Makdiva:
U TURNED DOWN NANA SUNITA’S FOOD?
PartyBharti:
I know! Weird, eh?
Makdiva:
More than weird. Your nan’s food could outsell every curry house in Brick Lane in an hour!
PartyBharti:
I’ll tell her you said that! She’s here now and I can smell dinner.
Makdiva:
Oww, I’m so jealous.
PartyBharti:
Come round!
Makdiva:
Nah, I’ve got to catch up with some homework. I spent ages on the history project.
PartyBharti:
Who did you choose in the end?
Makdiva:
Yaa Asantewaa, the Queen Mother of Edewso in the 1800s who fought the British military.
PartyBharti:
Interesting, using Ghanaian history, eh?
Makdiva:
Yeah.
PartyBharti:
So who told you about her?
Makdiva:
Don’t laugh, but I found an article in Agoo Magazine.
PartyBharti:
Really?
Makdiva:
Uh huh.
PartyBharti:
Well, at least you’ve finally handed it in. You took ages finding your topic!
Makdiva:
I know! I hope Mrs H likes it.
PartyBharti:
She will. It’s different. Mine was on Indira Ghandi, Mel did Mary Seacole and not sure who Laura did. Julia reckons it was Mariah Carey but Laura’s not that bad.
Makdiva:
U never know. LOL! It’s good that we all did someone different.
PartyBharti:
Definitely. What homework?
Makdiva:
Science: do Exercise 4 for Friday. Oh yeah, English: read the next chapter in the novel.
PartyBharti:
Cheers. Bye!
Makdiva:
Bye!
I clicked out of MSN and wondered whether my date with Nelson had been totally jinxed or not. I guess Bharti was right: it was funny that we got interrupted twice whilst kissing. At least we kissed. But did that really mean he liked me? What if he was being polite or something? Was he really worth lying to my parents about?
Chapter 7
What, No Gold Stars?
We had just spent the past half-hour watching the most boring video on Britain in the 1930s and now knew what life was like before World War Two. The streets looked a bit like the set of Coronation Street, but I just kept wondering what the rest of the world looked like.
‘Lights,’ bellowed Mrs Hipman. She handed out a worksheet based on the video we had just watched.
‘This is so boring!’ said Mel, as we completed the answers.
‘Yeah, didn’t you think the streets looked like Coronation Street?’ Bharti said.
‘That’s just what I thought!’ I added and we all sniggered.
‘You two are such Londoners!’ Mel commented.
‘When is she going to tell us about our projects?’ whispered Bharti.
‘Good question,’ I said.
‘Excuse me, I’m talking to you!’ boomed Mrs Hipman.
We all jumped.
‘Ohmigod! Miss, you scared us,’ Mel said.
‘Well, whatever it takes to get your attention,’ she replied. ‘Right, I have your essay plans here.’
An excited buzz immediately fell over the class. We all wanted to know if our plans could be developed into essays. I watched as everyone had their plans returned and realised that I hadn’t received mine.
‘Brilliant, I can use it!’ said Bharti. ‘I just have to be careful about listing sources. Where’s yours?’
‘I don’t know. Excuse me, Miss?’ I said raising my hand.
‘Yes?’
‘Um . . . Miss, I haven’t got my work back,’ I said.
‘Oh yes, Makeeda, I need to speak to you.’
The bell rang for our next lesson.
‘Right, ladies, I want you to start writing your essays for homework.’
‘Yes, Miss,’ the others chorused as they rushed out.
‘Miss, I’m going to be late for my next lesson,’ I said.
I watched as she scribbled on a piece of paper and gave it to Bharti.
‘Are you in the same lesson?’
‘Yes, Miss,’ Bharti replied.
‘Give this to your teacher,’ she said, shoving the letter in Bharti’s hand. ‘And close the door!’
‘Yes, Miss,’ Bharti said, rushing off.
‘Take a seat, Makeeda.’
