Maybe I just got too excited, or nervous?
Layla knew that sometimes her mouth operated before her brain had processed everything, and the results weren’t always great. Like, well, right now. As the reality of what just happened sank in, she started to feel sick to her stomach, gritting her teeth tightly and squeezing her eyes closed until her eyelids flipped inside out.
Ya Allah! What about the scholarship?! Is this going to mess things up? Ya-nhar-abyad, why does my mouth get me into so much trouble?
Layla thought of all the disagreements at the dinner table at home, or that time a lady called the police at the bus stop when Layla told her to stop staring at her hijab. I still think that was funny, Layla smiled to herself, momentarily losing herself in the memory.
Maybe, maybe if she held her breath for ten seconds with her eyes closed, she would wake up from this crazy dream. Layla started counting down. Ten Mississippi, nine Mississippi, eight Mississippi …
Layla opened her eyes. Still here. The wooden bench felt hard underneath her body, offering no comfort, and the humid summer air pressed against her skin. Layla wasn’t the type to worry much, but as she thought about what might happen, a strange feeling crept over her body. She gritted her teeth – no, no, no – but it was too late. Her stomach began to churn and Layla convulsed, a violent sensation shooting up her oesophagus. She clenched her jaw to try to stop the inevitable. Her chest started heaving.
Janey Mack, I need to get out of here before I spew everywhere!
A few minutes later Layla returned to the bench sheepishly, having vomited out her breakfast in a bush. She wiped her mouth with the inside of her sleeve and grimaced. She wondered if she now smelled of sick. Probably. She was pretty sure smelling of spew would ruin all the street cred she’d gained at this point. Layla slumped lower on the bench, her mind a noisy jumble. Her long maroon skirt billowed around her, showing off her ankles. And my legs aren’t even properly moisturised! Her dark brown skin was ashy, dry from the lack of any cream or Vaseline, which Sudanese women used daily to keep their skin supple. Mama was always banging on about moisturising, but it just made Layla feel sticky.
But even the softest skin wasn’t going to be enough to save her halal bacon now. Ignoring the fact that she’d just been sick from the tension, what would Mama and Baba do when they heard about this? Would this mean she would lose her scholarship? Baba had always said her ‘long tongue’ would get her into trouble. She needed to find a way to fix this. Closing her eyes, Layla took slow, careful breaths. ‘Bismillah, Alhamdulilah, Allah-hu-Akbar.’ Layla repeated a dua that helped her calm down, and then turned her mind to What She Needed To Do To Fix This (thinking in capital letters helps).
Okay. Firstly, Ms Taylor’s good books. She had to prove herself! She didn’t want people to think she was a mean person, that was definitely pretty un-Islamic. Plus, she needed to behave otherwise they’d take the scholarship from her, like Mr Cox had threatened!
Maybe she could bake a cake. LOL, nah, she always made a mess cooking anything, and her mum would smack her bottom with the mufrak – a wooden Sudanese cooking implement used for making the traditional dish mulaa7. What else? Layla thought while she stroked her imaginary beard, pretending she was a famous old man philosopher like Aristotle or Ibn Batuta. Maybe she could give Ms Taylor one of those cool glass bead necklaces she had learned to make over the summer. Or maybe offer to bejewel her phone?
Then Layla remembered the feeling of having everyone in the class laugh at her jokes. Man, being funny felt good. A smile crept onto her face at the memory. Maybe she could try again to make Ms Taylor laugh. Hehe. Layla imagined Ms Taylor’s wrinkly face laughing at one of her jokes. What a sight that would be! Sighing, Layla shifted her weight, trying to avoid the traces of vomit on her sleeve.
