Kick the Moon

by Muhammad Khan

  ‘Back when they weren’t trying to fleece you. You seen them prices?’

  Daevon glances at the kids on the ride. Their well-dressed parents stand around taking pictures and shouting things like ‘Weeeeee!’ and ‘Don’t go too fast!’

  ‘Your mum let us ride bare times! Then she’d buy us candyfloss on a stick or them spiral lollies. Oh man, remember those giant lollies? Like something outta Wonka’s factory!’

  Daev’s reliving the good times, not realizing that what made them so good was the fact that we never worried about what we looked like or what anybody else thought. We were living our best lives.

  ‘Say, where is Auntie Foz at, anyway?’ he asks.

  I stick my hands in my pockets, kicking my scuffed trainers. ‘Pakistan. My auntie’s badly sick.’

  Daevon lets out a low whistle. ‘That sucks.’

  We’re quiet for a while, lost in our own thoughts.

  ‘Hey, they replaced the sweet shop with a health food shop!’ he says, pointing indignantly. ‘Bet you any money it’s a government thing. Stupid prime minister sugar-taxing my life!’

  ‘You remembered it wrong, fam. The shop’s on the other side of the food court, behind the escalators. Remember all them import sweets? Sour Patch Kids, Mike and Ikes, Tootsie Rolls.’

  ‘That’s some memory,’ Daevon says, looking impressed. ‘No wonder you got moved up to Ms Mughal’s set. I wish I was smart …’

  ‘You are, though. Imran and Noah are holding you back, and it pisses me off!’

  His eyes widen in apparent surprise at my bluntness. ‘Nah, it’s the system. They want to oppress us. Besides, even if you’re right, it’s too late now anyway.’

  I shake my head. ‘Not really. Bet your parents would sort you out a private tutor if you asked. You’d be breezing the exams, fam. End up going some posh uni and wearing a suit.’

  But Daevon isn’t listening any more. He’s licking his lips, dimpling. ‘You reckon the American candy store is still here?’

  ‘Only one way to find out.’

  We turn around, and I nearly jump out of my skin when I see Imran. He’s wearing a brown leather jacket and black jeans that are so ripped, he probably popped them in a blender instead of the washing machine. His arm hangs round the shoulders of a tall girl shoehorned into a patterned minidress. Other than the smile, it’s a whole different Kelly. This one has straightened hair, parted in the middle and glittering like it’s been sprayed with crushed rubies. Her large blue eyes are framed by what Shais calls ‘feline flick’ eyeliner. Thick buttery lip gloss clings to her mouth in a suggestive sheen.

  I look away, embarrassed. What is she doing? Swapping the persona Jade’s crew created for her to become the girl Imran wants her to be isn’t an upgrade. I’m heartbroken cos she is so much better than this.

  ‘Bro!’ Daevon gets Imran’s attention just as I’m figuring out a stealthy exit strategy.

  We DedManz dap, but my eyes are on Kelly. She smiles watching the kids on the merry-go-round. The smile is all glass. She’s clearly latched on to the kids so she doesn’t have to look at me.

  ‘What you guys doing here?’ Daev asks.

  Imran slides an arm around Kelly’s waist, surprising a squeal out of her as he draws her into a kiss. He grins at us, eyes lingering on mine, while Kelly looks flustered. ‘Treating my woman, innit?’

  Kelly is not your woman! I want to scream. She belongs to no one but herself. And right now, she’s making a big mistake, and even though she’s blanking me, I still care. I hate you, Imran.

  ‘Hey, Kelly …’ I say instead, hoping she’ll at least make eye contact so I can transmit a last-ditch warning. A flash of my eyes would do it. But her face goes stiffer than burned toast, brushing crystallized hair away from her jaw.

  ‘We’re going to miss the start of the movie.’ She gives Imran a meaningful look.

  ‘What movie you guys watching?’ Daevon asks.

  Imran laughs. ‘Some superhero shit, but gotta please the lady, innit?’

  Jealousy blooms in my chest. Superheroes was our thing. How could Kelly betray me like this? Especially with Imran dismissing it as ‘shit’.

  Kelly has the decency to blush, but yanks Imran’s arm with enough force to get him moving.

  ‘See you boys later,’ he calls as they walk off together, his left hand cupping her butt.