I was actually beginning to wish I was in science with Mrs Connelly screaming at me to pay attention to an experiment.
‘I’ll come straight to the point.’
Great! I folded my arms across my chest. It was obviously bad news then.
‘I don’t think you can create an essay using your choice of topic.’
‘What? Why?’ I said, shocked.
‘Well for a start, your grades have been floating between A and C for the past year . . .’
‘That’s not fair. Everyone’s grades are like that, and I’ve only ever got three Cs, the rest are As and Bs!’ I said, standing up.
‘Sit down. I just think this essay would be too much of a stretch for you. Besides, you won’t be able to find enough resources for Yaa Asantewaa. Pick an alternative subject for your essay. You could do Mary Seacole,’ she said.
She’s got to be joking! Apart from Mel and me, the other four black girls in our year had probably already claimed that topic as their own.
‘Come on, Miss, give me a chance. I can do it!’
‘Makeeda, I’m not repeating myself. Choose another topic and resubmit your plan to me by Thursday of next week,’ she said, and began sorting out her papers.
‘Fine,’ I mumbled.
Within minutes I was slipping into a bench station in the science block, next to Bharti and Mel. It was nice having Mel around without Laura. It sounded mean, but I was glad Laura had gone home early for a dental appointment.
‘Are you OK?’ Bharti asked.
‘No, not really,’ I replied, before filling them in on all the details.
‘Hey, put on your overall before Connelly notices,’ Mel reminded me.
‘Cheers,’ I said, practically emptying my rucksack to find it.
Within minutes, Bharti was pouring a solution into the test tube (that I was holding using tongs) and Mel was using a thermometer to record its temperature before heating. I placed it in the flame of the Bunsen burner as our conversation changed to soap hunks.
‘Definitely that really cute guy in the soap about stepfamilies,’ I said.
‘Who?’ Bharti asked.
‘The one who plays the older brother,’ I said.
‘Ohmigod, he’s soo ancient!’ Mel said, laughing.
‘Who are you talking about?’ demanded Bharti.
‘The guy who played the nerd in that school soap,’ Mel explained.
‘Makeeda!’ yelled Mrs Connelly, rushing towards me.
‘Whaat?’ I said, confused.
She turned off the Bunsen burner and took the tongs and test tube from me. I noticed it had changed to a weird shade of orange, unlike the test tubes everyone else was holding which were pale egg-yoke colours.
‘I can’t believe you overheated the solution! That’s it, I’m splitting you three up! You’re a danger to yourselves and my equipment,’ Mrs Connelly exclaimed.
‘Sorry, Miss,’ we chorused, desperately trying not to laugh. Luckily the bell rang signalling the end of the day.
‘Clear off the lot of ya!’ Mrs Connelly shouted, but most of the class were already out of the door.
‘Hey, are you two coming to the netball trials?’ Mel said.
‘Er no,’ I replied.
‘Hey, wait up!’ Laura screamed, as she ran up to us.
‘What are you doing here?’ Mel said, smiling.
‘I wasn’t going to m
iss the trials. I would’ve been here earlier, but I couldn’t be bothered to go to history or science. So I hung out with Jordan and Nelson. They finished early today.’
Nelson? What was she doing with him?
‘Ready?’ Laura asked Mel.
‘Yeah, I was just trying to convince these two to come along,’ Mel said.
‘Oh,’ Laura said, surprised.
‘The last time we were on the team, I got disqualified for elbowing the Wing Defence in the eye and Makeeda sprained her ankle chasing that girl from St Mary’s,’ Bharti said.
‘Don’t remind me!’ I said, wincing.
Every time I thought about that particular match, I recalled the agony of landing in a funny way and thinking I was going to die from the pain.
‘Oh yeah, I remember your starring moment ruined by a sprained ankle!’ Mel said, laughing. She hooked her arm in mine and made me run ahead of the other two.
