-Hulk sex! Man, is he getting fired.’

  Kelly gives a belly laugh. Soon we’re both rolling, cos the whole situation is so mad.

  I stop abruptly. ‘Kelly, what if the caretaker locked us in?’

  We stare at each other, the whites of our eyes almost iridescent in the darkness. Then we bolt for the door, heading downstairs in a flurry of flapping limbs and thundering feet.

  The doors are sealed shut.

  We bang on them, calling for help, punching the disabled door-activation button. Nothing happens.

  ‘How comes the motion sensors aren’t working?’ Kelly asks, waving her arms like she’s trying to flag down a plane. ‘If we spend the night here, we’ll die of starvation or pneumonia. Whichever comes first.’

  ‘That happens, I’m coming back as a zombie, and Gilchrist’s brains will be on the menu.’

  ‘I think I’ll come back as a poltergeist and give all the bullies terminal wedgies.’

  ‘Even Imran?’

  She covers her mouth with both hands. ‘Oh my God, you don’t want to know the kinds of things I’d do to him!’

  In spite of myself, I laugh.

  Every fire escape in the building is locked, but luckily a few classrooms have been overlooked. Thank God for shabby cleaners. My phone holds the gloom at bay as we enter a science lab, but the power is fading fast.

  A cool draught wafts under my eyes, drying my sweat. A second later, I see Kelly’s silhouette in front of a partially open window, beckoning me over like a shadow puppet. Together we push open the window and toss our bags out. Then we climb on to cupboards lining the wall.

  ‘Ladies first,’ I offer.

  ‘Forget it,’ Kelly replies, pushing me forward. ‘I may need your skinny corpse to break my fat fall.’

  The spangled sky stretches across the world like a veil. A full moon glows among the constellation of stars, staring down like a gigantic eyeball.

  In my mind, I’m PakCore, poised at the top of a skyscraper. Behind me lurk the Living Shadows; in front lies certain death. With only a slim chance of survival, I remake the Sign of Wahid, receiving a ferocious power upgrade that may very well consume me …

  ‘Hurry up, or I’ll push you!’ Kelly snaps.

  I bend my knees, muscles like cherry bombs, adrenalin lighting their fuses. Pushing off through my heels, I launch upwards, starting a mid-air rotation.

  Oh my God, I think. I’m actually going to do this!

  Suddenly the rotation reverses, gravity dragging me down. My stomach shrinks to the size of a pea, before I crash into the wet earth, crying out in pain.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ Kelly calls from the window.

  ‘Kick the Moon?’ I say weakly.

  She sits on the window ledge and eases herself down gently, her DMs absorbing the worst of the impact. She pokes me with her boot. ‘I think the moon kicked back.’

  Reaching down, she pulls me to my feet. I’m shook by how strong she is. OK, so she never looked like Jade and the rest of those cookie-cutter Barbies, but I reckon Kelly could probably carry me home.

  She shakes her head. ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘Dunno,’ I say, checking myself over for a dislocated limb. ‘I just kinda saw the stars and wanted to reach for them. All that stuff you said about my drawings, kinda made me feel like I could …’

  For a moment, Kelly is nothing but a bushy silhouette, breathing fiercely. Then without warning, she bear hugs me.

  ‘I gotta go. See ya!’ She takes off, flying out of the gates.

  Amma slams a bowl of porridge down in front of me. A splash of milky oats leaps on to the table cloth.

  ‘You’re a bad bitch,’ Shais purrs under her breath, stirring her smoothie with a bendy straw. The thick pale liquid is her own revolting recipe. Slugs must’ve been harmed in the making.

  Suppressing a shudder, I reach for the maple syrup. In the kitchen, Amma’s tablet is broadcasting the local news. The reporter’s going on about some shoot-out at a factory.

  ‘Where were you really?’ Shais probes.

  I squirt the amber liquid over my steaming porridge. ‘I told you: detention.’

  ‘Till seven? You could at least try making your lies a bit believable.’ She snatches the bottle and adds a squeeze to her own macrobiotic nightmare.

  My eyes widen. ‘Shais …’

  ‘Well it’s true. You could’ve pretended you went round to a friend’s house and got caught up playing PlayStation or whatever idiotic activity—’

  ‘Listen!’

  ‘Don’t speak to me like …’ She trails off, hearing the reporter on the tablet.

  ‘… as Andrés López and twenty-one-year-old Zaman Akhtar.’

