Kick the Moon

by Muhammad Khan

  When Imran doesn’t say anything, Amma speaks up, translating Gilchrist’s words into Punjabi for his mother.

  ‘Leh!’ his mum says, thrusting her palm out in exasperation. It’s clear that in her mind, everything is a conspiracy against Imran, and I’m the spawn of Satan.

  ‘Consequently, and as per school guidelines, Ilyas was suspended for a week. Following on from that, a week’s worth of detentions was set. I am satisfied he has had time to reflect on the error of his ways. During this time, he penned a letter of apology to you, Imran, which he will now read aloud.’

  Imran turns his chair round to face me, a cocky smirk spreading across his face.

  Amma pats my back, letting me know she’s here for me. I swallow twice, then start to read.

  ‘Dear Imran,’ I begin.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t catch that,’ Imran says, bending forward and cupping his ear. ‘Think the head injury might’ve made me a little deaf.’

  Gilchrist glares at him. ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Dear Imran,’ I repeat, my feet itching. ‘I would like to apologize to you for causing your head injury. I never meant for it to happen. You called my mum names, and I responded with violence, which I now know was a stupid thing to do. I want you to know I acted in the heat of the moment, and my judgement was i-i-i—’

  ‘Impaired,’ Amma says gently.

  ‘Impaired,’ I get out. ‘I shouldn’t have hit you, and I am really sorry. I would also like to apologize to your mum for all the stress I have caused her. Finally I would like to apologize for bringing the school into disrepute. I hope you can forgive me. Yours faithfully, Ilyas Mian.’

  Amma squeezes my shoulder and nods her head. I sigh, the tension finally slipping from my shoulders.

  Gilchrist prompts Imran with raised eyebrows. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll agree that was an admirable apology. It takes a great man or woman to admit their mistakes. Would you like to say anything to Ilyas in return?’

  Imran shrugs, scratching his nose. I now spot some redness around his stud, which makes him more human.

  ‘You let me down, fam. I treated you like a brother and protected you from bullies. And you went and stabbed me in the back. But it’s calm. I’mma be the bigger man and let things slide. But you try something dumb like this again, even I won’t be able to stop my mum from going straight to the feds. You feel me?’

  His mother glares over his shoulder at me. ‘They’ll lock you up in prison. The inmates will see a Pakistani boy and think you’re a terrorist. They’ll rip you into pieces!’ she hisses in Punjabi.

  My eyes widen in fear.

  ‘Don’t say anything back,’ Amma says. With those gentle words, she’s informed Gilchrist of Mrs Akhtar baiting me.

  ‘OK, well let’s wrap this up with a little handshake in the spirit of good sportsmanship, shall we?’ he says.

  Imran looks at me and smiles. I cautiously hold my hand out, and it’s gobbled up by his giant one. For one horrible moment, I know exactly what he’s going to do. Crush every bone in my drawing hand so the only talent I have is lost forever. But instead he yanks me towards him and gives me a proper bro-hug.

  ‘I own you,’ he whispers.

  I’m jamming stuff in my locker at break, when multiple shadows fall over me like nets. I whip round to see Imran flanked by Noah and Daevon. My stomach bungee jumps itself into knots.

  ‘You took out your cornrows,’ I say to Daevon, distracting myself and everyone else from my impending death. Daevon’s hair is a puffy globe with a wooden afro comb poking out like a side parting. I wish I had hair like Daevon. ‘Man looks peng!’

  Daevon gives the ghost of a smile, twisting his curly beard hairs pensively. ‘Thanks, blud.’

  ‘You done it yet?’ Imran asks abruptly. ‘Got jiggy with a girl?’

  My insides shrivel. I assumed putting him in hospital was my ticket out of this gang. ‘Look, maybe it’s best if I don’t hang with you guys any more …’

  ‘DedManz for life, bro. We got each other’s backs till death do us. You feel me?’

  The threat is clear as he makes the DedManz hand signal. Four seconds is the extent of my great protest before responding with the same sign of loyalty.

  ‘We cool then?’ I ask, with disbelief.

  Imran chuckles, rubbing his knuckles over my skull like a scouring pad. ‘Yeah, course. We’re basically wolves. We growl, we fight, we lick our wounds, then carry on.’

  Grabbing my shoulder, he leads me out into the chill air of the playground. Surrounded by DedManz, I feel like a ball being dribbled to the edge of a cliff.