BRIIIIINGGGGGG! The bell’s piercing note rang across the courtyard, and Layla’s eyes snapped open. Janey Mack! She had fallen asleep! Layla quickly wiped up a bit of drool that had seeped out of her mouth. I hope no one saw me! Layla looked around furtively, but there was no one in sight, only the rustle of the breeze through the eucalyptus trees. Layla straightened up on the bench, rearranged the skirt to cover her ashy ankles and waited. Almost immediately, the class doors opened. Ethan and Seb were the first two out, bolting from the air-conditioned room like they were being chased by a rhino. Ethan was the first to spot her on the bench and skipped excitedly over, plopping himself next to the still-sleepy Layla. Seb followed, sitting on the other side of the hijabied girl. Ms Taylor walked out behind them, surrounded by a sea of Layla’s new classmates. The homeroom teacher made her way over and stood in front of the bench, the woman’s broad-shouldered silhouette looming large in front of Layla. ‘I won’t be taking any more action on this incident today, young woman,’ she said, her voice tight. ‘However, consider this a warning. I suggest you reflect on your behaviour, and the kind of reputation you’d like at this school. Now,’ the older woman took her hands off her hips and gestured out, ‘go on and enjoy your recess.’
The boys on either side of Layla, silent during the confrontation, both turned to her as soon as Ms Taylor had walked away. ‘C’mon, Layla, come on, come hang with us today!’ Ethan grinned at her, bubbling excitedly. ‘You gotta meet the rest of the crew!’
‘Yeh, you’re pretty cool for a girl!’ said Seb. ‘So, you can come hang with us!’
‘Cool. I’ll get food out of my bag and let’s go!’ she said.
Layla was pleased. She wasn’t expecting to find friends so quickly, and these boys were so different to her friends back at primary school, but that could be fun, right? They smelled of adventure, and Layla liked adventure. They also smelled of trouble (and maybe, weird stinky body odour? Or was that deodorant? Lynx?) but Layla wasn’t bothered.
I can handle myself. Layla was sure that wasn’t a lie. Well, pretty sure. She felt a creeping sliver of doubt but pushed it right back down.
The blonde girl from class had also walked out and was rummaging in her bag while Layla looked for her bag. When she turned around, packet of chips in hand, the girl cautiously introduced herself.
‘Nice hijab,’ she said, her voice low and sweet, pronouncing the ‘h’ in a way that showed she clearly spoke Arabic. ‘My mum’s Muslim, so she wears one just like it.’ The girl gently offered Layla a smile before looking back down at the ground.
Receiving the smile with grace, Layla responded in kind, with a toothy grin. ‘Oh, that’s awesome!’ she said, secretly relieved that she hadn’t frightened everyone in the class away. ‘What’s your name, do you want to come hang out with me and the boys?’
The girl’s head jerked backward, as she shook her head vehemently, her blonde curls bouncing in the ponytail. ‘Oh no, no, no, that’s cool. I’m cool just chilling here. Thanks though. Oh, and my name’s Leesa by the way.’ The girl fiddled with the bag of chips in her hands nervously. ‘Nice to meet you; bye, salams! Oh – and watch out, I think someone vomited in a bush or something, there’s a weird smell over there.’
Layla watched Leesa walk away, wondering how different things would be if she’d ended up sitting next to her in class.
Thank God she doesn’t think I was the one who vomited … phew!
‘C’mon, Laylz, leggo!’ the boys called.
The three took off running, Seb’s dark brown hair flopping as they trotted around the back of the building toward the grassy hill behind the classroom. A group of Year 8 lads was lounging on the grass at the top of the hill, a collection of grey shorts, sagging socks and untucked blue shirts. Half the boys had already loosened their ties, and a few even had their shirts unbuttoned! Cheeky!
Layla took in the sight before her. She’d thought MMGS was going to be super white. The group they were walking to wasn’t quite what she’d expected: they were almost as mixed-looking as the kids from ISB! That was kinda cool. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so out of place here after all.
As they started up the hill, the three slowed to a walk. Seb
turned to Layla. ‘What are you eating today?’ he asked.
‘Oh – um – I – um – I didn’t bring any food for morning tea today …’ Layla stuttered, momentarily caught off guard. The lies tumbled out of her mouth awkwardly. She felt comfortable with these boys, but she knew they weren’t ready for Baba’s weird Sudanese experiments that he considered ‘food’ just yet. She really wanted to impress these boys, so hadn’t even bothered to collect any food from her bag, not after she’d seen Leesa with those fancy organic chips. Baba had made one of his infamous honey and nutella sandwiches. They were maybe the most acceptable of Baba’s experiments, but Layla hated them. They got soggy in the cling wrap, seeped out dark sticky goo and made the bread resemble something a dog had vomited up. He’d also packed one of those homemade yoghurt tubs, which used to stink up the entire ISB playground back in primary school. The Greek yoghurt her father preferred tasted and smelled like half a kilo of old feta cheese mixed with yellow bird doo-doo. Sigh. She’d have to have a conversation with Baba when she got home … Oh, wait. I just got kicked out of class. Maybe she wouldn’t mention it just yet.