‘So how are things with Mr DJ?’ she asked.
‘OK. We’re meeting up at the weekend.’
‘Ah huh, the second date! Excited?’
‘Well, not really – more nervous . . .’ I began.
‘Hey, did I tell you I heard that Nelson once dumped a girl for being a poor kisser?’ Laura called from behind us.
‘What?’ Bharti said, horrified, looking at me.
‘That’s rubbish! He’s not like that!’ Mel said.
‘Well, it’s what I heard!’ Laura added, staring directly at me, her eyes shining.
The others waited for me to reply, but I had nothing to say. I was in shock. What if Laura was right? I mumbled my goodbyes and almost ran out of school.
‘Hey, wait up!’ Bharti called, huffing and puffing for breath. ‘What was all that about? You know Laura’s just winding you up.’
‘I know but . . .’
‘Makeeda, what’s up?’
‘I’m worried that Nelson will dump me on our second date.’
‘Er, why?’
‘Because . . . because . . .’ I couldn’t think of what to say.
‘Because you have bad taste in nineties rock music, which you always deny? Or because of your weird sardine, onion and ketchup sandwiches?’
‘Shut up!’ I said, laughing.
‘Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine. Mercury comes out of retrograde tomorrow.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, so you should be OK!’ she said, unconvincingly. ‘Although . . . I foresee dark clouds brewing above Laura,’ Bharti added.
‘Really?’
‘Nope, she’s a Gemini – they’re always lucky!’ Bharti said with a smile.
We kept talking till we saw a good-looking boy waiting at the bus stop. He was about Nelson’s height and had the same school uniform on.
‘Ohmigod! I think I’m in love,’ Bharti whispered.
Then we both shut up. Judging by the silly grin on her face, Bharti was locked in a fantasy world with our unknown companion, whilst I was still concerned about my second date with Nelson. Laura could actually be right and Nelson could be using this second date to dump me for being a poor kisser! My mind drifted between Nelson and my history essay. There was no way Mrs Hipman was going to make me write about someone else. I’d never got into an argument with a teacher before, but there was something about Yaa Asantewaa that made me want to fight.
Chapter 8
It’s All About the Second Kiss
I’d been stressing about this date for days. So far, the closest Nelson and I got to a second kiss was when he met me at the bus stop, and that was a peck on the lips. I was beginning to think that he really was going to dump me.
We jumped off the bus and began the walk to the music shop in Edgware.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I replied.
‘I just prefer this shop to the big chains. It’s just as good,’ Nelson said, staring at me. I smiled back.
Actually I was impressed. I mean I never think about stuff like that. Bharti and I always head for the coffee shop that’s part of a chain, instead of the smaller one. It just looks more inviting and has real sofas.
We walked past a couple huddled against the wind and my mind drifted back to the all important second kiss. I’d read in one of my magazines that the second kiss counted more than the first, because the first was almost forgotten once it happened. I was also stressing about my essay. It wasn’t really easy, but I wasn’t finding it a total nightmare either. My only problem was Mrs Hipman’s reaction. The essay plan I’d submitted was on Mary Seacole and not Yaa Asantewaa. So I knew I’d be in trouble as soon as she read my title.
‘Are you OK?’ Nelson asked.
‘Yeah, why?’
‘Nothing, you just seem to be miles away,’ he said.
‘Nah, I’m right here,’ I lied.
I decided not to tell Nelson about my essay situation. I didn’t want him thinking he was going out with a nerd. That’s if we were actually going out with each other. Without that second kiss, it was hard to tell.
‘Good,’ he said, and slipped his hand in mine.
We arrived at the shop and Nelson immediately disappeared into the new releases whilst I just milled around.
‘Hey, have you heard this?’ Nelson asked, thrusting an old Motown LP in front of me.
‘I . . .’
‘I love this song!’ Nelson said.
I watched as the biggest grin spread across his face and lit up his eyes.
‘I haven’t heard it before,’ I said.