  My sister lets out a little gasp, nails pressed to her lips like diamante shields.

  ‘Notorious gang DX Dingoes is suspected to be operating in at least six boroughs in south London, but the full scale of the picture is as yet unknown. For now, charges of drug trafficking, embezzlement and firearm possession are expected.’

  ‘That boy was working at our shop!’ Amma says in disbelief. ‘He was carrying on with my own daughter, and I didn’t even know! I must call your father.’

  Shaista gets up, mumbling incoherently, before stumbling into the corridor. Amma follows Shais, and soon I can hear her muffled sobs. My own heartbeats go staccato. Come Monday, Imran will be back at school, and now that I know he’s the cousin of a convicted gangsta, murdering me doesn’t seem so far-fetched.

  ‘Today, you are going to gain some experience in answering exam-style questions under timed conditions,’ drones my English teacher, Ms Pettigrew.

  I glance round at Noah, who is glaring at me. He jabs a finger at his phone, instructing me to text him my answers, or else. Daevon seems to be texting under his table. A few seconds later, Denusha’s phone vibrates, and she starts giggling.

  ‘Hush!’ Ms Pettigrew snaps.

  ‘It’s not my fault if someone keeps sending me inappropriate dick pix,’ Denusha mutters sulkily.

  I wonder what she thinks an appropriate dick pic is.

  ‘Any questions? No? Best of luck. Your time starts now.’ Mrs Pettigrew stretches a bony finger towards the virtual timer. The numbers roll back as the thirty-minute countdown begins.

  Today, I decide, opening my exam booklet, will be the day I score top marks and free myself from the brotherhood of the damned. If I can do it in maths, I can totally do it in English.

  Section A is about Shakespeare, and skimming through the choices, the name Ariel jumps out at me. Disney questions! my demented brain thinks happily, before realizing it’s an extract from The Tempest. I try to read it, but Sebastian the crab has begun singing ‘Under the Sea’ in my head. Only halfway through, it becomes a mash-up of Jme’s ‘Man Don’t Care’.

  I’m caught between having a flat-out panic attack and laughing hysterically when there’s a knock at the classroom door. Mrs Pettigrew puts a finger to her lips, indicating to the messenger that he shouldn’t disturb us. Th
e boy hands over a note, and Mrs Pettigrew looks at me.

  I swallow.

  ‘Ilyas, Mr Gilchrist wants to see you in his office. The rest of you remain silent and keep working.’

  Grabbing my bag (just in case I’m being fast-tracked to an exclusion) and dodging a kick from Noah, I follow the kid out. ‘What’s Gilchrist want?’ I ask him.

  The kid shrugs.

  Could Imran’s brain have haemorrhaged, leaving him a vegetable? My stomach ties itself in knots.

  I knock on the deputy principal’s door and shuffle into his office. Seeing Kelly there fills me with relief. Then I notice Gilchrist is a mess. Hair like a swirl of ice cream, red-radish eyes and belly poking through a shirt that is buttoned all wrong. Gilchrist gestures for me to take a seat.

  ‘I’m sorry to pull you out of class, but I had to see you both urgently. Yesterday I received some shocking news.’

  Imran passed away. I am so going to Hell …

  ‘My wife was admitted to hospital last night.’ The final word comes out in an emotional squeak, which he covers up by coughing into a boulder-sized fist.

  Kelly helps him out. ‘Is that why you didn’t come back for us yesterday?’

  He sighs looking like a forlorn bear. ‘I was in shock … Completely slipped my mind.’

  I exchange a glance with Kelly. ‘Look accidents happen, innit? It’s cool. I won’t say nothing to my mum.’

  Kelly nods. ‘I already told my mum I went to the library and didn’t realize my phone had died. She thinks I’m irresponsible. Nothing new there, then.’

  ‘I’m so sorry …’ Gilchrist says.

  ‘Do we still have detention after school?’ Kelly asks.

  Gilchrist shakes his head, rubbing a creased hanky under his nose. ‘Just give me your letters at the end of the day so I can hold on to them for Monday.’

  We nod and get up to leave.

  ‘Remember, Ilyas, Kelly – life’s too short to hold grudges.’

  Closing the door behind us, me and Kelly exchange worried looks.

  ‘Reckon he’s having a breakdown,’ she says sagely.

  ‘Having? Already had one, more like! His eye bags were like hammocks for dolphins.’ I sigh. ‘Anyway, better get back to my “exam style” English test, I suppose.’