‘What about you guys?’ she asked, trying to forget about the trouble she was going to get into tonight.
‘Ethan gets a feed from the tuckshop every day,’ Seb said. ‘He’s pretty lucky!’
Ethan’s head was down, and he mumbled a response. ‘Ya, well, ya know, Mum and Dad are busy and don’t have time to make me stuff. It’s like, whatever.’ He fiddled with a cling-wrapped chocolate muffin in his hands, the price tag still visible.
‘Nah, it’s cool, you know I got ya, bro.’ Seb laughed. ‘And you know you can always come to mine. Mum loves feeding ya!’ Seb shoved Ethan in his back good-naturedly, making him chuckle.
Seb turned to Layla. ‘My ma is Colombian, so she loves feeding all my mates. She gives me hectic ethnic food for lunch, and if I don’t eat it, I’ll get whooped! But it’s a win for me, ’cos it’s suuuuuper tasty!’ Seb chuckled.
By this point, they had reached the top of the hill. Layla tried to hide her panting. All this exercise, and in this loooong skirt! Gosh, the hill hadn’t looked this steep when they were at the bottom. From this vantage point though, they could see over almost the entire school, and Layla looked around her, taking it all in and gasping in awe. The school brochures didn’t do this place justice.
‘She’s all right, hey?’ Ethan asked Layla quietly, as they stood next to each other, surveying the landscape. Layla nodded, staring at her classmate out of the corner of her eye. Ethan’s auburn hair was slicked back, and his freckles popped out against his pale white skin, a fiery constellation on high cheekbones. A single red curl fell out of the neatly combed arrangement on Ethan’s head, obscuring his eye. He brushed it aside gently and smiled at Layla self-consciously.
Layla blushed and looked away. Did we just have a moment?!
Fortunately, no one was paying the pair any attention. Seb was busy throwing himself on the ground, opening his A4-sized blue lunch box and breathing in the funkalicious smell that drifted across the grassy hill. The stench was so thick that Layla turned around and swore she could almost see the bits of garlic wafting up from the Tupper-ware container. At the smell, the boys groaned in unison.
‘You love it!’ Seb boasted to the group, smiling.
The moans only grew louder, and Layla smiled too. They were kinda like her family, teasing each other all the time! She got it.
Taking a spoonful of the rice and meat concoction into his mouth, Seb waved his free hand, introducing Layla. He spat out bits of food as he talked. ‘All right, boys, meet Layla! She totally shut Ms Taylor down in class – she was all like “Is it ’cos I’m black?” and Ms T went WILD and threw her out!’
‘Ohhhhhhh!’ The gathered collection of motley crew laughed and jeered in response to the story.
Standing at the edge of the group, Layla had been nervous, her mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert she was born in. With Seb’s hyping though, and the reaction from the boys, the young teenager beamed with joy, basking in their admiration. They might actually like me!
‘Oh, you know, it was nothing.’ She looked down at the ground with fake humility, smiling to herself.
Seb continued. ‘Right then, Layla, this is Baz – short for Barak, the original Obama; Scotty; Gordon and Tony – full name Antonio, like in the mafia, but we all call him Tony.
Layla knew that this was a big moment: her first introduction to the posse.
Okay, okay. I got this. I just need to make them laugh or something, right?
Layla steeled herself, her heart beating so loudly that she was surprised no one had asked about the marching band practising around the corner. Pulling her hands out of her pockets and placing them on her hips, she struck a pose and tried to channel her inner Cardi B.
‘Right, anyway. I heard you were the cool kids in town, but I guess they were wrong, ay?’
The boys all looked up at her, staring. There was a moment of silence.
OMG. IT DIDN’T WORK. I AM ACTUALLY GOING TO DIE!