Before I knew it, we were in a sound booth and he’d placed headphones on me. He gently slipped his arms around my waist and I felt his scarf tickle my neck. I was happy, until he kissed me lightly on the lips and I realised it was just another peck. The song began to fade out and I replaced the headphones.
‘Well?’ he asked, helping me out of the booth.
‘It’s . . .’
‘I love it! It’s my favourite song. Well, one of them!’ he said enthusiastically.
It was the first time I’d heard him sound so happy.
‘I liked it,’ I replied.
Instantly I realised that I’d given him a less than enthusiastic response. He just looked at me oddly.
‘You don’t have to lie. If you hated it, you can say so.’
‘No, no, I like it! I just realised that I’ve heard it before. My dad played it once, but I never knew who sung it,’ I said and hoped that it was enough.
‘Oh, right.’
‘So how come it’s so important to you?’
‘My mum and I used to sing it to each other when I was little.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Yeah, well we used to anyway . . .’ he said, then looked away.
‘What do you mean?’ I could sense that there was more to it, but I wasn’t sure if I sounded nosy in asking.
‘She and my dad have separated. I live with my dad, and my sister lives with her,’ he explained.
‘Oh,’ I said. I wasn’t sure what to do. Do you say I’m sorry to hear that? Anyway, I was a bit weirded out by his dramatic mood swing. I could hear it in his voice.
‘I don’t miss the arguments or anything, but . . .’
‘What?’ I asked.
Ohmigod, I’m so nosy! I wish I could stop treating people like characters in a soap!
‘Well . . . she never went to my first gig.’
‘Really?’ I asked, shocked. That seemed really mean but I was hardly going to tell him that.
‘Basically, she hates everything to do with my DJing.’
‘Wow, that’s harsh!’ I said. I suddenly realised I’d called his mum harsh.
‘I know. She expects me to be all academic like her and my grandfather back in Africa and become a barrister. My sister’s doing A-levels so she can study law, but that’s not enough for mum: everyone’s got to do it!’ he said furiously.
I could see that we were beginning to attract some stares from other people in the shop.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. That sounded so lame – like something a teacher might say. ‘I know what you mean though,’ I added.
‘I bet your mum’s really nice,’ he said, giving me a smile.
‘She can be, when I’m not around,’ I said, thinking about Tanisha.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing,’ I replied.
I’d only ever told Bharti and Nick about the stuff with Mum and even they didn’t know the full story. I wasn’t comfortable having to rake it all up again.
‘Maybe your mum will change her mind,’ I said, hopefully.
‘I don’t think so, Makeeda,’ he said, angrily heading to the cashier.
I wasn’t sure what else to say. I guess I was confused. How could he be so happy one minute, then sad the next? We left the shop in silence, but he still slipped his hand into mine. I was cold but I was glad I hadn’t worn my gloves.
‘Hey! You’re African!’ I said suddenly. It was really high pitched so I immediately cringed.
‘Last time I looked, and Brazilian.’ He smiled at me again.
‘Really?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, my mum’s from Togo and my dad’s from Brazil. You’re African, right?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, my family’s Ghanaian and a quarter Lebanese.’
‘A quarter?’
‘Yeah, I have three Ghanaian grandparents and one mixed-race grandmother.’
‘Makeeda, that’s not a quarter.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know, but a quarter sounds better,’ I said.
‘You’re funny!’ said Nelson, laughing.
‘Er . . . funny weird, or funny ha ha?’ I asked.
‘Definitely weird!’ he said, grinning.
‘So rude!’ I said and hit his arm.
‘Ouch! I’ll get you back for that! Do you want to go to Harrow for something to eat?’ he asked, as we approached Edgware station.
‘Um . . . yeah, OK. Hey!’ He’d just taken my hairband out of my hair.
‘Come on, there’s our bus!’ he said, running ahead of me.
Growing Yams in London Page 6