  ‘Anyway,’ he says, blowing on his hands. ‘Noah here tells me he saw you hanging with a Becky. Which one is it?’

  I swallow. ‘Noah’s full of it. Man’s so high, he’d hump a tree and swear down it was Ariana Grande.’

  Daevon laughs as Noah jabs me in the stomach. My breakfast rises in a sizzling sauce of gastric acid. I glare at Noah.

  ‘Leave him,’ Imran tells Noah. ‘Ilyas is nails. Little shit put me in hospital, innit?’

  He booms with laughter, and Noah and Daevon join in. I giggle like the wuss I am.

  ‘How long was man in for?’ Noah asks.

  Imran shrugs. ‘Just overnight. Pretended it was longer cos I didn’t wanna come back to this dump, innit?’

  DedManz roar with laughter just as Kelly rounds the corner of the school building into the playground.

  Jade and Melanie step into view, laughing, their clones Nicole and Victoria bringing up the rear. A flash of anger flares in my mind. How dare Kelly sell out so quickly? Then I remember I’m doing exactly the same. We’re just a couple of kids who wish we were braver than we are.

  ‘You like that girl, don’t you?’ Imran says so close to my ear, it sounds like he’s inside my head.

  I jolt, quickly looking away and shaking my head.

  ‘Sure you do,’ he persists. ‘Her name’s Jade. Check out all that gorgeous blonde hair and her rack.’

  The fact that he’s not talking about Kelly comes as a huge relief.

  ‘I see you checking me out,’ he continues as if speaking to Jade. ‘But every time man gets close, you back off.’

  ‘Gal’s racist!’ Noah suggests, hocking up some phlegm and shooting it inches from my foot.

  ‘Nah, just scared. Scared she’ll like it a bit too much.’

  Noah grins, his eyes strangely dull and lifeless. ‘Let’s find out after school. Your mans will hold her down for you.’

  ‘Noah, man,’ Daevon says squeezing the bridge of his nose. ‘You always take it too far.’

  I look at Daevon with newfound respect.

  ‘Look, I gotta go,’ I say, hoping to get away before the conversation turns uglier.

  Imran snags my skinny wrist. ‘Yo! DedManz is leaving the building. A whole week without tagging? Fools gonna start claiming our turf.’

  Once again, I find myself scooped up in a tidal wave of bodies and marched along to the school gate.

  ‘Lunch passes?’ demands the dinner lady at the gate, her dry face barely visible between a thick scarf and a woolly hat.

  Imran flashes his forged pass, while Noah and Daevon bundle me into the street.

  Outside, Imran ignites his vape pen and blows a big ball of smoke into the air.

  ‘You nuts?’ I say to Imran. ‘Gilchrist’s gonna be keeping an extra close eye on you and me. We go bunking, we’re dead meat.’

  Imran whirls round and backhands me. I feel the tiny capillaries burst in my cheek bringing tears to my eyes. The fierce wind amplifies the pain.

  ‘Gimme status, fam!’ He thrusts the drawstring bag of paint cans into my shaking hand. ‘Hold on to these and do your ting when you’re told. Otherwise keep your mouth shut.’

  I catch Daevon’s eye. He silently plucks out his afro comb and teases the fluffy ends of his hair.

  ‘Come on!’ Imran calls, jogging up the Crompton bridge.

  A truck roars under it, filling the air with th
e beefy stench of horse manure.

  ‘Daev, I can’t do this no more …’ I whisper.

  He looks at me and shrugs. ‘Up to you, mate. It’s one tag or a whole lotta hassle. You decide.’

  Struggling with my own conscience, I ball my fists. ‘I just wanna be free to do my own thing.’

  ‘Shoulda thought of that before you took the DedManz pledge.’

  ‘Oi! Where’s my mans at?’ Imran hollers, leaning over the bridge. In a fluid motion, he leaps up on to the edge.

  ‘Look at dem slow bitches!’ Noah’s scathing face rises into view.

  Imran closes his eyes and throws his arms wide. ‘I’m king of the world!’ he shouts. He tips backwards, where Noah sacrifices himself as a crash mat. They both tumble out of sight, hooting with laughter.

  ‘They were just joking about rape, man?’ I say to Daevon, trying to keep my hysterical voice down.

  ‘Locker room bantz, innit?’ he says stiffly.

  Tears prick my eyes and make my voice wobble. ‘I made a mistake, Daev. But I know what I want now.’

  ‘Yeah? And what’s that?’