  I cuss, punching my fists together. Daev places a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Easy. She isn’t putting out, anyway. Imran’ll get bored soon enough.’

  Hearing that makes me feel a little better. Kelly hasn’t betrayed herself. But I’m still worried cos Imran is going to see her as some sort of a posh-girl challenge. Can anyone defy the evil powers of Imran Akhtar?

  ‘Sugar is what my boy needs.’ Daevon slings an arm across my shoulders and, singing ‘I Want Candy’, walks me to the American sweet shop.

  Sunday afternoon, I’m busy making a revision timetable on my laptop, trying not to get depressed by the amount of hard work and cramming that is looming over me, when my phone rings. It’s a welcome distraction … until I see that it’s Kelly. I pick up anyway.

  ‘Hey,’ she says.

  ‘Hey,’ I reply, matching her aloof tone.

  A sigh. ‘I don’t want us to be like this.’

  ‘Dump Imran. Simples.’

  ‘Why can’t you be happy for me? He’s your friend too.’

  ‘He’s not my friend. He’s just a guy I hang with cos I’m too scared to walk away. You saw the meme, right? That was Imran dangling me off a bridge till I pissed myself. That’s who you’re dating.’

  ‘I’m sorry Imran was a bastard to you. There’s really no excuse. But, well, we don’t choose who we love. It just sort of happens.’

  I sigh too. ‘You taught me about power imbalances. You said you were gonna make Imran a better man. But the only person I see changing is you.’

  ‘I’m fifteen years old, trying to figure things out just like everyone else. Sometimes you have to compromise your ideals a bit.’

  ‘You’re feeding his ego …’

  ‘It’s not like he isn’t making an effort for me too. He sat through a two-hour movie he hated. If that isn’t love, then what is?’

  I’m so done with talking about Imran. ‘Can I tell you some amazing ideas I’ve had for Big Bad Waf?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Just like that, I change the subject, telling her about some cool new plot twists, getting myself more and more worked up before realizing this isn’t a conversation. It’s a monologue.

  ‘Kelz?’

  Silence.

  ‘Earth-One to Kelly?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here! Sorry.’

  ‘Were you listening?’ I ask, my cheeks burning.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘So, you’re coming over tomorrow to help?’

  ‘Oh, um, sorry, Ilz. I’m sorta busy tomorrow.’

  ‘But Kablamo! Kon IV is only weeks away!’

  ‘You’ll manage. I’d only get in the way …’

  ‘You could never get in the way. Not ever.’

  ‘That’s really sweet and all, but …’

  She lets out a long sigh, and I brace myself for impact. You can change the subject, but you can’t change someone’s mind.

  ‘I can’t live in stories any more, Ilz.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say. Knew it was coming, could feel it suffocating me like Living Shadows, but I wasn’t prepared for how much it was going to hurt.

  ‘All my life, Mum has made decisions for me: trips to museums and galleries, dissertations and piano lessons, Latin classes and chamber choir. I thought I loved making stories as much as you do. See, your love is pure. Mine was only ever about escapism.’ She swallows, clearing her throat. ‘Imran is exciting, Ilyas! He’s more into me than any guy I’ve ever dated. I’m usually just a way for boys to get closer to Jade or Mels.’

  I open my mouth to beg her not to be so dumb. Imran is more evil than Thanos and Darkseid combined. Wha
t she sees as attention is just him wearing her down. But if I speak up, Kelly is going to think I only care about my comic, and I’ll lose her. Maybe Mrs M was right, and I am a parasite …

  ‘Then be with him,’ I say, emotionally drained, finally defeated. ‘I mean, if it’s what you want.’

  ‘Oh my God! I knew you’d get it eventually. You’re the best.’

  If I’m the best, then why do I feel like the absolute worst?

  ‘Grrrr! Miss, I can’t do this!’

  Ms Mughal glances up from Ray’s book. ‘Of course you can, Kara. It’s essentially just drawing bits of circles – something you’ve been doing since Year Seven.’

  ‘But I was rubbish at it back then as well,’ Kara moans.

  ‘You’re doing it right,’ I tell her, glancing over at her diagram. ‘Your dodgy compass is the problem.’

  ‘Can I borrow yours then?’

  ‘Sure, lemme just finish mine.’ I measure the gap between the compass point and the attached pencil, then whirl an arc across my worksheet, trying to represent the locus of a water sprinkler. ‘Why did the examiners have to mess up an already difficult topic by bringing in Inequalities, anyway? It’s like sticking you in a cage with scorpions and snakes. Overkill.’