Then, the tension snapped, and the boys’ faces split into smiles and laughs. ‘Oh yeh funny one, Laylz!’ someone yelled above the din.
Layla had to stop herself falling over with relief. She’d guessed it was just like with Ozzie and you just had to tease them to make them laugh. Alhamdulilah, her guess had worked out! This was definitely a new experience: she had never really been friends with the boys back at her old school. The only boy she’d ever been friends with was Adam. At school, all her friends were girls, including her bestie, Dina. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the boys, but the ones at ISB were all a bit gross, and she’d known them for, like, her whole life. She’d seen them pick their noses and wet their shorts. They were like brothers. But these boys seemed more interesting, and Layla had always been curious to know what it would be like to hang out with the cool kids.
The conversation continued around her, and Layla almost felt like she was in a documentary that followed different creatures in their natural habitat! I’ll pretend I’m that Daniel Attenborough guy – or is it David Attenborough?
The bell rang for class, jarring Layla out of her daydream. Off they trudged back to 8A.
‘Oi, wait. So why do you look like you’re a nun by the way?’ Tony jokingly asked Layla, his grin reflecting his light tone. ‘Or one of those blackies that hangs out near that funny-looking building in Holland Park?’ Layla laughed carefully, slightly nervous again. She’d known this was coming.
‘Mate, nobody says blackie. Dude, is this 1950? I’m a Muzzo! Muslim, actually. Ya know?’ she replied, her voice teasing but pointed, sharpened by hurt. Layla raised her eyebrows and Tony looked slightly ashamed.
‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean it in any bad way or anything …’ as his voice trailed off, Layla smiled cautiously and started to twirl, letting her skirt fly up like an umbrella. She had been slightly worried about what people would say about her wearing the hijab at the new school, and she’d considered starting at MMGS without it. But after talking it through with her mother, she’d realised that wasn’t good enough a reason, really.
‘Just remember why you decided to start wearing it,’ Layla’s mum had said to her. ‘If you really want to take it off, that’s up to you. But remember, if you’re doing it for the sake of Allah, he always has your back.’
Layla had nodded, still nervous, but determined to push through.
And now, look! I’m twirling! It’s not so bad at all!
‘And because I get to do cool things like thi–’ As she danced in front of Tony, Layla was cut off by a hard-edged voice.
‘You’re like one of those terrorists that are always yelling “durka durka” on the news, aren’t you?’
The question rang through the air, the accusation cracking like a whip. A silence fell upon the group. Layla turned to find the owner of the voice. Her gaze settled on the boy and as their eyes locked – hers dark brown and steady, his piercing turquoise a
nd sharp. Layla knew this boy was trouble. He had been sitting near them on the hill. Tall, with brooding eyes and a platinum white mop of hair, the guy had a weird vibe about him.
‘Peter Cox,’ Ethan whispered, under his breath.
Layla shook her head, shaking off the chill she felt, then forced a laugh.
‘Ha-ha! Yup, that’s me,’ Layla smiled tooth-lessly at the boy, trying to lighten things up, but his face didn’t change.
Hmm, he thinks he’s so hard. All right then! Layla smirked, but her face darkened and became intensely serious. She used one of the tricks she’d seen her older brother muster when he was hassled by people in the park while playing basketball.
‘You better be careful of making me angry, Peter. Otherwise …’ Layla took a step toward the boy. Layla felt a strange sense of satisfaction as she saw his face betray a slight trace of fear.
‘Otherwise …’ Her voice softened as she repeated the word.
‘I’m going to blow …’ Another step.
‘You …’ The words came out of her mouth slowly.
‘Up.’
She took a final step toward Peter, their faces almost touching. She could feel his breath on her face, hot and fast. His pupils were huge, the blues of his irises almost invisible.
‘BOOM!’ she then thundered, powerfully and loud.
Peter jumped almost a foot in the air, making a noise like a strangled cat.
‘Gotcha!’ Layla sneered, as the rest of the boys around her began to cackle.
Layla breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t like picking fights with people – that was always too much drama, and she’d usually moved on by the time things got to the fight stage – but she knew that if she showed a bully that she wasn’t scared, they would usually leave her alone.
You Must Be Layla Page 3