  ‘I want out.’ I touch his arm. ‘Help me, bro. Please.’

  Daevon studies the desperation in my eyes before glancing up to Imran on the bridge. ‘You try leaving, Imran’s gonna stab you.’

  ‘Then I’ll do a runner. I’ll grab my shit and take off.’

  Daevon cough-laughs. ‘You think Auntie Foz’s gonna be cool with that? Not to mention you’d be leaving your family as collateral.’

  My eyes widen in horror. ‘Imran wouldn’t go that far …’

  He turns to face me. ‘You seen the news lately? London’s become the capital city of stabbings. Don’t forget who his cousin is, neither.’

  I punch the rail in frustration, grazing my knuckles. ‘So you’re saying the only way out of DedManz is to become an actual dead man?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ he says, starting to climb the steps. He clicks his fingers and points. ‘Or it’s just one tag.’

  I drag my feet up the concrete stairs, peering over the side, wishing I could switch places with one of those lorry drivers, spend all day on the road, running away from relationships, arguments and problems.

  ‘You lot wanna see something cool?’ Imran asks when we finally make it to the top.

  ‘Here for it, bruv,’ Daevon wheezes, hands on knees.

  ‘Get ready to have your minds blown.’ Imran yanks his tie down and over his head, tossing it aside and ripping open his shirt.

  A pair of black-and-blue angel’s wings unfurl under Imran’s collar bones. The edges are pink and raw, but fine shading and diluted inks make it look 3D.

  ‘How on earth did man get a tattoo?’ Noah asks. ‘Last time I went, I got told not to come back till I’m eighteen.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Ilyas? Don’t like man’s tattoo?’ Imran asks, seeing my face.

  I catch a glimpse of another mark, just above his waistband. It reminds me of something, but he quickly hitches up his trousers before I can make out what it is.

  ‘Dope,’ I lie. ‘But what you gonna do when you’re old and wrinkly?’

  He laughs. ‘If the feds don’t get me, I’m staying young forever.’

  ‘Me too,’ Noah agrees.

  ‘Some day, we’re all getting tagged,’ Imran says, slapping a palm over his heart solemnly.

  I sigh, scratching my sideburn, realizing that my art is all about somebody I don’t even like; realizing that when people see me, they actually see Imran, or at best one of his lackeys. Daevon might say it’s ‘just one tag’, but that’s till the next one. And the one after that … ‘Where do you want it?’

  ‘What colour do you normally start with?’ Imran asks, glancing into the drawstring bag of paint cans. ‘Yellow?’

  ‘No, brown.’

  He grabs the brown and pushes it into my hand, tucking a zip-seal bag of special nozzles into my pocket.

  ‘Best hold tight, fam,’ he advises solemnly.

  There’s time to blink before Imran lifts me and flips me over the side of the bridge. Suddenly the world is upside down, and I’m swinging like a pendulum above noisy traffic.

  ‘What you doing?!’ I cry, hissing and spitting like a feral cat. From between my feet, I see Imran’s grimacing face. He’s holding tightly on to my ankles, a vein throbbing on his forehead from the effort.

  ‘Stop squirming, you idiot, or you’re gonna die!’ Noah says.

  He and Daevon have grabbed on too, flanking Imran.

  ‘Please!’ I beg, going rigid. ‘Pull me up! I ain’t ready!’

  ‘Naw, you ready, fam,’ Imran says, feigning sympathy.

  ‘Please! Daev!’

  Daevon meets my eyes, and I see the conflict in them. ‘Just shut up and spray the damn tag!’ he shouts. ‘Quicker you do it, quicker we can pull you back up.’ He cusses, spitting over the side.

  Blood rushes into the bowl of my skull, drowning my brain. ‘Please … I can’t breathe …’

  ‘Do it or we’ll drop you!’ Noah shrieks, giving my left leg a terrible shake.

  Imran’s after a Heaven: a tag in a place so difficult to access, it immediately boosts your gang’s rep. I shake the can, whimpering as it sets me off swinging again. The rattle of the glass bead is the sound of my teeth.

  ‘You’re doing great!’ Daevon shouts, even though I haven’t even started yet.

  A fine mist peppers the air as I push down on the cap. My shirt takes some serious blow back, but the majority lands on the bland grey concrete, building up to a glossy coat. A suicidal determination uncoils in my chest. If I’m checking out, my final piece is going to be INCREDIBLE.