  ‘Preach!’ Kara says, then leans in closer to share some gossip. ‘You know that girl who paid twenty quid to shave Imran’s hair off the other day?’

  I try not to flinch. One slip, and I’ll have to start over, which is too much for a Monday.

  ‘Well apparently she’s dating him now! Dunno what he sees in her.’

  ‘Dunno what she sees in him,’ I counter.

  Kara swots my arm. ‘Salty bish!’ My pencil tip slips, marking a squiggle in the middle of my diagram. ‘Oops …’

  Sighing, I rub it out and start again.

  ‘What’s with the shade, though?’ She looks at me expectantly. ‘I thought you boys were mates again.’

  ‘Imran’s a thug, and the thug life ain’t for me.’

  ‘Girls love a bad boy. I’m thirsty for it.’ She cackles.

  ‘You do realize he’s been putting it around. Like, a lot.’

  ‘Well then he must be great in bed!’ she says, flicking her tongue and making randy cat noises. ‘Don’t look at me like that! Boy’s fine as hell.’

  ‘She’s not bad either.’

  Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. ‘Have you not noticed how much make-up that hoe’s been wearing? It’s like she’s taking lessons offa Mrs Waldorf.’

  I finally snap. ‘Imran screws around, and he’s a stud. The girl wears make-up, and she’s a hoe. Do you not see the double standards here?’

  ‘Yeah – but everyone, like, idolizes Imran.’

  ‘So why have you got these then?’ I ask, holding up her bag, pointing at the assortment of badges with feisty slogans: Riots not diets! Feminist & Proud! Cuterous.

  ‘Savage!’ Nawal says, clapping her hands. ‘The boy is a better feminist than you, Kara.’

  Kara sticks her nose up in the air. ‘It’s not a competition.’

  ‘What’s a cuterous?’ asks a Alfie.

  ‘Some place you came out of,’ says Nawal, making everyone laugh.

  ‘Can I have you all looking at the board, please!’ calls Ms Mughal. ‘I’m going to demonstrate how to answer questions one through four, since quite a few of us are struggling.’

  At 3.10 p.m. I see Kelly coming out of her languages class and hurry over.

  ‘Hey, I know you don’t want to help me with my comic any more, but could I ask you a coupla questions about your notes?’ I pull them out of my rucksack.

  ‘There’s an inter-school football match on in ten minutes …’ She sees me deflate and touches my shoulder. ‘But you should totally come.’

  I scowl. ‘Since when do you care about sports?’

  ‘Um, since the captain became my boyfriend?’

  ‘So you’re spending time going to Imran’s games, which you hate. Does he listen to your stories?’

  ‘Do you?’

  Her question throws me.

  ‘Project X,’ she reminds me pointedly. ‘You haven’t asked me about it even once since those detentions with Gilchrist. All you care about is your comic.’

  A fine mist of acid coats my tongue. ‘You said you weren’t gonna work on Project X till uni, otherwise of course I would’ve asked. I think it’s badass!’

  ‘Oh really? So what’s it about then?’ She folds her arms.

  ‘World epidemic of the flu. Cassie finds a cure and joins a group of rebels to get it to the people, but sinister forces are afoot. See? I do care about your dreams. And I care about you, which is why I don’t want to see you get hurt.’

  ‘But I’m not going to get hurt. Why do you keep saying that? It’s like you want it to happen. Anyway, I’m just not into stories any more.’

  ‘Imran’s changing you. I miss your curly hair.’ I glance down at her kitten heels. ‘You’ve even stopped wearing uncle Fiz’s boots.’

  Her cheeks colour. ‘Well maybe change isn’t such a bad thing? We’re all growing up. Having a boyfriend is important to me right now. I shouldn’t have to apologize for it.’ She grips my arm, eyes twinkling. ‘Try it! Find yourself a cute girlfriend.’

  Suddenly I feel like everything hangs on my next words – screw ’em up, and I’ve lost her forever. If it was a picture, I could draw what I need to explain. But words? I’ve been lazy, looking to Kelly for those.

  ‘Yeah, well you concentrate on growing up. I’m going to go win twenty-five grand! Never needed you in the first place, fam.’

  I walk off, my lies ringing in my ears.