  ‘Red!’ I bark.

  A disembodied hand lowers the red paint can, and soon I’m working like a pro in an art studio and never mind that I’m upside down. Each fresh puff of paint breathes new life into the DedManz tag. Imran’s tattoo has given me ideas …

  Lens flares and starbursts are my final tricks. Even with my nose practically brushing up against it, the tag appears to float a good three feet in front of the bridge. I am stoked to view the illusion at street level – and the right way up.

  ‘OK, man is done. Pull me back up,’ I call.

  Nothing happens.

  I look up and see Imran staring at me with disassociated calmness. To his right, Noah is holding up his phone, filming me with the evilest grin on his face.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I ask with growing trepidation.

  ‘You disrespected the boss, fam,’ Imran says glibly. ‘And there’s a price to pay.’

  A black hole of despair swallows my gut. All that separates me from a massive drop and solid tarmac is Imran’s vengeful hands wrapped round my ankles. Twenty-five feet below, a stream of potential witnesses whizz by. Won’t do me any good if I’m a broken body lying dead in the middle of a busy road.

  ‘Imran, please!’ I beg. ‘It was an accident! You know this …’

  ‘Shut up!’ he roars, giving my ankles a violent shake.

  Bile floods my mouth, overflowing into my nostrils. I choke, then start to scream.

  ‘What you doing, man?’ Daevon asks in horror, trying to haul me back up.

  Noah’s fist crashes into the side of his face. Daevon tumbles out of sight.

  ‘You people need to learn to put some respeck on my name!’ Imran spits, a shudder of rage coursing through his body. Meanwhile, I’m dangling from his psychotic grasp, praying to God for a miracle.

  ‘Look – he pissed himself!’ Noah sniggers, aiming his phone at my damp crotch.

  ‘OK, you guys got me. Now let me up, man. Please!’ I beg.

  ‘You don’t seem to understand how gangs work,’ Imran says. ‘I’m the Don. If my own mans disrespect me, gangstas start believing they can pull the same shit, and DedManz dies. That ain’t happening. I got a lot riding on this.’

  Has he been at the crack again? DedManz is just some stupid game we play to make ourselves feel important. Then I make
a horrible leap. The tip of a tattoo I glimpsed earlier was the pointed ear of a dingo – a DX Dingo. Imran must have gone big time, and my death is probably his initiation. A way for him to prove himself, and for Zaman to have revenge on Dad for ending his relationship with Shais.

  I beg for my life without shame, but Imran’s already shaking his head. ‘You brought this on yourself, fam.’

  And then he lets go.

  I scream before realizing he has only let go of one ankle. He yanks on the other one, tossing me back on to the bridge like a leg of lamb.

  ‘Con-grat-u-lations!’ Imran says, squatting down and lifting my head so I look into his eyes. ‘You get to live. Now go home and wash the pee-pee out of your pants. And remember who da boss.’ He rises up. ‘Come on, lads.’

  The rest of the week passes in a blur. Several times, I see Kelly in the playground, but she keeps her distance. Today she gives me a sad smile on the way into assembly. There’s a video going round of me on the bridge. She obviously thinks I’m a total coward. Still, I wish with all my heart she’d reach out to me.

  But it’s never gonna happen. Why should she be the one to make the first move? And after Imran owned me, I’m just too scared to do it myself. The best thing I can do for Kelly is to keep Imran the hell away from her.

  ‘Today we’re celebrating Movember at Stanley Park!’ Mrs Waldorf announces into the microphone at assembly, once Mr Gilchrist has got us to behave for her.

  She’s wearing a false moustache, which unfortunately draws attention to the fact that she’s a dead ringer for Hitler. ‘Today’s assembly will be taken by Year Eleven!’ she trills.

  Jade appears onstage, radiant as a Snapchat filter. But ever since Kelly gave me the deets on her, it’s difficult to be impressed. Lurking behind the glamorous curtain isn’t the Wizard of Oz; it’s the Wicked Witch herself.

  A guy called Chris steps up to the microphone. He’s one of those popular kids who gets involved in everything. He’s proudly wearing his thick brown moustache and ginger beard. Man looks like a regular Viking.

  ‘Prostate cancer is a serious matter,’ he tells us gravely, while Jade nods, giving Serious Face. ‘Us men aren’t very good at talking about our health. A trip to the doctor is the stuff of nightmares for most of us. Sometimes we’re met with ridicule if we finally do say something to friends.’