  With my hands in my pockets, I meander into the shop after school.‘Aagaya munda, tere!’ One of Dad’s workers announces my arrival, signing an autograph in the air with cigarette smoke.

  Dad tells him off for smoking inside, then turns to me. ‘I really hope you haven’t come asking for pocket money, because you’re getting zilch from me.’

  I shake my head, gesturing with my hands still inside my jacket pockets. ‘Er, can we talk over there?’

  Dad looks puzzled, but nods. Ever since Amma left, he’s given up shaving and grown a beard that looks like Rocket Raccoon’s butt glued to his face. Some of the regulars think Dad’s gone religious, which he likes to play up to, quoting sayings of the Prophet, which I think he made up. The truth is he’s lost without Amma. He leans against a shelf of dessert mixes, their colourful packets promising results that never happen in real life.

  ‘I thought about what you said,’ I begin. ‘I wanna start working for you now.’

  ‘What about school?’

  ‘Forget school,’ I say, unable to make eye contact.

  His shaggy eyebrows rise. ‘You in trouble again?’

  I shake my head. ‘All that studying and homework and exams – it’s just not me.’

  ‘Look, son, I appreciate the offer, but it’s against the law. Come back when you’re eighteen, then we’ll talk.’

  ‘But it’s doing my head in!’ I yell.

  Dad’s workers give me some side eye.

  ‘You missing your mum?’

  I look at Dad in surprise. Not because of what he said, but how he said it. His voice was softer than I’ve heard in a long time. Maybe Dad isn’t the Neanderthal he pretends to be. Maybe no one is. Only, it’s like trying to be cool: you do it cos you think other people expect it.

  With a tiny shake of my head, I shrug. ‘Amma’s busy, innit?’

  ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you skyping her.’ He takes a long drag on his e-cigarette, then registers my look of surprise. ‘Your old man’s trying to quit.’

  ‘Since when?’ Amma’s been trying to get the man to quit for time.

  ‘Since your Amma’s been gone,’ he admits, rubbing his forehead. ‘I was a chain-smoker when I met your mum. Fifteen bloody cancer sticks a day!’ He strokes his scalp, looking crestfallen. ‘Had hair on my head back then, instead of me shoulders. You was ne
ver short of a stick of gum whenever Foz was around, I can tell you! But gum will only take you so far.’ He takes another drag on his e-cig, then smiles. ‘I’m not marrying someone who smells like the backseat of a school bus!’ He smiles, recalling her words, tapping off non-existent ash. ‘God she was cute …’

  ‘Did you quit?’

  ‘Cold turkey,’ he confirms grimly. ‘Oh your Amma was worth it, mate. Prettiest Pakistani girl in all of London. Even the goras were begging her for the time of day. She never did understand all the attention. Not stuck up like the rest of them la-dee-da girls.’

  ‘You really love her, don’t you, Dad?’ I say.

  His eyes narrow to ellipses, taking a longer puff. ‘Best thing that ever happened to me, mate. Then you lot came along and spoilt everything.’ He gives me a wink. ‘And your old man slipped back into old habits.’ He looks at the e-cig regretfully.

  ‘Say “Shava Shava”’ blares out from someone’s phone, startling us. One of Dad’s workers is performing the classic Bollywood dance, right there in the middle of the shop floor, busting out moves like a regular Amitabh Bachchan.

  Dad chuckles and shakes his head. ‘What a knob.’

  ‘Dad, when you were a kid, did anyone ever bully you?’

  ‘Course they did, you numpty! Tell you what: prepared me for life, didn’t it? I got smart and starting hanging out with the goondas. We were right terrors – nicking stuff and smoking pot. And don’t you go spilling your guts to Amma about any of this!’

  I shake my head, promising. ‘So you hung out with the rude boys for protection?’

  For a moment his face darkens, then he sighs and slouches. ‘Sad truth is, you’re either a bully or you get bullied. And no one likes a grass.’

  Real talk. I wish he wasn’t wrong, but I still want to hug him. But that’s not us – never has been. So I offer him a smile instead. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  He nods, taking another drag on his e-cigarette. ‘Any time, kid.’

  I ride to school on Friday morning, harsh wind slashing at my eyes. Yesterday the heavens opened, and the rain came pouring down, dissolving the snow, and with it everyone’s dreams of building snowmen.